Present day…
"Oak, stop!"
Jude Duarte, seventeen years old, was standing outside her foster father's stronghold with her parents and younger brother, waiting for the arrival of her sisters, niece and brother-in-law in a dignified manner. At least, that was the idea. Her younger brother Oak had different plans. Instead of waiting patiently at his mother Oriana's side, he was racing around in circles, trailing a stuffed snake in the dust and giggling.
"Hold still!" Jude scolded. "And that's my snake," she added, though without much hope of him listening. She was beginning to accept that the snake was now Oak's property.
"Don't wanna!" Oak laughed, and stuck his tongue out at her while he zipped by.
Oriana caught hold of him, arresting his flight. "Oak, be still," she said in her gentle but relentless voice. "What would your sisters think of such behavior? And you need to set a good example for your niece."
Jude rolled her eyes: Taryn's daughter Philomel was only a few months over a year old, far too young to worry about such things. If anything, she'd probably adore Oak's games. But Oriana's remonstration worked: Oak calmed, and the family returned to gazing at the sky in expectancy.
Grand General Madoc, correct and dignified in an understated dark uniform, leaned over Jude. "Master Noggle tells me you did well in the last test, Jude," he said. "Well done."
"I'm glad I made you proud, Father." Jude hid a flash of resentment. Who was Madoc to tell her he was proud of her schoolwork, when he was the one who'd wrecked her dreams of becoming a knight a few weeks ago, all in a few words? Jude was still smarting over that. But luckily, a different chance had come along.
Jude's sliced hand ached inside its bandage. She hid it in her pocket. It's worth it, she assured herself. It'll all be worth it, once Dain is King. Her stomach still churned from last night's dose of poisons, but she ignored it. Ignore all weakness. Ignore it and conquer it. Once Dain was High King, he would reward her. She would finally have a place of her own at Court, a good place.
"Look!" Oak interrupted her thoughts, flinging an arm at the sky.
Jude straightened, and the family all watched as the dot in the sky drew ever closer, until it resolved into three ragwort steeds, all galloping through the air. Despite herself, Jude's heart lifted as the familiar faces came into focus, and she waved joyfully. "Taryn! Vivi!" she called.
"Hi, Jude!" Vivienne's face was beaming as her steed touched down. She hopped off and, ignoring Madoc and Oriana completely, came over to wrap Jude in a hug. Jude leaned into her older sister's embrace, relishing the feel of her, the familiar scent. "How've you been?"
"Oh, I'm fine." There was no need to tell Vivienne about her work with the Court of Shadows, Jude decided, let alone her escalated schoolyard rivalry with Prince Cardan. "How're you?"
"Quite well," said Vivienne. She looked well, Jude admitted to herself, smiling and happy in her scruffy-looking human clothes. Life on the Ironside clearly suited her.
Meanwhile, the tall, green-haired faerie had dismounted and, in turn, swung Taryn off her horse. Taryn, burdened with a baby carrier on her back, beamed at him before going over to bob respectfully to Madoc and Oriana. The gesture looked odd, Jude thought, when Taryn was wearing jeans and sneakers. At least her top was correct—a burgundy velvet riding jacket over a lace-trimmed shirt—but the effect was ruined by the baby carrier.
"Mother, Father," Taryn said, "it's good to see you again."
"And you, Taryn," said Madoc warmly.
"And how is the little one?" Oriana asked, melting as she always did in the presence of a young baby. Taryn unloaded baby Philomel from the carrier and placed her in her grandmother's arms. Philomel, a black-haired, purple-eyed bundle of trouble, cooed and swatted her hands at Oriana's face. "Gramma!" The faerie woman laughed.
Taryn now turned to Jude. "Jude! It's great to see you!" She launched herself into Jude's arms, and the twins hugged for a long moment.
"You too," said Jude, swallowing back unexpected tears of emotion. "How's motherhood treating you?"
Taryn made a face, and both her sisters laughed. "It's…got its ups and downs," she said. "But Oak! Wow, you're so big these days!" She turned to greet her little brother.
The green-haired faerie man had dismissed the ragwort steeds and now strode to greet Madoc and Oriana with elegant bows. "Grand General, Lady Oriana," he said in a musical voice. "A pleasure."
"Indeed." Madoc's gaze was penetrating on his son-in-law. "It must be strange to be back at Court, Lysander."
Lysander glanced around at the beautiful gardens, the woods rustling with magic, the grasses glittering under the sun of Faerie. "Indeed. It has…been a while."
Jude watched her brother-in-law's emerald-green gaze go distant, and wondered yet again just how old Lysander was. He was ageless in the manner of faeries, so it was impossible to tell for sure, but Jude suspected he was very old indeed.
Lysander shook off whatever reverie had caught hold of him and turned to Jude with another flowing bow. "Jude," he said warmly. "My dear sister-in-law. How are you?"
"Fine," said Jude. It was strange to contrast Lysander's formal manner with the casual human clothes he was wearing. He wasn't this formal when Jude went to visit him and Taryn in their house in the Ironside. "It hasn't been that long since we last saw each other, you know," she reminded him.
Lysander gave one of his warm, slow smiles. "No, perhaps not. I hope you can come again soon, Jude. I know Taryn is always glad to see you."
Jude smiled noncommittally. In truth, her visits to Taryn's married home were odd experiences. On the one hand, it was always nice to see Taryn and baby Philomel, and even Lysander, who was consistently polite and welcoming. Sometimes it was good to take a break from school and the High Court, too. But Jude just couldn't get over how strange Earth was. It shouldn't have been—she was human, it was where she'd been born, where she belonged—but everything about it seemed flat, unreal. The rules made no sense, and everyone acted so strange, participating in nonsensical activities and operating in a system utterly alien to Jude.
Besides, life at Taryn and Lysander's house was so…dull. They seemed to have embraced boredom as a lifestyle. A typical day with Taryn involved playing with Philomel, walking to the little library in the local human town, maybe going swimming at the public pool, having tea, and watching Taryn sew and Lysander work in the garden. Their house and garden lay isolated in the middle of an ancient wood laden with Lysander's magic, so no one ever came to visit.
"Don't you ever get bored?" Jude had once asked Taryn. "I mean, haven't you even made any friends or anything?"
Taryn shrugged, looking tired. "It's not that easy, Jude. The local people don't exactly approve of me."
Jude, who had meant faeries when she said "friends", blinked. "They don't?" She couldn't imagine what they'd find to disapprove of in Taryn, a respectable wife and mother and always the most inoffensive of the sisters.
Taryn's smile was bitter. "They think I'm too young to be a mother," she said. "Having a baby at age fifteen isn't acceptable to the mortals here. I tell them Philomel is my daughter and they look at me like I have some kind of disease." She sighed. "Mostly they think Philomel is my sister. They tell me what a good big sister I am, helping my mother with the baby. Sometimes I…let them."
Jude thought this sounded awful. "Why don't you come back to Court, then? No one would care how old you were when Melly was born. You wouldn't have to pretend."
"Life at Court was nothing but pretense, Jude," said Taryn, her voice going flat and hard as it sometimes did. "I don't miss it and I don't want to go back there. I can deal with a few middle-aged women pursing their lips at me."
Jude still didn't know how Taryn could stand it. She was happy to see her sister and niece, but she was always glad to go back home at the end of every visit.
But now Taryn and Oriana were heading into the stronghold, Oriana still carrying Philomel, the two mothers chattering about their children. Vivienne, who still hadn't greeted Madoc, or even acknowledged his existence, was leading Oak in by the hand, the pair chattering too. Madoc headed in after them. "Come, Jude," he called back.
"Yes, Father." Jude turned to follow, and staggered under a sudden wave of dizziness.
She blinked it away and saw, to her horror, that Lysander was frowning at her. "Are you okay, Jude?" he said in a low tone.
Jude's heart thumped. Lysander was her brother-in-law and relatively nice, as faeries went: but she knew not to ever show any weakness before any faerie, ever. "Of course!" she said, willing jaunty energy into her voice. "I'm just…thinking about the coronation tomorrow. Such a huge event!"
"Yes." Lysander looked inexplicably sad. He stared off with a deep sigh. "King Eldred is giving up his throne in three days."
"Yes," said Jude. "And he's chosen Prince Dain as his heir!" She smiled, thinking of her patron attaining the very highest rank in Faerie.
The look Lysander gave her was black. "He's dying, Jude," he said flatly. "In three days, Eldred goes into the Land of Promise of his own free will. That is no light thing."
"I didn't say it was," said Jude, stung. "Do you think I don't understand death…?" She broke off, old pain rising, accompanied by a much newer wound.
That messenger she'd killed. His blood in the moonlight. And Valerian.
Lysander's face softened. "My apologies, Jude. I didn't mean to hurt you. Just remember: for every sunrise, there's a sunset too. And not everyone wants to see each day end."
And with that he went into the house, leaving Jude staring after him.
"So Jude," said Taryn, sprawled on Jude's bed, "how are you doing, really?"
It was after dinner. A deep, gorgeous night had settled over the Shining Isles of Elfhame. The three sisters were seated around Jude's bedroom in various poses, snacking off a plate of pastries. Oriana and Tatterfell were looking after Philomel and Lysander was off somewhere on the island, allowing the girls this time together.
"Fine," said Jude shortly.
"You always say that," said Vivi. She ate another honey pastry. "But seriously, what's going on in your life?"
"Nothing much." Jude made sure her wounded hand was hidden in her skirt. "I go to school. I train." I spy on courtiers. I murder messengers and old school bullies. I sneak into Hollow Hall and watch Prince Balekin beat up his brother…
"I thought Madoc said you couldn't be a knight," said Taryn, eyes soft with sympathy.
"What!" Jude sat upright on the floor. "Who told you that?"
"Oriana, in one of her letters. I'm really sorry, Jude."
"Well, I guess it doesn't matter." Jude tried to shrug it off. "Madoc says he's got other plans."
"What plans, exactly?" Vivi's gaze was sharp and suspicious.
"Just—plans. He doesn't tell me." Jude's stomach roiled, and she put down her half-eaten pastry. Her body was still recovering from the last mithridatism session.
"Of course he doesn't." Vivi rolled her eyes. "Face it, Jude: all he does is condescend and belittle you. You'll always be a little girl to him—a human girl. You should move to Earth permanently."
"Oh, yes!" Taryn brightened. "It would be great if we could all be together!"
Resisting Vivi's blandishments had gotten harder, Jude reflected, ever since Taryn had hopped onto the you-should-emigrate bandwagon. "I hate it there," she said. "And how could I earn a place for myself?"
To her surprise, Taryn laughed. "You could do that easily, Jude! You could become a personal trainer, a fencing instructor—maybe even a stunt actor!"
"A…what?"
"A stunt actor. They're actors who stand in for the main actor in movies, when the scene calls for a sword fight or something the main actor's not trained in. Lysander and I were watching this movie the other night…"
Jude watched Taryn as her twin prattled on about the movie. It was like this every time she saw Taryn these days, she thought: Taryn seemed to be more engrossed in the human world all the time. Jude could still remember her surprise the first time she'd visited to find a still-pregnant Taryn wearing a t-shirt and maternity jeans and absorbed in a laptop. And it had only gotten worse: these days Taryn talked about earning her "GED" (whatever that meant) so she could attend college when Philomel was a little older, get her "degree" and open her own "fashion business".
Taryn's letters to Jude were surreal. When she wasn't spouting nonsensical phrases, she was burbling about Philomel's latest development, or whatever mundane but pleasant activity she and Lysander were doing together. The only questions she ever asked about Court or Faerie were how Jude, Oriana or Oak were doing. This was the first time Taryn had visited Court since her marriage two years before.
It made Jude feel…she didn't know. On the one hand, she was glad Taryn seemed so content. Or she was trying to be. Really, she was. But she just didn't understand why. And, at her deepest, most shameful level, Jude felt abandoned. Growing up, she and Taryn had been lonely and frightened and miserable together, two human girls isolated in the faerie High Court, sharing secrets and sharing trauma. Now Taryn had left her behind, and Jude was alone.
Taryn was still jabbering on about the movie. Jude couldn't stand it anymore. "Taryn," she said, "I don't care about the movie, all right?"
Taryn stopped talking, looking a bit hurt. "Okay, sorry."
Jude felt a bit bad, but not enough to stop her next question. "Taryn, how is it that you're so happy with Lysander? You didn't even pick him for yourself. Mom and Dad made you marry him."
"Jude!" Vivi scolded.
Taryn's face darkened. "I know." She shifted around on the bed. "Look, circumstances two years ago…they weren't ideal. But Lysander's been good to me. And to Melly. And before you ask, Jude, no, I don't miss Court. Not even a little. I like living on the Ironside. It's nice, not having to worry about whether I'm going to be attacked every time I set foot outside my own door."
"Hear, hear!" said Vivi, giving Jude a meaningful look.
"But you were only fifteen," said Jude. "Only fifteen when Madoc and Oriana arranged the marriage."
That had been a strange time, she reflected. Madoc and Oriana had, without warning, yanked fifteen-year-old Taryn out of school and confined her to the house. They wouldn't tell Jude or Vivienne why, no matter how they asked. Taryn had been weepy and miserable, Jude recalled, and just as closed-mouthed as their parents. And then Madoc had conjured Lysander, a perfect stranger, out of nowhere, and announced that Taryn was marrying him. Jude and Vivienne had both protested, but Taryn had gone to her fate with the silent resignation of a condemned prisoner going to face the axe. That very day, she and Lysander were gone.
Six months later, Philomel was born.
"Jude…" Taryn seemed to fold in on herself on the bed. "It's like I said. Circumstances two years ago weren't great. The marriage was the best solution. The only solution."
To what? Jude wanted to ask. Taryn had been pregnant when she married Lysander, but Jude was prepared to bet serious money that Taryn hadn't even set eyes on her husband-to-be until the wedding. There was no way he was Philomel's father.
So who was?
Could it have been Locke, a faerie aristocrat about their age? Jude vaguely remembered that Taryn had had some kind of schoolyard flirtation with him. She supposed he was a candidate. But it was impossible to know now: not long after the wedding, Locke had been found dead on the beach, half-eaten by sea creatures. An accident, the official ruling said, but Jude had her doubts. She wouldn't put it past Madoc to murder a boy who'd knocked up his daughter and then refused to do his duty…
"Jude? What's that on your hand?"
Jude realized she'd let her bandaged hand slip. She hastily tried to hide it in her skirt again, but Vivienne was too fast. Pouncing, she grabbed Jude's wrist and hauled her hand out for inspection. Her eyes widened.
"Jude…what is that? What happened?"
"Nothing." Jude tried to wrench her hand away, without success. "I just cut myself, that's all. Let go!"
Vivienne's slit-pupiled eyes fixed on her. "Someone cut you, didn't they?" Behind her, Taryn was crowding in, craning over Vivi's shoulder to peer at Jude's hand.
"No, they didn't." Jude finally got her hand away. "I told you, I just cut myself."
In her head, Prince Dain's voice echoed: You are my creature, Jude Duarte.
Her sisters were both looking at her with huge, horrified eyes. Clearly, they weren't buying the lie. "It was Prince Cardan, wasn't it?" said Taryn. "That awful little jackass cut you!"
"'Jackass', Taryn? Really?" Jude tried to cover it up with a sarcastic laugh. She didn't want to think about Prince Cardan, or the paper she'd found in the book she'd stolen from his room in Hollow Hall…
"Well, it does describe him pretty well, doesn't it?" said Taryn in one of her moments of flat, bitter honesty. "Come on, what's the royal jackass done to you?"
"Nothing." Yet. "I keep telling you, this was an accident." And nothing compared to what I'm going to do to Cardan once Dain is King and I'm in his favor…
Her sisters continued to stare at her in horror. "You need to come back with us to the Ironside, Jude," Vivienne said. "Seriously. Once the coronation's over, come back with us."
"You know I can't stand it there!"
"Taryn thought that too, but now she's happy as a clam," Vivienne argued.
"I'm not Taryn."
Before the argument could continue, the door opened. Tatterfell appeared in the doorway, holding a sleepy Philomel. The half-faerie awoke and held out her arms for Taryn. "Mommy!"
With one last worried glance at Jude, Taryn stood and went over, taking her daughter into her arms. "Yes, Melly, it's me…" She jiggled her baby in her arms, making Philomel laugh.
"Where's her father gone?" Jude asked, desperate to change the subject. "Where's Lysander?"
"I don't know," Taryn said thoughtfully. "He said he wanted to see an old acquaintance, but he didn't say who. I wonder where he went?"
"My King." Lysander bowed, closing the door to the secret passage behind him.
Before him was a small but well-appointed room, tucked away in the High King's private quarters in the Palace of Elfhame. The High King himself, Eldred, ruler of all Faerie, lay back in his chair and lifted weary eyes at Lysander's approach. "Leave off the formal nonsense, Sander," he commanded, voice a thin croak. "I'm too tired for it."
Lysander took Eldred at his word and approached without further ceremony. Inwardly, he was shocked at the change in the other faerie: Eldred was so much thinner than Lysander remembered, his face gaunt and hollow. Centuries-old exhaustion had turned his eyes to pits. Faeries might not age the same way humans did, but Time had clearly ravaged Eldred Greenbriar.
"So you're really doing it," Lysander said quietly. "You're really abdicating."
"Did you truly think I wouldn't?" Eldred gave a smile: tired, but with a razored edge. "Or, perhaps, hoped?"
"The thought did cross my mind." Lysander seated himself across from Eldred. "Eldred…are you sure…?"
"Quite sure," snapped Eldred. "You're not going to talk me out of this, Lysander."
Lysander let out a silent sigh of defeat. "Then who shall be the next ruler of Faerie?"
"Dain." Eldred spoke his second son's name without enthusiasm. "None of my children are worth much, but he's the best of the sorry lot. He'll do a reasonable job of it." He sighed. "What nightmares children are. You're lucky never to have had any, Sander."
"I do have a daughter now, Eldred," Lysander said, his voice gentling as it always did when he spoke of Philomel.
"Oh. Yes. Her." Eldred waved a dismissive hand. "I forgot you married the Grand General's daughter. How's that marriage going, anyway?"
"Quite well," Lysander said. "Taryn's a sweet girl, no trouble at all to live with. And our daughter Philomel is a joy."
Lysander's mind flashed back to the wedding two years ago. How he'd stumbled into the little room in the Grand General's stronghold, Madoc and Oriana's orders—and accompanying threats—still ringing in his ears. He'd faced the woman who was to be his wife in a few minutes. The girl, rather: he'd been shocked by how young she was, and how miserable, thin and exhausted, eyes red-rimmed, face gray. The human child had stared at him like he was Doom incarnate, one hand going to her abdomen, just starting to swell with pregnancy.
Taryn had cheered up a lot since then. Together with Philomel, they had fallen into an amicable relationship, even a happy one. But that terrible day remained vivid in Lysander's memory. And there was no way he was going to tell Eldred all he truly knew.
"Well, at least one of us is happy," Eldred said now. To Lysander's surprise, he reached out to take Lysander's hand, his grip cold and bony. "Promise me," the King said in an urgent whisper, "that you'll find me. When you go to the Land of Promise, centuries or millennia from now, promise you'll find me. That we'll see each other again."
Tears stung Lysander's eyes. He squeezed the King's hand. "If such is possible," he whispered, "then I promise you, Eldred, that we will see each other beyond death."
He did not protest that he was immortal and might never die. Lysander and Eldred were both old enough to know that no faerie truly lived forever.
The two faeries sat together in the King's private quarters, silently holding hands in the deepening twilight.
Note on Taryn's marriage: just so we're clear, forcing a fifteen-year-old girl to get married constitutes child abuse. It is, in fact, a form of rape. Her marriage is working out for Taryn, but her situation is extraordinary in more ways than one. I do not advocate child marriage of this type in real life, and I apologize if its inclusion in this fic causes any discomfort to readers.