Roundtable redcap, p.7
Roundtable Redcap, page 7
They appeared at the edge of the path, brownies parting to let them through. I knew the spikes on their back used to be wings, which just made the Spite more frightening to look at. Their build went beyond lean to emaciated, ribs and the points of their hips and shoulders looking nearly as sharp as those spikes. And then, they sat at Irina’s feet, a long, bruise-yellow tongue lolling from their mouth as they grinned up at her like they had delusions of being the most horrifying Labrador Retriever ever.
I didn’t move until they broke eye contact with Irina, and that was just to breathe a sigh of relief as they looked away from me and down the path. The Spite trotted to a fork and faced left, leaving their nearly skeletal tail poking back around the corner, low like an English Pointer.
“Daryl here is going to lead us through.” Irina turned and held a hand down to me.
“Daryl?” I blinked up at the woman, not taking her hand. Yet.
“Well, I have to call them something besides ‘hey you’ or ‘poor thing,’ don’t I?” Irina tilted her head, piercing glare coating over with velvet as she softened her gaze. “And that's what they say they want me to call them. They're helping us because they want to. All the paper does is require a Spite Margot has a contract with to show up. Did you know that?”
“No, not really.” The corners of my eyes stung. Even Henry hadn’t gotten the name of the Spite he'd met until they were freed and back to being a regular, if heartrendingly maimed, Sprite. And here, this Psychic mortal girl who’d turned her back on the magical world for reasons she refused to discuss, had. I was supposed to be a good guy. So I had to step up. I took her hand. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” She pulled on my arm. I left enough of a drag to let her think she actually helped me stand up. After that, I walked along slightly behind her as she followed our unlikely guide.
Daryl the Spite trotted through the maze with utter confidence. The brownies edged back from the path, leaving a margin of bare umber ground on either side. None of them wanted to even risk touching a Spite. Draining too much magic from a pure faerie would kill it outright. A Magus or a changeling like me would end up with no magic or possibility of recovering it. And a tithed faerie like my dad would turn mortal, only retaining any Magus powers he might have had. The king’s hounds just chased what they hunted to the point of exhaustion. The queen’s were much crueler, like their mistress was supposed to be.
“Look how scared they all are of them.” I tapped Irina’s shoulder. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“All that fear just because Daryl’s being themself and minding their own business.” She shook her head, then raised a hand to one eye. She wiped it. “It must be lonely, being reacted to like that.”
“Hey, now it’s my turn to ask you what’s wrong.”
“So go ahead and ask, then.”
“Thought I was.” I scratched my head, putting on a show in the hopes of cheering her up a little. “Asking, that is.”
“Nope. You didn’t ask one single thing, lunkhead Fred.”
“Okay, so what’s wrong, Irina?”
“Daryl can’t help being what they are.” She gripped the strap on her bag with both hands, squeezing tightly. “Once upon a time, they made a mistake. Probably just one, maybe not something that seemed like such a big deal at the time. And now, Daryl is this. Everything here except the queen, a Redcap on a Quest, and a Psychic who can’t even leave the path is scared to death of them. Scared enough to kill.”
“Kill? Really? If that’s true, why aren’t they attacking, do you think?” I stared at Irina’s hands, watching the knuckles whiten. “I mean, they outnumber Daryl big time.”
“Because we’re here. They’re either not able or not allowed to do anything directly against us.”
“You’re probably right. I don’t know much about the queen that doesn’t come with a lot of crude words.” I looked ahead.
Daryl stood in their English Pointer pose again, nose directed at one corner. They moved ahead as we caught up. I saw the exit of the maze at the end of one final straight passageway. We followed the Spite all the way out to where another stone bench squatted on the path like a pair of concrete toadstools under a marble slab.
I sat down to rest, feeling drained but not sick anymore, at least. Maybe Irina had been right, and Daryl's presence got rid of the magic surges because I'd gotten a little hungry. A rummage in my bag brought out a bunch of bananas. Just for kicks, I tried eating one with the peel on. It stayed down. I unhinged my jaw and tossed the rest of the bunch in.
Irina thanked Daryl as I chewed. She even patted them on the head, sending their tail and hips shimmying in a wag more frenzied than the drunkest bridesmaid ever to do the Macarena after multiple sour apple martinis. Daryl tilted their head, yipped three times, and vanished into the underbrush at the edge of the clearing, mostly taken up by a wide spot in the path.
“This is the queen’s game.” Irina watched the motion of Daryl’s passage with shinier than usual eyes. “She’s calling the shots here. I just wish I could figure out why.”
“That makes two of us.” I pulled a sack of apples out of my bag, polished one on my shirt, then handed it to Irina. She sat next to me and took a bite, then jumped at the sound of a voice.
“Did I hear someone say wish?”
We both looked around, not seeing anything or anyone. The voice didn’t sound like a brownie from the maze, either.
“Who’s there?” I tilted my head, wiggling one of my ears to try to track the voice’s direction.
“Henry calls me Sparky.” The voice came from above us. I looked up.
A Sprite peered down at me from what looked like a window in the sky. The creature hung from autumnal branches against a wall, blue as that season’s skies, with the tattered remnants of its maimed wings straggling out behind them. Sparky used to be a Spite until my friend Nox broke the enchantment on them. I felt Irina tremble at my side and turned to see her looking up with pallid cheeks and eyes focused either inward or on some past event. The apple dropped from her hand, rolling lopsidedly off the path until it came to rest against a gnarled root, bitten side up.
“Uh, hang on, Sparky.” I turned to Irina, picking up the hand the apple had occupied a moment before. “It’s okay. I know this Sprite. They're bound to a djinn lamp now.”
“Oh?” Her voice was farther off than her eyes, tiny. “I know this Sprite, too.”
“Yes. I’m glad you remember me.” Sparky grinned. “Thank you for being so kind to my friend Daryl. They've been like that for ages, and you're right—it's lonely. I think we’re meeting under better circumstances this time.”
“Really?” Irina’s laugh sounded mechanical, almost a dead sound, like bare branches creaking against a window. “That’s not saying much.”
“There’s hope for your Quest, though.” The trees behind Sparky disappeared. “Look.”
Sparky the Sprite faded into near transparency, and the sky behind them lit up like a movie screen. A courtyard hewn from golden rock appeared, a round stone table under a tree at the center. I'd seen a replica of that same tree in the fountain at the maze's center. It had to be important.
Beside that on a dais sat a throne encrusted with crystals that caught the light of the noonday sun. An amber-haired woman lay across it, her golden dress draped along her body in a shimmer like dragonfly wings. Sparky had given us a view of the Sidhe queen herself. But I only cared about the person at her feet.
“Ed!” I stood, dropping Irina’s hand. I only faintly noticed the slight stickiness of the old apple.
“He can’t hear you,” Sparky whispered. “Listen.” I took the Sprite’s advice.
“What do you see him doing now, youngling?” The queen sounded bored, almost tired. But even with the way she reclined in her throne, I could tell it her tone was an act.
“I told you, Majesty, I can’t see him doing anything.”
“Technicalities, Edward, my boy.”
“Not your boy, your Majesty.”
“You will be.” Her voice reminded me of the time I’d seen a sleepy lioness purring at the zoo. That was right before it pounced on an unfortunate squirrel. “Your usefulness now determines how I treat you later.”
“I don’t care how you treat me, Majesty.”
“Ah, but your brother will. Your mother, too.” She shook her head. “And your father. He might even try going to war over how you’re treated here, you know.”
“Not fair.” Ed’s shoulders drooped. When he spoke again, I knew it was at least as much an act as the queen’s posture. “Your ghosts don’t like talking to me, Majesty.”
“I don’t care, and they know it. Now talk to them and find out what my suitor is doing like a good boy unless you want me to treat you like a delinquent instead.”
Ed just nodded, then stared off toward the empty stone table. Well, that’s not really true. I knew his gaze met a ghost’s, one I couldn’t see. I leaned toward Irina, whispered a reminder that Ed was a Medium.
“Majesty,” Ed said after a few moments, “Kasa says the guy is in Providence, looking for something.”
“Interesting.” One of the queen’s slipper-clad feet bounced. “What does he seek?”
“A hat.”
“Don’t lie to me, Edward.”
“All right. A cap.” Ed blinked a few times, his hands balled up in fists, and his cheeks red. My kid brother was on the verge of tears, but he swallowed them. “My brother’s cap.”
The left side of the queen’s lips tilted up in a smirk. Then she put the fingertips of one hand over her mouth and laughed. It sounded weirdly like a belly-laugh from a woman who’d appear to be yawning if we couldn’t hear her. After she had stopped, I watched her shoulders rise as she took a deep breath.
“You see?” She leaned forward, peering at Ed. “Frederick’s never getting here in time. Looks like you’ll be staying to serve me a nice long while.”
“Um, your Majesty?” Ed tilted his head, as though a ghost whispered something in his ear. “We’re being watched.”
As the queen’s eyes narrowed, the entire scene swept away like a kite with a snapped string in a hurricane. Irina let out a long, slow breath. Another deeper exhale matched hers before I realized it was mine. The Sprite reappeared in its illusory autumn trees.
“My debt to you is paid, Irina Kazynski.” Sparky’s voice faded as they spoke. The window above us dimmed, then vanished entirely.
“Well, now we know why the queen took Ed.” I scratched my head. “She’s using him to spy on this suitor of hers.”
“I wonder why she’s got one of those, anyway.” Irina shook her head. “What a mess, especially since the entire magical world knows the king’s her destiny until one of them dies. And that’s not likely to happen. I just don’t get it.”
“Me neither.” I tapped the top of my head. “Maybe it’s a fake-out, a manipulative way to send some powerful courtier out to get my cap.”
“Okay, let’s pretend for a minute she’s flirting to get what she wants instead of using the authority of being the Seelie freaking Queen.” Irina sat up straighter, swinging her feet under the bench. “Why would she need to send out a faerie to get your cap if you think Tony already took it for her?”
My mouth opened and closed like a fish. I blinked, shrugged, scratched my head. Then I put my hands on my knees before moving them to my temples to start massaging. I felt worlds better than I had back in the maze, for reasons that had nothing to do with magic.
“No clue,” I grinned. “But this might be good. Maybe Tony’s not a backstabbing jerkface after all.”
“Maybe.” Irina stretched. “But regardless, we ought to get moving.”
As we stood, the clock chimed again. One more hour was gone, and the jungle surrounding the path looked endless.
Chapter Eight
Irina
“Welcome to the jungle,” I said over the eighth and final chime. “Oh, no. We only have five hours now?”
“The wall and the maze must have taken more time than I thought.” Fred headed down the path, his strides twice as long as they’d been before and during our time in the maze. “Come on, let’s go.”
I jogged to keep up, my stomach sinking as I glanced around at the underbrush. It was all fine and well for Daryl the Spite to roam around a jungle in the Under, for me not so much. Fred’s words when we entered the Under pounded through my brain along with my hurried footsteps: “Stay on the path.” Damn skippy, I’d stay on the path. Wild brownies couldn’t drag me away.
Fred glanced over his shoulder, adjusting his stride so I could keep up with him better. I nodded, unable to even give him a breathless word of thanks by that point. I understood the need to hurry, agreed with it, too. The sun in the vision of the queen’s courtyard stood at high noon. The sun at the portal had been early dawn. Here, it looked to stand maybe at seven. I'd heard that it didn't move here and you could chart a course by it. We could be as much as an hour behind where we needed to be in order to save Ed. The queen’s threats and cruel words still twisted in my gut, driving me even harder to rescue the kid from her clutches at any cost. I shivered.
“It’s a jungle, Irina.” Fred gave me a look that could have gone from a security guard to a shoplifter. “Subtropical. Why are you shivering?”
“Seeing that woman, how she treated your brother. The queen’s just awful.” I wasn’t about to give him even the short version of a story I’d only ever told to Grandpa, especially not here.
“Yeah. Not what I expected from what I heard growing up, though.” He scratched his head. “She’s supposed to follow the rules. Faeries aren’t supposed to take mortals to the Under without their express agreement. So how and why did she manage to get Ed in the first place?”
“Probably told him she had you here, or your mom or dad.” I slapped a hand over my mouth. The last thing Fred needed was more to worry about. If I kept spouting off like that, he’d start asking questions about my past again.
“But she can’t lie if she’s asked a direct question. Ed knows better than to take any Seelie’s word about something like that.” He turned on those suspicious eyes again. “Why did you smack yourself?”
“Um.” I gulped. “Flies like the jungle. Anyway, she can tell as many half-truths as she wants. That’s probably what she did. Made it seem like she had someone Ed cares about here, or maybe made a threat. She has no problem making those as we got to see.”
“She sucks.” He shook his head.
“Yeah, that she does.” I shuddered again but wasn’t sure why. I thought I’d pushed the past out of my mind. But I felt hot and cold all at the same time, anyway. Something else had to be going on.
“Hey, what’s that smell?” Fred slowed down and looked around. I stopped, too, copying him. When in the Under, do as the changelings do.
The trees hanging over the path blinked with what I thought were eyes at first. Then, I wondered whether they were Christmas lights. They weren’t. Instead, flickering flowers in colors like eyes peeked out from under half-moon shaped leaves. I should have had the feeling of being watched. Instead, a far-off scent came, something that seemed familiar. I breathed it in, still unable to place it. It was literally and figuratively at the tip of my nose, causing such an acute sense of curiosity that I kept on sniffing like a mongrel at a dog show.
The flowers started to remind me of eyes again, so I looked over my shoulder. What I saw made me turn right back around and run headlong down the path past Fred. It was some kind of prehistoric cat, or maybe not. Maybe it was something worse, like a saber-toothed horse but way bigger. I didn’t want to look back and risk it catching me to find out.
Fred’s heavier footsteps pounded up, pacing me. I wondered why he didn’t just go ahead of me, but I wasn’t sure turning to look at him was a good idea, so I didn’t. I just pushed myself and ran even faster. Fred, of course, kept up. This time, I dared a glance at him. His eyes were wide, and his skin was a paler gray than I’d seen it so far, even after he’d lost the battle to keep the rock salt down. He sped up, pulling a few steps past me.
Air stabbed into my lungs as I tried to move my legs faster. If I’d been a singer instead of a fiddler, maybe I would have been in better shape for this kind of dead sprint. I couldn’t keep that blistering pace up. Already, my hips burned, and my legs felt jellified. Pain like a needle in my side threatened to drop me to the rough path under my feet.
It got worse. Roots veined the path like the backs of old men’s hands. Fred kept going, crushing them down with his heavy tread. I tried to follow in his footsteps instead of navigating what amounted to the Under jungle’s version of an obstacle course. It worked at first. Just as I thought I’d made it past the rooty section, my toe caught, and I went flying. I tucked my head and hands, not wanting to injure them or my neck. The last thing I needed in the Under was getting too hurt to use my only weapon, music.
My right shoulder hit the ground at the same time as my right knee. I’d stuck the latter out at the last second. A gritty pain coupled with a pop and threw in the sound of tearing fabric as a bonus. I knew I’d shredded my jeans and done a number on my knee. I sat up, reaching for my bag to get out the instrument I should have thought to use before running. Stupid, I thought. Isn’t music, especially mine, supposed to soothe savage beasts?
As I fumbled at the latches on the violin case, I saw nothing but the empty path back the way I’d come. I refused to contemplate why, just continued getting my instrument out, socking it under my chin, taking up my bow. Heavy breathing nearby made me turn to look in the opposite direction. Fred stood with his hands on his thighs, shoulders shaking as he heaved with his mouth closed, clearly trying not to lose his earlier snack. It looked like he’d either hurl or bolt away, possibly off the path. I couldn’t let him do either.
I set my fingers on the fret, drew my bow across the strings, drawing out the opening notes of the first song to pop into my head. It took the first verse and chorus before Fred’s eyes widened. His hands moved from thighs to cover his mouth, the heaving transformed into muffled laughter. I stopped playing when I got to the bridge because Fred didn’t need the music anymore, and by then, I felt ridiculous. I set the violin in my lap and laid the bow on it.
