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But Falcon and the others seemed to be scripting their war for last-minute, tide-turning action. They wanted spectacular, so I should do something fireworks-y, something loud and colorful. Except I wasn’t excited about killing anyone. Yes, yes—I knew it was freaking war, but I was a girly-girl. There was a reason I left the room during the brutal stuff.
Good thing I had lots of time to think about this. But then, there was restfulness—and an absolution of guilt, maybe—in simply doing what one was told. I could just follow instructions for once and not have to think up my own strategy. That would be playing it safe. The cowed and obedient part of me loved this idea.
That alone was reason not to do it.
I’d also learned better. Most of the fae did not seem possessed of noble intentions. Playful at best, cruel at worst—they operated on a totally different ethical system. What they could take by hook or crook, they would. If you believed their lies, too bad for you.
Simply doing as I was told could make me an accomplice—or the instigator—of something I would never support. And it wouldn’t help me heal.
When Larch called me to eat an early lunch, I sat gratefully on the little circle of mossy grass he’d picked out. The armies should close on each other within the hour, though they seemed to have slowed to nearly a standstill. I slipped off my shoes and laid them to the side, resting my arches. We made odd picnicking partners, while a war assembled below us.
“Tell me something, Larch.” I laid cheese on apple slices—at least that was how they tasted. “What is the goal of this war?”
“To defeat the barbarians of course.”
“To accomplish what? Gain land? Property? Prove a religious point?”
Larch looked up at the sky. “You’re asking me for a real reason?”
“Yes.”
His blueberry eyes met mine. “They grow bored from time to time, Lady Gwynn. This is the latest diversion.”
“And our enemy—the barbarians?”
Larch handed me a basket of rolls. “The same.”
“So, there’s no real purpose to this war?”
“I wouldn’t say that. For immortal folk, jockeying for power is everything. Falcon is making a bold move with this war. Many are waiting to see how he succeeds.”
I set the rolls down, too queasy to eat. “But people will die down there—yours and mine, both.”
“Yes. But they won’t. That’s all that matters to them.”
Groping for words, I studied the black embroidery of my dress. I’d dressed up for this, made plans. “Why do you all go along with it?” I finally asked.
“Why, my lady?” Larch sounded suddenly angry. He scrambled up on stocky legs. “You, puppet of the nobles, ask me that?”
I stared at him, steeling myself not to flinch at displeasing him.
“The power is all theirs, Lady Gwynn,” he said more gently. “Best to learn it now.”
He began packing up our lunch, so I slipped my shoes back on, brushed off my dress and made myself scarce. I’d long since ditched the cloak in deference to the hot sunshine. Larch must have efficiently packed it. At least now I could be confident that I hadn’t inadvertently zapped it away somewhere.
Okay, I knew what I needed to do.
I changed a loose rock at my observation point into a barstool. It manifested fused to the rock below, in all its chalky magnificence. Careless imagining on my part. Though fine for stability, it looked like something out of Monty Python. I decided to leave it as it was, sat on the stool—after I modified the top to make it into a cushion—and hooked my heels over the rungs. Larch declined my offer of another stool and squatted down next to me.
I’d thought maybe a live war would make more sense than the movie ones, where I could never seem to keep track of the action. But I quickly lost track of who was who—complicated by the fact that the Enemy Men seemed to be very much the same as our own Men. Were the same, from what Larch had said.
“So, the humans here—they’re like me?”
Larch snorted. “Humans rarely can do magic. Something about you folks from the other side makes you special.”
“What is it?”
“You’re asking me? It’s your world.”
