As if to make up for his rough treatment and sudden engagement, his rooms in the castle were heavenly. The floor and walls were a flat, hard black, as most of the rooms were, and there was no sunlight, but he had a breath-taking view over the queen’s vivacious gardens. He woke each morning on a bed softer than a mother’s arms to the gentle sound of birds singing beside his window. His bath was the size of a small pool, and it drew clean hot and cold water through taps shaped like roses. He even had four huge mirrors – three for the vanity and one as tall as the room – that were as clear and pure as the mirrors from Earth.
He only saw Zecadus once a week for a strictly scheduled hourly tea, but she seemed to be looking out for him. Although the Dark Elves lived in monochrome and spurned manmade colour, the furniture in his room had been commissioned to be all the colours of the rainbow. When he complained to his lady’s maids that his back was sore from going without a corset, his bath was fitted with healing crystals that very morning.
Every freedom in the castle was permitted to him. Bare dollhouses, canvasses and paints had been purchased for him to use as he saw fit; here no one forbid him from carving furniture or building the frame from scratch. The librarian and servants were told to provide him with everything he requested, and he could opt to wander deeper into the forest without any guards, if he so wished.
It would never be a home, though. The permanent darkness took a toll on both body and mind, and it was impossible to ignore the contempt that everyone but the queen treated him with.
It was to be their fifth tea together that morning, and he was struggling to fake contentment. He relied on his maids to dress him in white and apply an extra layer of blush to cover over his sallowness.
The queen was already waiting for him in the garden. “Beautiful again today,” she said with a smile as he sat down.
“Thank you… But I could never compare to Your Majesty.”
This was their usual routine. They spoke about nothing in particular as the servants served them tea and cakes. By the end of it, Tristan was simply listening to her explain magic while he admired the way the lamplight softened her features.
Today, though, the queen made no move to leave as the servants cleared away the plates. “I was wondering if you would keep me company for a bit longer today. There’s something I’d like to show you.”
He was already halfway through forming his standard farewell. He quickly choked it back. “Of course, Your Majesty?”
She offered her hand with a smile. “Just Zecadus. We’re wives, aren’t we?”
Holding hands, she led him back into the giant tree that served as the castle and up endless flights of stairs. The gems laced around her wrist shone to open doors that he hadn’t even seen before. Just as he thought that his legs would give way, the final door opened and a ray of sunshine hit him in the face.
The steady rustle of leaves in the wind teased him. He could feel the pleasant burn of the sun on his arm, but he couldn’t take it away to look.
“Of course – I’m sorry!” The far less pleasant buzz of Zecadus’ magic thrummed through his eyes. “Try it now?”
He brought his hand down warily. This time, not even the direct glare of the sun hurt his eyes. A beautiful bright green garden bloomed before him with a canopy of the castle’s foliage; the light easily passed through it and its many large gaps. At his feet was grass rather than moss, and trees and bushes of ordinary sizes thrived, their branches heavy with fruits and splendid flowers. Although he couldn’t recognise the plants, he could imagine them blooming in a human garden.
Zecadus was relieved by his growing smile. “This is the royal nursery. We grow plants here that are too fragile to survive in the wild forest, but that we Dark Elves need.”
She took his hand again, guiding him towards a large collection of bushes. “These, for example…” She gently took the head of a brightly blooming pink blossom into her palm. It was bigger than Tristan’s whole hand. “These are important herbs for triggering reproduction.”
“How is it done?”
She smiled softly at the question. “Spontaneous impregnation does happen, but not as often as we’d like. Usually, when we decide to have children, we mix a special, ancient tonic and drink it before we have sex.”
“But then what?”
“Hm…” She glanced around at the plants for half a minute. “We have excellent books on this subject. Why don’t I have the librarian send them to your room?”
And just like that, she guided him to a tree with triangular flowers to explain those.
Botany was one of Tristan’s least favourite subjects, but somehow it was bearable with Zecadus. She let him taste the fruits while she told him where they’d come from and when their trees had been planted, and he could at least lean his head back and bask in the sun when she listed off too many gardening facts at once.
The sun was high in the sky before he began to tire. Seeing that he was becoming quiet and unresponsive, Zecadus brought him through a circle of trees.
There was a shady clearing in the centre, peacefully cut off from the rest of the world, with a table and chairs for relaxing. There was Rhea’s house too.
She must have felt him tense. She looked back at him curiously, then followed his gaze to the dollhouse.
“Don’t worry – there’s a spell over it and this clearing to protect it from the elements.” She smiled warmly. “I thought that it looked right there.”
He tried to nod.
“Thank you for it. It was a wonderful present.”
“My father sent it.” He couldn’t stop himself.
She snapped her head back at his tone. Her eyes searched his expression. “Oh… But you still made it, right? It’s beautiful.”
He ducked his head. “It was a tribute to… To someone I lost.”
For a moment, only the breeze passed between them.
“Who was it?” Her voice was gentle.
“Someone I loved a long time ago…”
There was silence between them again. This time, he risked a glance at her face. She was staring intently at the dollhouse with a serious expression.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” she said eventually. “Let me return it.”
Cold, sickening prickles of fear pierced into him. Zecadus’ expression gave little else away about her thoughts, but she had never felt as distant from him. He didn’t know how he could survive in Shadowfell if even his wife resented him.
She must have noticed the change in his mood because she turned to smile. “I have someone I loved and lost too.” She took his hands in her own. “Other people might not understand, but it’s important for us to honour and remember them.”
A wave of relief washed over him. He relaxed and craned his neck to look up at her. Her eyes were soft with kindness, and the wind played with the loose strands of her braid. He moved his gaze to Rhea’s house. Bathed in sunlight and surrounded by greenery, it seemed almost merry. It was a better setting than any painted lawn in a dark room that he could provide.
“Let’s leave the house here,” he said. “I think this is where she’d have wanted it to be.”
She nodded to signal that she would. Carefully, she pulled one hand away to slip into her pocket and brought it back to wind several new keystones around his wrist.
“These are the keys you’ll need to open the doors. Come here whenever you want.”
He was surprised. “Is that a good idea? Aren’t these plants here for protection?”
“As long as you don’t pick them, stand on them, or go digging, you won’t hurt them. Besides…” She brushed his hair back behind his ear. “Isn’t this where you belong? As a flower who can’t live without the sun?”
From then on, the nursery was Tristan’s domain. He went there almost as soon as he woke up and stayed each night until he was tired and ready for bed. He found that he could read there without straining his eyes, could paint without the smell staying for hours, and that he could carve whatever little twigs fell off the trees. He was open to the elements but, if he didn’t feel like savouring the rain as it fell it warm on his face, the clearing where Rhea’s house was would protect him.
The daily trek toned his legs and strengthened his body. The colour returned to his skin, tanning him more than he had ever been in his life as Muirgen. Rather than complaining, Zecadus sent him scrolls full of exercises. Soon he didn’t miss his corset at all.
They continued their weekly meetings for a time. Sometimes the queen would stay longer than an hour, showing him this feature of the castle or that, or ruminating about life or science with him. Sometimes she left very sharply – but she always provided some tidbit of insight to brighten his day.
But, after three months, the excuses started arriving. Today the queen had urgent business; today the queen was feeling indisposed; today she simply sent her apologies. They came more frequently as time passed by. Eventually, it had been two months since he had last seen her, and the servants no longer humoured him with an explanation.
One morning, he woke up crying. He couldn’t remember the faces, he couldn’t remember the words, but the fire – he remembered the fire.
“Take me to see my wife,” he told his lady’s maids as they finished applying his makeup. They gave each other a meaningful glance.
“Her Majesty is hard at work right now,” answered Sohdi, the more tactful of his maids.
“Then bring me a drink of warm milk and honey and show me the way to her.” They stayed rebelliously silent. “Or I’ll search this whole palace for her myself.” He touched his keystones threateningly.
Irila, the quiet but ever resentful one, spoke up. “We’ll ask Her Majesty if she has time for a brief visit from you.”
“Then go and ask her now.”
She pursed her lips, but gave a stiff bow and withdrew. Sodhi tried to tempt him away to have breakfast. He sent her to bring two trays of it with the milk. Both kept him waiting: Irila for an hour before she spat out that he could “go up” when he wished, and Sodhi for an extra half hour after that. He wouldn’t be deterred today, though.
He balanced both trays himself to prevent any “accidents” and had them lead the way. There were almost as many stairs to go up as the way to the nursery. He noticed that his maids were walking fast to try and unbalance him.
Unfortunately for them, he arrived safely and pushed open the heavy door with his hips. It was dark inside, even for Shadowfell. The only light in the whole room was a large, glowing ball, about the size of a beachball, that was suspended by seemingly nothing in the centre. The air was heavy with stale sweat. There were no windows and no furniture – only a table running along the edge of the circular room that was carved out of the wall itself.
Zecadus turned her attention from the ball as he entered, smiling. “How can I help you, Muirgen?”
“I heard you were working hard, so I brought breakfast.” He set the trays down on an empty space on the table and breathed a sigh of relief.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
He didn’t know it was possible for a Dark Elf to look pale, but she did. Most of her braid had fallen out and the bits that had were knotted like they hadn’t been brushed in days. Her eyes were sunken and bloodshot.
“No, it looks like I really did… When did you last eat? Or sleep?”
“Oh, err…” She looked hazily back at the ball as she thought. “I’ve been taking naps when I need to. Don’t worry – I’m used to this.”
“That’s not good.” He resisted the urge to cover his nose as he brought the milk to her. She took it gratefully. “You’ll destroy your body if you keep going like that. Shadowfell needs its queen to be strong.”
“It needs its borders to be strong too…” She looked about for somewhere to put the cup down, but there was nothing nearby.
“What does that have to do with you working yourself to death in here?”
“This ball…” She picked it up to bring it closer to him. It floated in her hand. “This is the soul of the forest. The royal family have worked with it to heal and grow the forest since, well… Always.”
He looked at it with new interest. It gave off a soft warmth and he could hear an odd, distant tinkling sound from it.
“I’ve received reports from our scouts that the Light Elves are making strange movements. It could be nothing, of course, but…” She let the ball float back to its original position. “We have to be ready if they’re going to start another war.”
“Why do they want to attack us?”
“I’m not sure. The records of the first war say that they looked down on us for being women, but the fighting has gone on for so long that I’m sure there are many other reasons too.”
She walked to a tray to help herself to toast. He followed uncertainly. “There’s never been peace?”
“I was able to use my half-Light blood to convince them to accept an alliance last time, but we don’t know how long they’ll honour it for.”
That prompted many questions in him – but he sealed his lips when he saw how hungrily she was eating. After a moment, he joined her in silence with his own tray.
She ate much faster than him. Seeing her regretful expression when she realised that there was no more, he pushed the rest of his over to her. When she was done, he spoke again.
“If there’s going to be a war, you’ll need to be able to think clearly and use your strength when it starts.” He carefully took her hands in his own. “You’ll do your best work when you work in moderation, too.”
Surprised, she studied his face. After a moment, she relented. “Okay, then.”
He smiled. “Come and take a bath.”
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