The Fairy Godmother (32 page)

Rose flushed, mortified at being caught at permitting her own grudge to interfere with the well-being of the Godmother in residence; as Elena well knew, it was the only thing that would shake her off her current crusade. “I beg your pardon, Madame Elena!” she said. “Of course it can wait. Your bed has been turned down and warmed, and there's a tidbit waiting on your bedside table.”

“Thank you, Rose,” Elena said, but she was already gone, whisking herself away as only an embarrassed House-Elf could.

Now
she turned back to Randolf. “So what was it about your presentiment that was so important you were going to set Rose off
again?
” she asked with more than a touch of impatience.

“Madame,” Randolf said, with immense dignity. “Godmother. It
was
important, because if I am correct, what is going to happen is unprecedented. My sense is absolute that Prince Alexander is perfectly ready to pass any trials of his nature that you or anyone else may set him—and also, that when he does so, he will
never leave here.
Make of that what you will; it utterly baffles me. I certainly cannot imagine a Prince of the Blood being content with laboring as a common farmhand.”

Elena controlled her expression, somehow, and managed
to thank Randolf gravely before dropping the curtains over his mirror. But inside, the emotions that she thought she had brought into check roiled up again.

If she had not been so tired, Randolf's words probably would have kept her up late into the night. But after a glance out the window to see that there was no light in Alexander's loft-room, she found herself so exhausted that she nearly fell asleep with the glass of honeyed milk in her hand. She caught herself just as it started to slip from her grip; she drank it down quickly and got into bed, and was literally asleep before she even turned on her side to her usual sleeping position.

 

The little, shallow waves of the amethyst ocean were as warm against the skin of her feet and calves as the milk she had just drunk. She noticed that the filmy little halfhearted excuse for a skirt she was wearing barely came to her knees; well, at least it wasn't going to get wet while she waded. The silky-soft sand was even softer under the water. Experimentally she reached down to touch the slowly undulating waves, then brought her fingers to her lips.

The water was sweet, not salty. Interesting; she wondered what that meant, since dreams had their own logic.

“Elena! Are you going to paddle out there all night?”

She looked up; Alexander was standing just above the waterline, watching her with a huge grin on his face. Unlike her,
he
was attired in real clothing, rather than the few bits of veils that
she
was wearing.

What on earth was her dream trying to tell her?

She waded obliquely towards him, enjoying the feel of
the water on her feet. When she was near enough, he held out his hand to her, and she took it.

“You called me by my name,” she said, curious to hear what the dream-Alexander would say to that. “You've never done that before.”

“Well, I finally figured out who you were,” he replied. “And it doesn't matter what I say to you
here,
anyway,” he continued, impudently. “You aren't a Godmother here; you can't punish me in a dream. I can say what I like and I won't end up as a donkey, or on my back with a splitting head. I can do
this
—” he took her in his arms “—and
this
—”

He wound both his hands in her hair, bent his head and kissed her; his lips were already open, and hers were parted, but in surprise rather than initial arousal, because she had just realized, not only what he had just said, but what it
meant
.

This wasn't her dream.

Or to be more accurate, it wasn't
just
her dream; it was
their
dream. They were sharing it.

His tongue teased hers, and his hand slipped inside the flimsy bodice of her gown to caress her naked nipple, which hardened immediately. She thrust all other thoughts aside for later. This
was
a dream, and she was going to enjoy it—

He slipped the straps of her gown off her shoulders, and her breasts slid free of the silky fabric. The warm breeze played over her shoulders. Each of his hands cupped a breast now, and his thumbs made little circles on the exquisitely sensitive skin. Little lances of pure pleasure and incredible sensation followed every movement of his fingers, and her groin tightened as she opened her mouth to his probing.

He took his mouth from hers and began to lick and nib
ble at her neck; she discovered that (ah, the wonders of the dream-state!) his shirt had vanished altogether, and she moved her hands over his chest, the muscles moving marvelously under her palms as he breathed, until her fingers found
his
nipples, and it was her turn to make
him
gasp.

But he took his revenge immediately; before she knew what he was about, his head had moved lower, and he fastened his mouth on her breast.

And his tongue and teeth were so much cleverer than his fingers had been that it was all she could do to stand upright.

Dream-logic again, for the very next moment they were lying in the soft sand, both of them utterly naked. He moved the attentions of his mouth to her left breast, and she moaned aloud, her hands in his hair, wanting to keep him there forever, but also wanting more. He chuckled; his free hand went to work on her right breast, and she felt her back arching without her even thinking about moving, and then his hand began to move lower—lower—her legs parted involuntarily as his fingers just stirred the first soft hairs of her sex and—

A rooster crowed. Right in her ear.

Swearing, she woke up.

The wretched bird crowed again. It wasn't
right
in her ear, but it was certainly just under her window.

She was breathing as hard as if she had been running; her secret parts were still tight and hot with need, and if at that moment she could have gotten her hands on an axe, there would have been poultry for dinner.

Instead she closed her eyes and forced herself to think ra
tionally, difficult though that was under the circumstances. It wasn't the damned bird's fault. It must not have gotten into the coop with the rest before Lily closed them all in for the night. It was lucky it had escaped the ferrets, foxes, and owls. It
was
dawn. It was only behaving like a rooster.

There was some cold comfort in knowing that Alexander had been jolted just as rudely out of the same dream.

Think about this,
she reminded herself.
Rationally. You were sharing the same dream. That doesn't happen to just anyone.

Unless she was
greatly
mistaken, that meant that Alexander had a touch of magic himself. Probably not a lot, or he would have been able to put up some resistance to her spells even with no training at all. But even a little magic was certainly enough to qualify as a Hedge-Wizard.

That put something of a different complexion on things. Even a little magic would allow him into the brotherhood of magicians. Which meant—

Which meant he could stay. He wouldn't be a common—or uncommon—outsider anymore. He could be
allowed
free access to everything here.

I have to find out if the Elves will give him the power to see magic. If they will—

If they did, then there was no question. If he chose to remain here as part of the household, the mere fact that the Elves gave him a magical ability of that nature would mean that not only could he stay if he wanted to, but that they
intended
for him to stay. Even Rose would have to give in to the will of the Great Ones of Faerie.

Only those born to be among the Sorcerers could see magic naturally, as Arachnia did, and there were plenty of
Witches and Hedge-Wizards who, never having the chance to gain that power, went on and blithely worked with magic without being able to see it. You didn't
need
to see it to be effective, it simply made things much easier for the Godmothers and Wizards if they were able to see the magic following the will of The Tradition and could gauge how strong it was at a glance. That was why they were
always
given the gift after they were accepted by the Fae.

And when she remembered that, a plan fell into place in her mind, whole and entire. And despite the level of her frustration, she very nearly laughed aloud. If it worked—if it worked, well—there would be some changes. If it didn't, she'd be no worse off than she was now.

And with that, she was able to fall back to sleep. This time,
without
dreams.

 

“I take it you can hunt,” Lily said to Alexander over breakfast. “Never heard of a noble who couldn't. But are you any good at it?”

He blinked at her in surprise, still feeling a bit muzzy-headed from the dream that had been so rudely interrupted by that wretched rooster. If he'd had ready access to an axe, there'd have been poultry for Robin's stew pot this morning….

Rose was assiduously ignoring him, but everyone else seemed interested in his answer, so he took the time to think about it before he said anything. “Well, I'd have to ask what you wanted me to hunt for, and with,” he said, wondering what had prompted the question. “I'm good with any kind of bow. Pheasant, quail, waterfowl—I'm quite good at hunt
ing those. Rabbit and hare are best taken with snares; you're more likely to lose or break arrows going after them with a bow, and I have to be honest with you, I never learned how to set a snare.” He was
not
going to say that the snare was considered to be fit only for peasants to use. “If it's deer you're wanting, I would feel more comfortable with a cross-bow; without a hound to help me track a wounded one, I want to be able to take the beast down at once, not let it run off to die slowly.” At that, he saw Hob smile approvingly, and went on, feeling encouraged. “I won't hunt boar alone; that's for fools and braggarts—although, if there's a boar giving one of your villages trouble, you can count on me for the hunt. And I won't hunt anything I can't eat, and I count swan, stork, crane, and heron in that category. Does that answer your question?”

“Perfectly,” said Lily, with great satisfaction. “We have beef and chicken, and goose, too, but Robin wants deer in storage, and some wild fowl—”

“The house has a larder that preserves anything put into it and keeps it at the state it was when it went in,” Robin said gravely, turning away from his cooking for a moment. “You've heard us speaking about the house growing? And you recall from yesterday that Madame Elena is now the Godmother for Kohlstania as well as her other Kingdoms? As a Godmother's responsibilities grow, so do her obligations, and we believe that we may be required shortly to be able to play host to visitors. I wish to have something more on hand than the ingredients for simple country-fare.”

“And we don't hunt,” Lily concluded. “If you do, and
you're good at it, then Godmother thinks you're ready to have the bounds taken down so you can go hunting.”

A few months ago, that pronouncement would have set his plans for running into motion. What more could he have possibly asked? He was being made free of the forest and fields, with a weapon in his hands! No matter
how
far away Kohlstania was, he was certain he would be able to find his way there.

Of course, that was before he learned—thanks to what had happened to Octavian—that the Godmother was perfectly capable of putting a curse on someone that would make him wander in circles until she cared to collect him.

He might still have considered making the attempt to escape, but—no. When he left this place, he wanted it to be because he was deemed ready to go. Like Octavian.

“I'd prefer fowl, to begin with,” Robin was saying, interrupting his thoughts. “Since I don't believe we'll be seeing more than one or two important visitors at a time, at least at first. Frankly wild boar is no tastier than domestic swine, and we have plenty of farmers prepared to sell or trade us for pork.”

“I'd like to be deeper into fall before I hunt deer,” he replied, “and since we're hunting for the pot, I would prefer to draw them to a bait-spot where I've set up a blind, anyway. It might not be as sporting, but it will give me a better chance to select a target, and the best chance for a clean, quick kill. I'll leave the does and the King-stag, given my choice, and cull out some of the younger bucks.”

“That sounds like a fine plan.” Robin nodded agreeably. “Hob?”

“Finished your plate?” Hob asked, and at Alexander's nod, said, “Come with me, then. We'll get something that suits you, and I'll point you in a good direction for some fowling.”

It was to another of the outbuildings that Hob led him, one that was no bigger than a gardening shed on the outside, and in fact, the last time Alexander had looked at it, it
had
been a gardening shed, empty but for a few pots. But when Hob opened the door—

“Ah, I thought that might've happened,” Hob said with satisfaction.

Alexander
knew
he should not have been surprised, and yet he foolishly was. Outside was a shed he could have circled in ten paces. Inside was a royal hunting-lodge, with polished wooden floors covered with bright carpets, polished wooden walls adorned with hunting-trophies from all manner of animals (including a span of antlers that must of once belonged to a creature the size of a small elephant), and furnished with massively constructed chairs and benches. And there must have been a second, perhaps even a third floor, since there was a staircase beside the door. There were no windows on the outside. Ten enormous glass windows on the inside let in the light from a landscape of stunning beauty, a wide meadow studded with flowers on one side, and a forest with tall, graceful trees of no species
he
recognized on the other. It was mountainous, too, the purple, snow-capped mountains rising above the trees at the far edge of the meadow, and of course, there were
no
mountains within sight of the Godmother's cottage….