Chapter Fourteen: Equinox

The equinox banquet was just about over and I was a bit tipsy and already starting to nod off to sleep in my little cushioned alcove when my fae father finally saw fit to speak with me. Maybe it would be more accurate to say he realized I wasn't going to bridge the divide between us and deigned to bridge it himself. I was wedged between Gaelin and Meliswe, one hand cradling the goblet of golden mead that Gaelin and I had been sharing while I rested myself against Meliswe's bosom and she snoozed away with her adorable, soft snores. They were such cute little sounds that I called them snortlets - they couldn't possibly keep me awake. King Fostolas made his way to our table, glancing between Meliswe and me and perhaps realizing we were a bit closer than a princess and her best friend usually were. Guilty as charged.

"Are you cognizant enough to say 'hello' to your father?" he asked.

"Hello, father," I said.

I'd be hard-pressed to tell you how old Fostolas looked - fae don't age as humans do, but when they settle into their calling in life and are ready for children (usually between their late 2nd and early 3rd centuries), they take on a sort of adult form. That form can look anywhere from late 20s to 40, though they never wrinkle and never gray. You'd never know from Fostolas, though. His face might have been carved from stone - not wrinkled, per se, but expressive and with a hollowness around his eyes and a gravity to his mouth that suggested he was not a jolly man. His hair was almost snow-white, save for the barest hint of blue, and his skin had the milky pallor most winter fae possess. He sat across from me at our little table and just stared, perhaps waiting to see if I'd fall asleep. Meliswe was so warm and soft that I was sorely tempted to.

"I'm not going to fall asleep," I told him.

"Good. Alathea's suggested that you're ready to put this foolishness behind you. Four decades is long enough for a childish vendetta. Let's not make it five."

I frowned and struggled to sit up properly - from everything I'd heard about the old Laeanna (mostly from Meliswe), she wasn't what anybody would call childish. Her interests and demeanor were both young, but nobody would have accused her of behaving like a child. "I don't think I have a childish vendetta," I said. "Why do you think I’m cross at you and who do you think I should blame?"

Fostolas helped himself to a gulp of somebody else's wine - they were asleep or away, plus he was king, so nobody was going to natter at him. "As if you hadn't made it perfectly clear yourself. I know you and your brother were close as children. Three years apart is the blink of an eye by our standards. I'll tell you, it's very odd, living four centuries with nary a child and having two in the span of three years." He snapped his pale fingers twice. "So of course you were close, the only children around the palace most of the time, and he idolized you. There's much to idolize - I'm proud of you, my sweet, even if you aren't proud of me. Your brother idolized you and was your only real friend in the world, but we had to separate you - you to your mother and the Vernal court and Oraelis to me and the Hibernal court… if you were ever to join the Vernal and Esival realms, you would need to be of the spring, and so you are. But, yes, it meant separating you and your brother. No harm was meant in it. And, as Oraelis grew, I thought to squire him here and there at the other courts… to learn their ways and familiarize himself with their movers and shakers, to experience all of the fae realms. And I realize you must feel jealous that you never had that privilege… and perhaps I bear some small part of the blame for not insisting upon it. However, I will not be blamed for your brother's infatuation with the Traitor of Estival."

I pursed my lips and pondered that for a moment, very nearly slipping into slumber. The Traitor of Estival, I presumed, was Prince Calivar's older brother, the older Prince of the Estival, the one not favored by the king. My understanding, bolstered by my reading of the Big Book of Fae Lineages, was that Prince Nargillis had left in a fury, departing the summer court with several dozen followers and retreating to a realm beyond the southern sea called the Outer Realms. Whether any of those exiles were even still alive was anybody's guess - those realms were far from civilization, dangerous and wild, and cursed with chaotic magics far stranger than the curated magic the fae employed. Yet that is where Nargillis had gone, and Oraelis, my brother… apparently Laeanna's childhood companion and best friend…

Orealis had joined him in exile. I could understand why Laeanna might resent her father, but his sins were a far cry from my human father's. Wilbur Born had died in a jungle, leaving his family behind because he'd wanted to leave Green Haven, Nebraska.

In my opinion, it was better to be on the side of a king than opposed to him. Kings and queens are some seriously top-brass officers, so it's best to smooth talk them whenever possible. And my advice for dealing with officers is: temper expectations, but do not disappoint. So that's what I did.

"Father," I said. I fumbled forward, eventually getting my small hand on top of his. "I've never hated you, but for a long time I blamed you. And I still do, I guess… I blame you for not thinking my feelings or happiness were important enough to give my brother and me more time. I blame you for being foolish and ill-informed because you didn't see his desertion coming. But that doesn't make you a bad person. Heck, it doesn't even make you a foolish or ill-informed one on the whole. It just means you made one bad mistake… and a king is a man who makes big decisions every day. One bad mistake out of a hundred decisions isn't bad. So, yes, I blame you… but I see clearly enough that you've learned from your mistake where a foolish man would have doubled down: Gaelin is a good man and will make a good king. I guess what I'm saying is that I'm willing to drop my coldness toward the king of winter if you'll acknowledge that my anger wasn't unjustified."

"It was not unjustified," Fostolas said. He took my hand into his - his palm was cool and dry. "I deserved anger and coldness. I am used to coldness… but fifty winters of it is, perhaps, a bit much."

"Let's drink to that," I said. "We'll call forty-nine well enough."

His dour face crept into a wan smile. "To a fruitful spring, my tulip."

+++++

As we rode out that afternoon, I could see that the spring had come. It's always springtime in the Vernal realm, as you might expect, but it was really spring during real springtime, with flowers blossoming everywhere, the light green of new growth on all the trees and shrubs, bees and butterflies clustering about the flowers, and the smell of nectar in the air. Larry Born would have been having a real pollen problem, but Laeanna didn't seem to have that allergy.

We rode in the dappled sunlight, down the big main road in a growing procession, first with the contingent from High Bloom, and then from other noble houses as we passed their various fiefdoms. These were the dukes, earls, and lords of the realm and their retinues. There are about five thousand pure-blooded fae in all of Vernal and twenty-thousand overall, and all of them have some sort of aristocratic claim. There are about four times that many fae-kin - those with at least three fae grandparents - who are eligible for lesser titles (master or mistress, or even sir or dame if their estate is large enough), though most do not have them. Meliswe, for instance, had no title, and so was only permitted to ride with us fancy folk on account of being my chief and most beautiful advisor.

"I'm your only advisor," she observed.

"But if I had more, you'd be the prettiest," I said.

"True, my lady." We were around nobles who might object to the informality I insisted upon in private. However, I wasn't keeping our relationship a secret - it is, apparently, not at all uncommon for young fae nobles to take lovers of the same sex, since there's no chance in wasting the good political opportunity of having a child by the right person. Meliswe glanced at an approaching contingent of six people on horseback, rolling her eyes. "Oh sweet Gaia, it's my father… and he's got my sister with him."

Meliswe was the bastard daughter of Lord Aerylar of the Greenbriar, a small but prosperous stretch in the mine-studded western hills. Her mother was a jeweler and a poetess of minor repute, and Aerylar had been captivated by her lusty words, and the two had been lovers for several decades, eventually resulting in Meliswe. But the lord's legitimate issue included Myrwaeli, a pretty fae girl seven years older than Meliswe (not much by fae standards). To hear Meliswe tell it, her half-sister wasn't a very nice person and, at the very least, the sisters didn’t see eye to eye. Myrwaeli also, apparently, thought of me as a rival.

Now, realistically speaking, a princess of the whole realm does not consider the daughter of a provincial lord, even a wealthy one, to be her rival - and if old Laeanna ever had, I certainly didn't. But it was easy to see how Myrwaeli might get that impression, as she possessed the same pink-haired, rosy-cheeked beauty of Meliswe and a pure fae pedigree to boot. She probably had lordlings beating down Lord Aerylar's door to secure her hand, and I suppose he was still waiting for an offer from a duke. Aerylar and Myrwaeli trotted up to pay their respects to the queen and king, followed by the other royalty - Gaelin and myself.

"Prince Gaelin, I hope you're finding springtime to your liking," Aerylar said.

"I am. I spent some years of my youth here, and it's always good to be back, however briefly. Send my regards to your lady."

Myrwaeli smiled noncommittally, glancing between her sister and me. "My princess, I look forward to seeing you in your mother's court. I hope my sister isn't being too presumptuous of her station - you know how we of the Greenbriar are… sometimes too ostentatious for our own good."

I glanced back to Meliswe, riding just behind me, and reached out to grasp her hand. She wasn't dressed as a handmaiden ought to be… which, since she wasn't my handmaiden, oughtn't to have been surprising. She'd replaced her wardrobe with one more in line with her personal style - dark-blue, puffy-sleeved, and satiny, the black lace of the bodice drawn taut to emphasize her chest. Her hair was down in a loose braid in the style of the ancient warriors-priests of Pispistria that Dhyr had taught us about, albeit with silvery jeweled bands instead of simple wooden ones. She looked like a lady of the realm, and she was my lady of the realm.

"Your concern is noted, lady. Don't worry - I've been keeping close tabs over your sister. In fact, I've dismissed her as my handmaiden."

Confusion played over Myrwaeli's pretty face. "Then… my princess, then why does she ride with you?"

"You'll be pleased to know that your sister is my chief advisor - what a boon to the House of the Greenbriar!"

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"My princess," Meliswe said - just loudly enough that her sister could hear it. "I am not of my father's house, as I am a bastard daughter…"

I pretended to be embarrassed - really, I just wanted to be cheeky with this girl who wanted to embarrass Meliswe in front of the whole royal procession. "I should have remembered that. Still… Lord Aerylar, surely this is welcome news?"

"Welcome news, indeed," he flashed a smile, the same pearly whites with the tiniest bit of overbite that Meliswe had. He rode up to Meliswe and leaned in to hug her. "Your mother will be ecstatic - she and I aren't as close as we once were. You know this well, and there's no shame in it. You should write her and invite her to see you at the palace. I can only imagine how she'll react, but I'll warn you to expect quite a few tears of joy. Thank you, Princess Laeanna, for seeing in my daughter what I always knew to be there."

With that, they rode back to their spot much further back in the procession, with Myrwaeli casting nasty scowls in our direction for as long as she could. Meliswe hummed happily and rode up beside me for a minute to lean her head on my shoulder and hold my hand. She was happy, and that made me happy. And I swore to myself that I'd never hurt her the way I had back in the summer court - though that would prove a promise that I ultimately couldn't keep.

We rode until sunset, stopping every two hours to rest the horses and fortify them with the alchemical decoctions proven to increase their health and endurance. The decoctions worked on humans, too… and were, in fact, close to the hypnotic potions the raiders had used on the women in their harem. It was wonderful if you wanted enduring, obedient horses, but less than ideal for personal use. Personally, I knew very little of alchemy, and it had been an area of magic that Laeanna hadn't taken much interest in, either. In this world of magic, there were all sorts of miraculous effects you could achieve by purifying different chemicals and extracts in enchanted vessels and mixing them together in carefully-prescribed rituals. If I wanted to learn, I could no doubt ask Morwen to teach me - she'd gradually crept back into the queen's good graces. Alathea understood better than anybody what a fae woman might do to protect her children from true death.

It was almost dark when we rode into Vernal City, the people of the West Quarter streaming out to greet us, lining the streets and cheering to greet us. As was tradition for royal processions, the queen and king tossed handfuls of mithrins to the cheering, scrambling crowd. Gaelin did, too, waving and blowing kisses at the women who bared their legs or cleavage at him, tossing out coins and taking it all in good humor. Alathea had given me a pouch of coins, too, but I refused to toss them out. I found the way the common folk of Vernal City scrambled and clawed to scrape up the money degrading and I'd seen at least a few people suffer minor injuries when we'd done the same thing on our ride into Estivalia a two months before. I wouldn't be party to that.

"Aren't you going to throw money to the people?" Meliswe asked.

I shook my head. "Why? So the biggest and greediest people can shove everybody else out of the way and snatch up a few ill-gotten coins? The queen gave me this money to distribute to the people, and I'll do just that - on my terms. The two of us will put our heads together to figure what to do with the money."

So I kept my purse of mithrins as we rode - and some of the people noticed, some of them calling out that I was keeping the money for myself. A woman shouted 'Laeanna is a selfish bitch', which got two of my guard riding out of formation to deal with her. I rode after them, and Meliswe joined me. I told the guards to put the woman down, told them that sending a poor old faun woman off to jail for a fortnight wasn't likely to make her more favorably inclined.

"You think I'm being selfish, madam, for not tossing coins into the street. But these coins are minted with your taxes and drawn from your income. I would be throwing you your own money and watching you scramble for it for the amusement of a few parading nobles. Tell me, miss, are you on hard times?"

"Yes, princess, since my husband died."

"I understand." In fact, I understood exactly, as that's what had happened on the Born farm after my father died. I reached up and unpinned one of my earrings, a dangling gold and sapphire jewel probably worth thirty mithrins by itself. "Take this, then. I hope it will help. Who here has lost a husband or wife recently? A mother or father? A child? Don't be shy…"

"Me, Princess Laeanna, my mother and father both," a young human man said. "Just this winter." I unpinned my other earring and handed it to him.

I handed out each item of my jewelry, one-by-one, to different people in need. And Meliswe did, too, letting her hair fall free and handing out her little jeweled hair bands. Those had cost her a week's salary, but I never heard her complain about it afterward. By the time we were finished, the rest of the Vernal procession had passed and it was just me and Meliswe with four of my guards in the midst of a throng of commoners. If one of them had been an assassin, they'd have had no problem in striking me by surprise (though I suppose they'd have to have prepared an accursed poison to kill me permanently). But all I felt were the hands of the people touching my horse and my gown as I rode among them. I felt dirty about soaking up their adulation - they stared at me as if I'd just done them a great favor, while all I'd really done was redistribute about one percent of Laeanna's jewelry collection. I realized that I had some serious thinking to do about royal economics.

"Happy equinox!" I shouted, and the people cheered.

+++++

Somehow, word of what I'd done had traveled back to the palace before I even got there, and people called me 'Generous Princess Laeanna' for weeks afterward. Certainly, it was the talk of the court during the first few days. While the queen met with nobles, advisors, and foreign dignitaries at any time of the year, Vernal held its official court only during springtime. This was when the throne room really opened up and became the hub of palace activity for three months. Nobles came in to discuss the state of their fiefdoms, to bring grievances and requests to the queen, and to make arrangements between one another. All of the major houses from the realm (and quite a few fae from other realms and representatives from distant, non-fae nations) were in attendance, and so it was convenient for politicking. But before all of that politicking began in earnest, there was the opening ceremony.

This ceremony consisted of a speech by the queen, followed by a demonstration by yours truly. In past years, Laeanna had often wowed the crowd with feats of magic or occasional singing, and I decided to do both. Dill and I had prepared a bit of a performance of woodsong, bringing a stunted, wilted rose to bloom. We'd practiced with rose clippings in the week before the equinox and thought we'd got it down pretty well. She was responsible for growing the stem and the branches, for making the twisting, thorny, bushy part of the rose. This was actually the hard part. All I had to do was bring the leaves and flowers out and get them to bloom, which was a lot showier but required a lot less nuance than making a big, branching rose bush from a little withered stump.

After the queen's speech, Dill and I ascended the royal stairs carrying the withered rose in a clay pot - it was a pretty big pot and definitely a two-woman job to carry it. We curtsied to Alathea and Fostolas and Dill curtsied to Gaelin and the crowd in general, too. On account of my rank, it would have been inappropriate for me to do so. Then we stood behind the pot and sang our woodsong. I cannot translate the words from the ancient tongue of the Deep Green into fae, not exactly. But our song went something like this:

This is a song

that grows.

This is a love

of thorns and weathered vines,

and the beauty that arises

from withered things

when love,

even the smallest mote,

the meager crumb of compassion,

is offered.

This is a love

that does not expect.

It only hopes

you grow

and bloom.

I never really appreciated poems that don't rhyme before. I suppose I thought they took less talent than ones that paid special attention to rhyme and rhythm. But you cannot learn woodsong and stick to that notion, because it's a deeply asymmetrical thing, like the branches of a tree. It confounds our sense of the aesthetic but ends up being beautiful just the same.

Dill and I sang our song, her singing the core while I sang the elaboration (in a woodsong duet, one singer is always the 'roots' and one is always the 'branches' - the 'trunk' is split between the two). And, as we did, the rose snaked up from its pot, its stem thickening and sprouting big, brassy thorns, its branches curling out and stretching into smaller, more sinuous things with lighter brown and green thorns. The little buds of leaves and flowers pushed out into the air, shaking like a cold dog as they extruded and unfolded. The rose bush spread out even wider than I'd anticipated and, in the last few seconds, flowers of white, pink, and red all unfurled like fae wings unfurl, seemingly out of nowhere. I was relieved that it had worked - woodsong is inherently a bit uncertain since the plant you're singing to has to play along. Usually, they do, but some plants are just curmudgeons.

When we were done, the last notes of our song echoed across the expanse of the throne room, and then the assembled lords and ladies stood and applauded. It wasn't the restrained, polite applause of officers appreciating the talents of the hired help, either. It was the excited applause of people who've just seen something unexpected… more unexpected, even, than I'd expected it to be. And, as I took a few steps down the stairs to give a half-curtsy of thanks, I glanced up to the rose bush and gasped - the pattern of its flowers spelled out, in perfect fae script, our sigil for the word 'love'. Dill didn't write fae, and I certainly hadn't meant to spell out the pattern… maybe it was the rose?

After that, each noble family presented themselves before the queen and there was an exchange of gifts. As a general rule, each family presented a gift that was somehow indicative of their realm - an agricultural realm might gift rare or especially delectable foods. A forested fiefdom might gift an intricate piece of wooden furniture. The queen, in turn, gifted a token of her appreciation to help with their realms, often a commemorative plaque that served as a promise - a promise to upgrade a lumbermill, a promise to provide for the housing and training of twenty soldiers, and so on. The gifts were rarely exorbitant, and mostly symbolized lords demonstrating their value to the queen and the queen demonstrating a commitment to rewarding and increasing that value. In fact, the second most-valuable gift of the day went to me.

In years past, Laeanna had garnered her share of gifts. It wasn’t expected, let alone required, to give gifts to the princess, but a beautiful and very single princess was somebody to be buttered up. It was the exception rather than the rule that princesses marry outside their realms. Usually, it was the lucky son or daughter of a Duke or Duchess who married into the crown - this had been the case with Alathea's parents (my fae grandparents) a thousand years before, a prince and the daughter of the Duchess of the Great Valley. So Laeanna had been showered with tokens of affection. This year, though, I was betrothed, and so I only got three gifts - alchemical salve from somebody who'd heard I'd injured my wing (touching, but I had my own salve); a beautifully-illustrated book on needlepoint from the Earless of the Tulip House (thoughtful, but that had been old-Laeanna's hobby); and a beautiful jeweled sword from Myrwaeli of the Greenbriar.

Myrwaeli had meant it as a bit of a joke. She presented me with the sword and curtsied. "Given how often the two of us exchange barbs and ripostes, my princess, I thought you might need this," she said.

I hardly heard her, I was so enamored of the sword. I'd been practicing with sticks of the same size and weight under Dhyr, so it was perfect. It was undersized for a sword - most swords are forged for large men who cannot handle them artfully. Though my muscles were quickly becoming toned and used to rigorous exercise, I would never be large enough to handle a bastard sword well. If Myrwaeli wanted to taunt me, she could have commissioned a bastard sword or, worse yet, a claymore. But that would have taken three times the jewelry and expensive alloy, and so to cut on costs (while preserving very high craftsmanship, so as to not embarrass herself), she'd commissioned a sword that weighed just under a pound and a half - heavy enough to be useful and light enough that I could wield it capably.

"It's perfect!" I said, and I gave Meliswe's sister a big hug. "I… sorry, I didn't get you anything. I'll owe you a favor."

"Er… thank you, princess…" Myrwaeli was just as confused as most of the audience of nobles - to their knowledge, Princess Laeanna had never touched a sword in her life.

After the exchange of gifts, the queen stood (and so everybody else stood) so she could announce the end to the day's court and give them two hours' leave before the evening banquet: "Before I adjourn today's court, are there any matters of especial import that must be addressed?"

"Er… yes, my queen," a red-haired fae lord said.

"Lord Dyardic of the Blue Mountain," Meliswe whispered.

"Lord Dyardic, what news?" Alathea asked.

"My queen, before we adjourn, I would like to petition for a meeting between yourself and a man whom I am proud to vouch for - Prince Velda of Wisthelm. He would like to address the Court of Vernal…"

The queen pondered that for a moment. "I will see him, and he'll address the court tomorrow… if I like what he's got to say. Until then, court is adjourned. My lords and ladies, I hope to see you at tonight's banquet."