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fourteen

Wonderwall

H eather rolled over, awaking from the oddest dream. She had shrunk to the size of a thumb, was forced to play act as a doll, and met the most attractive pixie. If only he were real, his existence nearly made up for the rest of the nightmare.

Yawning wide, she adjusted the pillow beneath her head. The chamber smelled strongly of bergamot.

Immediately alert, she bolted upright in bed… the very cot from the bedchamber of the miniature castle. It wasn’t a dream… he was genuine, and he took her hostage!

Springing from the feather mattress, she rushed toward the balcony noting that there were actual doors. Glass paneled ones, not simply an open frame like that of a child’s plaything. She exited onto the terrace, instantly surrounded by a lush, wild woodland.

Wilderness enveloped her on all sides. When she peered over the balustrade, so high was the elevation, the ground blurred below. The castle was now part of a tree, nestled in at the base of a broad branch.

The faerie oak was ancient, it’s width difficult to fathom pixie sized.

She couldn’t see its end at her vantage point.

By her guesstimate, it would take at least six humans with their arms outstretched to wrap around the circumference.

Perhaps more. As she peered up, the apex faded from view.

It was a true giant, piercing into the clouds.

Its limbs were stout, covered with lichen, ferns, pastel lilac wisteria blooms and vines.

A few weighty branches had grown drooping down to the ground and back up again.

The rain was evanescent through leaves and boughs of the mighty tree. What happened to filter through formed crystallized dew drops, shining as rainbows when they converged with the meager light. She stood silent, in complete awe of her surroundings.

Ribbons of every size, shape, and color hung from a multitude of branches.

They swayed in the wind, to and fro, swooshing audibly when caught by the breeze.

The wind’s gentle kiss inspired her to take a deep, cleansing breath.

Something within pulled loose. A sudden relief filled her being, a peace unlike anything she had ever known.

Bits and baubles glimmered in faint sunlight.

Every single one of them represented a wish.

The fairies lived surrounded by people’s desires and aspirations.

Heather swore she could feel the saturation of magick and hope in the air, the wishes in the wind.

At last, she had made it to the faerie tree of her dreams. Never had she imagined she would be here without her mother, who had gifted the ribbon. Her wish was within grasp.

Raising a hand to her temple, she sought her ribbon. But her fingers came up empty, meeting only the hair on her head.

Memories of Skye tethering her to him with the silken strip flooded back. She had to find the mysterious pixie who dared abscond with it.

She dashed out of the bedchamber, down the main stairwell, and was about to barge unceremoniously into the great hall when voices pricked her ears.

“Well, I thought it better cautious than sorry. One can never predict when hibernation will strike. The dusting has been rather… abundant.” stated a smug feminine voice.

“But this much food, mother?” Heather could hear Skye sigh.

“Does she even understand what dusting means?” asked another female speaker, sounding more youthful than the first.

There was a bit of chuckling, “Ashwoode practically drowned her in it last night.”

Heather suspected the new voice belonged to the male Tarragon.

‘Ashwoode,’… was he referring to Skye?

“I’m trying my best to court her. All of this must be foreign to a human,” replied Skye.

“Ha! You’re making a right mess of it, I’d say.” said the younger female. Heather heard a masculine growl, the sound more beast than human.

All at once, she wasn’t ready to confront him in a room full of strangers. Certainly not his mother. She backed away from the doorway, the floor under her foot creaking. She grimaced and paused, hoping it remained unheard. But alas, apparently the arched ears of the fae were highly sensitive.

“Did ye hear that?” questioned Skye, whose voice sounded closer to the threshold than it was before. She took a few steps in retreat down the hall, but the door swung open behind her.

“You’re awake.” Heather turned back; her vision filled with Skye’s tall form.

He ran his fingers through his tousled moonlit mane.

His arched ears turning a rosy hue. Heather passed her hand over her own head, wondering what a mess she must be.

She made to reply when a female with the same white tresses as Skye poked her head over his shoulder and exclaimed, “Lady Heather, we’re delighted to make yer acquaintance. ”

The young woman appeared about Heather’s own age.

Heather could easily spot the family resemblance betwixt the two- they both had the same pale green eyes.

She assumed they were brother and sister.

However, the female’s wings were different from her brother’s, grey and white, with the hind wings sporting a pale pink in the center closest to her back.

“Skye, offer to break the poor girl’s fast.” suggested the more mature female voice from further in the great hall. Skye’s mother. Heather lost the opportunity to correct his sister’s misuse of the honorific of ‘Lady.’

Heather gulped. She felt like a fish out of water.

Was she prepared to meet Skye’s mother? What they had hardly just begun, and he was mentioning courting her.

Her face must be ten shades of pink. What would his family think?

Skye’s bergamot scent intensified, as if he sensed her apprehension and was emitting it accordingly.

“Oh, gag me, Skye,” his sister muttered under a cough as she backed into the great hall. Heather couldn’t help but smile to herself at the sibling’s interactions. She reckoned that bergamot was of a particular taste, and not everyone’s first choice. Secretly, Heather adored it.

“Ah, um, please join us for breakfast,” Skye sheepishly suggested and offered his arm. Heather smoothed down her servant kirtle and inwardly groaned. Of course she had to be dressed in this.

She took his arm and whispered, “Fortunately for you, I’m famished- but don’t delude yourself in believing we aren’t going to discuss what happened last night.

” She gave him a cutting look. Snickers sounded from the interior of the great hall, and she realized everyone within heard her.

Blast those faerie ears! She peered up at Skye, her eyes widened at the realization.

He had the decency to appear apologetic.

He clasped her hand in his, which was twice the size of hers. And kissed her palm before whispering solemnly, “I vow to make it up to ye.” His declaration followed by a wink.

The dining hall table was laden with dishes and trays of food, its abundance outdoing even the royal’s banquets, and they were known for excess in all things.

Placed with care on the tabletop were bowls of root vegetables, glazed carrots, buttered peas, fried potatoes with chives.

Platters of ham, turkey and baked breads of all sorts.

There were also slices of strawberries and fruits unknown to her.

Idly, she pondered at how they obtained all of it pixie sized.

It had been a long time since Heather ate a solid meal.

Her stomach cared nothing for propriety and chose that moment to rumble loudly. She lowered her head bashfully.

“My mother has surpassed herself.” Skye stated, referring to the cluttered table as he escorted Heather further into the chamber.

“We’ve heard so much about ye, dear.”

Heather came face to face with Skye’s mother, the female looking no older than Skye himself.

She shared his pale hair and green moth wings.

She couldn’t help but notice Skye towered over everyone else in the chamber.

The female quickly embraced her. Heather was slow to reciprocate.

Too overwhelmed by racing thoughts. When was the last time someone embraced her so warmly?

Thoughts of her own mother entered her mind.

Heather’s stare met the kind dark eyes of the woman withdrawing from their brief embrace, noticing the moisture gathering there.

Skye and his sister must have their father’s eyes, she reflected.

She noticed Tarragon and the other male who accompanied Skye the eve before near the sideboard table.

They nodded respectfully when her gaze swept the hall.

“Please sit, enjoy anything which strikes yer fancy,” Skye’s mother motioned towards the table.

Skye held out a chair for Heather, pushing her in after she sat.

He claimed the neighboring seat. She noticed another wonderful change.

Her feet graced the floor. The seat was perfectly portioned to her new stature.

She attributed the changes to pixie magick.

The castle’s shift to the size of an acorn springing to mind.

“I’m Skye’s mother. Ye may call me Camellia, or mum … if it pleases ye.” she twittered with a wide smile. Mother and daughter sat across from them at the grand table. Their wings lowered, flush with their backs.

“Mother.” Skye warned with serious regard.

Camellia offered Heather a plate, but Skye intervened by swiping it from the female with a low growl.

“Oh… I apologize, dear.” His mother said with a small, knowing smile. Heather’s eyebrows rose in question. Faerie etiquette was a mystery. Apparently, it’s acceptable to growl at one’s mother, but Heather couldn’t serve her own plate?

“Aster and I were reflecting on your beautiful home. Mayhap ye could give us the grand tour sometime after you’ve settled?” Skye’s mother asked.

“I’d be honored to show you both around. I’m excited to see what has changed myself, since it no longer appears to be a child’s playhouse,” Heather replied. Her gaze veered to the windowpanes now filling the sills of the great hall. She had countless questions for the male beside her.

“I’m Aster, by the way.” Skye’s sister volunteered from across the table. “Skye mentioned yer a skilled dancer?”

“Nice to meet you.” Heather blushed, thoughts of Skye catching her unawares, flirting with the chess piece struck her anew.

“I enjoy dancing very much so, there are several courtly dances that I’ve memorized at the big castle, but I haven’t had the pleasure of dancing with others. How about you?” she asked hopefully.

“I enjoy dancing. I wouldn’t say that I was skilled at it or anything of the sort! But I could teach ye some of the faerie court specific dances, and ye are simply going to adore the Flower Moon Fete!”

“We wouldn’t call ye skilled either,” teased the blond male, seemingly standing guard by the sideboard table. Aster chucked a piece of bread at him, but he ducked before it made impact.

“I can dance better than the likes of ye two!”

A bubbling, carefree laugh escaped from Heather at their antics.

The sound and feeling so rare, she wondered at herself.

It had been a long time since she felt comfortable in her surroundings.

This was the first solid meal she wouldn’t have to test for poison.

It was as if an anvil had been lifted from her shoulders.

No one present meant her any harm. Uster wasn’t in the next hall, plotting.

Camellia laughed softly, her vision roving over Heather and Skye from across the table.

“Skye is an exceptionally fine dancer, if we can ever succeed at inspiring him to join in.” She teased her son. Heather’s gaze slid to the male in surprise, reflecting he danced like a prince the night he made her acquaintance.

“What do ye prefer?” Skye’s deep voice softly sounded from beside her.

Something primal laced in the tone. Her thoughts slipped into a double meaning of the question.

Nervously, she wet her lips with her tongue, his gaze tracing the movement.

His eyes rose to hers. “Have ye had sweet melon before?” He loaded Heather’s intended plate full of a variety of the selection but kept possession of her plate.

She looked at him quizzically and answered. “Nay, I’ve actually never heard of it.”

He picked up a piece of pink, sweet smelling fruit.

“Ye must try it,” he said as he brought it to her lips.

Eyes widening, she knew this was highly inappropriate at court.

She quickly snuck a look at his mother and sister across the table, hoping she wouldn’t be shamed later.

As she pulled the fruit into her mouth, her lips graced his fingertips.

The juice from the melon escaped, dribbling down her chin.

She rushed to wipe it up with her linen napkin.

She swore Skye’s pale green eyes remained steadfast. His stare intensified as his wings lit up like a torch behind him.

Unlike the other pixies present, his paned wings flared outright, boldly aloft in the air.

A loud cough sounded from across the table. “We need to be on our way, mother… let’s depart.” Aster’s declaration broke Heather and Skye’s intense eye contact. Aster rose from her seat, pulling on her mother’s arm to direct her hurriedly out of the great hall.

So, they must have committed some faux pas! Suddenly mortified and her face flaming red, Heather rushed to stand, Skye following her lead. She hoped that Skye’s mother wouldn’t hold it against her.

“I beg you, please come back by, mayhap tomorrow. I’d like to make good on that tour, and I’d love to see all of faerie.”

Skye rose from the table. Heather wrung her hands. The females paused in the doorway.

“We’ll do that, dear. I feel we really are imposing today. I know how eager Skye was for ye to wake, he’s his father's son.” Camellia sported a wide, knowing smile. The knot in Heather’s stomach melted away, like butter on hot bread.

“We’ll see ye on the morrow. Perhaps by then my brother can show some restraint,” laughed Aster.

“Enjoy yer breakfast, dears.” With a bright smile, Skye’s mother and sister exited the room.