“It is like magic,” Ash whispered.
Her mother smiled at her, her hand touching her hair. “Yes, my love, it is.”
That night, after all the guests had gone and all the remains of the party were cleared away, Ash was exhausted. But lying beside Gwen in her small attic chamber, she could not find a comfortable position on the straw ticking. She was afraid to move and disturb Gwen’s rest, but she couldn’t keep still and ended up pressing herself as close to the edge of the bed as possible.
She wondered whether Sidhean and his kind marked Yule in the same way that humans did. In all the stories she had read or heard, the fairies seemed to do nothing more than drink and dance, enjoying a life of leisure and frivolity. But Sidhean had always seemed, to Ash, to harbor an unexplained sadness. Why, if he and his kind were so content—if they celebrated Yule, so to speak, all year—why did he spend those nights walking with her? When they had first begun their unusual companionship, she had expected that he would soon do as all his kind were believed to do, and take her away with him. She was not sure what would await her on the other side, but she had wanted to know. Even an eternity serving him—especially him—seemed like no worse, and possibly much better, than a mere human lifetime serving Lady Isobel. Now, she no longer knew what he was planning to do. Why had he not claimed her already? What was he waiting for?
Lying awake in the City, Ash could hear Gwen’s steady breathing in the dark, and she felt the distance between her and Sidhean for the first time, and it made her long for him. She turned over onto her side and closed her eyes, trying to force herself to sleep. But in her mind’s eye all she could see was him, and she wanted to be with him, all of his cold strangeness. She wanted to take his hand, and she wanted him to pull her onto his horse, and they would go through the dark Wood at midnight, the moon a pale crescent above. They would ride to that crystal city where it is said that the fairies have their grandest palace, and she would know, at last, what Kathleen had known.
When Ash woke up, Gwen was still asleep, and the early dawn light was sliding through the gaps in the shutters over the dormer window. She gingerly eased herself out of bed to avoid waking Gwen, and dressed as quietly as possible. Tiptoeing down the stairs to the kitchen, she saw that the embers had burned low in the hearth and none of the servants was yet awake. She sat down on the warm hearthstones and put her head in her hands, feeling tired and disoriented. When the cook came into the kitchen an hour later, she found Ash asleep on the hearth, her head pillowed on her arms and her knees drawn close to her body, soot clinging to her dress.
Chapter IX
The Yule celebrations that week were grander than anything Ash had ever experienced. Every night, Ash helped Ana dress for a different banquet or ball, and when her stepsister finally departed, she had to prepare the next night’s gown. Her stepmother had spared no expense for her eldest daughter that year; there was a different gown for each night, and each one was more magnificent than the one before. It was disorienting for Ash, who was accustomed to the quiet of Quinn House; the bustling kitchen of the Page Street mansion and the number of servants going about their tasks were dizzying. Gwen had appointed herself Ash’s guide for the week, and Gwen herself was like no other girl Ash had ever known. She was sweet, and prone to fits of the giggles, and blushed every time any young man said a word to her. In comparison, Ash felt clumsy and shy, and sometimes she caught herself staring at Gwen as if she were some kind of exotic bird about to take flight.
On the last night of Yule week there was a royal masque held at the palace, where Prince Aidan would himself be attending. That afternoon Ana was in a mighty temper, complaining that Ash had forgotten the lace mantle that was to be worn over the purple velvet bodice, and when Ash found it wedged mysteriously behind the dressing table, Ana fumed that Ash was out to sabotage her. By the time Ana and the rest of the household departed in hired carriages for the masque, Ash was so frustrated with her stepsister that she felt certain she would have sabotaged her if the chance arose. But Ana managed to escape the house unscathed, and Ash watched the front door close on her velvet-and-feather-and-silk ensemble with relief. She sank down onto the bottom step of the staircase and was still sitting there a few minutes later when Gwen emerged from the dining room, a stack of clothes in her arms.
“What are you doing?” Gwen asked, her face flushed with excitement. “It’s almost time to go!”
“Go where?” Ash asked warily. “Lady Isobel did not want me to attend them at the royal masque.”
Gwen laughed. “Oh, not there—we’re going to the City Square,” she explained, shaking out the clothes to reveal a pair of blue velvet breeches and a matching jacket. “Did you bring your costume?”
Ash shook her head and said, “No, I don’t have anything like that.”
Gwen frowned. “Well, you can’t go in your maid’s dress. We’ll have to find something for you. Wait here,” she commanded, and went back into the dining room. She returned several minutes later with a slender young man whom Ash recognized as part of the household staff. Gwen said, “This is Colin; he’ll let you borrow his old liveries.” And then Gwen ran upstairs, shouting behind her, “Hurry! We’re all leaving in a quarter of an hour.”
Colin motioned for her to follow him. “I’m in the back,” he said. She walked with him to the male servants’ quarters at the rear of the house, where Colin’s small, square room was found. His roommate, a tall, skinny boy who worked in the stable, was cocking a velvet cap onto his head and preening in front of the small mirror nailed to the back of the door. Colin opened the trunk at the foot of his bed and pulled out dark blue breeches and a white waistcoat, a white shirt with unfolded cravat, and a dark blue overcoat. “These should fit you,” Colin said, piling the items into Ash’s arms. “They’re too small for me now.”
“Thank you for letting me borrow them,” she said.
He straightened up, grinned at her, and said, “You’re welcome.”
They stood awkwardly together for a moment, and then Ash said, “Well, I’d better go upstairs and get dressed.”
He nodded. “We’re meeting in the front hall.”
“All right then,” she mumbled, and backed out of the room.
Upstairs Gwen was tying her hair back, but even dressed as a boy, Gwen’s figure was unmistakably feminine. She smiled at Ash and asked, “Did Colin find something for you to wear?”
Ash nodded. “Yes, he gave me these.” She set the clothing down on the bed and looked at the pile.
“Excellent; we’ll be page boys together,” Gwen said, applying the finishing touches to her costume. “If I can’t go as a queen, I suppose this will have to do.” Finally satisfied with her appearance, she turned to leave the room, then paused and asked, “Do you want me to help you?”
Ash shook her head. “I’ll be all right—go ahead and I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“Ten minutes, not more,” Gwen reminded her, then left and pulled the door shut behind her.
When she was alone, Ash unbuttoned her dress and pulled it over her head, folding it carefully at the foot of the bed. She pulled off her petticoat and her shoes, and stood for a moment in the room in her camisole, her arms crossed over her chest, until she realized that the air was too chilly to be standing around undressed. It felt strange to be invited to go anywhere, and part of her just wanted to stay in Gwen’s room alone and not have to talk to anyone. But Gwen had been so kind to her—an unexpected friend—that Ash did not want to disappoint her, so she pulled on the shirt and tucked it into the breeches. The fastenings were strange and felt backward, and the breeches were a little too large. She buttoned the waistcoat snugly over the shirt and sat down to lace on her boots, then pulled her hair back and tucked it beneath the high collar before tying the cravat around her neck. When she shrugged on the overcoat and went to look in the mirror, Ash saw someone else—a boy with a proud profile and dark, long-lashed eyes. Although Gwen had looked like the same girl wearing her brother’s clot
hes, Ash looked like a stranger. And if she looked nothing like herself, she thought, then she couldn’t possibly be herself. Perhaps her entire life—all her memories, thoughts, emotions—would melt away from her, leaving only the flesh-and-bone shell behind. She blinked at herself slowly, but in the mirror she looked the same: unrecognizable.
Downstairs the servants were laughing in the front hall. She could hear them as she walked down the back stairs, her hand sliding down the polished wooden banister. When she rounded the last corner, Gwen saw her and squealed, “Look at Ash!” Gwen ran up the stairs to grab her hand and pull her down. “You look magnificent,” she said, beaming.
Before she could reply, the butler began herding them out the door and into the wagon waiting in the courtyard. Squashed between the parlor maid dressed in riding leathers and the cook dressed as a king, Ash took the bottle of brandy they pressed into her hand and sipped at it, the bite of the liquid making her cough in surprise. They all laughed at her and patted her on the back, urging her to take another drink. By the time the wagon arrived at the Square, she felt pleasantly numb to the chill air. A massive bonfire was burning at the center, which had been emptied of market stalls and was now filled with revelers in costumes of all colors and kinds. She caught glimpses of feathers and crooked paper crowns, rose-hued cheeks and deeply rouged lips, gowns of rich red and gold velvet. She followed the laughing crowd into the circle of dancers weaving their way around the crackling flames, and she let Colin spin her through unfamiliar steps, the Square a blur of color in her eyes.
As they whirled around the bonfire she caught sight of the musicians with their pipes and drums, dressed like jokers in pointed caps with long gold tassels and jingling bells. When the pounding of the drums suddenly died, the dancers stopped in confusion, their applause abruptly ending, but then Ash heard a great cheer go up from the far side of the Square. She pushed through the crowd to see what was the cause of the noise, and saw a dozen riders entering the Square, the heads of their horses plumed with feathered headdresses that made them look like fantastic beasts, half horse, half eagle. The riders were dressed all in black with cloaks lined in shining white silk, and the revelers around Ash whispered excitedly to each other that it was the Royal Hunt, come to bestow the King’s favors upon them.
As the horses made their way into the square, the riders reached into their saddlebags and threw out handfuls of sparkling gold coins, and the revelers cheered louder and clustered around the sleek horses, laughing and calling for more. Ash watched Gwen and Colin and the other household servants join the crowd around the Royal Hunt, but she remained where she was, the crackling heat of the bonfire at her back. The King’s Huntress was in the middle of the group of riders, and she too was flinging out sparkling gold coins, and her horse’s headdress was plumed in a crown of red feathers. When the hunters had given away all their gold, the huntress dismounted and led her riders toward the bonfire, where they joined hands with the revelers who flowed back around them, laughing and jostling for space near them, and the musicians struck up an infectious rhythm as the hunters’ voices rose up in an old song:
Like blood and bone
river and stone
the Wood is field
the stag brought home.
Caught in the circle, Ash found herself whirled around the bonfire by strangers. Through the flames she could see the huntress singing, her face glowing in the red-gold light.
When the song ended, the hunters bowed to the gathered people and reclaimed their horses, then rode out of the square, the horses’ hooves clattering loudly on the paving stones. Ash saw Gwen standing nearby and ran toward her, tugging on the girl’s arm. “Why are they leaving so soon?” she asked.
“They’re going to the royal masque,” Gwen answered. “They only come to give away the gold.” When Gwen saw the look of disappointment on Ash’s face, she grinned. “You like the hunters, do you? Have you fallen in love with one of them?” she teased her.
Ash blushed, but said, “Of course not.”
Gwen laughed and took Ash’s hand, leading her back to the dancers. “Come, let’s find you a handsome young lord for tonight.”
But soon Gwen became distracted by a handsome young lord of her own, and Ash excused herself from the dancing circle, feeling that she had had enough. She made her way out of the crowd toward the edge of the Square, where she stood with her back to a cold brick wall and watched the festivities. She could still see Colin and Gwen and the other members of the household staff dancing near the bonfire, their faces flushed with firelight and brandy. A young couple stumbled away from the dance hand in hand, one woman dressed in gold, the other woman in green, and Ash saw the smiles on their faces before they kissed. Another reveler, a laughing young boy wearing a joker’s cap, came and pulled them back toward the dancers. Ash wondered suddenly if Ana and Clara were dancing with the hunters at the royal masque. In the distance she could see the pale spires of the palace, windows lit with hundreds of candles in the dark night, presiding over the merriment in the Square like a distant, decorous Fairy Queen. She wished she were there.
Feeling awkward and alone, Ash left the Square, walking back to where they had left the wagon on a side street. The horses, their breath making small clouds in the air, paid little attention to her as she climbed in. She pulled a lap blanket from beneath the seats and wrapped it around herself. She could still hear the music and laughter from the Square, but it was more muted here, and she found herself nodding off. She curled up on the hard wooden seat and fell asleep.
She was jolted awake by the sudden movement of the wagon beneath her as Gwen and Colin and the other household servants climbed onto the seats. She sat up, bleary-eyed, and asked, “What’s going on?”
“Time to go home,” said one of the servants, settling his considerable weight down with a sigh on one of the benches.
“And tend to her ladyship,” Gwen put in, looking out of breath but happy. They returned to an empty, dark house, and Ash and Gwen climbed the stairs to their attic room slowly, their feet heavy on the worn wooden floorboards. Ash took off Colin’s clothes and folded them carefully on the lid of the trunk, and then put on her brown dress again, winding her hair into its customary knot at the nape of her neck. Just as she had finished, she heard the sound of carriages outside, and she went downstairs to meet Lady Isobel and her daughters in their rooms. They were chattering excitedly about the beautiful ladies and handsome lords they had seen that night, the magnificent spread that had been laid out on the silver-and-mahogany buffet in the great hall of the palace, and the skill of the musicians who had played such wonderful music.
As Ash began unwinding the ribbons from Ana’s hair, Ana asked, “Did you go with the servants tonight, Aisling? Mother said they normally have a bonfire in the City Square.”
Ash nodded. “I did.”
“I’m surprised the King still allows such an old-fashioned spectacle,” Ana observed. “But I suppose we must allow the servants some of their traditional comforts.” She caught Ash’s eye in the mirror. “It must have brought back memories for you—did you feel at home?” And then she gave Ash a pitying smirk. “What am I saying? Rook Hill was such a small village; nothing in the City—even a superstitious Yule bonfire—is comparable.”
Feeling irritated, Ash forced herself to continue methodically untangling Ana’s hair from the ribbons and pins. It had never done any good to allow Ana to goad her into an angry retort. Instead she asked, “Did you meet the royal family?”
“Oh, yes,” Ana replied. “I met His Royal Highness, of course. He is such a handsome man, and so kind as well. Mother thinks he was quite taken with me,” she said with a satisfied smile. Ash pulled out the last of the pins and began brusquely to brush Ana’s hair. “Gently!” Ana commanded. “Haven’t I told you before that you must brush gently?”
“I’m so sorry, Stepsister,” Ash said in a demure voice, and lightened her touch slightly. “I only thought you must be tired and would wish to go t
o bed soon.”
“Well,” Ana mused, “it is true. I am exhausted. I danced nearly all night! Did you know Clara stood at the wall for nearly half the evening? It is a pity she is just not as beautiful as I am.” Ash eyed her stepsister’s reflection in the mirror and said nothing.
By the time Ash finished attending both Ana and Clara, who could only talk about how grand the palace was—“if only you could have seen it, Ash,” she said—it was very late. Gwen had already gone to bed, but she had not yet fallen asleep. As Ash changed into her nightgown, Gwen shifted on the thin mattress and asked, “Don’t you think Colin is handsome?”
Ash slipped beneath the covers and answered, “I suppose.”
“You suppose?” Gwen cried, and giggled. “I think he is wonderful.” She sighed and flung her hands over her head onto the pillow. “We danced together for three dances tonight,” Gwen said. “I hope—oh, I shouldn’t say anything or I’ll invite bad luck.” Gwen turned onto her side, curling her hands beneath her chin, and looked at Ash lying next to her. “Do you have someone, in West Riding?”
“I—no, I don’t,” Ash said. Not in the way that you mean, she thought.
“Oh, don’t you just yearn for someone?” Gwen said in a breathless voice. “Someone to take care of you, and hold you, and…” Gwen giggled again, and Ash did not respond. She felt, as always, the loss of her mother, but she knew that was not what Gwen was asking about. “Oh, I can’t wait until I find my husband,” Gwen continued. “My mother and I have been embroidering linens for my trousseau for ages…what have you been working on?”