Jennifer Armintrout - Queene Of Light

The effect did not last once she left the place. Her heart hung as heavy as the sword strapped to her back. She would not normally carry it, but Sar, a Pixie who slept at the end of the bed row, had been eyeing it a bit too covetously for her to be foolish enough to leave it. Besides, Garret might give her the assignment he’d received for her, and she might need it. It would give her a chance to evade his relentless questioning and wait until the situation with the Darkling faded from memory. If she told him, he would blame it on her Human blood, and shame her for it.

This doubt is Garret’s doing, an inner voice scolded her, and she pushed it aside. Garret did openly disdain her Human half, but with good reason. Weren’t Humans the enemy that had driven the Faeries to the Underground? Wasn’t it a Human who’d wielded his sword against the Harpy Queen, cursing the Darkworld to chaos? Ayla thanked the Gods it was not Mabb who’d fallen in the battle. The lawlessness of the Darkworld would have been unbearable for the Faeries, who thrived on ritual and courtly manners.

Ayla passed by the Palace doors. As always, the corridor before them was crowded with Lightworlders, all waiting in their makeshift living quarters for their appointment to see the Queene. It was a difficult thing, for someone outside the Court to gain audience. More difficult still for someone not living or working in one of the Guilds. It was nearly impossible for any creature outside the Palace walls to gain Mabb’s attention, and they traveled miles, sometimes for days through dangerous tunnels, to wait. Upon arrival, a guard would take their names and business, then mark out a plot of space with chalk on the breaking cement and ask the traveler to kindly wait for the next available audience. It was not as simple as it sounded. In her short five years living at Court, Ayla had seen countless pilgrims arrive begging a word with the Queene, yet none had ever been admitted. Some died waiting. More were born to take their place. When someone wished to speak with the Queene, they would wait forever.

Ayla kept her head high, her gaze straight ahead as she cut through the teeming throng. This was a journey Garret made every day, or so he’d told her. Ayla had heard rumors of secret passages from the Palace so that Mabb could travel unmolested to other areas of the Lightworld. It seemed unlikely that if such passages existed, Garret would be denied access to them, so Ayla did not believe his claim. No one would take such a depressing path if they were given another choice.

A baby cried somewhere, a babe no doubt not only born, but conceived in the line to see the Queene. Do not waste your lives waiting to venerate such an idle monarch, Ayla raged silently. Mabb cares only for your praise and your coin.

A hand closed around her ankle, nearly tripping her. She looked down, made the mistake of looking into the eyes of the unhappy wretch that had grabbed her.

“Please,” the Faery rasped through a mouth missing many teeth. This was not a true Fae, but she must have had some Fae blood, no matter how watered the bloodline might be, to be a citizen of the Lightworld. “You have the mark of a Guild member. Can you take me to see the Queene?”

A chorus of voices raised up around Ayla as Fae creatures swarmed her. “What does she look like?” “Is she in good health?” “Will she be receiving us soon?” Then the voices shattered into panic as Mabb’s guard cut a swath through them, clearing the way so that Ayla might escape.

How, she wondered, had Garret turned out so kind and generous when his sister was vain and spoiled? Were the roles of the Queene and the Male Heir so vastly different?

They must be, she decided as she passed through the Palace doors and into the common streets of the Lightworld. Stalls lined the tunnel leading to the Palace, all selling wares emblazoned with Mabb’s image or name. Tired from your long journey through the Lightworld? Use Queene Mabb’s Restorative Potion! Used signet rings! Gain an audience faster with documents stamped by Mabb’s own seal!

Garret did not crave the kind of fame that Mabb had encouraged. It was a shame that only a female heir could ascend to the throne. He would not have abided such folly.

But he had not lived a life with such restrictions as Mabb had, either. Mabb had not been free to pursue her own interests, as Garret had. And she had to keep her wings hidden, by some royal edict that her parents had passed long before they had died, long before the destruction of the Astral plane.

Turning from the main tunnel onto a slender byway, Ayla avoided further exposure to the Palace market. Garret made his home in a more quiet—and exclusive—part of the Lightworld, near enough to the Palace to be convenient, far enough to keep him away from the tourists and pilgrims. The tunnel widened slightly, ending in a long concrete staircase. Ayla opened her wings and drifted down, the weight of the sword dragging some of the grace from her flight. It was good to be in the open, away from the stifling rooms of the Palace. Though the training areas of the Guild had plenty of space for aerial sparring, there was nothing like being able to simply open your wings and fly without thinking of defensive combat.

She envied Garret his life outside the Palace. His existence did not hinge on the Queene’s whim. He did not even need to work for his wages, if he chose not to. Being the son of a Queene might not merit a crown, but it did earn a reasonable allowance from the Palace treasury. Ayla had asked Garret once why he continued to work at the Guild. His answer had been, “For you, Ayla. Always for you.” The answer had unnerved her, and she had not dared to ask it again.

At the bottom of the stairs was a tunnel, accessible through a hole with a ladder. Ayla folded her wings carefully and slipped into the hole, dropping down to land hard on both feet. A shock rippled up her ankles; she thought belatedly that she should have used the ladder. But it was good to be doing something physical, testing her body just a bit before going on whatever assignment Garret had for her.

Garret’s apartment was one of four in this small, square tunnel. There were two on either side, stacked atop each other. One end of the tunnel branched off on a path leading deeper into the Lightworld. The other ended in a wall of water-stained concrete, and climbing ivy grew there, carefully trimmed around a stained stone fountain that leaked a trickle of rusty water. It was one of the nicest dwelling areas Ayla had ever seen, though she hadn’t had much reason to explore the homes of the Lightworld.

Garret lived in one of the second-level apartments. There were no stairs. These were exclusively Faery dwellings. Ayla opened her wings and raised herself up, grasping the polished metal bar beside the door. She knocked, and when Garret opened the door to admit her, she used the bar to swing herself inside as she folded her wings.

Garret’s apartment was a wonder to her after sleeping in the barracks for so long. The space was L-shaped, the sleeping area hidden from the door by the bend. There was a low, flat table with cushions all around for entertaining—a luxury many Faeries could not afford—and a brick oven set into the wall for heating and cooking. Garret had well-stocked cupboards and a fine collection of wooden dishes, all of which seemed to be on display on the square table in the center of the room.

Ayla hesitated, one hand still on the door. “Am I…have I interrupted your supper?”

Garret smiled and held out his arms, and she allowed him to embrace her, but it turned out as awkward as it ever did. “No, this is for you, Ayla. I have something I wish to speak to you about. Sit down, please.”

He guided her to a cushion and took the sword from her, propping it against the wall by the door. He gestured to the table, laid out with fat, round loaves of bread, a bowl of sweet cream and strawberries, a very rare delicacy that grew only in the Upworld. “Please, help yourself.”