The Conjurer (The Vine Witch #3)(2)
“Greetings.”
The tall woman, the queen of this place, hailed them with a wave and a dagger smile from a throne made of interlaced willow branches. At her feet sat two of the tiny winged fiends, shelling hazelnuts and piling up the nutmeat in a woven basket. They hissed at Sidra as if they’d seen what she’d done to the third creature that ought to be there with them.
“Titania,” Yvette said and lowered her head.
“Nonsense. Call me Grand-Mère, child.”
The girl turned to face the man with the antlers sprouting out of his temple and bowed. “Oberon . . . er, Grand-Père.”
“Your luminescence is improving,” he said. “May you continue to shine.”
“Thank you.” Yvette still carried praise uneasily in her grubby hands, but she was getting better at accepting kind words without swatting them away like flies. The girl nudged her head toward Sidra. “I brought her like you asked.”
The jinni had stood tall and impassive during their formal exchanges. These trifling Fée with their featherlight bodies and narcissistic posturing were of little concern to her. All she cared about was the safe haven the occlusion of their realm provided from the rest of the world. Still, when Oberon finally turned his attention on her—his golden eyes lit with the hues of the forest, unblinking in the morning light—she could not deny she felt the full heft of a king’s prerogative weigh on her head. She had heard tales about the king of the Fée. How proud he was. How indulgent. She saw now the truth in the rumors as he twirled a wineglass in his hand before draining the contents in one gluttonous gulp.
Oberon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We are open to guests in our realm,” he began. “We are a social people by nature. Proud of our ways and gifts, which we freely share.” He set the glass down and leaned forward, brows like oak leaves tightening. “But we are not accustomed to harboring stowaways whose only wish is to hide from the troubles of the world.”
Sidra tried to remain impassive, but her upper lip curled of its own volition. “Was it the girl who revealed me?”
Oberon sat back as if amused by the question. “Do you think a king relies on his granddaughter to tell him what goes on in his own kingdom? Your presence made itself known like a hot ember among the snowdrops from the moment you arrived.”
She’d lost track of time. How long had he known she was there and done nothing? Weeks? Months? Had she made the mistake of underestimating this being of light and frivolity?
“My apologies, Oberon.” The words tasted of ash on her tongue, but it was all she could think to say to preserve her toehold in this realm.
“Accepted. However, your false humility will do you no good here.”
Anger simmered beneath Sidra’s skin, flushing her with prickling heat. How would her magic work in the Fée lands against a king? The dampness of the woods gave her pause, surrounded as she was by so much mist. Her fire might only smolder and hiss.
“It’s not her fault,” Yvette said in a rare show of contrition. “It was me. I stole a wish from Sidra, so I owed her a favor. She was hiding inside a bottle I was keeping safe for her when we landed here. The secret was mine. I should have told you.”
Sidra lifted her chin a proud notch. “We were following the trail of a fire omen.”
Oberon seemed to consider the notion as he inhaled a scent floating on the air. “I am aware of the prognosticating powers of the jinn,” he said, gazing at Sidra. “The spark from which your magic flares is perhaps older than the font from which my people sprung, but you would do well to keep in mind you are not the only one here with abilities to see the future.”
The king stood and walked to a birdbath nestled between two standing stones beside his twiggy throne. A trio of sprites had been dipping their feet into the water, splashing and laughing at the faces they made in the reflective surface. He shooed them away, sending the creatures flying into hiding in the long mossy robe he wore. Oberon spread his hand over the surface to still the water. His eyes tracked something momentarily as it darted across the surface. He half smiled, then grimaced as he raised an oaky eyebrow at the girl’s grandmother. She demurred and sheathed her smile as the king dipped a finger into the water and swirled it around seven times until it flowed in a tiny whirlpool. He watched the water go around, then cast his hand over the surface of the font as if to seal its magic. With a sigh he strode before Sidra and Yvette. Behind him his queen bit her lower lip.
“The long curl of fate will devour itself if allowed to spin in a circle too long,” he said, eyes firmly locked on Sidra’s as he towered over her. “A dog chasing its tail. A snake that eats itself. An end undone by a hungry beginning.” His eyes glimmered with the sheen of prophecy, as if he were still trapped halfway inside the vision. “Though I understand your kind prefers to remain in shadow, you do not belong here. You may no longer hide within my borders,” he said and returned to his seat beside Titania.
The fire that had crept into Sidra’s fingertips pulsed, begging for release. Curse that fairy for looking into the beyond. Had he seen her pain and desolate future? Did he care so little about her fate that he would toss her off like a leaf falling from one of his grotesque trees? The tittering creatures took to the air as if to mock her, daring to get near enough to tug at her robes.
“But what if she has a good reason to stay?” Yvette implored as only a granddaughter could.