Michele Hauf - Gossamyr

“I am not naked.”

“Steal not my hope, my lady.”

The sky thinned and receded. A flutter of his wings proved ponderous. Never before had he felt as though the world might…slip away. That his footsteps would not take hold on a path simply not there. ’Twas as if he were falling through the roots.

Images from the fetch proved Gossamyr had successfully arrived in the Otherside. She had even found a companion for the road. Shinn was not overconcerned a mortal traveled at her side; the man would prove a boon. As well, Gossamyr had easily managed the attacking bogie. He would have expected nothing less. The vision of the caged fée had disturbed him perhaps more deeply than it had affected his daughter. She was strong. Capable. Not a single reason for any mortal to cage her.

And yet with every breath, Shinn felt the shiver that had become his bane more deeply. Mortal touched. The result? His mortal passion. A sweet punishment. And so much he had reaped from that risk. Greatest of all, his child.

Gossamyr was gone from him. Gone. Child of mine.

Should he have told her more? Revealed—

He just…he wanted her to return to him. But Gossamyr’s truth would prevent that. She must never learn her truth. For if she continued to Believe she would Belong.

Clutching the curved crystal doorpull that opened into Gossamyr’s bedchamber, Shinn stood for a breath, blinking, struggling to find hold. The spice roses Mince cut daily for her room seeped into him, cloying and powerful. Gossamyr’s scent.

He had set his only daughter off on a dangerous mission. It had been the right choice.

There had been no real choice. Shinn had known for some time Gossamyr would be called to the Otherside. The mortal passion was ever persistent. He could not interfere. Would Gossamyr sacrifice to remain on the Otherside? Would she wish to do so?

“It is the bargain we made, Veridienne. For your home, you must sacrifice.”

“I sacrificed my home for you, Shinn! To love you.”

“I acknowledge that, but to have it back, you must—”

“Very well. I will do it. I will…leave her.”

“Oh!” At Shinn’s sigh Mince popped her head up from the floor by the bed. “Lord Wintershinn.” She tugged at her tight blue gown, pulling it snugly over two gentle rolls on her stomach. Her small wings fluttered madly as she backed away. Eyes not meeting his, the rumpled fée backed right into the armoire and bent a wing.

“Is there something amiss, Mince?” Shinn strode by the bed. His fingertips grazed the cold, precise marble and danced through the hanging bed curtains. Nothing out of ordinary. He walked to the window where the long arachnagoss sheers fluttered on the breeze. He turned abruptly, catching Mince in the act of shutting the armoire—on a finger. “Are you looking for something?”

“Looking? Me?” The syllables shook more rapidly than her telltale wings. “Why ask you that, my lord? Oh, no, just…tidying up a bit. What of you? You’re not looking for Gossamyr?”

“Nay.”

“Marvelous. Oh! Er, fine. Just fine.”

Now he understood. Mince sought Gossamyr.

“I’m out to the yard.”

“What for?”

“Oh? To check…for something. Erm, the peacocks must be shooed from the roses.”

“She is gone, Mince.”

“She?” The matron paused by the door, turning to him with delicate fingers curled into one another. “Who, Lord Wintershinn?”

“Gossamyr has gone to the Otherside.”

“No, I—I just saw her. I’m sure she’s here somewhere, swinging from the roots—I’ll start there, my lord. She never disappears for overlong.”

“I sent her.”

Mince gaped, seeming to momentarily choke on her own breath. “W-why? How?” she breathed. “Did you…tell her everything?”

“She seeks the Red Lady. I sent her through a Passage. You know her truth will keep her from returning to me.”

“Oh! But she needs to know! You’ve sent her to face the very woman—Oh, dear.”

Forgoing the village of Aparjon for what Ulrich claimed to be another not three leagues to the east, the duo plodded through unmarked grasses and followed a low rabbit-ravaged hedgerow for some distance until a narrower, lesser traveled road attracted them. There were no trees as far as she could see. The world was very silent. Eerily so.

Ulrich called ahead to Gossamyr. “We should seek shelter for the night, ’tis nearing matins.”

“You don’t think we’ll make the village?”

“Likely not.”

Sensing the man’s exhaustion, Gossamyr conceded. “Very well.”

Tugging Ulrich’s cloak about her shoulders seemed to hold the crumbling pourpoint together. She hoped. She had dismounted earlier and now walked, finding the exercise more fitting than joggling along on the miserable old mule. She sensed the beast tread alongside the Infernal, and did not wish to put more of a burden on it than necessary.

The fetch preceded her at a clever distance. She had ever thought fetches only recorded noteworthy events. Mayhap Shinn missed her as much as she was beginning to miss him? To have the fetch follow her at all times?

Miss her father? It had been but part of a day.

The only thing she missed right now was the illumination of Faery. This mortal night clung to Gossamyr on all sides. Crickets chirped and unseen rodents scampered along the grassy borders of the rutted path. She could not see Ulrich for the gloom, but judged him less than twenty paces behind her.

His suggestion to stop was not entirely unwarranted. She did feel the strain of her journey tug at the muscles in her calves and shoulders. Yet the struggle to stride freely while keeping the cloak wrapped—blight!

Gossamyr dropped the ends of the cloak and let the sweeping fabric dangle. If her garments were to fall off, then so shall it be. For she wanted to skip, to revel in this atmosphere that welcomed like a warm embrace.

“Oh, Hades, be gone.”

Gossamyr smirked at Ulrich’s hissed remark. The man had babbled most of the way. He had a strange compulsion to compare things, or rather label them as either “the same” or “not the same.” She could not figure what he was about. But she had to confess, having a companion eased a bit of her growing discomfort. Alone in a new land. Physically capable, but…her thoughts had begun to return to a place of safety.

She missed Mince. The matron was ever there, a companion, a confidante. A willing foil when Shinn would question Gossamyr’s day, and she had snuck off to tournament. And always there to bring her whatever she may request, to know before Gossamyr spoke her need.

Spoiled? Never before had she heard that term to describe one who is given all she needs. Such as a lady who travels with a cagedfaery in tow?

Hmm…not like that. Nor did she smell.

An eerie feeling of disquiet shimmied about Gossamyr’s body. It wasn’t as though she were frightened by the darkness. Nor could she summon worry for any beastie that might leap out from the shadows at her. In truth, a tiny niggling at encountering further outcasts from the Netherdred did bother. Unfamiliar, this world. And yet, intriguing. Horizontal and stretching for leagues that fell off the horizon as if the Edge. Mayhap it was an edge? Veridienne had detailed the stretch of France in her bestiary. It was edged by a vast ocean—tribe Mer-de-Soleil territory; merfolk and selkies and kelpies abounded there. But she had no measurement for distance in this land. Unless it was down. So she must rely on Ulrich’s navigation.

Many Faery tribes inhabited the realm the mortals called France: the Rougethorns, the Wisogoths, the Quinmarks, just a few. Yes, a huge nation, and she but an itty speck skipping toward sure danger. If she wasn’t careful she might lose her grip and fall—as she had once amidst the tangle of roots that reticulated about Glamoursiège. Avenall—her Rougethorn; ever charming and chivalrous—had caught her then.