Book 1: Brutality

Preparations

28

"By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail." ― Benjamin Franklin

~Trigger Warning~

In my arms, Elora wakes and squalls, her face crumpling. I open my shirt and let her suckle as I walk. Her pull is greedy, and I smile to see her feed, so strong and healthy. Thrive on, my daughter.

There are no seasons in Faerie, not as Earth knows them. Trees go through short cycles, perhaps only days-long, of putting out tender new leaves, letting the leaves mature, and then fall from the branches in red and gold cascades, only to be replaced with fresh new growth.

Barring enchantment or atmospheric disturbances such as storms, the air remains ever the same: mild and warm. Fruits and nuts are always ripe, always at their most eatable moment.

Only the heavenly bodies—sun, moon, stars and planets—track the flow of the year, and, for a human like me, who can't see so well at night and who has plenty of responsibilities here on earth, it's easy to lose track of time.

So I'm genuinely surprised when Valindra turns to me one day and says, "We need to make you a New Year's dress, Albia."

In the middle of changing Elora while Lindor clings to my leg, practicing standing up and taking steps, I blink up at Valindra. New Year? Have I really been here a whole year?

On the bed, Elora shrieks for attention, and I hastily wrap her in her new clean diaper. I guess it has been a while. Elora has plumped up into a beautiful three-month-old.

She still can't sit up, but she can lift her head a little, and her eyes focus on everything. She grabs a hank of my hair and yanks. I extricate myself from her grip, eyes watering. She's certainly strong.

"You should wear white to the village festival." Valindra takes hold of Lindor's hands and marches him around the room. He laughs, "Mama! Walk-walk!"

"It's appropriate to your position as the Lady Healer," Valindra continues bossily over the noise. "White with silver embroidery, in honor of the unicorn. I'll get started tonight. And you should add some embroidery or something to Elora's best gown."

I straighten, putting ELora to my shoulder. Nausea roils in me. Why do I feel so reluctant? It's just a party. But the Court ball was just a party, too. A New Year party.

I'd rather not go, I sign, shifting Elora awkwardly.

"Don't be silly, Albia." She's only half-attending, swinging Lindor around to his shrieked laughter. "It's the most important event of the year. And you're the Lady Healer. You can't not go."

She has a point. But still I argue. Bad things happen to mortals at faerie revels. And, while the goblins may have been kind to me and I have rank among them, they're still faeries. And, at the revel, they will be drunken faeries.

"Oh, nonsense, Albia." She hoists Lindor into the air, to his happy squeals. "No one's going to hurt you—not if they want you to keep healing them and making sure their babies live. And anyway, I'll be there."

Shouldn't I stay here with the babies? I plead. You can go, without being saddled with us. Have some time to yourself for once.

She abruptly stops playing, going stone-still in the middle of the room. "Mama!" Lindor complains, still dangling from her grasp.

She ignores him. She doesn't look at me, but stares out the window. "Time to myself," she says in an odd, flat voice, "is the very last thing I want."

She puts Lindor down. He wails in protest, but she ignores him, going to prepare dinner. I go to attend him, staring at Valindra.

She works with a stiff back and a pinched green face, slicing the fruit a little too hard, too fast. As though she's trying to cut away something more than shiny crescents of fruit.

That night, Valindra ascends to the canopy with her spindle, and I awake the next morning to the clatter of her loom as she weaves the glowing threads of moonlight into a fabulous silver-white fabric.

She makes me stand on the stool as she takes my measurements, before taking up her scissors, needle and thread. Her scissors flash, her needle whips, and in a fraction of the time it would have taken a mortal seamstress, she has the dress ready for me.

Reverently, I touch it. It truly is beautiful: a simple silver-white dress woven entirely from moonlight, a flowing ankle-length skirt, with long sleeves and a low-cut bodice that buttons down the front.

"So you can nurse Elora," she explains in her no-nonsense way. She shakes out the dress, and it settles in airy waves. "It needs embellishment, though. I don't suppose you could trace a few designs for me?"

I nod, unsurprised. Valindra may be a great weaver and seamstress, but she has no more imagination or creativity than any other faerie.

She can make a glorious dress within an hour, but it's still a dress she's made many times before, no doubt designed by a mortal. She can't think of any original designs, or original decorations to go with it. That's a mortal talent.

Accordingly, I draw out the designs: modest chains of flowers, mostly, and an edging of silver along the bodice. I do include two whorled motifs like unicorn horns, to be embroidered high on the sleeves, near my shoulders. It won't hurt to remind everyone of my status as the Unicorn-Blessed.

Valindra watches, bouncing Lindor on her knee, while Elora sleeps. "So amazing," she murmurs quietly. "How can mortals do this? Just think of new designs like this. Howdo you do it?"

I shrug. It's natural for us. I finish the final design and begin to run the pricking wheel over the paper.

"Yeah, that's what Mary used to say—" She breaks off suddenly.

I glance up. Who's Mary?

She's quiet a moment, letting Lindor tug her finger. He giggles and coos. "I used to work with a mortal designer," she says at last. "Centuries ago. Her name was Mary. She was very good. Though she must be dead by now."

My eyebrows shoot up. Only aristocrats, associated with royal Courts, are ever allowed to steal away mortals, to bring them to work and live in Faerie; it's a major badge of status, and a constant irritant to common faeries.

The only way Valindra could ever have worked with a mortal is at a Court—and she's never said anything about being at a Court before.

I want to ask more, but something about her closed, shuttered face and her determined focus on Dogwood tells me not to.

I turn back to pricking out the first design. I suppose I can live with yet another secret.

~Fun Fact~

A shark is the only known fish that can blink with both eyes.

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