The Lord of the Faerie stepped forward and took Louis into a tight embrace. “I thank every god and faerie creature that exists and has ever existed that you have come tonight,” he said into Louis’ ear, his arms hugging the man even closer to him. “I know the difficulty this has caused you.”
Some of Louis’ discomfort eased, and he returned Coel’s embrace tightly.
“Know that I wish you well,” Louis said.
The Lord of the Faerie laughed, and leaned back, his hands now holding Louis’ shoulders. “I am glad you came,” he said. “I could not have done without you.”
Louis smiled—a little wanly—and would have spoken, but then the Lord of the Faerie’s eyes focussed on someone over Louis’ shoulder.
“And here she is,” the Lord of the Faerie whispered. “How I shall love her I think, my Faerie Queen.”
His hands dropped away from Louis, and Louis turned about.
And went still.
Noah—Eaving, for she came in her goddess form —and Jane walked towards them, still at some distance, but Louis had eyes only for Eaving.
He had never seen a woman so stunningly beautiful, nor seen a woman exude such immense power. Eaving wore the face and figure of Noah—the long glossy brunette hair, the ivory skin, the slender limbs and body—but was incalculably something else as well.
In part this was due to her faerie raiment, but in large measure her goddess power shone forth from her eyes. In her lives as Cornelia, as Caela and as Noah, Louis had always known her to have the loveliest deep blue eyes he’d ever seen on a woman.
Now they were a sage green, shot through with blue and slivers of gold.
Eaving came slowly, for she stopped to greet various members of the Faerie, as well as guests, as she walked. Mag she embraced with evident delight; with James she placed a soft hand against his cheek, gracing him with a quiet word or two; she introduced herself to a still-excited Anne Hyde with a kiss to either cheek; Eaving’s Sisters she hugged tightly; the water sprites were greeted with a laugh and a wave of the hand, and Gog and Magog with an elegant incline of her head and a smile.
All the time Jane trailed a few steps behind, turning her face away from Mag, and from Eaving’s Sisters.
Eventually Eaving stopped a pace or two away from where Louis and the Lord of the Faerie stood. She looked first to Coel, and then, slowly, to Louis.
She inclined her head, and smiled, and said, “Greetings, Brutus. How do you?”
He blinked, disorientated by her naming him as Brutus, and then he looked down and, rather than wearing the silvered doublet and breeches he’d set out in, Louis saw that he was indeed dressed as Brutus in the white linen waistcloth and the strapped boots.
All the better clothed to hand over my power, he thought, and then Eaving stepped past him and fell into the Lord of the Faerie’s arms.
The Naked, in the Realm of the Faerie
Jane followed Eaving across the summit of The Naked, as astounded as Louis had been. How had she never known this existed? How could she have been so blind?
No wonder they picked Cornelia, she thought.
Frankly, she was stupefied to find herself here at all. She thought she would have been close to the last person invited to this faerie assembly (well, second to last; Jane thought that Weyland might actually be slightly more reviled than she). But then, had she been invited here only to be judged? To be condemned and belittled?
Eaving stopped here and there to greet members of the Faerie with obvious pleasure. Jane followed, her movements stiff, her eyes averted. When Eaving stopped to greet Mag, Jane could barely breathe. Surely she would be struck down now?
But nothing happened, Eaving moved off, and Jane followed, burning with humiliation as she felt Mag’s eyes on her. Jane could hear the whispers, feel the fingers pointed at her back, and shivered under the weight of so many stares of cold hatred.
In an effort to distract herself, and to concentrate on something other than how much people loved Eaving and loathed her, Jane looked forward, to where Louis stood with the Lord of the Faerie. Jane’s heart beat a little faster when she saw Coel, for he seemed to her to be her only friend and her only hope of refuge in this nightmarish assembly.
Louis looked as out of place as she herself felt, dressed in his court finery, and with that same slightly disorientated cast to his eyes that Jane was sure she must also exhibit. She blinked, and in that moment Louis’ appearance rippled and altered. Now he still stood in the same place, still staring at Eaving, but dressed as Jane had first seen him so long ago, when he had been Brutus and she Genvissa.
He hadn’t taken Brutus’ form: he remained as Louis, taller and leaner than Brutus had ever been, but he was now dressed as a Trojan prince.
Save for the golden bands of Troy. His limbs were unadorned.
Eaving came to the central space, spoke briefly to Louis, and then stepped up to the Lord of the Faerie, and was enveloped in his tight embrace.
Then, as Eaving stood back, the Lord of the Faerie looked at Jane, smiled, and held out a hand. “Jane,” he said.
She hesitated, and his hand waggled a little impatiently.
Tense, Jane stepped forward—and received as tight an embrace as Eaving had.
“When will you start to believe,” the Lord of the Faerie whispered into her ear, “that I have no intention of murdering you?”
“If not you, then most of the gathered throng here would be happy to wield the knife,” she said.
He placed his palm against her cheek, very briefly. “I have welcomed you here,” he said, “thus there shall be no murdering. Although if I were you, I would stay out of Mag’s way.”
Then he motioned Jane and Louis to one side and, taking Eaving’s hand so that she stood at his side in the centre of the circle of leaves, addressed those atop The Naked.
The creatures gathered were now congregated into one mass a little distant from where the Lord of the Faerie and Eaving stood in their circle of leaves.
“Behold!” the Lord of the Faerie cried. “The Faerie Court convenes!”
The assemblage roared, and Jane jumped.
“I bid you welcome, one and all,” the Lord of the Faerie continued, “for you are all beloved to this land.” The Lord of the Faerie paused, and Jane swore that his stature literally grew an inch or two as he studied the throng before him.
“We convene tonight for one most magical reason—to witness the anointing of he who is to rise as the Stag God.”
Jane saw Louis frown, then look away, as if irritated.
“A man most ordinary, and yet extraordinary,” said Eaving.
At this point she gazed at the Lord of the Faerie with such emotion that Jane was not surprised to see Louis’ expression turn angry. She felt a moment’s sympathy for him; what the Lord of the Faerie and Eaving did here was cruel, to say the least, as they flaunted their love and power before Louis.
“It matters only,” Eaving said, turning away from the Lord of the Faerie and dropping his hand, “that he accept the responsibility for the Ringwalk, the track of the stag through the forests, and accept the challenge that his rising shall encompass. Brutus, once William, reborn again as Louis de Silva, will you accept the responsibility of the Ringwalk, and the challenge of your rising?”
Jane looked to Louis, and knew then that she was truly alone in the world. Everyone else moved ever forward into greater power, and a greater understanding with, and connection to, the Faerie.
Only she, of all, slid ever backwards towards irrelevance and dismissal.
He thought it was a cruel jest, that somehow this was his punishment for all the hurt he had done to Cornelia and Caela. He thought that this was the true purpose of the Faerie Court, to humiliate and torment him, and that at any moment the expression on Eaving’s face would turn from loving joy to terrifying contempt.
Brutus, once William, reborn again as Louis de Silva, will you accept the responsibility of the Ringwalk, and the challenge of your rising?
Louis staggered a little, unable to comprehend that Eaving could have said that in anything but contempt-ridden jest. He stared at her, then looked around, wondering if he dared to run, and if the throng would part for him if he did.
If they parted, would they laugh as he ran past? Pepper him with malicious jests?
How could Eaving and the Lord of the Faerie think that he would willingly hand over his powers as Kingman to the Lord of the Faerie after this particular piece of spite?