“Really?”
“Of course,” Gwen answered. “She’s horrible to us when she visits, and her daughter Ana isn’t much better. It’s no wonder she can’t find a husband.” Gwen climbed into bed and continued, “I hope for your sake, though, that she does soon. At least then you won’t have to deal with her anymore.”
“One can only hope,” Ash said grimly. She got into bed as well, but she couldn’t sleep, and after lying uncomfortably still for too long, she decided it was better to leave Gwen in peace.
Downstairs in the kitchen the fire was banked, but when she knelt down on the hearth, the stones were still warm. She held her hands out to the embers for a moment and then sat down, leaning against the chimney. She wondered whether it was snowing in the Wood. It had begun to snow shortly after they arrived in the City that afternoon, and already the ground was thinly blanketed in white. It would be a cold night in the Wood, but in the morning the tracks of the deer would be clear and sharp, and it would be child’s play to uncover them. She fell in and out of a fitful sleep, dreaming of the Wood and the clean, unbroken snow beneath her feet. She thought she saw a doe, her huge, glossy eyes peeking out from behind an evergreen, but then it was only the vanishing tail of a bounding rabbit, leaving long, trailing pawprints in the snow. She thought she smelled the scent of pine burning: a spicy, woodsy scent from a campfire. But then she heard the cook’s voice saying, “Goodness, it’s you again—you never change, do you? Get upstairs and get dressed; it’s time to serve the ladies breakfast.”
Ash opened her eyes, blinking in the morning light, and saw the cook looking at her with her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry,” Ash began, but the cook interrupted her.
“I’m sure I don’t know why you prefer to sleep on the floor rather than in a nice bed, but it doesn’t matter. Hurry up and get ready; Lady Isobel won’t be kept waiting.”
That entire day as she attended to Ana’s and Clara’s demands, she felt as if she were only partially there. She worked methodically, but her mind wandered to Sidhean, to Kaisa, to the last time she had seen her, the fairy gown on her skin like a live creature. She helped Ana dress, lacing her into the tight bodice until her stepsister gasped for breath; she braided Ana’s hair with green ribbons and strung an ornate gold choker around her neck; she listened with a carefully blank expression on her face as Ana complained about the fit and cut and drape of the gown. Every hour that passed brought her closer to the moment when she would see Kaisa. She helped her stepsisters and stepmother into their elaborate fur cloaks after they had dined with their cousins on a light meal, and she stood on the front step with the other servants as their hired carriages came to take them to the palace. And when Gwen snaked her arm into hers and whispered, “Come upstairs and get dressed—you are coming with us tonight,” she did not object. She knew that the King’s Huntress would come to the City Square that night, as tradition demanded.
But as Gwen put on her costume—“I am going to be a rich merchant,” she said—Ash only sat quietly in the window. “Do you want me to find you something to wear?” Gwen asked, looking at Ash in the mirror, but Ash shook her head.
“No, thank you,” she said. “Don’t go to the trouble.”
“But you cannot go to the Square in your work dress,” Gwen objected, turning to look at her.
So Ash took out the fairy cloak, which she had impulsively brought with her, and watched Gwen’s eyes widen as the silvery length of it spread out on her bed. “I will wear this,” said Ash, “and no one will know that I am only wearing my servant’s dress underneath.” When she put it on, she reached into the interior pocket and felt the moonstone ring there. But instead of sliding it onto her finger, she transferred it to the pocket of her dress, where she could feel it against her hip. He knew that she was coming.
Despite Lady Isobel’s command that Ash remain at the house, none of the servants seemed inclined to enforce her directions, and they happily exclaimed at Ash’s fine cloak and made room for her in the wagon that they took to the City Square. When they arrived, Ash followed them into the center of the Square where hundreds of people were gathered around a huge bonfire; the smoke of it rose like the breath of a great dragon. North of the Square she could see the white spires of the palace lit up for the ball that was to take place that night, and all around her the voices of the revelers rang out like bells. Ash wondered who Prince Aidan would choose as his bride that night, and she wondered how disappointed her stepsisters would be when it was not one of them.
She let Gwen pull her into the ring of dancers circling the bonfire, and as they whirled around to the sound of drums and pipes, each step she took brought her closer to the raucous, joyful merriment of that night. Slowly, the dazed feeling that had hung like a cloud around her for weeks began to clear away. At last she could feel the hard stones of the Square beneath her feet, the fabric of her dress as it swung around her legs, the heat from the bonfire on her cheeks. As the people swayed and stamped and sung their way around the bonfire, Ash knew that this was what the fairies were always hunting for: a circle of joy, hot and brilliant, the scent of love in the deepest winter. But all they could do was create a pale, crystalline imitation, perfect and cold. How it must disappoint them: that they would never be human.
When the Royal Hunt arrived with their purses full of gold, she watched them circle the Square and then fling out sparkling coins to the cheering revelers. She saw Kaisa on her bay mare, her black velvet cloak fluttering behind her as she rode; but instead of dismounting to join the revelers, the hunt soon rode out of the Square and continued on toward the palace. “Why are they not staying?” Ash asked Gwen anxiously.
“Tonight the prince is to announce the name of his bride,” Gwen said. “You know that, don’t you? They are going to the ball, of course.”
Ash looked at Gwen and at the revelers dancing around the bonfire, and the flickering flames cast all their faces in gold. She felt the time left to her dwindling away, but she was resolved: She must go to Kaisa. Without saying a word, she turned away from Gwen and began to walk toward the edge of the Square. She did not look back when Gwen called after her, and as soon as she broke free of the crowd, she quickened her pace so that she would not lose her nerve.
The streets were empty that night, and above her the sky was clear. She could see the stars, sharp and bright, and the half-moon glowed in the east. The palace had not seemed far away, but it was situated high on the crest of a hill, and she had to walk up streets that grew steeper and steeper as she drew closer to it. On the last stretch of avenue that led up to the main gates, carriages lined the roadway, and footmen and drivers were standing about on the side of the road, laughing and talking to each other. Several of them turned to watch her as she walked past them, and one asked if she were late to the ball, but she did not answer. When she reached the iron gates to the palace grounds, the guards asked for her invitation, and she said, “Is not every eligible woman invited? You must let me through.”
The guards looked at each other, and the older one said gruffly, “Go on. You’re late as it is.”
She continued up the avenue toward the palace, past the courtyard where her fairy carriage had deposited her on Souls Night, through the gilded gates and into the great hall to the entrance of the ballroom. She stood just inside the entryway and looked out over the sea of dancers. She saw women in violet silk and burgundy satin, with their golden and black and auburn hair bound in jewels or ribbons, and she saw men dressed in black and sapphire and green velvet. On the dais on the right side of the ballroom the King and Queen were enthroned, and at the King’s right hand was the King’s Huntress. Ash took a deep breath and began to walk across the ballroom, pushing through the revelers as best she could. It was like picking her way through the wildest part of the Wood in the dark, for people stood in her way and stared at her as she tried to pass them. Though she was wearing the fairy cloak, she wore no jewels, and her hair was inelegantly short. They did not know if she were a lost serv
ant or an unwelcome interloper. She did not know if she could actually do what she had decided to do, for it seemed reckless—as reckless, she guessed, as Sidhean had said she was.
By the time she reached the dais, those who were seated at the King’s table had seen her approaching, for her path across the ballroom had not been smooth. As she went up the steps, a servant came to block her way, and she thought she must surely have looked a bit crazed, but she said, “Please, I am here to see the huntress.” And there, before her, was Kaisa, who had recognized her as she made her way to the dais.
“Let her pass,” she said to the servant, who looked dubious but backed away as instructed. Kaisa looked at Ash, standing several steps below her, and said uncertainly, “Ash? Are you all right?”
With her heart hammering in her throat, Ash asked, “Will you do me the honor of dancing with me?” She looked up at Kaisa, and the huntress’s look of bewilderment was changing, slowly, to a small, tentative smile. It steadied Ash, and she extended her hand across the distance.
Kaisa came down the steps, took her hand, and said, “Yes.”
Ash felt as if her whole being had come to rest in her fingertips where they touched Kaisa’s hand, and it did not matter that several of the revelers had come toward the dais and were watching them, their mouths open, for this was one of the more unusual things ever to happen at a Yule ball. She and Kaisa turned down the steps to go back to the dance floor, and when her fairy cloak became tangled around her legs, she unclasped it with her free hand and let it fall onto the steps. The music had stopped when she was making her way up the dais, but now as they stood facing each other on the dance floor, the musicians began playing again, and Ash said, slightly horrified, “I do not know how to dance.” She was wearing only her ordinary shoes now, and she suspected that they would not be as skilled as those fairy slippers that had saved her on Souls Night.
Kaisa broke into laughter, and it was a good, solid laugh, and soon enough Ash could not help but laugh with her. When they had recovered enough to look around them, Kaisa said, “It is only a pavane. Come, the steps are simple.” The couples had recommenced the dance when it had appeared that the huntress and her mysterious guest were too consumed with laughter to join them, but it was easy enough to link their arms together and slip into the procession. They passed Prince Aidan, who was dancing with a woman who was decidedly neither of Ash’s stepsisters, and he smiled at them as they went by. Ash thought she might have seen her stepmother through the crowd, her face white with surprise, but then they reached the end of the processional and Kaisa said, “Come, we can leave the ball behind for a moment.”
She led Ash toward the doors to the garden, but instead of going outside they went through a doorway into a servants’ corridor, where waiters were rushing by with flagons of wine. Though they looked at them curiously, Kaisa paid no attention, and took Ash through a swinging wooden door into a deserted antechamber. The floor was inlaid with polished wood in the shape of a star, and above them a wrought iron chandelier held a dozen burning candles. Huge tapestries depicting landscapes hung on three walls: green farming valleys, the wild coast of the sea, and the Wood. “Where are we?” Ash asked.
“That is the throne room,” Kaisa said, pointing to the closed double doors in the fourth wall.
Ash realized that she was still holding the huntress’s hand, and she became suddenly self-conscious. “I think I made a scene,” she said apologetically. Kaisa burst into laughter again, and Ash laughed, too, for it did seem quite funny. As their laughter died, Kaisa pulled her closer. She twined her fingers in Ash’s hair—“This is something new,” she murmured—and kissed her. Ash felt her entire body move toward her, as if every aspect of her being was reorienting itself to this woman, and they could not be close enough.
She became aware of the other feeling gradually, for it was swimming against the current within her: Sidhean’s pain and sorrow, rising up like a beast, and it pushed itself between the two of them. Ash put her hands on Kaisa’s shoulders and pushed back, gasping for breath. “I am sorry,” Ash said miserably, tears filling her eyes.
“What is it?” Kaisa asked, and looked at her with much tenderness.
Ash took Kaisa’s hands in hers and looked down, unable to meet her eyes. The cuffs of Kaisa’s black sleeves were embroidered with gold serpents, and their eyes glittered with tiny red garnets. She said in an unsteady voice, “I came here so that I might see you before…before I go. I must go and settle my debt.”
Kaisa lifted her right hand to brush a strand of Ash’s hair behind her ear, and she cupped her cheek in her palm. “What is your debt?” she asked softly.
“It is my own, and no other’s,” Ash said. In her mind’s eye she saw Sidhean pacing by the crystal fountain, and she felt pity for him, for now she knew what it was to be in love.
The realization hit her hard, and she was stunned by it. A memory flooded into her: She was at her mother’s grave, and she heard her mother’s voice in her ear. There will come a change, and you will know what to do. The knowledge of love had changed her. It focused what had once been a blur; it turned her world around and presented her with a new landscape. Now, she would do anything to bring Kaisa happiness. And if the knowledge of love could change her, would it not also change Sidhean? She began to think that there might be a way out, after all.
She raised her eyes to look at the huntress, and Kaisa’s eyes were wet with tears.
“Are you coming back?” Kaisa asked.
“I hope so,” Ash said. She stepped away from her, gently, and then turned to go. She did not let herself look back.
In the ballroom, dancer after dancer gaped at her as she fled. At last she passed into the great hall and then was outside, where the night air was cold against her flushed skin. She realized that she had left her cloak somewhere in the ballroom, but she could not go back. She left the palace grounds and continued down the sloping avenue, and when she neared the sounds of the crowd in the City Square, she went on.
By the time she reached the City gates, she had become numb to the cold, though the road was covered in a thin layer of snow and her breath steamed into the chilly air. The moon was overhead by now, and as she walked she watched it slowly descend toward the west. She did not know how long she walked—time seemed to be compressed, as it was when she had walked to Rook Hill. She felt almost frozen when she at last reached West Riding, but she did not stop at Quinn House even though her teeth chattered from the cold. She hunted for the path at the edge of the Wood, but the snow had obscured all traces of it. Finally she entered the forest near the main hunting road, but after only a few feet the trail disappeared. She did not know which way to turn, and the freshly fallen snow had erased all the familiar landmarks. So she simply chose a direction, picking her way around tree roots and snowdrifts, until finally she came to a small clearing where the snow had not fallen. In the center was a crystal fountain, and when she saw it, water sprang from the leaves of a diamond hawthorn tree. Just beyond the crystal fountain there was a small round table and two familiar chairs. She heard a step behind her and turned to see that Sidhean was standing in the dark between the trees, where he had been waiting for her.
“You are nearly frozen,” said Sidhean, and he took the cloak he was wearing and placed it around her shoulders. He put his arms around her, and her feet and hands burned with pain as she slowly warmed up. As they stood together, she began to hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and her breathing slowed to match his, until she felt as though they were nearly one being.
Dragging herself away from him took every ounce of courage she had, and when at last she was free and had put a hand’s breadth of cold night air between them, she looked up at his shadowed eyes and said, “Sidhean, for many years, you have been my only friend, though such a friendship is by definition a queer one, for your people and mine are not meant to love one another. But you said that you have been cursed to love me, and I have realized that if the curse is strong—and if
you truly love me—then you will set me free.” She paused, drawing a ragged breath, and took the moonstone ring out of her pocket and put it into the palm of his hand. She said: “It will end here tonight. I will be yours for this one night, and then the curse shall be broken.”
“One night in my world is not the same as one night in yours.”
“But morning always comes,” she said.
He stood in silence for a long moment, but at last he bowed his head. “Very well. It will end here tonight.” She saw him, then, as clearly as she might ever see him. He was more powerful and more seductive than any human she would ever know, but faced with her, he would do her bidding. She felt as though she were a lion uncurling from a long nap, and she wanted to flex her claws.
All around them the Wood was changing, shifting, as if a veil were being lifted and she was finally allowed to see what was behind it. He stepped back and extended his hand to her.
She asked, “Will I die?”
He answered, “Only a little,” and she put her hand in his, and she felt the ring between their palms, burning like a brand.
Chapter XXI
When she awoke, the mid morning sun was slanting into the clearing where she lay on the ground. Above her the trees were in full leaf, and the air was as warm as midsummer. She stretched lazily and blinked against the clear golden light, feeling as though she had slept so well she might never have to sleep again. With a yawn she sat up and saw that a low table nearby was set with breakfast for one. She ate sweet bread and segments of orange and ripe cherries, and drank a light, warm tea that invigorated her. As she set down the teacup she noticed something on her right hand, and she turned her palm up to the sunlight and saw a pale, circular scar. She blinked slowly, for her memory was strangely blurred. She closed her eyes briefly, and beneath the scent of growing things was the faintest perfume of jasmine. She remembered, for one fleeting moment, a hunt dressed all in white; a garden of lushly blooming roses; Sidhean beside her. When she opened her eyes again, the table had vanished. She knew that when she left this place, she would never see it again.