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When we rodeinto Lord Falcon’s camp three days after leaving Castle Brightness, the scene hit my bruised senses like a surreal carnival. I had expected something more of a war zone, to which Lord Puck responded that we were well back from the battle lines and so could afford the basic comforts. I didn’t know much about war, except for books and movies. This scene was definitely not what I’d pictured.
Tents in an eye-jarring array of colors were jumbled around a green valley, with a bright brook flowing from a waterfall down the cliffside beyond. Banners with fanciful creatures fluttered gaily, music played and a group of long-limbed figures danced in the meadow. I half-expected to see unicorns dancing around rainbows.
“See?” Puck said beside me. “Didn’t I tell you this would be grand fun?”
Puck led me to a tent that could have belonged to a Saudi king. Cream silk swept up and gathered in a ribboned knot at the peak. Bright pillows tumbled over the floor, glowing in the slashes of sunshine falling through open skylights where the material had been rolled back above. The only spot not heaped with pillows was one corner where a girl with dragonfly wings knelt on a velvety rug by a table with platters of food.
Darling picked his way to a canary-yellow cushion lying in a sunbeam—bypassing iris-blue and grass-green ones—and began kneading it. His purr filled the room. I sent him a picture of a goofy-looking cat drooling like an undignified kitten, but he only agreed happily.
We’d meet for a War Strategy Feast later, Puck promised me, and promptly disappeared, leaving me alone with the faerie girl.
“Would my lady sorceress like some plum wine or nectar?” she asked without looking up.
“Is some water a possibility? And don’t kneel. You don’t have to kneel.”
“I’ll fetch some from the stream!” She scampered up, grabbed a pitcher and slipped out the silk tent flaps, catching her stiff horizontal wings on both sides. I investigated the food, finding the same spread of sugared fruits, cheeses and pastries as the snack tray at chez Rogue. I wished that the food all be nourishing, good for me and not drugged, then plucked out a piece of cheese and surveyed my new home.
Not much to survey.
I tripped on a pillow trying to walk over to the other side of the tent to see if I got a bed. None in sight. Apparently I was intended to loll about like a harem girl draped over pillows.
Dragonfly Girl breezed back in, one silk flap snagged on her right wing. “Shall I pour my lady sorceress some water?” she asked in her tiny voice.
Red-gold curls rumpled around her face, a spring-green pixie outfit barely draped her tiny girlish body. I picked my way across the pillows—this was going to have to change—pulled the silk off her wing so it settled back to flutter in the breeze, then took the cold pitcher from her. Cold enough to be snowmelt. Interesting.
“I need to make sure it’s clean first,” I told her.
“Oh, it’s clean.” She nodded earnestly, curls bouncing. “I made sure no dirt went in it.”
“A different kind of clean.” I really didn’t want to try to explain microorganisms and giardia to her, if they even existed here, but better safe than sorry. “A sorceress needs magically clean water.”
What a blatant lie, but her eyes grew round and solemn. She nodded gravely. I almost felt bad for misleading her, especially just for my convenience. But not bad enough to explain about germs and disease and why I never wanted another healer near me. Easier to milk the eccentric sorceress gig than reveal my bleeding psyche.
I wished the water pure and poured a glass, studying her over the rim as I sipped. She shifted restlessly, looking uncomfortable. I probably should have let her pour it, so she’d have something to do.
“Are the wings new?”
“Do you like them, Lady Sorceress?”
“Call me Gwynn.” As the name left my mouth, I realized what I’d said. Just as well. Let the old me be truly dead. Easier to move on.
“Oh no, Lady Sorceress, I couldn’t do that. It would be most improper. Please don’t ask that of me.” Her gray eyes welled with tears.
That was me, tormenter of little faerie girls.
“All right, no worries. ‘Lady Gwynn’ is fine.” Her tears vanished in a sunrise smile, making me wonder if I’d been had. “And you are?”
“Whatever my lady sorceress wishes to call me.”
“If your mother were to walk into this tent right now, what would she call you?”
“But she’s not here—she’s at home.” Dragonfly looked profoundly confused.
I tried another tack. “You’ve been here in camp for a little while now?”
She nodded.
“Presumably you haven’t stayed in this tent the entire time—if you encountered someone you knew on the way to the stream to fetch water, what would they call you?”
