Fairest Son Read online

  The stag lifted its mighty head from the scuffed snow, dark eyes bright and large ears pricked with abrupt uncertainty. Withered grass hung from its antlers like a faerie crown, and the beast’s breath billowed in soft clouds from its frost-flecked muzzle.

  The huntress took another breath, allowing a moment more to appreciate the beauty of the creature’s life. Her firm arms began to ache with the strain of the bow, but still she waited. Let the beast’s last moment be of peace, not suspicion.

  Then, though she made no move to startle it, the stag suddenly bolted into a gallop away. Her fingers slipped on the string, and the arrow sped harmlessly through the falling snow.

  She relaxed with a frown, the bow dropping to her side. The wind blew against her and could not have carried her scent to the deer, and her keen gaze caught no other warning. Yet the deer had bolted, and her stomach growled in complaint.

  “Pardon the intervention, but that was my deer.”

  The voice came from nowhere, as clear and loud as if it spoke in her ear. Screams did not often swell within her, but one lurched from her stomach to her throat, and she only just caught it from bursting from her mouth. Her hand dropped to her knife, and she spun around in a low crouch.

  But no one could be seen. Certainly not as close as by her ear or even anywhere near. Not even an independent flicker of wind, shadow, or light betrayed a stranger.

  Then she saw it. Much further away than the voice had seemed, a figure sat among the craggy rocks, as white as the surrounding snow. She knew it was not human at once, for the cloth was too shimmering and frost-like to be anything other than faerie-spun. Yet it was like none of the fey folk she had seen for many of them danced in little but gauze and flora no matter the weather, and this one was covered from head to toe. A long scarf wrapped around its head and swept around and behind the shoulders.

  She did not feel fear once she saw it. Surprise perhaps, but she had faced far too much in her young life to allow fear of this stranger.

  “Forgive me, Lord,” she said, rising and bowing. “I did not know he was your deer.”

  Again, the voice came very close. She was still not sure how she could hear it so well from that distance, but faeries were full of mysterious powers and tricks. “This land is mine, so the deer is mine. Did you not realize you had come so far from mortal lands?”

  His voice was very pleasant, bearing welcome warmth in the cold, and there was no malice or mischief in it for her to beware. “Indeed, Lord,” she said with a smile, “I did know these were wild lands, but I did not expect to find any but faerie beasts this high in the mountains.”

  “Beast or not,” he said, “don’t you know it is incredibly foolish to hunt upon the sídhe’s grounds?”

  A bright glint eternally lit her eyes, but it sharpened even more as she tilted her head to the side. “Don’t you know,” she said, “that mortals are incredibly dense?”

  For a moment, she could nearly feel the air suck in with his breath. And then he laughed. But his laughter did not match the merry cordiality of his voice; it was raspy, choking, and muffled. His laughter came from the proper distance, and she could see his body shaking with it. Then he arose from the rocks and came across the snow to her.

  She did not know how well he saw through the veils covering his face, but she straightened under inspection anyway, one hand resting on her hip and the other still clinging loosely to the bow. Though a woman and a mortal, she held confidence in the experience of her weapons, the wear of her furs and leathers, and the strength of her limbs and steely eyes.

  “Why does a mortal maid venture so far?” he asked. “Surely your lands still abound with game?”

  Never is it wise to hesitate in answer to the sídhe lest they think you lie, so she responded without reluctance. “I hunt Dohmnal,” she said.

  And as she’d hoped, the fey man drew back in surprise. “Dohmnal? The great white bear?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Does he belong to your Lordship too?”

  “Nay,” he said, and his gravelly laugh came again even as his clear voice spoke. “Nay, he is his own master and a foul one at that. Many creatures of mine does he threaten when he wanders near, but he is cunning, and neither faerie nor man have been able to slay him. But he is yours if you succeed.”

  She knew he did not believe she would succeed, but she smiled all the same. “I have scarce food left. How shall I eat if I cannot hunt?”

  “I would offer you fare and shelter. But I think a mortal maid would fear that.”

  “Do I look like a mortal maid to be frightened?” she asked loftily, lifting her chin.

  “Considering I cannot see you,” he said in amused tone, “I cannot say at all. But you sound bold, and your wandering this far proves the same. Boldness is not always wisdom, though. Do you not realize I might turn you into supper?”

  “No, you won’t,” she said, shrugging her shoulders and slipping her bow back into its quiver to prove her calm. “You are Seelie. I do not wander these mountains in ignorance. I have met many of your folk and know the difference between the fair and the foul.”

  “Even the fair play tricks.”

  “Yes. But shall I else stay here and starve?

  “True. But what think you of goblins?”

  She considered a moment, her head bent to the sky. “Goblins,” she repeated at last. “Lord, I admit I do not know them well.”

  “Then you will soon enough,” he said, and he offered his hand.

  It was then that she noticed that many of his fingers were missing, only the large and the small left on each hand. This could not have been natural for she could still see the bumps of the rest of the fingers, wrapped under cloth. She must have stared too long, for though he could not have seen her if his claim of blindness was true, he began to draw his hand away, remaining fingers curling in to hide.

  Her hand darted to his an instant before he could draw it away altogether, and she felt his body jolt in surprise.

  “This way then,” he said after a long pause, and he turned and led the way up the steep mountain side.

  Higher and higher they climbed till Keeva, accustomed to mountain peaks, began to breathe through her mouth in need for air. No trees grew this far up, only the bright white slopes under the crisp grey sky. Rocky pinnacles rose from the snow like the spines of loch serpents. As they came near a ridge rising far above them, the fey man led her through winding rocks until they stopped against the solid wall.

  “Can you see well in the dark?” her host suddenly asked.

  “Ah…”

  “Never mind, of course not.” He sounded rather embarrassed, which was most disarming, and then he rubbed his two fingers together so that a globe of light suddenly burst forth to hover in the air. Then he reached to the rock, and with a deep grinding the stones slid aside to reveal a door. The floating light whisked inside and flared, and the entire hall and room beyond lit like a summer day.

  A chorus of sounds rang out of the entrance, and Keeva saw animal eyes shine like candles in the sudden light. With a harsh caw, a raven flapped to the fey man’s shoulder and several squirrels scampered around his feet. Across the room, she saw the striped fur of a wild cat slip out of view.

  Keeva politely stood aside and waited as the man greeted his animals, making strange clucking and chirping sounds akin to his laugh.

  “Are all the animals of these mountains yours?” she asked after a moment.

  “Nearly,” he said, voice smiling. “All except Dohmnal who will receive no such love.”

  He slipped through the swarm of welcoming beasts towards a passage at the far end. “Please do rest yourself,” he called, “and I shall go prepare a meal.”

  Most of the animals followed in his wake so that Keeva was left quite alone in the room. Shrugging the quiver off her shoulders and setting it against the wall, she appraised the chamber.

  The stone was very dark, but the light hovering in the room cast a golden glow to combat the dreariness, and
the brightness reflected upon carvings in the walls. She stepped back to better see the whole picture and observed an entire forest carved into every wall, a trail of birds fluttering through the trunks. Other than the beauty of those carvings, the room was surprisingly bare. It was no surprise for a Seelie to live underground as even their great king held court in his mound, but the inside of their dwellings were famously lavish. Very little furnished this room, especially touching the floor, which suggested that her host was indeed blind even though he showed no lack of direction.

  Aside from the muffled wail of the wind outside the cave, everything was so still and silent that Keeva heard the slight scuffle behind the seat she stood by. She bent over and saw a full grown deer lying in a soft basket, its hind leg bandaged carefully.

  Her faerie host was certainly a kind creature, that much was evident.

  The sound of his footsteps drew her attention back to the passage and she saw him returning, one arm balancing a laden tray and the other skimming along the birds carved into the wall. She noticed then with interest that the birds were ever in reach of his hand and served as a guide through his house.

  He set the tray on a table and pulled over a seat of carven ash. “Come and ease your stomach then,” he said merrily, sitting in his own chair.

  She graced him with a smile he did not see and sat down before the food. It was fine fare indeed, not one a mortal would expect in the dead of winter, especially here in this wasteland. The platter was filled with warm bread, still steaming and glistening with butter, and beside it rose a pile of fresh fruit. Such fruit could only have been grown in the gardens of the Seelie Court that were said to keep spring all year round. So this strange recluse was not entirely cut off from the rest of his folk.

  She realized he did not intend to eat himself, which was a pity as she wished to see what hid under his wrappings. So she picked up the bread and sniffed it as if in deep appreciation. In truth, she sniffed for any foul odor, for she was not yet entirely convinced that her host was harmless. But her stomach growled and her mouth salivated and her mind reasoned. There was no help for it. Fey folk had no patience for mortal’s lack of perception and, while you might avoid enchantment by refusing their food, you could just as easily forever offend one who would have been your friend otherwise.

  Suspicion rejected, she tore into the bread with the same vim as a starving wolf. Its rich flavor burst inside her mouth, sending her head reeling in faintness. She spread some soft cheese onto another piece and gobbled it up. Though she could not see him, she could feel the fey man’s amusement, and she paused to swallow, wipe her mouth, and thank him for the food. Then she bit into the fruit, juice sprinkling her cheek.

  “Do you have apples?” she asked before she realized it may be considered ungrateful.

  “Apples?” He tilted his head. “No, no, the Seelie do not grow apples.”

  “Oh,” she said, eyebrows rising. “That is a surprise. They are very crisp and sweet if you find the right ones. If I ever find one, perhaps I can tempt you with it?”

  “If we meet again, certainly,” he said. “Now that I think of it, I cannot imagine why we do not grow them. I hope you are not too disappointed.”

  She swallowed hard, eyes widening at her mistake. “Oh no, Lord, not disappointed at all.” She noticed a draught of cream waiting and drank deeply. Then to flee her rudeness, she asked, “So do the goblins you spoke of bother you here? Do not say to me that you are the goblin for I will not believe it.” He was tall and straight, and his coat and wrappings could not hide his fine form.

  His few fingers swept back and forth upon a fox that had curled in his lap, and he shook his head gently. But before he could answer, the fox suddenly sprang from his lap and ran towards the door, yipping wildly.

  It was then that harsh voices rang out as if they would sunder the mountains in pieces. The sound thundered in her head, and she clamped her hands over her ears, but nothing muffled it. Her vision shook so that she wondered if the very earth was trembling. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the fey man leap to his feet and start towards the door.

  But it was too late.

  The door burst open, and the goblins rushed in.

  3

  Keeva’s knife was drawn before she’d finished leaping to her feet. She did not know if the fey man had any weapon to defend with, but she sprang across the table and charged the growling goblins.

  Just as she could see their pupils dart to her and her descending knife, an arm caught around her waist and pulled her back. Without pause, she fought against the hold and slammed down hard with her heel upon the attacker’s foot.

  Yelping, the fey man let her go and staggered in front of the goblins, his arms outspread. “No, no!” he cried. “I did not tell you that the goblins are my friends.”

  Keeva lowered her knife slowly and released her breath in a heavy pant. She had to blink before she could truly comprehend what had happened.

  The goblins stood all quite still, and they stared at her with a variety of expressions ranging from disbelief to outrage. They were ugly, but not in the same way as the Unseelie for they lacked any wicked glint in their eyes. There was no denying their peculiarity though. There were seven of them and each came to her shoulder, but they would have stood much taller had their legs not always bent in a crouch, and their arms dangled to the ground. Their hide was like rock, their large ears flared like a bats, and their eyes gleamed large and dark. But here similarities between each other ended.

  The foremost scowling goblin was the broadest in shoulders and chest, and he wore heavy armor on his body and head as if his hard hide was not enough. The second’s scowl was fiercer still; indeed he looked ready to smash her skull with his fists. To her surprise, the third did not look awake at all but blinked at her with tired eyes. The fourth did not seem nearly so affronted by her attack, and a merry light twinkled in his eyes as if it were all some great joke. The fifth was even more unnerving with the peculiar way he glanced in between her and the fey man as if he’d caught them kissing and was very pleased about it. The next was a veritable walking desk with as many contraptions were built around his body, filled with writing and calculating tools. He looked at her with suspicious eyes through his many layered spectacles. But strangest of all was the seventh goblin who had a far lankier build than the rest. Little glowing lanterns were strung to his belt and a few fireflies spun in a perpetual circle around his head.

  “Your friends,” she repeated dully.

  “Aye! And who might you be?” said the foremost goblin. His wide jaw was set in certain offense, blunt teeth jutting out on the upper lip.

  The fey man relaxed and swept himself back into an elegant posture, waving his arm from Keeva to the goblins in introduction. “Good Chief, this is my new friend. I’m afraid this is all my fault; I had not yet told her you were coming and of no danger. And maiden, these are my dear friends. Chief, Orn, Drows, Joll, Rom, Art, and Twinkle.”

  “Twinkle.” Keeva blinked. She knew they could not be real names, but true goblin names were notoriously impossible to pronounce for anyone outside their kind.

  “What’s this then?” the one called Orn asked, snorting angrily. “Why do you have a mortal maid here?”

  “She needed food,” the fey man said. “It’s only polite.”

  “I see she has stuffed her belly,” Chief said. “So let her be off!” He marched to the door and swung it open.

  Keeva hesitated, but the fey man had already sprung to her defense.

  “But she is hunting Dohmnal, and she has no other shelter up in these mountains, I am sure!”

  The goblins huddled together in growling conference of which could be heard no words, before Chief again poked a long claw to the door. “Send her outside then! I don’t want her gaping as we decide!”

  “Aye, aye, aye,” muttered several of the others.

  The fey man darted to her side and directed her out the door with a gentle touch. “Never mind, they’re quit
e soft really. I shall convince them to let you stay. That is, you do have nowhere else in this bitter cold? There are many rooms, and I swear by the Seelie King that you will be an honored guest.”

  Stepping back out into the snow, she gazed at his veiled face and wished again that she might see the earnestness of his voice upon his face and if it was as beautiful as it sounded. “Aye,” she said. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

  The moment Keeva was shut outside, the goblins gathered around the fey man, grunting and growling at turns.

  “You want her to stay here?” Art said, adjusting his spectacles as if it could help him see the matter clearly. “The probability of disaster is overwhelming.”

  “Prince Idris, your safety is our first and foremost concern! This house is supposed to be a secret, and here we find you entertainin’ strangers?” Chief exclaimed.

  “Oh, she is no harm,” Idris returned. “She’s just a mortal huntress.”

  “Aye, aye, and what is a mortal huntress doing so far up here?” Orn demanded, jutting out his chin.

  “She hunts Dohmnal like I said! I don’t expect she will succeed, but it would be a boon if that bear was defeated at last, don’t you agree?” When the goblins only muttered, Idris swung out an arm in pleading. “Please, let her stay. She interests me.”

  “Of course she interests you,” Chief grumbled. “She is female.”

  “Oh!” the goblin named Rom said, ears twitching. “Are you in love?”

  The rest all made an uproar about that, and Idris could not get a word in edgewise for a few moments. “No, no, no,” he said. “That’s not it at all; I only just met the girl. Just please. I…”

  The goblins lapsed into silence and considered him keenly as if they saw past all the veils and wrapping. Only Twinkle kept grinning and the fireflies kept up their steady buzz.

  “Are you lonely?” Chief asked bluntly.