For Your Heart (Hill Dweller Retellings) (6 page)

    
Most hours, one can expect high revelry in the main hall.  But now, at noon, the banquet tables have been picked over, dry crumb and greasy bone scattered over delicate gossamer cloth, goblets tipped and dripping blood-hue liquid on the white marble,
Aos Si
lounging about – made immobile and sluggish by wine, revelry, and the heat of the day.  I prefer coming home during this time because I’m less likely to get roped into orgiastic affairs by a tipsy
bean-sidhe
.

    
As I step over snoring, half clothed bodies,
brownies
scurry back and forth – their small hands cleaning up the mess, resetting tables, and refilling pitchers with summer ale so that, upon waking, the courtiers can start over again.  Such is the immortal life.  What else would eternally youthful beings who don’t work do? 

    
It disgusts me. 

    
I’m glad that Roxel has given me something useful to do with my time, even if it’s something as simple as guarding a rose garden in a human forest – at least I get out of this pit on a daily basis.

    
After crossing the hall, I slide down one of the main corridors.  The hall leading to Roxel’s chambers is brightly lit.  On both sides, the tall glass doors have been thrown wide, letting the hot summer air stir the pixie woven curtains and push rose petals in from the balconies.  Everywhere there are roses – which makes the hot humid air of
Tír na nÓg
smell like a perpetual drug-addled dream.  There is faint music ahead – a strange tangle of fae percussion and string, but it’s not unpleasant to the ear.

    
I knock on the closed door at the end of the hall and wait for one of the attending
Aos Si
to let me into the inner chamber.  When the door opens, I recognize the brown haired, brown eyed, willowy
Aos Si
standing on the other side.

    
Pleased to see her, I flash a cocky grin.  “Hello, Twyla, visited any good puddles lately?”

    
Twyla scowls like she always does.  She doesn’t like me teasing her about her magical affinity for water, but in the many decades I have known her, there has never been bad blood between us.  In fact, my earliest memory is of Twyla.  She’s holding me as she would a baby, which means I must have been very small.  I makes me believe she was once friends with my parents. 

    
She moves to one side and motions me into the Summer Queen's chambers.       “Where have you been?”

    
“Aw, did you miss me?”

    
She wrinkles her nose.  “Roxel's been worried sick about you.”

    
I glance around the room.  Roxel is sitting with one leg slung over her throne.  She's got her chin propped on her fist and her dark eyes, glazed with boredom, are following a pair of wood elves chasing each other across the windowsill.  She doesn’t look worried sick.

    
I clear my throat.

    
Roxel starts and looks up.  Upon seeing me, her face brightens and her golden ambient light glitters through her dark olive skin.  “Tamrin!”  In an instant she's bounding down the dais and wrapping her arms around me.  She fervently kisses my chin while her eyes ask me why I won't bend down so she can get to the rest of me.

    
Her hands wander along my torso until she's tugging my shirt out of my breeches.  I take hold of her wrists.

    
A scowl pulls at her mouth.  “You're no fun today, Tam,” she whines.  Leaning back, she fixes me with a glare that speaks little of the fickle, spoiled twenty-something that she looks and acts like, and more like the hundreds of years old, shrewd faerie queen she is. 

    
I knit my brows, trying to think of a way to explain that I let a mortal teenaged girl rip out one of her prized roses. 
Sorry, I got caught up staring at her incredibly tempting lips?
  No, that wouldn't work.  That would inflame Roxel's jealousy.

    
Before I can think of what I'm going to say, Roxel demands, “Why are you late?”    

    
“Uh,” I breathe.  “Sorry. Leah gave me trouble again.”  It isn’t a complete lie. 

    
Roxel growls.  “That thorn in my side little
bean-sidhe
!  How many times have I told her that you have leave to come back and forth through the Summer Gate whenever you please?  Honestly, I let her guard the Carver Hall
sidhe
and she thinks she owns the world.”

    
“She does let me through,” I mutter.  “Just for a price.” 

    
Sometimes I wish I wasn’t part of the Summer Court.  It’s better than being part of one of the Unseelie Courts, but the constant merriment and promiscuity is starting to get boring.  I can’t speak to anyone in this court without wondering if they’re going to paint me into a corner and turn me into some sort of glorified cabana boy.  With the way these
Aos Si
act, you’d think I’m a white stag or something. 

    
Well, I guess in some ways, I am.  To my knowledge, there’s only one other
Aos Si
like me – a girl born to full
Aos Si
parents – who also doesn’t have a lick of
Aos Si
trait or Talent.  I’ve heard it said that her parents moved the whole family to Earth to keep her from the machinations of their Court.  Perhaps that’s why Roxel sends me to Earth so frequently.

    
Roxel traces her finger over my chest.  “You know she only wants to play with you ‘cause you’re mine.”

    
I roll my eyes toward the ceiling.  Roxel can give me any number of faerie gifts and knight me, but I’m reminded on a daily basis that my disability makes it so I’m nothing more than a toy to the courtiers in the Summer Court….Even Roxel.

    
“Whatever,” Roxel shrugs and smiles.  “You're here now.”  She leans into me and trails kisses down my neck.  Her hands slip up my stomach and, despite being tired from dealing with Leah’s infatuation with me, I don't bother pulling them away.  I’ve learned the quickest way to get to and stay on Roxel’s good side is to let her do her thing. 

    
I watch, detached, as the few lesser faeries in attendance make themselves scarce.  The only one that remains is Twyla, who sinks into the shadows and watches with eerie interest.  I turn away, uncomfortable with her constant presence.

    
I wait another few minutes, letting Roxel wrestle me out of my bracers and my shirt, before speaking.  “I have something I need to, uh, ask you,” I whisper, distracted by her tongue tracing its way around my ear.

    
Her nails rake along the ridges of my back muscles, gouging into my skin and making me wince.  “Hmm?” 

    
My voice comes out strained.  “It's about the rose garden.” 

    
Her fingers have reached their southward destination and she slips them between my waistband and my skin.  “What about it?” 

    
I close my eyes, needing to focus beyond her hands in my breeches.  The image of the girl standing in the sunlight pops into my head.  My breath catches and I pitch forward, unprepared for how my body reacts.  I grasp Roxel’s shoulders to ground myself. 

    
Roxel takes my reaction as a favorable response to her and her fingers clench until she's pasted against me.  She kisses my collarbone.  “What about the roses?” she whispers sweetly, as if she's teasing me with a faint reminder that I've lost my train of thought.

    
Swallowing, I open my eyes and stare over Roxel’s head at the tapestry hung across the room.  A unicorn rampant among a thicket of wild roses. 
Stupid roses.
  “How much are they worth?”

    
Roxel laughs.  Her hot summer breeze breath against my bare skin sends shivers down my spine.  She smoothes her fingers over my goose bumps as she shoves me backwards.  My knees buckle over the back of her bed and I collapse into the swan-feather stuffed pillows, goblin woven blankets, and spider-silk sheets.  I've been here many times, and normally Roxel’s bed feels luxurious and safe. But now, it feels claustrophobic, the embracing warmth asphyxiating. 

    
She climbs over me, straddles my hips, and bends over my chest.  Between each word she kisses me.  “One.” Kiss on the lips.  “Very.”  Kiss on the chin.   “Perfect.”  Kiss on the neck.  “Human.”  Kiss on the collar bone.  “Heart.”  Kiss over the heart.  She looks up, smiles as me devilishly, then continues to silently kiss a trail down the length of my body.

Jeanette

     I slump into my seat in study hall and drop my head on my desk.

    
“You look like ass.”

    
I glower at Celeste, not even humoring her with a response.  It’s her fault the Green Man almost filleted me alive yesterday.

    
“What the hell’s wrong with you anyway?  You’re all jumpy and looking over your shoulder.  You couldn’t even drink your coffee without spilling it all over yourself this morning.”

    
I splay my hands over my thighs.  Still trembling –I shook all night.  I haven’t slept, haven’t eaten.  I’m too scared he’ll come after me.  I worried Dad; he must think I’m on drugs.

    
“What?  Are you scared that Amber’s gonna be mad at you for missing her meet?”

    
“It's not like I didn't try to go,” I snap.  Generally pissed at everything, but mostly at Celeste for being an ass-hat, I go on a tirade. “I left the house – even though I’m grounded – and got lost in the woods, ruined my uniform – which got me another month of being grounded, and- and-” my voice chokes and sudden tears spring into my eyes.  I cover my mouth to keep myself from sobbing.

    
“Whoa,” Celeste exhales, her eyes and voice surprised.  She scoots over and puts an arm around me as the shivers get worse, wracking my body.  “Jesus, Netti,” she breathes in my ear.  For a minute she’s old Celeste – big eyed, warm, and caring.  “What the hell happened?”

    
I lean into her, thankful she’s back.  Finally the girl I know and love.  I knew she wasn’t gone.  It takes me a long moment of trying to compose myself before I speak.  “I went into the park.”

    
She’s quiet for a long moment, her eyes wide and uncertain.  “I thought you avoided the park like the plague.”

    
“I do,” I insist, voice high and whiney as I mop up my tears with the edge of my sleeve, “but I was trying to get to Amber's meet on time so I took this short-cut I used to know – but I got lost.”  I take a harsh breath.  “I got attacked by the Green Man.”

    
Celeste tenses against me and I sense old Celeste withdrawing and the doors closing her in again.  She pulls away and stares at me, expression blank.  “Seriously?”

    
I give her an incredulous expression.  “Yeah, seriously.”  I can’t believe she’s even asking that.

    
She wrinkles her nose and her eyes go hard.  “I don’t believe you.”

    
I struggle for breath, confused.

    
“I mean, joking about this?  It’s ridiculous…desperate.”

    
“Desperate?” I squeak.  “What-”

    
“No,” Celeste says, standing and collecting her bag.  “I’m not gonna listen to this.  I can deal with your little imaginary crushes or whatever, but lying about being raped by an urban legend to redeem yourself for missing Amber’s meet?”  She shakes her head.  “That’s just sick.”

    
Rape?  Who said anything about rape?  I open my mouth to argue with her, but nothing comes out.  I’m too shocked to compile an argument for myself.

    
She turns from me.  “You better think of something better to say to Amber when you see her.  She actually cried because you didn’t come.  And here you are with your fake tears.”

    
“B-but they’re not fake!”

    
She rolls her eyes and walks away.

    
I stare after her, the icy chill of Celeste’s disbelief bringing me down from my wired paranoia.  She doesn’t believe me.  She sees this as an act of desperation. 
And that’s really what it is, isn’t it?
  Desperation to prove myself the better friend leading me into a place that embodies my worst nightmares?  Maybe the whole thing
was
a nightmare?  A hallucination combining my overactive imagination, my interest in the fanciful, Amber’s story of the Green Man, my fear of Carver Hall Park, and my need to put a face on the monster that stole Timmy.

    
Perhaps Celeste is right.  Maybe what I thought happened yesterday didn’t happen at all.  Maybe I let my fear get the better of me?  That’s what a psychologist would say, right?  If I reported getting attacked by a green skinned man, no one would believe me.  I
must
have imagined it.