Page 53 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

Aisling smiled then, a fraction of the tension she carried falling from her shoulders. “I knew you were one of the good ones.”

“Tea?” A pixie, only slightly larger than the statue nearby, had appeared from the palace behind them. On blue-tingedhands she balanced a tray laden with a delicate tea set and piles of fruit. Her iridescent wings refracted flickering rainbows onto the grass around them as they caught the sunlight.

Rodney shook his head as Aisling nodded. “Thank you.”

“The queen would like you both washed and prepared for supper by sunfall.” She flitted away before Aisling could say anything further.

“She didn’t need to specify that we’re washed,” Rodney muttered. But neither of them had showered or changed since they’d arrived in the Seelie Court, and it showed. Aisling thought she must smell like a horse despite the way the floral scent of the meadow clung to her hair. She poured them each a cup of tea. Rodney swirled several spoonfuls of honey into his, noisily hitting the metal against the porcelain. Aisling winced; the cup felt so fragile in her hand she was sure he’d shatter it.

Taking only one sip, Rodney set the tea aside and reached for a bowl of berries. Aisling leaned back, tipping her chin up to feel the sun on her cheeks. The tea brought a haziness to her mind and a warmth to spread down her limbs. A sort of nostalgia for something she didn’t know—something maybe she’d never known—settled over her heart. The discomforted feelings from before faded away. She could stay here.

Someone had left a gown folded on the bench at the foot of Aisling’s bed. She’d been afraid to touch the fine silk until she’d showered andscrubbed her skin pink. The different soaps and lotions arranged in a basket beside the tub all smelled the same: wildflowers, honey, sunshine. So much brighter than the heady scent of the Unseelie Court, even amongst the blooms of the night garden.

Finally clean, Aisling let her fingers play over the gossamer fabric. It was cool and slid through her hands like water. A soft shade of sky blue, the skirt was embroidered with tiny silver leaves and beaded pearl flowers. There was a corset stitched with the same pattern that she struggled to lace. As she cinched it closed across her bust, the light fabric conformed to her figure. Almost a perfect fit, if a touch long.

Rodney looked exceedingly uncomfortable in a suit of pale lavender, with a tight waistcoat that bore a matching floral pattern. Even Briar had a new collar made from what looked like the castoff fabric from Aisling’s gown.

“I feel ridiculous,” he said, tugging at the hem of the waistcoat. He hadn’t made any effort to tame his hair; it stuck up at odd angles as though he’d just gotten out of bed.

“Youlookridiculous,” Aisling teased. She reached under her hair to clasp the delicate gold chain of her necklace and adjusted the pendant to hang at the center of her chest. It gleamed in the candlelight, a beacon. Rodney noticed. His brow furrowed in consternation.

“You shouldn’t accept gifts from the Fae, Ash,” he chided. “You’ll never see the strings tied to what you’re offered until they’re being pulled tight.”

Aisling waved him away. “Who am I to tellthe queen no?”

“You’re the Red Woman; you can tell the queen whatever you want.” Rodney flicked a lock of hair off of his forehead, then offered Aisling his arm. “Shall we?”

“Briar, close.” He padded to her side and she linked her arm through Rodney’s.

The aquamarine pixie who had delivered their tea met the trio in the hallway between their rooms to escort them to the dining hall. Their path was lit by candles—dozens and dozens of them. The flickering golden light cast an eerie glow on the frescos above, and the looming shadows of the marble statues seemed to dance in their alcoves. Distantly, a harp played a haunting, melancholic refrain. Aisling supposed it was meant to sound serene and soothing, but the way it echoed off the high ceilings and cold stone was anything but. She tightened her grip on Rodney’s arm and dropped her other hand to the top of Briar’s head. He leaned into her touch.

The hallways of the palace seemed to stretch and stretch, dreamlike, as though they’d never reach their end. Though the plush carpet dampened their footfall, Aisling still felt her every movement, every breath, was impossibly loud. The pixie, by contrast, glided forward soundlessly.

Rodney swore under his breath, drawing Aisling’s attention up from the swirling patterns underfoot. She followed his gaze to an alcove ahead, at the far end of the hallway, where a statue of a woman stood. She was posed with candles on each shoulder, fresh and hardened wax coating her form from breast to hip. Flawlessly sculpted cloth the same shade as her skin wrapped her body loosely, and her hair—all that same pale, pale gray—was coiled atop herhead out of the way of the flames. A blindfold hid her eyes, but her face was carved into a peaceful, neutral expression. The detail of the sculpting, from each individual hair on her scalp to the creases of her bare feet, was unlike anything Aisling had ever seen.

And then she moved.

Aisling’s blood froze in her veins. She stopped short, jerking Rodney backwards. Her body refused to move any closer to the figure. Briar halted too, his hackles raised and a low growl rumbling deep in his chest.

“Just keep your head down,” Rodney said quietly in her ear.

“What the fuck is that?” Aisling hissed. The statue—woman—shifted again, settling her weight from one foot to the other. Her expression remained that same impassive mask.

“Keep walking.” Rodney tugged Aisling’s hand and she stumbled into motion alongside him. A cold sweat beaded down the center of her spine and her heart was stuck high in her throat, racing. The woman was still again as they passed. The pixie didn’t so much as glance in her direction, but Aisling couldn’t tear her gaze away. Her skin was covered in a thin layer of something that looked like stone, but hairline cracks cobwebbed from her joints, highlighting each part of her body that she’d shifted. She’d only moved a fraction of an inch, but that coating was unforgiving. Aisling hoped that it at least provided her some protection from the burn of the melted wax as it dripped.

As they rounded the corner, Aisling’s sharp intake of breath echoed audibly off the high ceilings. They’d reached the doorway to a grand and opulent dining room, and the opening wasflanked on either side by two more stone-covered humans. Men, this time; both blindfolded. They were on their hands and knees on the cold marble floor, heads lowered, dozens of candles on each of their backs. This wasn’t the first time they’d been subjected to such treatment, nor had they only been there for a short time: the candles were anchored in place by mountains of hardened wax. These two were almost nude save for a pair of stone-colored underwear. A rivulet of melted wax dripped down the back of the thigh of the man on the right. Aisling flinched as though she could feel it heating her own leg.

“Our esteemed guests have arrived.” Laure was standing at the head of a long table, angling a golden chalice towards Aisling, Rodney, and Briar. A handful of other gentry were seated on either side of the table in high-backed chairs. All were dressed and made up for the occasion, attire slightly more garish than the soft, muted pastels Aisling expected.Costumes,she thought. They looked like they were wearing costumes. The females had rouged cheeks and feathers and flowers pinned into their colorful hair. The males wore jackets with tails. One wore only a satin waistcoat to show off rows of porcupine-like quills that jutted from his bare arms.

Rodney nudged Aisling in the ribs then pulled her down into a bow at the waist.

“There’s no need for such formalities, my dears.” Laure’s laugh was rich and warm. “I’d like to introduce you all to the Red Woman, the White Bear, and their púca companion: Aisling, Briar, and Rodney. Please come sit.”

The other dinner guests murmured in appreciation and smiled politely. Several raised their own glasses as the trio approached. Theseats at Laure’s left and right hand were occupied, so Aisling and Rodney took the next two empty chairs across from one another. Briar settled in on the floor, chin on Aisling’s feet.

The female guard who had commanded the sentries at the Thin Place sat between Laure and Rodney. She was still clad in armor, but a more formal suit tonight that somehow looked even thinner and more pliant than the last. Beside Aisling was a long-haired male that looked like he could have been the guard’s twin: they had the same grass-green eyes, the same translucent, freckled skin, and the same rich auburn hair.

With a flourish of her voluminous skirt, a similar sage green as the velvet cloak she’d worn to Solanthis that morning, Laure sat back down. The guests at the far end of the table resumed their quiet conversation, but Aisling could feel the eager glances they cut in her direction. Her skin prickled at the feeling of their eyes on her, drinking her in. She wondered whether they were disappointed; surely, they’d hoped that their Red Woman would be a warrior or a soldier. Not merely a plain human.

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