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seventeen

Faerie Square

S kye gathered Heather in a bridal carry and leapt off the balcony precipice. She squeezed her eyelids shut at the sudden heart wrenching plunge.

A cry of surprise escaped her lips, and she clung to his neck, too frightened to look down. But she need not be alarmed. Skye pulled her tighter in his embrace as his wings steadied on the updraft.

Last night, she succumbed to Skye’s seductive pixie dust fairly quickly, and she missed the sights of the flight to faerie. This time, she forced her eyes open, determined to see everything.

“Do most of the faeries live here?” questioned Heather.

Skye swiftly flew through the boughs of the mighty oak.

He dodged and weaved through the swaying, colorful wish ribbons.

She wanted to run her fingers through his rumpled, moon white hair, but was too concerned he’d lose his grip, startled.

So, she settled for toying with the strands on his nape, finding the bristles there downy soft against her fingertips.

To which she felt him physically shudder and his chest rumble in response.

They passed by tree houses of various sizes made from scraps of nature.

There were even dwellings erected within the lilac wisteria blooms. Some abodes resembled hanging bird nests with moss roofs, others were colorful doors jutting right from the trunk, the homes constructed into the tree’s hollow.

“This oak is a hub, where pixie royalty dwell and hold court. But faeries can choose to reside anywhere nature abounds. Some reside in the surrounding flora and their blossoms.”

“There’s an actual faerie king and queen?” They flew by a male pixie, diligently sawing through a bright yellow ribbon with a dagger.

Skye shouted, “Congratulations!” as they zipped by, narrowly avoiding a collision.

“What’s that pixie doing to that wish ribbon?” Heather asked, brow creasing. Her neck craned to see over Skye’s shoulder, as they flew past. He owed her an explanation concerning the ribbon secret.

“I promise I’ll show ye later.” A dimple appeared in his cheek, accompanied by a crooked grin. Heather believed his smile could befall kingdoms. He certainly made her knees quake.

The flight to the bottom of the oak lasted longer than she perceived.

She would’ve felt guilty he had to carry her down, like a sack of wheat.

But as she took stock of him as they landed at the tree base, he wasn’t even short of breath.

He gently loosened his embrace and her slippered feet touched the cobblestone ground.

“One tick. My stocking seems to have slipped.” She leaned on his broad shoulder and righted her white hose, taking great care to do so without lifting her skirt or baring her leg or ankle.

Faerie rules of propriety were a mystery to her, and she had a feeling human standards would continue to be her convention.

A woman’s legs were not to be revealed in mixed company. No matter their social status.

“All set?” Skye’s eyes latched to the object of her administration, as if he could see past the layers of her skirts. Her heartbeat tripled in pace. She rose, straightened, and strove to master the desire his gaze lit within her. She nodded yes.

He cleared his throat. “This is the faerie square. It’s much like a human village market.”

“Who needs to shop when you have magick?” she wondered out loud, mystified.

“Believe it or not, even we magical beings need to acquire goods. It’s possible to conjure enchantment from the elements that exist in nature, but we cannot make something from nothing.

Compare it to baking a cake. We can’t will one into existence but we can manipulate the ingredients.

Pixies must make a cake just like a human would.

We’re able to summon water for a bath because moisture is present in the air.

” Skye explained. She nodded to herself. She supposed it made sense.

The square was mysteriously free from the pouring rain currently plaguing the continent. There wasn’t a single puddle on the well- traversed cobblestone lane.

Heather gathered her surroundings. There was a dressmaker in the hollow of a great silvery orange faerie tale pumpkin, a bookstore conducting business in what appeared to be the remains of a leather boot, and a bakery in a discarded flour canister.

Faeries walked and flew around the square with all kinds of wings: moth, butterfly, dragonfly, and some she was unfamiliar with.

The children, she noted, were wingless. Another mystery of faerie.

One thing was blatantly clear: she was the only pixie sized being of age who lacked wings.

She stuck out like a sore thumb among the mature pixies.

“There you are!” called a feminine voice.

Heather raised her eyes up to the sky, where Skye’s sister, Aster, descended towards them on moth wings.

A diaphanous cloak topped her silver-white gown.

It floated about her form, a gauzy haze.

The hood encompassed her head in a translucent bubble of a halo.

With finesse, Aster landed and embraced Heather as if they were the old friends Heather hoped they would one day be.

Rhoden accompanied Aster, a few wing flaps behind, and after landing, he bowed in greeting. Heather responded with a curtsy.

“Even Skye’s possessiveness couldn’t deter me from accompanying ye on your maiden outing to faerie square!” Aster exclaimed. Heather smiled softly to herself. Skye huffed and crossed his arms, his white tresses falling into his eyes.

Heather snickered. “I’m glad you decided to brave it.”

“Where would ye like to go first, Lady Heather?” Skye asked, ignoring the jibe from his sister.

Heather was undecided which way to turn. The delicious scents wafting from the bakery were a credit to the baker. She certainly wanted a treat from the shop.

Heather opened her mouth to respond, but she saw a flash of bright red. Before her stood a tall, pale-skinned male with milky moth wings. The sheen of his skin was preternaturally white. He was almost ghostly. His eyes were twin glaciers of extraordinary silver.

“What have we here?” he leaned in towards her neck, making a point to loudly sniff her obnoxiously.

Heather jerked back, unaccustomed to someone in her personal sphere.

The towering male had a scar running across the center of his lips in a diagonal from top to bottom.

He wore a broad, scarlet mushroom cap over long ebony hair.

Heather shivered, recalling the darned mushroom pottage that instigated her transformation.

In a blink, Skye was between her and the stranger, pulling Heather into safety behind him. His wings flared wide, shielding her from the stranger’s view. Skye unsheathed his rapier and shoved the mysterious newcomer back.

“She’s none of yer concern.” Skye snarled. Rhoden bared his teeth and looked ready to pounce.

The other male chortled. “Hmm, she smells like ye, Ashwoode.”

Aster looped her arm through Heather’s behind Skye.

The unknown male peered around Skye’s shoulder, grinning.

“Hello there, Aster. It’s been an age.” He winked a silver almond-shaped eye, and his gaze roved over Aster from head to toe.

An overwhelming, unfamiliar sweet smell pervaded Heather’s nose.

Its potency reminded her of Skye’s bergamot cologne.

Aster blushed pink and opened her mouth as if to reply to the greeting, but Skye interrupted.

“Don’t address my sister. Don’t ye even dare look at her!” growled Skye. Heather blinked, and the males were chest to chest, squaring off, wings flared wide, baring their teeth at one another like wild hounds.

Aster sighed, removed her arm from Heather’s and wedged herself between the males, exclaiming, “Maybe the two of ye can compare wing sizes later, but for now- you’re embarrassing us in front of the court.” She shoved at each of the male’s chests to separate them before rejoining Heather’s side.

Heather looked about, noticing they did indeed have an audience. Skye backed away, growling low in his throat. He reluctantly re-sheathed his weapon.

“Be gone from my sight, Crimson,” Skye growled. Rhoden indelicately spat at the male’s feet. Skye’s wings pulled taunt on his back, as if he was ready to spring from the earth, tighter than a bowstring.

Crimson simply huffed in response. He dramatically sniffed the air again in a long pull, his nostrils flaring.

Then he turned to Aster and blew her a kiss from his silver ringed clad hand.

The male reminded Heather of the dangerous seafaring men who made port on occasion in Halfmoon bay.

But freakishly pale like a mushroom stalk.

Crimson pulled his shroom cap from his head and exaggeratedly bowed, then leisurely flapped away on sedate wings.

Wide eyed, she leaned into Aster and inquired, “Who was that?” Aster turned a darker shade of pink and the sweet perfume accosted Heather’s nose again. Wait… did Aster fancy this Crimson fellow? The sweet scent seemed to waft from her. Skye and Rhoden watched the male as he faded from view.

“Crimson’s not his given name, but a name he chose.

He leads a group of males known as the ‘Mad Cappers,’ they’re distinguished by the mushroom caps they don on their heads.

He and Skye have a long-standing feud,” Aster whispered.

Her wings flitted at her back. A faint glimmer of white crystalline pixie dust fell from them, landing on their joined arms. Aster hastily swiped it off their sleeves, cleared her throat loudly, and pulled her arm free.

Heather wanted to inquire about the chemistry she witnessed between them, but she’d wait until they were in private.

“Let’s take a turn about the square.” Heather suggested. She desired a better look at the pumpkin dress shop. She clasped Skye’s hand and led the way down the lane. Aster and Rhoden followed close behind.