“Oh,” I said, grinning. “Right. Names. Well, you’re Sir Torin, and I’m Sir Fagan, and we’re two hedge knights who travel all over the Nevernever on quests of glory for our king and court. You know, we right wrongs and slay dragons and search for mythological treasures, stuff like that.”
“So, they’re well respected.”
“Well…” I scratched the back of my head. “Not exactly.”
Ash stared at me. “What do you mean, not exactly?”
“Ever read Don Quixote?” I asked. And Ash closed his eyes, indicating that, yes, he had read it. I snickered. “They’re very eager,” I continued, trying not to laugh at the look on his face, “and they do have very noble intentions, I will give them that. But those two couldn’t find their way out of a broom closet without a map. It’s sheer dumb luck that they haven’t gotten themselves killed or eaten by now. They keep begging Oberon to send them on noble, important quests to prove their worth, and Oberon ends up giving them some ridiculous mission just to get them out of his hair.”
“And, of course, these are the identities you stole for us.”
“It’s perfect, don’t you think?” I flung my arms out grandly. “Sir Torin and Sir Fagan are almost never at court, the other knights usually avoid them and we have a reason to go see Queen Titania, to announce the completion of our most recent quest.”
“And if the real Torin and Fagan happen to be there?”
“Well.” I shrugged, annoyed with his logic. “Then we’ll improvise.”
I could tell Ash didn’t like it; he was always the plan-for-anything type, and usually found my play-it-by-ear tactics annoying and disturbing. But he didn’t say anything more, and it wasn’t long before we came to the huge mound of grassy earth that marked the entrance into Oberon’s court. Thick brambles surrounded the rise, though they parted easily before us, letting us through, and we walked toward the side of the hill without breaking stride.
“Anything else I should know about?” Ash muttered as we approached the mound side by side. “Any small detail you conveniently overlooked that might come up while we’re here?”
“Um…” I shot him a sideways glance. “Just one more small thing.” He raised an eyebrow, and I chewed my lip. Oh, he was not going to like this. “Torin and the queen are rumored to be…um…involved.”
“What?”
But then we were through the side of the hill and stepping into a courtyard teeming with Summer fey—the heart of Arcadia.
Music played, one of my favorite tunes about sun and shadows and growing things, and lying at the bottom of a cool stream while the fish whispered to you. Trees lining the edge of the courtyard sighed softly, moving their branches to the song, and the thousands of flowers blooming everywhere swayed gently in rhythm. Dryads, satyrs, gnomes and other Summer fey milled about the open space, sitting on benches, talking, or dancing together in the grass. Yep, I was definitely home.
I could feel Ash’s glare on the back of my head, and knew he was ready to kill me, but the fey closest to the edge of the courtyard spotted us and leaped to their feet.
“Be nice, ice-boy,” I said through clenched teeth, plastering a grin on my face as the crowd came forward. “They’re coming, so smile and don’t stab your partner. It’s showtime.”
“Sir Fagan!” a female satyr exclaimed, skipping up to us. Her hooves clopped daintily over the cobblestones. “Sir Torin! You’ve returned, and you’re alive. Welcome back!”
“How were your travels, Sir Fagan?” asked a nymph, giving me a sly smile. “Did you manage to get the Treasure of the Moonbeast this time? Did you slay the dreaded Worm of the Fellswamp? Tell us of your adventures.”
“Yes, yes,” echoed a brownie. “What happened?”
“Yes, tell us!”
“Tell us your story!”
I raised a hand. “Enough, fair people, enough! There will be time enough for stories and songs and tales of daring-do, but that time is not now.” They quieted down, looking disappointed, and I gave a tired sigh. “Sir Torin and I have traveled far and wide, and we are weary. We have many tales to tell, yes, but first we must speak to our lord.”
“Lord Oberon has left court for a time,” the satyr explained, watching me with big hazel eyes. Her gaze abruptly flickered to “Torin” beside me, and she grinned. “But Queen Titania is here, and I’m sure she would be pleased to receive you. Would you like me to find a messenger to announce your return?”
“That would be much appreciated, fair lady,” Ash said at my shoulder, startling me. The satyr beamed and skipped off, and we made our way toward the gate separating the courtyard from Oberon’s inner sanctum. Summer fey smiled at us and nodded or hid grins and whispers behind their hands. We ignored them. So far, so good. Step one, getting into the Summer Court, had gone off without a hitch. Now all we had to do was find Leanansidhe’s violin and get out of Arcadia without blowing our cover. And, knowing the Summer Queen and her obsessive tendencies, it would probably be somewhere in her private chambers. That was going to make things…challenging.
I glanced at Ash. I could think of one way to get into the queen’s bedroom, but he would probably flip out if I suggested that, so I kept my mouth shut.
“What?” Ash sighed. I blinked.
“Huh?”
“You’re giving me that look,” he continued as we stopped several yards from the gates, which were guarded by two massive trolls in red and brass uniforms. “That look that says you have a plan and I’m not going to like it. At all.”
“Well…yes, I do have an idea…”
“And?”
“And…you’re not going to like it. At all.”
Oberon wasn’t here, of course, but Queen Titania sat on her throne with the smug, lazy grace of a cat overseeing a flock of mice.
Everyone says the Summer Queen is stunning, beautiful, absolutely captivating. Yeah, I guess she is, but so is a volcanic eruption, and probably less volatile. Working in the Seelie Court is certainly interesting at times, to say the least. The Summer rulers have caused floods and wildfires in the mortal world with their arguments, and Titania once threatened to sink an entire village into the mud because of a misunderstanding over a missing hairpin. Fortunately Oberon can usually calm her rages and temper tantrums…when he decides to involve himself, that is. Many times, he turns a blind eye to his wife’s activities—until they affect him, of course.
None of the nobles in the clearing seemed to notice us as we came in, their attention riveted to Titania, or something at the foot of her throne. Ash took in the room in one smooth, practiced glance, and his eyes suddenly widened. I followed his gaze, and my heart sank.
The music we’d heard in the tunnel, the slow, lilting melody that was haunting and dark and beautiful, wasn’t played by any of Titania’s harp girls or servants or faery musicians. The melody had been strange at first, because it was of a kind not normally heard in the faery courts. It wasn’t a harp, or a flute or any of the strange magical instruments found only in our world.
It was a violin. Being played by a mortal girl no older than eight, her small body tight as she sawed and ripped at the strings. She wore a simple black dress, and her long, mahogany hair was the same color as the instrument in her arms. Her eyes were closed as she played for her inhuman audience, her thin body swaying back and forth, ignorant of the queen’s dainty white hand resting atop her skull.