An Enchantment of Ravens(40)
“So I heard,” Gadfly replied. It took a monumental effort of will not to look at him and gauge his reaction.
“It shocked us, myself most of all. At first I imagined it to be an act of sabotage for which Isobel should stand trial. But on the way to the autumn court I discovered that she had no harmful intentions. She merely painted a human emotion on my face, and skillfully, without understanding what she had done.” This was all true—in a manner of speaking. “Now, Isobel is interested in replicating her newfound Craft.”
“Human emotions, Gadfly,” I said to him, my confidence swelling the further we got without slipping up. “You’ve sampled everything Craft has to offer—tea cakes and china, silk suits, books, swords. We keep coming up with different versions of the same old things, but I think what I’d like to try is completely new. I could put true joy on your face. Wonder on someone else’s. Laughter, or wrath—even sorrow. Rook has informed me your kind will find this most diverting.”
“So I’ve brought her to the spring court, where she might demonstrate first for her most dedicated patrons,” Rook finished grandly. “If the results are satisfactory, I do believe such Craftsmanship deserves a just reward. I propose that should she choose to take it, Isobel’s payment will be a trip to the Green Well.”
My smile radiated innocence. A trip to it, not a drink from it.
“Something completely new,” Gadfly mused in a faraway voice. Briefly he looked much older than his apparent age. The bees stopped droning in the honeyed air, and all the songbirds stilled. I held my breath along with the rest of the world. “Yes. Yes, I think that’s just the thing. Isobel, Rook, I would be delighted to host you. For as long as you’re in the spring court, you will want for nothing.”
We reached the court much sooner than I expected, and I almost walked straight in without realizing we’d arrived. Birch trees wider than a man was tall grew around us, soaring to impossible heights. Craning my neck, I saw that their branches were woven together much in the same way as Rook’s shelters, with songbirds and jewel-bright hummingbirds flitting among them. The only tree that stood apart from the rest was an old, knotted dogwood in full bloom, elevated on a mossy knoll. It had grown into a strange shape, and puzzling over this, I realized it was no normal tree, but in fact a throne.
As soon as I drew that conclusion, the forest around me changed. Silvery laughter filled the air, and with a shimmer like steam escaping a teapot, brocade chairs, silken pillows, and picnic blankets unfurled across the flowery meadow. Previously unseen, dozens if not hundreds of fair folk watched us approach from various states of repose. My knees turned to water, and I had to force myself to keep walking. I’d never seen even a fraction this many fair folk in a single place at once. Worse, they weren’t watching us after all. They stared at me, and me alone: the first mortal to enter their court in over a thousand years.
As we neared the throne, a girl rose from a blanket—she seemed to be having tea, but all the teacups were empty—and pelted toward us, her long blond hair flying, the many layers of her periwinkle-blue gown frothing up and down like waves. When she reached us, she startled me by seizing both my hands. Her skin was cold and flawless as china. Were she human I would have guessed her age at around fourteen.
“Oh, a mortal! Gadfly, you’ve brought us a mortal!” she cried in a simulacrum of rapturous delight, revealing that all of her little white teeth were as pointed as a shark’s. “We simply must introduce her to Aster, she’ll be ever so pleased! Are you going to drink from the Green Well?” She shifted her attention to me. “Please say yes, please say yes! We can be the best of friends. Of course, we can still be best friends if you don’t, but you’ll die so quickly it would hardly be worth it!”
Gadfly’s hand alit on her shoulder. “Isobel, this is my”—he searched for words—“niece, Lark. Please forgive her excitability. This is her very first time meeting a mortal. I trust she’ll be on her best behavior, with you as our honored guest.” This was clearly more for Lark’s benefit than mine.
I gave her an awkward curtsy, which was difficult with her still clinging to my hands. But apparently it counted, because to my relief she let go and curtsied back. My fingers felt as though they’d been immersed in ice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lark.”
“Of course it is!” she said.
“And you already know Rook,” Gadfly went on pleasantly.
“Hello, Rook,” said Lark, without ever taking her eyes off my face. “Can you turn into a hare for me again and let me chase you about?”
Rook laughed. “That was a child’s game, Lark. You’re a young lady now.”
“You’re no fun. Poor Isobel, she must be ever so bored with you. Can I put her in some new clothes?” she asked Gadfly, whose smile was acquiring a fixed quality.
“In a moment, darling. For now, Isobel and I must discuss her Craft. Why don’t you have a seat beside the throne and think about the dresses you’d like her to wear? Remember, she cannot use glamour, so it must be a new dress.” He inclined his head meaningfully.
“Oh, fine!” She collapsed next to the throne in a tragic heap of blue chiffon.
“Now,” Gadfly said, arranging himself elegantly on the dogwood’s platform, “what will we need to provide you with so you may work your Craft? I’m afraid we have no materials similar to what I’ve seen in your parlor. I can send for supplies from Whimsy, but my court is terribly busy preparing for the masquerade, and it may take some time to have them delivered.”