Silver Hollow (32 page)
Amie paused and felt the familiar warmth fill her she had often felt talking to Feather’s mounted
greatfeather
. How often had she wished for the giant eagle’s head to come to life? Now she had her wish she knew better than to second
-
guess. Soon after, she set her books aside and sprawled out on the plush rug beside him to listen. Feather spun tales of the past like they had happened yesterday. Indeed he told her a gryphon could live much like their enemies the dragons had, forever if they wish it.
“Things are stirring like they were before
,
” he began with a long
-
lost look in his golden eye. “And you were not born the way you were led to believe.”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “Great, what else have they not told me?”
Feather was delighted with her sharp tongue, and answered in kind. “You remember this castle, this room even, don’t you?” A cold feeling crept up her spine at his words and she recalled roaming the halls without any light. Her feet seemed to know where to take her at times.
Feather added, letting his words stir around in her conscience, “What you have to ask yourself now is why you were made to forget
.
”
The following morning, after a restless night filled with dreams of dancing gryphons and centaurs, Amie was awakened by a stream of constant humming. “So what turned you into a walking juke box?” Amie asked grumpily.
Underhill grinned wildly and
,
with laughter in her eyes, set Amie’s breakfast tray on the bed beside her disgruntled mistress. “You are going to love what the Pixies have already done with the Ballroom, milady!
’
Tis like a faerie palace with all its twinkling lights and baubles! Hmm…reminds me of the winter festival of seventeen…so lovely the Master was to dance with us lowly maids!” She sighed and began to hum a lost tune while pulling out Amie’s outfit for the day.
Brushing her hair off of her face, Amie narrowed her eyes suspiciously on the little goblin. “Have you taken some of your own tonic or something?”
Underhill
stared at her as if she had said something particularly funny, “But milady, me own tonic doesn’t affect my kind a bit! Why would you inquire after such a curious thing?”
“Maybe because you were dead set against Morcant last night, remember? Why are you suddenly all gun
g
-ho about this ball?” Amie shuddered at the thought of being paraded in front of the snobbish elite of
the
area. Her father had tried to force her into polite society once before, and it
hadn’t
end
ed
well for either of them.
Underhill shook out Amie’s petticoats.
Petticoats?
“Milady, there are only two things in this world that could possibly make me quiet on the subject of Morcant Hogswillow. The first would be news of her departure and the second, for her to finally convince the Master to throw a ball!” And she promptly took to humming and dancing a blend of waltz and a jig.
Amie bit into her biscuit and shook her head. “You’re hopeless, Underhill, you know that?”
…
As promised, Morcant had arranged the whole trip for t
h
em, down to the carriage and ridiculous lavender dress Amie had been forced into. Emrys and his magnetic pull for once did not distract or stupefy her now. Though she had to wonder why
he
was invited to come with them in the first place.
Slaine Cutterworthy met them at the base of the castle stairs in his finest. Tipping his hat to them, “Morning to ye Master, Lady Wenderdowne…and to you
,
Emrys the Merlin.” His words trailed into a gravelly chuckle and toss of his head. Setting his cap to rights he waited until they were loaded into the carriage before cracking his whip and setting off.
Amie was disappointed
to find
no ginger boy posing as a watchful
-
eyed footman behind them.
By the time they were nearing the fork
branching off
to an estate Henry called Xcalibure, Amie was ready to leap across the carriage and p
u
mmel Lady Hogswillow. Dressed in a deep burgundy cloak and white swan-like dress beneath it, Morcant laughed at the mention of the other estate.
“Ho, ho! Neglected? Is that all? I should not expect anything better from human refugees, sniveling
slitherkin
creatures…” Slipping her hand through Henry’s arm, she seemed oblivious to the fact he had stiffened considerably. Amie knew him well enough to recognize his burgeoning temper.
“What’s wrong with humans?” Amie asked, sitting up straighter so she sat taller than the young widow. Emrys covered her hand with his, easing her death grip on the leather seat between them. For once, she was glad he was beside her.
Morcant gaped foolishly at her, dark eyes wide with shock as she turned to Henry. “Oh darling, do you hear this sheltered, simple child? What is wrong with humans, she says?” Slyly, her pupils shifted, fixating on the half breed across from her, so Amie realized the witch knew more than she was letting on.
“Humans are a lesser kind, their lives like the flowers of the field that wither and fade with time. Our lives are everlasting. So you see, Jessamiene, you must consider yourself blessed to have been born to such a noble house…” Her full painted ruby lips twisted into a tight grin and a touch of danger flashed through her eyes.
Duly noted, lady. But we’l
l see what this human’s made of.
Emrys threaded his fingers through Amie’s and answered the widow’s advice with some of his own. “Keep yer bloody opinions to yourself
,
Morcant.”
Amie couldn’t resist looking up at him, but wasn’t expecting the razor edge of his clenched jaw to greet her. Refusing to look her way, he stared out the window and Amie fough
t the urge to squeeze his hand
so he would look at her. Giving up after observing the countryside, she faced forward and froze to see Morcant’s grin, as if she had uncovered something very interesting indeed.
…
To fill in the heated pause left by Morcant’s human rant, Henry spoke of the history of the village and its relation to Wenderdowne. A light rain misted overhead, though Slaine seemed unperturbed with the fog. His rough gravelly voice sang a different version of Henry’s favorite song today.
“…and so that is how
the first humans came into the B
orderlands. Some mingled with the local sentries left to guard with us, though most of them remain the helpful hobgoblins they be. You won’t find any of our kind in the village, Jessamiene.”
“And what exactly is our kind, Uncle Henry?” Amie sighed
.
“All of you skirt around the subject but no one ever comes right out and says it. Since I’m
Lady Wenderdowne
now, don’t you think I’ve earned the right to know?”
After meeting Puck and the live version of Feather I think my delusions of fantasy have been smashed to pieces.
Emrys’s scowl eased into a smirk, finally turning from the window to watch the older male squirm in his seat.
“Ah, yes, well—I didn’t realize—that is to say…” Henry said.
Emrys interrupted, “You are of
Seelie
, Jessamiene.
”
Henry chimed in, “Some have called us
Sidhe
…but once we went by a different name. Time tends to blur the longer you live on this earth, my dear. I fear we have lost much of our former greatness. Our gifts would put us high above men and most other beings and yet humans have always hunted us. Humans would destroy us if they knew we still existed, just like before…”
Amie’s mind was reeling by this point.
Seelie Court…that’s like Tolkien elves…equals the good people…equals bloody freaking faeries!
“Trying
to catch flitterflies
?” Henry asked, pointing to Amie’s gaping mouth.
She shook her head. “Just trying to get a grip.”
Emrys rolled his eyes, saying, “As if
that
were the most startling news she ha
s
heard.”
The next time Amie looked out the window, she blinked heavily, then rubbed her eyes. “Am I delusional too? Because I could have sworn I saw houses up in those trees.”
Morcant spoke up for the first time in her unpredictably shrill way. “Of course you did!”
“I’m delusional?”
“Ho! No
,
you are not
,
my dear,” Henry said. “Most hobgoblins prefer to live in high places if they can.” After a thoughtful pause he grinned. “Except for the Underhill clan of course, very strange lot they are, living in burrows underground!”
Pushing the glass window the rest of its way aside, Amie poked her head out and gaped at the first signs of civilization. The trees grew taller and larger the deeper into the valley they dipped, little cottages fixed in their boughs. Smoke rose from fires glowing within the cottages. Nice wooden boardwalks interconnected the trees and people herded English red deer on the forest floor. All of them wore garishly bright colors below, their round faces peeking from beneath their bonnets and broad brimmed hats. Up in the tree tops the children raced up and down the bridges and old women gossiped across trees.
“Is this Silver Hollow?” Amie asked when the hobgoblins noticed her. Now she knew what they were, they ceased to look like humans. Certainly they had the shape of people, but they were all hovering around five feet and under, their forms softer and smiles digging higher up into their cheeks.
“Clever Creator
,
no!” Henry laughed.
“We’re on the outskirts, Jessamiene,” Morcant said with a sniff.
Amie wondered
,
if this was the outskirts
,
then what would the actual village look like?
Many people began pointing, shouting and calling neighbors out to watch the envoy pass through their wood. They called to her in a strange flowing language and she wondered which way this was going to fly. In the first scenario, the village people would start throwing vegetables at the nobles… Fortunately the second reigned true. The children waved, jumping up and down in their excitement. Men tipped their hats and women bowed low in their fluffy skirts.
“Get ready for it
,
” Emrys warned he
r
.
“For what?” Amie sank back into her seat and faced him, washed once more by the seductive shadows in his eyes.
Chuckling over her reaction, he pointed back out the window and said, “That.”
Silver Hollow lay at the bottom of the small valley. Geographically, a wooded valley made no sense. But in this moment, Amie could not have begun to recall her human memory of the moors of northern England, for the tree line came to an abrupt halt, skirted by a brilliant field of wildflowers. As if on command the morning rain stopped and the sun illuminated the landscape in an explosion of color.
The river ran placidly through the center of the valley floor and after crossing the bridge the village began. Cobblestone streets were lined curiously by tall wooden buildings. Akin to the treetop homes Amie had seen before, the village was built on rickety
-
looking stilts. Top level supported a thriving bustle of hobgoblin homes and shops. Each roof was littered in straw and freshly picked flowers. Bridges interconnected the buildings, crossed over the network of streets. But the real action took place underneath the uppity classed world. Shops were tucked below here too, slightly dingier, more like a cross of the medieval and Oliver Twist. In the shadows where sunlight could not stretch, alleyways crisscrossed together where shadier characters secretly traded. Stalls and tables lined the streets, at the edges of endless row of wooden posts.
Thei
rs was the only carriage in town this morning, so the people stopped literally in their tracks at the sight of them. Whispers of their arrival carried in on the wind. Slaine’s song had been long replaced with pleasant greetings to old friends.
Amie had never seen more smiles blended with curious stares in her life and was starting to feel the heat of them after their second turn onto an even smaller street.
“Back away from it
,
ye mangy waif!” Slaine called out to the growing puddle of people.
Sitting back in her seat
,
Amie bit her lip
,
and Henry laughed, teasing, “Are you afraid of your own subjects
,
Jessamiene?”
Amie gaped
.
“S-subjects? Are you kidding me?”
“Afraid not. Ah! Here it is!” Tapping on the roof with his gentleman’s cane
,
he called, “Here it be, Slaine!”
