A/N - This chapter parallels the Frayed Knots chapter "Age-Old Story"

(Posted October 3, 2017)

Playing With the Big Kids

Autumn of the Red Petals

I awoke early the following morning, or at least early by Eros standards, to find my scry bowl bubbling and snapping near my ear. When I'd slid on my glasses and pulled the bowl into my lap, I realized that the water had turned bright purple.

Sure enough, when I dipped my finger, the image that appeared at the base of the bowl was none other than the Purple Robe himself. He sat in his office in the Pink Castle with his hood pulled up over his head as usual, so only two glowing dots (which actually weren't his real eyes) glowed in the shadow beneath. He must have been using a crystal ball to communicate with me, because I found myself looking at him as though I were actually seated across his desk, instead of lying in a bowl with my face towards the ceiling. I realized belatedly that I should have gotten dressed before I'd picked up. Answering the summons of the Fairy Council ungroomed and with my shirt off… not how I'd planned to make my first impression. Well, at least I wasn't smothered in warm pixies today.

The Purple Robe looked at me, then looked down at a card in his hand. He adjusted his hood. "Fergus Whimsifinado?"

"Speaking." I tugged my blankets up to my chest.

"Hmm…"

I didn't totally like the sound of "Hmm".

He put the card down on his (predictably) purple desk and knit his fingers on top of it. "I see I've woken you, but this is important. We need to discuss the matter of your coronation."

"Oh. Yes, of course. I'm available whenever."

"Then it should be done today. The sun isn't to set on the Lia Fáil while there's a vacancy in a major position of power. Venus Eros submitted her papers to us immediately after midnight this morning so we would have the utmost time to make arrangements. There is business to discuss."

I dipped my head and felt around the bedpost behind me for my hat. "I understand. What is the proper procedure?"

The Purple Robe leaned back in his padded chair, his hands still clasped. Wheels rolled across hard floor. "First, you have been summoned to join me and my three fellow Robes in the Pink Castle. As soon as you are ready to see us, scry me back. I myself will poof you here directly, since your census records indicate you live in the Central Star Region, which I obviously oversee." He rattled off the appropriate serial number for his crystal, and I used my hat to jot it down on the inside cover of my personal copy of Da Rules. "You and I will arrive just outside the library doors, alone apart from the guards stationed nearby. They won't hurt you. I will ensure you have steadied yourself, and we will proceed inside where you will be formally introduced to the other Robes."

"I follow."

"We will fill out the necessary records to ensure everything is straight on the legal end of things. As we do so, we will discuss our expectations for your coronation ceremony, and what words you want us to say. When the records have been filled out, we will contact the other race ambassadors and request their attendance at the Stone of Destiny this evening."

My wings attempted to skip a beat, pinned down in the bed as they were. As a nymph I had entertained thoughts of sitting on the Stone, of course, but certainly never had I expected them to become reality. True, in more recent years I'd occasionally thought about the inevitable matter, and yesterday I'd been craving it deeply, but now it was finally happening. Today, it was different. It was tangible.

The Purple Robe nodded twice. "The four of us, and you, will arrive in Inis Fáil. The ceremony is private, and only those who sit at the Council meetings will attend. However, you ought to dress professionally. You're being introduced to the rest of the universe for the first time, after all, and you'll want to make a good impression."

"Yes, I realize that."

His golden stare continued to bore into my shirtless body beneath my covers. "Do you have appropriate clothing? We can provide you with something else if you prefer."

A bit sheepishly, I had him wait while I checked my closet. Yesterday I'd stuck around Pixie World with no need to impress anyone. Even when I'd readied myself to meet with China, I'd grabbed a clean white shirt and hadn't bothered to try on my old three-piece suits. Those had apparently worn to threads long ago, but Ambrosine had stocked my closet with new ones. Unfortunately, he'd guessed my size wrong. I'd lost weight in the Eros Nest. In their unmagicked state, these wouldn't do.

I explained the situation to the Purple Robe, holding up my gray suit to show him the costume I had in mind. He understood my hesitation about permanently magic-touching one of the precious suits I had, and said he would take care of the problem when I arrived and he could look me over. Oh, to be a Council Robe, with that sort of power constantly on the tip of one pinky alone.

"The seven Robes will greet you publicly," he continued after I'd returned the suit to my closet. "We'll swear you into your new position, reading mainly off the script all of us together would have worked out in the library based off your suggestions. Since you're in my Region, I'll conduct the ceremony. I'll motion towards the Lia Fáil when you can sit."

"Will it really sing when I stand on it?"

He fixed me with another bright yellow stare. "You will sit," he said again. "But yes. After you've accepted your vows, it should greet you. Before that, Venus Eros will place her hands on your head and recite your genealogy starting from your Aos Sí ancestor who Split. It's my understanding that she's drawing from your main family line, as your surname is allegedly direct?"

I nodded.

"Then each ambassador will bestow their race's token of acceptance at your feet. So, as your race's ambassador, I would suggest you craft yourself a race token before too long, so they will be available at the next coronation, whenever it may be. You'll want to bring a lot of them. You know the requirements of what constitutes as a token?"

I nodded again.

"Good. The ambassadors will kneel and kiss your fingers. It's expected that when each has finished, you kiss the back of their right wrist. That will be all. When you kiss Lu Braddocki's hand and he steps back, I'll instruct everyone to shout your name seven times to the sky- once for each of the seven Regions. There will be an immediate Council meeting at the Frozen Garden Palace, so you can formally introduce yourself and get a feel for how we run things. Or, if your race were led by joint rulers, we would coronate your partner before we broke. However," he said, studying my face, "I'm under the impression such a thing won't be necessary in your case?"

A co-leader? Back in the Eros Nest, reminded regularly that I was the sole adult of my species and reproduced without the aid of a damsel, the thought of a legal queen had never really occurred to me. I tried to think of anyone at all I would be willing to lead my pixies beside. Easily, the Dame Head would have been my first choice. She was patient and strong, and though we flirted playfully, we both understood there was no chance of that relationship going any further. Here. Still, she wouldn't treat me the way Kalysta had… or China. Or Venus. She'd respect my decisions if I didn't want to be the emotional type. She recognized and accepted my stubbornness, and always looked for compromise during our occasional squabbles in times we met. If only…

But I shook my head. Dame Head belonged at her mill in the High Kingdom; the Head Pixie would rule as a solitary sovereign, bearing nymphs and being the only one they answered to. Kalysta could rot for all I cared. China's cloudship had sailed. Venus? An unachievable celebrity fantasy. Admittedly I had snuck into a few sugar bars and clubs here and there since Sanderson's birth, and even gone as far as stealing a kiss or two, but such flings hadn't exactly lasted through to morning.

But alas. I didn't have a single promising damsel to turn to. Even Emery was out of the question, should I have elected to raise her to my status and make our positions legally equal and platonic. I considered the option briefly, but discarded it. Emery may have looked after my offspring almost as long as I had, and they respected her, and sure, she would be staying on with us at least until she and Logan inevitably got together (and preferably moved out), but I didn't trust her with that sort of power. If China and I, who had been wed and intimate for a thousand five hundred and nine years, had fought so viciously during our last meeting, then I didn't want to know what sparks would fly between me and my sister if we tried to push our visions for the future in opposite directions.

So no damsels. No drakes either, except for Ambrosine. The offer of turning my pixies over to him for raising was tempting, to a point. I couldn't forget what had happened with Wilcox. And while I had survived my childhood and come out fine on the other end, I'd rather not give Ambrosine legal power over how I lived my life either. Fine, then. I would rule solo. The pixie race would be headed by a full-blooded pixie alone. That seemed fitting, anyway.

In answer to the Purple Robe's question, I replied, "You presume correctly."

The Purple Robe stroked the chin concealed in the shadow of his hood. "No joint ruling then, if you're sure. Of course, we'll still need to publicly announce your race's process of leadership succession. If applicable, which it is, you'll have to select an heir." He lifted his hand, palm towards me for silence as I opened my mouth. "As the first and sole leader of your race, the matter of determining Pixie succession traditions falls entirely upon you. We will uphold your decision, whatever it may be."

I stared into the bowl for a second, saying nothing.

"Should you elect to go the route of heir apparents," he continued, "he will be expected to attend the ceremony with you, so we can coronate him once we finish with yours. Give it some thought, but don't dawdle. As I said, scry me in the second hour of afternoon, Hy-Brasil Central Time, so I can poof you up here."

Inis Fáil was six hours ahead of the village. He'd woken me at a semi-reasonable hour of the morning. Granted, I had crashed earlier last night than I normally would have had I been well-adjusted to the new time zone, but it didn't give me much time. I thanked him and we disconnected. I sat on the edge of my bed for a time, tapping the black bowl with my fingernails, alone with my sleepy thoughts and with Springs suckling and nipping inside my pouch.

Finally I combed my hair and dressed. I switched Springs out for Keefe, whom Ambrosine had been looking after just outside my door. I took my scry bowl downstairs to my office (ignoring his comment about pancakes for breakfast out in the pavilion today). My office was a perfect square, with one glass sliding door that connected it to the manor and a second one that led directly outside, so I could watch my pixies roam about and step out to reprimand them if need be. While plenty large enough for me to move around comfortably or even entertain visitors who might settle across from me, it wasn't so big that distances between me and the shelves seemed too inconvenient. The other walls were purple, though so concealed with filing cabinets, cork boards, shelves, the grayfish tank, and maps of both Earth and the cloudlands that the color dulled to a pleasant background gray.

I lit the candles with the kitchen wand that lay on their tray and settled into my high-backed chair. A black chair, actually. I rolled it back and forth a few times, testing its fluid movements, before I scryed the direct Eros crystal ball with the serial number Venus had given me before I'd left the Nest.

"Uh," I said when my call was picked up by an anti-fairy. Not only had I been expecting a cherub, but the dark blue fur, darker blue hair, long nose, bright green eyes, and sleeveless black shirt with seven dabs of zodiac colors arranged in a circle over his chest were distinctly familiar. The monocle too, come to think of it. I upturned my hands. "What? Isn't this the Eros line?"

"Oh." The anti-fairy appeared to realize the absurdity of the situation at the same time I did. He placed his fingertips to his chest, the claws glinting. "So sorry. Yes, I'm running communication for the Triplets today. Can I help you?"

I folded my fingers together and leaned forward. "This is the Head Pixie. May I speak to whichever Eros Triplet is awake and not performing their shift? Charite, isn't it? It's important."

He nodded and went off to fulfill my request, leaving me with the chance to examine the crystal ball's surroundings. It sat on a table covered by a bright pink tablecloth. A battered cereal box lay on the left, without a bowl or a spoon in sight. Instead, there was a plate with half a tuna sandwich left on it, and a scrap of parchment and a quill nearby. Apparently, the anti-fairy had been here for awhile, snacking and doodling to keep himself entertained. The couch was green, and the surrounding room was dark. Glowing screens lined the walls, flickering and shifting views every few seconds. I could hear the whistle of arrows through the air. The control room? Curious.

"Sorry for the delay," Ludell puffed when he returned with the anti-fairy, taking the crystal from the table. He poofed to his private (again, pink) office and set the ball in the middle of his desk. Then he settled himself into his chair, flipping the tails of his (pink) coat over the edge and rolling up his sleeves, as though he were about to perform an elegant number on the springcase in some concert hall. A sharp contrast with his (pink) crew cut. He cleared his throat. "I understand that your coronation is tonight. How can I help?"

"The wait was no trouble, Ludell," I said, but with hesitation. I craned my neck. "It's three in the morning over there, isn't it? Didn't you just finish your shift? Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"Something came up. Genies. That stunt you pulled when you left us two days ago only screwed up our schedule further." That was all the explanation I got. He blinked at me expectantly.

"I see. I just want to ensure I have my facts straight before I make any crucial decisions." I rested the steepled tips of my fingers against my lips. "In upper school, I heard that 75% of the time, drones are born infertile for life."

Ludell dipped his head. "Gynes are biologically driven to father as many children as possible, to increase the probability that they will have more gynes - compared to drones - who will continue their legacy. Specifically, this urge is thought to really activate once the gyne is no longer a virgin, as gynes undergo a distinct pheromone change after that point. That's because your body, realizing you are sexually active and damsels are available, throws reserves of energy into fighting to attract damsels and make you the most dominant gyne in the area."

I fidgeted with my quill, trying not to think too much about Kalysta and China, and the few damsels from my youth whom I'd slowly rekindled contact with since moving back to the cloudlands when Sanderson was a nymph. While we'd fallen out of touch after my marriage to China, Irica Caudwell and I had for a time become fairly close, though still held politely at bay by her status as a tomte. And, not close enough that I could see my shy friend as a wife. A friend, simply; a confidant. We hadn't even kissed. "I've also heard it's extremely rare, if not a physical impossibility, for gynes to be born infertile."

"As long as there's a functioning uterus in them, that's right. A single dominant gyne suppresses the reproduction of all nearby gynes. However, once a lower gyne becomes dominant over the formerly dominant gyne, he becomes the reproductively capable one instead. We've never found a Fairy subspecies that this natural law does not apply to."

I leaned forward, angling my fingertips towards his face. "What about mine?"

It took Ludell a second to remember, but then he did and nodded. "Drone infertility can be identified at birth, by an expert, by the way the uterus looks. However, recall that your fallopian tube does not connect to your uterus, and neither do those of your other pixies. It seems that your biological mutation caused all pixie tubes to sever from the uterus and reattach themselves to the massive supply of cytoplasm underneath your egg nest." He tapped his forehead for emphasis. "Your pixies are not fertilized by sperm and planted in your uterine wall. They're grown directly from your cytoplasm stores, where the cell structure of your gametes has been completely altered. Did Venus dumb it down to the phrase 'half-fertilized eggs' when she was talking to you? 'Fertilization' would not be the most accurate word, but yes, pixie gametes have a different cell structure than those of Fairies. As I believe we discussed at some point, you seem to be physically incapable of fathering nymphs naturally; that's called cytoplasmic incompatibility. Kalysta's sperm actually killed the first three eggs we took from you, and we had to play around for hours until we managed to make the two of you click."

And a lot of good that had done for Cherry.

"So all my pixies should theoretically be capable of producing offspring when they come of age," I clarified.

Ludell considered my question, brushing a loose feather that had fallen from his wing across his lips. "We think that when they are sexually mature, your pixie drones should be capable of producing offspring on a regular cycle like yours, yes. After all, drone menstrual cycles automatically sync up to that of whomever in the area has the strongest pheromones. Because pixies have a faux uterus in their forehead chambers, instead of using the uterus in their midsection, they shouldn't be any more infertile than your average kabouter." He set the feather down. "We could probably remove your uterus if you like. It won't be helpful unless you somehow run across and mate with a female whose cytoplasm is compatible with yours, and statistically speaking I really don't think that's ever going to happen." His voice trailed into thoughtful quiet. "I suppose theoretically it's possible, but I imagine any resulting ZW offspring would be infertile, and I'm not sure how the egg would even… Maybe… Oh, I wonder…"

I shook my head, trying to redirect his attention on me before he started wondering what the Aphrodite Protocol gave him authority to do. "I'm done with your Nest and your surgeries, thanks. Maybe another time. My uterus can stay for now."

"Just let us know." Ludell picked up a scroll that hadn't been aligned with the others near his hand. "Except, now that I've said that, I've just remembered we were hoping to inseminate you with more crossbred eggs sometime in the future, so I suppose we shouldn't jump the wand. We're curious to know why some subspecies rejected your eggs when the kobold who acted as surrogate to… Springs? took. And of course, so did the wisp sperm. At some point, we'd like to continue experimenting, but we have to be hands-off you for awhile before we can do that. Hmm. Maybe the new Triplets will have taken command by then. Oh. Did I answer your questions?"

I drummed my fingers against my desk. "Sanderson was born just before I turned five hundred thousand years old. While certainly odd, that may be the age pixies become reproductively active. Would a gyne offspring of mine be capable of reproducing before then?"

"Not while your dominance pheromones suppress his system."

"Okay, fine." Briefly, I shut my eyes. "Let's say all my offspring are yellow-borns. If I were to die, and a pixie gyne became the dominant gyne in the area, do you expect he would be able to reproduce before the age of five hundred thousand?"

"That's my understanding," he said with a shrug. "You're a gyne and you started your menstrual cycle when you got your adult wings like a normal Fairy, right? Then… yes. Once he moults, he may be able to produce offspring. Maybe. We don't know. After all, it did take you awhile. Weird, but neat." All of a sudden, Ludell's face lit up. "But if a young gyne of yours did, we'd have a yellow-born pixie, and we wouldn't have to stress about keeping you alive to preserve your race anymore."

My fingers tightened on the edge of my desk. "How fortunate for you."

Ludell realized what he'd said and smiled nervously through the scrying water at me. "But of course, until your pixies are older, we won't know for sure. We'll wait and see. We tried our best to figure you out, Fergus, but we didn't find all the answers we were looking for. We think your reproductive system is the result of a mutation. But we've never seen a mutation like this before anywhere in the cosmos."

"I see. Thank you for your help, Drk. Ludell." With that, I ended the call and pinched my temples, and spent some time just thinking.

The morning was fading fast beneath my fingertips. I made a decision, stood the instant I had, and hurried across the village to the pavilion. Ambrosine had taken to my pixies like honey to wheat, and was doing an excellent job of holding their attention as he flipped pancakes into the air with swirling flicks of his wand. I came up behind him and swept my eyes over the pixies on the benches. "Longwood, I need you to come with me. And grab your coat."

"Where are you going?" Sanderson demanded instantly, his fork halfway to his mouth. His right fist tightened around his knee.

"To file some papers so I can officially become Head Pixie. There are lots of people to meet with. I might check in once or twice to switch out Keefe and Springs for nursing, but I won't have time to pay you any attention. Don't take it personally. Listen to Ambrosine. I'll be back late."

"Why does Longwood get to go?"

"Because I want him to."

"Why not me?" Sanderson asked, bunching his eyebrows.

"Because you're the oldest. I'm trusting you to assist Ambrosine in watching over the other pixies. It's a big job. Are you ready for that kind of responsibility?"

He decided he was and, satisfied, turned back to his breakfast. I motioned to Longwood with my hand. He swallowed his last bite of pancake and bounded over to me.

"So where are we really going?" he whispered as we headed for his cabin, tossing the end of his ink-scribble scarf behind his shoulder.

"To fill out paperwork, like I told you."

Longwood gave me a skeptical look. "You've never taken me alone anywhere, sir. Ever. You don't even like me. What's going on?"

"Good dust, curse your brains. Perhaps I made the wrong choice after all. Sanderson wouldn't question my decisions like this." I stayed silent until we reached the door of the cabin nearest my manor. I opened it and waved him through. While too small a building for me to live in comfortably, it was of decent size for such small juveniles, with soft chairs for sitting in, a glowing fireplace, and a washroom of its own. A loft led up to the beds, which I'd seen yesterday for myself. I hadn't missed the fact that Longwood had a private nook of his own in the back with a horizontal sort of door much too small for me to squeeze through without magically altering my size. How Sanderson and the others had agreed to let him have it, I could chalk up only to gyne pheromones and Ambrosine's firm insistence. Longwood stepped across the cabin threshold, watching me the whole time, and floated towards the hook by the window where his traveling jacket hung.

"Longwood, I know you're only two thousand years old, but you're very mature for your age. I need you to listen very carefully to what I'm about to say. And most importantly, I don't want you to tell Sanderson about this."

He stopped moving, his fingertips hovering above the jacket fabric. He tilted his head twenty-nine degrees to the right, his brows knitting, but he said, "Okay, sir."

I cleared my throat. "What do you know about the universe, Longwood?"

"That… is a long discussion, H.P."

"I'm the Head Pixie," I said, placing both hands to my chest. "That's what we are. We're pixies. Ambrosine and Emery, they're fairies. Well, Emery is clearly only half a fairy, but that's irrelevant. China was a selkie. Venus and the other Eroses are cherubs. We are different races, even though we all fall in the classification of Faedivus, or Fairies."

Longwood continued to look at me expectantly, without even one of the interjectory "Yes, sirs" I'd come to expect from Sanderson. I paused for a beat, then continued. "Longwood, I won't be around forever. You know of the Daoine Síth, and my belief that one day, I will unfortunately cease to be alive. All my lines will be severed. My body will turn to dust. What's left of my core will draw into itself and reunite with what remains of Anti-Fergus and the Dame Head. Together we won't be 'Fergus', 'Anti-Fergus', and 'Dame Fergus' anymore. We'll be one. Only Ferguses. Or Fergusi, I suppose would be the proper plural. We'll decide on our name later. Anyway, then we, Fergusi, will metaphysically ascend to Plane 23 in our six-armed, six-eyed Daoine form. My magic will leave me, turned over to be redistributed among my posterity. All I've created with non-yellow magic will fade away."

I said that last part with some hesitance. Longwood blinked, but said nothing.

"I will be powerless and bound to the upper realm. Unable to watch over you. Unable to fly. Unable to aid my pixies if they should need help. When that day comes, someone will need to become the new Head Pixie. The rest of my clothes and all that was on my person will most likely turn to dust with my skin and bones. But my cohuleen druith has been bathed in purified rosewater. It will stay behind." I crossed towards him and slid my hand between his wings. "When I become Fergusi, I want you to take my place down here and wear my hat."

"… Are you sure about that?"

"Legalities, Longwood," I went on, unhooking his brown jacket and handing it to him. "I married the damsel we thought was your mother, when I never married Sanderson's. So as far as Fairy law is concerned, you're first in line to inherit the village right now anyway. See?"

Still no "Yes, sir."

"You're going to be Head Pixie after me. The second Head Pixie."

"I don't understand," he said. His attention span had started to slip. The gyne talk balanced on the tip of my tongue, but that was a talk best saved for puberty, and Longwood was clearly too young to hear and comprehend it. He stuffed one fist through his first jacket sleeve, backing away from me in the process. "Me? The future Head Pixie? Leader of all the other pixies? You don't like me. You don't even know me."

"Of course I know you. I raised you for well over a thousand years, didn't I?"

He slipped his hand into his pocket, apparently fingering something there, and grimaced. "Don't you want Sanderson to be the next Head Pixie?"

I moved my hands down to my pouch, where Springs still suckled contentedly and quietly. "Longwood. Think. If I was not sure about my decision to select you as my heir and eventual successor over Sanderson, would I have brought you in here to talk?"

Longwood pushed his fingers through the spikes in his hair. "I guess not. But…" His dust-pale eyes trailed up to my face. Two of his fingers squeezed the lowest button on his jacket. "I'm only 2,014 years old."

"You'll grow up."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess so." He chewed on his lower lip. "Will I really get to wear your hat when I'm Head Pixie, sir? For real? And- and have your bedroom for mine? And your office? And your stuff? And the whole manor? And be in charge of the entire village?"

I studied him through half-lidded eyes. "Would you like to?"

Longwood hesitated, then gave a nod.

"Then it's settled. I've selected you as my heir. When I die, all that I own will fall into your hands someday. Now, I'm heading out to officially be crowned as Head Pixie the First. The Fairy Council asked me to bring my heir along, so they can officially coronate you, too."

"As future Head Pixie the Second?"

I reached to ruffle the hair beneath his crown, all scruffy in the back and flat in the front. But I froze before my skin came in contact with his.

He was a gyne. A gyne China and I had agreed I would dance around and never touch, lest the urge to snap his neck overtake me. A gyne whom I had actively avoided while neighbors watched on with pitying gazes. A gyne that, until today, I had almost never been in the same room with alone.

He was a gyne. And I had placed him on the ladder of succession just below me. A gyne and a gyne, one dominant and one up and coming. He with far more freckles on his face and arms than me, even if they hadn't yet turned rosy red-brown. Staring down at his wide lavender eyes, his fingers clutching his jacket and his scarf - familiar lavender eyes that made hurting him in the slightest seem like a baffling concept in a book of riddles - it was difficult not to wonder if I had just made a horrible mistake.

"As future Head Pixie the Second," I agreed, and patted him on the head. As the idle thought of tossing him into the fireplace crept across my brain, I withdrew and added, "I'll teach you everything I think you should know."

Still, the problem needed to be addressed. I understood gynes much better than I understood drones. Longwood was young and gentle now, but by the time he turned 150,000, he would start becoming reckless. We would get by in the open space of the village, where our pheromones would clash less frequently. But a back-up plan would still be in my best interests. If this was going to work, we needed a medium. A third party to make us hesitate should our tempers flare, much the way China had made me pause and bite the end of my tie instead of Longwood's neck.

A third party. I hovered with my hand on the door for a moment as Longwood finished buttoning his jacket, tapping my knee. Where could I find a third party, neither gyne nor drone, who would have the free time and devotion to monitor us all hours of the day?

The answer came to me instantly. I groaned. This was so not Daoist. But unless I could think up a new plan fast, it would have to be done. Longwood stared as I grabbed a fistful of my hair and flung open the door.

"I'll tell you after the ceremony," I said in answer to his unasked question.

I gave myself a few more hours to consider my decisions, but didn't change them. Then I took Longwood into my office and contacted the Purple Robe. As promised, he poofed us both to the Pink Castle, and I found myself face to face with the other three Council Robes. We took up places around one of the library tables, and I gave Longwood strict instructions to remain in his seat beside me. Now, to business.

"I'm content with the name of my role," I said, skimming my eyes down the first document they passed me. I signed my name at the bottom and slid it over to Longwood. "I don't want to be called a king. For five hundred years I've lived in the Eros Nest under the title of Head Pixie, shortened to H.P., and I think it's neat. Neater than King Fergusius Whimsifinado; that's too pompous a title for a casual drake like me. I'll go insane if I have to hear myself referred to with ten syllables when two would do just as easily. So, I ask that Venus doesn't coronate me by that name. Have her coronate me just as the Head Pixie. Head Pixie, the First."

"Fair enough," said the Green Robe, placing his chin in a cup of his pale fingers. "Upheld. You will be known throughout the cloudlands as the Head Pixie. And what of the heir position?"

"Um." 'Prince' was out of the question. If I was not calling myself a king, Longwood would not be calling himself a prince. I'd rather keep his ego as flat as possible.

"Let's call it the marquess position," I decided. "For now. Perhaps I'll change it later, but I'm lazy and uncreative and this is easy. His name is already Markell, after all."

The Pink Robe peered down at me, golden eyes aglow. "You might change it later?"

"Yep. I'm a changer of things. New race, new rules. I plan to keep fiddling with the details until I find something I like, and if I find something better, I'll sift through all the legal documents and change it. I refuse to let my pixies go by a title that I'm not completely satisfied with. But once I'm content, I'll set the rules in place and won't be budged on them. I'm making traditions I intend for future generations to keep." I dared to allow a smirk to cross my face as I signed another paper. "We pixies are not quite as free-spirited as you Fairies."

"Don't get cocky," said the Blue Robe, watching me with his head to one side. "We're coronating you as head of the thirty-fifth subspecies of Fairies. Not as an entirely new class."

"Gotcha."

"Now we move on to the political structure of your race as a whole," said the Blue Robe. "By law, you are considered a noble now, and by default the current pixie ambassador. It's expected that your population will grow in time and adjustments may need to be made, but considering your present population and reproductive status, legal structure for your race as a whole seems necessary. Some races elect their ambassadors. However, for most, the position is passed through a now-noble line. You can determine what it means to be Head Pixie."

With a wave of his hand and no wand at all, the Purple Robe slid the huge master copy of Da Rules down the table towards me. It floated high, vertically, and flipped of its own accord to a place somewhere in the middle. Almost empty, the title Pixies - Faedivus Quadratum had been scrawled across the top of the left page. Several sketches of me, my wings, and notes about pixie history and biology had been added beneath. Venus's doing, I imagine. While not as in-depth as the stacks of parchment I had often seen her working on, that was understandable. This was, after all, Da Rules. Not a school textbook. Just the basics, please.

The other side was still blank, awaiting my additions. I lifted the corner of the large page so I could see what Ilisa Maddington had written before me. Hmm. Obviously, all will o' the wisps were descended from she herself. Only a few noteworthy ones were listed- namely, Fennel, Kace, and Leander, the first three children of her original nine to carry her mutation before the Eroses had snatched her up and, well, spread her genes more efficiently than she'd been doing on her own. Apparently she'd decided that the will o' the wisp ambassador position belonged to the wisp damsel with the longest hair, chosen only from among wisps who managed to leap Choketroll Pass without the use of their wings. Oh, typical Maddington. A daredevil and a jokester to the end. Records from Council meetings long ago stated that she'd always claimed she would place a large bucket atop a door in the Frozen Garden Palace and sit in it until she died, promptly showering her dust on the first poor ambassador to stumble in.

I set the page down again and stared at the blank whiteness before me. The Green Robe caught my eye and made a gesture towards the book. A bit uncertainly, but encouraged when I received no reprimand, I took up my quill and climbed onto the table. "Yes. Let's start with a definition. The Head Pixie is exactly that. He's leader of the entire pixie race with full king-like authority over them, and among them, his word is law. However, the reigning Head Pixie can alter this rule - or any rule regarding the governing of pixies - at any time. Just in case there end up being so many pixies in the universe that it would be impractical to micromanage every one of them."

A daunting thought. Almost certainly, I wouldn't be around to see that time period. These decisions I made, I made under the presumption that my pixies would turn out to be yellow-borns after all.

"Upheld," said the Purple Robe, dipping his head slightly. I fingered my quill, still staring up at the great book. It was tall enough that even with me standing on the table, it partially blocked my view of the other Council Robes.

"The Head Pixie rules until his death. That's obvious." I lit my wings and wrote the note in Da Rules while they all watched, and signed it with a flourish. "I can't see this coming back to clip me in the jugal folds. This is not an elected position, as ambassadors are among some of the other races, or even as you Robes are. It's a lifelong commitment which I fully embrace and accept. As such," I continued, glancing up at them, "considering the fact that my heir is well under age of majority, I am expecting your full legal protection. Yes, I am a gyne, and punishment for killing a gyne is typically waved off with little more than a scolding word. But I am lifelong Head Pixie too. I request diplomatic immunity. The Head Pixie is not to be challenged in any gyne fight, and no non-pixie gyne is to take up residence within seven cloudlengths of my property. I ask this fully understanding that a law may not dissuade all gynes from snapping their wand in my direction. But, having a rule and punishment in place may cause hesitation anyway. It will place me in a safer position."

"That seems reasonable. Upheld."

I nodded and turned to the book again. My fingers tightened about the quill as I reached up and continued writing. "When I die, then the marquess shall inherit my position, and all legalities that go with it. My cohuleen druith is a magical cloth and won't turn to dust upon my passing, so he will likely remove his crown and exchange it for my hat instead. Ooh, let me add that. It's unlawful to deprive the Head Pixie of his hat. I need that."

"What of the marquess?" the Pink Robe asked, eyeing Longwood, who had taken to gnawing on the corner of the table. He stopped, wings stiffening, when he realized our attention had shifted to him. "Sorry," he mumbled, sitting up.

"Hmm. Okay, I've got it. If the marquess is over the age of 200,000, then he speaks for the pixie race much as I do. While he doesn't have full legal benefits most of the time, he can act as Head Pixie ad litem in case of an emergency." I waved the quill. "That allows him access to contact other ambassadors' direct scry bowls or crystal balls, the Eros Nest, and you. He will be able to request assistance and relay information, and be a trusted source for info on behalf of the pixies in those times. But without the ability to change up the laws. Only the reigning Head Pixie holds that ability. I don't want him messing with my stuff."

"Upheld."

The Green Robe, sitting nearest Longwood, studied the young pixie again. "What if the marquess is young?"

"Under the age of 200,000, the marquess is simply the figurehead who will succeed me after my passing. As a public figurehead, I want him to have the legal authority to welcome and situate visitors of authority on my behalf, sign for packages, and accept any gifts that are intended for me when I may not be immediately available to receive them. And the Head Pixie may choose to replace the marquess should he desire, so long as he submits the request to you, and… a time period of at least twenty-four hours passes for you to look things over, and when you get back to him, he confirms the decision. And a request to change marquess can be submitted no more than once a year. Let's not get annoying with it. Not that I plan to, but I want this rule in place should the situation present itself."

"Upheld. And if the marquess and the Head should both be found dead? What of inheritance in that scenario?"

"Then… the eldest pixie gyne inherits the position by default."

"Upheld. Suppose there are no other pixie gynes."

I sighed. "Then the eldest pixie takes the position instead, with full Head Pixie legalities and the ability to appoint a successor by choice. The eldest pixie, be he gyne or be he drone."

"Upheld."

"Right." Satisfied, I checked Ilisa's page again. "I think that should be… Wait." I snapped my fingers. "I forgot something I wanted. I'm a gyne, raising a young crop of drones. Inevitably, I will take on a retinue at some point. I wish to be able to travel the cloudlands with up to three retinue drones who are legally permitted anywhere that I am. You can't force me to send them out of the room if I would prefer they stay, nor are they required to pay entrance fees to any establishment when traveling in my company. Basic RDM retinue law quibble."

"Head Pixie?"

"Hm?"

The Purple Robe raised a single finger. "Limit is one. And while the law permits a single retinue drone access wherever his gyne travels, be aware that the law allows exclusion of a drone if it's necessary to surgically operate on you, and no creature may enter the echo chamber of any Zodiac Temple that isn't their own. Nor is a retinue permitted in the most sacred rooms of the Pink and Blue Castles. Additionally, a retinue drone does indeed count as your escort companion to the Council meetings at the Frozen Garden Palace. You are expected to bring no more than one person besides yourself, retinue or not."

I flicked my hand. "Fine. I'm legally allowed one drone in my retinue, any drone I choose at the time, who has full authority to travel where I do under the general laws outlined in the RDM, and is of course as legally protected by diplomatic immunity as I am."

"Upheld."

I studied my work and nodded once more. "That about settles it. I am the pixie ambassador, called the Head Pixie, and legal overseer of my entire race. That's what I want."

So it was.

The other ambassadors were contacted according to which Region they resided in and which Robe oversaw them. I returned home to pick up Keefe, as I'd promised, and check in with my other pixies. They seemed to be doing fine, and I was careful not to let them notice me. Upon our return, the Purple Robe outfitted Longwood and I in gray single-vented suits, mine double-breasted and Longwood's of the single-breasted variety. They were hardly the usual costume for an ambassador coronation, with their collared white shirts, strict black ties, and lack of color, and I believe that's what I liked about them. We were pixies, sprigs off the Fairy tree and forging unique traditions of our own for our race. Standing in front of the mirror as the Purple Robe spun his fingers and gave me anything I wanted, I couldn't help but set my hands to my waist and experience pride. Gray was indeed pleasant.

"You certainly don't look like any king I've ever seen," said the Purple Robe, stroking a goatee which probably existed beneath the shadow of his hood.

"Yeah, if I had to make a guess, that's probably why I'm called the Head Pixie instead of King Fergusius. We pixies wear pointed hats instead of crowns. The only species, if I'm not mistaken, with pointed hats which float instead of balancing on the head like the elves. Not having royal blood or titles just makes sense."

"You look as though you're expecting to be wed. Who's the bride?"

"Ha ha, ha ha." I unfurled my wings, then swiveled them down again and nodded. "I look like an authority figure. Like a professional business owner. Not to be taken lightly. This satisfies me."

"Fair enough. Longwood, please remain here. I need to speak to the Head Pixie alone. We'll be back in ten minutes." The Purple Robe motioned for me to turn away from the trifold mirrors and follow him out of the dressing room. Then he stopped. "Don't you still have that nymph in your pouch?"

"Keefe? I do."

"I'm going to need to ask you to remove him. We're approaching a very special room. Bringing him in would be improper. We don't even allow retinues in there."

I pricked my ears. "The staff room?"

"That's correct."

I glanced down at my pouch and scratched my head. "He just got settled in there, and I just did all the buttons on my shirt and coat. Maybe we should wait for a few minutes."

The Purple Robe did not look impressed by my response. So, I withdrew Keefe and placed him in the dressing room next to Longwood. This rather upset him, as he was cranky by nature and had finally been content to suck and nip without much kicking and squirming. I mumbled an apology to the disgruntled Longwood as I left them in there together.

We moved down a short hall and came into a bright and shining white storeroom instead, with shelves lining the place as far as the eye could see, and the mind could reach. They glittered against my senses. "Now comes the matter of your diplomatic staff," the Purple Robe said. "You are expected to carry it on your person anywhere you travel when on professional ambassador business. Your staff is your portable embassy, and with few exceptions, when it's in your hand then you stand on your legal ground wherever you travel. On the court side of things, any declaration or promise you make with it in your hand is legally binding."

I whistled. "I see you've been collecting for awhile."

"Some of these pieces are originals from the ancient days. They're labeled, if you want to look at them. You're allowed to select any staff you like, so long as you swear to treat it with the respect it deserves. I believe we have a few swords around here. A few tridents. Things in storage."

"Any precedents I need to know about?"

He lifted his shoulders, then dropped them again. "Diplomatic staffs are not inherently passed down between successors, though they can be; the Wester bloodline, for example, have allegedly been using the same ipewood piece since Queen Ercel Split out of Aos Sí form. The Triplet of the Morning is coronated with his or her personal bow. However, while there are traditions, there is no rule specifically ordering that you must follow them, except that you can't change your mind once you leave this room with it. Every new ambassador is allowed to enter here just once during their time in the Council seat, and make their choice. Take your time and find something you really like. You'll be keeping it on hand throughout your entire reign as Head Pixie."

I linked my hands behind my back and floated down the first aisle. So many staffs. Hundreds. Thousands. Rows of polished wood, carved crystal, hooked canes, diamond tops, warm gold, tarnishing silver, stinking brass, and the occasional umbrella or croquet mallet weighed down on me from every side.

Though I studied and calculated each option, nothing particularly caught my fancy until the final aisle. At the very end of the lowest shelf, I paused in front of a thick, straight piece crafted of hickory wood, with a pattern of vines, grapes, flowers, and leaves coiling all the way up the shaft. It was thick at the top and pointed at the bottom. A definite scepter, not a stable walking stick. Much shorter than I was.

I only looked twice at it because with the first glance I instantly identified its original owner. The great dark-skinned figure from our school history books popped into my mind's eye, with the blue frills running down his spine and a chin full of black, dangling whiskers thick enough to catch and hold bits of dirt, roots, and granite in them every time he lay down. One of the seven elemental snake tribes; a being whose scaly lower half belonged to soil the same way merfolk belonged to water, or genies belonged to fire. Legendary king. Founder of Scotia Alba. Staff of Fergusius Mòr Mac Earca of the Milesians, better known as Fergus the Great; lost in the Year of the Red Storm, recovered in the Year of the Bloody Skyship read the plaque embedded below it. Ambrosine and Solara had named me after the man.

I picked up the hickory staff and switched it between my two hands. It had obviously been used by generations of other ambassadors before me. The wood beneath my fingers had worn pale, all chipped streaks and discolored patches. Splinters cut my skin like a zinflax wand. When I flicked it, it almost flew from my grip. Not enough weight. Strange for something that had belonged to a creature of rock and strength. I scratched my head beneath my hat. Did I want this? I wouldn't exactly have described it as something that called to me, but then again, nothing else in the storeroom had either.

"I thought you'd pick that one," the Purple Robe said, drifting up behind me, "which is why I started you on the other side of the room. Ilisa Maddington used that one, you know. No one's touched it since. She lost it when the mountain where the Soil Temple had been dug out collapsed during the War of the Sunset Divide, and it was found and recovered from the ruins only a hundred thousand years ago."

Oh, I knew all about Ilisa owning the staff. Technically, that's why I had been named after Fergus the Great to begin with: a symbol of power that had belonged to a being of soil, clutched in the hand of a mutation, lost the year the great mountain fell. Fergus. The perfect name for a hexagonal nymph born with clumsy wings and a mouthful of sharp teeth. Aunt Adrina hadn't made it out of the Hy-Brasilian tunnels alive, but Aunt Amalia had. She'd watched the cave entrance collapse. She'd been there when Ilisa died, her beauty marred by falling stone. It looked exactly what I expected a staff that had been buried beneath a hill of ash and rock to look like.

"Hmm…"

When I raised my head, my eyes flashed to a tall, mint-green bag leaning like a quiver in the storeroom's corner. My wings twitched forward. No one had to tell me what was in that carrying case; I recognized the type instantly. Abandoning Fergus the Great's staff on its shelf, I skimmed straight over to the bag and grabbed one of the metal heads sticking out of it. Cold. Smooth. Attentive.

I unsheathed it easily. I'll swear even today if you ask that it leapt beneath my touch and into my hand when I reached for it. Up. Up. Higher, over my head, white storeroom lights glinting off the iron body and piercing my eyes, the beam magnified to the extreme by my glasses. Pure Earthside iron, mined and molded just for me. The leather padding hadn't worn away whatsoever over the years. Yale leather, then. Perfect. It slipped snugly beneath my fingers. I whistled and rotated my hand. "37-inch iron shaft. Round grip. Soft flex. Thick grooves on a flat, angled face. Excellent wedge. 58° loft. Oh, yes. I want this one."

The Purple Robe tucked his arms into his sleeves. "Head Pixie, I don't think that's meant to be a real choice."

"Why not?" It hovered in my grip, solid and frozenly burning. I bent, holding my arms straight, and gave it a few test swings above the ground. Sharp, glowing currents rippled across metal in time with the bobbing of the lights. Not a fleck of rust or wear upon its surface. It was very slightly too long for me, but if I lived long enough to hit the senescent stage of my life cycle, it. Would. Be. Perfect. I swung it again. It whistled in the air.

"It's a golf club."

"It's a golf club that was in this room. I like it."

"Wouldn't you rather hold Fergus's staff in your hand? Let's not forget you're selecting your staff here and now for the remainder of your reign. If the Head Pixie rules until death or until he submits the paperwork to alter Da Rules, that will be a long time. It's someone's forgotten club that got shuffled in here for storage by mistake- I've never noticed it before in my life."

"Good, then no one will fight me for it. It's mine now. Oh, this is nice. I plan to slaughter Fairy Hills with this baby. It would have been wonderful to have a golf course near the village, but there just isn't enough room for a proper one between the buildings and the woods. My dad had to make a choice and picked the saucerbee field instead. Perhaps I'll drop down near the Mid-Northern Reaches and try my luck golfing there. That would be swell."

The Purple Robe shook his head. Not to refuse me, but in simple bewilderment and slight exasperation. But, he held out his hands, palms turned up. Reverently, I placed the golf club in them, and the shaft began to glow with gold. After thirty seconds of this, the color died down to gleaming silver again. The Purple Robe handed it back to me, and pointed to the place where my full name had just been magically seared into the solid iron, along with the words, Coronated Year of the Red Petals. "It's yours now. Remember: portable diplomatic premises. Legally binding."

"I'll remember," I said, giving my club a twirl through my fingers. I caught it in my fist as it came around for the fourth time and positioned its head just in front of my eyes. "You and I are going to get along swimmingly. Oh, yes we are."

Somehow, the Purple Robe managed to avoid commenting.

My smirk disappeared when we returned to the dressing room. Keefe ran straight to me, whining about the way I'd so rudely forced him out of my pouch. Longwood sat in front of the trifold mirrors, head bowed, fiddling with something on his finger that looked suspiciously like a ring. When I came in, I saw his reflection tear it off and stuff it inside the pocket of his coat. He straightened his lapels as I came over.

"What are you hiding?" I asked, untucking my shirt so Keefe could scramble in.

"Nothing."

I held out my hand, fingers twitching. Longwood resisted for several seconds, until I snapped twice. In slow motion, he removed the ring and placed it in my outstretched palm. I brought it to my face, adjusting my glasses. It wasn't entirely a ring, in the sense that it didn't form a complete circle. It was more like half a ring, like it could balance on only the upper half of a finger. The body itself was black leather, and a tiny chip of citrine glittered in the center of the half-circle, so if it was broken, it had been broken perfectly even. It looked vaguely familiar, though I couldn't place it.

"This looks like a Zodii wedding band. Or a damaged one. Where did you find this?"

"Around."

"Right." I tapped my temple twice, then gave the ring back to him. "I've been avoiding you since you were born, and I always think of you as 'the one with the freckles', so I forgot that you're also a budding kleptomaniac."

Longwood looked at the ring, then looked up at me. "Yes," he said. "That is exactly why I have this. I've had it for years. I keep it with me because it makes me feel safe."

The Purple Robe glanced around the dressing room. "Did you take anything? There's nothing really loose here, but still, it would be incredibly disrespectful to steal from the Pink Castle."

"Technically, I don't steal things. I just want things that I find left where no one is paying attention to them and I pick them up without calling attention to myself." Longwood pointed at our original clothes, and specifically at his black and white scarf. "Those are mine. I got this out of my pocket, but I didn't touch the other stuff in here."

"Hmm."

"Are you ready to go?" I asked as he tucked the ring away in his coat again. "Any more questions before we meet with the other ambassadors and the coronation begins? You understand what you're supposed to do?"

"Actually, I do have a quick question, sir."

"All right. Mark it, Marquess Markell."

Longwood lifted his arms to either side. "Why did you pick me?"

I raised one eyebrow. "Are we going through this again? I thought we cleared this up this morning."

"But- but-" Longwood held his hands over his face. "How do you know you made the right choice? Why are you so sure that I can do this, sir? I mean, I think I'm brave, but that's it. My only claim to fame is that I'm not afraid of anything. Sanderson's afraid of snow, Hawkins is afraid of needles, Wilcox is afraid of snakes, Caudwell's afraid of rustling paper, and Bayard's afraid of the dark, and I'm- I'm not afraid of anything. I've never been afraid of anything. Why am I like this? What's wrong with me?"

The Purple Robe and I exchanged a glance. He lifted his hand in clear indication that I should field this one. I rubbed my brow. "Mister Longwood, what are your intentions in questioning my decisions?"

"How do you know I'll be a good marquess?" he demanded, dropping his hands. They clenched into soft fists in front of his chest. "You don't know me. Why would you want me to be the next Head Pixie? Me, out of everyone? I'm different than all the other pixies."

"Different? I… hadn't noticed."

"I'm a freak!"

I tightened my grip on my staff. "Longwood, you know I don't like the 'f' word. Nor do I care for this emotion you're exhibiting."

He shook his head. "But I am! H.P., I don't fit in with the other pixies. Sometimes I say things, and they look at me like I'm stupid."

"What sorts of things?"

"I don't know. When you were gone, sometimes they got mad at Ambrosine. I'd tell them to try seeing things the way Ambrosine sees them, like when he's been working hard and he's stressed, that it's hard to meet all of our needs at once, and they needed to think about and understand that. But the way they stared at me, like I was illogical- I was so humiliated. Or if I ever suggested we go anywhere, like in the woods, they thought it was weird that I would just get up and go. Even Hawkins. Just stuff like that. And I'm not good with smells like they are, and they always seem to know how to stand perfectly without getting in the way and move around crazy fast without bumping into each other, and I don't understand, sir. Why should I be Head Pixie when I'm some kind of…" He pushed his fist across his eyes. "Mutated weirdo."

"Um." I didn't entirely know how to deal with this situation. The last three times I'd tried hearing things out and talking through them had all ended badly. I reached down and patted Longwood's head. "I don't think you're a mutated weirdo. I think you'll be a good Head Pixie. It won't be for a long time yet. I'll train you. By the time we're done, you'll be just as good at my job as I am."

"Haven't you only been Head Pixie for like, one day?"

"Let's go to that coronation now."

With that, we teleported down to Inis Fáil. I say teleported instead of poofed for a reason, as all seven Robes, of course, were granted their powers by the Fairy Elder herself, and thus the magic wasn't precisely Fairy in nature. When we materialized again, we were standing on a hill of yellow-green grass, with nothing else in the immediate area but a few scraggly bushes, weeds, and of course, a big rock. It lay stretched out like a log. Smaller than I had expected such a mystical treasure to be- only as long as I was tall. The stone had been polished and stained white at some point long ago, though eons of nature and time were taking their steady toll, roughening its edges and turning the thing gray.

None of the other ambassadors had arrived yet, apart from Venus, who sprawled on the ground beside the stone, sleeping with her head on her folded arms and her bow still gripped in one hand. It was still early back at the Eros Nest; her eight-hour shift had begun at midnight and only just finished up, despite the sun dangerously close to going down here. I wondered if the tradition that the sun ought not to set on the stone with a seat of authority empty included days when the entire sky was filled by gurgling gray clouds.

The Purple Robe forbade me to touch the Lia Fáil itself, but I walked around it anyway with Longwood following me. Legend held that Fergus the Great had brought the Tuathan treasure to this spot four hundred and ninety-eight years after the end of the Sealing War. A sort of present for the young Fairy race, even though our respective peoples had fought on opposite sides. Standing before the Stone of Destiny, my staff gripped in my hand, it was nice to share my name with the fellow who had begun the coronation traditions in the first place. Other magical beings had visited the Lia Fáil in the past, but legally, it belonged only to the Fairykind these days. The other three treasures of the Tuatha had been split among our three races, but the Lia Fáil was for all of us.

Of course, Fergus the Great had also died in a freak thunderstorm almost immediately following his own coronation as Milesian king, allegedly as a result of angering his grandfather Sunnie the water spirit (so the Zodii said), but I decided not to let that get to me. Live my life without doing anything that could set off the demigod of Focus? I considered myself a pretty focused person. Should be easy enough.

Still, I watched the gray clouds gathering on the horizon anyway, and tugged Longwood closer to me by his sleeve.

The other six Robes and the Council ambassadors arrived in twos and threes over the course of the next hour (which was convenient for me, as it provided Keefe more than enough time to satisfy his belly with my liquid magic). I grabbed Longwood's shoulder when the northern elf ambassador appeared in a puff of smoke.

"Longwood, do you know who that is?"

"Um… No?"

"That's Kris Kringle. You know," I said when he looked at me blankly, "Saint Nick? Longwood, come on. Oh geez, how do I look?"

Longwood ran his eyes up and down my gray suit. "H.P., you're dressed exactly like him. Except you have clear glasses instead of black shades, and his hair is white."

"I know, I know, I just-" I smoothed my hair. "I'm exhibiting alert behavior. Of course Kris Kringle would be here. Why didn't I grab my…? Never mind. I'll get them when we stop by home before the Council meeting. Kris Kringle, Longwood."

"Okay…"

Someone poked Venus awake, and went back to do it again when she simply rolled over with a groan and covered her head. Eventually we got her up and moving. She grunted in response to my wave when she floated past me to touch base with the Blue Robe. I slid my eyes around the gathered ambassadors. Most of them had held their positions for millennia, and I recognized their faces from the media. A handful were unfamiliar to me. The will o' the wisp figurehead made me raise my eyebrows.

"Magalee Dustfinger?" I murmured, sizing her up again as she laughed with the Crown Duchess of the lawn gnomes. It was definitely her. Bright blue wings streaked with black webbing. Pale brown hair that reached past her waist and the backs of her knees. Dark brown eyes, red freckles, and all. She clutched a white crystal staff in her fist.

I looked down at my own hands. We'd both come a long way since our school years. I'd grown up too. When no one was watching, I signed the pattern for Nuada's blessing across my chest with my thumb. If Kalysta would have shown up to represent her people… I'm not sure how I would have reacted. Taking off for the hills most likely would have been frowned upon.

The ambassadors arranged themselves in a circle around the Lia Fáil in an order that was obviously well known to them. Longwood and I remained in front of the stone where we were, me clutching my golf club and he holding my elbow. No sign of Anti-Fergus, or any of the other anti-pixies. But, that was only to be expected. While every subspecies of the Fairy class was represented on the Council of Ambassadors, the High Count and High Countess sat in on behalf of all Hy-Brasil. It's just the way it was.

The seven Council Robes hovered in a row not far in front of me, all of them of precisely equal height (7'7") and with their hoods pulled up. Four Fairy representatives, interspersed with three Anti-Fairy ones, identifiable by the black crowns above their heads instead of gold. The Purple Robe floated forward.

"Today, this Autumn of the Red Petals, we gather around the Lia Fáil to welcome a new ambassador - and people - into the ranks of our Council. Fergus Whimsifinado, step forward upon this sacred ground and claim your role as Head Pixie of the pixie race."

The Purple Robe looked to me. I made a move towards the Lia Fáil, and he cleared his throat. "Head Pixie. The nymph."

"Yes," I said, pointing at him. I kept my face and wings calm, even though internally I wanted to cover my eyes and ping away. Obediently, I loosened the bottoms of my clothes just enough to coax Keefe out. Stomach full, this time he didn't complain. Much. He attracted several glances and smirks, especially when he wandered over towards King Northiae and Prince Eastkal on my left, but I didn't even twitch. If I can manage to maintain my poise even during such a scene, with the most powerful figures in the cloudlands staring me down, then I expect all of you to be able to do the same in far less stressful circumstances. It's really not that hard.

I received the hand signal from the Purple Robe to move to the Lia Fáil. With a word to Longwood to remain where he was, I flicked my wings and settled on top of it. Sitting, not standing. The stone remained cold and silent for now.

"Psst. You gray man on the rock."

I glanced up. The High Count of the Anti-Fairies, Anti-Bryndin, stood to my right with the heir presumptive Anti-Phillip and the High Countess Anti-Elina beside him. When he saw me looking, he plucked off his crown and held it against his chest, the points facing out.

"Oh." I took off my hat and tried not to gag.

"The Head Pixie," the Purple Robe droned, "is a mutation, and from him stems the pixie race, who are to become the thirty-fifth Fairy subspecies in the known universe…"

He listed off much of what we had discussed in the Pink Castle library earlier, about inheritances and retinues and the village and such. When he had finished and stepped back, Venus took her place behind me, floating, and rested her hands on my head. She cleared her throat.

"I am Venus Eros, coronated Triplet of the Morning in the Year of the Reunited Kin. My family has kept the genealogy records since the Splitting of Kahnii the Thoughtful, last of the Aos Sí race, as dictated by Aengus, son of Boann and the Dagda, in the Year of the First Love. I swear by my blood, bones, lines, and soul that the generations of the Whimsifinado family which I am about to recite are true and accurate."

"I should be taking notes," I muttered. Her fingers tightened in my hair.

"The known line begins with Ezekiel, who Split. He fathered Rushil, who fathered Rhona, who fathered Malvina, who fathered Catriona…"

I may be Daoist and firmly believe the Fairykind race came about through the literal splitting apart of the Aos Sí, but even I bow my head to the argument that had they really Split just after the planet was formed some four billion years ago, as Rhoswen's journal so claimed, there would be many more than a hundred and eleven generations in my family. Thousands, in fact. But there are not. As far as is known in modern day, there are one hundred and eleven ancestors from me to Ezekiel himself. I do not know how to account for that and I will not attempt to, so I will cross my arms and let Anti-Cosmo and his whimsical theories of slow and random evolution have their victory on this matter, even if it's stupid (You can't honestly believe all three of our races started at completely different points on the phylogenetic tree and yet evolved near-identical base physiology in the end). And his fanciful tale of the original Anti-Fairy ancestor species arriving in the cloudlands after being struck down from Plane 23 as a result of offending the gods, and only later latching on to Seelie Courter hosts to nip their skin and lick the magic from their blood? I don't think so.

[Editor's note: While Daoist myself, I decided to consult Anti-Cosmo about this topic personally. Mistake. He somehow found the time and sanity to review probably every scientific text in existence that concerns this question, and write me a dissertation two and a half inches thick. I puzzled over it on and off during the three years the Head Pixie consulted Fairy Court and the ethics boards about wizard-level memory retrieval processes. Suffice to say, I will not be including or even citing it. I took one for the team.]

Anyhow, I have previously included the complete list of the known Whimsifinado line in the very first pages of this text, so I'll skip forward.

"… Sileas fathered Praxis, who fathered Ambrosine, who fathered Fergus. Fergusius Whimsifinado, by the blood of the Tuatha Dé Danann which soaks this sacred ground, may the Lost Ancients return from their underground prison, I name you Head Pixie, the First."

My fingers tightened around the staff in my lap. My vision had begun to go fuzzy along the edges, and it didn't help that I'd been eyeballing the stormclouds on the horizon for most of her recitation. Venus's hands slid away. She bent her head to my ear. "While not typically proper for you to replace your hat while sitting upon the Lia Fáil, you do rely on a cohuleen druith, so we'll make an exception in your case."

"Thank you," I said, putting my hat back on.

The other ambassadors trickled forward to kneel, then rise and lift my hand to kiss all eight of my fingernails one at a time, after which I kissed their wrist. Each one placed a token on the grass in front of me before they withdrew. For reference purposes, I have recorded the social ladder and each of their tokens below:

The Refracted - (Not actually present, but they rank above the rest of us on the legal scale)

Fairies - A pocket copy of Da Rules listing only some of the more major cloudland laws

Cherubs - A decorative metal arrow about four inches long, piercing two small "hearts"

Nixes - A single fancy fork, spoon, and knife

Leprechauns - A cooking pot

Eastern Elves - Two wooden slippers

Western Elves - A baking pan

Northern Elves - A small white pouch that holds more than you might expect

Selkies - A pink sea shell

Swanee - A bathrobe (though not one made of feathers)

Aluxo'ob - A colorful puzzle pyramid with rotating sides

Qalupalik - A small, fuzzy blanket

Imps - A wooden flute

Habetrots - A pair of knitting needles

Barbegazi - Thick snow boots

Far Darrig - A bronze brooch in the shape of a proud rat

Korrigans - A curious wand that creates bubbles out of soap

Sylph - A writing quill made from the feather of a peacock

Anti-Fairies - Two blue handkerchiefs, one dark and one light (It may be worth noting that they are placed here around the halfway mark so they may head the ambassador table opposite from the fairies)

Banshees - A tome briefly outlining various languages and monetary systems used by various Alien races throughout the universe

Duende - A set of elegant bookends shaped like dragonflies

Lawn Gnomes - A flower pot enchanted to ensure that the first seed planted and watered in it would indeed survive to maturity despite the weather

Satyrs - A stylus and quill double sharpener (Not that I really needed something of the sort for my own; Sanderson's worked fine)

Wraiths - A handspun tablecloth of white lace

Goblins - A large silver coin shaped into a star

Kobolds - A ladybug crafted of a ruby

Ishigaq - Five fancy miniature candles and a candelabra to put them in

Amazons - Included in this list as part of the social ladder, even if they keep to themselves in Cherish Jungle to worship their chicken god and they, like the Refracts, want no business with the traditional political proceedings

Trolls - A hand-carved storage box for my wand

Púca - A set of everyday walking shoes just my size

Dwarves - A citrine the size of my eye, presumably because I was a Soil year and the citrine is the official Soil gem

The Huldufólk - A gray tin pail with a lavender stripe around its center

Will o' the Wisps - A glass vase of white flowers with yellow centers

Finfolk - Two salt and pepper shakers shaped like leaping fish

Pixies - For many millennia, our race fell in the social ladder between the leprechauns and elves. We were later kicked down the list to this point for reasons we all know.

Redcaps - Clay for molding that refused to dry out

Brownies - A bottle for carrying water that would stay cold even if my travels should take me down to Earth, and with a lip that supposedly resisted even their acidic saliva

Our token, which I would mull over and design throughout the week following my coronation, is a simple silver key dangling from a coil of black wire that forms a ring like a bracelet and scrunches in the hand (See Figure 31). At that time, we had not entirely come to be associated with paperwork, nor with our patron species, and when faced with all the other offers, I didn't fully know where to start. So I chose the key. It didn't unlock anything (or I hoped it didn't unlock anything), but it was pointed at one end, the teeth were small, and the bow a square. It was a cold, flat key. Very different from the thick and rounded ones that the Anti-Fairies had made famous. It felt nice in even my large hand. Seemed fitting enough.

On the Purple Robe's order, as promised, the entire Council of Ambassadors threw back their heads or circled their hands around their mouths or otherwise found ways to strengthen their shouts. They called my title seven times to the sky. And when they had done, the stone beneath me gave a rumble. I grabbed my hat and then the rock; amidst all the curiosities, I'd forgotten I sat on the Lia Fáil, and that it would sing for me.

It did. But I don't think I'm allowed to say any more.

At another signal from the Purple Robe, I slid off the stone and whispered for Longwood to take my place instead. He tugged off his hat without exposing his malformed crown, held both to his chest, and did so. Venus recited the Whimsifinado line again over his head, tacking him onto the end with the offhand mention of, "Mister Markell Longwood, sprig off the Whimsifinado tree, and Spriggish by nature and blood. By the blood of the Tuatha Dé Danann which soaks this sacred ground, may the Lost Ancients return from their underground prison, I name you Pixie Marquess."

The cycle of fingernail kissing (though not the token bestowals) was repeated as I watched, standing next to Keefe, who plucked at the grass between his stubby legs. When Longwood's name had been shouted and the ceremony finished (without any singing Stone of Destiny either), the Green Robe tapped a finger to his face. "All of the younger pixies are genetically identical. We should have a way to tell them apart."

"I know," the Blue Robe said. He flicked his hand. A shimmer of white sparks surrounded the hat Longwood still held against his chest. When it cleared away, we found a small metal star attached to the hat's point. A perfect match for the one that dangled from my own.

"He does have the scruffiness in the back of his hair," I pointed out.

"Future pixies might have scruffy hair."

"Yes. Yes they may. He's also the only pixie with freckles at this time besides myself." I fingered my staff, thinking drearily what Sanderson's reaction to the hat would be when we came home.

"Oh, yes." The Pink Robe nodded. "For now."

The only freckled pixie. For now. More gynes might soon litter my future. I twitched at the thought.

Longwood looked at me, then replaced his crown and hat above his head. When he hopped down from the Lia Fáil, the star jingled. Thunder rumbled a wingbeat later. The gray clouds churned, and it finally began to rain. A thunderstorm? On the heels of my coronation?

A single one of my lines began to flicker in and out of connection with the field, shaken loose by wind and weather. "Uh," I said, clenching the front of my suit as droplets splattered my glasses, "We're gonna… go."

The Purple Robe turned his golden stare on me. "I will take you back to your home so you can check in with your pixies. You have half an hour before you are expected to join us for a Council meeting at the Frozen Garden Palace on Plane 4, in the High North Region, above the Ice Continent."

A snicker from somewhere to my right. I glanced over to see a few of the ambassadors studying me and giggling amongst each other. They waved when they saw me looking, and mutually poofed off.

I cleared my throat. "If you don't mind it terribly, Esteemed Purple Robe, I would like to make a stop before we return to Pixie Village."

The golden stare narrowed. "Come again?"

"It will be quick," I assured him. "I want to make a stop by the pet store on Plane 6 by tonight, and they'll be closing soon. They have something I want that I'm hoping will shut down a certain gyne problem I've been having."

Longwood continued to blink up at the rain, occasionally raising his hands to block it from his eyes. Attentive but unspeaking.

"Head Pixie, you realize that I am the Purple Robe. If you think that you can convince me to use my sacred high powers to run an errand to the pet store… You can indeed convince me to do that." He placed a hand to his forehead made a sucking noise with his teeth somewhere beneath the shadow of his hood. "My weakness is that I love small and fluffy creatures. Very well. I'll take you. Hand me your, er, diplomatic staff, and I'll hold onto it until your everyday business is done. First to the pet store, then to Pixie Village, and then to the Frozen Garden Palace for our Council meeting."

I placed the golf club in his large hand. After checking to ensure Keefe was in my pouch and Longwood was at my side, I nodded. The Purple Robe lifted his free hand in the air, fingers spread, his palm glowing bright yellow.

Whoosh went the rush of magic, and we disappeared just before the next crash of thunder over the Lia Fáil.

A/N: Text to Text - Inis Fáil is the ancient name for present-day Ireland, allegedly given by the Tuatha themselves. This name came from the Stone of Destiny (the Lia Fáil), which is one of the Four Treasures of the Tuatha. The others are the sword of light Claímh Solais (Nuada's sword, currently possessed by the Fairy Elder), Sleá Bua (Lugh's spear, currently at the top of a huge tower in the High Kingdom, where it supposedly projects a soothing aura across the land that promotes alternate solutions to problems than fighting), and the Coire Dagdae (the bottomless cauldron of food and drink, currently possessed by the High Count and Countess of the Anti-Fairies).

It's worth noting that the Lia Fáil is important throughout all the cloudlands, not only for Fairies. All officially-recognized positions of power are coronated at this stone, including the Keeper of Da Rules, newly-elected members of the Fairy and Anti-Fairy Councils, and the High Count and Countess (though not the camarilla court- they have a higher turnover rate and their ceremony takes place only in the Blue Castle courtyard). As heir presumptive instead of heir apparent, Foop has not been coronated. If you read my 130 Prompts one-shot, "Think Positive", then you'll recall meeting Dame Artemis Cairo (aka Chief Sunchosen) of the Refracted. Because the Sun Chief position is not officially recognized even by her people at this time, she was not coronated here either.