Irene Radford - Thistle Down

“Is that why Meggie has convinced all her friends to call their latest crush Pixie love?”

“She said something about that.” Thistle covered the ache deep in her chest by taking a long sip of tea.

“Who took you to the top of the Patriarch Oak?” Dusty smoothed her skirts and took a seat across the long table from Thistle.

“How’d you know?”

“You said you’d been betrayed and that your story was more embarrassing than mine.”

“Alder,” Thistle choked out.

“King of your tribe?”

Thistle nodded.

“But don’t your kings and queens have to marry outside the tribe to keep the peace?”

“Yes. We hadn’t had a true king in our tribe for ever so long. The old Faery in the tree ruled us. So when he finally went away, we didn’t know for sure what to do about a treaty or electing a new king or anything. Alder knew. I think he knew the old guy was on the verge of going away and arranged the treaty and the election beforehand, without telling anyone. The Patriarch Oak is supposed to belong to all the tribes. Alder is now refusing to let anyone but himself use it. The other tribes have to make do with their own trees. I thought…” She swallowed her pain and blurted the rest. “I thought when he took me up to the top that he meant us to be together always. He took me all the way to the top of the tree at noon, proclaiming to one and all that we were mates. He didn’t mean it. He sent for a Princess from the valley tribes to be his mate the next day.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.” They sat in silence a moment, each wrapped deep in her own thoughts. The whir of the air conditioner and the soft murmur of voices barely intruded.

“So why’d he exile you?” Dusty finally broke the silence.

“Pixies have treaties with some of the bird flocks. Mostly robins and their cousins, the varied thrushes. We help them find the juiciest worms and they let us ride on them when we have to go long distances.”

“And…?” Dusty prompted.

“I bribed the varied thrush sent to carry Milkweed to The Ten Acre Wood. He flew the wrong way and led Milkweed and her whole family astray. They were two days late to the wedding.” Thistle giggled over that.

“Oh, you are nasty.” Dusty smiled, a laugh twitching at the corners of her mouth.

“Alder sure was mad. And I’m told that Milkweed hasn’t consented to a mating flight yet.”

“Trouble in paradise. If I were Milkweed, I wouldn’t trust Alder either. I presume, like most men, you aren’t the only one he betrayed.”

“Yes. But not all men are as selfish and greedy as he is. Dick…”

“Dick is incapable of making a commitment. He hasn’t had a relationship last more than a month, ever. Chase isn’t much better.”

“So what if Haywood is the rogue Pixie trying to cut down The Ten Acre Wood?” Thistle asked gently. She covered Dusty’s hand with her own. “I know he bribed a bunch of teens to blow up the cell tower, maybe some of the carnival rides tonight. He’s tying them to him with mushrooms.”

“I refuse to believe that he could be that devious. He kissed me. And it was glorious. The world sparkled.”

Uh-oh. Thistle didn’t know if she should suggest an alternative to those colored lights.

“He said he loved me,” Dusty insisted.

“Alder said he loved me.”

Another long silence.

“I don’t know whom to trust. A man I’m very attracted to who says he loves me, or the man I grew up with who has always been a friend. He fixed my music box.”

“Don’t trust either of them,” a new voice said. A high chiming voice that came from the air somewhere close to Dusty’s ear.

Thistle searched wildly for the source.

Dusty batted at her ear as if at an annoying insect.

“Hey, watch it, lady! I’m not going to sit around all day and get squashed just because you two are deep into crying over spilled milk. Though, if you spill it on a rhododendron, I’d enjoy lapping it up,” a little blue Pixie said.

“Chicory,” Thistle said on a long exhale, not sure if she should be annoyed or relieved. “What are you doing here? This is still part of Alder’s territory.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, so I’m not sticking around long.”

“Chicory.” Dusty choked on her tea. She looked pale and a little green around the edges. Her eyes lost focus and threatened to roll upward. As if her mind couldn’t quite wrap itself around the reality of the obnoxious blue boy with a cap that looked like an upside-down chicory blossom on his head, knickers and tunic the same shade, and darker blue skin and hair. His blue green wings stilled their constant flutter as he landed on the table, regarding Dusty with concern.

“So what brings you into dangerous lands?” Thistle prodded the tiny man.

“Mabel sent me.”

“Mabel? As in police dispatch Mabel who has an army of Pixie spies?” A little color returned to Dusty’s face and her eyes focused firmly on the Pixie.

“Yeah, that Mabel. She says I have to apologize to you, Miss Dusty, for some tricks we played on you, and for spying on you and your boyfriend last night down on the river walk.”

“Was that you who made the air sparkle when he kissed me?”

“No. Don’t know who threw the Pixie dust. Look, I’m not going to say any more than to warn you to be careful. There could’ve been some magic enthrallment in that dust. There is more, and less, to Mr. Haywood Wheatland than he says. And he’s been known to lie. True Pixies can’t lie. That’s what Faeries do. So just be careful. Chase is one of the good guys. You can trust him. And, again, I apologize on behalf of Mabel’s tribe.” He executed a formal bow from the waist and set his wings to sweeping rapidly. He rose straight up from the table and aimed for the closed door to the rest of the museum.

Thistle figured he could crawl under the door or slip through the big old-fashioned lock.

“Hey, don’t I get an apology?” she asked.

“Mabel didn’t say anything about you, exiled one. I think growing big makes it possible for you to lie, too. Mabel just told us to consider Miss Dusty one of ours now. Oh, and I have it on good authority that Mrs. Shiregrove will be home for tea this afternoon and will talk to you.” He flitted out before Thistle could call him back again.

“THANK YOU FOR SEEING ME on such short notice, Mrs. Shiregrove,” Dusty said as she settled in a wicker lawn chair. A grape arbor behind her hostess’ imposing mansion shaded them from the grinding heat and humidity. The little bit of relief from stray river breezes didn’t reach up here on the third plateau above the Skene River.

“No problem. I prefer to take my afternoon tea with company. What was so important that you left the basement of your precious museum to call on me?”

Dusty blushed. It seemed everyone in town knew how she hid from people among her artifacts and catalogs. Then she mustered her courage to speak, wishing Joe had come to do it for her. “It’s about the Masque Ball, ma’am.”

“I hope you make a lot of money this year. You’re going to need it.” Mrs. Shiregrove looked sharply at Dusty.

“Yes, well, I was hoping you could influence the grant committee to match funds for us, since they’ve denied a flat-out grant.”

“That’s a possibility.” The older woman took a sip of her iced tea, looking out over her extensive grounds rather than at Dusty. “Tell me why the Ball is so important to you. This is the first one you’ve organized by yourself.”

“Only because Mom and Dad are in Stratford-upon-Avon for three months absorbing as much Shakespeare as they can.”