#meline of wild rose

[ellaofoakhill]

And here's Meline!

In case anyone was wondering, these turnarounds are for a small project I've got in the works, that I'll show you guys when it's done. In the meantime, though, please enjoy my adorable middle-aged ladies :)

[heller-obama]

There’s Nothing Wrong With Me (This is How I’m Supposed to Be)

Wowww, it’s been a long time since I’ve posted a fic directly onto tumblr. I actually posted this on ao3 like 3 months ago but I guess I just forgot to post it here lol. Well here y’all go, here’s that one merthur fic I wrote like 3.5 months ago! Ao3 link

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“Right, you filthy vermin.” The slave trader (Jarl, perhaps?) said, looking down at them in more ways than one. “Which one of you is ready to face my champion in the arena?” No one answered him immediately - and not that he gave them much time to.

“No volunteers?” the man asked again, as if that would prompt someone to step up. “Well, I shall have to choose one of you myself, then.” Arthur felt the man’s eyes drag across the small mass of men. “How about…” His stomach began to sink when his gaze landed in his direction. “You?” His finger stopped right next to Arthur, and his stomach plummeted. Like the rest of the prisoners, he looked for the man who was unfortunate enough to be picked - although he already knew who it was.

Merlin blinked at Jarl, as if he couldn’t believe he was chosen out of all the strong, warrior-type men he was surrounded by. “Me?”

Jarl put his hands on his hips. “Death or glory, boy? You should be honoured.”

“But, I—” He started before Arthur cut him off.

“I volunteer,” he yelled up at their captor, subconsciously placing himself in front of Merlin and in between his servant and the dangerous slave trader that was trying to put him into harm’s way - something that definitely did not escape the man’s notice.

“You volunteer?” he chuckled. “I’m sorry, it’s a little late for that.”

“Well, you wanted a volunteer, so here I am. Unless your idea of entertainment is your champion crushing nothing but weaklings like this?” He heard Merlin protest weakly behind him, and he stomped on his foot as discreetly as possible to shut him up. He hoped his face was his regular mask of arrogance and not the complete and utter panic he felt inside. He couldn’t let Merlin fight this “champion,” he just couldn’t—

Jarl squinted down at him. “You think you can offer a better contest?”

“I guarantee it.”

“Arthur, no,” Merlin said quietly behind him, as if Arthur was a dog - or that he'd actually listen.

The slave trade laughed again. “Very well. Your friend will not fight my champion today.” Arthur felt himself release the breath he didn’t know he'd been holding. “Instead, he will fight you.”

Rough hands unceremoniously threw Arthur and Merlin into the “arena,” which was really just a round area bordered by other men hungry to see the two prisoners fight. Arthur almost couldn’t hear himself think, the crowd was roaring and cheering so loud.

“Gentlemen,” Jarl said, rising from his throne and immediately quieting the roars from the men around them. “The rules are simple. One man lives, one man dies.” Loud, raucous cheering rose up from the crowd once more; ending as soon as it started. “If you cannot or will not off your opponent, I shall kill you both.” More cheers rang out across the room as Jarl tossed two (quite shoddily made, if Arthur did say so himself) swords in front of himself and Merlin.

Arthur looked at Merlin and saw the same fear and apprehension shown in his face as he felt himself, which was comforting, in some strange way. He then looked down at the swords and snatched one up for himself, delaying swinging at Merlin until he was sure that his servant could parry it.

Merlin did parry his strike, although it was rather slow and weak for his tastes, and he wasted as much time as he could before launching another strike, backhand this time, and then another one overhead as slow as he could without raising suspicion. His next strike caught Merlin’s blade so that he could pull Merlin towards himself.

“Take it easy, will you?” Merlin ground out as he was pulled against Arthur, trying to pull his blade out from under Arthur’s.

Arthur shot him a look that he hoped said, keep fighting, you arse. “It’s got to look real, hasn’t it?”

Merlin shot him a glare in return that he knew meant he understood, so he finally leveraged his sword so that Merlin was shoved away from him and into the vicious crowd. They shoved him back with an equal amount of aggressiveness, and Arthur attacked him with several strikes he knew Melin couldn’t keep blocking; his parries were already becoming progressively weaker.

Arthur let Merlin strike him this time, and when he did, he responded in another blow that pulled Merlin towards him.

“I refuse to kill you,” Arthur grumbled as Merlin’s elbow nearly caught him in the face.

“If you don’t, he’ll kill the both of us, clotpole,” Merlin shot back.

“Well, do you have any better ideas?” Merlin fixed him with another snarky glare and attempted to move away from him so that he could launch another strike, but somehow, the bumbling idiot managed to trip over the flagstones, lose his sword, and trip Arthur in the progress.

Arthur thanked the gods that the way it happened looked as if Merlin lost his balance and that Arthur used the chance to try to pin him on the ground.

He landed on top of Merlin, both of them grasping at each other’s faces half-heartedly, trying to get the upper hand. The crowd went wild, rushing forwards to get as close to the two fighters as possible.

“What next?” asked Merlin.

“There was no ‘next,’” He scoffed, but before Merlin could respond, Jarl pushed through to the edge of the bloodthirsty crowd.

“Finish him!” Bellowed Jarl.

Merlin shot him a panicked look and a lightbulb seemingly went off in his head as it was replaced with a resigned expression. “Please don’t hate me,” He muttered, and before Arthur could say anything like I could never hate you or something monumentally stupid, like I couldn’t hate you, I love you, Merlin muttered something else, powerful, foreign words that automatically sent a spike of fear into his heart. “Forbærne æltæwelice!” Sure enough, his eyes glowed gold for a few seconds, and suddenly, the flames on the torches doubled and tripled in size, lighting the ropes hanging from the ceiling on fire.

The men in the crowd scattered, causing chaos to erupt in the room and giving them what would be the perfect chance to escape, had Arthur been able to do anything but stare at his manservant in complete and utter shock.

“Get up, you daft twat!” Merlin nearly yelled, rolling out from under Arthur and dragging him to his feet.

He let himself be dragged along and through the crowds, his mind still processing what had happened in the arena. Merlin has magic? Was just one of the many thoughts that were pressing against his head, desperate to escape. The only thought that was more pressing than that was Merlin lied to me, has been lying to me, for the whole time I’ve known him. And then: But did I ever really know him?

He must’ve been more lost in thought than he realized because soon he was running into the forest, Melin dragging him along, with Gwaine at his side, holding the swords they both dropped after their “fight.” They kept on going until Merlin was wheezing so hard he could barely go on, and Gwaine forced them to take a break.

Without waiting for any of their party to catch their breath (including himself), his anger overwhelmed him and he stalked over to Merlin and got into his face, nearly shoving him up against a tree. “What the bloody hell was that, Merlin?” He was so close to Merlin that he could see every single little microexpression on his face; from the total fear that flashed in his eyes like the gold that appeared when he did magic to the way his throat moved as he gulped heavily.

“Arthur, I—” Merlin started, his voice quiet and shaky, but Gwaine interrupted him.

“Arthur, I think you need to calm down. Whatever Merlin did, I’m sure it’s all a big misunderstanding.” Gwaine said behind him, his voice low and calming, as if he was trying to soothe a frightened horse.

Arthur whirled around to face him. “‘A big misunderstanding’? The fact that Merlin is a sorcerer is a little bit different from your bar brawls, Gwaine. Don’t try to involve yourself with things that don’t concern you.”

To his merit, Gwaine looked taken aback as well. “Merlin? A sorcerer?”

Before he could explode any further on the other man, Merlin interrupted them both. “I was born with it!” Yelled Merlin, the desperation and hurt coloring his words so much that Arthur pivoted back around and took a step back.

He said quietly, “What?”

“I never chose to practice magic,” Merlin tried again, his voice its usual level now. “I’ve been levitating things since I could walk. Before I even said my first words, I’d already nearly set my mother’s rocking chair on fire.”

“That’s not possible,” he muttered. All sorcerers chose to practice magic, and if not for evil purposes, they soon were corrupted by it anyways. If there was one thing his father taught him, that would be it. “Have you just been conning me all this time?” Making me fall madly in love with you? He refrained from adding. “What was your plan? To gain my trust until I became king and then manipulate me towards your own goals?”

“Are you kidding me?” His friend - no, the sorcerer - scoffed. “I’ve only ever used my magic to save your royal arse.”

“Bollocks. I would’ve known, I would’ve realized.”

Merlin let out a bitter laugh, one that was so different from the one that Arthur was used to hearing that he nearly couldn’t believe that Merlin could make that noise. “I’ve been saving your arse with magic since before I was your manservant.” He started counting names off on his hand. “Lady Helen, Sir Valiant, Sofia and Aulric, Nimueh - several times, mind you, Cornelius Sigan, Morgause - every single time she shows her face, the Great damned Dragon, just off the top of my head.”

Arthur’s jaw hung open. Not that it dropped open dramatically, like in the bard’s stories, but he opened it to ask a question or just to say anything, but nothing came out and it just opened wider and wider. He tried to say something several times, to no avail, before he finally managed to get a few words out. “You bloody idiot.”

“Excuse me?” Squawked Merlin indignantly.

“You blatantly used magic in Camelot, of all places, so close to the king, who executes anyone rumoured of consorting with a sorcerer?”

Merlin scratched the back of his head, an almost sheepish look crossing his face. “I—Yeah.”

“Why on Earth would you do that?” He took a step forward again, bringing him nearly nose-to-nose with Merlin.

“To protect you! Yeah, at first, it was because it was my destiny; I could never fathom how anyone could ever stand you, but then it was because I couldn’t bear you getting hurt when I could’ve protected you!” By the end of his tirade, he was nearly shouting and his breath was coming quicker - well, quicker than it was before, with the deep breaths they were still taking from their speedy exit from the decrepit castle.

Arthur chose to ignore the first half of Merlin’s rant, and he got a rather warm feeling in his chest from the second half. “Did you ever stop to think that I feel the same way? That if I had to stand and watch you get burnt on the pyre because my father executes everyone suspected of using sorcery that I would never forgive myself for not doing everything I could to protect you and that you got caught using sorcery because of me?”

Arthur watched as a myriad of emotions played out on Merlin’s face; first shock, then disbelief, and finally a look that was filled with such intense fondness that he almost didn’t know what to do with himself.

Merlin’s voice was so quiet that he had to lean in a fraction more to hear him, enough so that their noses were touching, now, less than a hairbreadth of space between them. “You would?”

He let out a little huff of breath. “Yes. I thought I made that pretty damn clear—”

Apparently, Merlin had no intentions of letting him finish that sentence, as he moved his face forward a little bit more until their lips were touching and slotted together and suddenly Arthur was kissing back and he pushed his servant - no, Merlin wasn’t his servant right now, he was his best friend and (hopefully soon) his lover - against the tree. He’d be damned if he said this wasn’t the best kiss he’d ever had and nothing else mattered except the two of them - that is, until Gwaine let out a shrill wolf-whistle behind him.

He broke the kiss and let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Dear God, we forgot about Gwaine.”

Merlin let out a small laugh as well, and Gwaine’s wolf-whistle made way for cheering and laughing from the third man. “Oh, bugger off, Gwaine!” Merlin complained, somehow sounding both defeated and lighthearted at the same time. Gwaine - predictably - wasn’t deterred, and his laughter just grew louder.

“Just…go collect some firewood or something!” Arthur ordered him, not bothering to turn his face away from Merlin’s.

“Whatever you say, Princess,” Gwaine drawled, and though Arthur couldn’t see him, he was positive that the man added a mocking bow to punctuate his statement before stalking off into the woods. Once he was sure that Gwaine was definitely out of earshot, he leaned his forehead into Merlin’s and started laughing, with Merlin soon joining him.

“Where did we manage to find him again?” He muttered.

“He saved your sorry arse, as I remember it,” Merlin retorted playfully.

“My arse did not need saving!”

“Oh, it most definitely—”

“Merlin?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

“Gladly.” Arthur almost didn’t let him finish that one word by resuming their kiss, relishing in the fact that he’d finally figured out a reliable way to shut his best friend up.

*^*^*^*

Well there y’all go! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!!

[leonajasmin-writeblr]

Find the Word

Thanks for the tag @dotr-rose-love! I was given the words drink, flower, soft and bone. I’m using the first drafts of the four parts of The Mastery that I’ve done so far (which is almost 400K), so there’s quite a few for each word. Therefore, under the cut they go! :)

I’m going to tag some people who’ve appeared on my ‘latest notes’ feed this past month: @lxpinwrites, @ariannastewart, @silentlylostwriter and @what-is-this-blog-about. Have the words mild, grow, house and/or eat appeared in any of your recent/current WIPs?

DRINK (I am prone to over-hydrating so always mention drinks haha):

“Surely you have servants who’ll get you a warm drink and a few biscuits for your pet?”

“Please, I insist you must have something to drink. Personally, I think it is too early for an alcoholic beverage, but I have juice, water and the like.”

He indicated for me to put my drink down before grasping my hands, “That’s why you’re so important.”

“No.” Sebastian went quiet, fully focused on the bubbles in his drink.

Phineas had given me three books, so, after grabbing a drink, I pulled one out of my rucksack.

“Hey, I don’t personally drink,” He said, putting his hands up, “I don’t condone it either."

I didn’t drink last night- even if I liked alcohol, a certain someone’s glare was enough of a deterrent to sit on the other side of the compartment.

Since it was only the two of us, the teacher left for a few minutes to fetch herself a drink.

“No, he wasn’t.” She said, finally sitting down. I’d gotten into my dorm. She'd followed and declined when I offered her something to drink.

Sebastian took a while to take a drink from his cup, but responded, “That’d imply he was logical.”

Miriam had been watching the two bicker as if observing a tennis match. She grabbed her drink at that point, spluttering as she swallowed wrong. The two looked at her in panic before dropping the conversation.

Martha nodded, taking a sip of her drink, “This is why I didn’t want to come now. I can’t think straight.”

“He’ll be in his eighties by now, so even if he is, he wouldn’t have much longer to live.” Uncle August answered, turning the kettle on after realising he hadn’t made himself a drink.

“I know,” Matthias smiled, stirring his drink, “When are we meeting your partner, Alex?”

“Hmm?” Rylan mumbled, “My father said that coffee is unhealthy and addictive. To wake yourself up early in the morning, you should drink hot water. I wanted at least a little flavouring, so I infused some tea leaves in. Try it.”

He laughed once, “But you don’t drink, and otherwise it’ll go to waste.”

“Let me get you a drink. Do you want to come into the dining room?”

August smiled, “If we weren’t teetotal, I’d say let’s drink to that. But we’re going to have to make do with tea.”

“Dad, what is the point of drinking tea when you have so much milk in it that you lose the taste of the actual tea? Just drink warm milk.”

“Ah, my apologies, but he only takes in interns when he requests for them. He hasn’t at the moment. Since you’ve come all this way, would you like a drink?”

There was silence before one relative piped up, “I’ll drink to that.”

“Have a drink while you’re here. I’m a little bit out of the way so save your time and energy.” 

“Thanks, Alex,” He took a long sip of his drink, “I’m so nervous though.”

Miriam snorted, “Don’t make me laugh when I’m about to drink.”

“She’s taking over, as we suspected,” He muttered, pouring himself a strong drink of alcohol, “And she’s basically told Dimitri and I that only one of us can lead the Meeting and she’s picked me.”

FLOWER:

The three of us were in the ‘roundabout room’ of the hospital. In the middle was a hexagonal flower box with some odd-colour foliage and around it were five different hallways. There were seven different floors, and we were on the bottom one.

The town looked quaint from the station, but I couldn’t pronounce its name due to not having a Phinean accent. Compared to Natli and Mindeya, it was homely looking with its flower boxes and sign pointing to a vegetable market.

He dropped me off in front of a large house before taking the horses back to his own place. It seemed more grandiose than the properties surrounding it since there were flower baskets coming out of literally every window, but it was the same size. Even the Donegall house, which was also in the centre of the city, was obviously not the property of any old person.

“Ah, but that is the beauty of flowers. She can make her room look pretty with them even though she hates the recipient. And flowers have a lot of meaning. One flower may both mean ‘I love you’ and ‘fuck you’.”

“You work in a flower shop but don’t know your flowers, silly boy. Is Miriam tall and pretty?”

“At the flower shows they have in Natli, her family decide on the winners. She picks second place now she’s the Secondary Master. She doesn’t like the idea of picking just on which she thinks are the nicest so researches quite a bit to make sure she’s actually making the best decision.”

SOFT:

“He’d have stepped up by now if that was the case. It’s been over a decade and a half since I was born.” If looks could kill, I’d be dead by now. Her voice, however, was low and soft.

Father stuck his hand out, and I was surprised about how smooth the skin was. He was only thirty-nine but his face was aged, looking way older than Dimitri’s forty-two-year-old one. But the back of his hand was soft and looked well moisturised.

"Roman says he's a Tibetan Mastiff, they're soft and protective despite their deceptive build. But cute doggies aren't a priority right now. Have you got Miriam and Caspian's scents?"

I laughed, then consciously realised he hadn't moved his hands. I hadn't put on my jacket yet so I could feel how warm and soft they were.

"Well, I'm not moving until someone from the shop floor drags me off," I said, lavishing in the beds comfiness. My one at Natli was hard although the pillows were ridiculously soft, I had to stick blankets underneath for some comfort.

Her hair was near enough white and she also had the same piercing grey eyes which her son didn't possess. She had a soft face although that was shrouded by her current expression.

I couldn't think of any way to describe the voice other than silk. While tinged with age, it was soft and smooth.

She appeared as a mixed woman, with tied back brown locks and a soft but unvirtuous expression. Roman stared as she did so.

Cyrus was interested in all types of vehicles but always had a soft spot for motorbikes. I never paid enough attention to learn anything about the specifics.

Roman nodded, beginning to catch his breath, “Luka wants my Grand Master gone at least. From what she has said, he seems to have a soft spot for Miriam, but I think it is to do with-”

This was one of the rare times he’d smile genuinely. He hid the fact he had these guys most of the time so he didn’t look like a soft-hearted man due to being a pet lover. Deep down, any furry animal was his weakness.

“You have really soft knees, Kadir.” (A/N: The character who says this is drunk, I don’t have a weird knee fetish)

“What? No!” Uncle August had a soft voice but it broke then, “He’s been doing as well as he can be, making the treacherous journey he currently is.”

I’d held Matthias and Octavia plenty of times when they were younger, so I knew how to hold her. Juliana noted it, “You’re so soft-handed, but what’s the frown for, buddy?”

“Well, why are you surprised?” His voice was uncomfortably soft, “The more experience you get, the harder the challenge is. It’s how the world works Meline, not just me.”

Rylan’s voice was surprisingly soft and soothing, and there was a brief smile on his face when I looked at him. There was actual warmth in his expression compared to the other two people in the room.

“Carlos clearly has a soft spot for you too,” Phineas said, “But then again, he seems to have one for everybody bar backstabbers.”

Seb and Uncle Jonathon were almost identical apart from age and build. Their confident but laid-back demeanour was also scarily similar. But his eyes were the same soft deep brown as August’s.

“Did he give Andrei something soft and warm to lie in? I don’t think that’s fucking likely.”

Khristoph and I swapped positions and it became clear they had almost identical faces. Soft brown eyes, long thin eyebrows and a childish look of wonder around them.

Since I was still on the floor, he went onto his knees and kissed me. It was slow, soft and exactly what I needed at that moment.

Uncle Jonathon let his curls go wild but they didn’t reach further than the top of his neck. Grandfather’s, however, were in line with his elbows, the same length as mine. They were maintained well though, and looser than any of ours. His eyes were a soft but deep brown, although they were almost shut due to his frowning.

“Considering you’re the mother of the victim, are you really in the best position to do this?” The judge asked. His voice was soft rather than Winona’s jabbing.

“Vanska,” He responded, voice soft, “Where are we?”

He looked to the door which Roman left through before turning to me, “I was in here when you were watching him. There’s still a soft spot for him in your heart, isn’t there?”

We were looking at each other again when a voice arose. It wasn’t Lawrence’s high, shrill voice, nor Roman’s soft and warm tone or Vesna’s staccato tone. This one was animalistic and growling.

Myles and Jonathon headed over to the blanket, the former looking at Miriam and the latter at Andrei. He had a soft, paternal look to him before a shadow appeared over him.

“Ludwig is surprisingly quite soft as a paternal figure. For some reason I preferred him to Martha.”

“Oh, Miriam.” She gave me her soft hazel-eyed look, “We’ll be able to make something out of this. You won’t have to live like your mother and uncle did.”

Dad was soft, but that was one thing he rarely said, “I love you too.”

Dimitri was a man with rough edges but he had soft spots for dogs and children. After all, he owned more pets than some shelters and had taken Miriam in. 

I rolled over, making a soft grunting noise.

Despite his rough appearance and supposed bluntness, Gino had a soft, tinkly laugh.

“Well, my Dad is Grand Master Schwarz. He’s a bit soft from first glance but uses his brain, not brawns. My uncle is Grand Master Ivanov. He’s the opposite.”

Her daughter had a soft and cute face in comparison to her mother’s harsher one, “Oh, alright, what’s the change?”

“Oh, okay. I know this was yours and Miriam’s discussion, but I’ll step in. Why don’t you talk with Nina and let her take charge while you work on understanding the lingo and working on your soft skills? I know a guy who lived in Anthonia who could help you.” 

BONE:

“If I had a bone in my body that was sensitive, I’d have a problem.” She said.

He'd put his hands on my shoulders so I bit down onto his forearm as hard as I could. It went deep, his bone almost visible and it was bleeding heavily. He yelped in response.

[lespassionsdemeline]

#089. Jeudi 2 août 2018. Bonjour mes petits sucres ! Je suis heureuse de vous annoncer que j'ai lu 7 livres durant le mois de juillet. Je suis contente même si je sais que c'est dû aux deux mangas lus. J'ai apprécié la plupart de mes lectures et mon préféré mais pas un coup de coeur est celui de Jay Crownover avec le premier tome de la saga Wild men. Il est axé sur les cowboys et c'est sans compter mon amour pour ce milieu qui l'a emporté. Puis, le personnage féminin m'a rappelé qui j'ai été à une certaine période de ma vie donc le roman fut un délice. Mes romans lus durant le mois sont : - Sex friends et plus si affinités de Rose M. Becker - 🌺🌺🌺🌺/5 - Harry Potter, tome 3 : le prisonnier d'Azkaban de J. K. Rowling - 🌺🌺🌺🌺,5/5 - Samantha, serial looseuse de Louisa Meonis - 🌺🌺🌺🌺/5 - Marine blue, tome 3 de Ai Yazawa - 🌺🌺🌺,75/5 - Wild men, tome 1 de Jay Crownover - 🌺🌺🌺🌺,75/5 - Marine blue, tome 4 de Ai Yazawa - 🌺🌺🌺,75/5 - Et tes larmes retenir de Charlotte Orcival - 🌺🌺🌺🌺/5 Si vous voulez en découvrir plus, je vous laisse vous rendre dans ma bio et vous rendre l'article de mon blog ou en suivant le lien suivant : http://lespassionsdemeline.blogspot.com/2018/08/bilan-lecturedumois-juillet2018.html Et vous, quel est votre bilan ? Bonne journée. Meline. #books #bookstagram #instabook #bookphoto #bookaholic #booklover #bookworm #bookish #reading #ilovebooks #instapic #lovebooks #romance #bilandumois #jkrowling #charlotteorcival #aiyazawa #manga #jaycrownover #louisameonis #rosembecker #wildmen #marineblue #funkopop (à Hauts-de-France)

[ellaofoakhill]

Ella just finished up in the shop for the day; it gets hot in there.

Bonus Meline looking respectfully.

[ellaofoakhill]

The Fairy Tales of Ella and Meline #2: Oak and Stone

Oak and Stone

“To Lord Ella of Oakhill,

            “I hope you’re well. Thanks again for your help with that potion; I couldn’t have made it without your help. You also saved my life, and treated me as a guest in your house.

            “To thank you, I invited you to the town of Oak and Stone, for food and fun, so I was wondering if you’re you available on July 8th?

            “If yes, enclosed is a map from Oakhill to the town gate. If you can’t read my gryphon-scratch, just follow the line of oaks by the south end of the pasture to the cairns. I’ll be there, in a carrot orange dress.

“Truly Yours,

Meline of Wild Rose.

P.S. I recommend dressing for the heat.”

***

“Honourable Madam Meline of Wild Rose,

            “I am indeed well, as are my hall and its environs. May this letter find a smile upon your face. You honour me with your praise, though my actions could have been no less in the face of such steadfast goodwill as your own.

            “As per your invitation, I gladly accept. This 8th of July seems an auspicious day. I shall follow your directions as best I am able, and shall appear no later than the 3rd hour following the setting sun.

“Your Humble Servant,

Lord Ella of Oakhill.”

***

            The cairns and oaks were strewn with fireflies and fairy lights. “In all my years here,” Ella said as Coarser trotted along, “I never knew about any of this. Did you, my handsome stallion?” Coarser nickered, nodding his head. “And you never told me?” She playfully slapped his rump. He swung his head back and smacked her shin. She checked the map. The gate should be close...

            She dismounted at the base of three oaks. “I suppose you’ll hang around, basking in the adulation of fey women?” Coarser’s neigh sounded very much like laughter. “If a willing filly happens by, just make sure you’re home by sunrise, alright?” He rolled his eyes. She met them. “Have a nice night, my boy.” He gently butted her head.

            Three cairns, each piled about the base of an oak, marked the gate to Oak and Stone, according to Meline’s directions. Every now and again, light would flicker from somewhere in between them, obscured by the brush, horsetails, and a surprising number of ferns. There were a few fey and creatures here and there, bustling about. The fey were mostly fairies and gremlins, though she saw a few gnomes, and even an elf.

            She scanned each as they walked by. “Hmm, I wonder what’s keeping her…”

            “Keeping who?” Ella spun around. Meline could not have stood much closer, a mischievous smile on her face. She pulled back her mantle, revealing a carrot orange dress and a deep green bodice embroidered with gold leaves. When she pulled back her hood, her long dark hair glittered with green gems.

            “Meline!” Ella bowed. “How did… is that make-up?”

Meline clapped her cheeks. “I… it-it’s a Dullndeshi thing!”

“I know several fey from Dullndesh, and none of them covered their faces with make-up.”

“How well?”

“Pardon?”

“How well do you know them?”

“Pretty well, we’re old friends.”

“Well, we just met, and it’s more a first formal meeting thing, so they likely haven’t made themselves up in a long time.” Meline raised her eyes. “Should I not have?”

“Well, I can’t tell red from green with how thick it is.”

Meline half-chuckled. “I’ll try not to get angry or disgusted with you tonight.” She offered her arm.

Ella took it. “Alright. But I’ve been told I draw embarrassment like a worm draws robins.”

“Then we’ll be extra cautious.” Meline drew Ella into the brush between the cairns. “You aren’t carrying a blade, are you?” Ella pulled up the hem of her lightest jupon, revealing the pocket knife on her left hip. Meline sighed as she examined it. “Hmm… It shouldn’t exceed the length requirements.”

“Requirements?”

“You haven’t been here before,” Meline said as they resumed walking, “but the world has changed. The mayor and the Watch keep things quite safe, and part of that has been banning all blades above three eighths of an inch long.”

“Oh.” Ella thought as they walked between the cairns. “What about the artisans? The coopers, for instance. Or the butchers. Carving up a beetle is no easy task with a tiny knife.”

“There are exemptions,” Meline said, “but each artisan has to put their mark on their tools, and follow other restrictions.”

“I see.” They made it to the centre of the cairns. There was a flat slab of granite just above the grass. “Are we here?”

Meline nodded. She took a peridot from her hair, and asked it to knock on the door. She knelt, and touched the now-glowing gem to the granite. The stone glowed, fluid script and symbols racing across its surface faster than even fairy eyes could see. A harvest mouse appeared with a small “pop”, dressed in green, with a copper badge on his jacket and a monocle over one eye. He had a fly on a tether tied to his wrist, and a knobbly staff in the crook of one arm.

“Names?” He had a clipboard and was scrawling with impressive speed.

“Lord Ella of Oakhill, and Meline of Wild Rose,” Meline said.

The mouse, whose whiskers were longer than he was tall, looked up at them. “Ah, Meline. Back so soon?”

“Her Lordship did me a good turn recently, Jasper. I’d like to show her around town.”

“Ah, I see, I see.” Jasper turned to Ella. “Is her lordship carrying any weapons?”

“Just this,” Ella said, pulling the knife from her belt and handing it over. Jasper took the proffered blade, and unsheathed it.

“Hmm, fairy silver…” he bent the blade into a perfect U and it sprang back, then poked the tip into his staff; it bit deep into the wood without apparent effort on his part. “Good fairy silver…” he measured the dagger against his staff, the lower half ringed with measured notches. “Total blade length: three sixteenths and two sixty-fourths.” He handed it back with a toothy smile. “A fine blade, and yours to keep while in town.” He leaned in. “Who’s the smith?”

Ella chuckled. “Lord Ella of Oakhill, my good mouse.” She bowed.

Jasper looked a shade dumbfounded. Meline coughed. “Fine work, yes,” he said with a start. “Enjoy your evening in Oak and Stone, my lord.” And he rapped the butt of his staff against the granite.

“That’s n—” but Ella didn’t get to say what that was before light blazed from the granite slab, and her feet left the ground.

When they came back down, they no longer stood in the pasture beyond the yard behind the house.

Ella looked up. The stars were entirely different from those she had looked up at for millennia. She glanced over at Meline, who appeared to be barely containing her glee.

“Where do you think we are?” Meline’s voice was an octave higher than normal.

“Well,” Ella looked up at the stars. They declined to answer. “We are clearly not on Gaea anymore.”

“Right!” Meline was practically jumping up and down.

“And…” Ella frowned. “The sky’s purple, and I can’t see Fom, Tharn, or Dyn.” She shivered, catching just a bit of Meline’s excitement. “We aren’t on Fey either.”

“No, we’re not!” Meline was almost laughing.

“Alright, why is this so funny?” From the way Meline talked, she visited Oak and Stone once a fortnight.

“Mostly the look on your face,” Meline said. “I’ve brought a few friends here over the years, and while knowing a third world exists, first reactions to being here are without exception hilarious.”

Ella smiled. “What was your first reaction?”

Meline snorted. “Hold on, let me step into character.” She took a step backward and closed her eyes. She abruptly opened them. She looked left and right, forward, and then up. Her eyes bulged—Ella could discern individual stars in them—and her jaw dropped. She looked in Ella’s general direction, pointed down, then back up, then started waving her arms in perfect incomprehension. Ella started to laugh. “How was my acting?”

Ella shrugged. “I wasn’t there.”

Meline’s face went blank for a moment before she laughed. “Come on.” She stepped off the platform.

Most disorienting for Ella, as she followed Meline—south?—was that other than the sky, their immediate surroundings were almost identical to those they’d left behind, down to the same arrangement of three red, white, and black rocks, one of which had a wrinkled oak leaf sitting on it. Beyond the cairns were thick ferns and horsetails. “So then where are we?”

Meline shrugged. “We are neither in one of the heavens, nor one of the hells, obviously. We are not on Fey, nor Gaea.” She looked up at the sky. “Frankly, after I accepted that Gaea is very much like Fey, it wasn’t a huge stretch to believe there are three mortal realms, since I already knew there were two.”

Ella scratched her head. “Why don’t all of us know about this?”

Meline looked at her. “Most fey and creatures around here do, and virtually all of Fey knows. There are almost certainly portals connecting Fey and Nidd, but Gaea has all the portals to Nidd that I know of.”

Ella nodded. She nearly expressed her doubt that she could not know about a portal to a third world less than an hour’s ride from her house. She shook herself. “You mean to show me a good time this evening. I’ll save my questions.”

“Good.” Meline smiled again. “Let’s go.”

As they walked through the undergrowth, Ella saw lights passing nearby, and heard voices. There was an undercurrent of sound, though, like the wind rushing through the trees.

The ground rose beneath their feet, becoming rockier. The ferns thinned out, and suddenly they were on a ridge. On the slope below them was a cascade of lights that could only be the town, on a shallow bay perhaps a half mile across. Beyond that was another island, a low peak with a bite taken from its top, clothed in trees. Beyond that, to the horizon, silver-black in the starlight, was the sea.

“Do you know,” Ella said in a small voice, “how long it’s been since I saw the ocean?”

Meline took her arm. “Too long?” Ella nodded. “We have all night; we can stay up here as long as you like.”

Ella looked slowly around. Back the way they had come, the cairns sat in a small dip in a second, much higher mountainside. Ice glittered at its peak. Beautiful as it was, her eyes were soon drawn back to the water.

After a few moments more, Ella turned to Meline. “If we have time after you show me around, we can walk along the beach.”

The mischievous smile was back on Meline’s face. “Only if we have time.”

***

Oak and Stone was a bustling town, with fey and creatures briskly going about their business every hour of day and night, according to Meline. There were mice like Jasper here, as well as voles, weasels, ground squirrels, tree squirrels, stoats, a few bats, and many other creatures Ella knew.

And more than a few she did not, tuatarans and thritheles and cynos and a dozen others. Creatures like the lizards Ella had encountered on Gaea, or on Fey. But no lizard she knew of had four arms. The smallest of these was a head taller than her. Tusks twisted down from their jaws. Their bodies were grey-brown or mottled green, with frills on their jaws and crests on their heads, which many had painted or tattooed or pierced with rings and studs. Some had horns, and one or two had a pair of leathery wings. According to Meline, they called themselves drakles, and many of them were sailors.

What most surprised Ella about this place—unknown beings were really to be expected—was the abundance of elves. Well, relatively speaking; abundance was not a word one applied to elves. But there were more of them here than Ella had ever seen on Gaea. To be fair, impeccable manners and condescending undercurrents aside, elves were known more than anything for their love of the sea. And the sea Oak and Stone had in abundance.

Meline showed her down to the shipyards, where vessels from across this world—the drakles called it Nidd—docked and unloaded their goods. These went to the seaside market, a paved square by the water with canals running through. These allowed smaller boats to paddle or pole into town and drop their goods right by the stalls and shops.

There were fabrics Ella had never seen, some softer than velvet, others smoother than silk, still others so strong Ella’s knife could not cut them; according to Meline, those needed crystal-edged scissors to be cut into shape. There were spices alien to Ella’s nose and tongue, including one somewhere between lemon and banana that she particularly liked; Meline laughed at the incredulous delight that flashed across Ella’s face when she tasted it. There were strange rocks and shells, scales shed by massive beasts, and gems that seemed commonplace here which Ella had only read about.

Meline’s boast about the local wood was true. A fairy could mould kerdzgas, a local word roughly meaning “clay-wood”, with her bare hands while it was green—or, more accurately, orange—and once it seasoned it became like gnomish silver; Ella shaved the hair from her arm with a knife made from it. There were metals as well— all the harmless metals were sold in finger-sized ingots, and the mayor had banned the import of iron for all but a few specialized purposes—but this kerdzgas was so easy to work hardly anyone used the metals only smelting could produce.

Beyond the market were shops. There was a shop bordering the market that sold crepes filled with berry and honeyed cream; Ella laughed at the white moustache on Meline’s upper lip. Another sold kebabs of sweet and spicy fruits, of roots savoury, sweet, and spicy, and of the spiced meats of different fish and insects, or whatever the equivalent was here.

There were shops that sold fine berry wines, cordials, and ciders, and shops that sold candied chocolate mixed with granules of nuts and dried fruits. There was stronger drink as well, but Ella had hardly more than a sip of a spiced liqueur that made her fingers and toes tingle. Too much made a fool of anyone, and Ella was in a town she did not know, in a world she did not know, surrounded by fey and creatures she did not know.

But Meline knew a great deal about this town in another world. Many shopkeepers and stall-owners in the market waved or greeted her by name, and she knew each of them, their families, and how their business was doing. Perhaps it was Ella’s imagination, but the crowds around them seemed to swirl not only with folks moving toward Meline, but with a few who moved away as well, and there were some shopfronts she passed over unless Ella asked after them; they never stayed long in those shops, and Ella noticed more than a few quartz coins leave Meline’s purse whether they bought anything or not.

After they were quite full, Meline led Ella across the bridge and out of the square. Ella had heard the sounds of industry from this section of town for some time, but she suspected Meline had been building toward this.

Ella worked a wide variety of metals, woods, and some fabrics, but would have freely admitted her grasp of other materials was lacking. She saw a water fairy weaving six different materials into one cloth, a mole and a frog setting gemstones into a brooch, a squat, spiny

local—they called themselves ekidnes, according to Meline—throwing a clay pot, and a squirrel blowing glass.

Meline led Ella around a corner, and Ella’s fingers thrummed to the melody of hammer on metal. A shop with a sign depicting a hammer and anvil drew her. Beneath a slate lean-to beside a five-storey house, a drakle green as new leaves held a bronze bar in two pairs of tongs while his upper arms operated a hammer and punch. Ella watched as he twisted and worked the cherry-red metal into a whorl of vines and leaves. He had already finished the central portion, with three vines braided around each other. He had two trays of tools in easy reach, and the fluidity and precision with which he picked up and set down tools—hardly taking his eyes off his work—gave Ella to know this drakle might have plied his trade as long as she had. His lips moved; even with his obvious proficiency, the metal glowed more red than it should, and fell into shape a shade too easily.

She leaned close to Meline. “I thought only we fey had worldly magic.” Meline just shook her head.

Finally he set the piece on a frame and stood, reaching for the ceiling. His crest and frills were bright red. He wore a thick apron, a breechcloth wound to accommodate his tail, and a sort of brief, wide-necked poncho tied under his uppermost arms.

His eye wandered in their direction. “Ah, Meline,” he said, stepping out from under the awning, “good seeing you again.” He had a thick, unfamiliar accent, with something of a lisp.

Meline went forward and took his hands—well, two of them, anyway—with a bow. “And you, Art.” She turned to Ella. “Ella, this is Artur Bronzemonger, the best metalworker in Oak and Stone.”

Ella bowed. “It’s always nice to meet another of my kind.”

Meline turned back to Art. “Art, this is Lord Ella of Oakhill. She recently did me a great service, and to repay her I’m showing her around town.” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “Her smithing might give you a run for your money.”

Art raised a pair of scaly eyebrows as he took Ella’s hands and bowed. A forked tongue flicked out of his mouth. Ella pulled her head back. Art’s eyes widened—she realized each eye had two pupils—and he sucked his tongue back into his mouth. His frill reddened more. “Please forgive. Fey of island new to Nidd, have new ways, I am not young.” After an awkward pause he added, “You smell of metal, charcoal, and wood—mostly oak, also willow and poplar—but with lavender on top. Good.”

“I… will consider this a cultural miscommunication,” Ella said. She felt a flush creep up her neck. “Could you… would you honour me by showing us around your forge?”

Art’s eyes gleamed. “Always happy to show other smith my work.”

“Then lead on, good sir!” Ella said.

Artur reached for a clay pitcher by a sturdy door leading into what was probably his house. “Would you like ice water?” he asked. “Smithing is good work, but hot.”

Meline’s ears flicked up. “How do you keep your ice?”

“Carters bring ice down mountain in crates with sawdust,” Art said as he opened the door to his cellar and hopped down. He came back up with several finger-shaped chunks of ice, dropped one in each glass, and put the rest in his pitcher. “I put it in icebox downstairs.” He took a long draught from his cup. Ella noticed his frill start to pale. “Can also have water drakle freeze for you, but genuine article tastes better. Now,” he rubbed two of his four hands together, “I show you projects.”

Hanging from the ceiling was a bronze-bladed scythe. On two hooks on the far wall were a pair of axes, one with a silver head, the other copper. Tools of various kinds hung on the wall, including a number Meline was unfamiliar with; the only one that stumped Ella turned out to be a set of scale clippers. A pair of silver shields shaped like gigantic scales intrigued her.

Art, unsurprisingly, proved a fount of knowledge regarding his craft. There were a few points he was unable to clarify for Ella, though she suspected this was due more to a slight want in his Feyish than a lack of understanding. He had no trouble making silver and gold as hard and strong as any fey.

“And how’s Ingrid doing?” Meline asked in a lull in the conversation. Something flapped overhead.

“Like wyrm in dirt,” Artur said, cocking his head. “In fact—” Ella jumped as a hare-sized black shape landed like a hexcat on the street and started toward them, only distantly hearing Artur add “—speak of dragon and hear roar.”

Ella barely heard Meline as the wyvern approached, her body glistening black scales under a white garment like a gigantic version of Art’s top. Gold and silver piercings decorated her wings and face, and her left horn was wrapped in a spiral of gold; the right was broken off half an inch from her skull.

“Good to see you, Meline,” she said, touching her enormous wrists to Meline’s hands, as her eyes turned to Ella. “And who is your fr—”

 A five-pupiled eye flashed through Ella’s mind, the memory of an age of hatred falling upon her shoulders, the sandy battleground at Nylthnash Rock strewn with the steaming dead, the flesh of those not boiled alive frozen like—

“Ella?” She jumped at Meline’s touch on her shoulder. Judging by her and Art’s concerned looks, she had been elsewhere for a while.

Ella took a deep breath. Ingrid’s eyes were a piercing blue, not gold, and there was no magic behind them. Her eyes each had only four pupils. “I’m sorry,” she said, handing the knife she had been examining back to Art. “Dragons have occasionally wandered onto Fey.”

“Killing and stealing what they could?” Art asked. Ella nodded.

Ingrid’s snort evoked numerous unpleasant emotions. “Is good to know they are consistent, and have been since most ancient writings.”

Art refilled their cups. “I set foot on other worlds thrice before. Each time, I think your worlds less dangerous than Nidd. Dragons are worst, wyverns and drakes plenty vicious—no offense, dumpling—”

“—None taken, handsome—”

“—Wyrms cause problems, when they leave the Underneath. Sea wyrms not so bad; we give them baubles," he gestured to the silver shields, “they leave our fishing vessels in peace. And lung are kindly.”

Ella leaned back. “So this is where all dragonkin come from?”

Art and Meline both stared at her. “Yes,” Art said, “but we are rare on Gaea, correct?”

Ella nodded. “I saw a lung once, long ago.” She sipped her water. “It danced on the clouds, even though it had no wings. And it conjured rainclouds as it danced, weaving in the sky like a glittering ribbon.”

She met Art and Ingrid’s eyes. “They’re so different from dragons, I never made the connection before.”

Ingrid shrugged. “Understandable. Take away long bodies and scaly hides and could not be more different.” She looked at her own scaly hide. “But kin we are.”

Ella did not ask which drakles and wyverns were closer to, dragon or lung. Maybe they didn’t know.

***

“I’m sorry.”

Ella glanced at Meline. Her tone of voice matched her drooping ears; they had done so a few times that night, when the pair were turned away from a shop Ella had wanted to visit. Ella wished Meline’s cheeks were bare, but she did look a few tints of blue. “Whatever for?”

Meline glanced up at her. “Tonight was supposed to be a lovely time for you, and you had to remember something horrible from your past.”

Ella gave Meline’s elbow a squeeze. “You couldn’t have known I’d encountered a dragon. They don’t wander onto Fey often.” She looked up at the stars.

“Still…” Meline’s head flopped against Ella’s shoulder. Ella took one finger, poked the side of Meline’s head, and propped it up. When it started to fall over again, Ella leaned with it, so they both almost fell over. A weak smile turned up the corners of Meline’s mouth.

“I promise those days are hardly more than a shadow on an otherwise fulfilling life.” Music started playing down the street. “And I’ve been having a lovely time.” Ella swept her arm up and around, offering her hand to Meline. “Care to dance?” Colour swirled about the edges of Meline’s cheeks too quick for Ella to make out. Meline took the offered hand, and Ella settled her other on Meline’s waist.

They danced as fey and drakles and creatures strolled by. Ella was confident Meline could dance better than her, by the way she pranced over the cobbles. Or maybe she had heard this exotic tune before.

A few others joined in, and then a few more. Soon the whole street was full of dancing and laughter. The light of the stars and fireflies glittered in the jewels in Meline’s hair.

The song eventually ended. The crowd clapped and cheered, and tossed coins and shells to the band. Ella and Meline both made sure a few found their way into the hat of the drakle who had so skillfully played the lute.

“There’s one last place I’d like to show you.” The colours Ella could see on Meline’s face were such a swirl Ella could not decipher them.

“Lead on,” Ella said.

The path they took turned and twisted through the streets. They were back along the waterfront. There were fewer ships here, but more boats. Taverns and pubs crowded the way, as did their boisterous patrons. Sea shanties tumbled over the waves like their singers over stools.

“Are we going to a bar?”

Meline gave her a baffled look. “Oh. No, my favourite bookshop’s just up the way. It has some books I thought you might like.”

“It’s in the middle of all this?”

“The shop was here long before the taverns.”

“Does it have any history books?”

“Of course.”

Ella raised her eyebrows. “Geography?”

“At least one whole shelf of atlases.”

Ella hardly dared to hope. “Any p… poetry?”

“It wouldn’t be a bookshop if it didn’t.”

Ella suppressed a squeal. “Let’s go!”

There was indeed a shop of blue-grey stone with a slate roof a block from the water. Ella suspected the architect of a certain quirkiness, as the building was in the shape of a tower with four floors like pails stacked one atop the other. And every single window was dark.

Meline snapped her fingers and spun around. “Mr. Oldview’s usually grabbing lunch about now. He’s usually at… the Wobbly Swallow? It’s back the way we came.”

Ella was having a hard time keeping up with her. “Should we bother him while he’s eating?”

“He’s never minded before,” Meline said. “For a fellow bookworm, he’d honk the Fey Queen’s nose.” Ella recalled her history with Fey Queens and decided, on average, that honking one’s nose entailed a valour bordering on madness. A friend from one’s youth might get away with it, though.

They arrived outside a tavern with a sign depicting a swallow flying maneuvers which could generously be described as loops. It was one of the louder establishments on the waterfront.

“Would you like to wait out here?” Meline said. “I should only be a minute.”

“I’ll be along the wharf.” As Meline stepped inside, Ella walked out onto the docks. A four-masted ship was anchored at the end of the pier.

 The harbour was actually a strait, separating one island from the other. Ella found the two moons in the sky just then—both red—off-putting, and there was more purple in the sky than she was used to. The moonbeams were strange too. Nidd had four moons, apparently, and each made beams different from Fey and Gaea’s moons and from Nidd’s other moons as well. But the seashore had the same hush, the waves the same comforting rhythm as they splashed against stone. Even the shanties added to the quiet, rising and falling on the tide.

“Can we help ya dere, b’y?” Ella turned around. A quartet of sailors were rolling up the dock toward her.

“Just taking the night air,” Ella said.

“Ah, well, noo,” the speaker, a squat muskrat with a red vest and a headband tying back his thick fur, “This ‘ere’s our ship, an’ we don’ take kindly t’ any ol’ fool gittin’ too near ’n’ dear wi’ her, see?” His fellow sailors, a drakle, a squirrel, and a rat, were all chuckles.

Ella raised her hands. “Shall I find another pier, then?”

“Aye, be off wi’ ye,” the muskrat said, swaggering more with every word for no particular reason. Ella was almost past them when the squirrel spoke. “Wait.”

Ella stopped, and turned around. “Do you need something?”

“Fer all we know, you coulda been aboard aready and swiped awr swag.” She puffed up. “We just made port, see, an’ haven’t unloaded at market yet.”

“Do you not lock up your hold?” Ella looked from one to another. “Or keep a sentry on the boat to guard your valuables?”

They went a bit slack-jawed as Ella posed these complicated questions. The drakle said something in a violent-sounding tongue.

“I think Cap’n does lock the lower hold when we tuck in. Yer right, Scrafty,” the rat said. She sounded the soberest of the four.

“I’ll tell you what, then,” Ella said, taking a seat on a coil of rope. “How about I sit here with three of you, and the fourth checks the hold and makes sure nothing’s been taken?”

“Oi’ll go,” the muskrat said, fixing Ella with a beady black eye. He swaggered up the gangplank. There was a click, and a thunk of wood on wood, a muffled curse, and the sound of claws clicking on stairs fading into the ship.

“How long have you all been sailing together?” Ella asked.

“’Bout six months, now,” the rat said. Ella was fairly sure the caution in her manner was due more to Ella being a stranger than anything.

“Shh!” the squirrel said. “This ‘un might be a thief, Shara. She’s a metal fairy, after all.”

Ella decided not to take offense. “Shara? That’s much like my mother’s name, may she smile down upon me.” She turned back to the squirrel. “Do metal fairies have a reputation?”

The squirrel shrugged, even as Shara looked vaguely mollified. “Metal dra’kin like metal. Stands t’ reason metal fairies’d like it too. ‘m I wrong?”

“We do,” Ella said. “We usually like to work metal, though.” She looked at Scrafty. “Do you know Artur Bronzemonger? I just met him tonight, and I dare say he might be better than I am.”

“You know Bronzemonger?” Shara said. The respect in her voice bordered on reverence.

“As does half of Nidd,” the squirrel said, “You’ll have to do better than—”

“Kelly, yer lamp!” the muskrat thundered down the gangplank, almost falling as he came. “Yer lamp’s nicked!”

Ella sighed under her breath. She gathered her legs under her ever so slightly as the group turned to her.

“That lamp,” Kelly said, running a hand through her bushy tail, “was willed me by my late great aunt. It was bronze, with a gorgeous niello and onyx inlay, and I dare say would fetch a fine price.”

“You may search my things to your heart’s content,” Ella said, “but you won’t find your lamp on me.”

“Lads,” Shara said, “when was the last time you heard of anyone callin’ a fairy a thief and things goin’ well fer ‘em?”

“Shut it!” the muskrat said, smacking one fist into the other. “Oi been spoilin fer a jaw-knocker all night, an’ Oi ain’ afraid ah no greedy fairy!”

No knives, Ella thought to herself as she rose. At least not yet. Kicking the coil of rope at them and running might be her best move.

The dock lit up like a green beacon.

“What is going on here?” Ella lifted her eyes, and thought she saw a dozen fireflies clustered together. They sounded an awful lot like Meline. As she came closer, the bright green lights turned out to be the gems in her hair. There was also one in her hand. The four sailors stepped out from between the two fairies.

“Ah, Ella,” she said, relief plain on her face. “I wondered where you’d gotten to.”

“Just enjoying the night, Meline. Did you find—”

“M-Me-Me-Meline?” The muskrat’s voice rose a few octaves.

“Of Wild Rose, yes,” Meline said. Was her voice a shade sweeter than normal?

“Oh! How about that, lads!” Shara had a foot on the gangplank, “the Wild Rose!”

Ella believed, under their fur and scales, they had all blanched. The muskrat, all too eager to get as far from Meline as he could, backpedalled and flopped over the coil of ropes. Meline’s gems flashed like lightning. As he thumped against the ropes, there was a second thump as something flew out of the muskrat’s vest and struck the pier.

Meline stepped forward. No one else moved; none of the sailors so much as breathed. Meline walked past the muskrat, and picked up the fallen object. She stood, regarding it for a moment. Then she turned around.

“This is a beautiful lamp,” she said. Her voice was definitely sweeter. “The niello stands out so vividly against the bronze, and… is this onyx?”

Four heads, Ella’s included, looked at the lamp, and then the muskrat. He looked like he wanted to gulp, but just could not summon the courage.

She set the lamp in the muskrat’s hand. “You should take better care of your things. This deserves a special place in your cabin, not a dirty pocket. Wouldn’t you say?”

The muskrat nodded so vigorously his neck cracked.

“I was just going to finish a quiet evening with my guest,” she patted him on the shoulder, “so if you’ll excuse us, we must be going.” She rose, curtsied more prettily than Ella had yet seen, and walked back up the pier. She stopped to give Ella her arm and a most coquettish smile.

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long,” Meline said as they passed the door to the Wobbly Swallow. The last of the glow was fading from her gems. “Mr. Oldview’s at the shop opening up for us.”

“Oh, that’s nice of him.” Upon closer inspection, Ella thought she saw patches of white and red through the make-up. “Meline—”

“Stories get blown out of proportion sometimes, and I guess they know a few about me.” She grinned. “I’ll tell you what they’ve probably heard when you’re older.”

Ella laughed.

***

It had been a while since Ella had bought so many books: two atlases of Nidd, a bestiary, a primer on Draconic with companion Fey- Draconic dictionary, and volumes 1, 2, and 3 of a Fey translation of Coalheap’s Compendium of Niddling Poetics. She was unapologetically skipping back up the mountain.

“So,” Meline said as they crested the slope—she had several volumes of… humans called them… comic books?— “did you enjoy yourself?”

“Immensely,” Ella replied. “I shall have to visit Art a few times. Maybe trade secrets with him.”

Meline chuckled. “Glad I could make that connection.”

Ella sensed a different quality to the quiet between them as they passed through the undergrowth.

“Enjoy your visit?” Jasper said as they approached the stone. Meline nodded.

“It’s a whole new world out there,” Ella said with a smile.

“Never heard that one before,” Jasper said. The fly tied to his wrist buzzed about them, then settled back down. “Seems all’s in order. If you’ll step on the platform.”

Once again Jasper tapped the platform with his staff, it blazed with light, Ella felt weightless, and then she was back on the ground.

The air smelled of long grass and earth. There was no salt in the air. And the sky was its familiar blue.

“We’re home.” Meline sounded almost disappointed.

Ella fell in step beside her. “Are you alright?” she asked as they walked out from among the cairns.

“Oh. Yeah,” Meline looked toward her house, and then to the yard. “I suppose we’re even now.” She curtsied; even that was lacklustre, and Ella swore her ears were a mild shade of blue.

Ella thought a moment. “You know, I don’t believe ‘even’ is the right word.” Meline looked up. “I think we’re friends.” The transformation in Meline’s entire character powerfully reminded Ella that she hadn’t stopped to watch a flower bloom in millennia. “Let’s get together again sometime soon.”

The yellow showed even through Meline’s makeup; she looked at the ground. “Y-yes.” She curtsied again, this one as sprightly as her previous had been morose. “Of course. That’d be nice. Well,” she fidgeted with one of her gems, “until we meet again.”

Ella was about to step forward, but Meline already had her hand, kissed it, and was spinning away.

“… Until we meet again.”

---

If you liked this, you can also read this post and the rest of The Fairy Tales of Ella and Meline that has been published to date over on my patreon. If you like what you read, consider becoming a patron, supporting me on ko-fi, or even just liking and reblogging.

Thank you, and take care!

[ellaofoakhill]

The Fairy Tales of Ella and Meline: Introduction

This is a story about Meline, who lived behind the house and beyond the yard, on the far side of the pasture. She had a cloak of deep-black, and a bag full of little pouches and phials of medicine, and a home beneath a wild rose, filled with books and herbs and the smells of scrumptious cooking. And, of course, she had the magic of the fey.

This is also a story of what Meline did not have, but do not worry. Ultimately, this is the story of how she found it.

---

In hindsight, I should've posted this here along with the first story about 2 months ago. Anyway, it's here now, and Frog Legs Soup will be up tomorrow. Oak and Stone is currently in early access for $5, if you wanna read that, too.

---

If you liked this, you can also read this post and the rest of The Fairy Tales of Ella and Meline that has been published to date over on my patreon. If you like what you read, consider becoming a patron, supporting me on ko-fi, or even just liking and reblogging.

Thank you, and take care!

[ellaofoakhill]

The Wild Rose, Part Three

Meline was quiet when she came the next day. Ella asked how she was, how her walk had been, what she’d had for breakfast, even if the innkeeper had stopped clutching his chest when she walked in. Her answers were nearly monosyllabic. She wasn’t sad or disappointed, as far as Ella could tell.

“Can I pour you some tea?” Ella said as Meline sat at the kitchen table.

“Please,” Meline said. It was sage and rosehip, with a drop of honey.

They sat in silence. Meline was doing everything in her power to avoid Ella’s eye, short of throwing on her deep-black mantle. “So…” Ella said, deciding she should start the conversation, “you wanted to discuss a few things before moving in.”

“Y-yes,” Meline said. She turned her tea cup around and around in her hands. She sighed. “First… I—um—I’ve been an independent fairy for over ten thousand years. And I’d… like to stay that way.”

Ella cocked her head. “How do you mean?”

“We’re not—” Meline’s walnut skin darkened, “we’re not married, and we haven’t really talked about it. And maybe you don’t need help keeping Oakhill running, or bringing in trade, but I—I’d like to help, as…as a roommate, I guess, and as a witch.”

“Ah,” Ella said. She leaned forward. “You want to help with the estate, and to continue practicing as a witch. I have that right?” Meline nodded. “Of course. What accommodations will you need?”

“That was going to be my next point,” Meline said. “Besides a bedroom, I’ll need a storeroom for herbs and ingredients.” She gave the wryest of smiles. “Maybe two, one for my… potent ingredients, and one for the rest. I’d just as soon not damage Oakhill with another explosion.”

“Well, Oakhill is a good deal sturdier than a wild rose,” Ella said, “so even if there is another accident, you’re not likely to bring the tree down.”

“That’s good,” Meline said, “It’s widely considered rude to blow up someone’s house.”

“At least in high society.”

“Anyway,” Meline said, “if possible, I’d also like a separate work room.” She looked around her. “Some of my draughts and elixirs can be dangerous, and shouldn’t be made or kept

where food is prepared. I was really fastidious with my cleaning at Wild Rose, but I was also the only one living there.”

Ella nodded. “I have a few rooms in the lower north wing that’d be perfect,” she said. “One even shares the pipes coming up to the kitchen here. We could install a sink, so you can wash up your tools and things.”

“Lovely,” Meline said. She started running a hand through her hair. “There is… one more thing.”

Ella had a feeling this was the crux of Meline’s nerves. “What is it?” Meline twirled her hair around one finger and tugged it out straight again. Ella sighed, reached across the table, and took her hand. “Meline.” When she made eye contact, Ella spoke. “If this thing isn’t a problem between us now, it likely will be down the line. We can grapple with it now, but we can’t do that if you don’t tell me what it is.”

Meline took a deep breath. “It’s Thamnophis.”

Ella furrowed her brow. “The snake?... Oh. She did try to eat you, didn’t she?”

“Hard to forget,” Meline said, “and as I mean to gather my own herbs, there’s a very good chance I’ll encounter her again.”

Ella rubbed her chin. “Well, I have good news, and possibly-bad news. The good news is Thamnophis died four years ago.” She raised her eyebrows. “Try not to look too relieved.”

“What’s the other news?” Meline asked, looking very relieved.

“Nasicus moved in shortly after Tham died.”

“Nasicus?”

“A hognose she-snake,” Ella said.

“That’s even worse!”

“They’re smaller!”

“They’re also fairy-eaters!” Meline banged her head against the table. She sighed. “Are there any other dangerous creatures here?”

Ella shook her head. “The people have a cat who leaves the house every now and again, but she’ll leave us be. Other than that, most creatures are civilized, and want fairies to not get eaten.”

“So I only have a hognose to worry about.” Meline sighed. “I know, there are dangerous creatures all through these lands, spiders and snakes and salamanders, and a few twisted beasts the people know nothing about. But can we do anything to ensure this one never eats a fairy?”

Ella regarded her tea for a moment. A thousand little things she’d noticed over the years made sense now. Every time Meline had a relieved look on her face when Ella went out to meet her. Every time she’d jumped when they went for a walk across the lawn. Every time she clutched Ella’s hand just a bit tighter than affection explained. Meline didn’t feel safe here, and it was well past time Ella did something about it.

She set her tea down. “I will bind Nasicus.”

Meline leaned back in her seat. “What?”

Ella shrugged. “Nasicus lives on land under my charge, and she knew I held Oakhill when she came here. As the lord of Oakhill, I am within my rights to bind any creature on my land who may threaten a fey subject.” She hesitated. “It would entail us formalizing your living here beforehand, though.”

“So I’ll be one of your subjects, then?” Ella breathed a sigh of relief; playful Meline was back for the first time that night.

“In name only,” Ella said. “I know far better than to believe I’ve any power over you, Meline.”

“So,” Meline hopped out of her chair, “when can we do this?”

Ella’s eyebrows shot up. “You want to do it now?”

“Yes!” Meline twirled on the spot. She whispered, “The owner of the Green Weevil said I have to be out tomorrow, or I’ll have to make another payment.”

Ella laughed. “We’ll need to gather three witnesses, then.”

 In the end, Coarser, Evelyn, and Vedris served as their witnesses; Havel wouldn’t be of age for over three hundred years. The swearing had been simple, held on the shore of the pond; it was quicker for Ella and Meline to take Coarser back and forth. Evelyn had presided.

Lord Ella of Oakhill, do you swear to protect Meline as your own kin?

I do.

Do you swear to hear her voice in your counsels, and to regard it with the utmost gravity?

I do.

Do you swear, with every choice affecting your holdings, to hold her welfare above any personal benefit to you?

I do.

What do you swear by?

I swear by the marrow in my bones, by the magic in my blood, and by the beating of my heart.

Evelyn had nodded. Vedris—who wrote out the contract because Coarser lacked thumbs—nodded. Coarser nickered his assent. Evelyn turned to Meline.

Meline the Wild Rose, do you own Lord Ella of Oakhill as your landlord?

I do.

Do you swear to abide by her decisions as landlord, provided they endanger neither you nor yours?

I do.

Do you swear to breach no confidence she places in you of her lordly duties, save only to authorities greater than her?

I do.

What do you own and swear by?

Meline had met Ella’s eye, then. She knew Ella cared for her, but there had been a corner of her heart that wondered what she would do, how she would choose to handle this danger. Meline had long ago learned that if someone didn’t do everything they could to keep you safe, they didn’t love you.

And Ella had chosen to bring a serpent to heel.

I own and swear by the marrow in my bones, by the magic in my blood, and by the beating of my heart.

Evelyn nodded, and turned to Vedris and Coarser, who also nodded.

We witnesses hear your oaths, and by our hearing bind them. We recognize you as tenant and landlord. Set your words to these oaths, and be bound, and by these oaths bring forth greater goodness in this land than either could alone.

Ella spoke three words of power, which sealed themselves to the contract. Meline also spoke three words. And the contract was sealed.

“Now,” Ella said, looking up at the moon, “let’s go bind a snake.”

[ellaofoakhill]

The Wild Rose, Part Four

Nasicus’s home wasn’t hard to find. She haunted the south end of the yard, and the pasture and hayfield beyond. The ground was marshy in spring but otherwise firm, the soil sandy. The entrance to her den, the ruins of a ground squirrel burrow, was partly covered with leaves, but there was no mistaking the snake trail in and out. Nor the smell. Havel, though hardly six hundred, had insisted on coming, arguing Nasicus would be less likely to fight a larger group.

Ella stamped the ground. There was no answer. “Either she is out hunting,” she said, “or she is wary.” She tapped the silver disc on her helm, and it glowed to life. Meline spoke a word, and the emerald tip of her staff shone with a rich green light. Havel did the same with the quartz crystal on his own helm.

“We should stay together,” Ella said. She drew her silver shortsword, and shifted the crystal shield from her back. Havel echoed her.

“Agreed,” Meline said. “And we should watch every passage.”

Ella glanced over at her. “You’re certain you don’t want even a chain corselet?”

Meline swished her mantle, and vanished from sight. “I have my own defences.” She kissed Ella’s cheek. “But thank you for worrying. Shall we continue?”

“Yes. I’ll lead.”

It had been sizable ground squirrels who excavated this burrow. Meline could walk normally. The odd root where the panelling had fallen in brushed Ella’s helm, but only Havel had to bend forward.

The burrow branched off many times, winding about rocks and tree roots. The whole place reeked of snake, but aside from the remains of a few meals, there was no hint of the serpent herself.

Normally, Meline had no problem underground, even in the tightest spaces; she was an earth fairy, after all. But that fearful part of her mind, vividly remembering her encounter with Thamnophis a decade ago, had her stepping lighter than a gnat. The slight jingle of Ella and Havel’s hauberks might conceal the whisper of scale on earth.

“I’ve been in the burrows of several ground squirrels,” Meline said, to steady her nerves, “and this might be the most extensive I’ve ever seen. I mean,” she raised an invisible hand, “we’ve been traipsing about down here for over an hour.”

“This burrow has been here for some time,” Ella said, her head doing a slow back-and-forth across the tunnel as she spoke. “I remember when Oswald Oldrey lived here, generations ago by the measure of his kind. Many creatures have lived here since the last of his descendants left. Nasicus is only the latest occupant.” There was a pause. “I’m sorry, Meline.”

“For?”

There was a fork in the burrow. Ella stopped at it. “For waiting so long before doing this. I should have forbidden all the dangerous creatures in my lands from harming the fey long, long ago.” Her shoulders sagged. “If even a single child had been hurt by my thoughtlessness…”

Meline sighed. “The important thing,” she reached forward and squeezed Ella’s sword-hand, “is that you’re doing it now. You’re trying to be better. And no one’s gotten hurt yet.”

“Yes,” Ella said, “I suppose you’re right.” She turned to the left. “Come, let’s press on.”

It happened with blinding speed. Ella’s shield shifted away from Meline as she turned. The beam of Havel’s gem had already turned down the left passage. In the diffuse light of her gem Meline saw the briefest flash of movement, and agony ripped through her as six dozen knife-sharp teeth buried themselves in her right arm, shoulder, and side.

She dropped her staff. In that berserk pain, an old, old part of her knew she couldn’t properly strike with it, not in this tunnel. A single word blazed in her pounding heart, and she willed her bones not to break.

She twisted, wrenching the holes in her flesh, and drove her left fist into the serpent’s skull. A ripple of pain shot up her left arm, too, but Nasicus let go, crumpling in a scaly heap.

“Are you alright?” Ella was in front of her, pulling back the now-punctured mantle. Meline reached up—gritted her teeth against the fire—and undid the mantle. Blood was starting to stream from the holes.

She felt a rough sting from the wounds in her back. She tried to turn her head, failed, and merely turned her eyes. Havel’s substantial hand pressed the dirt of the passage into each puncture. The wounds he’d already treated were quieting.

“It’s a good thing,” she said, turning back to Ella, “that all any fairy needs to heal a wound is her own element.”

“Venoms and curses are another story,” Ella said, wiping at her eyes with one hand as she scraped up a handful of sandy soil in the other. “Just be glad hognoses have neither.”

Once they’d packed all the wounds, Ella and Havel helped Meline to her feet. “I’m sorry to say,” Ella said, holding up the mantle, “but I think this is finished. Shall we make a sling from it?”

“By all means,” Meline said, cradling her arm, “But maybe leave that to Havel.” She gestured to Nasicus with her foot.

Ella nodded. There was a carefulness to her movements as she picked up her sword that made Meline think she was reining in a ferocious violence. She turned to the crumpled pile of Nasicus, coils of whom stretched back around the twist in the right-hand passage.

“Up!” she barked. “I know you play dead when a stronger creature happens along! Rise, taste my anger on your forked tongue, and pray to Oberon I find a scrap of mercy in my heart!”

Nasicus stirred with suspicious speed. Havel wordlessly pressed Meline’s staff into her left hand; she touched his arm in thanks. The she-snake’s mouth was wider than Ella’s shoulders, but she coiled herself up as small as she could.

“You were moving down my egg-passage,” Nasicus said. “I acted unwisely.”

“I am your lord, and you know it!” Ella’s voice was cold. “And you tried to kill my tenant, one as much under my protection as you are. Before my very eyes.” Her sword bounced in her hand. “What possessed you to strike with such gall?”

Nasicus pressed herself against the ground. “Spare my eggs, please, my lord. And spare me.”

Ella took a deep breath, so deep and slow Meline wondered if it would ever stop. “I will not kill you today, Nasicus,” she stepped forward, “if you agree to bind yourself to me. You may eat the creatures of Gaea, as you and your kind must, in order to live. But try to eat any member of the fey again,” she knelt, her sword prickling Nasicus’s throat, “and as your lord, I will carve your head from your trunk, and spread your blood about the borders of my lands, so all serpents know what happens to fey-eaters. Am I clear?”

Nasicus wilted. “Yes.”

Ella stood. “Do you accept your binding?”

“I accept.”

“Hold out your tail,” Ella said. Her words were iron bars. Nasicus seemed to ripple, and her tail wound its way up the passage toward them. Ella took it in one hand, and pricked it. Nasicus looked as though she didn’t dare twitch.

A drop of blood fell on the blade. Ella began to speak, words which only she and Nasicus could hear. The blood glowed every colour, then floated away from the blade, and re-entered the wound, which closed as if the scales had never been pierced.

“There is another side to this,” Ella said, sounding suddenly exhausted. “If you are in need, and still name my land your home, you may call upon my help when in dire need, if you or yours are threatened.

“I have spared your life. Don’t waste it.” She took back her shield, and gestured for Havel to take the lead back up the length of the burrow. It was a walk in utter silence, but for the softest tramping of their feet.

“Shall we head home?” Ella said once they had emerged into the warm summer night. She laughed when Meline and Havel nodded. “You can speak. The danger has passed!” As they started back to Oakhill she took Meline’s hand. “How are your wounds?”

Meline caught herself before she shrugged. “They’ll probably be better in a few months.” She met Ella’s gaze. “You were perilous down there.”

“I was perilous?” Ella laughed again. “Who struck Nasicus such a blow the ground shook?”

“What? No!” Meline said, taking Ella’s hand with her own and giving a squeeze. Ella feigned as if her hand broke, and Meline smacked her with her good hand. “I just wanted her to let me go.”

“The earth did tremble, though,” Havel said. “I barely saw it, Miss Meline, but if you’d hit the tunnel wall, you would’ve buried us.”

“Then it’s a good thing I can aim,” Meline said with a smile.

Ella stood stunned, then barked with laughter. “One day,” she kissed Meline on the cheek, “you’ll have to tell me your whole story.”

“And one day,” Meline said as she leaned against Ella—she had sustained a serious bite, after all, “you’ll be ready to hear it.”

[ellaofoakhill]

The Wild Rose, Part Two

The old gopher who owned the Green Weevil agreed to rent Meline a room for three days only after Ella—reluctantly affixing the “Lord” to her name—and Art both vouchsafed Meline’s character, and Meline signed off one fourth of everything she owned as collateral. This was much less than it had been merely four hours before, but still a considerable amount.

“Seriously, what did you do?” Ella asked as they returned to the portal. Art was coming with to help move the bulk of Meline’s possessions into storage at Oakhill. Ella didn’t miss the hitch in Art’s step at the question.

“It was all a long time ago,” Meline said, smiling, “and I am not the fairy I was in those days.”

“What fairy were you in those days?”

Art snorted. Meline’s foot slipped and connected with his calf, but she otherwise ignored him. “The kind that wore glass knuckles and studded deep-black.” She laughed at Ella’s expression. “As I said, I’m not that fairy anymore. And while I was rough, I was never mean. Also don’t ask Art about any of this. He wasn’t there.” Art laughed. He took Meline’s swat like a champion. Ella had long since noticed Meline’s nose was crooked; had she broken it in those wilder days?

“Oh!” Meline, said, clapping her hands, “could we do a bit of shopping tomorrow? I need some new furniture.”

“Do you even know where you are living?” Art asked. “There is not much point in buying a beautiful table if it does not fit in the kitchen.” Ella glanced at Meline. They hadn’t told anyone about her offer yet.

“That’s a fair point,” Meline said, tapping a finger against her lips, “although I will for sure need a new cauldron.”

“Well,” Art said, “You know two skilled metalworkers.” He looked at Ella over Meline’s head. “Want to collaborate?”

“Ooh!” Ella said, “That sounds fun!”

“And expensive,” Meline said. They stared at her. “What, you think I’m just gonna leech off everyone who cares about me?”

Art shrugged. “Call it a housewarming present.”

Meline huffed. “Fine, I forgive you for your generosity!”

Ella kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for your mercy, Meline.”

It was fortunate Art had insisted on coming. He was a head and a half taller than Ella, and his four arms let him carry burdens only Ella and Meline together might exceed. His tail also let him steady himself more easily on the winding stairwell.

They put most of Meline’s possessions in a storeroom above the shop and stable. These comprised the bins and sacks which held her still-impressive store of ingredients, and a few tools and utensils that had survived the explosion. And her books. She was reluctant at first to leave them, but after Ella reminded her of the measures she’d taken since Felix’s “visit” almost ten years before—one of her new-forged guardians sat opposite the front door—Meline agreed to trust them to Ella’s keeping.

Ella hosted them for supper, and had a pair of lovely grasshopper nymphs prepared. Their outer shells were crisp, and their meat tender. What Ella and Meline didn’t eat, Art did, along with substantial helpings of steamed carrot and beet. Ella also broke out a bottle of faerye, a non-potent drink the colour of deep red gold. Art found it a bit disappointing.

“The drinks of our different peoples don’t cross over that well,” Meline said as she sipped her own glass; she was looking more relaxed. “Most drakles could down that whole bottle and barely feel its warmth. Drink a half-teaspoon of drakbrau, though, and you’ll need a skilled witch yesterday.”

Art chuckled. “Shortly after I arrived in Oak and Stone, a wood fairy, also a smith, challenged me to see who could drink more of the other race’s brew.” He looked down at his glass. “He must have been new to Nidd, or he would never have made the challenge.” He shrugged. “Lots of us, myself included, told him it was foolish, but he thought no wisdom in the worlds was greater than his. Fortunately, Garelda,” he gestured to Meline, “from the mason’s guild?” Meline nodded. “She ran fast as her legs could take her for the nearest witch. Anyway, I had had more to drink than was wise, and I accepted, thought I might teach him something.”

His shoulders started quaking. “We downed four bottles of… one of your drinks… Fizzbin, was it? Anyway, he was vibrating like a fiddlestring, and I was more sober than when we started. He called that one a draw. I was not surprised, just a bit disappointed.” He covered his mouth and let out a small burp. “And then we started on the dragonfire.”

Meline’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t!” She started laughing.

“His choice, not mine,” Art said, holding up all four of his hands. “Again, wiser voices said it was a bad idea. To be fair, he was no longer in full possession of his faculties.”

“Dragonfire?” Ella looked between them.

“Even by our standards,” Art said, “dragonfire is… potent. It once made me belch actual flames. I suspect this smith thought the name sounded impressive.

“We each drank one shrew’s finger. My belly felt like the contest was finally heating up. He poured it down his throat, spat it straight up in the air, and ran for the nearest outhouse.” Art’s tail slapped the floor. “And no, I do not know what it looked like after.” He

examined the bottle of faerye. “It does not have the same effect on me, but it actually tastes quite nice. A bit of spice, and… almost a tart sweetness underneath.”

“It’s usually made with crabapples,” Meline said. She shook her head. “Ugh, why did we ever think drinking like that was a good idea?”

“Wiser heads did not prevail,” Ella said, sipping her faerye.

Art swiveled an eye to her. “Did you drink much when you were younger, Lord Ella?”

Ella looked down at her glass. “There were times I was tempted.” When Pops came back alone was the hardest. Her master, and the Great Sage, had understood, and helped; the debt Ella owed them for helping her work through those years instead of wallowing in the slick-sided pits of grief was worth more than Oakhill ten times over. “But I was… happy. For the most part. And aside from the flavour, I never felt any need for drink. One glass with good friends is a fine thing.” Ella tilted her head, and took the now-empty bottle of faerye. “Why are we talking about the foolishness of hard drinking? Faerye isn’t even potent.”

Meline shrugged. “It’s made by a similar process, though. And while it doesn’t make a fairy stupid, it is warm and relaxing.”

There was a lull in the conversation. “Question,” Art said, raising a scaly finger.

“Yes, Friend Bronzemonger?” Ella asked.

“Now, this is not at all for me to say,” he steepled the fingers of all four of his hands, such that they looked like a line of tiny peaks, “so if I am sticking my tusks in where they do not belong, tell me so.”

“Out with it, Art!” Meline said, chuckling. “Your fine manners are scaring me.”

Art smiled, running one sheepish hand over his crest. “Have you… considered moving into Oakhill, Meline?” He looked between them, and mis-read their embarrassed surprise. “I mean, I know ten years is not long—hardly a breath in the life of our peoples, really—but it is… a rare thing, to see what you two have. I know my wife—are you two okay?”

Ella had felt a laugh bubbling up, deep in her belly. When her eye met Meline’s they both started howling. Ella actually pounded the table.

“Well,” Meline said, wiping tears from her eyes and turning to Ella, “that’s two people now that have thought of this. Ella,” she turned back to Art, “made the offer yesterday. I’m giving it some thought, and I’ll let her know tomorrow night.”

“Oh!” Art looked, if anything, even more sheepish. “Then far be it from me to stick my tusks in!”

“On the contrary,” Meline said. Ella gave her a sidelong glance. The tone in Meline’s voice was suddenly very tender. “The counsel of good friends is a precious thing.”

“Even unasked for?”

Meline laughed again. “When given for the other’s sake, it can be a lantern in the deeps.” She got up, walked around the table, and kissed Art on a scaly cheek. His crest and frill flushed red.

When the hour was growing late, and Art and Meline were gathering their things to leave, Meline hung back while Ella whistled for Coarser. She leaned in close.

“I wanted to tell just you first,” Meline whispered, softer than velvet. “I accept your proposal, but there are some things we need to discuss tomorrow before I make my home here. Is that alright?”

Ella’s ears rang. She crushed Meline to her and spun her on the spot. She hardly noticed her elbow smack the doorpost, even though it sent shocks down her arm.

“Of course it’s alright,” Ella said, setting her down as Coarser cantered up. He gave the pair one look and seemed to know what was going on. Ella helped Meline mount up, and then kissed her hand. “Until we meet again.”

“Until then,” Meline said, fastening her stonemail cloak as Coarser trotted after Art. Ella watched them go until they were out of sight through the maples.

[ellaofoakhill]

The Wild Rose Opens, Part Two

Ella opened the door into Oakhill from the stable. “How’re your legs?” she asked.

“Sturdy enough,” Sali said, “It’s been a few millennia since my last ride.” She hung her cloak on one of the lower pegs. “I can’t believe she’s finally doing it.”

Ella nodded, hanging up her own cloak; it was a cool night they had ridden through. “I’m proud of her. And I’m glad she can finally open up.”

“That’s good,” Sali said as she plopped her boots on the mat, “but you’re not nearly as proud of her as you should be. And… she’s going to need both of us.” Sali gave Ella a piercing look. “You’ll stand by her?”

Ella met Sali’s gaze. She nodded.

“Good. ‘Cuz I’ll hogtie you and kick you ‘til you’re dead if you break Cuffs’s heart.” Her tone was almost jocular. Her eyes were not.

Ella nodded again. “I’m not surprised Meline picks her friends so well.” She made to go up the stairs, then stopped. “If I break her heart, I’ll hogtie myself for you.”

Sali chuckled. “It’s a date.”

The adults were gathered in the hall: Pops and Meline’s parents, Annafleth, and Meline’s brothers and their spouses. Havel, Vaness, and Meline’s older nieces, nephews, and niblings were out playing with Selva and the younger relations. Felix, Stuart, Julian, and Gillian were also in attendance, as was Arthur; Ella could imagine the stir he’d caused.

The tables were pushed back, the chairs and benches arranged in a rough circle. Meline was passing around a few raisin tarts when Ella and Sali came in. She finished, then came over. She took Sali’s hands. “Thanks for coming.”

Sali glanced up at Ella. “Figured I had to. Your fiancée wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.” She touched a small locket around her neck. “Smiles’s here, too.”

Meline nodded, gave Sali a kiss on the forehead. She rose, turned, and wrapped Ella in a fierce embrace, burying her face in Ella’s shoulder. Ella barely reciprocated before she let go. Meline slapped her cheeks. “Alright.”

The circle quieted as Ella and Sali took their seats. Meline stood, her seat between Ella and Sali’s. So far as Ella saw, the group was more expectant than nervous; besides Meline’s friends, only her mother looked like something other than wedding planning was about to happen. It was hard to tell, though.

“I know we started preparations last night,” Meline said, projecting her voice, “but there’s a more pressing matter that needs dealing with.” She cast her eyes about the group. Ella thought they might have rested for a moment on her father. “I need to tell those important people in my life who don’t know about my life since I left home.”

She waited a moment, probably to collect herself, but the pause drew everyone forward, sharpening their attention.

“I met Felix,” she gestured to him; he inclined his head, “as I was leaving Fey. We crossed over together, and in our travels across Gaea, we saved each other’s lives many, many times. It was on one such occasion, when we were trapped in a crevice in the desert far to the south, that we were saved by two fey women. They came from different directions, drawn by our cries. One was Sali, the gnome you see before you tonight.” Sali inclined her head. “The other was Celia, a light elf… perhaps the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met.

“We traveled across Gaea for centuries, until we came to this land in the north. Sheets of ice a mile high covered where we sit, and enormous beasts walked the land which I have not seen since people came across the sea.

“When we came to the lands south of the ice, we found a portal. A gateway to a third world, neither Fey nor Gaea. Its folks call it Nidd. Among them are the drakles,” she gestured to Art, who raised a hand in acknowledgment, “and the dragons.”

Endymion looked like he wanted to ask questions. Alice put a hand on his shoulder. He restrained himself.

“The portal leads to a pair of seamounts beyond sight of the nearest land, a wide forested country itself dwarfed by a landmass so vast its northern and southern reaches have a long day and night. On the larger of those two islands was a fishing village, founded a few centuries before our arrival. In time, as fey and creatures on this side realized its presence, we began to travel back and forth. Some have decided to live on that side. At the time, Sali, Celia and I thought that seemed a wonderful idea. For many happy years we lived just up the slope from the village.

“The community grew, and the little village became a town, known as Oak and Stone. Trade grew, and though folks never grew rich, we lived well; certainly there was more than enough to go around, even in the lean times.” Meline’s tone made Ella think she was wading deeper into her memories, forgetting she was addressing a group. “Once, the volcano on the little island blasted fire and ash and molten rock. It wasn’t a big eruption, but enough to scuttle every ship in the harbour, and swamp over half the town. Of all the buildings by the docks, only a single tower remained standing.” Ella remembered Mr. Oldview’s bookstore. It did look like the lower floors had flooded once. “The efforts to search for survivors, heal the injured, and put roofs over the heads of the homeless were incredible. We three lived high enough that a few trees fell over due to the blast, but our home was unharmed. So we gave our yardage over to erecting tents for those who had nowhere else. When the waters receded, and efforts to reclaim the town began, some left. Many asked if they might build new, safer homes. That land has since become the neighbourhood Glittering Deeps, and has not forgotten its founding acts of kindness. We refused no one,” Meline’s face and tone darkened, “especially when we heard what was happening in town.”

Sali poured her a cup of tea. Meline took it and sipped. “We were not the first fey to make our home in Oak and Stone. Among the first was a sea elf named Filianne. She would later be known as the Red Pearl. Unbeknownst to most of the inhabitants, she had plied her trade—she was, apparently, an incredible pearl-diver, and the oyster beds about Oak and Stone are rich—and with her wealth, she bought most of the islands’ shallows. Others could dive in her territory, but she claimed a portion of their gains. It seemed harmless to anyone who knew, and if she’d stopped there, it might’ve remained so. But after the eruption, she started buying the swamped properties in town. To the naïve—though we were soon to lose our naivete, we still had it a short while yet—it seemed a kindly thing; give the needy a decent sum to help rebuild in a safer place, even if it meant a huge amount of work for her to rebuild. But rebuild she did, and the more cautious wondered how deep her pockets were, that she could not only buy swathes of property, but hire the poor to build anew. She did employ many of these, though she also chartered ships from the mainland to bring in workers. Most of us thought nothing that these were big and rough around the edges. The shrewd among us wondered if Filianne had hired muscle. Even then, her intention may have been good, though I suspect a greater portion of her motivation for doing anything was greed.

“When the town was rebuilt, new houses and shops ready, folks were all too happy to return. But it was not so simple as buying back their homes. The homeless had put their hearts into their work, so the homes were good and beautiful. So beautiful as to justify exorbitant prices; even renting was expensive. The shops were better, but Filianne’s rent meant a family of mice could work generation after generation and hardly save anything. Buying back a smithy could take millennia. If one could save. With high rent went higher prices for essentials. Most families found their savings drying up, not growing; many went into debt. If they couldn’t make rent, the guards kicked them out. Normally they only dealt with theft and broke up fights at the docks, but suddenly they were a tool Filianne used to line her coffers.

“Eventually, the townsfolk realized what was happening. So they banded together, pooled their resources, and protested. Shantytowns sprung up when people left the homes they’d built en masse, and business ground to a halt when the artisans moved out. They simply set up shop on land Filianne didn’t own. It was strange—thriving tent-dwellers all outside, the town almost abandoned. The officials and those who’d been able to buy back their houses begged for things to return to normal, but the protesters didn’t budge. I think when other neighbourhoods besides Glittering Deeps started springing up, Filianne realized she’d less control than she thought.

“The protests had been peaceful to that point; folks simply wanted their homes and livelihoods back, and didn’t want to pay rent on something that would never be theirs. They wanted Filianne to capitulate, but they also wanted the officials, the judges and the lawmakers, to draft laws so no one could do again as Filianne had. When they started to yield, Filianne realized the threat to her power. Her foreign labourers became thugs and agitators. By the laws of Oak and Stone, the guards could do nothing about a peaceful protest; but if even one fist was raised, they had to step in and disperse the gathering. So suddenly fights broke out, and shanties burned.

“We three had attended the protests for some time, by then, to show support for our friends and their families. It was Sali,” Meline gestured to her friend, “who put together that the fights were orchestrated. Eventually, we hit on a simple idea: a protest could not be dispersed on grounds of violence if the protest never turned violent.

“Sali formed a network of contacts who fed her information regarding when and where agitators would appear. Celia had always been a major voice advocating for the dispossessed. She was the natural choice for the face of our operation. Which left me.” Ella could almost feel Meline steeling herself. She thought she knew what was coming; a lot of little things started to make sense. Why certain richer townsfolk feared the Wild Rose, and the ordinary and poor regularly gave her herbs and spices at steep discounts.

“What did you do, Mellie?” Ian asked. His tone was encouraging; Endymion was inscrutable for the first time Ella had seen, but he was the exception. His family seemed quite curious.

Meline ran a hand through her hair. “Felix is a walker,” she said, gesturing to him, “and regularly travels alone. He’s been robbed, and learned that if he couldn’t defend himself, others would steal what he needed to stay alive. So he learned to fight. When we started travelling together, he taught me. And when we derived our plan to aid the protestors, I taught a small group. Since we knew the violence could escalate if we were found out, I taught in two ways. Secretly, in the middle of the day, that small group learned technique. There’s a labyrinth under Oak and Stone, running up the mountain, and we used it and its thousand crossroads to practice. And during the night, I would teach conditioning exercises, to strengthen our group so they could fight for as long as they needed. Since the conditioning was not obviously violent—some of it looks more like a dance than anything—we did it publicly. It was at one such training session that I wore a dress embroidered with pink roses, and someone described my dance as ‘wild’; I’ve been the Wild Rose ever since.

“When Sali told us agitators were on the way, we’d head them off. If we outnumbered them by a wide enough margin, we could usually persuade them to about-face. That grew less common as Filianne started sending larger groups. Then, more often than not, we fought. In the tunnels, usually, but sometimes in the streets. Even on the rooftops, a few times.” Ella couldn’t see her face, but she knew the moment Meline’s gaze fixed on her father. “We never attacked first. When they fled, we never harried. And when we won back the town, Filianne and her thugs, and every crooked official against whom we had evidence faced justice in court, not bloody revenge. We fought for what was right, and when we had that, we laid aside our arms and were glad the fight was finally over.” With that, Meline returned to her seat. “You all have questions, I’m sure. Sali and I will answer as best we can.”

There was a pregnant silence as everyone, Ella included, digested what had been said. Though she was sure Meline had stuck to an objective telling, and tried to explain rather than justify her actions, Ella could almost feel the fear and the anger and the chaos of bloody fighting in darkness. She took Meline’s hand; it stopped trembling.

“You had a friend, Celia?” Myles said.

Meline nodded. “She was killed fighting a pair of trolls on the night of the final—”

“A pair of trolls?” Sol made no effort to hide his astonishment.

Alice gave him a little smack upside the head. “This is hard for your sister. Don’t interrupt her.” He nodded.

“—battle on the docks,” Meline said like her brother hadn’t spoken, though she flashed her mother a thankful look. “Filianne was desperate by the end. During her trial, at which I gave testimony, she was terrified.” Ella saw Sali shift on her seat. “Not without reason. It was by one vote that she was spared the noose for loosing trolls in the town.”

“What was her punishment?” Saraiţh asked.

“To live in an oilpaper shack on the beach for the rest of her life, diving for pearls. She gets enough food, and keeps no proceeds from her findings. She will understand the horror of her actions before she dies.” Meline’s voice was flat.

There was a pause. “Why don’t you still live in Glittering Deeps?” Dio asked. Ella thought his voice as lovely as hers was not.

“Three reasons.” Meline held up a finger. “One, during the protests—the Revolution, as it is locally known—I was arrested a number of times. Sali and Celia occasionally helped with my work, but we made sure they had escape paths; losing either of them would’ve been a major blow to our efforts. But once everyone knew how to fight, I could get jailed as often as the guards had cell space.”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Sali said, touching Meline’s other arm. “We bailed you out every single time. It did add to your image, though.”

“Anyway,” Meline waved a hand, “the town almost banished me several times. Even after the protests were over, there were many buildings badly damaged in some of the fights I got involved in.”

“And the entire industrial district that one time,” Arthur said.

Sali elbowed him. “There were extenuating circumstances!”

“There really weren’t,” Meline said. “Filianne hired a company from the Forest Lands to put us down, and I collapsed the tunnels as they marched over.”

Stunned silence. “How?” several relatives, and Ella, said at once.

“Collapsing one central pillar produced a ripple effect,” Meline said. “After peace was restored, a number of homeowners and storeowners didn’t like having me around, and there were some fights between those who didn’t want me around, and those who did.

“Two: after everything started getting better, the population started rising. I’ve always liked having space to myself. Glittering Deeps used to be a fair walk from Oak and Stone, and it got enveloped in the expanding town… six thousand years ago?” she turned to Sali.

“Almost seven.”

“Right. I also didn’t want to live where most people were congratulating me for mostly-rumoured deeds.” She got some baffled looks. “Gossip of my exploits has been bandied about Oak and Stone for millennia. Some events have been so embellished you’d think I’m a goddess descended from the heavens.”

“Aren’t you?” Ella asked. Meline squeezed her hand.

“Three.” Meline looked at her unoccupied hand. “Oak and Stone holds a lot of happy memories for me. Lots of those, by the Revolution’s end, were tinged with grief. I’ve a lot of friends I laid to rest over those years. Just because we showed restraint doesn’t mean our enemy did. Celia’s death was one of the last, and for me the worst; I realized within a month of that night I couldn’t keep living in a house where I kept expecting to hear her coming down the stairs, or laughing in the next room. Though I visit her as much as I can.”

Another, longer pause. “Mel,” Dio said, looking like he had to force himself to say it, “did you ever k—kill anyone?”

Ella heard a scream of laughter from the children outside. It died at the window.

“I don’t know,” Meline said. “Conventional fighting is varying degrees of chaos.” Ella saw Pops nod in agreement. “Even if you throw the most vicious blow, you rarely know how hard it connects. Guerilla fighting, in tunnels, in back alleys, in cramped streets, on rooftops, is even moreso. I have never hit to kill, and no one, so far as I’m aware, has died by a blow I dealt. But I do not know.”

The questions petered out soon after that. It was hard, watching Meline bare her past like this, able to do nothing more than squeeze her hand.

Endymion, Ella saw, did not meet his daughter’s eye.

 Meline was with Ella, writing out formal wedding invitations in Oakhill’s conservatory, which was apparently a place. To believe Ella, she’d simply forgotten it existed; the vast majority of her writing took place at a small table in her room.

“How do you spell ‘herbaceous’ again?” Meline asked.

“I-a-m-a-n-a-d-o-r-a-b-l-e-d-o-o-f-u-s.” Meline’s envelope struck Ella in the forehead. She laughed. “You’re a witch! How can’t you spell ‘herbaceous’?”

Meline gave her head a shake. “Just distracted with everything going on.” Ella nodded, and gave her the correct spelling.

They’d spent the last three days renting the Party Grounds, staking out where the mound would be raised, and managing ten thousand odds and ends. Most things were falling into place. Some things were giving them both massive headaches. Still other things remained unresolved.

Broadly, Meline’s family seemed accepting, even proud, of her past; she’d cried tears of relief that day as she fell asleep. And having divulged the worst, she felt comfortable talking about the pleasant side of her past: the creatures she’d encountered when ice covered the northern reaches of Gaea was a favourite topic, as was life in Oak and Stone. There was, however, one point of concern.

A soft knock came at the conservatory door. “Your turn,” they said at the same time. With a rueful smile, Ella got up, and gave Meline a kiss.

There was a moment’s silence. Meline glanced up. She did a double take. Endymion stood in the doorway. Ella moved aside, and he came in.

“Forgive me, Lord Ella—”

Ella held up a hand. “I prefer just ‘Ella’, if that’s alright.”

Endymion hesitated, then inclined his head. “I know the pair of you are busier than the only bees in a big hive, but,” he sighed, “could I please speak with my eldest?”

Ella looked to her. After a moment, Meline nodded. Ella inclined her own head. “If either of you need anything at all…” she left, giving Meline a concerned look as she closed the door behind her. Meline noticed the shadow of her feet remained under the door.

She returned to her invitations. She couldn’t concentrate on them at all. Her attention was drawn to the solid metal fairy in the centre of the room. He stood quietly for a moment. Meline wondered what he was waiting for.

“May I sit?”

Meline almost looked up. She gestured to the chair Ella had vacated. He sat. The quiet stretched out, broken by the ruffling of paper as Meline tried and failed to work, and the occasional creak as he fidgeted.

“I’m sorry, Mellie.” She looked up. “It took me so long to love my own children more than my pride.” Tears spilled from his eyes. “I’m sorry I was too afraid to come and see you, to lift the burden I should never have forced on you.” His breath heaved. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Meline was out of her seat, hands on his shoulders. “Dad, what—”

His enormous hands, callused from working with cattle and scythe and cord, clasped hers. “You thought I was ashamed all this time. And I did nothing to change that.” He shook his head. He was almost sobbing.

Meline blinked hard. What was happening? “You, you need to back up, Dad, and tell me from the beginning.”

Eventually, she got him cleaned up. It took a couple handkerchiefs. When he could stand, Meline led him out onto the balcony. It looked southwest. The stars and moon were bright, with hardly a whiff of cloud. The crisp air seemed to help.

“Shortly after you left,” he said, “your mother and I… we fought. Worse than before the pair of you left. She didn’t want me driving away any more of her children.”

Meline’s jaw dropped. “She must’ve been upset.”

He barked a derisive laugh. “She was right, is what she was!” He looked sidelong at her. “The way I treated you after you came back was part of why you left, wasn’t it?”

Meline discarded the idea of lying as it occurred to her. “Simple wanderlust was a big part, Dad, but… yeah.”

He nodded. “I been in a few scrapes in my life, when Fey was a different world. No blade ever cut me so deep.” He looked up at the stars. “So I did some thinkin’. And some more. Until the thinkin’ stopped and I realized my fear of death and violence and what they can do to us was more powerful than my love for my own children.” He looked down at his palms, pale against his dark arms. “It took millennia of grappling with that, of help from those who knew how to help me, and the support of my family.” He turned to her, raised his hands to her hair, and gave her the most tentative look she’d ever seen. Smiling, eyes damp, Meline gave him the barest nod. Endymion wrapped his powerful arms around her. Meline could feel his love, and regret, and gratitude as he squeezed.

“I’ve loved you, Mellie,” he said, low and close, “since before you were born. I should never have hurt you.”

The years fell away, his strong arms sweeping them off and gone. Meline hugged him back. She had her Dad again.

[ellaofoakhill]

The Wild Rose Opens, Part One

Meline threw on her best dress and a warm pair of wool stockings, and put the finishing touches to her hair. She thought she looked presentable: no runs, no creases, not a hair out of place. She’d enough rings and jewels to make her look radiant but not opulent. Ella’s beautiful torc glowed at her throat. A pair of red slip-ons embroidered with daisies and ivy, and—

Knock knock. “Meline?” Ella.

“Come in!”

The door swung open. “Havel says…” Ella’s jaw didn’t drop, but she did look like she’d forgotten how to speak. She looked handsome herself, in the tabard Meline had made, and her hair in pigtails. Her own torc—Meline’s heart always fluttered when she saw it—sat well as a counterpoint to her green and silver ensemble.

Meline gave her a nervous grin, took Ella’s hands, and gave her a quick kiss. Nothing too lingering, she didn’t want to risk her makeup. “What did Havel say?”

Ella gave herself a shake. “He met them at the fence with the stonemail. We have a few minutes.”

Meline whisked around Ella, her feet clapping against the oak floor. Ella followed her out of the room. “Your family?”

“In the hall, ready to be introduced.”

“Stuart, Arlen, and Vaness?”

“At the door to take coats, hats, and boots.”

“Selva?”

“Adorable.”

“And?”

“Ready with the welcome cup.”

“Good.”

“Meline?”

Something in Ella’s tone made her stop and turn around. They were at the top of the stairs. “Yes?”

Ella took Meline’s hands in her own, larger pair. She gave them a squeeze, and a tender kiss. They took a deep breath together.

Selva was indeed adorable in her green and cream dress, as she fretted over the milk and honey in the welcome cup. “All’s well?” Meline asked.

Selva jumped. “Yeah! One cube of honey per cup, Melmom?”

“That’s right.” She looked to Stuart. She did not regret the bolts of fabric she’d spent on his four-piece suit. “And the closet?”

“Ship-shape,” he said with a bow. He ran his paws over the suit jacket. “Bottle-green was a good choice.”

“How does it fit?”

“Beautifully. I’m just not used to shoes.”

Meline shook her head. “Me neither. We can be mildly uncomfortable together.” Stuart laughed.

“How do I look, Auntie Mel?” The first time Arlen called her that, Meline flushed so fiercely she thought she’d burst into flames. Vaness had done an excellent job keeping him from soiling his little suit, but nothing could subdue the mischief in his grin; Meline didn’t want it subdued, anyway. And his sister looked resplendent in a short blue cape and bliaut.

“Places, everyone.” She gave Ella’s hand another squeeze. Ella stood just behind her and to her left. They’d hardly waited a minute before Meline heard the cart outside, its silver bells jingling as it stopped. A few muffled voices; Endymion’s booming laugh was unmistakeable. At the sound of luggage being hauled up the step Meline opened the door.

Endymion and Alice Pasturer were a stark lesson in contrasts. His skin was black as coal, hers pale as Ella’s. He was barely taller than Meline, and built like a hill; she was nearly Havel’s height, and willowy. He was bald as a rolling boulder, she had long, straight black hair to her knees. His eyes were gold, round, and open windows; hers were black, almond-shaped, and usually inscrutable.

“Dad!” His birchbark suitcases thumped to the porch. The smile in his eyes was damp as he spread his powerful arms.

“Mellie!” he picked her up and twirled her. “My little girl! I haven’t seen you in ages, m’dear!” He covered her face in kisses.

“Dad, dad, yes, I missed you too!” She laughed, kindly fending him off. “I’ve had a scrying mirror for ages, if you’d just—”

“Well,” Mom came up behind him and set down her own luggage, “we have been talking about getting one. If you show us yours, it might change your father’s mind.” She knelt and gave Meline a hug and a kiss. “But even if it doesn’t Mel, it is good to see you again.”

Meline hugged her back. She had to start taking them inside, to make room for her brothers, sisters-in-law, and their broods.

Meline guided Mom in first. She reached a hand back, and Ella’s was in it. “Mom, meet Lord Ella of Oakhill, my fiancée.” She turned to Ella. “Ella, this is my mother, Alice Pasturer.”

Ella bowed, craning her neck when she straightened. “Welcome to my home, Mrs. Pasturer. I hope you enjoy your stay.” Mom bowed, then stood aside for Endymion.

“Dad, this is—”

“Ha! You take after your old man, Mellie!” Endymion strode forward and seized Ella’s hand in his. Meline’s face got hot as he squeezed and felt Ella squeeze back; the delighted surprise on his face was transparent. “Ohoh, and a brawny one, too—”

“Dad!”

“What? You pulled down a prize—”

“Endymion Aloysius Pasturer.” He zipped to his wife’s side quicker than the eye could see. Meline gave her mother a grateful smile; she winked back.

Meline continued with introductions. Her oldest brother, Ian, was Havel’s equal in height and breadth, and had Endymion’s features. Myles, her second brother, was the middle child in every possible way, and the one now running the family farm. Dio—no one called him Diomedz—was short like Endymion, but otherwise resembled Mom, save that one eye was grey; Meline thought his transition suited him. And Sol, the “baby”, was a bit of a hodgepodge, Endymion’s build and Mom’s long hair, but curly. And then their wives—Saraiţh, Alinan, Ethelfleth, and Mina, respectively—and their children, most of whom Meline was meeting for the first time. The atrium was crowded, but they’d enough milk and honey for everyone to have a cup. Selva took her responsibility very seriously, winning the hearts of every adult present. Meline knew a crowd could be intimidating, and she wasn’t sure how Selva would react to Endymion. But he gave her a big grin, drained the cup, shook her little hand and told her she did a wonderful job. She gave him a shy smile.

Finally, the welcome formally made, coats, boots, and hats taken, and luggage sorted into piles by family, Meline and Ella led them up to the hall; Havel had generously offered to lug everything up to the two wings reserved for Meline’s family.

After introductions in the hall were made—Aiden and Annafleth both seemed to prefer quieter spaces, but handled themselves well; they did make regular appearances at the Fey court, after all—it was time for supper. The cart had seen considerable use the last week, hauling fish and vegetables and fruit from Oak and Stone. Fortunately Coarser, Charger, and Destrier were up to the challenge, as Ella hadn’t finished Vernon’s harness yet. The table was well-laden, with a young shark as the main course. Ella, as lord of the manor, made the offering, and began to carve. Other dishes—the mashed potato, the fern salad, the palm-fern pith pie—went around the table sunwise. Meline was just about to grab more tea when she felt Ella’s hand on hers. Ella gave a shake of her head.

“I can handle the tea,” she murmured in Meline’s ear. “Catch up with your family.”

“But—”

“No buts. I’m serving tea.” Her voice was firm, but she was half-smiling. She strode to the kitchen, leaving the head of the table empty.

“That was considerate,” Mom said, slicing her shark into long, thin pieces and dipping them in the sauce by her plate.

“She is,” Meline said, “she can be a bit stubborn, though.” Mom arched an eyebrow as Annafleth laughed from the other side of the table.

“I seem to recall you once refused to leave your room until Ian returned your favourite perfume bottle,” Mom said.

“How long did that last?” Aiden asked, helping Arlen cut up his portion.

“Nearly a month,” Mom said, “when she found out Dio was the culprit.” Her lips quirked upward. “She ran him to ground out of pure fury.” Their end of the table laughed.

“She does have a point, though,” Annafleth said after a sip of milk. “I’ve seen El scrape her hands raw trying to lift rocks.”

“And did she?” Endymion said, leaning forward.

“Usually, in the end.” Annafleth chewed and swallowed some carrot, and took a bit of pickled garlic. “It was for a good cause, we were putting up a distillery.”

“Oho!” Endymion clapped his hands. “Meline’s only mentioned her metalworking! What liqueurs does she make?”

Annafleth’s smile faltered a bit. Meline tried to make a sign to avoid talk of the war, but Annafleth missed it. She briefly told the tale of her mother’s death, and the task she’d given Ella before she left.

Endymion was sombre by the end. “War and violence are the great failings of our kind.” He met Annafleth’s gaze. “Are you with the Greenspring, my lord?”

Mom set a hand on his shoulder. “No politics at dinner, En.”

Annafleth shook her head. “I don’t mind, Mrs. Pasturer.” She returned her gaze to Endymion. “I’m a member of Goldleaf, actually, but I support a number of Greenspring’s policies, including suspension of guards charged with brutality.”

After a tense moment—Meline had to crumple her hands in her dress to keep them from shaking—Endymion nodded. “That is well. I have friends with Goldleaf, and they’re pushing for the court to approve the Pax Laws.”

              “The whatnow?” Ella asked, sitting back down with a pot of tea.

              “The Pax Laws bind nobles to seek legal means to resolve disputes, and would dissolve all forces controlled by the court itself.” She likely had her own opinions, but—wisely, in Meline’s opinion—chose not to voice them.

              Endymion held up his hands. “I don’t mean to step on any toes. Meline’s told us aught but good about your sister and family, and we are each allowed our own opinions. My own is that violence only breeds violence, and the worlds are better off without bloodshed and mass death.”

Meline took a deep breath in the quiet that followed.

“I agree!”

Meline hadn’t noticed Selva clamber into Ella’s lap; she must’ve finished eating at Stuart’s end of the table. Her exclamation broke the tension. Meline thought her laugh wasn’t the only nervous one.

 Meline stood outside Ella’s door for a long time. Her arm was raised to knock, but she couldn’t bring herself to tap on the door. She was saved the trouble when Ella almost knocked Meline over.

Ella took one look at Meline’s face. “Have a seat on the bed; I’ll be back shortly.” And then she was off to empty her pot. Meline shrugged, and went in, softly closing the door behind her.

A small lamp stood on the nightstand, bathing the room in a warm glow. The shutters were closed. No daylight snuck in; it didn’t surprise Meline that the craftsmanship was superb, given who had built Oakhill. She sat on the bed, running a hand over the quilt; she’d spent many happy hours making it, a large central panel with Ella’s coat of arms, surrounded by blue and gold squares with leaves and acorns.

“Visiting your fiancée’s bedroom after midday, with our parents in the house?” Ella said when she returned. “You’re a dangerous woman.” Meline barely grunted. Ella hesitated, then sat on the bed beside her. After a moment, Meline thumped her head against Ella’s shoulder. Ella reached an arm around hers, and set her head against Meline’s. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Meline half-snorted. “You could probably guess.”

“Maybe,” Ella said, “but chances are pretty good I’ll guess wrong. What I’ve seen and heard is you scrambling to make everything perfect for your family. You’ve arranged them, especially your parents, in rooms as far from the armoury as possible. And your skin went grey when your father brought up his political views.”

Meline set a hand on Ella’s knee. “You’re pretty observant.”

Ella scoffed. “I’ve trained my whole life to make observations quickly and thoroughly; drawing conclusions from them is another story.” She lifted her head. Meline didn’t turn hers, but she knew Ella was looking at her. “Did something happen in your family?”

A thousand memories flashed before Meline’s eyes. “The War happened.”

Ella nodded. “You were six or seven thousand when it started, right?”

“Almost eight,” Meline said. “Dad always hated violence. He’s never talked much about my grandparents, and Mom’s pretty tight-lipped, too. But along with whatever happened there, Fey was a frothing cookpot before the War. Dad’s occasionally talked about bandits and oathcatchers, and spiders and scorpions and other monsters.

“When Mom and I went off to help, Dad… our relationship was different, after I came back. I, I knew he still loved me... And he and Mom… their relationship was tense for a long time. When she said she was going, he ordered us kids out of the house. We didn’t hear anything specific, but there were raised voices.”

“You went strictly to help the wounded, yes?” Ella asked.

Meline nodded. “I don’t think it mattered. There’s some irrational part of him that sees it all the same. And, I hope more than that, he was scared for us. When I said I was going with Mom, for the same purpose—it was like a wall slammed down behind his eyes. I wonder if that was why my brothers didn’t go.”

They sat quietly for a while. “He seems to consider that water under the bridge, by how he acted this evening.”

“I mean, yes,” Meline conceded. “But he clearly holds the same views. I think he just accepted what happened.”

“So then, why…” Ella seemed to reach for words, “why are you scared?”

Meline took a deep breath. “Because of what I’ve done since I left home.”

That hung in the air over them. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

After a moment, Meline shook her head. “I… think I want to tell you all in one go.”

Ella nodded. “Have you picked a night?”

Meline twirled a lock of her hair. “I think the one after next.” She straightened. “Ella?”

Ella’s brow furrowed. “Yes?”

Meline struggled to keep talking. “I—If my family decides they want n-nothing to do with me after I tell them—”

“They won’t.”

Meline put a finger to Ella’s lips. “If they decide they don’t, I think, maybe, I could live with that.” She looked into Ella’s eyes, the warm grey of a summer rain. “But you—I don’t—”

Ella took Meline’s finger, and kissed the tip. “Have you killed anyone?”

Meline swallowed the frog in her throat. “I don’t know.”

“In cold blood?”

“I—No.”

“Have you ever tortured a living soul?”

“No.”

Ella regarded Meline’s fingertip a moment longer. “Have you ever taken pleasure in causing pain and anguish?” Her eyes were kindly, but searching. Even if Meline had wanted to lie, she couldn’t.

“No. Never once.” She held Ella’s gaze a moment longer.

Ella set a hand behind Meline’s head and gently pulled her into a kiss. Tears of release Meline hadn’t realized she’d been holding spilled over.

When, eventually, they pulled apart, Meline gave an enormous sniffle, thanking Ella for her ready handkerchief. “Before I tell everyone, Ella, there’s one thing I’d like you to do for me…”

[ellaofoakhill]

Behind the house, beyond the yard, on the far side of the pasture, in a home beneath a wild rose, lived Meline.

Meline was an earth fairy. She collected plants and minerals for potions. She would heal the mice, the goldfinches… even a spider.

She had a mantle of deep-black, so she could disappear. She had a willow staff, with an emerald-drop at its tip. She had a bag of medicine. It was full of crystal bottles and bags of powder and bandages, and a glass knife and scissors. And of course, she had the magic of the fey.

[ellaofoakhill]

The Fairy Tales of Ella and Meline: Frog Legs Soup, Part One

One evening, after the moon had risen, Meline went out to get water from the pond. She took a thimble bucket, and her mantle of deep-black, and her willow staff. She yawned, because the moon was just out. She heard the lowing of cows.

The pond was quiet. The frogs had sung in spring, so all Meline could hear were the night sounds: a dog barking far off, the gnats in buzzing clouds, and moth and bat flitting over the water. The smell of grass and hay and the world breathing put a smile on her face.

As she drew her water, Meline saw a stirring far from shore. She raised her staff, and spoke a word of power. The emerald drop in her staff glowed, as did the sand at the edge of the pond. Meline took a handful of sand, and tossed it at the ripples. As the sand fell through the water, Meline saw a tadpole in the light it cast.

She huddled down at the water’s edge, and the tadpole came to the strand. And then another. And another. And one more. And one more. Until the shallows around Meline were fluttering with tadpoles.

“Hello, Tadpole.”

“Hello.”

Meline greeted each of the tadpoles. She saw, in the way their little tails flipped, and their eyes blinked, that something troubled them.

“Have the water fairies been treating you well?”

“Yes, the algae and water plants are delicious.”

“Then why are you sad?”

The tadpoles blew bubbles, and the water stirred as their tails wriggled. “We wanna be frogs. But we don’t know how.”

Meline tilted her head. “Where is your dad? He could tell you.”

The water exploded as tadpoles jumped. “He’s gone!”

Meline waved her hand, and a wall of sand kept the water from striking her. “Where did he go?”

“We don’t know!”

“Did you ask the water fairies?”

“They just said he left, and now we have no dad!”

Meline put her head in her hand. Some fairies, honestly! And what kind of frog left his tadpoles all alone?

Meline heaved a sigh. “Okay, little tadpoles. I don’t know how to turn you into frogs, but—” she waited until the tadpoles finished crying, “— I will find someone who does. Be brave in your pond, and I will be back soon.”

Meline collected herself. She walked down the beach and found a stone that jutted out into the water. She walked out to its tip, knelt at the water’s edge, cupped her hands so they just touched the surface of the pond, and spoke the word that called a water fairy.

The water boiled, and a tall, thin fairy with frosty hair and a nose which could turn no higher appeared.

“You summoned me… Oh, Meline.”

Meline took a deep breath. “Is Evelyn there, Vedris? I was hoping she could help me with something.”

“Indeed?” His eyebrow quirked, a rare show of feeling. “Perhaps I could be of some assistance?”

Meline’s smile grew sweeter than a strawberry. “Could you sit three hundred tadpoles for me until I get back? Their—”

“Fetching Evelyn!” He was gone. Meline almost rolled her eyes.

“My dear husband is many things,” Evelyn said as she rose from the water, “but he is terrified of children.”

Meline tilted her head. “He raised five.”

“Other children. Ever since he almost put out little Cedric’s eye with his sabre, he’s stark terrified he’ll hurt them. Anyway, what’s this about tadpoles?”

“Their father ran out on them,” Meline said. Evelyn looked as appalled as she felt. “I’m off to see Old Toad; perhaps he knows how to help.”

“Hmm, yes,” Evelyn straightened her spectacles. “He loves children not at all.”

“I’ll be sure to get him a fly,” Meline said. “And you’ll—”

“watch the tadpoles.” Evelyn smiled. “We both will. Though Vedris will likely watch from a distance.” She dipped partway back into the water, the hem of her dress merging with the surface. “Oh, could you wait just a moment? I’ve a wild strawberry tart you’ll love if you haven’t eaten yet.”

“Oh, thank you!” Meline bowed.

Meline munched the tart as she walked. Old Toad’s den was on the far side of the pond, on the edge of the poplars. Meline couldn’t imagine living in view of the fence, with its iron wire and barbs. She was glad her door faced away from it. The moss was soft under foot here, though the spring damp was long past. Meline tapped with her staff, making sure the moss wasn’t hiding any sinkholes.

Old Toad’s bower was large but simple, strands of slough grass woven together. It kept the worst of the rain off; toads, after all, like the damp, not the wet.

Meline spoke a word of power, and felt her voice carry through the ground. “Theo, are you here?”

A rumbling croak sounded from the bower. A squat shape rose up, and Old Toad trundled to his door. “I’m afraid you’ve come at a bad time, Meline,” he said. “I’ve a most unsightly wart.”

“Have you?” Which one? she thought. “Would you like a salve for it?”

“If it isn’t too much trouble. I am dismayed whenever I look in the puddle.”

“I’m afraid it will have to wait, though.” She lowered her voice. “Could I have your advice?”

Theo blinked as only a toad can. “Ask and I will answer, if I can.”

“How does a tadpole become a frog?”

Theo raised himself up. “That is a secret of toads and frogs, Meline!”

Meline raised her hands. “I thought it might be. I ask for the tadpoles at the west end of the pond.”

“Their father can tell them, surely?”

Meline sighed. “He left them.”

“Ah.” Theo cleared his throat. “Shameful behaviour, indeed.” He stood aside. “You’d best come in, then.”

A few fireflies lit the bower. The kitchen was simple, but well-kept, with a passage down to what Meline suspected was Theo’s bedroom. The sitting room in the back, the walls packed with shelves, the shelves with curiosities and books covered in wax.

Theo pulled a volume off the shelf nearest his desk. “‘Old Frogger’s Almanac’, first edition.” He sat at his desk, pulling out a toadstool for Meline, and set a pair of spectacles on his broad nose. “Can I interest you in some cider?”

“Please.” He pulled out a bottle and tumbler. It was spiced differently than Meline was used to. But then, Theo did like to tinker.

“Fortunately, Frogger knew his way around an index,” he said, opening the volume, “and a table of contents. Now if I recall…” He chirped, and one of the fireflies flew closer. He tossed it a sweetmeat from a jar on his desk. “Hmm… ‘Fiddling with Cricket Legs’, no… ‘Fishing for Mosquito Larvae’ … how he was even allowed to publish that article in the first place I’ve no idea… ‘Growing a Green Moss Carpet’… Ah! Here we are.”

Meline slid her stool closer. Theo turned the book to her. She furrowed her brow.

“This is a fairy potion.” She read. It had been a while since she’d looked at the Old Frog script. “‘The Frog Legs Soup’.”

“How did… how did Frogger get a hold of a Fey potion recipe?”

Meline shook her head. “Fairy, not Fey. It certainly isn’t against the law for a frog to know this recipe, but lots of us still hold our secrets… well, secret. Any—Titania’s Mirror!”

“What!” Theo jumped so high he almost hit his own roof.

“This is decidedly not a Fey potion, I’d bet my name on it!”

“Careful, child,” Theo said, wringing his hands. “I know better than most the value of a fairy name.”

Meline took a breath. “Theophrastus, no Fey potion has ever had iron powder in it. It is absolutely against the Fey Queen’s Law. A fairy potion is another matter. Iron’s dangerous, but on this side, a few fairies have experimented with it. We don’t advertise the fact, though.”

Theo nodded. “Do you know where to get iron powder?”

Meline chuckled, taking a blank sheet from the desk and copying the recipe. “I wouldn’t ask any fairy besides me, Theo. Might as well ask if we’re either suicidal or murderous. Anyway, no. Only a metal fairy can handle iron with bare skin.” She stopped, absorbing the tone of Theo’s question. “Do you know someone?”

He nodded. “I’ve heard of a metal fairy by the house. Ella of Oakhill?” Meline shrugged. “She’s some lord over that way. My cousin didn’t say much about her, when she was over, just that she’s a bit odd. Even among fairies,” he said, as Meline opened her mouth to offer a retort.

Meline turned in a circle, then shook her head. “No, not ringing any bells.” She looked up at Theo’s clock. “I’d best get going, then, if I’m to make it there before sunrise.”

“You’re going now?”

“Of course. I’ll run home and pack, and see Evelyn on my way.” As she strode to the door she called back, “I’ll have a honeyed bee’s wing for you!”

[ellaofoakhill]

Frog Legs Soup, Part Three

Meline woke to the sound of scratching, and the rhythmic creak of wood. The tittering of birds came from nearby. Her pillow was softer than usual, the sheets smelled of lavender with just a pinch of sage. It was a while before she opened her eyes.

She raised herself up on her hands. There were four wide windows, letting in sunlight gentled by oak leaf green. The room was spare, with a folding closet door at one end, and a sturdy oak door at the other. The scratching came from a quill as it swept across paper, deftly wielded by a fairy whose type Meline couldn’t immediately discern. Her blonde hair was tied back in a French braid, and her expression was one of calm contentment.

She looked up when Meline rose. “There’s tea on, if you’d like,” she said. That voice…

“I would, but,” Meline said as the fairy rose, “could you say ‘Away with you’ in a general’s voice before you go?”

The woman’s eyebrow quirked. “I don’t make a habit of commanding my guests out, but if you insist…” She drew herself up, and her expression twisted into a grim mask, “Away, Tham! Away with you!” She snorted at the look on Meline’s face, crumpling the mask like a sheet of paper. “You’re not from the pasture by the yard. Further northwest, maybe?”

“Due west,” Meline said. “My home isn’t far from the fence on that side.”

The woman’s eyebrows rose. She smiled. “Then you may not have heard of me.” She swept into a deep bow. “Ella of Oakhill, the hall in which you find yourself.” She looked up. “And may I know your names and titles?”

Even though she’d half-expected it, the name came as a bit of a shock. Meline belatedly bowed her head. “M-Meline,” she said, “of Wild Rose.”

“Then allow me a moment to fetch tea and provender, Meline of Wild Rose.” Ella bowed once more, and strode to the door with the steely grace of a cat. Meline heard footsteps descending stairs, and she was alone.

“She is strange even for a fairy, Theo,” Meline said to no one in particular. Her memory came back to her, and she got out of bed, checking herself for scratches. She didn’t think the snake had bitten her, but venom was no laughing matter.

Once assured she was unharmed—a few dressed scrapes, probably from when she fell, but no bites—Meline started to take in the room properly, and realized there was the gentlest swaying of the floor. Was she up in a tree? She went to the windows.

She was up in a tree.

Facing south, each window had thick shutters. The twittering came from a goldfinch’s nest a branch away. The house—Meline’s breath caught in her throat—was disturbingly close. As she looked, the door opened, and a person came out. Meline shrank back.

“They can’t see us.” Meline turned about as Ella stepped into the room with a tray bearing a teapot, two cups, and some toast and jam.

She flushed as her stomach rumbled. “Thank you.”

“The fare’s a bit spartan, I know,” Ella said, “I don’t have many guests.”

“I’m sure it tastes delicious.” Ella had brought up two chairs as well, and she shifted her writing to an alcove in the corner. As they sat, Meline realized Ella was taller than her.

The bread crust was crisp, the inside warm and moist, and the saskatoon jam was indeed delicious. The tea had the familiar taste of rosehips and honey.

“Did you put willow bark in this?” Meline asked as she took a sip.

“It’s mainly rosehips,” Ella said, “but yes. You looked like you’d had a rough night.”

Meline swallowed. “I should explain why I’m here…” Ella held up a hand.

“Finish eating. You are my guest, and under my protection.”

Meline shook her head. “It’s a matter of some urgency, and has waited long enough.” She set down her cup. “I am here to request some iron powder of you.” Ella’s mouth dropped open. Meline tried to ignore that her face was hot. “I assure you I’m not trying to kill anyone!”

Ella’s own face was reddening. “Pay me no mind,” she managed to say, “it was just a bit unexpected.” Meline waited while she recovered. “Now,” Ella cleared her throat, “you were saying?”

“A frog abandoned his tadpoles last night, I need to make a potion so the little ones can grow legs, and a key ingredient is iron powder. Is that enough explanation for you?”

Ella sobered at the mention of abandonment. “That would explain your coming so far.” Ella looked down at her cup. “I have conditions you must agree to before I give you iron.”

“Name them.”

“How about I just describe them?”

Meline took a deep breath. It would be the height of bad manners to shove the wide end of a spoon up her rescuer’s nose. “You mentioned something about not having guests often?”

Ella snorted. “Moving on.” She held up a finger. “First, you must help me make the powder.” Meline blanched. “I have protective equipment. Use it properly, and no harm at all will come to you.”

Meline gulped. “Very well. I agree.”

“Second. While we are making the powder, you must follow my directions to the letter. I am a metal fairy, so iron has no power over me. My directions will keep you safe, and speed the process of making.”

Meline nodded. “I agree.” She would have been happy to stay out of the process entirely, but safety measures were reassuring.

“Third,” Meline thought she saw the ghost of a smile cross Ella’s face, “I will personally escort you home and see how you use it.”

“What!”

“You seem the opposite of murderous, and you certainly don’t seem suicidal. But I met you last night, and have not seen how capable you are.” Her look turned serious again. Her tone wasn’t unkind or condescending, but it had no yield to it. “So, I will escort you home, and I will help you make this potion. That is my third and final condition. Do you accept?”

Meline took a deep breath. The idea of someone overseeing her work in her own home was galling. But her pride was not an ingredient in Frog Legs Soup. “I accept.”

“Good.” Ella looked out the window. “It’s late afternoon now. When would you like to start?”

“This morning.”

Ella smiled. “I have a few things I need to organize in my shop. I’ll escort you to my kitchen, where you can draw yourself a bath in the meantime.”

Meline realized only then she was a good deal dirtier than she liked. “That would be lovely.”

[ellaofoakhill]

Frog Legs Soup, Part Two

Author’s Note: Chapter 2 is now up on Tumblr and Wattpad!

Meline was packed before a hundred stars were out. She locked her door with her fairy key, and went to say farewell. The tadpoles cried to see her go, and Evelyn told her to be

careful. Meline pledged to be, and Vedris even offered her his sabre. Meline was touched—she knew the story of his sword—but declined. She knew no swordplay, after all.

And then she was off.

The moon was waxed half, and the stars were bright. The south wind softly hushed, hardly enough to rustle the grass.

Meline rarely traveled toward the house. Usually she roved through the wild potentillas and dogwoods for herbs and pebbles; once a fortnight she’d travel to Oak and Stone for rare goods.

The ground dipped away from the berms surrounding the pond, and then steadily rose. When she climbed to the top of a potentilla, Meline could see the yard in the distance, surrounded by maple and pine. In the distance between, the ground fell and rose and fell again, until it met the trees. To her right were the oaks and cairns, to her left the brush and poplar wood. Between her and the yard were many fairy lights.

“I’d just as soon travel quickly tonight,” she said to herself, “rather than get bogged down in one talk after another.” She dropped from the potentilla. When her feet touched the ground she drew up her deep-black mantle. Less visible than a shadow’s shadow, she held up her staff, and spoke a word of power. The emerald glowed, and Meline felt the earth beneath her feet shift. She took a step, and the earth pushed against her foot, stretching her stride. Smiling to herself, she continued.

Though the earth did indeed speed her way, and none saw Meline as she traveled, she caught snippets of conversation, as fey and creatures mingled. Most of it was casual, and Meline forgot it as she passed.

But as she descended the second rise, the snippets grew more interesting. “Ella the mad fairy lived with people”, “Ella worked with iron”, “the mad fairy drank vole’s blood and had a helmet made of a squirrel’s skull”, “The Mad Fairy of Oakhill stole children that wandered out after dawn”, and other such. Meline was some way from the yard, and knew from her own experience how stories grew the further they traveled. Still, she kept two firm hands on her staff. Talk of “The Mad Fairy” grew less as she drew closer to the yard; fewer fairies lived here, too.

The moon was setting as the trees about the yard grew taller. She was almost to them when Meline’s skin prickled.

There was a fence. Between her and the yard. A fence of iron wire.

She released her magic, but drew her mantle tight about her. She slowly took one step, and then another. A cold sweat ran down her back as the fence drew closer. She tried to keep the breath slow and steady in her chest. Though her eyes dried and sweat dripped into them, she daren’t blink.

And too quickly, one more step would bring her under the wire. She tried to lift her foot. It wouldn’t move.

Meline stood frozen for some time before little voices began to speak to her. …He’s gone… They said he’s left… we have no dad… we wanna be frogs, but we don’t know how… what’s gonna happen to us?

The tadpoles never said the last, but Meline heard it in their hearts. They were alone and scared, like Meline was alone and scared. “No child should ever feel like that.” Meline lifted her foot, and swung it, bit by agonizing bit, forward. Even as every instinct screamed at her to leave, she brought it down. On the other side of the fence.

The next step was easy. So easy. Three more steps, and she dropped to her knees and retched.

Meline got to her feet, and cleaned her face. She gargled a mouthful of dirt, and spat it out. It washed the foulness away.

The trees of the yard were young but tall. It wouldn’t be long, and they’d be true giants, though the trees of Oak and Stone dwarfed them.

Meline walked to the base of a maple. The sky was starting to brighten. The house was dark against the eastern sky. The whole yard rose up to it. Beyond it was another building of the people. To Meline’s left were huge panels on metal stands. They reeked of iron and plastic. Beside the house, was a single tall oak tree. Was that it? Did Ella of Oakhill live there? She must be mad.

Regardless, Meline pressed on. The moonlight was fading, but the stars were still bright as she crossed to the oak.

A rustle to her left caught her ear. She saw a huge shape, low to the ground, moving toward her. She hardly breathed as a she-snake slithered toward her. Even at her best, a she-snake was a huge, dangerous creature for Meline. For any fairy. And Meline was exhausted.

She raised her staff, hoping the serpent would pass her by. It slithered, forked tongue rising and falling, light stripes bright against its black armour.

It stopped, lowered its nose, tasting the ground and the air. Meline held her breath.

It slithered in her direction.

Meline drew her strength into one final word. Her emerald flashed, its light passing into the ground. She shrieked. It shattered the quiet of the night. The serpent recoiled, shaking her head.

Meline sprinted for the tree. It was so far away. Too far away. She’d used so much magic tonight.

A pebble caught her toe. She cursed, tried to keep upright. Three fumbling steps and she crashed to the ground, her mantle slipping. The snake had recovered, and was closing in. Meline rose, clinging to her staff, praying she wouldn’t have to sacrifice it to keep this thing from swallowing her.

It opened its mouth, each dagger-sharp tooth as long as Meline’s finger. Ropes of drool ran from its lips as it pushed its windpipe forward.

“Child of Earth, hear me,” she said, hoping the snake couldn’t feel her legs tremble through the ground, “I am Meline of Wild Rose. Leave this fairy in peace, or I will put my power upon you.”

The snake raised her head. “I am Thamnophis,” she said, her eyes huge and black, her mouth opening wider. “You are tired… Gaze into my eyes, fairy, and sleep… sleep and dream… happily.”

Meline felt herself sag, even as she fought to resist the snake’s charm. Her vision blurred, and the snake drew closer, its mouth impossibly huge. Her scream came out as a sob.

A roar, a hiss of rage, and dazzling silver blocked out the black of the snake’s mouth. “Away, Tham!” Meline looked up, the snake’s charm snapped like a cord. A tall figure stood between her and the serpent. The figure carried a naked sword in one hand, and wore a chain coat.

“You!” The snake rose and snapped her head forward, too fast for Meline’s tired eyes to see. The figure struck the head aside with his sword. The blade bit into scale, but did not cut to the flesh. It scored a gash across the glass of the snake’s eye. She pulled back, and the figure closed, striking the snake on her snout with a gauntleted fist.

“I said away with you!” He grabbed the beast’s tongue and pulled. The snake’s hiss turned to a strangled mewl. He pulled again, until the snake’s scratched eyepiece was next to his face. He spoke low, so Meline couldn’t hear.

Her vision blurred without any magical help, and Meline was out like a light.