Page 8 of A City of Emeralds and Envy
My brain revolts, denying what I see. I have to close my eyes again andbreathe.
When I was in Faerie last time, I didn’t see anything beyond the White Rabbit’s home and the Dread Court. But Clara told me how startlingly beautiful the landscape of Faerie can be—that its glory can overcome the human mind.
A place this gorgeously overwhelminghasto be Faerie.
Breathe, breathe. Then just a glimpse.
I inhale, then release the air slowly, three times.
Cautiously I open my eyes again.
There are people staring at me—Fae, not humans, lots of them, all robed in blue, but I can’t look too carefully at them yet. I need to acclimate to my surroundings first.
Behind the crowd of Fae lies a village. Houses built of blue-gray stone, their domed roofs thatched with blue grass. Balconies draped in glittering blue ivy. Multicolored flowers as glossy as varnished wood.
Gleaming white quartz paves the streets instead of cobblestones. In the distance, beyond the buildings, I glimpse bits of a high wall.
Trees grow here and there between the houses, each ten times the height of the average Fae male. The trunks are smooth and soft green until the top quarter of the tree, where azure foliage bursts out in shining abundance against a pale blue sky.
I’ve never seen such trees. If only I could study them—but I have a more pressing desire, and that is to find out where I am, so I know how close I might be to Caer and Riordan.
My brain feels clearer now. This place is truly dazzling, but I don’t think I’ll go mad from it. Maybe my previous visit to Faerie did immunize me a bit, despite my limited exposure to the landscape.
I drop my gaze from the trees to the Fae. Some have wings or horns, and they all have a stark, preternatural beauty. Every one of them wears the same color and style of hooded blue robe, with adjustments for their physical differences. Many have tattoos decorating their faces, throats, or hands. Odd, because I never saw any Fae with tattoos at the Dread Court.
“Is this the Seelie Kingdom?” I ask.
“The Seelie Kingdom?” A woman steps forward, her ochre skin contrasting with the navy blue of her tunic. Bright pink freckles dot her cheeks, and she has a pair of translucent dragonfly wings, pink-tinged, that remind me of the Sugarplum Faerie. How I wish he and Clara were here to help me befriend these Fae! But at least we all speak a common language. The human realm is similar to Faerie in some ways—the other side of the coin, as Riordan once told me.
“She thinks this is the Seelie Kingdom,” repeats the freckled Fae woman, glancing over her shoulder at the others. They chuckle quietly. I can’t tell if the sound is friendly or not.
“You’re on the Isle of Oz, love,” says the woman. “I thought you would know that, given where you landed—a spot too well-chosen for coincidence. You knew what you wanted to destroy, didn’t you?”
“Have we smashed someone’s house?” I gasp, turning around.
Fiero followed me out, and he’s nosing at something along the edge of the half-collapsed barn—a pair of bare gray legs sticking out at strange angles. Blood soaks the blue grass where the legs disappear under the barn.
Slowly my hand comes up to cover my mouth. I turn back to the winged Fae woman, dread throbbing in my heart. “We killed someone. I’m so sorry—”
The Fae woman steps forward quickly, right into my space, speaking in a low, urgent tone. “Pretend you meant to do it, human. They’ll be far less likely to kill you.”
Horror clenches my gut, but on my last visit to Faerie I learned to be adaptable. To hide the depth of my shock over what I saw and heard.
“I’m so sorry—that we didn’t smash that person sooner,” I amend loudly. “They had it coming.”
The Fae woman winks one sparkling pink eye at me. She is some kind of leader in this place, judging from her behavior. “The East Witch did indeed have it coming, as we all know too well,” she says to the gathered Fae. “That bitch has terrorized our village long enough. Thanks to this lovely human sorceress, we’ve been freed from the East Witch’s thrall.”
My mind races, taking in the information, gauging the expressions of the crowd. I know what a witch or sorcerer is in my realm, but here in Faerie, where everyone has magic, the word “witch” must have another meaning. Explanations will have to wait—first I need to solidify our standing with these Fae.
Shuffling footsteps from inside the barn catch my ear, and as Dorothy emerges, I speak quickly, loudly. “I wish I could take credit for freeing you from the Witch who kept you in thrall, but I am not the sorceress. The power belongs to her.” I point to Dorothy, who leans in the barn doorway, looking taller than usual in the silver heels.
“She wears the shoes!” cries the Fae woman beside me. “She is indeed the one responsible for the East Witch’s death!”
The leader of the village touches her forehead and bows slightly, and every other Fae in the group repeats the gesture toward Dorothy.
Dorothy glances sidelong at me, then bends to collect Fiero, cradling him in her arms, fondling his ears as she takes in the body pinned beneath the barn, the crowd of Fae, and our surroundings. Unlike me, she doesn’t seem overwhelmed by the exotic beauty of the landscape. Her gaze holds wonder, delight, and a sharp satisfaction, but not rapturous awe or dazzled madness. She smiles, quiet and cool, while blood drips down the side of her face.
And in that moment I realize my neighbor Dorothy is far from what she appears to be.
