“Goodfellow.” Blackwood bowed deeply again. “I request a parley with Queen Mab.”
“My queen dines under the hill tonight,” the Goodfellow said. “Be careful, for her appetite is great.” Blackwood breathed in sharply; I got the feeling that was not good. If only once, just once, we could meet some kind, cheerful creature that wanted to hug us.
“We request to see her at table,” Blackwood replied.
“You will follow me,” the Goodfellow said, and walked out the front door. Magnus, Maria, and I all exchanged looks, ranging from bewilderment to a sort of mute terror.
“Have we any choice in the matter?” Maria asked.
“Have you ever been hunted through Faerie woods by a baying pack of hounds and goblins?” Blackwood muttered. “The choice is parley or execution.” Blackwood stepped over the house’s threshold, his pack in one hand, several of the weapons tied to his back or around his waist. I checked my own collection—the bone whistle, Strangewayes’s dagger, the glowing lantern—and went after him. “Listen. This is important,” Blackwood said when we were all outside. “If they offer you food or drink, say no. If they offer to dance, say no. If they offer anything, be polite when you refuse, but do not say thank you. They’ll take that as a sign that you’ve accepted.”
“I wish we’d run into the light court, not the dark,” I murmured.
Blackwood walked beside me as the Goodfellow led us.
“Common misconception. People often think the light good and the dark evil. They are different, yes, but not entirely dissimilar. Mab is more chaotic than Titania, the light’s queen. But Titania is colder. She does not even pretend to care for humans.”
Truly, I learned something new and unsettling every day.
We followed the faerie as he disappeared behind a large willow tree on the edge of the property. What had Agrippa told me once? Entrances to Faerie existed on the edge of a shadow, or out the corner of one’s eye.
“Watch your step,” Blackwood whispered to me.
We brushed aside a curtain of leaves and stepped over the roots. My feet gave out from under me, and I fell into the earth.
—
GNARLED TIPS OF ROOTS DRIPPED ABOVE our heads, and the walls were rich, damp earth. My hands and knees were already soaked. Climbing to my feet, I could just make out the others as they oriented themselves in the near darkness. Magnus and Maria stayed behind Blackwood as he kept a hand to the earthen wall, steadying himself. The Goodfellow waited for us at the cavernous mouth of a large, uninviting tunnel.
“You will not stray from the path,” the Goodfellow declared. Faintly luminescent toadstools lined either side of a narrow, twisting walkway. Blackwood motioned for me to come forward. Once we’d assembled as a group, he led the way for us. I was quite happy to let him.
The Goodfellow moved slowly, his legs too stiff to easily bend at the knee. He guided us around twists and circles and bends, until I feared we’d lose our way. Hadn’t I heard stories like this as a little girl? The faeries would lead children into a never-ending maze with the promise of silver buttons and sweets, releasing them after two hundred years had passed.
The Goodfellow finally brought us into a great domed enclosure. The high ceiling was festooned with winking faerie lights, adding dim illumination to the dining hall below. A ridiculously long table stretched from one end of the cavern to the other. The cloth covering the table was moldering, water-stained green silk. Delicacies had been piled all along the length of it. At first glance, the fare looked normal enough: there was roast pheasant, wild boar, and clusters of small cakes with glittering icing. When I looked again, I noticed that the food was distinctly more odd than I’d thought. The roast pheasant was in fact a large bat; the wild boar, some sort of lizard-y, piglike creature; and the clusters of pretty cakes were dotted with shining eyeballs, which glanced wildly about the room.
Blackwood’s warning not to eat anything sounded extremely wise.
At least the guests were enjoying themselves. Raucous laughter filled the enormous space. The faeries were all splendidly and bizarrely dressed. The ladies’ outfits were especially fragile concoctions. One gown appeared to be constructed from thousands of fluttering gray moth wings; another’s consisted of mere whispers of smoke that glided over her pale skin. The gentlemen wore old-fashioned white wigs that gleamed with spiderwebs, and moth-eaten velvet suits of red and green. The music, piped from creatures that floated through the air, was off-key and out of time.
As we made our way across the room, Blackwood pressed me against him, one arm tightening around my waist. Unthinking, I nearly slapped him away.
“We must be partnered, or they’ll try to make us sit,” he whispered. Magnus took his lead and grabbed Maria. We followed the Goodfellow, but hands plucked at my elbow. Two women of ferocious, black-eyed beauty smiled benevolently at me.
“Join the feast,” one of them cooed.
“Heavenly tarts,” the other said, biting into one. A blood-red jelly oozed from the pastry. I prayed it was jelly.
“This was a mistake,” Magnus said through his teeth, flinching as a woman with long, sharp talons pawed at him. The faeries’ appearances slipped and shifted the longer I regarded them, as though their handsome human visages were masks in danger of dropping away. Perfect noses grew longer, pearly teeth sharpened. Eyes became red or molten gold.
The Goodfellow mercifully turned and shouted, “They are the queen’s distinguished guests. Let them pass.” The faeries pouted and returned to their plates. Heart pounding, I clung to Blackwood as we walked toward a throne positioned at the head of the table.
“Is that my little lordling?” a female voice trilled. “Come, Georgy. It’s been absolute ages.”
The throne was situated above the floor, accessible by six earthen steps. A woman sat with one leg slung over the chair’s arm. Even slouching, she appeared regal. This had to be Mab. The queen was a small, exquisitely beautiful girl who looked no more than nineteen, with bare feet and white, cobwebby hair that floated aimlessly about her head. A diadem of pearl and moonstone sat daintily upon her brow, glowing even in the low light.
“Where is my lordling?” She giggled as Blackwood came to the foot of the steps and knelt. “Still as handsome as ever. Beauty doesn’t last on you humans, but I think that makes it all the more precious.” Mab sniffed. “We’re having quite a party, my little mortals. Such delightful music.” She picked at her teeth and took up one of the pale cakes on a plate by her side. “I like these,” she said conversationally, spreading jam across one with a knife that appeared to be made out of bone. In fact, all the plates and utensils I’d seen had been fashioned from bone. “Though I do miss the old delicacies. You people used to leave me the heart of a Roman legionnaire cooked in brandy. So scrumptious and perfect for an autumn evening.”
“My queen, we humbly request use of your roads to return to the mortals’ realm. We did not mean to trespass upon your Cornwall lands,” Blackwood said.
Mab sighed, got off her throne, and traipsed down toward us. She wore no corset that I could see, only a billowing white gown that appeared to be made from spider silk. One capped sleeve slipped from her pale shoulder, giving me a glimpse of far more of the queen than I wanted. Mab stalked over to Blackwood and waved her jam-smeared butter knife in his face.
“You know there has to be a toll, my pet. I can’t have people running willy-nilly across my lands. What would happen then?” She narrowed her eyes and pouted. “I’d have to eat them all is what.”
“If Your Majesty wishes, what might the toll be?” Maria asked. The girl had no bloody fear. Mab grinned at her.
“This one speaks to me. Perhaps she can be a pet.” She reached for Maria, and I stepped in front of her. Mab scowled. “No. Not you. You’re too tall to help pull my walnut carriage.”