The Fairy Gift (14 page)

She handed me a large gold coin, and I escorted her to her waiting cab. When I turned back, I noticed that one of the male clients was staring at me. A few moments later, I realized that I recognised him.

"Bernard?!" I gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you do know him!" exclaimed one of the girls, who was hanging off of his arm and looking up at him expectantly. "Oh, then tell him it's perfectly alright for him to take advantage of our hospitality! Or is he a
friend
of yours?" She looked at me meaningfully.

"Oh, do get off of him, Dinah," I berated her, smiling at the look on Bernard's face. "He is my cousin, and a nobleman."

"Oh, but noblemen are our
specialty
," pouted Dinah, but she let go of his arm and went to stand outside with the other girls, playfully swatting my backside when she flitted past me. On instinct, I grinned at her and swatted at her skirts, before turning back to Bernard.

My cousin—I hadn't seen him in years. He was a knight for the king, well-acclaimed and important, and I recalled him being rather full of himself, although always kind to me. Now he was staring at me with absolute shock.

"Marcus?" he gasped. "What are you
doing
?"

"What am
I
doing?" I laughed. "What are you doing at a brothel, Bernard? I thought you were too much of a gentleman."

"I'm here to get you!" The look of shock was still etched on his face, and I realized that I probably looked quite different than I had the last time he had seen me, a plain:  shy country boy with rough, baggy clothes and tousled hair. I noticed that his eyes were fixed on my shirt, which was, of course, open to the navel. I pressed my hand to it, suddenly a little self-conscious.

"Your parents sent me to get you immediately upon receiving your letter," Bernard explained, his voice still wooden with shock. "Marcus, they told me you were being forced to work as a whore, but I did not expect … this."

I blinked a few times, realizing the extent of surprise that Bernard must be feeling, and suddenly felt a little sick to my stomach. How I was dressed—how I had spoken to my client, to Dinah—was he going to tell my parents everything?

"You'd better come with me," I said, and quickly led him upstairs to my bedroom.

He followed me in and looked around. The room had changed quite a bit since I had taken up residence there a few months ago:  I had decorated it with rich fabrics—embroidered curtains, bedding and pillows for the chair—and the window was open, letting in the warm autumn air.

"So. My parents got my letter?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "They're extremely concerned about you and agreed that it was best if you came back to Rell as soon as possible."

"Alright," I said. "But what about Dante?"

"Ah, yes, your parents mentioned something about that." Bernard looked a bit hesitant. "The thing is, Marcus … there's no proof of anything you say being true, and … " He shifted, obviously very uneasy now. "It seems a little far-fetched … "

"It's not far-fetched," I retorted, becoming angry. "I talked to him myself. If you'd heard the things he'd said … "

"You talked to him?" Bernard glanced up at me again, and then looked away quickly. He seemed rather distressed by my appearance, but I wasn't exactly in an accommodating mood. He would just have to put up with the sight of me in slutty silk clothing until we came to an agreement. "When was this?"

"I snuck into the palace a while ago … " I began offhandedly, and he interrupted me again.

"You did
what
? Marcus, that is a criminal offense!" He stepped toward me and grabbed my arm before I could stop him. "I don't know what you've been doing here," he hissed through clenched teeth, "but it's becoming clear that I've arrived barely in time to keep you from you doing something extremely rash and disgracing the entire family."

"What?!" I was almost shouting. "Get off of me! I'm not disgracing the family!"

"Oh, no? And what would you think of a nobleman if you saw him whoring himself out in the capital, acting like a commoner and dressing like
that
? Never mind that you've been sneaking into the palace without permission."

"I didn't have a choice." My voice was definitely louder than necessary now, and angry. "I didn't want to sneak into the palace and I didn't want to stay here. I would have starved otherwise." I looked away from him, my voice breaking as my anger subsided. "All I wanted was to go back home."

"And you will now, Marcus," Bernard said, sounding a little kinder. "We'll put this whole thing behind us and leave for Rell tomorrow morning. I won't tell your parents about your … conduct, and we'll write to the king about this Dante, alright?"

I nodded. For some reason, I felt like my heart was breaking. "Alright," I agreed woodenly. "I'll … just go and tell them I'm leaving." I sidled past him and went down the stairs, my footsteps heavy. Titiana was in her office, and she answered immediately when I knocked.

"Ah, hello, Marcus, I had a letter about you from—" She stopped suddenly when she saw the look on my face. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Titiana," I said slowly, my eyes downcast, "I … I'm leaving. My cousin has come to get me, and I'm going back to Rell."

I could feel her gaze boring into me for a second, before she said, "Ah, I see. Very well, then."

I felt I must do something
to make up for my sudden departure, so I reached for my belt and pulled out my change purse, handing her the heavy pocket of coins. "Please take this, as overdue rent," I said. "Write to my clients and cancel their appointments?"

"Nonsense," she said. "Hale can service them."

I winced at Hale's name, and Titiana took a deep breath, as if about to say something. Then she merely sighed and informed me that I might leave.

I met Bernard on the stairs, and said, "Ah, you can stay here tonight. One of the girls can put you up."

He sniffed. "I think not, Marcus. I shall stay at an inn tonight. Be ready to leave at dawn tomorrow."

I nodded, and without another glance at me, he left.

I went to my room and began to pack my things. My mind felt curiously empty. I didn't understand it—I was going back to Rell; this was what I had wanted. And Bernard had said that we would write to the king about Dante when we arrived there. But somehow, it seemed like not enough. Even if the king did get my letter, it would take weeks to arrive, and there was that boy …

I turned at a sudden presence behind me and was unsurprised to see Draeden sitting casually on the edge of my desk with his legs crossed. He caught my eye and stood lightly, unfolding his arms as he did so, his face serious.

"What's going on?" he asked. "You're leaving."

"Yes," I said, turning back to my packing. "My cousin Bernard has come to get me. We're leaving tomorrow."

"What about Dante?" asked Draeden. "Marcus, what about that boy he's going to kidnap?"

"I'll write to the king about it," I replied, suddenly feeling very annoyed. "What else am I supposed to do? Why don't you do something, if you care so much?"

Draeden was silent for several moments. "I can't," he said finally. "I'm not allowed to interfere like that."

"Well, you've certainly interfered in my life enough," I said. "Please go away."

He sniffed. "Very well, then. I must say, I'm quite disappointed."

"You stupid fairy!" I yelled, turning to face him, but he was already gone. Furious, I threw a boot in the direction he had been. There was a sudden knock at the door, and I went and opened it warily. Hale stood there, dressed in nightclothes, his hair messy and his eyes wide.

"Marcus!" he cried. "Titiana told me … that you were leaving!"

"I am," I replied. "Tomorrow."

"Why?" he exclaimed. "Marcus, where are you going?"

"Home," I said. "You knew that I wasn't staying forever, Hale."

"Yes, I … " He seemed distracted. "I know. I suppose I forgot. I don't … I'm sorry." He began to turn away. "It's just so sudden. I had hoped … "

My heart was beating fast, although I didn't know why. He was turning to leave and I didn't want him to go—every fibre of my being wanted to stop him, pull him back. All I could manage was a verbal prompt. "You hoped … ?"

"Yes, I … I didn't want … " Hale was flustered, panicked, as if he didn't know what to say, didn't know how to say it. "I don't want you to leave, Marcus. I don't know what to say. I've never cared about anything this much, but I can't … " He shook his head. "I just can't stand the thought of you going away."

Then, before I realized what was happening, he had turned and slowly, tentatively moved toward me, lifting his pale hands to my face and pressing his lips to mine.

It was as if I had forgotten how to breathe. I didn't care, though; somehow, when Hale was kissing me, breathing ceased to matter. In fact, everything in the world ceased to matter, except the feeling of his mouth on mine, the warmth of his body pressed against me, and the burning white light that filled my consciousness. Then, before it could even really begin, the kiss was over, and Hale was sweeping away before I could stop him. I was all alone, and the single lamp in my room did nothing to illuminate the dark hallway ahead of me.

We left early the next morning,
and I didn't see Hale again. After dressing, I knocked on his door and tried to open it, but it was locked. Then Bernard was there, lifting my pack and ushering me out of the house, and then onto a horse. Before I knew what was happening we were leaving the city and heading out into the countryside. A sudden dread filled me when I wondered if I'd ever see the city or the girls from the Parlour or Titiana or Emie ever again. And Hale …  The thought of Hale made my throat constrict, and for a moment, I had to concentrate on forcing back a sob. I turned and looked at the capital as it grew further away, until my neck hurt from looking, and then the buildings slowly faded away into the morning mist.

The trip home seemed to pass in a daze. Bernard was the silent type, easy to get along with and not one to ask questions. After the initial shock of my appearance died down, he seemed to come to the conclusion that I'd been either forced to act the way I had or seduced by the charms of a life of evil. He appeared to take my agreeing to come back with him as a sign that I had seen the error of my ways, and my silence one of shame and remorse. In reality, I felt very little at all; just a sort of persistent dull ache in the pit of my stomach that I didn't care to examine. I seemed to be in a permanent daze, thinking and feeling nothing, and moving through instinct. Every time I tried to think, the dull ache would rear up like an angry animal and threaten to devour me, so I simply kept everything I wanted to feel locked in the back of my mind.

Some of my emotions finally came back when we reached home and I saw my parents. My mother threw herself into my arms, crying and wailing that she should never have let me leave home or trusted that wretched Dante. The fact that she mentioned Dante sparked one of the little embers of hope that I had managed to keep alive on the trip home—the hope that I would finally be able to get in touch with the king and let him know about Dante's sinister activity. I was determined to bring it up, and did so at dinner that night.

I had unpacked the few clothes that I had obtained in the capital and stored them in my wardrobe, before changing into my old rough country clothes. Once I was dressed, however, I found myself absolutely disgusted with the idea of wearing those hideous clothes in front of people. They felt heavy and coarse, and they didn't fit right at all. Finally, I gave in and pulled out my clothes from the Parlour, dressing meticulously, as I had every morning in the capital, and ignoring the little pangs of longing that shot through my chest at the memory. I buttoned my shirt to its highest point and tucked it evenly into the soft brown cloth of my trousers, pulled my hair neatly back into a ribbon, and then slid on my nicest leather boots, buttoning them slowly up the sides while I stared at my reflection. It was not the person I was used to seeing in this mirror at all—not the young, sloppy country boy, or even the frightened and beautiful young man who had stared at me with wide eyes the morning of my eighteenth birthday. They were both gone, replaced by a tall, slender gentleman with the dress and attitude of a noble of the court, and a seductive twinkle in his bright hazel eyes. I blinked a couple of times, forcing that look to go away, forcing myself back to the rough, shy boy I knew my parents wanted to see. I couldn't hide the fact that I'd changed, but I could at least make an effort to prove that it was still me.

When I went downstairs for dinner, however, no one seemed to take any notice of my clothing, except my mother, who remarked that they would have to get me some proper clothes, since I had probably lost all of mine in the capital. I didn't want to correct her, so I just nodded and looked away. However, when the topic of my adventure came up, I looked my father right in the eye, and said, "I think we should write to the king about Dante."

My father seemed taken aback. He blinked a few times, apparently startled by my vindictiveness. Then he looked away, and said very delicately, "Yes, but, Marcus … what do you intend to tell him?"

"What happened!" I exclaimed. "If Dante's about to go after someone else, it's our responsibility to stop him."

"Marcus," my mother cut in, "you've had a very trying experience, and we know you're looking for someone to blame for what happened to you, but … " She broke off, and I stared at them both. There was something about their tone, the way they looked at me, shiftily, as if they didn't want to meet my gaze.

Suddenly, I understood.

"You don't believe me," I said in a low voice. "You think I'm making this up."

My mother looked down at her food, and I could feel that she was genuinely upset. My father took over for her. "Marcus, Bernard told us about what happened to you in the capital," he said slowly. "I … we can't even begin to understand how awful it must have been for you. But … you must understand that sometimes things happen and they're nobody's fault … "