The Query:
The game is afoot, but in this game the pieces are mortal ones and it is the fairies who move them. While the fairy Callista arranges an alliance between two neighboring mortal kingdoms - gifting the heirs with Love and Happiness of all things - her rival, Matisse, devises a plan to switch her own daughter for the Princess.
Sixteen years later, just as both their plans are about to reach fruition, a medallion sends Lyra, the true Princess, on a search for her own identity. This search will draw her away from the only life she's known and into Faerie, where she’ll meet Calix - a recluse content with the occasional mortal seduction - to Rhodes, where she'll meet the prince she was supposed to marry, and finally to Ghent and the sister she never knew she had.
Meanwhile, her half-mortal sister, Phaedra, has known all along who she is and what is expected of her. But when she discovers everything Matisse has been hiding from her along with the existence of Lyra, the idea of being Queen is suddenly not nearly as appealing as being someone else. For these sisters, the truth may be the only thing that will save them from the machinations of Faerie and from Matisse, who will not be so kind as to send Lyra away in a basket this time, at least, not in one piece.
FAIRY TAIL is complete at 97,000 words and would likely appeal to fans of Melissa Marr, Patricia A. McKillip, and Robin McKinley.
Chapter One ~ Once Upon a Time
Once upon a time there were two
neighboring kingdoms, separated by a wide river that ran from the mountains in
the north to the warm western sea. Here, Rhodes occupied a pretty peninsula,
surrounded by the sun and the sea and the smell of salt and roses, and ruled
peaceably by Queen Helena and King Alexander.
For many years the
King and Queen lived there, happily for the most part, except for just one
thing. Each of them felt the pang of need, the King to pass his seed and line
ahead to the next generation, and the Queen to cure her longing for a child.
They were beginning to lose hope. Worse, their subjects were beginning to lose
hope.
In the north was
Ghent, which sat high in the snow tipped mountains. It was a cold place most of
the year, but bright and sharp, and kindly ruled by King Otto and his wife, the
Queen Olivia. And like their neighbors to the south, they were longing for
precisely the same thing: an heir.
Matters had just
begun to grow worrisome when both Queens miraculously gave birth within months
of one another, the first to a boy and the second to a girl. Ghent and Rhodes
celebrated with equal joy, and equal relief. In this besotted state the two
kingdoms pledged to one another, as if the births were a portent, a sign to
merge. The union was happily accepted by nearly everyone and an even grander
celebration planned, one that would officially betroth the two infants to one
another. Ghent agreed to come to Rhodes, which immediately began to plan for an
event of historical proportions.
After months of
preparation and more comings and goings than either kingdom had seen in
decades, the day dawned, sparkling with sun and favor, blue skies and warm
winds blowing in off the bay. The parades began at first light, with hundreds
of small parties marching down the streets and avenues, dressed to honor
anything and everything. There was music accompanying these parades, whistlers
and flutists, pipers and drummers, small bands of fiddlers, singers and bards.
Carts creaked along every street, their grating sound punctuated by the cries
of the sellers who offered everything from sweet pastries to imitation stars:
fairy fireworks. At noon, a full orchestra began to play on the royal lawn. Gay
streamers waved from every corner, silk ribbons fluttered from windows, and
everyone was dressed in their finest, most beautiful clothes.
Afterwards the
royal families and their guests gathered on the lawn, the sun still hot and
bright while the shady trees of the park created a cool canopy under which to
celebrate in comfort. Rhodes’ Minister of Justice stood before the multitude
that had gathered to witness an event they could tell their grandchildren of.
Standing beside the royals were those most closely associated with them. King
Alexander had the court historian standing at his side while Queen Helena stood
with her fairy godmother, both of them as radiant as the sun.
Privately
Alexander wondered if Callista had added a bit of glamour to their dress. It
would be like her to do such a thing. But he hoped she hadn’t. He did not want
the King of Ghent to have any illusions. Better to be honest and
straightforward. He glanced at Ambrose, Rhodes’ Historian Emeritus. Well, mostly straightforward, he amended.
Beside him Ambrose
leaned on a cane that was much more than that, having been hewn from the most
ancient of yew trees, wrapped with charms and spells, and forged over the
course of decades by its master. It was a powerful thing, King Alexander knew,
and it made him wary, careful and wary. Ambrose was more than just an
historian; he was one of the Wise, and at the moment his attention was fixed on
Queen Olivia’s handmaid.
“What is it?”
Alexander inquired quietly.
“I’m not
certain—yet,” Ambrose said.
Alexander studied the
woman next to Queen Olivia stood, gowned in cornflower blue and gold, her dark
hair dressed with gems. She held her child in her arms, the small face hidden
by lace. Her handmaid was at her side, and though dressed in a sedate midnight
blue and wearing a single ring on one hand, there was something about her, an
allure that couldn’t be defined or measured.
#
Matisse felt their
eyes upon her and lowered her own, silently saying the words to hide herself
from their knowing. They did not need to know. She looked instead to the child,
sleeping with its fingers in its mouth, lashes fluttering in dream.
She was a dull
thing, Matisse thought, nothing like a fairy infant, possessing only a voice it
seemed. Perhaps one day she would amount to something but for the moment she
looked like uncooked dough. Rhodes’ heir did not look much different, being
only larger and noisier. He was not sleeping peacefully in his mother’s arms.
He was beginning to fuss. Matisse glanced back at the Princess, still happily
sucking on her fingers while she dreamt, then slyly over to Callista, wondering
what she had planned.
#
“What is it?”
Alexander asked again.
“I do not know.”
The answer was
troublesome for Ambrose seldom said those words. He could know just by looking.
“Have I cause to
worry?” Alexander asked.
Ambrose gave a
nonchalant shrug.
“Should I stop the
ceremony?” Please say no, Alexander thought.
“No.”
Relief was
followed quickly by confusion. “Why not?”
“Because I think
it would only make matters worse.”
Alexander fell
silent, and a moment later the Minister began to speak the words that would
bind the two infants together, bind two kingdoms. He took his time, reciting
the merits of each, listing the good that would come of the union, and finally
finishing with a reading of the proclamation, signed and sealed by both kings.
A great cheer went
up from the crowd and balloons were released, whistles blown, and a few
imitation stars set off, all of them fizzling out in the heavy canopy of green,
falling back to the pristine lawn in a shower of bright sparks.
The royal party
and their guests adjourned to the castle, walking up the pebbled path to the
East Ballroom where tables had been laid with linen and silver. There Rhodes’
bounty was displayed in artful form and garnished with the most fragrant
flowers. There were plates of fresh seafood; fried eels and mussels with dishes
of melted butter, crab cakes and grilled whitefish. There were fruits from the
local orchards; peaches in cream, ripe, red strawberries, and blueberry tarts with
a sugar glaze. There were breads of all kinds; sweet rolls, and muffins, and
braided twists, platters of pheasant, lamb, and duck, cooked greens in dishes,
and soup, hot and cold, cider, wine and ale. And there was champagne later, as
the night drew in and the colored lanterns were lit and the orchestra began to
play more softly.
Both Otto and
Alexander made speeches then, to which the crowd toasted, and afterwards the
gifts began, most of which would be wrapped again and saved for when the
children were older and properly married to one another. After all, what could
a child possibly do with crystal swan candleholders besides break them? But
there were a number of gifts intended for the infants as they were; silver
rattles and spoons, fey toys, and music boxes.
The moon was high
and round when Queen Helena’s fairy godmother came forward, shimmering with
glamour. She was bright and lovely, a golden, glittering star among the drab
humans in their finery. She drew out two matching medallions hung on thin braided
chains, each with a perfect red ruby at its center, and each engraved with a
faerie charm.
“Love and
Happiness,” she said.
By all accounts the infants were doomed to a perfect life.
