Awake (2 page)

Willow gives me a smile so bright it instantly makes me feel bad. She has been nothing but kind to me, and I have treated her awfully. I scold myself for this as I watch her gather my clothes.

As Willow gathers my clothes for me and draws a bath, I walk to the full-length mirror to undress. I lift my nightgown over my head and examine my figure for any evidence of the fight with Damien. My eyes scan my bare skin slowly, and I am happy to note the bruises that blossomed all over my body are completely gone. The lone indication of my near death is a tiny scar on my side. The queen's healer did an amazing job at tending to the wound.

The fae in my room the first time I woke up never came back after I regained full consciousness, but there was no need. The wound was already almost healed when I awoke, and I was able to tend to it myself. I did ask the queen to thank her for me. She murmured "of course" with a small secret smile on her lips. I still find myself humming the fae's lullaby on occasion.

“Your bath is ready, Mistress,” Willow says from behind me, pulling me from my musings.

I get into the bath and begin to wash quickly. Just as I am finishing, I felt a tug on my braid. Glancing back, I see Willow crouched down on her knees, my braid in her fingers. Before I realize what I am doing, I jerk my head away from her and face her with a glare, my quick movement causing water to splash out of the tub and soak Willow. She jumps to her feet and steps back, looking at the ground once again.

“I am sorry, Mistress. I was only untying your braid so you may wash your hair. I am here to assist with all things.” Her hands twisted in an uncomfortable sign of nervousness. My stomach drops for my making her feel this way again.

I take a deep breath and shake my head at my lack of consideration. “It is okay, Willow. I just do not like for you to do those things. I do not usually like to be touched or to be taken care of. Maybe there is something else you can be doing?” I ask hopefully.

She shakes her head but does not speak. My shoulders sag. I think for a moment on the best way to fix this. An idea quickly begins to form, one I am unsure of but know I must try. Willow cannot be my servant.

“Okay then,” I begin with my best smile. “How about you and I become friends?”

“Friends?” she asks as she glances up to me finally, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Yes, friends. If we are friends, then you will not need to wait on me, do things for me, or call me Mistress. You will not have to avoid eye contact with me, and I would like you to call me Poppy. When the queen is around, we will pretend you are doing things for me, but when we are here in my room, it will be okay for you to
just
be my friend. We could talk about the court, or you could tell me about your life here. Would that be okay?”

While I speak, her features turn from confusion, to horror, to happiness. She bounces up on her toes and says with excitement, “Yes! I do understand. I would love to be your friend. I don't really have any.”

My eyes widen in astonishment. I thought I was lacking in that area, but at least I always had Rho. “Well, I am sorry you never had one, but you do now.” My smile is genuine when I answer her because I not only solved my problem, but made her happy as well.

“Oh, this is wonderful, Mis…” She breaks off when I shoot her a stern look then corrects herself, “I mean, Poppy...” She hesitates again, and I can tell by the expression on her face it was difficult for her to use my name, but she has used it and I find I am happy with this arrangement myself. I smile at her in encouragement so she will finish her thought. “What shall we do first?” she asks brightly.

Recalling all the things Rho and I did—and the things she tried to get me to do but I refused—I cannot help but smile. I glance at Willow again and suggest the most basic I can think of: “We can talk. Tell me about yourself and your family.”

Willow's face falls before saying, “Well, there's not much to tell. I don't have any other family members here at the court, and I've spent my entire life here in the queen's castle. I've trained since I was a child to be a servant and worked my way up to assisting the queen herself.” She says the last part with a hint of pride, her chest puffing out and chin tilting up slightly.

“Funny, we have that in common,” I tell her with a sad smile. Her head tilts and one eyebrow raises a fraction, so I continue, “I have no family either. The king's second-in-command raised me, and I've spent my entire life training to be a warrior. I have been told by my own kind that I am one of the best.”

“Oh, I know! Not many fae could outsmart or outfight Holly. She is one of the seelie courts best female warriors, which is why the queen sent her to retrieve you. You must be an amazing warrior.”

“Thank you.” I hesitate for a moment, not wanting to take advantage of Willow, but knowing this is a perfect opportunity. “So…speaking of Holly, I am not sure I understand her relationship with the queen. Could you explain it to me?”

Willow falters for a moment, and I fear she will not tell me, but then she does. “Holly has been raised by the queen since she was a small child. I don't know the details of how this came about, but I do know she was all alone and very young when the queen took her in. Since then, she has been trained by the queen's army, much like you, but she has also been in the queen's favor as long as I can remember. The queen treats her like her own child. That is why she tried to kill you.”

I nod, “I understand. She thought I was a threat to the queen. I would have done the same for my king.”

“No, you misunderstand. She did it not to protect the queen but because she is jealous of you. The queen was not happy at all either. Holly was severely punished.” She had lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper as she told me this.

None of this made sense. I look at Willow in confusion. “Jealous of
me
? But why?” In an instant, Willow's demeanor changes; she believes she has said too much and is getting uneasy. I ask instead, “How was she punished?”

Willow grabs onto the last question with relief, “Holly was sent to clean the kitchens for one entire day and then the stables for another. She was not allowed to train or dine with the queen for those two days. She was shunned by all fae for the duration of her punishment.”

I understand how this would be a harsh punishment for someone of Holly's status, but I still could not understand why it would be because of me. If she had tried to kill me in the presence of my king, I'm not so sure her punishment would have been as severe. Had she attacked him, on the other hand…

New questions racing through my mind, I stand and dry off fast before reaching for my clothes and getting dressed. I re-tie my braid, open my door, and head for the main dining room. It is time for some answers from the queen.

I begin to swiftly make my way down the hall, Willow scrambling to keep up with me.

“Mistress—I mean, Poppy! Wait! Where are you going?”

I stop, turn to Willow, and wait patiently for her to reach my side before I begin walking once again.

“I must speak to the queen,” I tell her. “I need to know the reason she has kept me here. Alive.”

I hear Willow gasp and glance at her quickly. “Why would the queen want you dead? That's ridiculous for you to even consider.”

“Is it really? I am not only her enemy but one of the top warriors of the unseelie court. It would be in her best interest either to kill me or to retrieve information from me. The fact she has not done either leaves me extremely uneasy. I am tired of waiting for her to make a move. Confronting her is the best solution.”

Willow remains quiet beside me, but lengthens her strides to keep pace with me.

As I walk, I take in all the differences around me. The seelie court is so different from what I am used to back home. Everything is softer and sweeter here. The flowers are pastel colors and silky to the touch, inviting you in, encouraging you to touch and smell them, instead of dark and dangerous-looking, like those of the unseelie court. The flowers there are deep colors like blood red and black, all with spiky thorns or prickly petals. The weather is pleasant and comfortable here at the seelie court as well, neither too hot nor too cold. The fae here are more trusting and even welcoming. More than that, there is an overwhelming sense of kinship within the court. Instead of the fae carrying weapons and glancing over their shoulders for a surprise attack, they nod to one another and greet each other in a genuinely friendly way.

It has been a very difficult adjustment for me. Observing how the two courts are almost exact opposites of each other has been eye-opening and bewildering. In the unseelie court the flowers are beautiful, but they are deep vivid colors and most are covered in thorns that would draw blood if you touched them. The weather always seemed nice enough but compared to this, I now realize it was always harsh, either extremely hot or unbearably cold. The fae there are far from trusting or welcoming. I was always armed and watching my back to make sure a fae was not trying to kill me, just for fun.

I still have not decided if I actually like it here or not. Although the queen insists I am a guest, I am unable to leave. A guard always shadows me, I have not been allowed to have my weapons back, and at night, my room is locked from the outside. The fact that I am unsure of my purpose here keeps me on edge and prevents me from really being able to appreciate and understand my surroundings.

As much of a hurry as I am in, I still find myself stopping frequently as I make my way to the dining hall. The queen has beautiful and captivating paintings spread throughout the entire castle. There are several rooms with ceiling murals, similar to the one in my room. They usually depict a small child and a woman who I assume is mother and daughter, all of them equally detailed and beautiful. The scenes are so majestic and calming I can usually study them for hours and still find something in them I did not notice the first few times I looked at them. Other framed paintings of various shapes and sizes hang on all of the walls. Some are small, the size of a sheet of paper one would write a letter on; others are almost as big as the wall they are hanging on. Most of these paintings are beautiful and intriguing, but there is something different about them. The images do not make much sense. Where most paintings I have seen usually depict a scene like the one over my bed of the meadow and the little girl, these seem to have no purpose. I find myself studying them for longer and longer periods of time trying to figure them out.

Willow remains quiet by my side as I make my way through the halls, pausing whenever I stop to examine a painting. She does not comment or question me, because she has grown accustomed to my frequent stops and how easily I become side-tracked. Although I am still annoyed she insists on being by my side as much as possible, I have given up the fight.

I am deep in thought, puzzling about another strange painting, when I sense a new presence behind me. Before I even turn around, I know it is the queen. Her unique scent of roses and lavender is unmistakable and so familiar to me for reasons I cannot explain. As I take in her scent, a memory struggles to make its way to the surface, but she speaks before it is able to break through. It is lost once again.

"Interesting, is it not?” Her soothing voice still catches me off guard. The way her voice flows over me and through me like a calming breeze, I have to keep myself from getting lost within it.

"I do not understand it,” I say simply. Instead of turning toward her, I continue to study it, acutely aware of her presence but trying to focus on the painting.

It is large and abnormally shaped, almost as tall as I am and only a few inches wider. The painting appears to be of an alley, similar to those in the human world, lined by two red brick walls. There is nothing in the alley except for a man. I can only see his back, although I cannot tell if he is a human or fae. He appears to be running away from something.

While I study the painting, the queen remains silent. After a few moments she speaks, but not to me. “Willow, would you be so kind and continue on your way to the dining hall? See if they could use your help finishing with breakfast preparations. Then, I'd like you to seek out Holly and let her know I need to see her in one hour. I will wait for her in the dining hall once I am finished with my breakfast. Thank you, Willow.” She says all of this in a pleasant tone, but there is no mistaking the underlying command in her voice. This not a request, and there is no room for refusal. Not that I would expect any from Willow anyway.

At the mention of Holly's name, my posture stiffened and my hands clenched at my sides subconsciously, but I force myself to relax. I know the queen is waiting for Willow to leave our presence; therefore I remain quiet as well. I start to wonder what the queen wants with Holly and why she did not want Willow present for the remainder of our conversation. Clearly she was getting rid of her so we could talk alone.

When she finally speaks, it only confuses me further. “It is not meant to be understood.”

“Excuse me? What is not meant to be understood?” I ask, genuinely caught off guard by her remark. She gestures at the painting, and I blush. I had lost track of what we were talking about, confusing our conversation with my own thoughts.

"These paintings are not meant to be understood,” she clarifies with a small smile as if she knows my mind had wandered.

I quickly regain my bearings and continue with our discussion. "But is that not the point of all paintings, to form some sort of understanding or interpretation?"

"Mostly, yes, but only those created by artists with those intentions.” Her eyes crinkle in a mischievous way, and a sly smile plays across her lips.

"Is that not all artists' intention? To have people admire their work and understand it?” I ask in exasperation.

"No, not all. Actually, most of the paintings here are not for that purpose at all."

“What sort of artist would just paint things with no meaning?"

"I would,” she says almost proudly.

I turn toward her, tilting my head to the side as I study her. "I had not heard you were an artist,” I say quietly, a little embarrassed by the criticism I had unknowingly unleashed on her artwork.

"Oh, well. I wouldn't go as far as to say I am an
artist
.” She waves her hand in the air, brushing the statement away. "These paintings are more about magic than they are about art."

I raise my eyebrows in question. "Forgive me, Queen Lily, but what is the point then?” I say, more sarcastically than I intended. I wince inwardly, waiting for a reprimand, but it does not come.

"These paintings are for prisoners of the seelie court.” Her eyes lose their benevolent luster at the mention of her prisoners.

"Prisoners?” The thought of prisoners had not yet crossed my mind. Surely to be imprisoned in the seelie court meant the criminal had done something wrong. Unlike my court, where one could simply step out of place and be severely punished. At this new idea, I find my interest piquing.

"Yes, Poppy. There are no dungeons within my castle. I think they are rather inconvenient, if not outdated and drab. They emit awful odors, and they present themselves as such an eye sore. It would take several servants to maintain them, simply a waste of time if you ask me. I don't want to put my servants through that. Using a painting to imprison these vile creatures seemed like a much better solution.” She must notice the look on my face, because she then asks, “What do you think?"

I do not know what to say to her in response. A castle without a dungeon is odd, but the idea of her keeping humans and fae prisoners in paintings is admittedly intriguing. Unable to control my curiosity I finally ask, "How does it work?” then quickly add, “If you don't mind my asking.”

"Well, I create a rather uncomfortable painting, and then I just..." She waves her hand in the air nonchalantly, "and there you have it.” She smiles at her simple explanation.

"Are they dead?"

"Oh, no! What would be the point in that?” she chuckles. "I assure you, Poppy, they are quite alive. They can see and hear. In this young man's case," she gestures toward the painting which is now behind me, "He can only watch the endless alleyway before him. He will try and try to reach the end, but he never will. In other paintings, they can understand and perceive everything going on in front of them. They cannot move, talk, or interact in any way whatsoever with those of us out here, though. What better torture than to spend endless days of seeing what you will never experience again?” She walks around me to the painting and leans close to whisper, as if telling the man in the painting a secret. "Isn't that right, darling?"

I am actually impressed. The idea alone is genius. She does not waste space or resources but is still able to punish and torture her prisoners in such a unique way—not to mention, the queen must possess mind-blowing amounts of power. Directly on the tail end of that thought, another one occurs to me: Why is she so free with information? Could it be she intends to insert me into one of her paintings and is therefore unconcerned with the possible risk I pose to her court? Is she only keeping me comfortable until she finishes with her latest canvas? I cannot help but fear her a little, even though she seems to be so friendly.

The answers I had wished to seek from her earlier this morning are momentarily forgotten as I think about what my fate could be in the seelie court. My brow furrows in concentration just before she speaks again.

"I can see your mind working, Poppy. It is too early to be thinking of all this. Join me for breakfast. We can talk more while we eat. Maybe you will ask me some of those questions I can tell are forming.” Then she strides quickly but gracefully toward the dining hall, leaving me no other choice but to follow behind her.

Once we reach the hall, I once again am side-tracked by the scents. Since I have been at the seelie court, I have chosen to eat only fruits and vegetables and to drink sugar water in my room. But now that I smell the cooked meats, fruits, vegetables, and baked breads, I remember what I have been missing, and my mouth begins to water. I had not realized how much I missed fae food, similar to food in the human world, but always fresh and enhanced with the magic of the fae.

Following behind the queen, I make my way to a large table decorated with elegant flowers and two place settings. The plates are made of what appears to be solid gold, but they look very thin and fragile. A servant waits beside one of the place settings with her hand on a chair already pulled out. Looking to the queen for direction, I wait until she indicates with a nod that I am to sit. Once seated, I begin to pull the chair in, but stop when the servant pushes it in for me. I turn to thank her, but she is already returning to the kitchen.

Another servant comes out of the swinging kitchen doors as the other walks in. Her hands hold a large platter which she sets down beside me. She lifts the top to display the abundance of food. There are quail eggs, sugar-coated grapes, baked cinnamon apples, strawberry pastries, every variety of quiche, and several freshly baked breads that are still steaming. She walks away, and another servant brings out several pitchers containing fresh-squeezed orange juice, milk, and pomegranate juice. The choices are overwhelming, but I find myself wanting a taste of them all.

The servant begins to place the various items in front of me. When she has arranged everything neatly and all within my reach, she turns to me and softly asks, “Will there be anything else, Pr…?”

Before the fae can finish, the queen quickly speaks over her, cutting her off. “That will be all, Sage. If Poppy or I need anything else, we will call. Thank you,” she says, dismissing the fae back to the kitchen.

I glance over at the queen to see she has the same food spread out in front of her, as well. She watches the fae move back into the kitchen and only looks at me again when we are alone.

“Poppy, I am so happy you joined me this morning. You've been avoiding me since you awoke from your injuries. I wasn't sure this day would come,” she says bluntly. I begin to open my mouth to defend myself or apologize—I am honestly unsure which—but she quickly waves her hand to stop me. “I know your reasons, and I understand. How are you feeling?”