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twenty-three

Boots & Books

A ster landed gracefully. And Rhoden, bearing Heather in his arms, dropped down beside her heartbeats later.

Faerie market was, once again, in a constant state of bustle.

Pixies filled the walking paths, each with a different destination in mind.

Everything was a spectacle for Heather. Her eyes feasted on the faerie’s fashion and wings.

Elegant females with flower parasols promenaded up and down the square.

“I have a few errands to run,” stated Aster.

Rhoden released Heather onto the pavement, and she straightened her skirts.

Aster’s diaphanous cloak deepened in color, the transparent fabric shifting to sapphire.

“What kind of tasks does an Ashwoode have that her handmaidens couldn’t do for her?” inquired Rhoden skeptically. He raised a pale eyebrow at Aster in question.

Aster scoffed, “Some things ye just have to do yourself, even Ashwoodes.” She twined her arm with Heather’s and said, “Really, they expect me to sit around and simply do nothing.” She steered their party towards the bookshop in the leather shoe.

“It certainly would make my duty a breeze,” muttered Rhoden from behind. Aster hurried her stride, widening the gap between the females and her annoyed guard.

“I need to pick something up at the apothecary. I’d rather Rhoden not know. Do ye mind being a distraction?” Aster whispered.

“Is everything well with you? What should I do?” Heather assumed having a sentry ever present to be tedious.

She compared Aster’s situation with her own experience in the play castle, with no exterior walls and lack of privacy.

Heather patted Aster’s arm in sympathy. She’d help Aster with whatever she asked of her.

They approached the charming boot bookstore, Heather noted the day before, with its scalloped shaker sage green roof and matching entrance door.

“There is no illness or anything of that nature to cause concern.” Aster settled Heather’s fears of the worst. “If ye could distract him, allowing me a head start, I’d appreciate it. I intend to circle round and sneak out.”

Leather and the musty smell of books greeted them upon entry. The clerk bowed to Aster, the females made quick work of a curtsy, before Aster pulled Heather to the farthest back corner.

“Don’t worry about a thing.” Heather reassured her before they separated.

“Thank ye. We’re destined to be the best of friends. I can already tell.” The female took a brisk right turn down a side aisle of books, leaving Heather to peruse the shelves on the exterior wall of the shoe. Moments later, Rhoden sidled up to her.

“You mentioned the Ashwoodes’ library. Do you think a book would be a worthy gift for them?

” asked Heather. Meeting Skye’s father was chiefly on her mind.

She wandered down the aisle contemplating what type of tome would be suitable, and then it occurred to her that she didn’t have any coin.

And for that matter, did the fae use coin to conduct purchases, or was some other form of payment required?

“I think they’d appreciate that.” Rhoden leaned on the bookcase, his citrine wings pulled flush with his torso. His eyes trailing her every move.

“What’s his father like?”

Rhoden’s lips twisted, and he paused as if in search of the right words.

“Similar to Skye. But somber. The sort of male ye don’t want to disappoint.” Rhoden examined the titles on the nearest shelf, “A gentle male in comparison to Tarragon’s sire, ‘tis true.” He added under his breath. Heather traveled down the aisle, Rhoden trailing her progress like a shadow.

She persisted, “Is he a kindly male?” Rhoden’s previous answer made her doubt. She paused at a display, considering the stacked titles. Rhoden folded his arms against his chest.

“Why don’t ye ask Skye or Aster?” The way he was dodging the question gave her pause. Was there a reason that she hadn’t been introduced to the male in question?

“I feel strange asking them about their own father. I’m looking for a more removed opinion.” Heather replied.

“His actions are just. He’s not the male a faerie would look to for comfort.” Rhoden froze, tilted his head as if listening to the room, noting the stillness in the gallery.

Heather scrambled for a distraction. “What is hibernation?” The question tumbled from her lips in a rushed wave of words. The clerk seated at the front desk glanced up from a tome, eyes wide.

Rhoden stared at her as if she had sprouted a second head.

His mouth gaped open like a fish. He swiftly turned away and, at a hurried pace, he bound to the other end of the aisle.

She watched on in puzzlement. He whipped around and strode back over, planting his feet in front of her.

Taking a deep breath, he ran his hand across the back of his neck.

“Hibernation… is when…” He was at a loss for words. She nodded her head in encouragement for him to continue. Her big doe eyes clueless.

“Ye should ask Skye.” He finally said, his arched ears turning bright pink.

“Is Skye not getting enough sleep? Is he ill? His mother was quite concerned.” Rhoden swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Heather was beginning to run out of patience.

“It’s a part of courting.” His statement only added to her curiosity. He must have realized that Aster was too quiet.

“Where’s Aster?” His brows drew together.

Heather made a point of looking about the room. In no hurry to provide an answer.

“Stay here,” he pointed to the floor where she stood, “I’ll collect Aster, don’t leave this shoe. I’m not keen on dying by Skye’s hands today.” He was gone before she could form a reply. Hopefully, her new friend was well on her way to her destination.

Heather wandered the bookstore. Could there be a tome about the mysterious beings and how they ripped the world asunder? She perused the titles, gaining no ground. At last, deciding to ask the clerk for assistance, she approached the wooden front counter.

“Pardon me. Could you perhaps inform me if you have any literature concerning the weather?”

The pixie considered her, his countenance severe. He looked her up and down as if in judgment. But Heather held her ground and awaited his response.

“I believe we have a few weather almanacs shelved.” He circled the counter and led the way to a bookcase.

“You’ll find them in this section here,” He informed her before retreating to his counter, retrieving his tome and dismissing her altogether.

The spines were labeled with periods of years, the oldest dating back three centuries.

Heather pulled it from the shelf. Her forefinger glided over the column, denoting the average precipitation of ages past. She turned page after page of recordings, finding nothing of note.

These histories didn't compare to the state of rainfall of their current days.

Mayhap she would need records even elder than this one.

With a heavy sigh, Heather returned the tome to the shelf. She felt as if she were gaining no ground. The pressing desire to do more, learn more and help her people who were no doubt starving at this point was crushing.

Heather wandered the aisles. When she was convinced she knew the displays from memory, and Aster and Rhoden remained absent, she exited and decided to wait for them on the shoe’s front stoop.

There wasn’t a fanciful musical procession today.

Fae rushed about the square, bees’ intent on their own daily mission.

The book shoe was a well-traversed location.

After being bumped several times, Heather walked around the store, finding a trodden path.

Noting she’d be able to see Aster and Rhoden return from the vantage point, and she would have the benefit of avoiding the flow of the market, Heather continued down the foot trail.

She followed the alley to its end, into a cluster of mushrooms. She no longer resented the fungi for shrinking her, as she was relieved to be here in faerie.

She caught herself imagining what Jessa would think of the square, and her stomach hollowed out.

Tarragon’s accusation left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Would she ever know the truth? She needed to ask Skye about Tarragon and Jess when he returned from his father’s.

The red capped mushrooms were almost as pretty as a flower bud, with their wide tops and crisp white gills. She walked over and stood underneath a towering one. Its ruffled ring circling the stalk reminded her of a ladies’ neck ruff.

“Most maids prefer flowers, but I think these beauts possess their own charm,” Crimson emerged from around a neighboring stalk.

His long limbs ate up the distance between them.

He towered over her by a good head and a half.

He leaned a shoulder casually against the thick stem of the mushroom, his white shirt gapping at the neckline. Heather had to agree.

“I’m still adjusting to their size,” remarked Heather.

“These are shrimps considering the Mushlunds.” He stood to his full height.

“Why am I not surprised Ashwoode hasn’t shown ye?

” He sneered. She shook her head no. She could only guess at what caused a rift between the two males.

She may not be privy to the inner workings of Aster’s heart and mind, but she could see what she found attractive in Crimson.

Surely, he couldn’t be as dangerous as Skye made him out to be.

Perhaps he was being overly protective of Aster.

Besides, what if she could help in uniting Aster and Crimson?

Heather was curious to know whether the mysterious male felt the same.

“I’ve just arrived in faerie. I’m sure he’d get around to it sooner or later.”

“Would ye like a tour?”

Heather peered around the corner, searching for her absent companions. What would it hurt to get a look at the mushrooms?

“I can’t be long. I’m meeting Aster back at the bookstore.”