Page 13 of Wicked Things

“Come, we need to ride. We’re all tired and hungry, and the horses need to be fed and watered too. Let me give you a leg up and we’ll be on our way. I’d like to be at the castle within the hour, before it gets much darker outside.”

****

Braden

The castle that belonged to the Faery lord sat high atop a hill, like in all the Faery tales I’d ever heard. But I’d never imagined the huge fortress built around it.

The setting sun was turning the castle gold with a pinkish cast as we approached it on the long winding road that reached up into the mists, and it was truly a sight to behold. Its turret flags were all flying a bright blue and yellow triangular banner with a sigil of a lion—the banner of the king, I thought. What I didn’t expect was that the palace would be surrounded by tall fortress-like walls.

There were three of them, in fact. An outer wall, with guards visible all along it. It swung open at our approach, only to face another gate farther on, perhaps thirty feet along. When that one opened, we faced the third and final gate, this one made of stone, with a central gate that boasted a defensive rampart over it, and it was also manned by guards. I had never realized that Faeries lived in such structures. Was this world truly so dangerous?

We approached in single file, and the final gate swung open wide to admit us. Inside were many buildings, all made of the same white stone as the main castle. We rode up to the front door and dismounted in the big courtyard in front of the palace. Grooms were standing by to take our horses’ reins from us and lead them away. I looked wistfully back at Crow as he was taken away and hoped I’d see him again. I pulled back and dragged my feet as we went up the stairs.

“Did you need something or are you just being particularly annoying, a chroi?”

I had no idea what he was calling me, but it sounded like “ah khree,” and I didn’t know if he was cursing me or not, but I needed to remind him we were about to boldly go inside this king’s castle like we owned the place. Even if he were some kind of Lord, this seemed impertinent to me, like we weren’t showing the proper respect. I was scared enough of regular Faeries, let alone whoever this king of them was.

Everyone, from the grooms to the guards at the doors were staring at us, so I smiled ingratiatingly at them and pulled back his arm again. “Wait!” I whispered to him. “Maybe we shouldn’t barge in like this. A king lives here.”

“Ah yes. But I know him well. He’s something of an asshole, I hear.”

My face paled. “You can’t say that!”

He laughed and put his arm around my waist to usher me inside and right past the guards, who were still staring at me and not bothering to hide it. Nor did they try to stop us. I told myself they weren’t used to seeing many mortals, or half mortals anyway. They must be merely curious. I had no idea what would happen inside this place, and I was sure they’d kick us out soon. I edged as close to the Faery lord as I thought he would allow. Why his proximity brought me any kind of comfort, God only knew, but it seemed that it did. Maybe it was a case of the devil I knew.

He stopped to talk to a guard, and I was on my own for a moment. I missed his closeness. Then he finished speaking to the man, turned his head to look down at me—he was at least a head or so taller than I was and built on a much larger frame, which was typical of some of the warriors I’d seen on the streets of Jorvik. He was still unsmiling, but to my surprise, he held out a hand to me.

An extended hand could mean anything from an offer of friendship to a willingness to give assistance or even to offer peace. I readily took hold of his hand, hoping for the best and found it to be surprisingly warm. He pulled me to stand close beside him and looked searchingly down into my eyes. I felt my knees go a little weak.

Apparently reassured I wasn’t about to launch any kind of crazy scene once I got inside—I would have to have been truly insane to do so—he began to escort me down the main hall. I noticed that all of our former companions had left us and were no doubt following their mounts to another part of the courtyard where presumably the stables were located.

The guards on either side of the entrance clicked their heels and gave the Lord an extended arm salute, which he returned, and then we began to walk down the wide entryway. A man, who must have been a courtier, appeared from a side door to run along beside him, and the Faery lord spoke to him in his language, obviously issuing orders. He bowed several times, obsequiously, and hurried ahead of us to open the doors that led up to a set of curving stairs on the side of the corridor. I was getting the impression that he was an important lord and must be close to the king.

He was still holding my hand and took me right up the steps to the next floor and through another set of double doors. Inside was a large bedroom, richly furnished and carpeted. Because it was so warm outside, the windows were open, blowing in a fresh, floral scented breeze. Two more courtiers had come in behind us, giving me a curious look as I lagged behind, unwilling to go into such a magnificent room. I’d have liked to pull him back out in the hallway, but finally, the Lord released my hand and sat down with a weary sigh in a beautiful, brocade armchair by the fireplace.

Immediately, servants swarmed around him, soon divesting him of his boots and coat, and then peeling down his stockings. When they started in on his shirt. I could see that they would soon have him completely stripped, and I stood up, trying to decide what I should do and where I could go.

As more servants were running in to set up a big tub, others were bringing in steaming buckets of water, and I realized they were preparing him a bath. I couldn’t have been more embarrassed.

The Faery lord was still giving instructions in a languid sounding voice, all in his own language, of course, which was unintelligible to me, but sounded a little like the Gaelic language. And then the servants descended on me. Thankfully, they only seemed intent on ushering me out of the room into an adjoining one, accessed by an inner door on the side of the bed chamber.

“His Grace will be with you shortly,” one of them said to me in a heavily accented Northumbrian dialect.

“Oh no, please don’t bother His Grace on my account. Will you just please tell the Faery lord where I am though? He’ll wonder what happened to me.”

“King Fionn knows where you are, because he told us to take you here. To wash the human smell away.”

“I…what? King Fionn? Are you saying that man in there—the man I just left—is the king?” I had never come so close to passing out before in my life.

The servant nodded at me with a supercilious air. “Of course, he’s the king. Who else would he be?”

Who else indeed? I was too shocked to say more, and when they began to strip off my clothing, even though I repeatedly told them it was unnecessary, I didn’t even struggle. It would have been to no avail anyway, and soon they had me stripped completely naked and dunked me down into a tin bathtub. They had filled it with steaming water and bath salts that smelled like cardamon—bright, crisp and slightly citrusy with a minty edge. Had they all been men I would have tried to fight them off as they scrubbed me with their cloths and brushes and washed my hair not once but twice, nearly drowning me in the process. But most of them were Fae women, strong and beautiful, and they stripped off their own blouses to avoid getting them wet as they scrubbed me. I was surrounded by their beautiful, large breasts, and it was all terribly embarrassing, though they didn’t seem to mind or even notice that it bothered me.

When they were finally satisfied, they took me out and dried me off, and I sat wrapped only in those drying cloths by a low burning fire, as they brought in trays of food for me to eat and set it all up on a small table near the fireplace, complete with a bottle of wine. The plate was made of fine porcelain, and the goblet and utensils were made of silver. I was not used to such finery.

One of the women held up a velvet robe to me in a lovely shade of blue and spoke to me then, in my own language, though heavily accented. “His Grace, King Fionn, asked me to tell you that he’s finishing his supper and then retiring for the night. He suggests you eat your supper and then do the same.”

Fionn—I was still trying to pronounce it the same as she had done in my head—“Fee-own,” but fast and run all together—when the same woman sat down behind me and began to lightly oil and brush my hair.