The Faeries' Harp

23: The Faerie Queen

Rhys’s breath catches in his throat as they enter the Throne Room. The space is truly resplendent, more opulent than any building he’s ever seen before in his life. Along the walls are galleries where several fae folk are gathered, all wearing attire that seems to be crafted from flowers and leaves and a baffling amount of gemstones. This room, like the hallway, boasts more rounded windows than Rhys is able to count, but supplemental light is provided by a number of sweet-smelling wall sconces and innumerable fairy lights floating near the ceiling.

Most stunning of all is the Faerie Queen herself, who sits at the end of the long room on a throne of turquoise, clad in a gown that seems to have been crafted from an enormous orchid. She wears a crystalline crown, and her wings are large and shimmer with a variety of blues, greens, and purples.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us again so soon, Your Majesty,” Myghal addresses her with a sweeping bow. The rest of the group follows suit, except for the unconscious Saoirse; even Bergljot makes a gesture that could not be mistaken for anything but an obeisance to the Queen, though she is careful not to disturb Saoirse in any way while so doing.

“I appreciate you returning in so timely a fashion,” the Queen replies with a voice like silk. “I feared that you might encounter more difficulties along the way, and we were all concerned when we heard the harp a second time.”

“A healing spell the second time, Your Majesty,” Kyrie supplies. “Rhys…accidentally made contact with some silver tainted with wickedness, during his brief sojourn in the mortal realm, and we had no other means of treating it with the urgency it demanded.”

“You must be Rhys,” the Queen turns to him, “since I have not seen you before. Tell me, young man, why were you so desperate to venture back to the mortal realm, having learned your true nature?”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Rhys begins, completely unsure of how to address a monarch. The most important person he’s ever been anywhere near up to this point was Lord Rioghnan, and he never had any reason to approach the man. To his mind, Saoirse doesn’t count; by the time he’d learned of her rank, he’d already gotten to know her a bit as a person, and she wouldn’t let him treat her as her title. Maybe just telling the truth, as best I can, will be best. “I couldn’t, in good conscience, disappear from the life of the woman I called Mother without a trace or a goodbye. Her circumstances were dire, and I was scared that without me, she would not survive. The one I called Father left her without warning when I was young, and…. No one deserves to live through such heartbreak once, let alone twice.”

“You have a kind spirit, Rhys. What happened with the silver?”

“It was a gift, Your Majesty, from Saoirse, to provide for my mother. She had many debts, and Saoirse had coin from the human world. Neither of us had any idea how it could affect faeries. I didn’t mean to make any trouble, and had no intention of touching the coins myself, anyway. My mother had a coin in her hand when she tried to keep me from leaving, when I was saying goodbye. It was completely accidental.”

“Do you think she has any idea what you truly are?”

“I’m not sure, Your Majesty. The only hint was the silver. Saoirse made me appear as she had last seen me, not…like this.” The Queen and many of the other fae beings present seem surprised and impressed by this bit of information, and murmurs speculating about Saoirse circulate the Throne Room. “Even if she does have an inkling as to what I am, it’s unlikely anyone would believe her. She’s so often indisposed, most everyone will dismiss whatever story she tells about it as a memory from a fever-dream.”

“Well, that is some comfort. And you think she has what she needs now, that you will not feel compelled to make such a journey again?”

“I believe so, Your Majesty, although…. It will be hard. I will miss her.”

“It is always hard, when we have to leave those we love.”

“I am really sorry, about all the trouble I’ve caused. I never meant to break any laws or—”

“Never mind that. All of this must have been quite a shock to you. You have had quite a day, and it is my understanding that you did not instigate the events that brought you to the fae realm in the first place.”

“…I suppose that is true.”

“Your companion. Saoirse, you called her. Where is she?”

“She is…sleeping, on the unicorn’s back, Your Majesty,” Seamus replies. “The last spell took a lot out of her.”

“As well it might. My High Mage, Magister Diarmaid, told me the nature of the spell, when we heard the harp again.” The Faerie Queen gestures to another faerie at her right hand, who is clad in dark, feathered robes studded with pearls, reminiscent of the night sky. His wings and hair are pearly white. “An ancient and powerful piece, like the first she played. Do you think it possible to wake her? I am most curious to interview her, to see how she managed such a thing.”

“I will try, Your Majesty,” Kyrie volunteers. She touches Saoirse’s forehead lightly with her fingertips and chants something, brief and melodic. To Rhys’s surprise, Saoirse’s eyes snap open, but they are unfocused, lost. “Saoirse? How are you feeling, lass?”

“I…. No matter. Rhys? Is he all right?” she answers, voice and eyes filled with concern, as she struggles to get up from being draped across Bergljot’s back. The unicorn lowers herself to the ground, allowing Saoirse a more graceful transition than Rhys had, with Kyrie’s help.

“See for yourself. You did it.” Kyrie points Saoirse’s attention towards Rhys, and his heart catches in his throat as their eyes meet.

“Thank goodness. I was so worried,” Saoirse breathes. She moves as though to embrace him, but then takes in her surroundings for the first time. “Oh….”

“We can talk later,” Rhys assures her gently. “For now, we’re in the court of the Faerie Queen, and she would like to speak with you.”

Instantly, Saoirse’s entire demeanor changes, and after a brief moment of looking around and getting her bearings, she turns to the Queen, sweeping an elegant curtsey in the process. The Queen observes her with interest; it’s clear, though her Flower Guard had not told her as much, that these two newcomers to her realm have very different experiences in the mortal realm.

“I am so sorry to have kept you waiting, Your Majesty. I pray you will forgive this unintentional slight,” Saoirse addresses the Queen formally, using her best manners.

“You need not trouble yourself about that, Saoirse. I am far more concerned about what you have done since entering my realm than waiting a few moments for you to awaken from what, by the sounds of things, was a much-needed repose.”

“Whatever questions Your Majesty asks, I will do my best to answer.”

“You are the one who played the ancient harp in the river, more than once.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“The songs you played are song-spells first composed long ago, before the fae realm and the mortal realm first collided. These are powerful spells, such that all throughout the fae realm, ailments have vanished and illusions have been shattered because of them. Knowledge of such spells is carefully guarded, and yet you, who were raised in the mortal realm, knew them, executed them flawlessly. How can this be?”

“I…am not certain, Your Majesty, but I am truly very sorry for any trouble I have caused. Although I will say, it is rather strong language to say that I know the spells. I listened to the voices in the river, in the trees, all around that harp. They spoke to me, and…the music just came. I played what seemed to fit with the voices around me.”

The court is suddenly abuzz with murmuring from the fae folk in the galleries.

“How can this be?”

“How is this possible?”

“What voices? I’ve been there several times and never heard any voices.”

“She is perceptive, this one,” Magister Diarmaid observes in an impossibly deep voice. Saoirse shivers involuntarily.

“He has great power,” Bergljot tells her by way of explanation.

“Immensely so, it would seem. But there is more to it than that,” the Faerie Queen replies, silencing her courtiers with a wave of her hand. “Have strong emotions played a role when you have played that harp, Saoirse?”

“The first time, I would say no, Your Majesty, unless Your Majesty deems strong curiosity and a little nervousness to constitute strong emotions,” Saoirse replies with remarkable poise, despite her growing confusion and apprehension.

“Desire is always powerful fuel for magic, regardless of what one desires,” Magister Diarmaid explains, his eyes fixed on Saoirse. “And you have a gift for channeling it, combined with quite a sensitivity to energy.”

“That explains much. Perhaps even why you were so difficult as an infant that your parents felt compelled to give you up,” the Faerie Queen remarks. “Will the Duke and Duchess of Chrysanthemum please come to the Throne?”

“If Your Majesty insists,” someone answers. Moments later, a snooty-looking couple alights in front of the Faerie Queen. Saoirse’s physical resemblance to them is unmistakeable; the Duke shines with gold all over, from his hair and wings to his clothing, and the Duchess’s hair and wings are a luminous sky blue.

“It seems clear, does it not, that this young lady is the daughter the two of you sent away in her infancy?” the Queen addresses the Duke and Duchess.

“By looks, ’tis hard to argue, Your Majesty,” the Duke answers.

“Sent me away?” Saoirse inquires, hurt and confusion swirling in her blue eyes. “But why?”

“Our daughter was always fussing, never quiet, never content,” the Duchess responds. “It didn’t seem to matter what we did. Nothing made a difference, and no one could tell us what was the matter with her.”

“We felt we might as well send her to the human realm, as it was clear we couldn’t do anything with her,” the Duke adds. “What mischief such a troublesome child could cause some humans! The thought delighted us more than parenting ever did.”

“She has no real need of parenting now, it would seem,” the Faerie Queen interjects, seeing that these words have brought Saoirse quite a bit of pain, which is unwise at best, given Saoirse’s apparent talent for channeling emotions into spell-casting. “Simply someone to guide her in learning to live as a faerie, and manage her considerable magical gifts. Will you accept her as your daughter once again?”

The Duke and Duchess exchange a long glance, then shake their heads, not even deigning to look at Saoirse again. “Such a task is not for us. We enjoy life without such troubles. Magic like hers is too messy and complicated.”

Bergljot moves noiselessly to Saoirse’s side and the young woman strokes the unicorn’s neck, winding her fingers in the pure white mane and trying very hard not to cry or show any sign of weakness. It is shame enough to be related to them by blood, and a blessing that they want no part in me, Saoirse reminds herself, but this does little to dull the pain of rejection. She has not known love or affection from a parent since her mother died.

“If it please Your Majesty, I should very much like to take Saoirse as my ward and apprentice,” Magister Diarmaid offers with sincere enthusiasm.

“If it please me?” the Faerie Queen repeats, somewhere between surprised and amused. “That is between her and her parents and you, I should think.”

“We have no objections, Your Majesty, My Lord,” the Duke of Chrysanthemum asserts immediately. It seems clear that he and his wife want nothing more to do with this conversation or with Saoirse, which pains Saoirse and makes her companions simmer with silent anger on her behalf, even Aeowyn, who though she does not particularly like Saoirse, does not feel that she deserves such callous treatment.

“Saoirse?” Magister Diarmaid prompts.

“If you would truly have me as your ward and apprentice, My Lord, it is not for me to refuse you,” Saoirse replies demurely. “I should very much like to learn more, about…whatever this is that I can do, now that I am in this world and in this form.”

“Then it is decided, and I for one am most pleased. You may soon surpass me, but that matters little. This gift of yours must be cultivated and honed to reach its full potential, though admittedly what we’ve seen of what you can do from raw talent is most impressive.” Magister Diarmaid looks to be barely containing sheer glee at the possibility of exploring Saoirse’s magical capabilities. The Faerie Queen graces him with an indulgent smile before dismissing the Duke and Duchess of Chrysanthemum back to their place in the galleries.

“The gate between the realms that has been in use today was completely destroyed,” Alastair reports, secretly wondering if this revelation can somehow get Rhys in trouble.

“Aye, but the unicorn did the bulk of that,” Seamus amends.

“The unicorn,” the Faerie Queen repeats thoughtfully, her piercing gaze settling on Bergljot.

“My name is Bergljot, Your Majesty,” Bergljot introduces herself, using a thought-speech that everyone in the Throne Room can hear. Rhys looks absolutely astounded by the revelation that she can speak at all. “I was sent to the mortal realm disguised as a common horse a little over ten human years ago, to seek out and watch over stranded fae children. I found Saoirse shortly thereafter, and we have been together since.”

“I take it the two of you would like to remain together?” Magister Diarmaid inquires.

“Aye, if at all possible,” Saoirse answers softly. Bergljot nods her agreement.

“No objection from me.”

“Then so shall it be,” the Faerie Queen declares. “But back to business. The hour grows late, and there is still so much to address. The realm-gate must be rebuilt, sooner rather than later. Bergljot, do you think you could assist the group I have assigned to that task?”

“I will do my best, Your Majesty,” Bergljot replies.

“Excellent. We must then return our attention to Rhys. Do we have any indication of his skills or talents?”

“Not as of yet, Your Majesty,” Seamus answers. “He has shown himself to be more interested in preserving his human caretaker than anything else, when he has not been indisposed.”

“Then Rhys, we must test you, to see what you are capable of.”