“El? Oh, you’re already awake. Too bad.” El raised an eyebrow at the boy standing in the doorway. He laughed, rumpled his wildly curly dark hair with one hand, which made absolutely no difference, and amended.

“I mean…good. I was supposed to wake you up, but now I don’t get- HAVE to.” She laughed too, and swung herself off her bed and to her feet in one graceful motion.

“I shudder to think of what you planned. Is it so late that you were told to wake me? The sun’s only just rising.”

“It’s summer now; the sun rises later. You’re needed in the mews.” He stood there, leaning against the doorsill.

“Well what are you waiting for, Tek? Don’t you think I know my own way?”

“Maybe I want to be a gentleman and escort you.”

“You? You’re too young to be a gentleman. And too rowdy.”

“I’m seventeen, same as you, and five months older beside. As for rowdy, who’s the one who switched Cook’s bath soap with a cake of red dye?”

“I’m a girl, I don’t want to be a gentlemen.”

“I’m a boy, and I dare not let you make the dangerous journey from here to the mews alone.”

“You can escort me if you can keep up.” El shot out the door past Tek, who stood for a moment, looking surprised, then grinned and ran after her.

He easily overtook her, then hung back and let her get just a little ahead. She laughed in triumph and turned to call over her shoulder.

“I’m getting ahead!” But Tek was not there.

“Tek?” She looked forward again, and he was far out in front of her, and his wind blew his laugh back to her. When she finally arrived, he was leaning casually against the wooden door.

“What took you so long?”

“So much for escorting me. A goblin might have carried me off and you’d have been too far ahead to notice.” She reached forward and lifted the latch on the door, cutting off his witty reply as he fell inwards. Lifting her skirts, she daintily stepped over his sprawled body and into the semi-darkness of the mews.

She remembered a tall tree, broad branches stretched wide, and an emptiness that should not have been there. She could think of the feeling, but she could not recall the sensation, and of that she was glad. She tried to miss the friends, and in Jave’s case, enemies, of her invention, but the need for them had simply disappeared. Occasionally she did miss the feeling they had brought, but even that memory was fading, like a childhood time long gone by.

Perhaps life would bring a brighter glamour, lighting up her soul. Or perhaps it would stay this way, a constant, golden glow, pleasant to behold. All she knew was that she would not allow the darkness to return, and that was enough.

“Why aren’t  you in bed, at this time of night? Are you meeting someone?” He did not answer, only turned and started to walk away from her. She skipped around to cut him off.

“You’re meeting that short man, aren’t you? The one you knocked over at the station. I saw you give him something.” At these words he stopped and looked down at her, apprehension in his voice as he asked.

“Did you see what I gave him?” She lowered her eyes demurely and began to walk back to her cabin, saying.

“Yes, I think  you’re right. I should be in bed.” He stopped her, his hand closing about her slim wrist, his fingers encircling it almost twice, and she felt a thrill of mingled excitement and fear. He roughly pulled her up against him, hissing.

“Tell me what you saw! I could kill you now…” She said nothing, only turned her wide grey eyes upward to gaze into his blue-green ones, smiling carelessly. He stared deep into those eyes, astonished to find no fear in them. Then he released her with a muffled exclamation.

“Why aren’t you afraid? Any girl would be afraid, even a gypsy like you.” Mirth filled the gay grey eyes, but still she remained silent. He gently slid his hands back onto her neck, but this time the gesture was a caress, not a threat. She leaned toward him and whispered.

“I saw, but you need have no fear. I would not betray you, even if my life were threatened.” He gazed wonderingly on the soft features upturned toward him, moonlight washing over her face.

Everyone but her.

A bare foot is lowered gently, silently, alighting on the soft brown soil. She breathes deeply, the earthy scent filling her lungs.

Exhilarating. Away from the camp, away from the protective cages, slowly at first she stalks. Silent footsteps.

Distance gained, her feet grow wings. She is flying over the grass, ground falling away beneath her.

Running.

So sweet, this escape. There is peace, there is solitude. Nothing can touch her when she runs.

At last she tires, falls gracefully to her knees. The full white moon above her lights the cloudless sky, ignites the grass around her with silver fire.

A sea of fire, waves gently rolling through the field with the breeze.

She is one with the sea, one with the fire.

Falls backward, laying flat on the soft, springy terrain. She is in the sky, resting on a cloud. The stars are all around her, fiery and abundant in a way they never were in the city.

They wink conspiratorially at her- they know she will not return. She is there to stay, drowning in the sea, burning in the fire. A blissful torture, a liberating oblivion.

Rest here forever, powerless to leave. Without the desire to do so.

She releases her spirit. Knows how it feels to be caged.

It is free. She is at peace.

There’s a tree on a distant hilltop, in the land of always summer.

They both run to get there, and sometimes he’s late. Then she just sits there at the foot of the tree and thinks.

She’s there, just waiting for him, and she can talk to and pretend to interact with other people, but really she’s resting in the shade of the tree and thinking of him, and what they’ll talk about and how it’ll be.

When he comes, they climb the tree, and the green leaves shield them from the sun’s heat, and she sits on a branch below him.

Sometimes he sits still, sometimes he climbs all over, sometimes he swings on the branches and does flips and acrobatics.

They would stay there, in their Quiet Place, for hours, if they were allowed.

She sits and breathes in the sweet summer smells, and drinks in his very presence. He doesn’t look at her very much, though he’s better at complimenting her than she him.

She stares at him the whole time.

She watches the earnestness on his face when he tells her what he dares about himself. She watches his eyes crinkle when he laughs, and she watches the faraway look when he tells his dreams and stories. And she watches him put up a mask when she gets too close.

She despises that mask, wishes she could rip it off and help him.

It shields an unhealed wound, and try though she might, he doesn’t want her to heal it. They don’t talk about her as much. She doesn’t think he cares about her half so much as she cares about him. It makes her sad, but she doesn’t mind. She gets to talk to him, as their minds meet in the peace of the Quiet Place.

If only she knew what was to come. She would take hope.

Emner was a good king, despite the difficulties that accompanied a kingdom in such a place. There were of course the usual issues with internal strife, poverty, hunger and crime, but besides these, he had also to deal with constant attacks from insurgent armies of the surrounding lands, and any wandering wizards that happened to be jealous of his power.

The king was happily married to one of the most beautiful women in the kingdom, Veyra. She had thick, soft chocolate hair past her waist, and enormous doe-brown eyes set in her innocent, child-like face. She was tall and statuesque, with gloriously shaped curves. Emner had always adored her, almost more than any man should love a women, for she gave his life meaning.

Veyra and Emner lived in a blissful state of matrimony for seven years. She conceived in the third year of their life together, and bore him a beautiful baby girl, Aylee, as lovely as her mother.  The royal couple discovered together the adventure of raising a child, and this kept them happy for four years more. But as that time passed, Veyra became discontent. She had had many suitors before the king had won her hand, and though she was very lovely, she had been raised vain, conceited and selfish. Wondering to herself why she should stay with only one man when she could win the favor of many, her eyes began to stray.

It was the week before the anniversary of the royal couple when Emner discovered Veyra with his advisor. The royal advisor was a charming man, much younger than the king, and had long lusted after the queen. He had at last succeeded in seducing her, several months before, and though most of the castle knew of the affair, the king, in his love for his wife, closed his eyes to it as best he could. But when he accidentally found them together one day, he could ignore the situation no longer.

Enraged, the king exiled his traitorous wife and her paramour to a distant province. He trusted no one except his innocent daughter, who loved him as much as he loved her. She was the only person he now loved. Depressed and heartbroken, Emnet continued to rule, but he was disinterested in the welfare of the kingdom; the meaning in his life was gone.

Princess Aylee grew more beautiful as she grew older, but she was no mirror image of her mother, which was fortunate for her father. She had the same innocent child-like face, but her father’s ebony hair and his ice-blue eyes. No matter how long she went without cutting them, her locks hardly would grow past her shoulders, but they were as straight and soft and thick as Veyra’s. Emnet raised her to trust no one, wanting to protect her from the devastation she had suffered. She believed in her father and no one and nothing else. Her tutors were constantly at their wit’s end, trying to prove to her that what they taught was true, for she questioned everything.

However, despite the skepticism that her father bred in her, at age fifteen she had her first romance. It was a small affair, almost trivial. She fancied a young palace guard, and for a few days he returned her affections. But he soon changed his mind and gave his attentions to another. Being spoiled as she was by her father, this upset Aylee immensely, and she ran to him crying. When he understood the nature of her grief, Emnet of course overreacted. He decided that he had failed as a father, being unable to protect her from pain, and so he devised a new scheme.

North of the castle in which they lived was a tall tower which had fallen out of use. It had been used by a past king for some gory purpose no longer remembered, but it was in relatively good repair, despite the passage of time since it had last been occupied. By Emnet’s order, the uppermost room in the tower was outfitted with every luxury due a princess. The remainder of the tower was used to store food, candles, and other necessary supplies. Aylee was brought to the upper room, and, left with an explanation from the only person in her life that she trusted that this was what was best for her, she was bricked in. Not a single crack was left to let in sunlight, and the princess was effectively isolated.

Time passed, and the princess in the tower was forgotten by many, or known only as a story, except to Emnet. Serene in the assurance that he had finally protected the one he loved, he continued to rule, until the great plague. It started with a drought, inevitably followed by famine, and as people starved and tried to digest the inedible, they began to become ill. But even after the drought was over and the crops began to grow once again, they continued to get sick. Not the usual diseases, but one horrible, swift illness that struck without warning and decimated the population. The dead were piled in the street, and there were none healthy to bury them. The king was struck, and died, and everyone in the palace soon after. The few in the kingdom that survived the awful sickness fled. The evil and wild creatures of the surrounding areas overran Emnet’s kingdom, and it was soon as wild as the other lands in that part of their world.

It had been nearly six years since her imprisonment when Aylee realized that her food was running out. She should have been resupplied at the five year mark, and she had waited a while longer, but was then forced to accept the possibility that she had been forgotten. Afraid and somewhat angry, Aylee used whatever metal implements came to hand to begin to scratch through the mortar near the bottom of the tower. It was fortunate for her that dry-rot and time had weakened the brick, or she might never have been freed.

The first ray of sunlight that shone through when Aylee prized loose the first brick was blinding, but after her eyes became accustomed to the strong light, she was grateful to be able to save her dwindling supply of candles. It took her nearly two weeks to force an opening large enough for her. It was mid-summer then, and the hot air pushed into the tower, feeling good on her face after so long in the air kept uniformly cool by magic. However, the heat also made her sweat, and in turn drink more water, so that the day she finally was able to emerge, she had only a few cups left. She was forced to abandon the reassuring shelter of the tower to seek the life-giving liquid she knew she would soon need.

But Aylee was a princess, and had never been taught to survive in the wild. The tower was a fair distance from the castle, and they were separate by thick forest. She looked around for a path, but there was none to be seen. Filled with anger, she realized that she truly had been forgotten. What had happened to her father? Battling childish tears, she picked a direction and set off.

Whatever fate that guided her that day must have felt pity for her, for she she soon arrived at her home, or what was left of it. The bodies that had not been buried were mostly decomposed, only rags left on bleached bones. It was not hard to find her father’s grave. The earth was not fresh, and the mound had already sunk level to the ground, but a plain, simple gravestone marked the site, standing out from the more richly decorated monuments in the royal graveyard. Realizing that there was no longer a life for her here, Aylee returned to the tower, gathering what supplies she could find, and set off. She didn’t know where to go or how far she was travelling, but it was not in her nature to sit and wait for help.

Wherever she went, she found scenes of massive carnage. Villages had been burned by marauding armies, and houses had been decimated by wild beasts. It was obvious that some tragedy had taken place, but Aylee had to keep moving. However, no people meant no new supplies, and she was soon forced to resort to scrounging for food, eating whatever she could find. The most plentiful weed was the stinging nettle, and though it cut her hands and made them bleed, she found it was digestible, and her diet consisted mainly of that.

She was half-dead of starvation and exhaustion when she finally stumbled upon civilization. Unknowingly, she had journeyed to a distant kingdom, and had now arrived at the castle of that royal family. This land was in a golden age. All its citizens were happy and well-fed, and there had been no war for many years. It was a beautiful land, with fields of soft grass and forests populated by every manner of small edible creature. Aylee continued to walk, and she gained strength as she went.

The castle was all of white stone, and she was awed at the very sight of it. There were all manner of humble village folk living outside the castle walls, but Aylee could not forget her proud beginnings, and was determined to gain assistance from the king himself. Unknowingly, she had arrived on one of the days chosen by the king to give charity to beggars, and so she was admitted without problem through the castle gates. She knew her bedraggled appearance would prevent the guards from believing her story, so she snuck quietly through the magnificent rooms, searching for the throne room. Quite by accident, she stumbled upon the dressing room of the lady betrothed to the prince of that land. The poor lady had been born plain, and though being plain is not such a tragedy, when one suffers one’s appearance to dictate one’s personality, it is misfortune indeed.

The lady was to be married that very evening, and when she saw Aylee’s great beauty, she concocted a plan. She explained to Aylee that she was to be wed that night, but she was afraid because the people of this kingdom loved beauty. She feared that her ugliness would be mocked as she walked to the church, and the prince would be ashamed of her. So she offered to give Aylee many fine things and great riches, if she were to take her place, walking through the streets of the city to the church for her.

Aylee would have nothing to do with this scheme, for she had always hated deception. However, when the cruel princess-to-be threatened to have Aylee boiled in oil unless she should comply, she realized she had no other choice. The fiancée called her maid and had her wash Aylee, cleaning her of months of travel’s dirt and grime. The maid brushed her hair, setting it in intricate fashion, and dressed Aylee in the bridal gown.

The prince fetched Aylee himself. His true fiancée hid herself until he was gone, and Aylee walked beside him, her hand grasped in his, through the city streets. The multitude of people cheered at the great beauty of the one who was to be their queen, and the prince marveled at his fortune in being betrothed to one so lovely. He had never seen her before, for their marriage was to be an alliance to a distant kingdom, and so she had come from afar.

As they walked together, Aylee looked down to see a small patch of nettles on the roadside. She said quietly to the nettles:

“Oh, nettle-plant,

Little nettle-plant,

What dost thou here alone?

I have known the time

When I ate thee unboiled,

When I ate thee unroasted.”

The prince, hearing her speak, answered her.

“Didst thou speak, my love?”

She replied.

“Nay, my thought was only for the Princess Aylee.”

The prince had heard the tale of Princess Aylee, told him as a distant rumour, but he had never supposed it to be true. Smiling at the distracted mind of his bride, he said nothing. But when they crossed the small footbridge over the trickling creek on the path to the church, she spoke again, quietly:

“Footbridge, do not break

I am not the true bride.”

The prince, sure he had heard wrong, asked her.

“What art thou saying there?”

But she replied.

“Nay, my thought was only for the Princess Aylee.”

Confused, he shrugged off her strange preoccupation with a story, and they continued on their way. When they came to the church door, Aylee whispered to it:

“Church door, do not break

I am not the true bride.”

That the prince did not hear, but he did see her lips move.

“And why speak thee now, my Lady fair?”

And she replied.

“Nay, my thought was only for the Princess Aylee.”

“Didst thou know that Princess?”

“How should I know her; I have only heard of her.”

Then the prince put on her throat a simple necklace, of fine white gold, with a precious pearl on the end. They entered the church and were wed, and Aylee spoke no more as they journeyed back in a fine golden coach. But when she was out of his sight, she flew back to the room of the plain-faced lady and changed back into her rags, keeping only the beautiful necklace.

That night, the lady went in for to sleep with her new husband. But as they sat together, the prince asked of her, inquiring what had she said to the nettle. She replied indignantly that she was no fool that spoke to humble nettles, but he said:

“Then thou art not the one I married.”

Fuming to herself, she excused herself that she must speak to her maid, who kept her thoughts for her. She hastened to Aylee, and demanded of her what had been said. Aylee told her:

“I said only

Oh, nettle-plant,

Little nettle-plant,

What dost thou here alone?

I have known the time

When I ate thee unboiled,

When I ate thee unroasted.”

“What! Why spake thee such nonsense? I would have thee flogged for this.”

And the lady returned to the prince, repeating Aylee’s words. But the prince spoke to her, asking what she had said to the footbridge, and she again excused herself to her maid. Aylee told her:

“I said only

Footbridge, do not break

I am not the true bride.”

“For this I will hang thee from the highest tower, fool!”

But she went again to the prince, and repeated what she had been told. But again the prince inquired what had she said to the church door. Grinding her teeth in rage, the ugly woman sought Aylee a third time, and Aylee told her:

“I said only

Church door, do not break

I am not the true bride.”

“I shall have thee flayed!”

But she returned to the prince and repeated the words.

“But where is the great jewel that I fastened around thy neck?”

“Thou gave me no jewel.”

“With my own hands did I fasten it, and if thou knowest that not, thou truly art not my bride.”

Then trembling, the wicked lady confessed her deceit, and the prince demanded to see the girl he had wed. She fetched Aylee to him, and taking her face in his hands to turn her gaze to him, he said:

“Thou art the Princess Aylee.”

“I am, sire. Please forgive my part in this lie, but it was no choice of mine.”

“Thou art forgiven, Princess, but what is done cannot be undone. We are wed, for better or for worse, now.”

And so the scheming lady was sent back to her kingdom, and Aylee and her husband reigned long over the prosperous land. They settled the wild lands that she had journeyed over, even to the tower that she had been imprisoned in for so long. And the little children that lived in the land sang a song:

“Kling, klang, gloria

Who sits within this tower?

A king’s daughter, she sits within

A sight of her I cannot win

The wall it will not break

The stone cannot be pierced

Little Hans, with your coat so gay

Follow me, follow me, fast as you may.”

And they all lived happily ever after.

She was born in darkness. The new moon was waning; a sure sign that her life would be an ill one. The whispers that circulated around the Clan the next morning were no more than dire superstitious predictions, to be sure.

And yet, something did come of them.

Perhaps, if she were born to a clan that had no such ridiculous customs and fears of the night, her life would have been different.

But it does not signify. She was not, and her life passed as it did. And how it affected others, well, that was unavoidable.

For a child born while the new moon waned, every chance misfortune was interpreted as a forewarning of what was to come. As is often the way with such superstitions, all mishaps were blamed on the child, and every bad thing, whether natural or unusual, only restarted old rumors, like so much dust on an old floor, flying up and choking those who dance on it.

Maybe, after all, it was their fault, those old wives. The loud gossips who sat at their wheels and spun tales faster than cloth.

Tale-making is a wondrous gift, for the power of words is great indeed. But to those who have not been taught how to control their gift, the power is strong yet, and gone awry it does great harm indeed.

Her parents called her Una, after her father’s mother.

The first truly significant event in her life occurred on the eve of her fourth birthday.

Una, being as small as she was, which was very small indeed, for her age, overheard many adult’s conversations without being noticed, but this night was the first time that she listened as one of the old women spoke of the ill-timing of her birth.

Una was confused.

She felt ashamed, but what could she have done? She felt fear, that she might one day bring dishonor on her family. She had learned already that their love was not a bond which held strong. She was too young yet to be angry.

But as the years passed, she realized more. She was different than the others. Smarter and earlier able to comprehend, Una had been able to understand speech only a few months after her birth. She could have spoken as clearly as any adult by her first birthday, but she had no desire to, until she reached four years of age. Until that time, listening and observing, growing and learning were more attractive to her than attention.

She also thought more than the other clan members. As all the children were taught the customs and ways of the clan, she was the only one who wondered about them. The other children asked “why”, as every normal four-year-old would. But she alone contemplated the answers she received, dreaming up new and better ways of doing things. But she felt no obligation to share her ideas, and remained silent.

But by the time she had attained twelve years, she was ready. She began to surprise her family and playmates, doing and saying things out of the ordinary, things that were labeled “queer”. Often she disappeared out to the moor, that wild and dangerous realm of the fae folk that every villager with any sense avoided. She was scatter-brained, and never could seem to force herself to care about the things that the other children cared about, such as finding a good husband one day. And of course, no one could forgive her her strange looks, and the apparent difference from either of her parents. Sholto and Ailsa were both brown-haired, brown-eyed, ordinary looking villagers, while the flame-haired Una with her violet eyes looked nothing like either of them in the smallest way. The dust of the rumors, which had never quite settled all the way, flew up with renewed vigor as Una danced her lifedance.

“Do ye remember Coll, the changeling child?”

“Ach, there was naught to that but rumor and a mean spirit.”

“Nay, it is true! He feared iron, that poison to the fae folk. And he ever was different from the other children of Blackburn, and then one day, up and disappeared he did.”

“Ye’re a foolish old coot. He grew tired of tongues such as your’n telling tall tales about him and up and left is all. Why do ye speak of him?”

“He was an odd one, and I make no mistake.”

“What of it?”

“Does not small Una, yonder, remind ye of him? Something in her manner- she’s not uppity, but somehow acts above us, all the same.”

“And ye think the faeries stole her mother’s babe from the cradle and left her, one of their own? Daft in the head, ye are.”

“Hist, she’ll hear ye.” The women went back to their spinning, continuing the conversation in expression. Una sighed to herself. She had heard every word, of course, but was used to it. Daft she’d use to describe both of the old gossips, muttering away as they spun. Half the children in the village were afraid of her now, thanks to these women, and none of them played with her any longer. Not that she desired their company; they did seem rather slow and stupid, and she got fed up if she spent much time with any of them. However, it would help her appear to fit in if she could play with the others.

“Una!” Ailsa’s voice rang across the town square. “Una, we need to leave!” Una darted across the sparsely populated space to her mother.

“Sorry mum. I got distracted.”

“Here, hold these vegetables. We’ll be having stew, tonight.” Obligingly she took the armload and began to walk beside the thin woman. Ailsa was a lovely woman, and still looked young, despite Una’s twelve years. Her brown hair was always neatly braided and coiled on her head, and the wide brown eyes radiated calm. She stood in stark contrast to Una, whose hair never would stay in any sort of braid or semblance of order, and whose strange purple eyes always seemed wild.

The cold moor wind blew down from across the rooftops, flapping Una’s kilt in the wind and sending her fiery hair flying out behind her. Shifting her burden, she resettled the heavy blue mantle across her shoulders so the wind could not capture it. Ailsa hunched down into her own mantle, trying to find warmth.

A heavy drizzle of rain was just beginning as they made it back to their small hut, and Una helped her mother get dinner. She cut up and prepared the food, but would not stir the stew, for she had had a strange fear of the huge iron stewpot as far back as she could remember. She told herself this was because of her clumsiness- she was extremely likely to upset the contents of the boiling pot onto herself- and did not worry about it, normally.

Tonight, though, a snatch of the conversation overheard earlier drifted into her head. He feared iron, that poison to the fae folk. Shaking her head to rid herself of the foolishness, she hurried to set out the wooden bowls on the table. Ailsa was serving the stew into the bowls just as her husband, Sholto, came dripping through the door. He was a large man, and kind, though perhaps not so very handsome, with unremarkable mousy hair and mud-brown eyes set slightly too wide. He boomed his hellos to the girls as he disappeared into the loft to dry off. When he reappeared a few minutes later, they sat down to sup. Una began to eat, but suddenly realized that she shunned the iron spoon to drink straight from the bowl. Angry at herself, she slammed down the bowl and forced her fingers to curve around the iron handle. Ailsa looked at her questioningly, but Una only shrugged her shoulders.

Sholto and Ailsa conversed freely about the day, but Una kept her thoughts to herself, as always. She had long since learned that they had no interest in her views. She looked down at the spoon in her hand- was she imagining the tingling feeling? It was beginning to grow uncomfortable. Slowly, thoughtfully, she set it down. The tingling remained for a few seconds, and then slowly disappeared. Una picked her bowl back up and finished her supper.

She could not fall asleep. She lay in her bed, listening to the crackling of the fire. Her mind was full of thoughts and questions, questions to which she had no answers. Sholto and Ailsa had long since fallen asleep, and she knew they slept soundly. Silently, she stood, making her way to the window. It was only a hole in the wall, covered with a thin blanket which she pushed aside. Una fit easily through the slit and dropped to the dirt road outside.

The moon was near full, and tonight it was not cloudy, so it was easy to see. She made her way out of the village and onto the wide open moor.

All in Blackburn feared the moor. It was the realm of the faeries, and they could do what they liked there. But Una had never feared the faeries, and she liked the solitude. Not having to pretend to be like the others, not trying to fit in. Because on the moor, she felt like she belonged.

Peace stole through her mind as the wind softly caressed her face. Sinking to the ground, Una let her thoughts take wing as she began to drift into unconsciousness.

A tall figure strode across the moor through the semi-dark, whistling a wild tune. Una sat up in surprise, not alarmed but curious. He smiled at her and offered his hand, helping her to her feet.

“My Lady Una.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I know many things about you, lady. How, I may not tell.”

“May you give me your name, then?”

“Oh, aye. Tavish I am called.” He ran a hand through his longish white-blonde hair, which stood up on end. In the moonlight he looked otherworldly.

“Well it’s pleased to meet you I am, Tavish.”

“And me likewise. What brings you to the moor tonight?”

“I-I couldn’t sleep, and thought a walk would do me well. And you?”

“Oh, I am ever on the moor. This is the kingdom of my people.”

“Do you mean… you are of the fae folk?” Una’s eyes went wide with excitement.

“Aye, I am.”

“Oh, would you bring me to see where you live? How I should love it.”

“Aye, I think that may be. But you must tell none in the village.”

“Ach, do you think me slow in the head? None of them would wish to hear, besides.”

“Well then, do you come with me.” Tavish held out his hand. She took it, and was pulled gracefully to her feet.

The moor was wild, wild as the faerie folk that owned it. It was beautiful with the beauty that is a mystery to so many. No lush green fields, no magnificent canyons or towering trees. It was a bog. It was ever dark and damp. Even in the day, the only sun that shone upon the moor was distant and cold, its light filtering a strange silver hue through the heavy clouds. But to Una, the wind in the heather was the sweetest sound, and she would never love better a sight than those open fields. Unlimited, unrestricted, and unbound, the moor was freedom, plain and simple.

The treacherous swamps that would suck Una down looked exactly the same as the safety of solid ground, so she followed carefully in Tavish’s footsteps. He stopped finally, in the middle of absolutely nowhere, and looked expectantly at her.

“We’re here?”

“Well, not exactly now, but I’ll be needing to carry you now. It’s through a bog, see.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose that’s alright, then.” Unsure what to do, she took a step toward him, and then stood, somewhat awkwardly. Smiling, he reached out and simply swung her into his arms, carrying her like a child. As he walked, she noticed something strange about his gait.

“Are your feet even touching the ground?”

“Aye. I just step lightly, same as all my people.”

“For sure you do! I can’t even feel your steps.” He shrugged his shoulders, and then lowered her to the ground.

“Here we are.” A huge oak tree, thicker than three of Una, stood tall and proud, alone in the moor. Stooping over, Tavish knocked his fist against the tree at about knee-height, tapping out a complicated rhythm. To Una’s surprise, the bark opened outward, revealing a small door. Tavish whistled a short tune, and the door swung silently in. Stepping back, he gave an exaggerated flourish of his hand, indicating that she should enter. Encouraged, Una went through the hole, hunched over a little so as not to hit her head. Inside, she was blinded by a flood of golden light. The loud drone of bagpipes echoed around her, and a drum kept time with a chorus of voices. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Tavish smiling at her. He looked different in this light. His strange light hair seemed less odd, somehow, and his skin seemed almost to glow. Then, realizing her eyes had adjusted, she looked around. The room was huge, with a vaulted ceiling the color of the bluebell flowers that dotted the moor in the spring. There were no candles, and no chandelier, so Una could not find the source of the light. The far walls were not visible, either, so vast was the room. When she turned around to see the door behind her, it was a richly ornamented golden doorway, twice as tall as Tavish, and wide enough to fit eight men walking aside. The walls curved out from it, but ever so subtly. In the center of the room there was dancing such as she had never laid eyes upon. Couple after perfect couple twirled and spun gracefully, and though each fairie was surpassingly beautiful, they were as different and numerous as the flowers on the rowan tree. They had hair, eyes, and skin of every imaginable shade, and a few that she could never have dreamed of herself. To the side, there were banquet table, longer and wider than the largest building in her village, and filled with delicious fare.

Tavish laughed at her wide-eyed wonder, and escorted her to the dance floor. She danced first with him, and then other faerie boys took their turns, dances ranging from dreamy and calming waltzes to vivacious, rousing jigs. When Una finally tired of dancing, Tavish appeared suddenly at her elbow and led her to one of the banquet tables. She sat gratefully in the luxuriously padded chair, and Tavish introduced a few girls sitting near her. They began to talk and laugh, keeping merry conversation as they ate. They fell silent as the music stopped, and solo performers began to come up and compete, singing or dancing or playing instruments. Una watched, sipping wine and smiling uncontrollably. She had never felt so happy, nor so peaceful, and she didn’t want the night to ever end. However, she began to grow heavy-lidded as the time continued to pass, and she finally drifted into sleep, the heartbreakingly beautiful tune of a reed pipe echoing through her dreams.

Una awoke damp from the dew. A small spider was weaving his web from her sleeve to a bit of heather, and she shook him off impatiently. Confused, she sat up, sunlight in her eyes. Tavish had vanished, and the scene of merriment from last night with him. Could it have been a dream? But she could never have imagined such things- could she? Suddenly, Una was filled with joy. She knew it was real, and she had found a place where she belonged. It felt wonderful. Knowing she would have been missed already, Una jumped to her feet and took off for her house.

Ailsa was sitting quietly at her loom, making cloth, a severe expression on her face. Una stopped in the doorway, wondering what could be the matter, but unwilling to let her mother dampen this wonderful feeling.

“Mum! I’m sorry it’s so late.”

“And where were you, Una?” Ailsa did not stop her work, but her tone expressed exactly her state of mind.

“I- Well I couldn’t sleep last night, so I went out to the moor, and I fell asleep there.”

“You expect me to believe you spent the night asleep on the moor.”

“Well…yes. Where else would I have been?” Una was mystified. Ailsa finally stopped working and turned to face Una.

“Una, for a girl of your age, this is shameful. I know I raised you better than this.”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“If you were older, maybe, I would understand, but at the age of twelve, you shouldn’t yet be even thinking of boys beyond as playmates.”

“Boys?” The laughing face of Tavish floated into her mind, but there was no way Ailsa could know of him, and she had done nothing wrong with him besides.

“Yes, boys. Oh, Una, how could you do this! What if you were with child?”

“Mother, wait! I did nothing! I’ve never even looked at any of the boys in Blackburn, why would you think that?”

“Don’t you answer back to me! I know what you’re thinking because I was your age once, and I thought the same things.

“Is it…possible that I am not the same as you were?”

“Oh, so you think you’re better than me Una, is that it?”

“No! I only think the boys here hold no attraction for me.”

“And I only think you’re lying to me.”

“Mother! I-“

“Not a word more. You may sit in the loft, today, and think about the consequences of actions such as yours.” With a resigned sigh, Una retreated up the ladder.

The night was brighter than the one before. It was a full moon tonight, Una’s favorite time. Eagerly she slipped silently down from the loft and to the window. She pulled the blanket aside, and was halfway through the gap, when a light flared. Sholto and Ailsa were seated at the small table, their gazes fixed on Una. With a mental sigh, she pulled her legs back in and went to them, seating herself in her chair.

“Una, we have something to tell you.” Sholto looked resigned, in contrast with Ailsa’s worried, nearly frantic tone.

“Look, I’m sorry to be sneaking out. I only-“

“It isn’t that.”

“Well what then?” Una was mystified, but Ailsa looked as though she didn’t know where to begin. The uncomfortable silence stretched as Ailsa struggled for words, til Sholto gently laid his large, calloused hand over hers. She met his eyes, and unspoken words seemed to pass between them. Then Ailsa spoke.

“Una, when I was little more than thirteen, gypsies came to the village. They were new and exciting, and one boy in particular paid me special attention. He brought me flowers and gave me compliments, and I liked him in return, giving him more and more of my time. He wasn’t here more than a month, but-” She stopped, eyes dropping to her hand, still intertwined with Sholto’s. “But he gave me you.”

“What? You mean-”

“Yes Una. Sholto is not your father. We had always been betrothed, since we were both wee babes, so when I realized what I had done, I went to him and told him. We were married by the next new moon, and no one in Blackburn was the wiser.” The words weren’t making sense. Una couldn’t make her brain understand.

“But- the faeries-”

“Faeries, Una?”

“Everyone says I am a changeling child, of the fae folk.”

“And that is how they know to explain our differences. But surely you’ve always known that could not be true.” Una thought of the utter peace, the security of the Faerie home, the certainty that she had belonged there. She could not have been wrong.

“ I don’t believe you.”

“Una, I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to know, but you have to understand what can happen if you keep doing what you’re doing. You could end up with-” Ailsa broke off.

“An unwanted child? Someone different from me? That’s the worst fate imaginable, isn’t it, Ailsa?”

“Now, that isn’t what I was meaning.”

“Isn’t what to wanted to say, you mean. You don’t want to say what you mean; heaven forbid you should accidentally tell me the truth.”

“Una listen-”

“No. I don’t have to listen to you. All you’ve ever told me are lies. You said you loved me. I always knew it was a lie, even that. I’m not staying here anymore. I don’t ever want to see you again.” Standing so suddenly that her chair crashed to the ground, Una fled blindly. She had to get away. She could go to the moor, she could live with the faeries. Tripping over a large rock in her path, Una realized that tears were pouring from her eyes. It didn’t matter. It didn’t have to matter. Pulling herself back up, she kept running, til at last she was on the moor. The ground was soft and spongy beneath her, but she didn’t care. She threw herself down, still sobbing, and the mud dirtied her tunic and kilt, but she didn’t care. She lay there, crying until the tears had run dry, and still she didn’t care.

At last she sat up, and she noticed that the mud had crept upwards, covering her legs now. Una now realized what she had not seen through tear-blinded eyes. She had thrown herself into a swamp. As she sunk further, she tried halfheartedly to struggle. Then, a shadow fell over her, and she lifted her eyes. There was Tavish’s beautiful face, looking down at her as he extended his hand. She gladly took it.

Lissa woke when the first rays of the sun were coloring the dawn sky a faint pink. Rolling off of her stone sleeping shelf, she smoothed the rough wool blankets. She reached mentally for Taelith, but the dragon still slept. Slipping out of the women’s quarters, Lissa made her way down the stairs and out to rock plaza that up made the large threshold of the outer wall of Jet. The sand, not yet warmed by the sun, was cool under her bare feet. She pulled the cloak closer about her bare shoulders, shivering. The light, sleeveless tunic she wore was not warm enough for the chill of early dawn. Even here in the south, it was not warm before sunrise.

Hearing movement behind her, Lissa turned to see Iihsed, the rider of Nmareth, his tall frame leaning against the doorsill. He was not looking at her; his expressive blue-green eyes stared out to the distant sunrise.

“What are you doing out here?” He asked. Lissa bit off a sharp reply, deciding not to ruin the peace of the scene by allowing Iihsed to provoke her.

“Watching the sunrise. What are you doing?” She answered pleasantly. He ignored the question.

“Without Taelith?”

“She’s been tired recently. I thought I’d let her sleep.”

“Mmm. She’ll probably be ready to mate soon, then. Within a day. Has she shown any preference?” Iihsed suddenly turned his gaze on her. Lissa was much annoyed with his impudence, knowing the disrespect inherent in questioning her on such a topic. She answered sweetly.

“Oh yes. She seems to prefer Dath, and I don’t mind his rider, Reuel, myself. Dath will probably fly with her.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Iihsed turn his eyes back to the horizon.

“Hm.” Was his enlightening reply. Lissa ground her teeth in frustration. Could she never annoy him? Nothing made him angry. Was he even human? He turned toward her again, just as she felt a call at the corner of her mind.

“You’d better go in. Nmareth says Taelith is awake.”

“Yes, I know.” Lissa hissed at him. She whirled to go inside, glad for an excuse to get away. Iihsed grabbed her wrist and pulled her against him. The dark cloak fell from her white shoulders, leaving them bare, and her rippling golden hair was loosed from under the hood.

Gripping her in his strong arms, Iihsed looked into her wide grey eyes.

“Dath will not fly with Taelith.” He snapped.

“Why don’t you want Dath to fly with Taelith, Iihsed?” He looked down at her, the rays of the sunrise washed light over her upturned face. Her dark eyes shone with a question, one that he did not want to answer just then.

“Because whoever flies your dragon will be the ruler of the city, as you know, and Reuel isn’t fit to lead Jet. He’d make a mess of it. Good morn.” Iihsed released her and shifted his gaze once again to the horizon. Lissa was not to be put off, however. She reached up and gently turned his face back toward hers.

“Is that the only reason, Iihsed?” He looked down at her and laughed softly.

“Do want there to be another reason, Lissa?” She hesitated. He had neatly turned the question around. Opening her mouth to answer, Lissa was suddenly interrupted.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything…?” Reuel’s tone showed plainly that he hoped he was. Lissa snatched her hand back as though she had been burned, hoping that he couldn’t see the blush in her cheeks. Iihsed, of course, quickly answered Reuel with exactly the wrong thing to say.

“Of course not. We were just discussing Taelith’s mating. We think it may be soon.” Lissa straightened up in indignation. That Iihsed! Acutely conscious of her flushed pallor, Lissa mumbled something unintelligible even to herself and turned to go. Reuel stayed her with a gentle arm on her hand.

“Hteb asks for your assistance in the kitchens.” She flashed a grateful but embarrassed smile to him and departed. Reuel turned to Iihsed, who had resumed his position, leaning against the doorsill.

“Why do you bait her like that? You know she doesn’t like it.” A contemptuous expression crossed Iihsed’s face, but he said nothing.

“Did she say if Taelith has shown any preference?” Reuel continued. Iihsed’s eyes narrowed in anger.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“Because she obviously doesn’t like to talk about it! Didn’t you see her blushing?”

“The child is ghostly white, she needs some color.”

“Lissa’s not a child anymore, Iihsed. When her dragon’s ready to mate, so is she, and you’d best start thinking of her as a woman.” Iihsed had no chance to reply, because at that moment Dath, Reuel’s dragon, bugled loudly. Reuel turned and left, not bothering to take leave of Iihsed.

After a moment, Iihsed bent over and retrieved the cloak at his feet. He buried his face in it; it smelled of Lissa. He recalled the feel of her soft hand on his face, the look of her eyes. Suddenly his imagination painted him a vivid picture of Lissa in Reuel’s arms, his gentle manners and kind words earning her warm smiles. His fists clenched- it would not happen! He would make sure that Nmareth could outfly Dath. Resolutely he turned, striding towards the dragons’ caves.

Training will not help. Even if we have the ability to outfly Dath, she still may not choose us. You must gain her favor. Iihsed halted at the words. His dragon was right- he must make Lissa love him. He must win her by his attitude and manner. He stood for a moment, thinking, and then he continued walking. But this time, he was walking toward the kitchen.

*****

Lissa blew gently upward. A lock of her thick golden hair had fallen directly over her left eye, obscuring her vision and throwing off her depth perception, in addition to covering her good eye, making everything blurry. She tried jerking her head to the side, but the stack of plates and baskets swayed precariously, so she ceased. Upon reaching the door, she tried kicking it open, but she missed by at least a foot, and her bare toes received a painful stubbing from their unexpected contact with the wall. She gasped in pain and exasperation, more the latter than the former.

Suddenly, Iihsed appeared from behind her and, slipping past her, he courteously opened the door. Surprised into silence, Lissa proceeded through the door. Iihsed helped her to unload the plates and baskets, smothering a smile at her shocked expression. They finished in silence, and then she turned to face him, hands on hips.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Why, you looked as though you needed help. Was I mistaken?”

“Iihsed, you’re the rudest, ill-mannered man I know-”

“Thank you.”

“-since when do you help me?”

“Well, you seem to have grown used to my usual routine, so I figure the surest way to annoy you to death now is the exact opposite of how I usually am. Eventually you’ll get so fed up with my groveling servitude that you’ll beg me to return to the way I was. And then I’ll be perfectly justified in acting how I do.”

“I didn’t even know you had the ability to think that much.” She shook her head in mock wonder. “Good luck with that.” Iihsed smiled, politely inclining his head. Lissa headed for the door, and Iihsed hurried to open it for her.

Continued.

As he strolled down the street, considerably aware of his own importance, an insignificant hot dog vendor waved cheerfully to him.

“Yo, your majesty! Wanna free hot dog? Your royal privilege and all that.” Allen smiled and inclined his head majestically, indicating an affirmative answer. He was kind to the lowly, but it was too much beneath him to actually speak to them.

“What? Why does he get a free one?” The woman in line at the stand looked annoyed. The vendor beckoned to the woman, who came closer, and muttered something to her. Explaining Chicago’s unique, no doubt, and the fact that Allen, as king, was privileged to whatever he liked. The woman’s eyes went wide, and then she snickered.

“Well, I suppose that’s one way to deal with the insane. Not how we do things where I come from though, nope.” Allen was puzzled by her words, but he soon overlooked them. He did not suffer himself to be troubled by the unsound logic of the poorly educated. He took his free hot dog and continued his walking. Today he would journey to the darker parts of his city, discovering what needed to be fixed. He needed an idea for a new royal decree. A taxi flashed by, splashing the dirty water of a puddle up onto him. Allen sighed, patiently shaking his head and filing a memo in his head to make another decree about taxis. These peasants never seemed to learn- it was a good thing he was such a patient king. He turned down a dark, dirty alley, but stopped at the sight of a huge, burly man inhabiting the end of it. He walked boldly up to eh man, extending his hand.

“Good day, I am King Allen. What is your name, my good sir?” The man’s beady eyes bulged in surprise, no doubt he was shocked by the fact that a king would deign to address one such as him. But King Allen liked to make people feel important sometimes, and this man looked as though he needed it.

“What’s in the briefcase?” The man towered over him, speaking somewhat rudely.

“Why, the most important documents in the kingdom, as a matter of fact. I couldn’t leave them to be stolen by spies, you know.” Allen briefly entertained the idea of an edict on politeness, but was distracted as the man pulled out a switchblade.

“Well how about you just hand over those important documents and walk away, nice and easy like.”

“While that is a very fine knife, and I admire it very much, I’m afraid it’s not quite a fair trade.”

“What about your life? That a fair trade?” He took a threatening step toward King Allen. Allen blinked at him, confused, for he knew no one would dare kill the king of Chicago. Then he realized what he had missed all along; what a fool he could be!

“Oooh, that’s the secret phrase, isn’t it? You must be the ambassador from the next city, and I’m supposed to give these to you, aren’t I? My apologies! I don’t usually deal with the undercover agents and all. How fortunate we happened upon each other! Well, here you go, and as an apology for my slowness, you may keep your beautiful knife.” King Allen walked happily away, leaving the man stunned at his kingly graciousness.