Page 81 of Charmless
“Mine.” He took a long swallow directly from the bottle. He hiccupped on another sigh and began his tale. “A long time ago, there lived a distant cousin of our good Queen Anthea.”
“Cuthbert Helavalerian,” I said. “My history book said that because the queen had no issue, when she was dying, she invited Lord Cuthbert to assume the throne.”
Withypole snorted. “Invited? The queen had no choice. Cuthbert was a scheming, ambitious man. When he raised a large army, Anthea realized she could not prevent Arcady from falling into his evil hands. Her grandson was a mere babe. The only way to protect the infant from Cuthbert was to allow the world to believe the child had died. The queen’s last act before she perished was to consign her beloved grandchild to the care of the only beings powerful enough to protect him.”
“The fairies?”
Withypole nodded. “Guardianship of the child was assigned to Marigold Stufflebeam, the most beautiful and gifted of all the fairies. She could cure suffering with the touch of her hand or ease the worst of pain with but one sweet breath. Marigold had even mastered the art of prophecy. She foresaw the future and predicted it would be several generations before the throne could be reclaimed for Queen Anthea’s bloodline.”
Withypole swallowed thickly. “I completely adored Marigold and hoped one day she would accept me for her mate.”
“Wait!” I said. “You were alive during Queen Anthea’s time? How oldareyou?”
“Time passes differently for fairies than you mortals. We can live for centuries. I was not quite a hundred years old in your years when the queen died. A mere lad.”
I gaped at him. Ordinarily I would have been bursting with questions about all the history Withypole must have witnessed, especially regarding my heroine, Queen Anthea the Magnificently Wise. But I needed to keep Withypole focused on his tale. As he took another swallow from the bottle, his eyes glittered. Was that how a fairy looked when he was becoming hopelessly drunk?
I longed to wrestle the bottle away from him, but feared if I did so, Withypole would stop talking or worse, curse me with one of his mind-altering fairy spells. Gripping my hands tightly together, I urged him to go with his tale.
“We fairies hid the young prince and obscured his heritage. Marigold devised the orb so we could prove the true heir’s identity when the time was right. Decades passed and the prince grew to manhood and fathered a son and in turn, his child had a child and so forth. Meanwhile, dark days fell upon our kingdom, especially for the fairies.
“Cuthbert had ever been suspicious about the existence of a rightful prince and the fairies’ role in concealing him. The king began to persecute my folk with harsh laws, condemning many of us to the dread punishment of having our wings crushed.”
Withypole shuddered and took another swig from the bottle. He rubbed the hump upon his back where his own wings were concealed. “There is nothing worse you can do to a fairy. It would be far kinder to kill us outright.”
I nodded sympathetically. “My father often read to me from a book on fairy lore. I was so angry and disappointed when Papa explained to me why there were no more fairies to be found in Arcady. I desperately longed to meet one.”
I must have been regarding Withypole rather wistfully because he cringed.
“You don’t need to be pleased to make my acquaintance, girl,” he said dourly. “I am a very poor specimen of my race.”
He took a long swallow from the bottle and hiccupped. I feared Withypole might be reaching that stage of drunkenness that Mal had always referred to as ‘pickled brain.’ The fairy’s eyes had become as glassy as a frozen pond, but as he continued his tale, his speech remained astonishingly clear, except for the hint of a slur.
“Even after Cuthbert died, his heirs continued their persecution of the fairies. The exorbitant tax placed upon our wings was the final insult. One by one, the fairies all fled to live in a hidden realm far north of Arcady. Marigold was forced to remain to fulfill her duties as guardian of the heir and the orb. And I was unwilling to abandon my beloved.”
“Marigold and I were forced to live in disguise, but each day brought us closer to the time when the true heir could be revealed. I could scarce contain my impatience because as soon as Marigold’s duty to the heir was at an end, I intended to reveal the depth of my feelings and beg her to be mine.”
Withypole heaved a great sigh. “What a happy, glorious day that would have been. We formed a group to prepare for Anthea’s heir reclaiming the throne. The league consisted of me, Marigold, your father, Hiram Hawkridge and Sidney Greenleaf.”
“Greenleaf?” I echoed in astonishment. “The Great Mercato?”
Withypole snorted. “He wasn’t the great anything then, merely Hawkridge’s apprentice, a wizard of little ability.”
“Modest?” I protested. “He invented the Aura Chamber and the witch-warding staff and -and that secret device for spying in the king’s treasury room.”
“Bah. Those were all of Hiram’s designs. Greenleaf stole them. He pretended to be aligned with the goals of our league, but at some point, he decided his road to power lay with the Helavalerians rather than any unknown heir. He began by removing one obstacle to his ambition, Hiram Hawkridge. Youmay not be aware, but at one time Hiram was King August’s chief wizard.”
“I know. Mal told me how his grandfather lost his post when he was accused of putting truth serum in the king’s drink. Mr. Hawkridge claimed it must have been an accident, but?—”
“It was no accident,” Withypole said fiercely. “Hiram might have believed that, but I suspected all along that somehow Sidney Greenleaf was behind it. He got Hiram ousted and took his place. Thus, the Great Mercato was born.”
Withypole startled me by reaching across the table and seizing my wrist in a painful grip. “No matter what happens, Ella, you must never,nevertrust Mercato. Even if he pretends to be your friend.”
“Of course, I won’t, but?—”
Withypole’s fingers dug into my skin. “Promise me!”
“Ouch! I promise! Now let me go.”
