Arabesque: A Wings Companion

Chapter Twenty

Tamani didn't like the slight rise at the corner of her lips; anything that made Mischa de Lila happy was worth worrying about.

"I have indeed," she said, not expounding on the foretelling. "Please, come inside."

Tamani glanced around the circle of older fae, feeling much like an insect invited to dine on the leaves of a flytrap. "Can't we talk here?"

She waved her hand as if the other faeries didn't matter at all. "We'll have a meeting later. You come with me now." She started up a dark earthen path and paused when Tamani didn't follow. "Scared?"

"Absolutely."

She held his gaze for a long moment, lips pursed in a disconcertingly mothering fashion. "I suspect you can help me as much as I can help you. So I wouldn't want you harmed in any way. Come, now."

It wasn't Mischa's words that goaded him into following his old friend's exiled mother into her home, but the way the other Unseelie were regarding him—their expressions unmistakably communicating that he'd have to be a half-wit to miss the chance in front of him. They were probably right. He grumbled under his breath, but he followed.

Mischa's house was bright and spartan, clean with a few colorful decorations to draw the eye. She gestured him to a wicker chair, and the soil beneath his feet was rich and fragrant. It was odd to feel so comfortable in this traitor's presence. But when she offered him a carved wooden cup of Goddess-knew-what, he held up a hand and shook his head.

"I believe there's an old human rule about being trapped in a faerie ream if you eat or drink the food. It doesn't apply to Avalon and the Seelie court, but I don't trust your magic. And this," he gestured at the enclosure, visible through the ceiling of Mischa's house, "is not a realm in which I have any interest in remaining."

"We have that in common," Mischa said, taking the offered cup as her own and sipping before setting it on a low table.

"The saltwater fae?" Tamani asked.

That enigmatic smile again. "I hear talk. What do you hear?"

"I hear nothing." He tilted his head, leaning forward. "But I've seen things."

Her eyes brightened. "Have you, now?"

Tamani shook his head. He'd given the first morsel; it was Mischa's turn to reciprocate.

"There are whispers, that when Avalon was created—and isn't that a trick we're sorry to have lost!—some were left behind. For what reason, I doubt we'll ever know. A feud? A mistake? No room on the ark?" She chuckled. "Some stories say it happened before the Glamour came upon us, others think it was later, but either way, we changed, and they changed. We adapted. They ... fled."

"Fled? From what?"

"Our enemies, of course! Silly sapling. From what else does one flee—sunsets? Of course it was our enemies. We've been shaped by them since they learned to walk upright."

"Trolls."

Mischa fixed Tamani with a contemptuous scowl. "Those grasping, misbegotten lumps? Don't make me laugh. Trolls we kept as pets, leashed to our purposes. Pets they would still be but for their unstable breeding. Thank you for culling that herd, by the by—arranging their extermination from here was an enjoyable challenge, kept me busy for years, and I was afraid it would all come to naught when they took my son. A shame they got the seedling, too. I had such plans for her! But I suppose the might of the Benders isn't what it used to be."