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“The webs.” He nods to an intricately woven cobweb dangling between two trees. The luminous silk must be as thick as my pinky finger. The entire structure is about fifteen feet wide. Gemstones and crystal ornaments dangle from intersections. I touch one and feel the tingle of magic. When Briar next glances away, I pluck it and slip it into my cape’s pocket.
Nothing to see here.
As we continue walking, the hairs on the back of my neck lift as though someone is watching me, but when I scan for prying eyes, I find no one.
Turning back to our surroundings, I notice a wide variety of sizes and placement of webs. Some are beneath bridges between the trees, others are out in the open. The frequency increases when the number of residential buildings increases.
We arrive at the base of a particular tree with a red flag beneath a six-foot dandelion. Briar plucks a large seed and hands it to me. It’s feathery and hard to pin down as though an invisible hand tries to steal it. He squints up, shields his eyes, and points to a platform with a small group of waiting passengers.
“Catch the Dandelion Drift up. This flow line will take you directly to the palace and the Nexus. Stay on the carriage until the last stop a few beats away. Don’t delay in registering when you get there.”
With each passing second, the dandelion seed grows more willful. Briar places his hands on my shoulders to keep me from floating away. His eyes turn serious. His jaw clenches.
“If I can give you one piece of advice, it’s to stay away from the House of Shadows.”
“Who?”
“The portraits in your bag,” he explains. “They’re the Knights of the Queen’s Hive. You must know they’ve never chosen a protégé. You’re better off chasing nobles from another house.”
He’s talking about the Six.
“Anything else?” I ask, a desperate note in my voice. He’s been unusually helpful and kind.
“Yes.” His brows join in the middle. “It was indeed a pleasure to have made your acquaintance.”
That sounds awfully ominous. He lets go of my shoulders, and I rise with the dandelion seed. The sudden weightlessness is disorienting, but at least it’s not water. I can’t help kicking my legs. My rucksack slides across my shoulders, shifting the weight. I almost swing the wrong way, but somehow, the seed knows where to go. It corrects its path and takes me to the platform, where I drop like a sack of stones.
I’m so loud that I draw attention from waiting passengers. They’re all dressed and groomed with impeccable taste and care. Not a hair out of place. The males are clean-shaven. The females have faces painted with stunning colors and glittering highlights. Their clothes are shimmering embroidered gossamer contrasted with velvet and silk. Some don’t bother looking at me, but those that do recoil in disgust.
I press my palm against Tinger’s pendant beneath my shirt. Staring eyes drop to my hand and then they start whispering. The whispers turn into melodious laughter and grow louder by the second. I want to turn and see who mocks me, but it would only give them more fuel for gossip. The laughter abruptly dies when a carriage of delicate twisted branches and foliage arrives at the platform, floating on a cloud of mist and glowing balls of light. They look suspiciously like manabeeze, except they’re too big. But I think the laughter came from them.
A door opens on the carriage, and out pours a group of well-dressed faerie citizens. There are at least twenty of them. And no one with a flaw or fae appendage other than smooth-arched elven ears. Not a single horn, furry dusting, or animal feature. I stand back until they’re gone and am the last to enter the carriage. Sitting on one of the lush, upholstered seats, I feel like I’m soiling them.
It’s hard to breathe, so I glance down at the flyer. The inscription says:
“From the Good Folk to the Mortal, in shadows and light, comes the chance of a blessing in the radiant queen’s gracious sight. No matter what you be, only one will emerge in victory to seize the prize of a dream turned to reality.”
Chapter
Seven
WILLOW
The balls of light driving the carriage are called will-o’-the-wisps and reflect conversations within as we glide around the city. The first sign that something is wrong is when their melodious laughter sounds more like sighing. Conversation inside the carriage has changed in tone. Faces look worried and pinched. Occasionally, I receive a stare, but they’re not discussing me. I’m hiding in the back and doing my best to disappear.
Signs of the war are everywhere.
Damaged infrastructure is repaired hastily or covered with holly decorations for their winter festivities. Delicately woven bridges between trees are broken, leaving dwellers stranded or overflowing carriage platforms, as their usual route is blocked. Passengers complain about the Dandelion Drifts not growing fast enough to meet the rising demands.
Another passenger says that instead of spending winter playing war games and having parties to celebrate the Holly King’s arrival, they should import food from the northern regions and stockpile for the resumption of war with the Oak King’s return.
The pretty dream-catching webs continue into the city, but sometimes they’re broken. Silk strings dangle, and their jeweled ornaments drift haphazardly. Buildings overflow with desperate and hungry-looking people. As with the trend I’ve noticed, they’re clean and impeccably presented, but the quality of their clothes is diminished and threadbare. It reminds me of the humans in Sky Tower back in Crystal City. Because they were at war with the fae, they ran out of colorful resources to make dyes for their fabrics, and most fashions were affected. They’d also patched and recycled as much as possible.
I read more on the flyer. The Solstice Exhibition lasts for most of the Gentle Interlude, and exhibitors receive accommodation, meals, and training before a final tournament. There are parades, processions, and demonstrations of talents. There will be balls, feasts, and celebrations in the name of Titania’s slumbering sacrifice. It sounds like she’s asleep for the entire winter, which means she’s not the priority. The Six are.
The forest and buildings eventually make way for green fields leading toward an ivory palace. Up close, it’s majestic. Clouds swallow the tops of the spires. Winged stone statues stare at intruders from the turrets. All look fierce and dangerous, but still flawlessly symmetrical and pretty. As the carriage descends from the trees, we cross a bridge beside a deep chasm. The flow line tracks cross a rocky precipice to a moat far below. Oh, shit. Water.
I gasp and sit back in my seat, squeezing my eyes shut.Don’t think about the drop. Don’t think about drowning.
