Chapter Fifteen: A Prince From Afar

Prince Velda of Wisthelm was a handsome man of indeterminate race - the build of a human, the colorful hair and fine facial features of the fae, a bit of faun about his facial hair and small horns, and a bit of sylvast to gauge from the flowers that grew in his hair and beard. I guessed they'd thrown in the kitchen sink when they made him. I didn't find out what he spoke with Alathea about - not until much later - but his news at court was well-received by the fae. Especially the younger ones.

"My nation and yours have not been on the friendliest terms lately. I think it is not unfair to say this." His voice was a warm baritone, his fae clipped and just short of fluent. "I send tidings on behalf of my father, King Urbis of Wyrmsreach."

"Wyrmsreach is far to the south, Prince Velda," Alathea said - no doubt they'd already covered this last night.

"Yes, Queen Alathea. Ours is a distant kingdom… a kingdom of traders and fishermen, and we have grown prosperous during my father's reign. I am here to discuss trade relations with the great houses of Vernal on behalf of my father and the people of Wyrmsreach."

King Fostolas, my fae father, cleared his throat. "Am I to take it, young man, that you do not speak on behalf of all of Wisthelm?"

"That is correct, great king. Much like the fae nations, Wisthelm is divided into sub-kingdoms, only we've got nine instead of four. Seven to your northeast and east and two to your south. Much of our trade passes through the wilds just outside your borders. But it would be better yet to pass through the safety and into the townships of your beautiful and prosperous realms."

That's what he said, but the meaning beneath Velda's words was clear enough: nobody knew what would happen to the wilds once the union between Vernal and Estival happened in a few months. The union between Prince Calivar and me. The wilds might disappear completely or, more likely, they'd be shrunken to something like the short four-mile span between Hibernal and Vernal. Velda needed the blessing of the fae if Wyrmsreach was to move its trade through the fae lands, and he was petitioning for it here… presumably without the blessing of Wisthelm's high king.

"I believe you had an additional announcement to make beyond this?"

"I do, great queen. I know the people of your realm know little of my father's kingdom - Wyrmsreach is eight days' ride from here, and not accessible at all by ship. We have many delights not seen in the lands of spring, and I would like to share them with you - food, drink, delicacies, and the many riches of the south. In one week's time, and with Queen Alathea's gracious leave, I shall host a masquerade ball upon the Ancient Green. All highborn fae and all persons of erudition and influence may attend."

"Thank you, Prince Velda, for that generous offer. It is my intention that Wisthelm and the fae lands should be more agreeable with one another, and I will be happy to do my part in bringing this to pass. Your masquerade has my blessing."

+++++

There had already been two attempts on my life, but those had both been a while ago. Whenever I asked anybody Alathea, Vittoro, anybody, they stated that the culprits had gone to ground and disappeared without a trace. They might have been Wisten, but there was no evidence to confirm this. And if their kingdoms were as autonomous as Prince Velda indicated, then it might have been any one of the nine kingdoms without the knowledge of any of the others. I didn't trust this foreign prince, but I had no particular reason to suspect him, either.

"I was going to suggest that you not attend," Alathea told me over pre-court tea. "But it would be very out of character if Laeanna didn't attend a gala. You will be in disguise, so only people who can recognize your voice will know it's you - the risk to you is very low."

"In disguise?" I asked. I'd never been to a masquerade before. No galas, balls, or fancy dress parties. We didn't exactly have fancy anything back in Green Haven, Nebraska. Maybe a fancy soda fountain if you were willing to ride an hour into Sioux City.

"A mask and a gown for the occasion. Morwen will make you whatever color of hair dye you like and nobody will know it's you so long as you don't do anything unique, like singing songs in English or Sylvast."

"Woodsong is in the ancient tongue of the Deep Green, not Sylvast."

"Well… whatever. You get the idea, yes?"

"Yes, mother. I'm not to make a spectacle of myself."

"Correct. Pick out a color and give Morwen a sample - it takes about two days to get the formulation right."

I looked at the book of color swatches the queen had on the table, running a finger over the opalescent color. "You're going to the masquerade?"

She laughed. "I'm the queen, child, not a humorless toad. I'm as interested to sample the delights of the south as everybody else. I'll pop in for an hour or two, make myself seen, and then retire early. I have to get up godsawful early to prepare for court the first few weeks."

If I was curious about the masquerade, Meliswe was absolutely ecstatic. She'd never been to one before - unlike most formal balls, this wasn't the sort of event that handmaidens got invited to. But now she was a person of erudition and influence and the special guest of the princess. I don't think she shut her mouth for about two hours straight, spouting off all of the things she was excited about and all of her ideas for what we ought to do, most of which I couldn't make heads or tails of. Exasperated, she grabbed me by the hand and practically dragged me to Surburrus's library, where she found books on masquerade decorum, on making masks, on gown design, and a big book of color swatches.

As odd as it may sound, the book of colors was actually the thickest of the lot - one of the thickest books in the whole library. It's a good thing I'd been exercising or it would have been a tall order to carry my share of tomes back to my chambers. My arms and shoulders were sore for hours. The color book was so thick because the first hundred pages were filled with dazzling colors of every stripe. Not just solid colors, but glittering, dazzling things that changed color at different angles or sparkled and shone in the light. The next thousand pages were filled with dense alchemical directions for how to mix up each color. Being alchemical colors, the dyes didn't keep forever, and somebody had to go through the book every few decades to peel off the old color patches and apply new ones - or, if they were lazy, just blot over the old color and not quite care about the book not quite closing afterward.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Meliswe had masquerade fever and I was along for the ride. After she sketched out the design for her gown, I simply copied hers with a few little changes.

"Don't be ridiculous, we can't have the same gown."

"We'll make them different colors," I said.

Meliswe rolled her eyes. "No, Laeanna! People will notice - design your own gown!"

Like I've said, I'm a pretty good drawer, but I know doodly squat about women's fashion design (or men's, for that matter). I know what I like, but I don't know how to design it. So Meliswe designed my gown, too, putting at least as much effort into it as she did into hers, and even accepting suggestions from me when they weren't stupid (most of them were stupid). It was a blue number, to be made with the soft, slightly-stretchy, fabulously comfortable fabric I kept insisting regular clothes and not just panties ought to be made of. That part was translucent with a crisscrossed network of opaque threads and an ornate embroidery of floral patterns. The 'a-shirt' area of the gown was more opaque but just as form-fitting, and I had a lighter blue ruff that looked like rose petals. The dress was opaque at the top and faded to translucent just past my knee. By fae fashion standards, it was about a notch and a half short of scandalous.

"You'd better not let me see you in that thing the night before the party because I'm likely to tear it off you," Meliswe said, her hand sliding up to cup my breast. She nibbled at my earlobe and began to tug me toward our bed - she was very excited about the masquerade.

"If you ruin my gown, I'm stealing yours and you're going in your underwear."

"We're not the same size," she said.

I turned around to face her and ran my own hand up to her breast, copping a good feel. "I do believe you're correct, Miss Juniper. You'd better not ruin my gown, then, or we'll both be attending in our underwear."

"Oh, the scandal," she groaned, and we retreated to our bed so I could get Meliswe back into a rational state of mind.

As she gazed into my eyes from below, gasping and mewling as I licked, groped, and toyed her libido into submission, she had an epiphany. I think this was when I was kissing her and rubbing my smooth body against hers, holding the little vibrating orb that served as one of our sex toys against the junction of her groin. We'd found some really interesting things you could do with the help of a zephrylite - you can get them to repeat pretty much any easily copied nudge or tug of force much faster than a person can. I think my favorite was the double vibrating saddle, where we'd mount the saddles and face one another, kissing and groping at one another while the zephrylite throttled two motors, one underneath each saddle, into an exquisite, pelvis-thrumming vibration. Unfortunately, we could only use the thing once every few days, because it really wiped our poor air demon out and it had to rest for a while afterwards.

"We need to get another zephrylite," Meliswe sighed.

"That's your epiphany?"

"Oh! No… it's this." Nude and slick with sweat, she rolled onto her belly and reached for one of our books on the bedtable, opening it to the section on masquerade masks. She read: "'The masquerade mask is typically a façade of hard wood or occasionally ivory, painted and affixed with jewels. It typically covers only the upper face, though some masquerades call for a full mask.'"

"Which one is ours? Full face or half face?"

Meliswe shrugged. "Either, I guess. I'm not wearing a full mask… but that's not the point. If they're made out of wood, then maybe instead of getting a carved wood mask, you and Dill can grow a mask using your woodsong? A living, breathing mask!"

It was a pretty good idea and Dill was more than happy to help. For starters, she didn't care for products that require timber. Back when woodsong was common, the sylvast never chopped down trees - they just found a tree with a less-than-healthy branch and asked the tree to drop it. After it did, they'd help it grow a healthy limb and use the discarded wood for their needs. Dill was a purist in that way, though we'd convinced her to stop referring to woodsmen and lumberjacks as 'brutish murderers'. So Dill liked growing fresh and living wood for use, and she also loved to practice and teach her craft.

"The greatest woodsinger ever was fae," she stated as we prepared our songs. "Not many will acknowledge this, but fae are as good with woodsong as they are with other magics. The first Queen of the Glade was a fae named Laelilana… not so far from your name. She learned the language of the Deep Green from the Elder Trees themselves and taught it to the sylvast folk who lived there. Together, they built the Glade Palace out of living trees. Not as big as this palace, but far, far bigger than any tree. Its ruins and its child trees stand at the center of the Great Green. Some say that, rather than return to Gaia, Laelilana let the trees envelop her and her spirit lives now throughout the whole of the Great Green. It is said that it's her voice that we hear when the Tree speaks to us." She glanced at my addition to the song, jotted in the squiggly script of the Deep Green. "Ah… yes, that's a very intuitive addition, my princess. I think we're ready to grow your masks."

So we grew two masks with our song - beautiful wooden things that it would have been a travesty to alter in any way. They had little roots that would work their way into your hair to hold the mask in place and were crowned around the top with peonies, buttercups, and carnations - red and yellow for Meliswe and blue and violet for me to match our respective gowns. And, when Meliswe tried to paint hers, I told her that I'd wilt every flower on her mask if she laid a brush to it. It turns out you become a bit protective of plants that you've sung into being, so I understand Dill's sentiments.

We had our gowns, our masks, and our dance moves down. We practiced dance with Master Dhyr, who could play lead or follow in any dance you liked. They had but to glance at the footwork pattern of a dance, no matter how complex, and they could replicate it exactly - a useful talent to have, for sure. We were ready for the masquerade!

"This is the sword you were gifted, princess?" Dhyr asked after our last practice. They unsheathed it and gave the thing a few swipes through the air before balancing it on a lightly-furred finger. "The bottom is good… a little gaudy, but solid and with a good grip. Excellent balance. But the blade is second-rate. It will need to be re-forged."

"I thought it was a pretty good sword," I said.

"Pretty good, yes. But you didn't hire Master Dhyr to learn how to fight pretty well, did you? So, too, with swords." Dhyr shrugged. "Second-rate isn't bad. There are five rates. But fighting is a life-or-death calculus, and thus a warrior must have first-rate if she can afford it, which you can. I will return this in a week."

And, with that, Master Dhyr walked out of my suite with a sword that was probably worth five hundred mithrins, and I didn't have the slightest inclination to stop them. Then Meliswe pulled me away to beg me to let her glue jewels onto her mask, and I forgot about the sword Myrwaeli had gifted me for a while.