All That Glows

Thirty

The mortals are on edge, though none of them know exactly why. Arguments break out, exploding through archaic, tapestry-cloaked rooms like artillery shells. One leaves a duchess’s daughter in tears. Of all the inhabitants of Windsor Castle, both visible and unseen, only Richard seems completely unaffected.

“You’re not nervous at all?” I whisper to him during a particularly raucous family dinner. It’s the first night of the full moon. I feel the battle rolling closer, cracking like thunder on the edges of my mind.

“Why should I be?”

“We should tell Anabelle. Maybe even the others. It would be better that way. Some of them might even be able to help,” I mutter.

“Tell me what?” Apparently the princess has the hearing abilities of a wolf. She leans in from Richard’s opposite side, eyes fiery with curiosity.

“Nothing we can talk about at the dinner table,” Richard shoots back.

A thin, dramatic gasp escapes Anabelle’s lips. “She’s not pregnant, is she? Ooh, Mum will have a fit when she gets here.”

Richard reaches over for his sister’s half-filled wineglass. “No, Emrys isn’t pregnant. But I think you’ve had a bit too much Riesling.”

At that moment, the massive set of dining room doors is thrown open. I almost jump out of my skin at the crash. The mortals hear it too. A few glasses are spilled and several utensils clatter rudely back onto china. The long row of heads turns to the end of the table, where the doors stand.

There, on the floor, in a state of filth and rags, is Duchess Titania. Her bun is undone, silver hair spilling across the floor like a river of mercury. Her face is dark, from dirt or deep, sinister bruises. I’m too far away to tell which. I start to run to the weakened Fae’s side, but Richard’s hand closes firmly around my wrist.

“Don’t worry, Emrys. The butler will get the door.”

I blink. None of them can see the woman crumpled against the crimson carpet. Nor can they feel the mass exodus of Fae flooding to her side. All they see is me, clutching the thin, gold frame of my chair, my face painted with horror.

So many Frithemaeg cluster around Titania’s limp form that I can’t even see the duchess anymore. I look back down at Richard. The tightness in his lips tells me he senses what’s really going on. He’s trying his best to maintain the mortals’ façade.

“I need to go to the toilet.” I pry my arm from his fingers and walk slowly, deliberately past the frantic Fae. As soon as I round the doors, I make the necessary adjustments to the veiling spell.

Titania is sitting up by the time I return. She’s in a bad state, eyes barely open and chest buckled as she slouches against a shell-shocked youngling. When I kneel in front of her, she begins coughing. Flecks of blood fall wet on the carpet, blending perfectly into its red fibers. Everything around us, the metal and machines, is eating her from the inside.

“We need to get her into the woods,” I say, and wipe a large speck of her blood off of my arm. “I’m sure some of it’s the sickness.”

Breena points to two stunned Fae. “You, grab her arms and legs. Lady Emrys is right, we need to get her closer to the trees.”

“No!” Titania jolts to life. Her fingertips sink like claws into the hems of my skirts, dragging me closer. “There’s no time!

“She’s coming.” The duchess gasps and begins coughing again. The rattle in her lungs brings up more awful, clumped blood. Her lips are the worst shade of red. “For the castle. There’s no time.”

“Who’s coming?” I press, but Titania grows limp in the arms of her helpers.

“Get her out of here,” Breena barks at the hesitant younglings. “Can’t you see this place is killing her? Get her into the trees!”

The Fae jerk to life, hoisting Titania’s frail body off the carpet. They vanish quickly through the doors.

“Herne isn’t back yet,” I whisper at Breena, although every Frithemaeg around knows what I’m saying.

“Then we’ll just have to fight without him.” My friend’s words are grave. “We should get the mortals somewhere easily defensible, like the cellars.”

The cellars. A dark place beneath the earth with only one way out.

“We’ll be blind there,” I argue, “and more cornered than we already are.”

“We will be on the perimeter,” she replies coolly. “If we need to retreat, we’ll end up in the cellars with the royals.”

Being apart from Richard. The idea makes me sick, cramps up all of my muscles so they feel spiked with steel. I look back to where he’s sitting, slicing through the pink middle of his beef Wellington. I see the empty chair next to him, my chair, and wish I could just go sit back down.

“It’s the best way,” Breena goes on, “and you know it.”

She’s right. Deep inside I feel the wild thing stir, testing the strength of my willful stitches. If, when, I have to let it out, Richard can’t be anywhere close to me. I can’t risk it. “I’ll tell Richard.”

Breena glances over at the princess. “I think it’s time we all unveil.”

“Yes,” another Fae pipes in. “They need to know so they won’t wander off and get themselves killed. We could always wipe their memories later.”

I shake my head, still staring at the long row of royals, so proper and laughing as they spear pieces of the third course from their plates. “If we survive, the divide won’t be necessary anymore. Our worlds are merging.”

Helene, Ferrin, and a few of other the younglings nod. Others just stare, blank. Most of them came into existence after the great taboo was set. They’ve never talked to a human or even thought it a possibility.

I turn back to Breena. “Just let me talk to Richard first so he can warn them. We don’t want to set them off into a panic.”

Her silence is my confirmation. I shed a layer of invisibility and walk over to Richard.

I keep my whisper soft, not wanting to startle him. “None of the others can see me. Just keep eating.”

He obeys, taking a long draw of his lemon-rimmed water.

“A Fae from Mab’s court just arrived. She’s in bad shape, but she says the Old One is coming. Soon. We need to get all of the royals down into the cellars, now.”

One of his eyebrows lifts in an unvoiced question: How?

“We’ve decided to reveal ourselves. But first we need to you prepare them for our appearance. Can you do that?”

The room plunges into darkness. The black only lasts for a second as the electric lights flicker back to life. My skin tingles. Somewhere beyond the gilded castle walls, is a storm laced with vengeful, angry magic. The lights of Windsor won’t hold out for long.

“We need to hurry,” I urge him.

Richard stands and raises his glass high into the air, where it catches the unsteady, rainbow-tinged light of the chandeliers.

“I have a toast,” he begins. “Well, it’s more of an announcement really.”

The royals’ murmurs and exclamations fall silent, their faces turn to him. They’re all so different—wrinkled, smooth, scarred, and beautiful—yet so alike in their curious ignorance.

“Our world isn’t always as it seems. We sometimes think it’s so simple: living, driving our fancy cars, drinking our champagne, and giving to the less fortunate.”

He has their attention. Out of the corner of my eye I watch the other Fae flit close to the table, like so many moths drawn to a single light.

“But there’s another reality, and it’s taking place around us every day. That reality is magic.”

“The papers are right! He’s finally cracked,” one of the older, drunker dukes whispers loudly to his wife, who turns pink and stifles his mouth with a well-manicured hand.

“Magic—the force that shows up in so many of our legends and folktales—is real. It’s all around us. A few months ago I never would have believed it. But then came proof, living, breathing proof that magic exists, and it’s in our everyday lives whether we know it or not. That proof is Emrys.”

“Oh God, I am drunk.” Anabelle lays her forehead on the table.

Richard ignores his sister and the rapidly growing glances of skepticism from across the table. “Emrys, the lovely redhead you’ve acquainted yourselves with over the past few days, is my guardian Faery. We all have one.

“I’m telling you this because our lives are in danger. There are spirits out there who’ve decided they don’t like the way we’ve run things. They think our deaths will be an answer to their problems. Our Faery guardians want to keep us safe, but they need our help to do so.”

The faces are stunned, outraged, incomprehensible, and any number of emotions. But all of them are silent. Now’s the time to unveil.

One by one we appear. When my veiling spell drops, Anabelle screams and shrinks back in her seat. Her wineglass tips, shatters against the glossy tabletop. But her reaction is mild compared to the others. Duchesses scream and leap from chairs, then scream more when they see the other Fae ringed around the table. One of the oldest—Richard’s great-aunt—slumps over the side of her chair in a sloppy faint. Some of the men clutch at knives and forks, anything they might use as a weapons. One even lunges for the heavy, metallic vase at the center of the table, spraying a chaos of food and broken glasses in the laps of his relatives. The older, drunker duke simply curses and throws back the remainder of his wine.

The younglings don’t move. They watch the chaos, puzzled and separate, like demigods.

“It’s all right! They’re not going to hurt you!” Richard is shouting next to me, but his words are lost to the impressive, combined lung power of the royal line.

“Stillath.” With a single word from Breena the room stops. The mortals are stretched, suspended in motion. Only their eyes can move, spinning crazy with terror.

I frown at my friend’s magic, but I don’t undo it. This is the only way they will listen. “It’s all right. We’re here to help you.”

All eyes that can, shift to me. Blue, brown, green—most shine bright with manic fears. Only Richard’s stay steel-edged and straight.

“There’s a Faery, a very old force of magic, who’s on a mission to destroy the crown and spill your blood. We’re your Frithemaeg, your guardians, and we’ve sworn never to let that happen. We want you to see us because we can’t protect you without your cooperation. The Old One is coming very soon, and we’ll need to place you in the most defensible area. We’d like to ask all of you to move into the cellars now.”

The scene stays frozen, like some elaborate tableau. I start to speak again, but my words are sliced short by a second power surge. This time, the earth shakes. Forgotten dust lodged in crevices showers over heads and half-eaten food. The crowd’s agonized faces look twice as pale under the failing lights.

“We don’t have much time,” I say when the lights return to a steady, weakened state. I grab Richard’s shoulder. “Help me get them downstairs. Please.”

Breena releases her spell, and the scene turns into chaos again.

The king waves his arms, howling alpha shouts into every freed ear. “Didn’t you hear what she just said? We need to get to the cellars. Now!”

The stampede of humanity somehow grows organized, a swell of frizzing hair and pastel skirts rushing toward the doors. Chairs tumble onto the lush carpet. Passersby skip over them with panicked energy. Younglings struggle to keep up with their wards.

“Go straight into the cellars,” I roar above the crowd. “Don’t try to grab your jewels or valuables. There’s no time!”

Richard stays by my side, watching his stunned relatives fight and pour through the dining room doors.

“You have to go with them, Richard.” I’m clutching his arm and pushing him away at the same time, wanting two irreconcilable things.

His feet are planted firm in the scarlet carpet. My shove does nothing more than sway him. “I want to stay here with you. I want to fight.”

“There’s nothing you can do. . . . These spirits that are coming, they’re powerful. They’ll eat you alive. You have to hide.” My voice wilts into a plea. I’m not beyond spelling him into obedience if I have to. His life is worth it.

“I want to help.” There it is. That flash of defiance in his eyes. I might have to spell him.

Or not. An idea pops into my head. “Are there weapons here?”

Richard frowns and scans the walls, nothing but mirrors and aged art. “Kitchen knives. I think there are some ornamental swords in the Lower Ward. Oh, and lots of bows and arrows. Dad loved archery.”

“Perfect. See if you can gather all of them. I might be able to try and spell them so that you’re not completely defenseless.”

“I’ll help.” Anabelle springs out of my peripheral vision. Her face is sharp and serious, showing none of the panic that threw her against the back of her chair. The Faes’ appearance seems to have sobered her up.

“No, Belle.” Richard looks at the door. The dining room is mostly empty now, a wake of chipped plates and disemboweled flower arrangements. “You go with the others.”

“Like hell I am,” she huffs. “You don’t just get to tell me I have a flipping Faery godmother and that we’re being attacked by some old thing and then go traipsing off into God-knows-where. I’m coming with you.”

“She can go,” I say. “It’s easier for us if you stick together.”

“Will you go with them? Or should I?” Breena steps around an overturned chair toward us.

“I’m going outside to get a feel for our situation.” I swallow hard, steal a glance at Richard. Though I trust Breena beyond anything, it’s hard to leave him, especially now. “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“We’ll meet you at the cellars then.” Breena herds her new protégés together. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Wait in the cellars,” I tell Richard. “I’ll come for you.”

“I’ll see you soon.” He pulls me close for a quick tease of a kiss. The mark lingers—soft on my lips—long after he’s gone: a reminder that, whether in life or death, we’ll soon be together again.