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Galen’s hand tightened painfully around mine. I looked up at him now, and found his eyes a little too wide, his lips half-parted. I knew now why Cel had bargained with the demi-fey to try to ruin Galen’s manhood. At the time it had simply seemed like another of his cruelties.
The kaleidoscope of butterflies and moths parted curtain-like, and Queen Niceven hovered in midair on large pale wings like some ghostly luna moth. Her dress sparkled silver; the diamonds in her crown were so bright in the light that the dazzle of it obscured her narrow features. I knew what she looked like because I’d seen her thin, near skeletal beauty before. Though only the size of a Barbie doll, she was thin enough for Hollywood. Looking at her all asparkle and pale white, I understood why people had thought the fey were spirits of the dead or angels. She looked like both and neither. Too solid to be a ghost, too insect-like to be an angel.
If Galen hadn’t been clinging to my hand I would have moved forward to speak with her, one royal to another, but I couldn’t ask him to go closer to that pretty, bloodthirsty cloud. Doyle saw my dilemma, and went forward, to bow before her. “Queen Niceven, to what do we owe this honor?”
“Pretty words, Darkness,” she said, and her voice was like evil, tinkling bells, “but a little late, don’t you think?”
“A little late for what, Queen Niceven?” he asked in his polite, empty court voice. The voice that he used when he didn’t know what political storm he had fallen into.
“For courtesy, Darkness, for courtesy.” She flew a little higher so she could see me better over Doyle’s tall form. “Now I am not even good enough for the princess to address me directly.”
I called to her, as Galen’s hand convulsed around mine. “You know full well why Galen doesn’t want to come closer to you and your kin.”
“And are you attached to your green knight? Are you one with him in flesh, so that you ca
“See, she pays no attention to us. The roof of the hall holds more interest for her than my court.”
I blinked and looked back to the flying queen. “My apologies, Queen Niceven, the brilliance of your crown quite dazzled me. I have seen your beauty many times, but it has never been so eye-catching as tonight. It made me realize that the light in this hallway is finally bright enough to do you and your finery the justice it deserves.”
“Pretty words, Princess Meredith, but empty ones. Flattery will not wipe away the insult you have laid against me and my court.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. Was I so tired that I had forgotten something important? For I was tired, an aching tiredness that comes after being up too long, or after too many things happen in too short a space of time. I had no idea what time it was. There were no clocks in faerie. Once it had been because time moved differently here than outside. Now there were no clocks allowed because they would work. Just another reminder that faerie wasn’t what it used to be.
“What insult has been done to your court?” Doyle asked.
“No, Darkness, she did the insulting, let her do the asking.” Her wings looked like some great moth, but they did not move like moth wings, not when she was angry. They blurred and buzzed as she flew past Doyle to hover in front of me.
Galen pulled back so hard, I stumbled against him. He caught me automatically, but that put him closer to the tiny hovering fey. He seemed to freeze against me, his arms pi
Niceven hissed, flashing tiny needle-like teeth, and darted in. I think she only meant to land on my shoulder, but Frost put his arm in her way. He didn’t try to hit her, but her guard reacted, flying toward their queen. They descended on us like a swirl of rainbow leaves, with tiny pinching hands, and sharp biting teeth.
Galen yelled and threw up a hand, turning so that he used his own body as a shield against them. He started to run, but he tripped and fell, landing on the ground with me underneath him. He caught himself with one arm so that I didn’t take his full weight. My face ended up buried in the rich green smell of crushed leaves. I opened my eyes and found myself nearly buried in greenery. I thought for a moment that Galen and I had been transported, but my fingers found the bareness of the hallway stone underneath. I looked at the far wall, and saw the other guards still standing around us. Plants had sprung from the naked rock.
Galen had curled himself over me, shielding me with his body. He was still tense and waiting for the first blow. A blow that did not come. I turned enough to see his face, his eyes screwed tight. He had given himself over to one of his greatest fears to protect me. He hadn’t seen the flowers yet, but the others had.
Niceven’s voice hissed, “Evil sidhe, evil, evil sidhe. You have bespelled them.”
“Interesting,” Doyle said, “very interesting.”
“Most impressive,” Hawthorne said, “but whose work is it?”
“Galen’s,” Nicca said.
Galen’s body had begun to relax above me. He opened his eyes, and I watched his puzzlement as he looked at the plants that had filled the hallway. “I did not do this.”
“Yes,” Nicca said again, in a voice that was very certain, “yes, you did.”
Galen raised up on one arm, so that he was half sitting above me. He turned and looked behind us, and whatever he saw covered his face in astonishment. I sat up and looked, too.
Flowers filled a small space of hallway. The winged demi-fey were cuddled into those flowers, rolling in the petals, covering themselves with pollen. They were reacting like cats to catnip.
Queen Niceven hovered above them untouched by the call of the flowers. Less than a handful of her winged warriors were at her side. All the others had fallen to Galen’s flowers. It was an enchantment, that much I understood, but beyond that I was as lost as the look on Galen’s face.
“He’s the only one who has not had new power manifest.” Frost poked at one of the nodding blossoms with the tip of his sword.
“Well,” Doyle said, gazing at the flowers and the drugged demi-fey, “this is certainly manifested.” He gri
“Well,” a voice said from behind us, “I leave for a few minutes and you’ve planted a garden.” It was Rhys, back from escorting the police outside the sithen. Nicca told him what had happened. Rhys gri
“It’s not a hand of power,” Nicca said. “It’s a skill, a magical skill.”
“You mean like baking or doing needlepoint?” Rhys asked.
“No,” Nicca said, not rising to the joke, “I mean it is like Mistral’s manifesting a storm. It is a manifestation, a bringing into being.”
Rhys gave a low whistle. “Creating something out of nothing. The Unseelie haven’t been able to do that in a very long time.”
Galen touched one of the largest cupped blossoms, and it spilled a tiny demi-fey out into his hand. He jerked as if he’d been bitten, but he didn’t drop the delicate figure. A female dressed in a short brown dress, with her brown and red and cream wings fa