The Hunter's Moon (11 page)

Gwen shook her head, confused.

A strange gloom fell over the girls, and they both looked lost. Before either could say anything more, a fanfare of trumpets blared through the hall. The music and dancing ceased abruptly as the lords and ladies of the Court bowed low.

The King had arrived.

Dressed purely in black, a silken mantle tossed over his shoulders, he was a startling figure. His jet-black hair fell in a blunt cut to his shoulders, reminiscent of ancient Egypt. And like a pharaoh carved in stone, he had finely chiseled features, proud and exquisite. Though his garments glimmered darkly like the night, he wore no adornment save the sign of his sovereignty: the silver star that glittered upon his brow.

“My lord and master,” Findabhair said wryly.

Despite the dry tone, Gwen could see that her cousin was barely keeping rein on a breathless excitement.

“Be careful yourself,” she warned.

“Isn’t he gorgeous but?”

“Not my type.”

Gwen’s attempt at indifference rang hollow, even to herself.

Dark and intense, the King’s glance swept the hall. He spied them huddled in the corner like conspirators. For a split second, his gaze rested on Gwen. She felt seared by its force. When his attention moved on, she suffered the loss as a pang.

With an elegant gesture, the King extended his hand to Findabhair as melodious music rang out once more.

“Duty calls,” said Findabhair. “I’m off!”

“Wait a minute! We’ve got to—”

But her cousin was already skipping away, catching up her skirts as she ran. Gwen watched, chagrined, as Findabhair melted into the King’s embrace. The two twirled on the floor like figurines in a jewelry box.

Feeling awkward and abandoned, Gwen edged closer to a pillar to hide in its shadow. The misery of the wall-flower.
Always the bridesmaid, never the bride
. She looked around for a buffet table, needing a place to stand where she might appear less alone.

“Lady, will you dance?”

Midir bowed before her. He wore a tunic of bronze-colored linen with a flowing green cloak. The earrings were gone, but golden brooches clasped his mantle. Gold, too, was the circlet that bound his fiery hair.

Gwen yearned to say yes, but she was overcome by shyness.

“I’m not very good. In fact, I’m hopeless. I never go dancing.”

“It is not possible to stumble to fairy music,” he assured her.

She consented at last, though with serious misgivings, certain that she was about to make a fool of herself. But Midir’s words proved true. With his arm around her waist, guiding her effortlessly, she found herself gliding across the floor. With every step she took, her confidence grew. Now the music swept through her, a wild dash of a waltz. Soon she was whirling and twirling amid the bright throng. It was as if her feet had grown wings. She was dancing on air. She was flying!

“This is fabulous! I really feel like Cinderella.”

“A charming girl. I remember her well.”

“How could you? That’s just a—”

“Fairy tale?”

They laughed together as they spun around the hall. It wasn’t only the dancing that was new and exciting to Gwen, but talking freely with a handsome young man as well. Was everything easier in Faerie? If only she could be like this in her own world!

“Will this lady grant me a dance?” said a voice behind her.

Though she would have preferred to stay with Midir, Gwen didn’t want to be rude.

“Okay,” she said blithely, turning to face her next partner.

She nearly jumped with fright when she saw who it was. Ready or not, he caught hold of her.

Gwen was now dancing with the King of Faerie.

hough she managed to keep her step, Gwen quaked inside. She wasn’t sure what to do. He had caught her off guard. She could sense the immense power contained in his person, barely held in check. He was like a panther, sleek and dark. Ready to pounce.

Steady up, she ordered herself. She was annoyed that he could make her so nervous. A cool head was needed, or he would get the better of her.

“Fair Gwenhyvar, you have honored my court with your presence after all.”

He spoke graciously.

Too graciously, she thought.

“No thanks to you or your tricksy leprechaun. If it wasn’t for Midir, I could still be sitting in a dark field, like an ass.”

A spark flared in the King’s eyes. Gwen couldn’t tell if it was anger or amusement.

“You are of the same mettle as Findabhair. I did not think so when first I spied you at Tara. She was the briared rose and you, the buttercup.”

“The story of my life.”

That made him laugh, a rather delightful laugh, and he touched her chin.

“I
love
butter,” he said.

It was the last thing she expected, this irresistible charm. Her defenses wobbled. She knew he was teasing her and she couldn’t help but laugh. Though she fought hard against it, she was beginning to like him.

As if sensing the change in her, Finvarra smiled playfully.

“Perhaps you regret your refusal of me?”

“Maybe,” she teased back, surprising herself.

This was flirting, wasn’t it? Findabhair would kill her. She scanned the hall quickly. Her cousin was dancing in the arms of a blond giant, laughing as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
Serves her right if the King likes me too
. With horror she pushed the dark whisper away.

“I’m not into harems,” she said, a little more loudly than she intended. “It’s not right.”

The King’s voice was smooth. “There is no such thing as right or wrong in Faerie.”

“Then it’s not somewhere I want to be!”

She tried to sound adamant, to stand her ground, but she was really in turmoil. She could feel herself slipping under his sway, caught by his lure. To her great relief, the dance came to an end.

He bowed farewell.

“I shall leave you to my
Tánaiste
who seems as intrigued by you as I. May I trust we are now on better terms?”

She stared into the catlike eyes that reflected the wisdom and wildness of millennia. It was impossible to deny him. When he kissed her on the cheek, she could only smile.

As soon as Finvarra left, Midir rejoined her. At his quizzical look, she shook her head.

“What can I say? I have met the enemy and he’s Prince Charming.”

“He is the King.”

“And you’re the
Tánaiste
? What does that mean?”

“I am his second-in-command. Though I am captain of my own troop and there are many like me, Finvarra is High King over all. If anything were to happen to him, I would rule in his place. But that is unlikely as we are, each of us, immortal.”

Gwen caught her breath as his statement struck home. She was dancing with someone who would live forever! The concept was inconceivable, like grasping the size of the universe. She would have asked him more about fairy life, but a burst of fireworks exploded in the hall. Multicolored birds and sparkling butterflies lit up the air, along with blazing red dragons and Catherine wheels.

“It must be wonderful,” she said, “to live with magic every day.”

Midir’s blue eyes lingered on her.

“I should like to have you always near me.”

Something in his voice told her it was time to make her position clear, not only to him but to herself as well.

“I couldn’t stay here. It’s out of the question. Though the temptation is huge, believe me. This is all so weird. All I’ve ever dreamed of is escaping to other worlds and here I’ve found one, and it’s incredibly beautiful … But now that it’s offered to me, I know the truth. At the most, I only ever meant to visit. I mean, even though it’s far from perfect, I never intended to reject my own life.”

His look was wistful, but he nodded.

“I accept your decision, and I would not hold you against your will. But I cannot say the same of the King. More goes on here than meets the eye. You must take care.”

That was the last straw for Gwen. She had had her fill of fairy games and intrigues.

“Look, what’s the story here?” she demanded. “You’ve been very nice and I appreciate all your help, but instead of vague hints and warnings, why can’t you just come out and tell me what’s going on?”

She saw the veil fall over his features. His tone was guarded.

“I am of Faerie and the land of Faerie, and I am bound by its laws. It is easy enough for me to assist you, for I have the red hair that by our custom grants aid. Yet I cannot cross Finvarra directly. Though I am aware that he schemes against you, I am not privy to his designs. Some matters are the preserve of the King alone. I pledge you my oath, I will help whenever it is in my power to do so. I cannot promise more.”

Though he meant to reassure her, Midir’s words only fed Gwen’s fears. There
was
a secret plot against her, as Findabhair suspected. But what could it be? She cast a cold eye over the fairy hall. Was it a gilded cage? Or something worse? A mirage cloaking a hidden menace? Why did Finvarra want to ensnare her? Was there a worm at the heart of the shiny apple?

It was time to end the party. Time to get Findabhair. Time to go home.

At that very moment, on the other side of the Court, the King clapped his hands.

“Let the feasting commence!”

In the twinkling of an eye a great banquet table appeared, covered with snow-white linen. Stretching the length of the hall, it was laid out with dishes of gold and silver, and crystal goblets rimmed with gems. Though she had already been dazzled by every kind of wonder, Gwen could hardly believe what her eyes now beheld.

All things delicious and imaginable were spread out before her. The centerpiece was a whole roasted pig with a juicy red apple clenched in its jaw. Beside it stood a shellfish fantasia like a castle of coral dripping with sea flowers. There were chickens stuffed with raisins and chestnuts, nests of quails’ eggs and prawns, roast duck with shallots, and mountains of pink lobster. Wheels of cheese were hemmed in by ham pies and beef pies and mince pies. Pyramids of fruit spilled into tiers of nuts, so that the soft ripe skins of grapes and cherries burst against the hard brown shells of filberts and walnuts. And oh, the side dishes! Pears dipped in melted cheddar. Crispy cucumber cups stuffed with crabmeat. And all sorts of mushrooms, for the fairy folk love mushrooms and none are poisonous to them. Chanterelles, morels, earthstars, and puffballs lay freshly picked in baskets or swimming in melted butter. Capped, frilled, scaled, gilled, speckled or plain, they were every color imaginable from purple, velvet black, bright red and orange to ivory white, pale yellow, gray-blue, and brown.

As for the desserts, Gwen’s knees went weak at the sight of them. Strawberries smothered in cream and dusted with brown sugar. Raspberries coated in chocolate and frosted with white sugar. Brittle towers of honeycomb filled with gobs of ice cream and topped with swirled meringue. Stunning confections of marbled cake with layer upon layer upon layer of icing. There were gooseberry fools, cranberry and rhubarb jellies, melon jellies, green jellies of wild mint.

And a cold dark chocolate mousse that frothed like cream.

Inside Gwen, alarm bells were ringing. She knew she was facing her most perilous test. Did the King know that food was her weakness? The feast laid out was temptation itself.

At the head of the table Findabhair tried to catch her cousin’s attention, but she couldn’t move or call out. Beside her, Finvarra sat poised, ready to strike. His dark eyes narrowed. A faint smile played over his lips. A cat watching a mouse.

“Eat no food and drink no wine if you wish to return to your home again.” Midir’s whisper was urgent as he passed behind Gwen.

She groaned at the unfairness of the trial. All her favorite foods were there, sparkling with that extra touch of deliciousness that attends the forbidden. (Isn’t this what happened to poor Adam and Eve?) The hot dishes wafted rich scents toward her. The cold dishes glinted and winked with enticement.

Gwen shuddered and then sighed.

“I’ll have a bit of everything, please.”