Page 7 of Arise the Queen
What a silly response!
To the tip of Gwendolyn’s tongue rose the most acid remark, but she realized before speaking it that, for once, his tone was not unkind. When she did not answer defensively, he explained, “There are creatures in this realm who live entirely without eyes.”
“Truly?”
The Púca nodded, and she said, “Tell me more?”
The Púca shrugged. “If you wish?”
“Please,” Gwendolyn said with interest, and when they started again to walk, she was grateful to find he slowed his pace—so grateful, in fact, that she said, “You may sing if you like. I will listen.”
“Perhaps the girl is not so stupid after all?” the Púca said, and though Gwendolyn bristled at the backhanded compliment, she swallowed her indignation and prepared to listen.
Slowly, the Púca sang, his voice rising and falling with the rhythm of his steps, and Gwendolyn was immediately captivated, unable to tear her focus away from his mesmerizing tales of creatures who lived and breathed through sound and touch. As the Púca's song wove its dreamlike tapestry, time itself seemed to distort, speeding up as Gwendolyn lost herself in the enchanting tune.
After a while, she no longer felt the ache in her limbs or the emptiness in her belly as she lost herself in the music…
Down was the direction they were traveling.
She could feel it in the slight incline of every step—so very slight, but there it was. Deeper, deeper, they ventured into what would appear to be the very bowels of the earth. When the light arrived, Gwendolyn found herself wide-eyed with surprise. The cavern walls began to emanate an odd yellow-green glow and thereafter, the farther they traveled, the thicker the lichen, the brighter the illumination.
And so it followed, the brighter the environs, the lighter her mood…
Not all was lost, Gwendolyn reasoned.
So long as she had breath, there must be hope.
One way or another, the outcome of this meeting with the Fae king would go a long way toward curing her kingdom’s ills—or destroying it forever.
But every moment she had ever lived, every counsel she had ever received, every fear, every hope, every sorrow, every lesson, every bit of hard-earned wisdom—this was how she would prevail.
Remember, Gwendolyn…
For better or worse, she came to bargain with the Fae king and this she must do, so she’d better figure out what to say.
Foremost, Esme had warned Gwendolyn that her father would strike her down if Gwendolyn said the wrong thing; but this must also mean she could say the right thing, and hope flowered amidst the gloom.
She didn’t have a plan as yet, but she had faith something would present itself. Perhaps the “lady” would provide answers.
4
The distant drip of water echoed throughout the grotto and the rustling of unseen creatures scurried along the shadows.
Silently, thoughtfully, following the Púca, she meandered through a network of dark, twisty tunnels that carved their way inexorably through the depths of the earth, the paths ancient and labyrinthine.
Along the cavern walls, roots from trees and plants above snaked down through cracks in the stone, grasping at the earth for moisture and nutrients. These roots all formed tangled webs, snaking across the path beneath her feet to create natural barriers and obstacles that must be navigated with care.
Blind, pale moles skittered across the rocks and roots, bats roosted in their upper chambers, their wings rustling softly amidst the darkness.
Occasionally, the glint of small, glowing eyes could be seen peering from some crevice, belonging to some creature that no doubt had evolved to thrive in this subterranean world.
The floor itself, scattered with loose rocks and patches of slick moss, forced Gwendolyn to consider every step.Meanwhile, the Púca seemed to have little trouble—even when stalactites and stalagmites of varying sizes jutted from the ceiling and floor, creating a jagged and forbidding landscape.
More surefooted than a roofer on a spar, he marched along, transforming as he pleased—one moment the surly cat-sidhe, another the three-headed beast, all the while leading Gwendolyn through an endless length of tunnels.
But the longer they traveled together, the more he altered his form, the easier it was for Gwendolyn to get a sense of his personalities…
As the three-headed beast, he sang, and his song, she realized, was a form of enchantment. It took some effort to focus on what all three of his heads were saying, but once she did, time itself was altered by the tapestry of his ballad.
