Page 10 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
A pregnant pause. Then laughter erupts like silver bells, cascading their mirth about the room.
My fists clench so hard that I reopen the wounds, but I hold my breath. There is more to witness here for me to use.
“Heed my words, sisters. Our impudent imposter has pirouetted into a tempest he cannot fathom. The House of Stone seethes with fury.”
“They say the newly crowned Earl, his blood as old as the deepest caves, means to challenge our faux Puck to a duel.”
“No! Surely not! Even the moon would hide her face from such a spectacle!”
“’Tis it not a riot of possibilities? He wouldn’t accept the duel, would he?”
“If he does not, he may lose the queen’s esteem.”
“But the ancient laws are woven into the very fabric of the Old Code. The duel must be walked on two feet alone, from first light to last shadow. Neither claw nor paw may touch the sacred ground. No wings may lift, no winds may carry, and even the gentlest breath of a dandelion’s wish is forbidden. Two-legged they must start, and two-legged they must end.”
“Then our hapless pretender’s fate is sealed, as surely as winter follows autumn.”
Hapless pretender?
Never before have I felt so different, inferior, and mortal than this moment, listening to these ladies-in-waiting faeries. I remind myself Titania plucked me from nothing to be her Shadow. I won the trials on my own merit, and she rewarded my bravery with transformation.
“She hardly had a choice, hm? The gods themselves enforce the prize of a dream come true,”the Hunt sneers.
The dragon’s scornful silent remarks grate on my last nerve. Who gives a fuck how I came to be here, or if I don’t speak in riddle or rhyme? I have eons to learn. Time is fluid for me now, despite what those fucker Subterranean Sluagh think. They are my true purpose, my vow to the queen. I promised her I would neutralize the threat of their true identities becoming public, and even if things didn’t turn out as I’d planned, I succeeded.
Fox is stone, regardless of his missing public confession about Sylvanar’s death. Styx has been released, but there’s no indication he is unsealed. If he had access to his full powers, he wouldn’t have thought twice about wrenching my soul from my body.
I will keep a close eye on him, but he sounded too confused to be the threat Titania fears. With that dispensed, I can focus on eliminating the Wild Hunt or investigating why the queen fears a silver-haired mortal.
“A mortal with fae ears,”the Baleful Hunt reminds me.“Who seems to have suddenly broken the curse Her Majesty placed on her countenance?”
“Shut up.”
Holding my head high, I barge into the room, satisfied when their tinkling bells clatter into a gasping chorus of discord.
Standing nearest to me by Titania’s briar-throttled bed, Cobweb raises a hand to her lace-covered throat. “By the stars! Your arrival, my lord, is as subtle as a pixie in a china shop.”
I quickly check my beloved to ensure all is well within her eternally twilight-lit chamber. Gossamer curtains of spider silk shimmer in a nonexistent breeze, casting ever-shifting shadows. She remains unmoved, her hands clasped as she dreams.
It has been only days since her presence graced me, yet the greenery smothering her bed now emits a pungent scent of wild herbs and moonflowers, making my nose twitch. And those tiny, luminescent pesky creatures flit among the leaves, tittering and mocking, their glow pulsing in time with her slow breaths.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Lord Goodfellow, rolling in like an unexpected storm on a midsummer’s eve.”
I whip my gaze to Mustardseed where she stands, hips cocked, charm-encrusted skirt askew. Her fists clench around wild weeds. One of the tiny Folk buzzes into her yellow coiffed hair, and she swats it away, never once breaking the formation of her genial smile. Despite what the Baleful Hunt thinks of me, I am no fool. I detect the barb hidden in her voice like a thorn beneath a petal.
“Have you perhaps misplaced your manners in some mortal’s pocket,” she queries, “or did you trade them for a pair of muddy boots to trample our delicate mushroom circles?”
I glance down and lift my boots. She is right. Mushrooms have grown overnight.
“Yes, my lord,” Moth adds as she daintily sidesteps the sleeping Weaving Hunt, now also wrapped in brambles. “Pray tell, what gale of chaos or whirlwind of folly has blown you into our queen’s tranquil chamber with such . . . unseemly haste?”
One only needs to glance at her sugary pink wispy hair wrapped in a beehive to know where Fairy Floss found its name. Only she utters words laced with poison, not sweetness.
I let the Baleful Hunt shine through my eyes and enjoy watching their charms tremble as they quake with fear. “You three are obviously failing in the one job you have. Look at the state of this room. Soon, she will be swallowed by the very nature that feeds her.” I give a dramatic pause, then tap my chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps it is time for Peablossom to return to the palace. She has, after all, heeded my instructions to the letter since she was banished.”
Their bevy of apologies sounds like water gushing onto a tin roof. Their attention to my beloved disgusts me. But for them to toe the line, I can’t push them over it. I must tread carefully to wake without a thorn wedged between my shoulder blades during the night.
“Leave us,” I demand. “I will fix your ineptitude myself.”
