These creatures thrive off misery, yet when I gaze around the merry street, I only see happy, festive faces.
The punters at Stannog’s tavern were desolate souls who could only just about tolerate each other, yet the Fae here appreciate one another, and it’s easy to see the community spirit. This village is different. It’s full of hope and the promise of new beginnings.
A gaggle of children rushes by, and I stare in awe. Who knew that faerie children could be so adorable?
The adults dote on them, and one troll ruffles the head of a little horned girl with shimmering eyes.
A choir sings on a street corner, and they sound like angels.
I glance ahead and spy Tegwyn vanishing into a crowd of revelers. I quicken my pace, taking note of the various storefronts on eitherside of the street. Bakeries, jewellers, arts and crafts. If I had the time, I would’ve gone inside the latter.
But the store at the end of the road really catches my attention. Tegwyn stops outside a teal shop with bright gold lettering that reads: Bannog’s Whimsical Wig and Dress Store—a fancy-dress shop.
What need would Tegwyn have for fancy dress?
He grips the brass handle of the cerulean door, peering up and down the street before he slips inside. I approach quietly, spying my pale andveryhuman reflection inside the glass window of the shop. There are mannequins inside the window display. One is dressed as a farmer and the other as a blacksmith. The third is a dentist.
I shield my eyes with my hands, trying to peer through the glass, but I only end up fogging it up.
My gaze lands on a narrow alleyway beside the shop, so I slip through the tight space, spying an open window ahead.
I find and stand on a crate outside the window, peering into the back of the shop. It’s a simple lounge with a crackling fireplace, soft furnishings, and a fancy throw rug. The wallpaper bears a pretty floral design. What manner of creature resides here?
Tegwyn sits on a red velvet chair before the fireplace, facing a much larger seat, but I can’t see who’s sitting on there. Tegwyn's still wearing his hood, and he looks so unsure of himself, gazing around the ornate room.
It’s a far cry from his cave. That’s for sure.
“Biscuit?” a gruff, yet very gentle, voice offers.
Tegwyn declines. “No. I’m not hungry.”
“But I insist. They’re todiefor. My mother’s old recipe.” The host tries to tempt him with a biscuit again, and I see a large, well-groomed hand.
My stomach rumbles at the sight of those chocolate-drizzled biscuits, but I steel my thoughts, telling myself that they’re faerie sweets and that they’rebadfor me.
Tegwyn sighs. “If I must.” He grabs a biscuit from the pretty porcelain plate, and I muffle a laugh when he melts at the first bite.
Seems he has a sweet tooth.
“Your mother was a genius,” he whispers, taking another bite.
His host gushes, and a sipping sound follows. “Oh, you old charmer…”
Tegwyn balances a teacup and saucer on his knee, drumming his fingers nervously against the blue and white porcelain. I never thought I would see him drinktea. Judging by the aromatic flavour drifting from the pot with the knitted tea cosy on the table between them, it’s chamomile.
“So, mydelightfulcousin tells me that you’re after a glamour,” the host drawls, and I lean in closer. Aglamour?
Tegwyn rubs the back of his neck, tittering nervously. “You got me, but…that’s not the sole reason I’m here. You mentioned in your letter about…you know…”
“Ah, yes.” The host sighs, placing his cup and saucer onto the table. “I’m afraid it’s not good news…”
Tegwyn stiffens, and then his eyes shine beneath the lights of the chandelier. My gut wrenches at the sight of that broken expression. I once thought him cold and unfeeling, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Tegwyn has the biggest heart of anyone I know, and that goes for Fae and humankind.
He licks his bottom lip, clearing his throat. “What…what happened?”
The host’s words are lost to me when percussion music starts playing on the street, and I look down the alley curiously. A band has setup their instruments, and their drumbeats thrum through my veins, urging me to dance. My hips are already swaying to the thumping rhythm as I make my way to the street. Tegwyn isn’t going anywhere; I can return to him later.
Just after one dance…
