Foul is Fair (8 page)

"No thanks. He has a thing for perching atop chamber doors, at least for those lacking busts of Pallas. It makes him feel especially literary."

“I hear she didn't really have much of a bust,” Cassia commented.

Megan eyed the pair for a few more moments, shrugged, and continued into the room. Riocard's chambers weren't a mess, not precisely. Rather, the chaos and mismatched elements of the room were neatly organized and perhaps designed with strange contrasts in mind. A pair of light, curved swords were mounted on the wall, with a Fender Stratocaster hung up between them. An entire wall of the massive chamber was lined with thick tomes—judging by the lettering, apparently written in dozens of different languages. Amongst all of the weighty books, however, were some more legible oddities, such as worn copies of
The Anarchist's Cookbook
and
A Clockwork Orange.
When the shelves reached the corner, the bookcase continued, but the expanse of shelves there that covered a third of the wall held the most impressive collection of CDs, cassette tapes, records, and the odd 8-track that Megan had ever seen.

At the center of the room was an open display case, containing a figure, nearly six and a half feet tall, of a dark, thorny material, though there appeared to be some sort of threads of mossy silk in parts. Strange as the armor was, the mask was the most notable. Though no part of the face was left uncovered, there was multiple layers to the twisting thorns there, giving it some depth, and, she imagined, the look as if the face was in the middle of some savage howl of joy. The only real gaps were where the thorn branches parted, just a little, leaving room for the wearer's eyes, though even there, the combination of thorns jutting into the open space and the slant of the gaps made it appear more sinister.

“What's that?” Megan asked.

“Riocard's armor,” Cassia explained, strutting over to it. “Mostly only wears it for special occasions. You have no idea how long it takes to weave all the enchantments for good briarmail.” She knocked on one of the arm bracers. The sound echoed.

Megan reached over to mimic the knocking and repeat the sound, but as she touched the armor, the thorns started to unwind from the display frame and wrap themselves around her arm.

“Megan!” Lani shouted as the armor warped around, and Cassia quickly grabbed Megan and dragged her back. The thorns paused, then wound themselves back around their frame.

Megan flailed at first, but... “I'm... I'm okay,” she said between half-panicked breaths.

“It didn't hurt you?” Lani asked.

“No,” Megan looked at her arm, which had not a scratch. “Felt kinda silky, now that I think of it. Just creepy as anything, obviously.”

“Yeah.”

“Hello,” came a soft singsong whisper.

Megan almost worried for a moment that the armor was talking, before the little wisp of light came whirling around in front of her. She recognized the presence of a will o' wisp this time, the little ball soon hovering just inside the doorway. "Hello?"

"The Gray Lady will see you now," came the melodic whisper.

They followed as the will o' wisp retreated from the room and headed to an audience chamber not far away.

The room wasn't as grand as the ballroom, but was still impressive. As the centerpiece of the room, four legs of twisted wood seemed to grow directly out of the stone floors, the ensuing branches entwining to form a meeting table. The chairs were less rooted, but of similar design, though each had velvet-lined backs and cushions. At the head of the table stood a woman in a dark gray cloak. Her only accompaniment was a will o' wisp, soon joined by the one that had guided them, which floated over to hover just to the woman's left.

Her hair looked like layers of silver wire that had been allowed to tarnish. Her eyes were like blank mirrors, expressionless. That there were dark circles under her eyes was too much understatement. There and only there, her skin was jet black, the rest being a sickly pale color. From the corners of her eyes to her jaw, disappearing only under the cloak where it clasped at her throat, rivulets of mother-of-pearl were somehow overlaid or stained on her skin. The streaks shone like eerily trailing rainbow teardrops when the light hit them.

Megan curtsied, following Lani's example, while Cassia bowed deeply. Ashling and the Count settled in at the table, the pixie dismounting from the crow, while looking at the woman distrustfully. The Gray Lady ignored the pixie's lack of respect, head turning slightly as a sign that her blank eyes were passing over each of them in turn, before she appeared to settle on Megan. Her mouth didn't move. The only voice came from the will o' wisps. "The Unseelie King's Daughter. I should have known that those years he was gone so often, our King was pursuing his fascination with mortals."

Megan paused, a little unsure whether to address the woman or the glowing ball of light. She finally managed, "Yes, that's me," before growing a little bolder. "And I'm here to find my father."

"Of course you are," the will o' wisps said, "But you're running out of time."

"I know. Less than two weeks until Halloween. You're his seneschal. Do you know anything that would help us? Or maybe you could help out? While he's gone, the Unseelie listen to you, right?"

The Gray Lady's lip turned upward for a brief moment. Megan took it as a sign of her finding something terribly amusing. "The Unseelie have at least mostly obeyed my edict to stay out of the mountains and the Winter Marches."

"Stay out of them? But that's where my dad disappeared. With enough people, surely you'd be able to find him."

"Or lose more people to the same trap or treachery."

“Sorry to put it like this, but it doesn't sound like you've done a lot to find my dad, if you're keeping people away from where he disappeared.”

“I have done what I found necessary to secure the people under our responsibility. Orlaith, apparently—” the Gray Lady frowned slightly, “—has a plan.”

“Yeah. We're going to get the Sword of Light and go cut my dad out of whatever's got him.”

“That may work,” came the whispers. “A last resort. But we should consider this thoroughly. Possibly send someone older and more experienced.”

Megan straightened herself as much as possible, looking up at her. “Well, looks like you're running out of time, and I'm the only half-human you've got lying around who can get the sword, so I'll get back to you about precautions when I have it.”

The haunted, iridescent eyes in the gaunt, iridescent-mottled face stared for a moment. “Very well. Good luck.” The Gray Lady bowed her head, turned, and walked away, trailed by the pale balls of light.

Chapter 12: Dining-Room Blitz

Despite Cassia's assurances, Megan and Lani alike insisted they didn't want to remain in the west wing for dinner. Ashling, after checking that Riocard's door was locked, led them through the twists and turns toward the more shared areas of the castle. A glance into one of the dining halls along the way made Megan all the happier for her choice. While the food was largely identifiable, and at least not human, the sight of some of the creatures within tearing their food apart, snapping bones to get at the marrow, or consuming whole organs pulled from the carcasses almost made Megan lose her appetite.

The scent of food coming from one of the larger halls brought most of it back.

“Yeah,” she said. “This is far enough. I'm starving.”

Entering, they were met immediately by what Megan was pretty sure was a brownie, judging by her previous encounters. The short, rumpled person led them to seats near the head of the table, then curtsied and scampered off. Before long, another one that Megan was pretty sure was a bit more masculine brought them drinks. Megan was about to drink when Lani put her hand on the cup.

“Megan will have a glass of water,” she whispered to the brownie—as much as it could be a whisper in a crowded room. “And so will I.” He nodded and shuffled off again.

Cassia and Ashling hadn't seemed to notice, the former draining her own cup and demanding another, while Ashling and the Count worked out sharing a cup, ignoring the offer of something more suitably pixie-sized.

Megan looked at Lani expectantly. "Faerie food and drink, especially drink, can be tricky stuff," Lani muttered. "To be safest, avoid the fruits and the wine."

Megan nodded her understanding. Water glasses followed, and the food was served not long after.

Megan did her best to keep Lani's warning in mind, though her mind kept wandering off through the meal. There were several occasions where her hand almost reached for a huge, juicy golden raspberry from the bowl on the table before her eyes met a worried menehune frown. Still, she wasn't deprived. The rest of the food was the best she could recall having ever eaten, with flavors that were somehow fuller and richer than she could remember tasting, in the same way the colors were brighter, and the mountains taller. Of course, it helped not to have any appetite-suppressing medication anymore, too.

The table brought a constant show to go with the meal as well, with what seemed to Megan to be at least half a dozen different languages being spoken around her, by all manner of faerie creatures. She kept trying to make mental notes about the look of the laden bowls of multicolored fruit, or of the bunny-person, or the twisted-faced goblin next to him, or of the guy in black who ... set his head down on the table while he cut his steak. She wanted to memorize each sight to draw later, but always found her eyes wandering on to the next oddity.

Her attention was drawn back to her immediate surroundings when she heard Cassia exchanging heated words in a language she didn't understand with what she guessed was a leprechaun, based on stature and dress. As they spoke, more and more of the faeries at the table started to rise to bunch around one or the other, showing their support, but starting to make Megan feel rather crowded. She looked to Lani, and the pair started looking for a way out of the crowd, but didn't see any easy gaps as more and more people were rising from their spots at the table to gather around.

The tension broke when the leprechaun splashed the contents of his mug at Cassia. The easy smile Megan had gotten used to on the satyr's face twisted into an animalistic snarl, and Cassia lunged, leaping to the table top in the process. When the smaller faerie dodged, she ended up tackling one of the hag things instead, sending her flying into one of the knots of redcaps and less identifiable but unsavory-looking things. From there, there was no stopping the brawl.

Megan grabbed for Lani's hand, holding tight. Lani pulled suddenly, dragging Megan out of the way of a staggering thing with a goat's head. Megan returned the favor by dragging Lani to the floor before they were struck with a flying chair. The guy in black hadn’t even put his head back on before getting involved.

In the process of standing back up, she came eye-to-eye with one of the brownies. "King's daughter, this way," the small girl—at least she thought this one was a girl—said. Megan at first wondered how she knew, but supposed word would get around all the faster after her father had enforced his secret for so long. Still clutching Lani's hand, she did her best to weave through the crowd after the brownie, who seemed to know precisely the right places to dodge in navigation of the shifting melee.

When they reached the far wall, the brownie gestured, then backed against the wall. Megan only realized what happened when she looked to either side of herself. Lani and the brownie, and Megan herself, she supposed, blended into the wall perfectly. She watched the fight going back and forth for some time, eyes darting around the room, and otherwise trying to stay very still lest the brownie's illusion fail.

Things were starting to settle again, as if on some kind of cue she couldn't detect, when she noticed him. The ‘49ers redcap was sitting at the far end of the table, stripping the meat off a chicken bone with those jagged, graying teeth, paying the fight no mind. Even with people moving between them, his gaze never wavered—illusion or not, he was looking towards Megan and just smiling while he ate.

When things did settle enough that the brownie dropped the illusion, the girls were only too happy to leave, even when offered more food and drink. A slightly weaving Ashling and a grinning Cassia, now with a brand new black eye, chose to follow along, heading back for Riocard's room. The redcap stayed at the table but continued to follow Megan with his gaze until she'd rounded the corner.

Megan stayed away from the armor this time as they went to bed down. She kept looking around. There were a few pictures amid everything else on the walls. Most were
masterworks that echoed the themes of the paintings decorating the halls, but one especially stood out, mostly for its stark contrast. At the edge of a wooded area, a redheaded woman in ancient, rustic garb had dropped to one knee. One of her hands rested on the head of a calf, standing calmly next to her. The other hand was outstretched towards a tree, with a green snake winding its way out of the tree and around her arm. The woman had a serene expression, but her bright green eyes were intense, painted so lifelike that Megan swore they followed her.

"Who's that?" she asked, even as the thought hit her that the features reminded her a little of old photos of her mother—only the oldest ones, with her hair literally and figuratively down. Megan had never known her mother to have as much life in her as the painting did.