Page 16 of Sons of Sorrow
“The special garment I measured,” Satchel said, clearing his throat. “I helped too, you know. By taking your measurements while you slept.”
Satchel’s wings buzzed as he landed and took a seat on my shoulder. He was holding a petit four in both hands, something pastel and pink with a slice of strawberry on top. He bit into the cake, as big as his head, his mouth smeared with cream and crumbs.
“You guys are the worst.” I shook my head and laughed. “You guys are the best.”
Soon even the palace pixies had their fill of the banquet, flitting back out of the feasting hall to return to their gardens. Satchel waved us goodbye, arms still loaded with petit fours, though intent on frolicking with his little friends.
Not that I minded at all, of course. There was plenty to do at my surprise party, including dancing to what I presumed to be live music, except I couldn’t find the musicians anywhere. I laughed as Sylvain gathered me up in his arms, luring me into a dance.
“Typical,” I whispered in his ear, meaning it as a joke. “My eidolon taking the lead.”
Sylvain chuckled and whispered back. “You’re free to take the lead whenever you like, oh summoner.”
I tried not to swoon. I let him guide me across the floor, laughing, leaning into the dance whenever he attempted to dip me. As expected, Prince Sylvain was very good on his feet, possibly from those years of lessons that he and Yvette were exposed to.
Part of their courtly education, in addition to endless lessons in fae history, governance. And plenty of practice drills with various weapons, of course, leading to Sylvain’s preference for the sword as well as Yvette’s expertise with the bow and arrow.
Sylvain pretended to complain about how joyless his upbringing had been, but he always appreciated everything he’d learned. And both he and Yvette had told me that Queen Aurelia had softened over the years, allowing them more and more freedom as they grew older.
The queen was actually dancing herself not far from us, led through her spins and dips by Dulcifer. No romance blossoming there, as far as I knew, since Dulcifer had mentioned being quite happy in his relationship with his wife. Still, Aurelia was all smiles, a heartwarming sight to behold.
And then I realized that all her smiles were aimed in our direction. She looked upon Sylvain with fondness, and me with — gods above and below. Was that approval? From the chilly Queen of Autumn herself?
With the celebration winding down even more, the party trimmed to only the four of us sitting around a small table, the royal family of the Autumn Court, and me, a human peasant. This was so different from the first time, not that Aurelia and Yvette had actually treated me unkindly. Apart from their preemptive threats about me breaking Sylvain’s heart, that is.
There was genuine warmth to this, how I had to take very small sips of my sweet wine to keep Yvette from refilling my glass so often. Aurelia, a high fae queen, took it upon herself to serve me more and more slices of cake.
I goggled at the mountain of sugary goodness in front of me. It was very pretty, and very delicious, too, but I knew I wouldn’t survive eating that much cake. I picked at it just enough to appear polite, distracting the royals with smiles and laughter.
Sylvain eyed my plate, then quirked his mouth. “Might I offer you some more sweets, my sweet?”
I glowered at him when the others weren’t looking. “I have plenty, my prince. You just worry about that wine you haven’t touched since we sat down here.”
He shot me a scowl, then gave a conciliatory shrug that said “Touché.”
Queen Aurelia brandished her cake knife like a dagger, her other hand balancing a tray holding an extravagantly frosted monstrosity. “Please, Lochlann. Won’t you have some more?”
I shook my head and chuckled, sliding my plate slowly toward me. There was a time when I would have suspected she was trying to fatten me up before she had me slaughtered and scattered throughout the royal forests for the local wildlife.
But I recognized the coo in her voice, her gentle coddling. It was motherly fondness. The woman meant to spoil me with treats until I exploded. I smiled, eager to accept any warmth she was willing to give.
“There’s still so much I need to work through, Your Highness. But could I ask you something? These decorations. They’re beautiful, though not at all what I was expecting. The craftsmanship is exquisite, but all these flowers and sprigs — it’s not exactly very autumnal, is it?”
“Consider it aspirational,” Queen Aurelia said with a wink. “An innocent homage to Spring, or perhaps Summer. Seeing the colors of the Autumn Court on a daily basis does dull its splendor, somewhat. So our pastry chef has taken it upon himself to add a splash of greenery. Something verdant for the Verdance, if you will.”
“Green leaves, a splash of green,” Yvette said, raising her cup so abruptly that a bit of wine sloshed onto the table. She didn’t even notice Queen Aurelia’s disapproving stare. “Oops. Now there’s a splash of red, too. Sorry, mother.”
Aurelia pursed her lips, but said nothing. Yvette was having a grand time, chugging on all the wine that we refused. It was nice to see her let her hair down for once, having to put up this tough exterior at court, seeing as she was next in line.
The redness in her cheeks suggested that she didn’t indulge in drink very often. She raised her glass again, like a tentative toast meant for Sylvain. “Fresh and crisp and pretty, just like your leaves, eh, Sylvain?”
I didn’t expect Sylvain to respond with silence. He looked into each of our faces, settling on Queen Aurelia’s last. “Yes. Green leaves. I’ve asked you about that before, Mother.”
The queen dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “And I’ll repeat what I told you then, Sylvain. Our high fae magics manifest in a great variety of ways. Does it truly matter in the end? Here in the Autumn Court, the leaves are brown. They bend to your will.”
“And yet when I conjure them on Earth, they are not.” Sylvain curled his fingers, studying the palm of his hand. “Shouldn’t an Autumn Prince’s talents be linked to that of his court? His kingdom? His season?”
“It’s just a color,” Yvette whispered, this time almost contrite, like she was sorry she’d brought the whole thing up to begin with. I was feeling sorry, too, both for her unnecessary guilt as well as for Sylvain’s building confusion.
