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“Good day, Your Grace,” Beatrice began, bowing.
“To you as well. Thank you for taking the time to come here. I know the concerns with the well-water have kept you busy.”
“Not so busy that I can’t check up on your greatest concern, I should think,” she said with a wink, then moved on before Jareth could reply, stepping forward and looking over to Salas’ perch upon the cushions. “And how have you been, little one? Not placing too much pressure on that leg, I should hope. You removed the splint without advisory, I see.” The last part was added a bit wryly.
Salas regarded her warily, ignoring her comments. “You speak Susconian well.”
“I’m from a southern border town,” she explained lightly. “I traveled north when the taxes down there became too high. It’s my favorite, self-indulgent tale, I have to explain. It’s how I became a witch.”
“You became a witch?” Salas asked wondrously, looking at her with a new light upon discovering that she, too, was a Susconian who had made it to a distant land.
Beatrice nodded, taking a seat beside him, as though they were old friends. Jareth simply watched them, not wanting to interrupt the spark of the bond of friendship.
“I did. I wasn’t alone, though. Victoria was with me. We got lost in the Faeland Forest,” she said solemnly, her tale taking a dip.
Salas nodded knowingly, his eyes growing a bit distant with whatever ghosts from his past still haunted him. “That is…not a good place to be lost.”
“It was not,” Beatrice agreed. “A group of pixies found us and compelled us to dance. A faerie dance is not for mortals. For ten years, we danced in a circle of red-capped mushrooms we couldn’t escape from, the magic keeping us from dying.”
“Oh,” Salas gasped.
“By the end, we had absorbed enough magic to make some on our own. How we got out was a bit of sheer luck. A pixie forgot to compel us to dance, and I felt the blink of proper consciousness. I grabbed Victoria, and we ran.”
Salas didn’t startle under the sound of Victoria’s name, though his eyes narrowed slightly.
“I wanted to tell you this story,” Beatrice went on. “So you may understand why she did what she did a little better, as is your right. I believe Victoria feared you. She is gone now, so there is no need to concern yourself.”
“And you do not…fear me?” Salas questioned.
Beatrice gave a gentle smile. “There is nothing in your character that would inform me to do so. Come, let me see that leg.”
Beatrice checked over Salas’ injured limb, deeming it suitable to walk on lightly without a crutch, though still advising bed rest.
Afterwards, Jareth pulled her aside and had more questions.
“He is in good health, I take it?” he questioned, ignoring the dirty look Salas threw him when he switched to Diagorian so that he would not understand.
Beatrice nodded, complying with her King’s discretion and switching to his language. “He is. Fae heal quickly. There is no cause for fear.”
Jareth paused, thinking carefully before delivering his next line of questioning, for fear of giving too much away, even to the kind, healing with Beatrice. “And the sensations we’ve discussed … hisscent… you’re certain it is because he is the cause of the curse?”
“Yes, quite. It is a defense mechanism. Oftentimes curses lead to negative reactions. Cursed ones will want to find their cursors to seek revenge. Jinxes have an aura that appeals to cursed ones, so as to survive. Jinxes are…somewhat defenseless aside from their wishes.”
“Yes, I’ve realized that,” Jareth mused, looking over to the young man curled up on the bed, braiding his hair into a single plait.
Even now, knowing the truth, it was hard to connect the two together. How could this fragile, gentle boy ever be the same ethereal being who had the power to change an entire people? It was like someone pointing to a delicate daisy and saying that it was a god. What he knew and what he saw were having difficulties connecting.
“I’ve already described the sensation,” Jareth went on, shaking his head and pulling his thoughts together. “Yet does he feel anything?”
“Has he observed similar behavior to…yours?”
Had Salas buried his face into Jareth’s skin like the matter of inhaling his scent was a matter of life or death? “No. There is relief in that. I wouldn’t want to make him more confused than he already is. I suppose I only have to worry about others.” His dark thoughts drifted to the guard who had betrayed his trust, and Victoria. “What did Victoria tell you about the well water before she left?”
“Not much,” Beatrice said ruefully, as though recalling an unpleasant memory. “She merely pretended to observe it before being on her way. I have to warn you, once she holds a grudge, she holds it tightly, and doesn’t let go. Why do you think she hates the fae to begin with?”
Jareth tilted his head. “Do you resent me for the treatment of your friend?”
“It was fair. Some lines should not be crossed. More…surprised about how sure you are. You truly have no lingering affection for her?”
