Page 16 of Crown of Wings and Whispers

Bridie’s house was like Wyoming with the windows open. I couldn’t put my finger on the songs of specific insects, but there was a definite hum to the place. Tree trunks creaked as if their tops were teased by the wind. And though I was plenty warm inside my room, I still felt as though I was outside, camping.

I found a blue t-shirt in the chest of drawers. I knew it was Griffon’s because I could smell him when I buried my face in the thick, soft cotton that looked new but felt like it had been worn a thousand times. I undressed and put it on. The hem reached halfway to my knees.

The nearest bathroom had solid walls and all the modern conveniences. I lucked out and found a stack of new toothbrushes in the cabinet. When I returned to Griffon’s room, a set of four three-foot-tall dolls had been propped against the desk. I couldn’t imagine why.

There was no way I could sleep with them staring at me, so I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to decide if I should turn them to the wall or set them in the hallway and risk offending someone.

Then one of them blinked and I ended up standing on the bed with only a pillow for a weapon.

All four of them put their hands over their mouths and giggled. The one in pink took a little step forward. “We’ve come to collect your clothes.”

“My clothes?” They were in a pile on the desk chair.

The one in green folded and draped them over her arm. “We help Bridie from time to time.”

They weren’t little people—they were miniature, as if they’d been full grown women shrunken down to three feet by a machine. The skirts of their dresses flared slightly, and little petticoats peeked out from under them.

Dressed like dolls.

Though their faces were cute, their cheeks round and smooth, there were wrinkles around their eyes that reminded me of Wickham’s sisters, who were technically a hundred years old.

I thanked them for their offer and climbed off the bed. “I’m…Lucy.”

The one in pink shook her head. Was she calling me a liar? Had she overheard Griffon or Archer call me Lennon?

“You hear the whispers of thecloch realtas,” she said. “But we shall not betray you.”

“You…you hear them too?”

They all went wide-eyed.

“Oh no. We areThe Queevna. We are memory.”

Great. Little people who remember everything. No wonder Griffon didn’t want to talk about dangerous subjects until we were out of there.

They giggled again, as if they’d heard my thoughts, which was hardly a new concept for me. Wickham’s sisters and Brian and Flann had that talent. So why couldn’t a set of Fae quadruplets?

I smiled but shook my head. “No mind-reading, please.”

They blushed and nodded. “As you wish,” said the one in green. “I am Cré.” She introduced the one in pink as Blath. The one wearing sea-blue she called Farrig, and the one in white, Goy. “Though we have met before.”

“We have?” I was pretty sure I would have remembered.

They smiled secretly, which gave them away. They were still reading my mind.

Blath shooed the others toward the door. “We will leave you to your rest.”

“You are safe here,” said Goy. “Better to stay to the room until the sun is up.”

Farrig, in blue, paused at the door. “Resist the urge to speak to thecloch realtas. Others may hear.”

Cré reappeared to drag Farrig away, then she peeked in again. Her grin was so familiar, it was going to drive me crazy. “I realize the stones, too, like to be touched. But they shouldn’t be encouraged.” After one last giggle, she was gone.

I couldn’t shut the door fast enough, and when I found no lock on the door, I decided to take Goy’s word for it, that I was safe as long as I didn’t leave the room. I took one long look at the barn and decided any thoughts about Griffon would make it impossible to sleep, so I thought, instead, about how little sleep I’d had since the backyard ceremony.

My eyes and my body were instantly heavy. I turned off the light and found the bed.

I couldn’t find words to describe how soft the sheets were—like they were made of enchanted water from the waterfall—slightly cooler than my body temperature, indefinite to the touch. I went to sleep with a smile on my face.

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