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She made a mistake, she suffered for it, but what was done, was done. Breaking the curse would be her chance to start fresh.
“Your turn, Basil,” she said, shutting down the internal clamor of doubts and what-ifs, “tell me your tale of the one who walks the sky.”
His laugh warmed her, chased away the chill of the night and the shadows of the past. And, oh, he looked so delighted, so full of joy, like a coyote pup with something new to play with.
By the time they reached the Treetop Inn, she was thoroughly immersed in the story of Luke, Leia, and Han, and their struggle against the evil Empire.
“You have to tell me how they’ll make it out of that trash compactor,” Isa said to him as they approached the treehouse.
“Sure,” he muttered absent-mindedly, his eyes glued to the towering structure in front of them, the stairs and walkways, the walls, parts of the roof, windows and decorations, all worked around and into and through the copse of grand firs ahead of them.
Isa tilted her head, studied Basil’s reaction, and then looked at the inn, tried to see it with his eyes. Yes, for someone who had never beheld an elaborate faery treehouse before, this must be wondrous. She tended to forget how different human architecture was from that of the fae.
All around them, fae creatures were moving to and fro, coming and going, the inn being a popular meeting place for their kind. This commotion, however, went beyond the usual bustle of the lodge. Whispers rose and fell while fae sped past, an air of urgency and trepidation about them.
What was going—?
Just that second, a snippet of dialogue floated over to her. “…royal court. All of them. Dead…”
Isa inhaled sharply. Right. News of the slaughter hadn’t reached the outskirts of Faerie when she passed here a couple of hours ago, but it sure was on everyone’s lips now. Her stomach curdled at the thought of what the future might hold, considering the power vacuum created by the gruesome murders. Well, whatever change might be ahead, she’d weather it like she did everything else in life. She’d survived worse.
Provided, however, she could break her curse.
She slanted a look at the one thing standing between her and survival.
“This is amazing,” Basil whispered.
“Just do me a favor and try not to leave your mouth hanging open,” Isa said in a low voice, leaning into him.
Basil straightened, threw a glance at her, and closed his mouth with an audible click. Isa looked down at the ground and bit her lip to keep from grinning. To no avail. She ascended the stairs ahead of Basil with a not-unwelcome smile on her face.
The wide staircase encircling the massive girth of the main tree holding up the Treetop Inn was illuminated by will-o’-the-wisps, like the main road. The old wood planks creaked under her feet as she took the stairs up, up, farther up, until they reached the main landing a good thirty feet above the ground. A few fae mingled on the large platform in front of the entrance to the inn, but Isa ignored them, and signaled Basil to follow her into the main house.
Inside, a live band in the corner played upbeat music, and a few smaller fae creatures danced in front of the bar, either oblivious to or uncaring about the slaughter of their royals. The rest of the room was packed with patrons. Despite the heightened buzz of agitation caused by the news of the throne room massacre, the crowd promised anonymity, just as Isa preferred. She rarely stayed in less-frequented establishments, for fear of drawing too much attention, a result of a life lived on the fringes of society, always braced for the next kick.
She approached the front desk while muttering to Basil, “Let me do the talking. You don't speak Fae, and insisting on speaking English would be weird. We don’t want to draw unnecessary attention.”
Basil nodded, then gasped, his face all shocked. “Wait, does that mean I can’t wear my Legolas outfit around here?”
Isa blinked, stopped short. “What’s a legolas?”
His grin was positively mischievous. He winked at her, bumped her shoulder gently with his. “Methinks I’ll have to show you a couple of movies to bring you up to speed on human culture.”
“Another religious tale?”
His eyes crinkled at the corners while he chuckled. “Yes.”
Her heart inexplicably beating faster and lighter, Isa stepped up to the front desk and conferred with the main host, a stout female fae with skin resembling the white- and green-flecked pattern of red alder bark, and hair the color of young moss. Isa paid for a room for the night and signaled Basil, who followed her out of the main house and over the platform, past the mingling fae, up another flight of stairs, to one of the single rooms nestled in the upper branches.
She opened the door with the silver key—not iron, the despised metal not to be found anywhere in Faerie—and held the door while Basil entered. Shutting it behind him, she turned around and scanned the room, noting all the exits and entry points for a possible threat.
It would do.
Basil let out a breath, put his hands on his waist. “I can't believe it. This is…amazing architecture.” He spread his arms wide. “Do all fae live like this?”
Isa deposited her weapons in the corner with the bunk bed, so her bow and arrows would be within easy reach while she slept. “No, not all of us. Fae architecture actually differs according to the fae’s element.”
“What do you mean?”
