The Conjurer (The Vine Witch #3) - Luanne G. Smith Page 0,1
she’d not been ready to confront her enemy. The one who’d entrapped her in the city. Not yet. And so she had to suffer in this hideous realm for as long as it took.
A leathery-faced imp flew in her face and squirted nectar at her from a plump flower head he’d plucked from the path. She swatted the thing away. The touch of her skin sizzled its wings off in a puff of smoke. She took a small pleasure from the act, knowing she had such an effect on the nuisance beings.
Yvette pointed to the circle of standing stones. Her gauzy new clothes, much too elegant for a sharmoota, shifted in the breeze, clinging to her body like second skin. Another one of their fairy tricks because she knew the girl had slipped several bulky items in her pockets, yet there was no proof of them in her lithe silhouette. Enviable magic. A pocket like that could come in handy for one with her sticky-fingered talents, but the girl no longer carried the air of a street thief. Cleared of a murder she hadn’t committed, Yvette had taken on the role of a daughter of the court with more dignity than Sidra might have expected. Grudgingly, she admired the girl’s audacity. She was foul-mouthed and inappropriate at every turn, but the jinni supposed she was merely true to the ways of her kind.
“Greetings.”
The tall woman, the queen of this place, hailed them with a wave and a dagger smile from a throne made of interlaced willow branches. At her feet sat two of the tiny winged fiends, shelling hazelnuts and piling up the nutmeat in a woven basket. They hissed at Sidra as if they’d seen what she’d done to the third creature that ought to be there with them.
“Titania,” Yvette said and lowered her head.
“Nonsense. Call me Grand-Mère, child.”
The girl turned to face the man with the antlers sprouting out of his temple and bowed. “Oberon . . . er, Grand-Père.”
“Your luminescence is improving,” he said. “May you continue to shine.”
“Thank you.” Yvette still carried praise uneasily in her grubby hands, but she was getting better at accepting kind words without swatting them away like flies. The girl nudged her head toward Sidra. “I brought her like you asked.”
The jinni had stood tall and impassive during their formal exchanges. These trifling Fée with their featherlight bodies and narcissistic posturing were of little concern to her. All she cared about was the safe haven the occlusion of their realm provided from the rest of the world. Still, when Oberon finally turned his attention on her—his golden eyes lit with the hues of the forest, unblinking in the morning light—she could not deny she felt the full heft of a king’s prerogative weigh on her head. She had heard tales about the king of the Fée. How proud he was. How indulgent. She saw now the truth in the rumors as he twirled a wineglass in his hand before draining the contents in one gluttonous gulp.
Oberon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We are open to guests in our realm,” he began. “We are a social people by nature. Proud of our ways and gifts, which we freely share.” He set the glass down and leaned forward, brows like oak leaves tightening. “But we are not accustomed to harboring stowaways whose only wish is to hide from the troubles of the world.”
Sidra tried to remain impassive, but her upper lip curled of its own volition. “Was it the girl who revealed me?”
Oberon sat back as if amused by the question. “Do you think a king relies on his granddaughter to tell him what goes on in his own kingdom? Your presence made itself known like a hot ember among the snowdrops from the moment you arrived.”
She’d lost track of time. How long had he known she was there and done nothing? Weeks? Months? Had she made the mistake of underestimating this being of light and frivolity?
“My apologies, Oberon.” The words tasted of ash on her tongue, but it was all she could think to say to preserve her toehold in this realm.
“Accepted. However, your false humility will do you no good here.”
Anger simmered beneath Sidra’s skin, flushing her with prickling heat. How would her magic work in the Fée lands against a king? The dampness of the woods gave her pause, surrounded as she was by so much mist. Her fire might only smolder and hiss.