She’s always been this way.
Once the initial shock passes, I realize she has a corncob pipe sticking out of the side of her mouth and she’s dressed very simply in a loose dress of pale blue linen, square cut in the front, and a pair of worn lace-up boots.
I’m stunned once again, though, when she looks right at Pyke and smiles in greeting as she holds her arms out. “Cousin,” she exclaims warmly. “It’s been too long since you visited.”
“Only about a hundred years,” he replies, and my mouth drops open again.
It’s hard to fathom how old these creatures are, and that a hundred years is nothing to them.
Arwen turns to me and Carrick, but despite the fact she has no eyes, I can tell she sees us.
“Hello,” she says sweetly, revealing perfect teeth. “Welcome. I’m Arwen.”
Before either Carrick or I can introduce ourselves, her head turns just slightly more in my direction and she tips it. “And you are Finley, accompanied by your protector, Carrick.”
My eyes slide to Carrick, then Pyke. Neither seem surprised she knows this, nor that she can seemingly see with no eyes.
There’s silence, then Arwen clasps her hands in front of her body, waiting for someone to say something.
I take a step away from Carrick toward her. “I need some answers. There’s so much that’s happened in my life, and I don’t understand any of it. I need help.”
“I can give you answers,” Arwen says softly, and even without her eyes, I know she’s boring her focus into me. “But you might not like the answers.”
“Maybe not,” I admit. “But it’s worse not knowing.”
Arwen inclines her head, sweeping her hand toward her domed hut. “Very well. Come with me.”
Pyke starts to move that way, but not Carrick for some reason. Arwen turns, holding her hand out, palm facing Pyke. “Only Finley.”
My gaze goes to Carrick. He gives me a short nod, and the message is clear. You can and should do this on your own.
It’s a definitive statement of his trust in me, and it means something personal.
Turning for the flap door, I duck my head and enter Arwen’s home.
The inside of the hut is glowing with light, coming from a handful of lamps hung from the interior log poles that provide the structure. There’s obviously no electricity here, so the assumption is that Arwen has the magic her noble birth would presuppose.
The ground is covered with several beautiful rugs in colorful patterns scattered around but all overlapping so there’s no grass or dirt visible. She has a bed up against one edge of the hut, a square wooden platform suspended just a bit from the ground by large stones. The mattress looks handmade, fluffy, and not exactly the shape of the square platform.
There’s a desk on the other side with a sturdy chair, and several wooden crates that look to hold her belongings. On her desk is a book and pen, but nothing else.
The last thing I notice is a low table that sits free standing at the end of her bed and on it is a simple wooden bowl that holds what appear to be crystals, which are glowing. They’re multi-colored, cylindrical, and varied in length. The column portions are smooth but the ends are pointed and look rough cut. I believe they’re nothing more than a decorative touch and I comment how pretty they are.
“Crystals have the capacity to channel power,” Arwen says with a fond smile at her bowl, but offers no other explanation.
While she seems to live with very little, none of this hits poverty level. The desk and chair are finely crafted, and the rugs look expensive. I have no clue if she has money to buy such things or perhaps her magic lets her conjure what she needs.
But really, I don’t care which it is. After Arwen helps me, I’m leaving Faere, and I don’t intend to ever come back.
“Let’s sit,” Arwen says, her voice soft and pleasant. She lowers herself gracefully down to the rugs and I follow suit, crossing my legs Indian style. Arwen removes the unlit pipe from her mouth, then sets it on the rug at her hip.
“Pyke called you his cousin,” I say, opening with conversation and to alleviate a mild curiosity. “You’re part of the royal family?”
Arwen smiles and nods. “Pyke’s father and my mother are siblings.”
“Why don’t you live with them?”
She actually chuckles, then shakes her head before waving a hand at her face. “Do you think the royals would accept a family member looking the way I do?”
“You were cast out?” I ask, aghast that such a thing could happen.
“No,” she replies softly. “My mother couldn’t bear having a disabled daughter, but my father wouldn’t let her send me away. It caused a bitter divide between them for I was never welcome at the castle and he would never go anywhere I wasn’t allowed.”