Leave it to Fate Read online

  I followed with some trepidation, but he led us to where an easel had been set up by a small pond. A canvas was covered in a white cloth and painting supplies were set up nearby. “Is this yours? Do you paint?” I asked, approaching the easel.

  He smiled shyly and pulled off the cloth. I carefully controlled my reaction. The painting was technically quite good, and I decided to focus on that, rather than the difference between the pond before us and the one he’d painted.

  “This is very well done. Your use of light and shadow is amazing.”

  He beamed. “It’s the pond.”

  “I can tell,” I said neutrally, not knowing whether to comment on the stark difference between the idyllic landscape and the bleak picture he’d painted. Maybe this was before the queen had brightened things up today? I hoped that was the case, and not a manifestation of his worldview, though that would be understandable given he’d existed to be tortured for an unknown number of years.

  I pretended to stretch to hide my shudder. Something about the way he’d painted the pond in dark slashes of black and grey reminded me of the Shivering Woods.

  I had so many questions for him but feared asking any. I tried one. “Is Twist your real name?”

  He blinked those large doe eyes. “Why would I have a fake name?”

  “Oh, well, some people go by different names. I just thought it might be a nickname.”

  “What’s that?”

  I explained how some people called me ‘Meg’ rather than Meghan. He thought it sounded weird and I laughed. “I suppose so. It can get confusing when people go by different names.” Puck the magic faerie, I’m looking at you.

  He moved from the painting and pointed to a hedge-covered knoll on the other side of the pond. “Let’s go to my workshop. I can show you more things.”

  He took off at an awkward gallop and I wondered again if they’d called him Twist because of the way he ran, or if something had deliberately been done to him as an infant to make him that way. I was really hating the fae by the time we got around to the other side of the pond.

  It was darker there, which I hadn’t noticed from the opposite side. Once more, I was discombobulated by fae time and weather. It had been twilight when we’d arrived and still so when Grainne and I had walked into the garden before she’d turned it into a sunny day. The area where Twist and I stood appeared to have been immune to her upgrades.

  He led us into what I’d thought was a large row of hedges, which had turned out to be an enormous maze. Fortunately, he knew his way around, even in the dim light. By the time we stopped it was full dark, but there was enough moonlight that I could see the square, wooden building in the center of the maze. I thought it might be a large garden shed.

  Twist pulled a lantern off a hook on the door and lit the wick, giving me a better view of the building. It was made of old wood and looked to be about ten feet long on all sides.

  “My workshop,” he proudly proclaimed, and I smiled at his glowing face. He was any little boy showing off his fort.

  “After you, my lady,” he bowed.

  Grinning, I took the metal door handle then gasped as fiery pain shot through my palm. “What was that?” I yelped angrily and flexed my fingers to disburse the tingling.

  His eyes filled with quick tears and he grabbed my hand and blew over it. “Oh, no! I didn’t realize you must have started using your magic. I thought you were just brought to this realm. I didn’t know the iron would hurt you.”

  He must have noticed my confusion because he explained that changelings like me have some protection against iron before they fully assimilate into the fae realm. I guessed that explained my ‘iron allergy.’ I was much less affected by it in the mortal world before I’d blasted the Cu Sith. Before, it was more like a rash; after, it was like my skin was on fire.

  He looked so worried, I hastened to reassure him. Bending to his eye level, I rubbed his arm with my other hand. “It’s all right. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I’m sorry for yelling. I was just surprised but I’m not mad at you.”

  He looked at the ground. “It’s all right. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please don’t punish me.”

  It was my turn to tear up. I hugged him close. “I would never punish you!”

  He pulled back. “Swear it?”

  I nodded, and he smiled. A glimmer of something crossed his face, but I couldn’t make it out in the dim light. Relieved that he seemed to have forgiven me, I let him hold the door for me, and we passed through.

  “I really am sorry you hurt your hand,” he said softly. “I used iron on this door because I wanted a private place of my own.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  I glanced about in surprise. He’d lit a few more lamps and the interior came into focus. It was much larger than it appeared outside. The shelved walls were covered in books, bottles, astrolabes, and bits of things I wasn’t sure I wanted to know about. Kind of like Anweena’s cabinets but without the girly frou-frou.

  “Where did you get all this?” I asked.

  “Here and there. After King Boran died and Queen Grainne took me away from the dungeon, I had freedom to wander.”

  Another blow to the gut. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to suffer for so long.”

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t all bad. Sometimes he’d go away and leave me alone for months. The cage was large, and I was able to catch the rats, so I still had food whenever his servants forgot about me. It was better that way, being forgotten.”

  “You … were … kept in a cage?” I could barely whisper the words.

  “It was big enough,” he said matter-of-factly. “Look at this!”

  Lump in my throat, I watched as he ran to one of the bookshelves and pulled off a small box that had a crank on the side. He brought it to me and shoved it in my hands.

  “Try it, I made it!” He bounced on his heels, his eyes sparkling.

  “What is it?”

  “Crank the handle and see.”

  I gingerly touched the metal handle and he laughed. “It’s not iron, I swear.”

  Tinny music began to play as I turned the crank. “Oh, it’s a music box! You made this? Well done, you.”

  He grinned. “Keep turning it.”

  The music grew louder with each turn, building in tension like Ravel’s Bolero and I started to get nervous.

  “Keep going,” he said.

  He was so excited I couldn’t bear to disappoint, so I kept turning the handle. Right until a rat’s skull exploded from the top of the box and Twist dissolved into laughter.

  “Your face,” he gasped as tears rolled down his cheeks, and I couldn’t help but laugh with him, albeit with less force.

  “All right. You got me, you little scamp.” I put the box on one of the long wooden tables in the center of the room, the rat’s skull still bouncing on the spring.

  I supposed it could have been worse. Despite his horrific life, he was still very bright and maintained a sense of humor. Morbid, though it was. A wave of maternal instinct washed through me. That child needed help and love. His bright spirit still shone through the darkness and needed nurturing. He really was amazing.

  He showed off a few more of his inventions, including a hat with a feather that doubled as decoration and flyswatter. “See, if you pull this ribbon, it goes around the brim and keeps the bugs away,” he exclaimed. “Especially those nasty dragonflies.”

  He shuddered and I had to agree. Back home, I thought dragonflies were beautiful. Here, they were gossip bringers.

  “Genius,” I said, and his small chest puffed with pride. I made a mental note to praise him as often as possible.

  Wait … that sounded like a plan to stay. And I absolutely wasn’t planning on staying.

  I put my hands on his shoulders. “Twist, would you like to visit the human world with me?”

  “Why would I leave my home for a place with no magic?” He jerked out of my hands.

  “It’s not a scary place. You might
like it,” I said softly.

  He scowled. “Who said I was afraid to leave? I just don’t see how the human place could be any fun.”

  He had me there. Sometimes, it wasn’t. But, he was still a …. “How old are you?” I blurted.

  He blinked at the non-sequitur. “I don’t know. We must be the same age, though. How old are you?”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer. Then again, it might not mean anything to him in a place where time moved differently.

  “Twenty-eight.”

  “I guess I’m twenty-eight, then.” He shrugged. “Why would you even ask since we’re the same age?”

  I ran a finger over the dust on one of the tables. “Just curious.” Searching for a change of subject, an obvious one came to me. “When did you do all this? I thought King Boran died recently.”

  “He did. Do you like what I’ve done?”

  “I do, I’m just curious how you managed all this in such a short time.”

  “Was it a short time? I don’t know. I tend to get lost in time when I’m working on projects.”

  “I see.” What I saw, was pure, untapped, genius potential taken away from a world that desperately needed people like him. People who were how he might have grown up if he’d been with a loving home. What might he have accomplished in the human world?

  The sound of Grainne’s disembodied voice filling the room pulled me from my melancholy thoughts. “Twist, bring your sister back to the palace now,” she said.

  He put his elbow out like a little gentleman. “Our mother awaits.”

  The rest of the garden had undergone the cover of night when we finally crossed through the path toward the castle. The air was cool but not freezing, and the clear sky shone with a bright moon and a myriad of stars. The trees blinked in tiny yellow lights where the fireflies took refuge. They were reflected in the gleaming dark granite of the castle itself. The scent of Grainne’s flower garden still lingered in the air. In all, it was a strange amalgam of winter, spring, and summer. If it weren’t for all the sociopaths and murderous trees about, one could almost fall in love with the place.

  I gave Twist’s elbow a squeeze of affection. I suppose to a young boy—or a stunted young man—this place might have its charms if it was all you’d ever known. I silently vowed it wouldn’t be all he knew. I was going to get us both out of there.

  Tall guards that looked like humanoid antelopes dressed in green velvet, flanked the doors. “Are those guys new?” I whispered to Twist.

  “Guys? You mean guards?”

  I nodded and he shrugged.

  “Don’t recall. But they are dressed to receive dinner guests, so I suppose the queen must be entertaining early.”

  “You mean the ball is tonight?” Panic laced my voice.

  He laughed. “No, you silly girl. Her Majesty will want more time to prepare for that.”

  Relief relaxed my shoulders. “Oh, so just a late supper with a few friends?”

  “We’ll see.” He didn’t sound concerned, so I tried to hide my apprehension when two scary-looking maids greeted us at the door, and I was taken away to dress for dinner.

  Chapter Fourteen

  B eautiful, but too sheer dress? Check. Hair in a ludicrous, towering, fae style? God, help me, check.

  Riotous butterflies in my stomach? Yup. Dreading dysfunctional family dinner? A thousand times yes.

  Stalling, and hoping to not look utterly ridiculous, I complained to the maid—sorry, royal attendant—about my hair. Granted, I’d lived in Texas all my life where the women’s hair philosophy was ‘the bigger the better’, but I felt like a red-headed Marge Simpson - with big pink roses and jeweled butterflies in the beehive.

  “If we can just take it down a notch, like this …” I moved to pull down a few strands, and the styling attendant snarled at me. It was a disturbing sound coming from a long face no wider than the width of my hand.

  She was at least six-and-a-half-feet tall, with four, bone-thin arms and hands, and her grayish-white skin had a pearly luminescence. She reminded me of a stick insect … if stick insects had ringed fingers and wore chiffon gowns.

  The clothing attendant glided over, and the bug wings in my belly flapped in alarm. I couldn’t get used to their otherworldly movements.

  She said something to the hair stylist in a language that sounded a lot like hissing and chittering and grew louder by the moment. The one who’d done my hair whirled toward me, her small mouth revealing several pointed teeth.

  I stumbled back and one of her four arms shot out to pull me forward. Her other three hands whisked through my hair while she chittered, and I trembled uncontrollably.

  Her companion hissed and clicked again, and they both made a sound I thought might be laughter.

  After a few minutes in which I stood immobilized by fear—were they fixing my hair for dinner or fixing me for dinner?—she used all four of her arms to push me to the mirror again.

  “Is thisss more to your liking?” she asked in hissing English.

  I nodded, still afraid to speak. But yes, it looked much better. If I hadn’t been so shaken by their sudden change, I would have been thrilled.

  She’d taken down the height of the beehive by several inches, leaving only two roses and one butterfly tucked in it, and had softened the whole effect by adding a few loose curls around my face.

  Taking a deep breath, I gathered courage. It wasn’t likely they would do anything to me, right? I mean, my mother was their queen, after all.

  “Yes, much better. That’s what I’d been trying to tell you.” I straightened and tried on some royal command for size. “Since you’ve fixed it, I won’t complain to the queen if you also do something about this gown.”

  Their large eyes widened then narrowed in twin glares, and my new-found bravery floundered, but I continued to bluff, albeit more softly. “Is there any way to make the dress a little less revealing?”

  They looked at each other and I could only guess their expressions were those of surprise.

  “I thought you liked the dresss …” the clothing stylist said.

  I did, actually. Just wasn’t sure it was appropriate for a family dinner with unknown guests. “I feel a little naked.”

  Twin blinks.

  “It feels inappropriate,” I tried again.

  Another flurry of hissing and chittering where they seemed to grow taller in front of me.

  “Never mind,” I said, waving my hand quickly. “We’ll go with this. I’m sure you know your jobs.”

  When I finally stood in the dining room doorway, I saw what Queen Grainne and Dame Anweena were wearing, as well as the serving attendants, and had to admit my stylists did, indeed, know their jobs. Better than I did, apparently. I was a little under—and over—dressed.

  Grainne’s and Anweena’s hair styles fought for dominance under the glittering domed ceiling. But Grainne’s crown added a few more inches of height, so she won. The addition of platinum spikes sent the whole thing soaring at least three feet into the air. My foot-high hairdo was humble in comparison.

  And their clothes … Grainne was basically naked except for strategically placed bits of silk, bedazzled by enough diamonds to make De Beers weep. But I had to say, she pulled it off, despite—or possibly because of—her thinness. Anweena, on the other hand, covered her bulk in opaque satin brocades (thank God!), but her décolletage was impressive. And scary.

  The servers wore less than the queen, and Kemire, whom I was dismayed to see at the table, flirted with any who walked past. And the servers, in turn, flirted with Puck, who looked rather magnificent in black court clothes. He caught my eye and smiled, slowly. The sheer strips of my silk chiffon left little to the imagination, and the heat in his eyes said he was still imagining more.

  Flushing, I turned my attention to Twist.

  He looked adorable in his short knickers and velvet coat, and I gave him an encouraging smile. To my shock and dismay, the smile he returned gave Puck’s a run for its money.


  I gasped and he giggled. He ducked his head then looked back up with a combination of such innocence and mischief, I relaxed. That little brat was playing with me. A creepy game, but still just a game. I shook my head and mock-glared at him, causing dimples to crease his cheeks.

  The almost-human looking servant who’d accompanied me to the door cleared his throat. “Announcing Meghan Lovejoy ….” He paused, his expression one of disdain.

  After a few moments, Grainne turned sharply and glared at the herald.

  He cleared his throat and continued, “Daughter of Her Majesty, Queen Grainne of Gwynmorga.”

  The soft background music which had been playing suddenly died, and only the sound of a few sharply inhaled breaths filled the room.

  Grainne clicked her nails, and the herald flew toward her as if dragged by an invisible lasso. She took his face into her bony fingers, and with one hand, pried open his mouth. With the other, she used one of her three-inch, razor-like nails to slice out his tongue, and blew across his face to send the blood spatter back into his mouth before it could land on her or the table.

  She pushed his lips closed and announced, “You are relieved of your duties.” With a jerk of her head, she summoned waiting guards. “Take him to the dungeon.”

  Smiling brightly, she motioned me forward to sit in the empty chair to her right.

  The music and bustling of servers returned. My first concern was for Twist, but like the rest of those seated at the table, he took it in stride. When our plates were filled and the signal given to eat, any appetite I’d had was gone.

  “Tell me, Meghan—” Kemire started to speak, and Grainne interrupted.

  “Princess Meghan,” she hissed.

  My head jerked in surprise but Kemire quickly spoke again. “A thousand pardons, Princess Meghan.”

  I glanced at Twist who shrugged, then at Grainne who merely raised her brows.

  “Um, sure,” I said, and Kemire swiftly covered a moue of distaste before the queen noticed.

  I toyed with the idea of taking back my forgiveness, but obnoxious as he was, he was sort of a victim here. Puck had fooled around with his wife—I wish that didn’t rankle, but it did—and Grainne had ordered him to bring Puck to the palace.