Page 12

Paying Court

“I believe,” said Sir Oswain, who was looking less noble and polished with his lank hair and unshaven face than he had at the outset of the journey, “that we have passed this tree before. Perhaps twice. Or thrice.”

“Thank you for your observation, sire,” I said dryly.

I was teetering on despair, for after three days of searching we still could not find the entrance to the Faerie court.

At least, I thought it had been three days. The hours melded together in Faerie, and one’s memory did not function as usual in the magic-tinged air.

“We’ll run out of bread soon,” muttered Jack. He slid his pack from his shoulders and sank onto a fallen tree trunk, rubbing the back of his neck.

“If only I had my map,” mourned Sir Oswain, regarding the tree we had passed three times. “I ought not have let that scapegrace depart with it.”

It was an unusual tree, towering above all others, bearing silvery berries of a flat, round shape, like coins, and leaves also of a silver-white colour, very like my hair, as Jack had observed the first and second time we passed it. He did not mention it the third time.

I needed to think. I would have liked to walk a little distance from my disheartened companions to gather my thoughts in peace, but I recognised the danger of losing sight of one another in this enchanted woodland.

Every path looked different but led one in circles.

Circling around together was one thing, but it would not do to be caught up in separate circles that might never cross paths again.

I was sure we were in the right place. The magic was tangible, both heightening my senses and disorienting me, as though spells had been laid to ensure we could not find our way.

I was certain that the tree Sir Oswain was now strolling up to was the silver tree depicted on Jory’s map, marking the entrance to the court. But where was the entrance?

“We will never find the gate,” I said, recalling lines from Mother’s stories, “unless they wish us to enter. What was that tale of the swineherd’s daughter?”

“The swineherd’s daughter?” said Jack, looking up with interest, for he loved stories.

“She chased a straying pig into Faerie and found herself in the Faerie court.”

“I know that one!” said Jack. “The Faerie princess’s brother caught the pig and had it cooked for a rare dish at his banquet, and the princess, who wanted the pig for a pet, was so angry with her brother that she turned him into a pig and sent him away with the swineherd’s daughter.

And when the Faerie queen learned of this, she went to fetch her son and gave the girl great riches, for she’d kept the pig from being sent to market, and the girl had dowry enough to go and marry a mortal prince. ”

“Not that story,” I said. “In Mother’s story the pig entertained one of the young daughters of the Faerie king, for she had never seen a pig before.

Her court jester was jealous of the pig and cast an enchantment upon it to give it wings so that it might fly away.

But the princess was even more delighted with the flying pig, and the swineherd’s daughter, who was a clever girl, convinced the king that pigs were worth their weight in gold in her country.

She negotiated a king’s ransom for the animal, returned home excessively rich, and married a prince. ”

“Why do the girls always want to marry princes?” said Jack gloomily.

“I don’t. But the point of the story I am trying to remember is not who she married, but how she got into the court.”

“In my story, she followed the pig into a faerie ring,” said Jack.

“We are in a ring,” I said, looking around at the evenly spaced trees encircling us. The silver tree stood as the head of the ring, as though presiding over it. In Mother’s story, the girl had simply run after the pig and found herself in the court.

“We can see the fae and speak to them if they allow us to,” I said. “We are already there, but we cannot perceive it.”

“Already there?” Jack rubbed his cheek tenderly, for it was still red and sore. “Then why don’t we just ask to be let in?”

I sighed at his ignorance. “One does not simply ask to be let into a royal court. Common folk cannot demand entry.”

I followed Jack’s gaze as he turned his eyes to Sir Oswain, who was peering at a branch as though it were of immense interest to him.

“Sir!” I called, causing Sir Oswain to jump a little, for he had been absorbed. He turned round.

“Such fascinating creatures,” he said. “Something like ants, but quite luminescent. One would not see them at all but for the trail of light they leave as they scurry along, for they quite meld with their background, becoming almost invisible. I have an interest in the natural world, but the creatures here are remarkable. I could study them all day.”

“Except that we must rescue my sister,” I reminded him. “And time is pressing.”

“Certainly we must,” he said, his scholarly look dissipating in an instant. “Have you found the entrance?”

“We are at the entrance, sire.”

“We are? I see it not.”

“Like the faerie ants, it is invisible to us. But you are the very person to open it.”

“How so?”

“Royal etiquette. A visiting dignitary from one kingdom usually shows courtesy to another’s court, do they not?”

He bowed his head to agree.

“What etiquette should be followed in such a circumstance as this?” I asked. “How would you approach the queen of another kingdom if you found yourself in her domain and in need of assistance?”

“I should seek an audience and come before the regent with a gift.”

“What kind of gift?”

“The usual kind.”

“Pray, do elaborate, sir,” I said, stifling my impatience .

He made a flourish with his hand. “Jewels, precious metals, rare perfumes, slaves, that kind of thing.”

“We have no jewels or metals or perfume,” I said. I slumped dejectedly beside Jack.

Jack was looking distressed at Sir Oswain’s words. In fact, he looked strangely pale and swayed slightly as though he were going into a swoon.

“Are you ill, Jack?” I asked, alarmed by his expression.

“Y–yes,” he stammered, his breath a little short.

He stood up from the tree stump and put his pack on his shoulders.

Now he leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees as though to steady himself.

The movement caused his pack to ride up, making him top-heavy, and he inevitably tumbled over and lay sprawled on the ground.

“What is wrong with you?” I said, rising and putting out a hand to pull him up. Sir Oswain grasped his other arm, and we yanked him to his feet.

“I will do it,” said Jack, still pale and breathless. “For her, I would do anything.”

He made a small, choked sob.

“Only, I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye to Jory first. For I shall never see him again, and would have liked to say farewell.”

“Do what?” I asked, bewildered.

“Give myself as a slave to the Faerie queen.”

It took a moment for Sir Oswain and me to understand his meaning.

“Nay, son of Jago,” said Sir Oswain decidedly. “You have not the makings of a royal slave.”

“I don’t?”

“One would not offer a slave to a queen who was not of the handsomest form and countenance. It would be offensive to do otherwise. ”

Jack’s face cleared, then fell again. “Then we have naught to give.”

Sir Oswain gave Jack’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Though you are not fit for a slave in the fae queen’s court, Jack, son of Jago, yet your willingness to sacrifice yourself for the lady Rose is noble indeed. I shall not forget it.”

Sir Oswain then drew out his short sword from the scabbard at his hip. He stroked the hilt tenderly.

“This sword was forged for me at my coming of age, a gift from my mother. But I consider it of no value in comparison to the life of the lady Rose. It is all I have to offer as a gift.”

“Then it will have to do,” I said resignedly. “Now you must ask for admittance. This is the centre of the ring,” I said, closing my eyes as I moved into position, searching for the deepest point of magic that swirled around us. “You must make a petition for entry into the court.”

“Feels like I’ve got a spinning top in my head,” groaned Jack, staggering as he entered the middle of the ring.

“It’s the magic,” I said. “It is very strong here.”

Jack groaned again, looking increasingly sickly.

Sir Oswain also paled; perspiration beaded on his brow. “What shall I say?” he asked grimly.

“Whatever you would usually say in such circumstances.”

“I have never found myself in such a circumstance.”

“Then devise a petition, sire. Contrive. Improvise,” I urged.

“Speak to whom? There is no one here.”

“Just because we cannot see them does not mean they cannot see and hear us.”

Sir Oswain regarded me unfavourably .

“I think,” he said, “that you are a young lady of a managing disposition.”

I bit back a retort, deeming it wiser to manage my impatience instead.

“But I shall indulge you on this occasion,” he continued, “for there is naught else to try.” He tugged a very fine handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his forehead.

“On behalf of my sister, sir, I thank you for your indulgence,” I said dryly, marvelling at the contradiction of a man who carried both a warrior’s sword and a lace-edged handkerchief.

“Stand behind me,” ordered Sir Oswain, when he had re-pocketed his handkerchief. “Royal protocol dictates that persons of common birth do not stand beside noblemen.”

Jack and I obeyed.

“Where shall I direct my speech?” Sir Oswain asked.

“Toward that tree,” I replied. “That is where the magic flows.”

Sir Oswain staggered slightly as he turned to face the tree. Jack moaned and said he thought he was going to be sick.

“Do not give your name,” I counselled. “Only your title.”

Sir Oswain lifted his chin and called out in a loud, clear voice, trained for oration: “To Her Royal Highness, queen of the south of Faerie, I, servant of King Athelfrid of the Westshires of Albion, do beseech Your Highness for the immeasurably great honour of an audience.”

He paused. We listened. There was no sound.