A Fairy Tale (34 page)

“Maybe,” Sophie admitted through teeth gritted against the pain in her arm. She was starting to get lightheaded, though surely she couldn’t have lost that much blood yet. Slitting one’s wrists was supposed to be an ineffective suicide method. You had to do it in warm water to keep the blood from clotting before you bled out. Not that she’d studied suicide methods. She’d merely watched more than a few crime shows on TV. Her father had liked those. Then she realized her mind was wandering and forced her focus back to the present.

Maeve leaned forward, half rising out of the throne, but thought better of that and sat back down. “What have you done? Why is the throne not accepting me as its rightful ruler?”

“Maybe because you
aren’t
its rightful ruler. Did you think you could trick something like this?”

“What didn’t you tell me?” Maeve demanded.

Feeling more and more lightheaded, Sophie laughed. “I was the one who asked them for help, and they only helped me,” she said. “They got your feet wet, and I’m fairly certain they moved a few shells back into your path. Oh, and I was the one who found the right rose. But your rose helped, too.” She held up the thumb that had been pricked. “That’s what brought us into the palace.”

“We aren’t in the palace,” Maeve thundered. “We’re still in the garden. There is no palace.”

“You don’t see it? We’ve been in the palace ever since we came through the door. I suppose my blood only works for me.” She forced herself to rise to her knees. “And you have to think that with something like this, there’s a penalty for cheating. In all the stories, bad things happen to unworthy people who try to steal power.”

It was difficult to tell when someone with porcelain skin went pale, but Maeve’s skin took on a chalky look, and she lost all her fairy radiance. Then she pitched forward. Although the throne didn’t move at all, it looked as though it had ejected her. Sophie barely rolled out of the way so that Maeve didn’t fall on top of her. Her vision was growing blurry, and she heard a roaring in her ears. She’d feel so much better if she could just rest for a while. Maeve wasn’t moving, so it should be safe. She closed her eyes with a sigh.

As she drifted off, she thought of her sister, of Michael and his wife. Maeve might have been thwarted, but this wasn’t over. She forced her eyes open and struggled back to her knees, but she was growing weaker and weaker. Could she really have lost that much blood already? It wasn’t a large wound, but it had possibly been an enchanted knife. Losing her balance, she reached out her bloody hands for the nearest object on which to steady herself: the throne.

A burst of strength shot through her. She got to her feet, then practically fell onto the throne. It was as though the throne had pulled her to it. Then the universe exploded.

When her vision cleared, the hall was entirely different. The vines were gone from the windows, so the odd Realm light streamed through. Courtiers milled about in diaphanous raiment. The distant front doors to the hall flew open, and a cluster of guards moved forward. When they were halfway to the dais, she could see that they surrounded a human man dressed in what she guessed to be Renaissance attire. He showed no sign of fear, in spite of being a prisoner. In fact, he gave the impression that they’d done exactly what he wanted.

“So, you have come to slay the queen of the Realm,” she heard herself saying. Although the voice wasn’t hers, the words seemed to come out of her mouth. She had the sense that she found the man interesting. With his bright red hair and beard and his aura of power, he might have been fae, himself.

“I’ve come to empty the throne, one way or another,” he said in a rich Irish brogue.

“Why do you care about the affairs of a Realm in an entirely different plane of existence?” she asked.

“Because your people have been invading our world and causing no end of trouble.”

“And you think that removing me from my throne will stop that?”

“If the Realm isn’t united, the fae will have other things to worry about.”

She laughed. “And I won’t go riding through your world, scooping up dreamers, collecting the fealty that’s owed to me, or stealing babies. Is that it?”

“That’s the sum of it, yes,” he said.

Smiling to herself, she asked, “How do you plan to remove me from my throne?”

He raised his arms, flinging the guards aside magically, and rushed up the dais steps, grabbed her hand, and pulled her to her feet. “Something like this,” he said with roguish grin that gave her a flutter like nothing she’d felt in a very long time. Holding the courtiers and guards at bay with his magic, he pulled her behind him toward the exit.

She resisted, saying, “No, this way,” and they ran together down a side corridor to the garden, where they lost themselves in the maze. There she faced him and said, “What if I agree to stop the raids and the processions through your world? I cannot promise there will be no incursions, but I will no longer demand tribute from your people.”

“You expect me to trust the word of the fairy queen?”

“We do have a reputation for untrustworthiness, I will admit. What must I do to prove my word to you?”

“Leave the throne.”

“That would divide the Realm as others try to take it. You do not know what you ask of me, enchanter.”

They talked for hours, and to Sophie it seemed as though she was fast forwarding through the scene. In fact, it soon seemed to be another meeting between the two, this time more an assignation between lovers than a parley between foes. She greeted him with great joy in her heart, and when he was gone, some of the light went out of her life. At yet another meeting, she took his hands and said, “I can give you what you want.”

With a saucy gleam in his eyes, he said, “You already have, my love, many a time.”

“What you want in your role as enchanter. I will leave the throne.”

“That’s not necessary. You’ve been true to your word.”

“I want to leave. I have ruled for so long I scarcely remember a time before. Your coming has been the only thing to change the unending days. I want to go with you, to be with you always.”

“My always is rather different from yours,” he said somberly.

“But yours has more life in it.”

“You would give up your immortality for me?”

“For you, and for me, as well. I can hide the throne so no one can take it, and I can pass on the knowledge to our children, and they to their children, in case it ever needs to be found.”

They ran away, hand in hand, as vines began growing over the castle they left behind.

And then Sophie was back in the hall the way it had been earlier, seated on the throne, with a woman facing her. Even though she’d never seen the face of the woman in the vision she’d just experienced, she knew exactly who she was: the fairy queen. She was tall and lithe, with flame-red hair. “My daughter,” the queen said, “you have found my throne.”

“Daughter?” Sophie whispered. Had she just witnessed the courtship of her ancestors? If so, they were countless “greats” removed, but then there had been something familiar about the man, an echo passed through the generations that she’d seen in her father, her grandmother, and even her own mirror. Any resemblance to the fairy queen was harder to find, but her eyes were the same silvery gray as Sophie’s odd left eye. “That explains me, then—both enchantress and fae,” she said with a nod of understanding. “That’s why no one knows what to make of me—or knew but wouldn’t tell me.” It also explained so much more, too much for Sophie to process at the moment, especially as lightheaded as she still felt. She wasn’t entirely sure this moment wasn’t also a dream. She felt like she was floating in a hazy mist.

“And now you have come to take your rightful throne.”

That jolted Sophie out of her fog. “No! I came to keep someone else out of it.”

“You must live your heritage, my daughter. The Realm needs a queen.”

“Like a fish needs a bicycle.”

The queen’s brow creased in confusion. “I do not understand.”

“They’ve gotten by without you for centuries, and as I’m far more human than fae, my sympathies lie with the outside world.” Hoping to appeal to something her ancestor might understand, she added, “Have you considered that I might be in love? You wouldn’t deny me the chance to do what you did.”

The queen laughed again. “You, in love? You have not known a man.”

Sophie cringed. Did she have a sign on her back? Flashing “virgin” lights on her forehead? “That doesn’t mean I don’t love,” she whispered as her thoughts went unbidden to Michael. Michael who had just found his wife again, she reminded herself firmly. There was no point in developing a hopeless affection for an unavailable man.

“The Realm needs a queen,” the former queen repeated. “Haven’t you noticed that it’s dying? I did not realize that would be the consequence of my departure.”

“It’s not exactly an urgent consequence, since it’s taken at least five centuries,” Sophie pointed out.

“That is but a blink of an eye to our kind. You must take the throne or the Realm will die and be no more.”

Something in Sophie snapped. “Why is that my responsibility?” she shouted. She would have come off the throne if it had let her, but it had her in its grip. “It’s enough that my family and my town can’t—or won’t—do without me, but now there’s a whole Realm that will die unless I rule it? At some point in my life I was hoping that I would get to
have
a life.”

“The entire Realm, all its people, depend on you. I know we have long plagued your kind, but we have also brought much to you. Without us, who will inspire the artists, the musicians, the dreamers—and, yes, the dancers?”

“Oh, great,” Sophie groaned. “Now I’m not only responsible for the entire Realm, but also the arts in the real world? If I told anyone this, they’d claim I was a raging narcissist. I can’t be that important.”

“You are the rightful heir to the throne. You won it through blood, knowledge, and the loyalty of your subjects. This is where you belong.” The queen paused and frowned. “But you are not yet crowned. Why did you take the throne without being crowned?”

“It was more like the throne took me.”

“You have very little fae blood.” The apparition of her distant ancestor was fading, and the light in the hall grew dimmer as darkness closed in on Sophie. “I had not planned for that. You have much human magic, but so little of ours. The palace may not accept you properly.” If she said anything beyond that, Sophie didn’t hear it because her surroundings had disappeared entirely, leaving her lost in eternal blackness.

The Courtyard

Meanwhile

Michael felt like he’d spent so much time waiting helplessly that he’d nearly given up hope that anything would ever happen. When it did happen, it took him totally by surprise. With no warning, the vines shrank back on themselves, retreating into their roots and revealing a towering castle.

“Her majesty has done it!” the other redheaded woman rejoiced.

“I suppose that’s true, considering that whichever one did it would now be ‘her majesty,’” Athena muttered.

“It’s got to be Sophie, right?” Emily asked. “She had a plan, I’m sure.”

Amelia strode forward and opened the door. “Let’s find out.” One of Maeve’s guards moved as though to stop her, but she held him back with a smile. “Oh, come now, do allegiances really matter at this point?”

He glared at her and entered the palace, the others following him. Michael tried to stay near Jen, but she was focused on her fairy friend. He reminded himself that they had other things to worry about right now, such as what had happened to Sophie and Maeve.

They found themselves staring down an impossibly long hallway. “This way,” Eamon directed. “I know this place.”

The hallway ended in a giant chamber that could have held Yankee Stadium, with room to spare. A table loaded with suspiciously fresh-looking food for a place that smelled stale with disuse stood nearby, but otherwise the room was empty. “Up there!” Athena said, pointing. At the back of the hall stood a throne on a high dais. The woman sitting on the throne didn’t seem to notice their arrival.

When they reached the foot of the dais steps, they saw that it was Sophie on the throne. Although she sat upright, she appeared to be unconscious. Maeve lay motionless at her feet. Emily ran up the steps to her sister’s side, calling her name. Maeve’s people and Jen rushed to their fallen ruler and knelt around her in dismay. Michael ignored them, figuring that the fairies would know what to do about one of their own. He focused on Sophie. Her clothes were covered in blood, which worried him. The left sleeve of her sweater was soaked and there was a giant bloody patch near the hem of her skirt, but he didn’t see any wounds.

He and the elderly sisters climbed the steps more slowly than Emily had. When he reached the throne, he searched Sophie’s neck for a pulse, but found nothing. Her skin was too cold even for death. He’d seen her alive too recently for her body to have cooled that much. “Something’s wrong,” he said, in what he was sure was the understatement of the year.

“I don’t believe she’s dead,” Athena said, studying the motionless Sophie. “The castle woke, and I don’t think that would have happened if she were dead.”

“I don’t think she’s alive, either,” he said. “Not exactly.”

“She’s on the throne,” Amelia said, frowning.

“Well, yeah,” Michael said.

“It is our mandate to keep the throne empty.”

“Better her than Maeve,” Emily said. “You know if Sophie’s in charge, there
will
be changes around here.”

“Let’s worry about that later,” Michael said. “I think the priority for now should be to figure out how to revive her. Then we can find out what happened.”

Athena smiled mischievously as she said, “A kiss from her protector and defender usually awakens the sleeping princess.”

Michael felt his cheeks growing warm. “You want me to kiss her?”

“You’re the only mortal man here, and it needs to be a mortal to bring her back to mortality.”

He couldn’t bring himself to kiss another woman in front of his wife, even if his wife was currently snuggled against some other man. She was brainwashed. He had no such excuse. Maybe a kiss on the forehead would work, like he might kiss a sister or a child. But then something occurred to him as he leaned over her.