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“Ah—this is Shellya—our Royal seamstress. She made everything in your closet—except for the shoes, of course,” Liath said, introducing us.
“Oh—thank you so much,” I said politely. “I, er, love your work! The fabric is so soft.”
“It should be—I ssspin it myself,” she hissed proudly. “Jussst let me know if you need anything elssse.”
“Actually, Alira and I are taking a walk outside after we have our breakfast and she’s not used to the cold of the Winter Court,” Liath told her. “Do you think you could make her a nice warm cloak to wear? With a hood to keep her ears warm,” he added, looking at me.
“But of courssse, my Lord!” Shellya seemed extremely pleased to be asked. “I ssshall retire to the corner and begin work on it at once,” she promised. With a final nod of her head, she scuttled off to one corner of the Great Hall and began spinning, dipping low to grasp a thin line of silk which came from her bulbous abdomen, which she then began knitting into a cloak with her four arms.
“She’ll be finished in no time,” Liath told me. “She’s remarkably fast.”
“She, uh, certainly is,” I said, trying not to stare at the spider woman at work. She would have been considered a monstrosity at the Summer Court but here she was a normal person with a job. I liked that—liked that people weren’t automatically excluded or hated just because they were different here in the Winter Court.
“Have some blueberry pancakes,” Liath rumbled, putting some on my plate before I could protest. “Bacon?”
“Well…” I hesitated uncertainly. I loved this kind of substantial breakfast food but I knew it would do me no favors. “I’d better not,” I said at last. “It will go straight to my hips.”
“Let it,” Liath said, forking a small mound of bacon onto my plate. “More of your gorgeous curves to hold onto.” He gave me a wolfish grin and offered me a pot of syrup.
I was eating what was possibly the most delicious breakfast I had ever had, when a new person approached the Royal table—a centaur.
I stared at him in wide-eyed wonder. Everyone knows of the wisdom of centaurs but they left the Seelie Court long ago. They study the stars and know many things before they happen.
“Ah, Master Stableforth.” Liath actually rose to acknowledge the visitor, reaching across the table to clasp his hand.
“Your Majesty.” Stableforth the centaur bowed from his human waist. “And this must be your new bride—she who shall straddle the divide between night and light,” he said, bowing to me as well.
“Um, excuse me?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”
“The ancient texts speak of a Fae maiden who is raised in the Summer Court but maries into the Winter Court,” Stableforth explained. “It is said that she will have the power to rend the veil between the Courts so that the inhabitants may venture back and forth, as they did before the Great Divide was put up.”
The Great Divide was the barrier between the Summer and Winter Courts—which technically occupy the same physical space, just at different times of the year. I had been shocked on our wedding day to see Liath breach it so easily—but the idea of actually tearing a permanent hole in it had never occurred to me. The amount of magic such a thing would cost to accomplish was almost unthinkable.
“I’m afraid you have the wrong maiden,” I said politely. “I do not possess powers capable of such a feat, Sir. Or indeed, any powers at all,” I added, shooting a sidelong glance at Liath.
“She won’t believe she’s got magic,” he explained to the centaur, who was looking at me with some surprise in his mild brown eyes. (His hind quarters or “horse half” was a palomino, if you’re interested.)
“But the ancient texts and the stars both agree,” he said, frowning at me. “One or the other might very occasionally be wrong—but not both. It’s simply impossible.”
“Yet here I sit with no magic, Sir Centaur.” I lifted my empty, powerless hands to show him what I meant.
“She just hasn’t learned to access it yet—she still thinks Summer Court magic is the only kind there is,” Liath said to Stableforth.
The centaur’s bushy eyebrows drew down low.
“Summer Court magic is stolen magic,” he proclaimed in a ringing voice which was almost approaching a neigh. “It is a fake—no true magic at all!”
I thought of telling him that I had seen Asfaloth actually turn a man inside out using this ‘fake’ magic but decided it would be an unforgivably rude thing to say—especially at the breakfast table. So I kept my mouth shut.
“You know that and I know that, but Alira is still an innocent,” Liath told the centaur.
“Innocence must be lost if knowledge is to be gained,” the Centaur said obliquely.
