The Stargazer

Stargazer (chapter six)

Aislinn stepped from the woods to the sound of clashing swords and froze, taking in the scene. In front of the tower, Rowan faced off with Wheezer, the golem having produced a blade from somewhere. Rowan’s sword was long, nearly as tall as he was, and the broad blade caught the morning light. The hilt was longer than swords she’d seen in the past, carved for a two-handed grip, and the blade curved in like an hourglass before tapering to a lethal leaf-shaped point. She’d never seen anything like it before.


A powerful blow knocked Wheezer’s sword point-first into the ground and the golem stumbled, losing his grip on his weapon. Rowan stepped back, flexing his sword but allowing the golem to regain his footing and weapon. A sparring session then.


Wheezer caught sight of her and his odd face split in a delighted grin. He waved.


“Hi!”


“Hello.” Aislinn smoothed her skirts self-consciously.


“Want to play with us?”


She chose to ignore Rowan’s snort and disdainful expression. With a smile, she shook her head.


“I’m better with a bow than a sword,” she offered mildly. “I think I’ll leave you two alone for now.”


Aware of the eyes that followed her around the curve of the tower, Aislinn waited until she was well out of sight before flipping out her wings and retreating to the bower on the top. She’d just tucked her wings away again when a shout from below brought her back around. Rowan stared up at her, his face set in a dark scowl.


“What the hell did you do to my tower?” he demanded.


She shrugged, leaning her elbows on the low wall that encircled the bower. “Absolutely nothing.”


“Put it back the way it was.”


“You do it,” she challenged with a sweet smile. “If it’s your tower, you should have the power to make it do what you wish.”


She moved away from the edge, ignoring the grumbling coming from below, and sank down on the pallet. Flopping back on the soft cushions, she stared up at the bunches of flowers that dangled from the lattice ceiling.


What was she to do now? She’d wandered the whole circumference of the place, even banged herself off the ceiling of the sky like a firefly in a jar, and she’d found no trace of anything that could be a door out of here. She had to find the door and the key before she stood a chance and the only person who might know apparently disliked her intensely. She could hear Rowan below, his deep voice clipped as he gave Wheezer orders. She didn’t understand it. They had the same goal and the same enemy. That should have made them allies if not friends.


Her frown deepened. The Time King. A Fae king, if Rowan was to be believed. She had no doubt he believed it to be true but she’d never heard of such a being. She’d heard tales of people trapped in spells where they slept and didn’t age, but that was a matter of earth magic keeping the body from aging rather than control of time itself.


Fear sparked through her, sudden and jagged. If this truly were a bubble of time, how much time would pass on the outside before she could break free? How much time had already passed?


With a groan, she rolled over to bury her face in the pillow. Why her? She’d done nothing to deserve this. She’d angered no one, certainly not this Time King. Why then was she here? Anger rose slow to burn the fear to ash. She wasn’t going to let them get away with this. Not this Time King and certainly not Rowan.  She needed answers and she needed them sooner rather than later.


Rolling over, she slid her legs off the side of the bed and came to a stop. Against the wall of her bower, a short silver spear with a wickedly curving tip glittered in the morning light. The traditional weapon of the Sidhe.


Oh, no. She was not going to spar with the man. As big as he was and in the growly mood he was in, he’d likely cut her in half just to see if she’d bleed.


“I’m sure you can come up with a better idea than that,” she scolded the world at large. “I’m not ready to die just yet.”


The short spear remained but a plate of steaming food now sat beside it.


“The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?” She shook her head. “You feed him. He’d bite me.”


The wind sighed as if in answer.


The next offering came as a pair of silver slippers, sparkles on the toes. Dancing shoes. Aislinn eyed the things.


“Can’t you just give me a book with the answers and let me figure it out on my own? Do I really have to deal with that man?”


A weight settled in her lap and she looked down to see a familiar slim tome. The Stargazer’s tales. How would that help her find the answers she needed? It wouldn’t but, then, the world at large probably didn’t want her solving this puzzle. She sighed, fingering the binding. If nothing else, it was something to do while they battered each other bloody below.


Leaning back into the pillows, she opened the book and began to read.


The words flowed, a tale unfolding of an exasperated father and twelve headstrong women. Twelve men were called to fulfill the wishes of the princesses. They danced among splendor, dined on delicacies and lost themselves in hedonistic pleasures.


The tale changed.


Another man came to the tiny world the King had created to enfold his daughters while they learned their lesson. He came and the mood of the players changed. The men felt threatened by him, the women intrigued by the newcomer. Games were woven and broken and tangled again as the players shifted in a dance of hearts. In the end, the women fell in love, gave up all they had for the men who pleasured them and the spell was broken. The twelve princesses left the magic world of the prison bound to the twelve men they had chosen. The tale ended.


Aislinn marked the place with a finger, her eyes lifting to the pure blue of the sky that arched beyond the fringe of flowers. What had happened to the man left behind? The book didn’t say.


She shifted uneasily against the cushions, her mood curiously morose. There had been no mention of the Stargazer though Queen Realta had sworn the tales were all about the changeling.


The next tale told of a Fae traveler who shared a fire with an unnamed changeling. In an attempt to keep the food in his pack, he bargained with the changeling for the soup in his pot. The changeling agreed to share but only if the Fae added carrots to the pot. The vegetables were added and the bargain tangled into a battle of wits that deprived the traveler of most of the food in his pack but filled the bellies of both.


She turned the pages, the tales of a human changeling flowing one into the next. Sometimes, he was a fighter who came to the aid of a beleaguered Fae. Others, he was a reclusive and irritable man full of strange knowledge. Not one of the tales named the changeling nor did they even confirm they were even about the same changeling. And nowhere was a Time King spoken of.


A rock plunked on the floor beside her bed and she stared at it uncomprehendingly. A moment later, another rattled against the trellis to fall among the flowers. Aislinn pushed up, a frown creasing her face. Someone was throwing rocks at her and the choices of culprit were limited.


Laying the book aside, she peered over the edge of the tower. Wheezer waved up at her and her irritation faded a bit.


“If you hit me with one of those rocks, I’m going to be rather angry,” she warned him.


“Hi!” He waved again, a grin curling across his leather face. “Come down.”


“Why?”


“Rowan went stomping. I’m lonely.” His grin didn’t look bored but rather manic, she thought. “Come down and talk to me.”


She glanced at the book that contained no answers and back at the golem who was certain to frustrate her and made her decision. Making sure the book was tucked securely away, she joined Wheezer at the base of the tower.


“What did you want to talk about?” she asked, flipping her wings away and smoothing her skirts.


“How come you hide them?” he asked, his eyes fixed just above her shoulders where her wings had been a moment before.


“I have my reasons.”


“You don’t like your wings?”


“I didn’t say that.”


He thought hard for a moment and then shook his head. “Other people don’t like them.”


She blinked at him, a bit surprised.


“You don’t act ashamed of them,” he explained. “If they don’t make you uncomfortable, they must make other people uncomfortable.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I like them. They’re pretty.”


A sweet warmth unfurled in her chest and Aislinn ducked her head. It was, without a doubt, the nicest thing anyone had said to her in a long time and that it came from someone as disingenuous as Wheezer meant more to her than any amount of flowery compliments.


“Thank you.”


“You’re nice, too.”


She chuckled at that. “You don’t know me well enough to judge me, Wheezer.”


“You didn’t scream when you saw me like the others did and they never talked to me.” He looked mournful for a moment and then brightened, nodding vigorously. “You’re nice.”


“Others?” The word caught her attention. “There have been others?”


“Oh, yes.” He gestured a soft patch of clover that mounded near the base of the tower. “Sit. We’ll talk.”


Aislinn did as he suggested, the soft green scent enfolding her as the warmth of the mid-morning sun draped over the world.


“This is a pretty place,” she commented. “A peaceful place even.”


“You like it?” Wheezer thumped to sit a few feet away. She saw new slices in the leather that covered his arms and legs, souvenirs of his morning sparring with Rowan.


“Not exactly.” She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. “Had I been asked if I wanted to visit or if I had any choice in the matter, that might be different, but I was taken against my will and I’m being held the same way. No matter how pretty the prison, it’s still a prison.”


“I was born here. It’s my home.”


She thought about that a moment and then shook her head.


“Home is where you’re born, but you have a choice whether to stay or to go and make somewhere else your home. Do you want to be here?”


He frowned as if puzzled by the idea. “Where else could I go?”


“Wherever you choose.” She let the topic drop, not sure she could explain free will to a creature crafted to perform the will of another. “You mentioned others. Have there been many people brought here?”


“Lots to begin with.” He seemed saddened by the thought and hunched over a bit to play with the clover between his crossed feet. “Pretty princesses and strong lords. Dancing and singing and lots of fighting. Lots of fighting.” He fell silent a moment and then shook his head. “Then no one for a long time. Now it’s just Rowan and now you. Not so many. No dancing or singing but still fighting.”


“I’m not fighting with anyone.”


“Rowan doesn’t like fairies. He grumbles and growls and chops at me.”


“I gathered that,” she agreed dryly. “Why does he hate the Fae so much?”


“If you want to know something about me, ask me.”


Aislinn and Wheezer jerked around to see Rowan glaring at them, his hair matted with sweat and a streak of dirt darkening one cheek. The hilt of his sword jutted over one shoulder.


A jab of embarrassment pinkened her cheeks at being caught talking about him but Aislinn lifted her chin and met his gaze evenly.


“Then you tell me, why do you hate Fae so much.”


The muscles in his jaw clenched, his golden eyes molten with suppressed emotion.


“None of your business,” he snapped. “Nothing about me is any of your business.”


“This is your prison I’m trapped in,” she countered. “That makes everything about you very much my concern.”


He shifted the sword in its sheath, his glare threatening retribution. Aislinn refused to be intimidated. Rising, she stepped from the clover until her toes brushed the tips of his boots. He towered over her, all hard muscle, soft leather, and hot temper.


“Why do you hate the Fae?” she asked again, keeping her voice even with difficulty. Her own temper simmered at his inexplicable resentment. She’d done nothing to him, had hardly spoken with him. He had no excuse for treating her this way.


“Because I can.”


“Not good enough. Try again.”


He looked away. She thought she saw something flicker in his eyes, something akin to pain but she must be mistaken.


“Tough, Princess. It’s good enough for me.”


“Princess?” She couldn’t hide her surprise. “Why do you call me that?”


“You are, aren’t you? Royal to the tips of your pretty ears.”


The ridiculing, angry words goaded her temper. She straightened to her full height, her shoulders back and her fists clenched.


“That’s right. I’m a princess.  My mother is Queen of the Sidhe and my father the second son of King Finbarra of Tuathe de’. But we weren’t talking about my bloodlines. We were discussing your poor attitude.”


A roaring split the air before he could answer and a dozen shaggy, two-legged creatures broke from the trees, swinging broad bladed axes.