Page 29 of Arise the Queen
Was this how she was meant to spend her remaining days?
Caged?Her kingdom falling to ruin?
Gwendolyn watched bitterly as the creatures all cavorted—so many, and far more diverse than she’d found them to be in the Druid village. There were Fae with horns, Fae with antlers, Fae with dragon scales, Fae with wings, short Fae, tall Fae, beautiful Fae, hideous Fae, dark Fae, pale Fae—all with pointy ears and porbeagle teeth.
Some Fae danced.
Others flirted.
Many laughed—at Gwendolyn’s expense?
With their beautiful but strange attire, and their graceful dance, the hall was transformed into a living, breathing work of art—a celebration of magic and beauty… Even so a menacing shadow danced along with them, even as they whirled and twirled… their feet scarcely touching the ground as they glided across the floor—a mosaic floor of translucent crystals laid out in strange patterns. Every step they took caused the floor to shimmer with a faint, but pulsating light that changed in time with the music.
Faerie fires drifted lazily through the air, their cold, blue flames casting a soft glow over the hall. Chandeliers strung high, like Gwendolyn’s cage, appeared attached to nothing, their lights flickered like constellations, shifting and changing. And all the while, beneath this marvel, couples spun and twirled in perfect harmony.
Some wore garments that reminded Gwendolyn of one of her mother’s dance recitals… Once each year, the tribes gathered to be regaled by what their daughters had accomplished. On so many of these occasions, the finery was unparalleled. More than a few merchants had returned to their city only to attend the festival and marvel over the gowns fashioned from their beauteous fabrics. Watching the dancers, listening to the music, Gwendolyn allowed her mind to wander and, after a while,forgot to think about anything at all. She stared, unblinking, at the Fae dancers… enraptured…
As varied and fantastical as their magic, the attendees were all begowned in attire that defied description, every outfit a unique expression of the wearer’s magic and personality. One woman spun and spun, her gown releasing a flurry of glowing petals that floated delicately to the floor, creating a carpet of light in her wake. Her partner summoned a breeze that lifted all those petals into the air, compelling them to swirl about them like a maelstrom.
Some Fae were adorned in outfits made from living materials—dresses woven from the petals of flowers that opened and closed in response to the music, or robes made from leaves that rustled and changed hues with every step.
Others sported attire crafted from delicate crystals and strands of pure light. Dresses and tunics sparkled with gems that pulsed, with capes and sleeves that trailed behind, glowing tendrils that seem to bear a life of their own.
Some dancers also incorporated elements like water and fire into their garb—one with a cloak of cascading water that never touched the ground, and another with a crown of flickering flames that cast a warm glow about his head, somehow never consuming his hair.
Chewing at a thumbnail, Gwendolyn spied another Fae woman, who wore a diaphanous blood-red gown so sheer she could almost spy her bits, unveiled. Made of a gossamer silk that shimmered like liquid gold, her skirts twirled like billows of mist. Shifting colors with each movement, it created a hypnotic display of light and shadow, lifting above her hips with every twirl.
Forsooth, Gwendolyn’s cheeks might have warmed if only there were something to see. Somehow, as it was with the Druid village, despite the diaphanous material, the lady’s bits werenever distinguishable—veiled by a fog of the same sort that now permeated Gwendolyn’s mind.
As the Fae danced, trails of sparkling dust followed in their wake, and with every spin and dip, bursts of light and color emanated throughout.
Animals made of sunlight pranced between them.
Yet another dancer wore what Gwendolyn perceived to be a living beast—something like a Púca, which applied itself to her ample form, and changed every few beats according to her mood. One moment, it appeared to be a white-plumed, birdlike creature, another, a sleek, iridescent, form-fitting gown with scales that reminded Gwendolyn of a rainbow trout.
This way, the revelry continued.
On and on and on…
And all the while, a simple name hovered at the back of Gwendolyn’s thoughts…
Curling beneath her cloak, she drew up her knees, trying not to weep. Where was Málik? Where was Esme? Where, after all, was her mettle?
And where, oh where, was the damnable Fae king?
13
With the same maddening quality of all things Fae, time passed slowly, even painfully, and yet somehow frenetically. The Fae court was akin to a rackety fair, where nothing was sensible, and all was mayhem.
Wiling away the hours, Gwendolyn replayed every moment of her living memory—all her life passing her by like a parade of regrets.
Every mistake.
Every sorrow.
Every word never uttered.
As a child, she had once attended a fair in Trevena, where a merchant claimed to be harboring a two-headed goat. He sold glimpses into his wagon to anybody willing to pay a copper. Her mother had warned her to stay away from that charlatan, but Gwendolyn only wished to see if he spoke true. Disguising herself in Bryn’s uniform—to the misdirection of none—she’d purchased entry, and, sadly, it was true. Right there in the bed of his wagon lay a two-headed goat, bleating sadly. The sight of the poor beast had made Gwendolyn’s tummy hurt, and she’d run quickly to speak to her father on the goat’s behalf. Much toher regret, her father misunderstood. Instead of saving the goat, he’d sent men to seize it and put it to death, calling it cursed. Foremost, this had been a dreadful lesson for Gwendolyn on the fate of any poor soul who did not conform—and if she had ever once even considered the possibility that she might be a changeling, she’d put those notions to rest.
