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thirty-two

Like a Faerie Tale

H ours past sunset, candles illuminated Heather’s bathing chamber, their wax dripping into pools, orbs of warm radiance casting the space into highlights and shadows.

Fresh from a sweltering bath, Heather sat at the vanity clad in her plum robe whilst Ella ran a gentle comb through her extensive tresses.

Jessa, Mae and the fate of the continent weighed heavily on Heather’s mind.

The last two days were spent scouring the Ashwoode book collection for any additional information on Sarsen.

But the greatly anticipated Flower Fete had arrived.

This one night of the year pushed everything else aside in faerie.

Ella parted Heather’s locks down the middle. The handmaid’s magick dried it in a flash of white light, then split the left side into three sections, twinning them in a thick plait, the right half following suit shortly after.

With deft hands, Ella pinned each broad braid so that it curled around the front of Heather’s ears, winding to the back of her head, taking on the image of a pair of rams’ horns.

Next, the maid carefully placed the moon flower pins and pearl jewels gifted from Skye into the weave of the hair buns.

The silver gems were glittering stars in the dark expanse of her braids.

Ella lined Heather’s upper eyelids and darkened her eyelashes with kohl. A powder made from crushed pink petals was brushed onto her cheeks, giving her appearance a mark of vitality.

Next, Heather donned blush-colored silken stockings and garters crafted specially for this occasion, followed by an exquisite pair of dainty silver dancing slippers.

They retreated to Heather’s bedchamber to garb her in the pink opal voluminous gown.

She had to step into the dress and pull it on, with Ella tightening the laces on the back, flush with Heather’s skin.

Heather gazed at herself in the looking glass, wondering who the reflected sophisticated stranger was.

Ella presented Heather with her wish ribbon, assisting her with securing it over her shoulder.

“Ye are the fitting image of a faerie tale princess,” gushed Ella. Heather undoubtedly felt royal, having never known such finery. Heather caressed the luxurious fabric of the full skirt. The ball gown from the human queen paled in comparison.

Heather faced to Ella. “Perhaps. Certainly, thanks to your efforts.” Heather clasped Ella’s hand. “Thank you, Ella. Will you be attending the Fete?”

Ella’s mouth gaped, apparently at a loss for words. It was clear the female hadn’t even considered her attendance as a possibility.

“I hope to see you there,” encouraged Heather.

“I have naught to wear, milady.” Heather strode over to her armoire, pulling the double doors wide. “Feel free to don any of my gowns.” She was about to pull a garment from within when a twittering of birds sounded outside the balcony doors.

“Your chariot awaits,” announced Ella. Heather followed the maid out to the terrace.

Beyond the ledge fluttered a set of red-breasted robins, their dark, expansive eyes calm and knowing as their gaze trailed Heather’s movements.

Harnessed to the pair was a gleaming silver chariot.

Heather recognized the familiar pattern of silvery vines and leaves encompassing the rigging, for the design was a twin to Skye’s dagger and vambraces.

Heather glanced back at Ella, “I beseech thee, attend the fete. Consider my possessions your own for the eve. Dress, shoes, jewelry. Swear you’ll attend. ”

Ella placed her hand over her heart as she curtsied. “You have my word.”

Heather gingerly approached the robins. “Hail fellows.” Her greeting was the merest of whispers, as if she was concerned she’d spook the pair.

But to her delight, the handsome duo lowered their heads and held a feathered wing aloft, as if in reply.

Heather lifted her skirts and stepped up into the chariot.

Not a horsewoman, she briefly worried she would need to direct them.

But her concern was dismissed after she raised the silver white reins.

The robins sprang into action, taking great strides, before hopping and fluttering their wings, propelling the chariot aloft.

Heather’s stomach sank as the chariot left the cobblestone balcony behind.

The transport bobbed and weaved in the air as if it were a sleigh.

She gripped onto the chariot’s mantle, the robins leading their way out from the boughs of the faerie tree.

Heather was quickly at ease as she realized the birds knew her destination.

Air lifted the ruffles of her skirts, and her eyes ate up the wondrous landscape as it passed by.

Evening in the Wandering Wood was as full of life and activity as it was in the daylight hours.

The light of magick illuminated a dark canvas.

As dusk descended, from a distance, pixies appeared the insects they glamoured themselves to be.

Their moth, butterfly and bee wings engulfed in their delicate enchanting luminescence.

The chariot weaved through the forest until a pond was in Heather’s periphery, where the Flower Fete was in full commencement on a giant lily pad.

Beams of the rare pink moon radiated down on the waters, casting the dancers, the pool and their wings in hazy opalescent light.

All pixies in attendance glowed- but no sparkling dust was to be seen.

Heather suspected the pollen-like dust was reserved for courting purposes only.

However, Skye’s glittering dust currently coated every square inch of her skin.

As Heather gripped the reins, her hand was revealed to the moonlight, glimmering faint green.

She couldn’t help but wonder if Skye was a bit overzealous in his claiming of her, its presence prompting a smile to curl upon her lips and a blush bloom on her cheeks unbidden.

The bird drawn chariot circled above the dancers, causing the revelers to peer up.

Rain fell gently all around them, but the celebration was shielded from the wet by what she assumed to be the royals’ magick.

Much like Rhoden had done in the Mushlunds, but on a larger scale.

Falling raindrops hit an invisible cathedral roof above the festivities and dripped to the wayside of the enchantment’s pitch.

The silhouettes of the dancers were dark against the pale pink, immense sphere floating seemingly just above the water’s surface. Imposing enough that Heather thought she could reach out and touch the cusp of the moon’s face.

A mix of flutes and stringed instruments produced a rhythm no mortal musician had ever dreamed.

The lilting notes of the harp and flute beckoned her to join the pixies in revelry.

It was a wonder she had once been entranced with the small, simple quartet of King Willem.

She wanted to dance and never cease. This music was an unearthly, heartbreaking, and eerie sorcery.

What could the sensitive ears of the fae perceive that her fallible human ears could not?

Heather’s escort circled lower. There was a long sequence of couples dancing uniformly down the middle of an extensive lily pad. Their clothes were the colors of jewels. Deep plum, morning glory fuchsia, sky blue, and ruby rose red.

One by one down the line, the wings of the individuals on the left side flared, brandishing their magick’s glow.

The variety of magical hues was as endless and vast as their differing shades of skin.

Then the right row flared down the line, one after another.

The couples met in the heart of the dance floor, touched palms, encircled each other, then partners braced their counterparts around the waist, lifting them heavenward, spinning wide in a circle.

The lifted pixies emitted their glow in the air, their wings fluttering in time with the music.

Light twinkled off their otherworldly evening wear.

Their gemstone gowns and tunics made a never ending, shifting rainbows under moonlight.

On the far end of the lily pad, beyond the dancers, stood two tall thrones of tangled vines.

Heather spied Skye and Aster to the left of the throne, where his father sat imperiously, the bright white of his jerkin at odds with his dark hair.

Camellia perched beside him, robed in a pewter dress with a gossamer ivory whisk collar- fine as spider’s silk.

The former’s eyes met with her own- the kind smile of the faerie queen filled Heather with a confidence she was searching for.

The royal couples’ crowns were alight, as if fireflies had settled there, casting their faces in an ethereal silver.

Heather inhaled a deep calming breath as the robins descended to present her on the far side of the ball.

She straightened her wish ribbon she wore as a sash- presently looped over her shoulder and secured at her waist with a diamond moon blossom brooch- wishing her mother could see her now, in this extravagant dress, her love reciprocated by a prince.

As she lowered a foot from the chariot, orange flower trumpets sounded, ceasing the music.