Chapter Twenty-Three
The servant came in with a coat. It was leather pieced together with heavy Frankenstein stitches. The leather was shades of black, different sections having different textures, and some pieces of gray and white among the blackness, as if the coat had been made from different kinds of animals. The stitches and differences in skin should have made it an ugly coat, but it didn't. Somehow it all worked like a club kid meets Goth, with a little motorcycle thrown in.
The really surprising thing to me was that it fit, not just closely, but perfectly. It was so tight through the arms and upper body that I had to take the bloody hospital gown off to fasten the buttons. I knew the feel of the buttons; they were carved bone. The coat fit tightly enough that my cleavage was framed nicely in its V-neck. The tightest part of the coat was under my breasts, so it was almost an empire waist. Then the coat spilled out and down like a ballgown. It buttoned all the way to the floor.
Sholto actually knelt in front of me to finish the buttoning. He smiled up at me. "You look lovely."
Was it shallow to feel better just because I had a coat that fit me well? Maybe, but as bad as I was feeling, I'd take anything that made me feel better.
"It fits perfectly," I said. "Whose clothes am I borrowing?"
"It was made for the queen of the sluagh," he said, standing.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"It means that the court seamstress had a dream some months back. She was told that I would take a queen and that she should sew accordingly."
I rubbed my fingertips down the leather. It was so soft. The seamstress had lined the inside of the coat so that the stitching didn't rub my skin.
"You're saying your seamstress knew Meredith would be queen before anyone else?" Mistral asked.
"Not Meredith, not by name, but the measurements, yes."
"And you let her sew for some phantom queen?" Doyle said.
"Mirabella has sewn for this court for centuries. She has earned the right to be indulged a little. But many of the clothes were made of scraps and pieces, like this coat, so it wasn't a loss." He gave me an appreciative smile. "Seeing Meredith in it lets me know that nothing was lost."
"Why would it be that important that I have clothes here? Important enough for a prophetic dream?" I asked.
"We are under siege," Doyle said. "Perhaps we will be here longer than we think. There are probably clothes to borrow for Mistral and myself, but you would be harder to fit."
"But why would nice clothes be that important?" I asked.
"Mirabella told everyone who would listen that I would take a queen and that she would be only this big." He made a gesture like you would measure a fish. "It forced the remaining hags and our female nightflyers to rethink their pursuit of me."
"You mean women of your court stopped pressuring you because this Mirabella was sewing clothes that would not fit them?" I asked.
"Yes," he said.
"Had you seen the clothes before this moment?" Doyle asked.
"No," Sholto said. "The women of my court were much interested but I stayed out of it. Honestly, I thought Mirabella might be doing it to help me keep the women from pestering me so hard." He ran his hand down my leather-clad arm. "But it was a true dream, this."
"I hope it doesn't mean we'll be trapped here," Mistral said. "Nothing personal, King Sholto, but that would mean that the humans were not able to get us out."
"I do not wish for anything to go wrong with Meredith's plan, but I can't say that having her with me longer wouldn't be a pleasure."
There was a soft, respectful knock at the door. I knew without really being told that it was a servant. It's as if they are taught that knock with the job description - a way of drawing attention to themselves, but not interrupting.
Sholto called, "Enter."
The woman who had brought the coat bowed as she came through the door. "King Sholto, I am sorry, but there is a matter that requires your attention."
"Speak plainly, Bebe. What matter?"
All three of her eyes flicked a look at Mistral and Doyle, maybe just a little more to Doyle, before she asked, "Are you certain you wish court matters to be spoken of before strangers?" She went to her knees immediately, "I do not mean Queen Meredith, but the two sidhe."
I thought it was an interesting distinction that they were sidhe but Sholto and I were not. Was it simply that you could not be sidhe and rule the sluagh, or was it an acknowledgment that we both looked too unsidhe-like? I didn't know Bebe well enough to ask her thoughts, but it was still interesting.
Sholto sighed, then turned to us. "I'm sorry, but it is true that you are not sluagh. I'll be right back, hopefully." He didn't look happy leaving us, but he went out into the hallway with the servant.
"Interesting that they do not consider their king to be sidhe," Mistral said.
"Or me," I said.
Doyle came to me, running his hands down the arms of my new garment. "You do look lovely in the coat. It becomes you."
"Yes," Mistral said. "I do not mean to ignore your beauty, Princess. Forgive me." He actually went down on one knee as I'd seen the guards do for Queen Andais when they feared that they'd displeased her.
"Get up," I said, "and never do that again."
He looked puzzled, but he stood, though the uncertainty on his face was almost painful. "I upset you. I am sorry."
"It was the dropping to the ground like you would for the queen," Doyle said.
I nodded. "I've had to do my own groveling on the floor all my life. I don't want to see it in my kings, or the fathers of my children. You can apologize, Mistral, but never drop to the ground as if you are afraid of what I will do. That is not my way."
He looked at Doyle, who gave one nod. Mistral came to stand by us. He smiled a little uncertainly at me. "It may take me a little while to understand this new way of doing things, but I am eager to learn things that keep me off my knees."
I had to smile at that. "Oh, I don't know. I like a man on his knees if it's for a good cause."
Mistral frowned.
Doyle explained. "She means that if you are giving her pleasure, you can kneel to reach."
Mistral actually blushed, something I had never seen him do before. He looked away, but answered, "I would be happy to do that again with you, Princess."
"Meredith, Mistral. My name is Meredith, or even Merry, when we are alone."
The door opened with no knock, and I knew by that that it would be Sholto. He came in, his face very obviously not happy.
"What has happened?" Doyle asked.
"Your mother has sent a message. She demands proof that you are well, or the Seelie are prepared to do more than just camp outside the sluagh's mound."
"Are they truly willing to attack you?" I asked.
"Whether they would do it, I cannot say, but that they threaten it is true enough."
"Do they not understand what they risk?" Doyle asked.
"I think they see no humans to tattle on them, and we have all made small battles one against the other where the humans have not seen them. We do not bear tales to the humans."
"Taranis changed that when he went to the human authorities and accused my men of rape."
"That was... odd," Sholto said.
"And if we can get to the human authorities, we will return the favor, but with a true crime," I said, and even to me I sounded grim.
Doyle hugged me, and I slid my arms around the warm bareness of him.
"We can speak on the court mirror to your mother." Sholto got a strange look on his face.
"What is it?" Mistral asked.
"I just realized that this will be the first time I've spoken to my mother-in-law."
Doyle startled in my arms. "I have thought of Besaba as an enemy for so long, but you are right. She is Meredith's mother."
"No, she only gave birth to me," I said. "You have seen the death of the only woman who earned the right to be called my mother. Gran raised me with my father. My mother wants me now only because she thinks it may make her the mother of the queen of the Seelie. Before Taranis began to show interest in me, she cared nothing for me."
"She is your mother," Sholto said.
I shook my head, still wrapped in Doyle's arms. "I believe that you must earn that title. It's another by-product of being raised among the humans. I don't believe that just giving birth earns you anything."
"The Christians believe that you must honor your father and mother," Doyle said.
"True, but ask most Americans and they'll tell you you have to earn that respect."
"Do you wish to ignore Besaba's request then?" Sholto asked.
"No. She's pretending to be the aggrieved party. We must show her that there's no reason to be aggrieved." I gazed up at Doyle. "Would it be good or bad to have Doyle and Mistral at my side? Would you prefer that it be just you and me, Sholto?"
"I think a show of force is called for," he said. He looked at the other two men. "If you have no objection, I think Meredith and myself in front as king and queen with you at our sides, and some of my other guards behind us. Let us remind them what they would fight."
That seemed to meet with everyone's approval. Sholto said, smiling, "I think I have some clothes that will fit you both, though Mistral's a little bigger through the shoulders. Maybe an open jacket with no shirt, a very barbarian king."
"I will wear what you like," Mistral said. "I appreciate you letting us stay at Meredith's side in this moment."
"Those of the Seelie who are not afraid of the sluagh will fear the Queen's Darkness and Mistral, Lord of Storms."
"It is long since I have had the power to do what my name says."
"You hold the spear that once belonged to the Thunderer. Taranis's mark of power is in your hands, Storm Lord."
"I think," Doyle said, "that that is information best not shared with the Seelie. They are already here for the chalice. If Taranis knew that one of his objects of power had chosen another hand to guide it... " Doyle shook his head and put his hands out, as if grasping for a word.
I finished the thought for him. "Taranis would go apeshit."
"Apeshit?" Doyle made it a question, then nodded. "I was going to say that he would kill us all, but yes, that term will do."
Chapter Twenty-Four
Doyle and Mistral fit nicely in Sholto's clothes, but then except for Rhys and myself, all the sidhe I knew were around six feet tall. The men were all broad of shoulder, narrow of waist, and well built. The guards were muscled and hardened from weapons practice or actual battle. But Sholto was right about Mistral's shoulders. They were just a touch broader than either his, or Doyle's. Not by much, but it was enough that the shirts didn't fit, straining so badly that they didn't look right. Better to wear less clothing and look good than to wear more and look bad. We were about to deal with the Seelie Court, and they were all about appearances. If it looked good, it was good. So dysfunctional a family, that.
Mirabella, the court seamstress, walked around Mistral tugging at the coat she'd found for those broad shoulders. She pulled one side with a pale, slender hand, then smoothed a fold in the rich blue cloth with her black-and-white tentacle.
Her right arm was the tentacle of a nightflyer. She seemed perfectly human, except for that bit of extra. The tentacle was very dexterous, as I knew the nightflyers could be. She used both limbs without thought. It was the effortlessness of years of having both. Was she part nightflyer? The child of some attack, or even a willing roll in the hay? I wanted to ask, but it would have been rude.
Mistral looked amazing in the coat. The rich blue color seemed to make his eyes blue too, like a summer sky. The wide collar was lined with gray fur so that his own cloud-gray hair seemed to meld with it, and it was hard to see where fur ended and hair began.
Mirabella had him turn so she could see the long coat billow around him. There was more gray fur in a wide line down the back of the coat, so that the free spill of his ankle-length hair continued that mingling illusion - not an illusion of magic, but of skill and choice of clothing.
"It looks like it was made for him," Doyle said dryly.
The seamstress smoothed her brown hair in its neat bun with the tentacle, then looked at him with the full force of her olive-green eyes with their hint of brown and gray, and even almost gold around the irises. They were the closest a human could get to having multiple-colored eyes like a sidhe. She was tall and lovely, and moved with that stiff, strangely graceful, perfect posture that said that she was wearing a corset under her dress. The dress looked very 1800s, and was a deep, almost blackish green, which brought out the green in her eyes. The sleeves did not match the historical accuracy of the everyday dress. They were puffed at the top, and belled wide at the bottom so that they spilled back when she raised her limbs, and you got glimpses of the tentacle which went at least to where her elbow might have been.
Sholto said, "Mirabella, did you make this for Mistral?"
She didn't look at her king, but continued to fuss with the coat, which was almost more of a robe.
"I told you of my dream, Your Highness."
"Mirabella." He said her name with more force to it.
She turned, and gave him a nervous flick of eyes, then turned Mistral toward us, as if for inspection. He'd taken all her fussing without complaint. Queen Andais liked dressing up her guards for dinners, dances, or her own amusement. Mistral was used to being treated as if his opinion did not matter when it came to dressing. Mirabella had been utterly professional compared to Andais. Not a single grope.
Mistral was wearing a pair of black trousers, tucked into knee-high boots. Mirabella had tied a wide blue sash at his waist, and the color looked good against the moonlight-white of his bare stomach. The deep, deep blue of the coat framed his chest, all that pale muscled flesh. When Sholto had said that Mistral would be a very barbarian king, he'd been right.
"That coat was never made for my shoulders, Mirabella," Sholto said, giving her a look.
She shrugged her shoulders, and something about the movement made me certain that there was a human shoulder under the sleeve, or something harder, and with more bone than the tentacle.
She finally looked at her king. There was anger, no rage in those fine eyes. She dropped to her knees in a spill of heavy skirts and a glimpse of black petticoats. "Forgive me, My King, but hubris has gotten the better of me. If the Seelie are to see my work after so many years on other than you, King Sholto, then I want them to be impressed. I want them to see what clothes they might have had from my two good hands if Taranis hadn't taken one of them."
That answered one question. Once upon a time, Mirabella had had two good hands.
"You must have stayed up all night to sew this coat, and the outfit for Doyle."
"Don't you remember, Your Highness? I made the red for you, but the queen did not care for it at court, so you never wore it again."
Sholto frowned, then smiled and shook his head. "She thought it was too much color in her court. She called it too Seelie. I had forgotten."
Doyle was dressed in red, a beautiful clear crimson that looked spectacular against the darkness of his skin. The contrast was almost painfully beautiful. The coat looked like a modern business suit jacket, except for the color and the fit. The fit flattered his broad shoulders and narrow waist - an athletic cut, they called it in the stores. There were pants to match, which she'd had to make small darts in so that they fit more closely at the waist, but the crimson cloth fit like a glove through the hips and thighs and spilled a little wide, so that the hem fell nicely over a pair of shiny black loafers.
She'd chosen a silk shirt in an icy gray, which complemented both the red of the suit and Doyle's skin. She'd even had the nightflyer who had accompanied her do his hair in a long braid. The nightflyer had used her tentacles to weave red ribbons through all that black hair so that it trailed to his ankles with the line of red tracing back and forth.
"And Una helped me sew the coat. She has become quite skilled, and I envy her all those limbs to sew with." She gestured at the nightflyer who had braided Doyle's hair.
The nightflyer who had been standing so quietly against the wall, gave a bow. "You are too kind, mistress."
"I give credit where credit is due, Una."
Una actually blushed a little across the paleness of her underbelly. "I'm impressed that you made boots for Mistral in such quick order," I said.
Mirabella looked at me, a little startled. "The sizes are almost the same. How did you know that they were new just by looking?"
"I've had to take the guards in Los Angeles shoe shopping. I've gotten pretty good at judging sizes."
She smiled, almost shyly. "You have a good eye."
I started to say thank you, but wasn't sure how long Mirabella had been inside faerie. "Thank you" can be an insult to some of the older denizens.
Instead I said, "I do my best, and the coat you made for me is perfect."
She smiled, truly pleased.
"You didn't make the boots," Sholto said.
She shook her head. "I made a bargain."
"The leprechaun," he said, and he said it as if there was only one of them, which wasn't true. There weren't many in the New World, but we had a few.
She nodded.
"Are you really going to date him?" Sholto asked.
She actually blushed. "He enjoys his work as I enjoy mine."
"You like him," I said.
She gave me that nervous eye flick again. "I think I do."
"You know that there are no rules among the sluagh for who you sleep with," Sholto said, "but the leprechaun has been pressing you for a hundred years, Mirabella. I thought you found him unpleasant."
"I did, but... " she spread her hand and tentacle wide. "I just don't seem to find him unpleasant anymore. We talk of clothes, and he has a television in his home. He brings me fashion magazines and we discuss them."
"He's found the way to your heart," Doyle said.
She gave a little giggle and a smile. That alone let me know that the leprechaun had gotten some of his bargain already. "I suppose he has."
"Then you have my blessing. You know that," Sholto said. He was smiling.
Then her face went serious and grim. "Tully has courted me for a hundred years. He has been gentle, and he's never gotten above himself with me, unlike some I could name."
"Taranis," I said. I said the name without feeling anything. Parts of me were still a little numb, and that was probably a good thing.
She glared at me, then her face softened. "If I am not too presumptuous, Queen Meredith, I heard what he did to you, and I am most heartily sorry. He should have been stopped years ago."
"I take it he tried his version of courting with you."
"Courting." She almost spat the word. "No, in the midst of a fitting he tried to take me by force. I had been invited into faerie with promises of safety and honor. He had to drop all the illusions on his person for fittings, so his magic that made all the women see him as beautiful did not work on me. I knew that he was getting a little soft around the middle. I knew all the flaws in his illusions. I had truth on my side, and he could not seduce me with magic."
"You were probably also holding pins and needles made of cold steel," Doyle said.
She looked at him, then nodded. "You are correct. The very tools of my trade kept me from falling into his trap. In his rage, he cut off my right arm." She held up the tentacled limb. It moved gracefully in the air, like some underwater creature found on land. "Then he had me driven out of his sithen, because a one-armed seamstress was useless to him."
"How long had you been in faerie by then?" Doyle asked.
"Fifty years, I think."
"To drive you outside the sithen means that all those years would have come upon you all at once," Mistral said.
She nodded. "Once I had touched ground, yes. But not all in his court agreed with what he had done to me. Some of the court women carried me to the Unseelie Court. They petitioned the queen for me, and she said almost the same thing Taranis had said: 'What use is a one-armed seamstress to me?'" Tears glistened in her eyes, unshed.
Sholto went to her in the beautiful black and silver tunic, and pants, and shiny boots that she had made, or had had made for him. He raised her from her knees, with one hand on her hand and one on the end of her tentacle.
"I remember that night," he said.
She looked up at him. "So do I, My King. I remember what you said. 'She is welcome among the sluagh. We will tend her.' You never asked what I was good for, or if you had a use for me. The court ladies made you promise that you would not abuse me, for they were sore afraid of the sluagh."
Sholto smiled. "I want the Seelie afraid of us; it is our shield."
She nodded. "You took me in with only one good arm, not knowing that Henry could find a way to make me useful again. I have never asked, My King. What would you have done with me if I had had no skill to give you?"
"We would have found you some task that you could do with the one hand you had, Mirabella. We are the sluagh. There are those among us with only one limb, and those with hundreds. We are an adaptable lot."
She nodded, and turned away so he couldn't see that the tears had finally decided to fall down her face. "You are the kindest of rulers, King Sholto."
"Don't tell anyone outside this court that," he said with a laugh.
"It will be our secret, My King."
I said, "Did you say that Dr. Henry gave you your new limb?"
"He did," she said.
"How?"
"One of the nightflyers was kind enough to let him take a limb from her. You know they can grow back their tentacles?"
"Yes," I said.
"Well, Henry had been working on the... concept that he might be able to put a limb from a nightflyer, who could replace it, onto one of the sluagh, who could not. He had not done it successfully, but he offered to try on me, if I was willing." She gave a small gesture with both her limbs. "I was willing."
"Humans have to get donors who are genetically compatible for any kind of organ donation. They're only just beginning to try with hands and things, but most of the time the bodies reject the new limb. How did Henry get past the rejection problem?"
"I do not understand everything you just said, My Queen, but Henry would be better able to answer your questions. If you want to know how I sew his jackets to flatter his body, I can tell you, but how he made the wonder of this new limb, I do not completely understand even now. I have had it for many, many years, and I marvel at it still."
She began to gather up her basket and sewing. Una helped her. When they were done, they turned back to survey us. "You all look suitable, as I'd hoped, if I do say so myself."
"Shall we find a reason to mention who did our clothes?" Doyle asked.
She gave him that flick of eyes again. "He knows I am here, Lord Doyle. Taranis might not have valued me, but there were those at his court who mourned my swift fingers and my needlework. There are still a few women of the court who come to me with commissions from time to time. Those who carried me on a cloak from sithen to sithen, trying to save me that dark night, have come to pay me for my work. King Sholto graciously allows it."
I looked at Sholto, and he looked a little embarrassed. "One king cannot keep a designer of your skills busy. The sluagh are not a court where clothes matter so terribly much."
She laughed. "The fact that most of your court goes nude is a disappointment to me." She looked at me, and the others. "Though I think that may be changing." She dropped a curtsey, Una bowed, and out they went.
"Taranis needs killing," Mistral said.
"Agreed," Doyle said.
"We will not start a war over what happened to me, or what he did to Mirabella."
"It's a history of such things, Meredith," Doyle said.
"Ah," Mistral said. "He was once a ladies' man, but when that failed him he was never above force."
"Was he always so cruel - taking her arm, I mean?"
"No, not always," Doyle said.
I kept hearing stories that Taranis had once been a hard-drinking, hard-loving, manly man, but I'd never seen it. There wasn't enough reality left to my uncle for that now. Once he would have trusted his powers of seduction to get me into his bed. In fact, before he used magic to rape me, I would have said that he would never have believed that I would refuse him. His self-confidence was legendary. What had I done to make him think that his illusions could not win me?
"Why did Taranis use a spell to rape me, rather than trust his own attractiveness? I mean, his ego is huge. Why would he not believe that I would say yes eventually?"
"Maybe he didn't feel that there was time," Sholto said.
"He meant to keep me, Sholto. He should have felt that there was time enough."
"What are you asking, Meredith?" Doyle asked.
"I just find it curious that he used a spell so much different than his usual ones on me. He's nearly rolled over me with his attractive illusions all the way to Los Angeles in a mirror call. But this time he raped me almost as any man might. It doesn't seem like him."
"You've told us that you saw through his illusion when he first found you in faerie," Doyle said.
"Yes, he looked like Amatheon but I touched him and he didn't feel like him. Amatheon is clean-shaven, and I felt beard."
"But you shouldn't have felt it," Mistral said. "Taranis is the King of Light and Illusion. It means that his glamour stands up to almost anything. He should have been able to bed you without you ever knowing that he was not who he pretended to be."
"I had not thought," Doyle said.
"Thought what?" I asked.
"That his illusion was not as good as it should have been."
We all thought about that. "His magic is fading," Sholto said at last.
"And he knows it," I said.
"That would make the old ego-hound completely desperate," Mistral said.
"And completely dangerous," Sholto said.
We could only agree with him, unfortunately. We did the last-minute preparations for the mirror call with my mother and the other Seelie outside our gates.
