Fairly Wicked Tales (11 page)

“Your Highness.” Corbin bowed low. “Yes, Prince Eldred will be arriving tonight.”

Talia clapped her hands. “How wonderful!”

To Aleron, her eyes glowed with a wolf’s hunger, but the men around him smiled as if she shone with radiant innocence.

Aleron schooled his face to hide his emotions. It had always been like this, she the favorite of everyone, worshipped wherever she went. He alone seemed impervious to her charms and unfooled by her pretenses. Yet in being the only one in whom Talia flared annoyance, anger, and disgust, he was forced to conform to others’ adoration of her or be thought petty, jealous, wrathful, or even deluded.

Not for the first time, Aleron cursed his sister’s magical gifts. He had been too often regaled by the story of their giving to doubt their existence. Even the telling of the tale was enough to flare his annoyance, due as much to the awe the story inspired as the paltry facts it related. He pretended otherwise, of course, pulling his features into an agreeable expression as he tried not to listen to the time-worn tale. Retelling after retelling: how the fey had been eager to show approval of the King’s promise to protect their weird lands and had sent seven fairies as emissaries to his firstborn’s christening. How each of the magical creatures had bestowed a gift on his parent’s newly minted daughter, eliciting gasps of approval and amazement from the crowd of onlookers. Beauty, charm, wit and grace, talents in dance and music. Six gifts, frequently and loudly proclaimed to the prince. The seventh he’d learnt from quiet whispers not intended for his ears. The softening of a curse, so they said, though the King had precautions in place against the curse’s fulfillment. Still, six magical gifts to raise the recipient above all others. No wonder Talia bewitched all those around her—save her younger brother.

Aleron tasted bitterness, and not for the first time. A pity the fairies hadn’t gifted his sister with kindness, wisdom, charity and modesty, or talents in teaching and healing.

By the time Aleron had arrived, his parents were too busy with their cherished daughter to overly concern themselves with another child. He supposed he should count himself lucky he hadn’t been similarly attended at his christening. Perhaps the gifts bestowed on Talia were suited to fairy kind, but for a human child … Beloved of all, was it any wonder the princess had grown up careless of others? Self-centered, self-indulgent, impatient, even cruel, how could the fairies not have understood how their gifts would become curses? And why had they cursed him to be unaffected by her, to alone be burdened with seeing her truly?

Of course, there was also an eighth fairy, or so some said …

Stefan emerged from the deeper brush, leading Talia’s mare.

“I have removed the pebble from her hoof and … Oh. Well met, Corbin, but what do you here?”

Aleron wanted to laugh at the obvious falsity, but in common with all of Talia’s charades, the play-acting was believable to all bar him.

“Lord Brecht, Her Majesty sends me with news. Prince Eldred and his retinue arrive tonight. The hunting party has turned back early; your presence would be most warmly welcomed at the high table.”

Aleron was sure Corbin had passed on his mother’s invitation exactly as he had heard the words. Faithful, conscientious, and unimaginative, like so many others the prince had grown up with. So unlike Stefan, his one true friend. Until Talia had captured the earl’s attention.

“The Red Prince comes?” Stefan asked.

“He rides even now. Queen Celeste bid me find you three that you may return to the castle with time to prepare for his arrival.”

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Talia as she mounted her white palfrey, “I have a new gown in the making; I should yet have time to have it finished.”

Without another glance at Stefan, she spurred her mare into a canter. Aleron watched clouds gather on his friend’s face. He handed the young earl the bay’s reins before turning to the waiting horsemen.

“Thank you, Corbin. Would you be so kind as to ride an escort for Her Highness? I think a princess’ preparations more pressing than ours and she is without her lady. We shall follow anon.”

With a nod, Corbin mounted and the horsemen raced to join Talia—no doubt pleased at the task. Aleron turned to his friend and tousled the young earl’s hair.

“Come, Stefan, she is as flighty as that bay of yours. Be content with today and let the future take its path.”

Stefan shook his head. “No, she is true, though she dares not show the depth of her regard. Once I have proved myself to her …”

He stopped, turning to fiddle with his stirrups.

“What has she got you doing?” Aleron asked as he mounted, but Stefan refused to be drawn. How could he admit to what she’d offered him? His heart’s desire … A terrible promise, if only Stefan would open his eyes. The silence stretched until Aleron broke it.

“Well, since I can’t leave you to pine on your own, lest that mount of yours throws you, shall we see what spirit the beast possesses? I’ll race you to the stables.”

“And if I am unseated?” Stefan asked, but his tone was already lighter as he mounted the skittish horse.

“Now, that would be a poor omen for a determined lover,” Aleron teased, and spurred his dark stallion.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Stefan’s bay bunch itself on its haunches, then launch into a gallop.

Like two streaks, they flew across the countryside towards a setting sun and the crenulations of the castle. For a brief time, all that mattered was the exultation of the ride. They embraced it with all the joy of youth.

***

Prince Eldred’s stay soon proved as morale-sapping for Stefan as the early portents had warned. The Red Prince’s realm was greater than Aleron’s in both size and splendor and Talia seemed set on finishing the binding of Eldred she’d started when they were children. Every day she wore a new gown of sumptuous fabrics glittering with gold and silver thread or strewn with rubies and pearls. All gasped at the beauty and opulence. Only Aleron begrudged the extravagance.

Stefan grew morose and dull.

“Surely ’tis a good day for hunting?” Aleron proposed as Stefan stood watch at the keep’s windows for yet another day.

“He takes her hawking,” Stefan said, “with but her lady as company.”

They both knew how willing Talia’s lady-in-waiting was to leave her mistress to tryst. Aleron again tried to distract his friend.

“The day is warm enough, what say you we take to the lake one last time, before the weather turns?”

Stefan didn’t acknowledge the proposal.

“He is constantly at her side, billing and cooing. What chance have I to win her back?”

“A game of dice, then?”

“’Tis like watching my blood and flesh depart me.”

Aleron peered through the window. Stefan was referring to Prince Eldred’s coat of arms—echoed today in Talia’s red gown—and the two white horses the couple rode.

“I fear, my friend, you have reached profound depths of melancholy, if your allusions are brought so low. Your pining does you no good. Come ride a while or let us practice with bow and sword; recover your spirit and a man’s courage. Show her your mettle.”

Stefan flushed. “You mock and cut me! You know nothing of love, of a heart’s anguish, but lash me again and again with your disdain.”

His angry response startled the prince, enough for his patience to finally snap.

“What know you of how I love, or what travails bother me? My pain I mastered long ago; I am not unmanned though my cause is lost.”

Curiosity distracted Stefan from his own troubles. “You, a prince, thwarted in love? Who? When? Why did you not tell me?”

“It matters not, my cause is lost,” Aleron said. “I will not mention it again.” Even if he had wanted to say more, no words would fit.

Stefan snorted. “You play me for a fool with a ploy of lost love. Your heart has never beaten for another. I’ll not waste pity on you.”

This time, Aleron was angered. “No, I’ll have no pity from you, when you dish that meal up so richly for yourself. You, who pine for the most worthless creature in this realm, a girl who has ever toyed with you and strung you as a puppet. Close your eyes but once, heed your sense but a little, and you would know she’s never cared for you. You should be glad to see the back of her.”

“You lie!” Stefan shouted, his fists balling. “She loves me; I have had it from her own lips.”

“Yes, the lips that even now kiss a prince and will smile at you tonight as he pours sweet whispers into her ear. Those ever-traitorous lips of hers—which you would believe over every sense in your body and any words of mine. I cannot fight the spell she casts over you, but I’ll not stand to watch you embrace it. Enjoy your misery without me.”

Aleron stalked from the room with a face flushed with anger. He headed for the stables.

His stallion was unsaddled, but the bay that Stefan favored was just returned. He hesitated only a moment before taking the horse, ignoring the shout the stable lad let out as he mounted.

“Away!” He pressed his heels to the horse’s flanks.

The bay leapt forward, power surging smoothly beneath the prince. He raced the horse from the castle across the plain, exulting in its strength, the wild freedom of its gallop. But the freedom of the ride could be only a temporary distraction. As for the rest of the day … the sun was warm, he’d follow his own suggestion and visit the lake, if only to skip stones across its surface.

Aleron reined the horse to a canter, turning towards the trail through the oaks. His thoughts pained him. Stefan had just been another trophy for Talia, a demonstration to her brother that she could have anything of his—even his friend—just by wishing for it. Now that she had set her eyes on another plaything, she had discarded Stefan, but the young earl was still firmly bound to her. Would his friend ever be free of her spell and the changes it had wrought in him?

Aleron could scarcely remember the boy he had met so long ago, when they had both been sent to study arms and strategy with other princes and sons of nobility. The best of friends—until Talia decided to steal Stefan away. She had enjoyed forcing Aleron to become part of her games.

Lost to his brooding, Aleron didn’t notice as the bay entered the shelter of the glade, or how the grass bent and whispered despite the lack of a breeze. A fleck of gold caught his eye. He nudged his mount towards a familiar rock, the earthy scent of mushrooms crushed by his horse’s hooves perfuming the warm air. The rock should be in shade now, surely, but there must be a gap somewhere in the canopy, because the outcrop seemed almost to shine in the autumn light.

A cloud passed over the sun. In the brief shadow, the stone glowed even more brightly A cold chill owing nothing to the season passed through the prince.

Afterwards, it seemed to him everything happened at once, though fast heartbeats separated the first event from the last.

He tugged at the reins, urging his horse away. A bird screeched; the bay reared; the damaged girdle snapped. Aleron plunged to the ground, all too aware he was falling onto the slab, seeing in his mind’s eye the fairy circle hidden in the gently swaying grass. Picturing the depression that must be concealed in the crown of the stone, beneath a mantle of moss, ready to catch the blood that would spill from his body as his head met the rock, the altar, the tombstone …

Then there was darkness.

***

Aleron woke to what must be a dream. He was sitting amongst richly brocaded cushions, in a large silken tent, the white drapery billowing. Apart from him, the tent was empty, the only furnishing being a table set with a chair at either end and a basket in its center. The silence was ethereal. Or sepulchral.

After a while, he stood. Not a breath of breeze disturbed him. It took several moments before Aleron registered the absence of candles. Yet the room was brightly lit, with no sign of shadows. He walked to the table. The basket contained fruit, but this was fruit as he’d never seen before. He picked up an apple as large as a melon, observing the shining uniformity of its skin, deep red and as polished as enamel. Such a wondrous fruit ought to be sampled.

“No.”

The voice arrested his motion more than the word. A woman stood by him, as pale and silver-haired as a wise woman, but with a body as smooth and firm as a maiden’s. She reached for the apple with a slender hand, plucking it from his grasp with long and elegant fingers.

“If you would leave the land of the fairies, you must not eat of our foods,” she said. “Sit.”

Aleron did as he was bid. The woman occupied the other chair, then smiled.

“I think you are not truly awake,” she said.

A wave of her hand scattered motes of light like dust …

Aleron blinked. “Where am I? Who are you? What are you?”

“Really, Prince Aleron, can you not guess who I am?”

He studied her as a thought gathered.

“Ina,” he whispered at last.

She seemed pleased. “Yes, Ina. The eighth fairy to attend your sister’s christening.”

“The fairy that cursed her,” he countered.

He had heard the rumor, spoken only in hushed tones and darkened corners, and had thought it no more than a tale. Now he was talking to part of that fable. A sudden thought: he should be wary.

“Cursed? Or merely prophesied an unpleasant surprise?”

“How can you have spoken prophecy, when another fairy changed it?” He seemed unable to hold his tongue.

“I was weary and mistook the vision. My sister pointed out the error, no more.”

She waited, expecting … What? The one question he dared to ask no-one else? Aleron licked his lips before asking it.

“Ina, why do I alone see Talia truly?”

She spoke as if he were a child, to be asking the obvious.

“It would not do for a brother to succumb to his sister’s charms. Your mother and father also see their daughter differently to others,” she added, “but no parent sees their child truly.”

Aleron digested her answer.

“Father has banished spindles from the castle. With such precautions, your prophecy cannot come to pass.” Suspicion flickered in his breast. “Why have you brought me here?”