Beauty (A Faery Story 3)

“Issy! Issy!” A high voice pierced her solitude.

Bron smiled. Even after all these years, she still was somewhat shocked to hear herself called by another name. Isolde. She’d selected it when Gillian had finally given up on finding a way off the plane. She could still see Gilly’s face, the tears streaking down as she’d told her she had to give up her name.

This plane had been hard on her foster mother.

“Issy!”

“I’m here, Ove!” There was nothing for it. The little brownie would call out for her until she found her quarry. Ove was a tenacious little thing.

The shafts of wheat moved and shuffled as the brownie ran toward her. Bron braced herself for impact.

“Found you.” Ove launched herself into Bron’s arms.

“Yes, you did.” Bron held her, enjoying the feel of her frail body. She loved the brownies. Their rough faces and scraggly hair evoked a tenderness that called her childhood back. The nannies and housemaids had almost all been brownies, working diligently for their cups of cream.

Ove was a youngling, barely past two, but brownies aged differently. She was still a child but well on her way to her own work. Still, the light of youth was in her wide black eyes. She clung to Bron for a moment. Brownies were deeply affectionate creatures when they were allowed to be. Her own nanny had carried her until she’d gotten too big, and then Flanna had stroked her hair and held her hand whenever possible. Her mother had loved the affection between them, and her father had tolerated it.

Where was sweet Flanna now? Probably buried in the wide mass graves she’d seen Torin’s men digging as she’d fled the palace.

She shook off the thought and looked down at little Ove. “So tell me, little one, why were you looking for me?”

“The mayor’s coming.”

Three words and her whole day was wrecked. Micha O’Donnell was a pompous ass who eyed her with far too much familiarity for a man twice her age. Unfortunately, he was a pompous ass with power in this backwater part of the world. This village might be the ass end of the plane, but Torin still had some measure of control through the officials even here.

Bron set the brownie on her feet. “Did your mum know why he’s coming?”

Of all the people left on the plane, only Mags had figured out who she and Gillian were. The brownie, who sometimes helped with the h

ouse and the fields, had slipped up once a few years back and called Gillian by her title. It seemed she’d been born on the Unseelie plane. Bron had despaired in leaving her tower since it had become her home, but Mags had taken to one fragile knee and pledged to defend the Unseelie princess with her life. It had satisfied Gillian, and then they’d had an ally.

“Mum said she overheard there was talk of new restrictions.” Ove’s eyes grew round, a wealth of fear.

Bron took a deep breath. New restrictions meant new laws against magic and non-sidhe creatures. She took Ove’s hand and began to wind her way out of the field. She needed to change clothes if the mayor was coming. He tended to call her to task when she was seen in public in the soft leather pants she’d come to favor.

She regretted leaving the field. She could think out there among the wheat she’d planted. She could close her eyes and almost feel her Dark Ones. What would the mayor think if he knew she dreamed at night of two lovers, one with dark powers and the other who could light up the night?

He would be horrified and possibly accuse her of witchcraft. It was what they accused everyone of these days.

When she travelled to sell her wheat, they were everywhere—bodies strung up on the side of the road. Witchcraft. Collusion. Improper contact with non-sidhe creatures. Whispering the names Beck and Cian. All offenses punishable by hanging.

There were rumors that the ones who had been hanged were the lucky ones.

Gillian stood at the edge of the field, a stern look on her face. She’d dressed for the occasion in a sturdy but respectable gown that would prove completely impractical in the fields. “Where have you been?”

Bron looked back at the field pointedly.

“None of your sass, girl.” Gillian sighed and shook her head. “If your da could see you now.”

He would be perfectly horrified, but the thought brought a bit of a smile to Bron’s face. “He would demand to know where his daughter was. Well, if he noticed at all. Now Mama, on the other hand, would have a fit of vapors, and my brothers would laugh.”

“Go on then, I see the little ones have already brought the news.” She winked down at Ove. “Go back to your mum.” She passed her a small container. “Morning milk, to thank her. Stay out of sight. The less they remember you exist, the safer you will be.”

Ove nodded her scraggly head and took off, the shafts marking her progress.

Bron was halfway up the stairs when Gillian caught her.

“You have to be more careful. If the guards caught you holding hands with Ove, they would have every right to arrest you.”