AUCTION ITEM #32, WILLIAMS ESTATE: LETTER ADDRESSED TO THE RT. HON. ROBERT WILLIAMS, ORNATE WAX SEAL NO LONGER INTACT, ENVELOPE INCLUDED


Dear Robert,

I wonder if I am the only person who has ever addressed you by that name (other than your own parents, perhaps, or friends, though I cannot imagine you ever had many of those). But really, "right honorable" is so distant from who you are, and even "my Lord" has a hollow ring to it, for the peerage has no power in my world, and you are no Lord of mine.

How do you fare? It is customary, is it not, in mortal correspondence, to ask after the welfare of the recipient of one's letter?

Though perhaps it is not customary to follow the question with the sincere hope that you have been stricken with typhus, or consumption, or any of a number of maladies that seem to fell mortals with ease. Truly, I was tempted to find a way to infect you with something myself—preferably an ailment that would result in a large outbreak of pustules—but your former wife and daughter persuaded me that you were best left to rot in your indignant solitude.

I do wonder, though, how long the local folk left you imprisoned in the rain. Truly, that must have been a sight to behold.

I was not there to witness it, of course, but Sarah rather delighted in telling me the tale—she has a way of weaving words, as you might know (though sadly I fear that you do not know, for she was always beneath your notice, to your own detriment). She told me of how she, her mother, the plain-faced Roger, and young Tobias had journeyed by night to a neighboring faerie tree, wearing only the clothes on their backs and taking turns carrying Tobias as he slept. There had been a midnight rendezvous, and even a climb down from a window using sheets (I don't know that this was really necessary, but perhaps Sarah wanted a bit of adventure.)

To skip to the end before elaborating on the delightful details of the middle, my kingdom now finds itself playing host to four mortals where I really would have preferred only one. Or perhaps three. But I definitely would not have included Roger in the group. Still, it is rather impossible to refuse your daughter anything when she has set her mind to it, and if his presence is the price I must pay for hers, so be it.

It was a long journey in the night for them, but they were hardier than your world would ever think them to be, and they reached the faerie tree. But of course all did not go according to plan, because you were waiting for them in your carriage.

Perhaps a servant desperate for extra coin alerted you to their movements, or perhaps you are simply more intuitive than they realized. Regardless, they were caught unawares, and you seemed to think that your presence would simply cause them to shrink like violets and dutifully accompany you back home. And indeed, Sarah told me that when they first saw you, her mother did seem to momentarily shrink, and Sarah herself was frightened, for she had spent her life being frightened of you.

But then Roger, surely to everyone's amazement, stepped in front of both women and the child and told them to go ahead without him, that he would hold you off, even if it meant he could not accompany them out of this world. You laughed cruelly at him and called him a weakling, but he stood firm and would not move when you advanced on the women and child behind him.

And while I would never confess to Sarah that I feel anything but disdain for that creature who is her husband in name only, knowing that he would have died for her has perhaps lessened my disdain somewhat.

And perhaps he could not have held you off. Perhaps you would have killed him and claimed to his parents that madness had overtaken him, and they would have believed you. But his presence allowed Sarah's mother to go unnoticed behind him as she knelt down and pressed her hands upon the earth…

And oh, I would have given much to see what came next.

Longing is potent, perhaps even more potent than the potions and charms that others use in my world to change the shape of things. Perhaps even more potent than my own varieties of magic, if I can be momentarily humble. And your former wife's longing, pressed into the earth like a divining rod, was enough to make the ground shake.

And then you were struck dumb (again, a sight I would love to have seen, though Sarah was kind enough to describe it to me in great detail multiple times) as roots and vines thrust up out of the ground and snaked themselves around your body, holding you firmly in place and pinning your arms to your sides so that you might not reach for whatever weapon you had brought with you. Your sputters of indignation were even stopped by a pair of stray vines that covered your mouth.

And then Aiara was there.

I am not prone to sentiment, particularly when it involves mortals whose lives are of little interest to me. But I must confess even I was moved when Sarah described the appearance of this mysterious rusalka who had captured her mother's heart so many years before. Her hair and body were mottled green and brown, leaves and vines covering her as clothing might. She had risen up out of the ground much like the vines that bound you, her eyes flashing in your direction.

When Sarah's mother saw her she let out a little cry, and whatever pretenses of propriety she might have held on to vanished as she ran into Aiara's arms and kissed her, and the two of them seemed to forget that the rest of the world existed, at least for that moment.

(I am glad, I think, that you witnessed this. That you saw this woman whom you had treated with nothing but contempt suffused with joy, at least once. I do hope the image lingers.)

And soon after they were gone, and you were left alone at that tree, trussed up like a roasted fowl on a spit.

(Do not even consider cutting down that tree. You may have succeeded once, but my kind have had our eyes on you since then, and such an act would have truly dire consequences this time.)

How long did the villagers leave you there? Perhaps you are still there now. It warms my heart to imagine it.

Or perhaps you are back in the emptiness of your estate, accompanied only by the knowledge that everything you had ever sought to possess has been taken from you.

I am tempted to twist the knife further by gently "encouraging" Mr. Dorchester & Mr. Bingham to publish that ill-gotten trove of letters, knowing how much it would infuriate you to become an item in the weekly scandal sheet. You will be relieved to know that your former wife and Sarah (perhaps unduly influenced by Roger) put me off of this idea, only because Roger does not wish ill will on his parents in the same way that Sarah and your former wife wish ill will upon you.

And so the offices of Dorchester and Bingham will soon receive another envelope containing a very particular incantation that need only be viewed by mortal eyes to have its desired effect, and our dear publishers will suddenly lose all memory of those letters and see them only as rubbish to be burned in the fireplace.

A shame, really. Part of me would like the world to know our story. But as usual, I can refuse Sarah nothing.

She has been quite frank since she arrived that she has no desire to marry me, at least not yet. Not due to a dearth of affection, she assures me, but only due to the fact that her first marriage was rather thrust upon her, and she found nothing romantic or joyful in the whole affair. This time, she tells me, she would like to be the one to propose to me, when she is ready.

I told her I rather liked the idea, and requested that she get down on one knee. Or perhaps plan some sort of elaborate ruse with the assistance of her friends.

Roger, thankfully, keeps to himself, though he has discovered a passion for gardening, and the dwarf who tends the grounds has grudgingly taken him on as a kind of apprentice. With the help of the dwarf and the goblin apothecaries Sarah has discovered tinctures and herbs that help him to quiet his mind. He might return to your world someday, I think (or perhaps I only hope). He seems to simply need time to heal away from it.

Your former wife we see seldom, if only because the rusalka live some distance from my kingdom. But she writes, and her letters always bring a smile to Sarah's face. When we do see her the color seems to have returned to her cheeks, and there is a lightness in her step when she gazes at Aiara, or when the latter reaches out a leaf-covered arm to caress her hair.

Tobias divides his time between the world of the rusalka and my kingdom, where the goblins are his eager playmates. I hope that he does not become too wild and uncouth in their company, but Sarah seems to have enough of a civilizing influence on him.

We all got what we wanted, it seems. Except for you.

I imagine you are eager to write to me and make colorful threats to my person and my kingdom, but really, ours seems the sort of correspondence that should not continue beyond this letter.

I would pity you, if I were the sort of creature inclined toward pity, if only because you never truly knew your daughter, and now you never will. I wonder if she knows what a marvel she is, and how the light in her eyes makes a thousand years of my existence fall away.

I should tell her again, I think.

Sincerely,

Jareth