Lessoc Fountain - a fairy-creature tale

Ch. 32 Dark Places

Wenslar made a curt, dismissive wave and left the guard standing alone.

She watched through the six inch line of sight between the wall and the hanging cloth. Wenslar came close and then disappeared, walking to the other side. She inched the other way again.

Wenslar stood with his back against the wall, arms crossed and expression empty.

"Cousin," she whispered, "you said I could trust you."

He gave the barest of nods, eyes following the dancers.

"You said you loved my mother, and that she loved you when you were little. You said...." She paused. He had told her to forget something. Seeing his face again triggered the last of her forgotten memories. The snail-shell tea was filling the missing pieces.

That night at the chalet, she had stood in darkness, like now, her cousin in front of her. He had touched her brow and told her to forget. He had cursed her with forgetfulness to keep his presence at the chalet that night a secret to her. But why?

She was his secret from the other fairies.

"Some secrets refuse to remain hidden," she whispered. "Or silent."

Pain lanced his face and he clenched his fists at his side. He had understood her accusation as something else. "You have brought Farafell's secret here with you."

"Cousin—"

He stood to attention abruptly, cutting her off. A nearby voice was speaking in the fairy tongue; the guard asked him to report to the king. Wenslar acquiesced, but added that he would not interrupt the king's pleasure at watching the dance. He dismissed the guard.

"Poppy," he whispered, using the fairy tongue, "it is your death if they find you here."

"Can I trust you?" she whispered back. He had placed a cruel spell on her. But she had no one else.

"With your life, or mine is forfeit," he replied in French.

She wanted a vow, some sort of seal on the words as Soufflé would do. But there was no time. Her doubts and fears spun out of control with the flutes, violins, jangling tambourines and drums. Drum beats slapped her hot cheeks and spurred her pulse faster and faster. She had to give the bottle to Wenslar as the guardian to the fountain and then escape before any of the other fairies saw her. He was ambitious, he wanted to be king. He had the strength and power to keep it safe. The witch would let her go.

Still, she hesitated.

He reached slowly behind the tapestry, hand outstretched to take the bottle. Cocot gave him her hand instead. He flinched and pulled back, glancing down in surprise. "Give it to me!"

Voices broke through the music. The king's voice rang out over the others. "Silence."

The music and dancers instantly fell silent.

"She has disobeyed me. Bring her to me," the king said. His voice rasped and broke, but he was king in this hall.

"Wenslar?" Cocot choked. The sound of rushing boots reverberated to the high ceiling.

Without looking at her, Wenslar grabbed her arm, and pulled her from her hiding place. "Do not fear, I will protect you."

The crowds of dancers melted to the edges of the hall. As the guards closed in on them, Wenslar dragged her to the middle of the hall where the stream lay in the floor. She whimpered. At least twenty guards, surrounded them, each with his weapons drawn.

Wenslar drew his knife—the silver blade with moonlight and tugged Cocot closer. "Stay close."

"You were banished, child, and not to return of your own volition," the king said. He was hunched over, engulfed by the black throne.