Faery King Chronicles
Part One: The Contract
by Clarissa

In the olden days, when I was young, I walked to the top of the faery mountain. The ancient trees in the forest curled their roots and branches over the mossy path, as if they were trying to catch at my arms and stop me. My ears were red and numb from the cold. My nose dripped. My feet dragged the ground with each step, kicking the dry, crunchy leaves aside with a skidding sound. The path was steep, but I walked on.

The forest seemed to end all at once. I looked up, although my head was heavy. In the orange-red light of the setting sun, even the mist couldn’t hide the ruins of the castle that was once the Faery Kingdom’s pride. Now there was nothing left but a few crumbling corners of gray boulders, and a tall stone arch that used to be the gateway to the Faery World. Many a traveler had been discouraged at the sight, and turned back to the world of man with nothing to show for his journey.

I was not a traveler to be discouraged.

The sun was already setting on my second day of travel, and I was running out of time. And strength. The soles of my feet ached in my stiff shoes. My stomach twisted in an angry, empty knot, and the taste in my mouth was sour. I had come too far to turn back.

Blackberry vines snaked around my path, heavy with berries ripe and inviting. It was too late in the year for berries, but they were there, and I had to step over each thorny branch. If I looked beyond the path, I could even see fruit orchards even began unfolding down the sides of the mountain, each tree’s boughs prosperously full and heavy. Peaches. Apples. So hungry. But I couldn’t eat any of it. If I valued my life, I wouldn’t eat it, nor leave the path to look closer. These temptations were only traps to ensnare intruders like me. But the sight of the orchards gave me courage: I was close. Almost to the very top of the mountain, now.

At last, the gate loomed above me. The ancient stone arch, covered in moss and drenched in mist. The sun had set, a hazy orange blob in the sky behind me. On either side of the arch was a low stone wall-- the outer wall of his castle, the enemy that would either bring my death or our salvation.

I walked through the gate.

Two blades of cold, sharp metal touched my neck instantly.

“Halt ye there, lad.” One of the guards said. I could see out of the corner of my eye that he had no armor or mail, but wore the skins of animals. One was bearded, and the other looked young enough to be aching for a fight.

“I seek audience with the king!” My voice squeaked out, despite my efforts to keep it low and under control.

“Ha! Begone before we cut off an ear or two.” One of the spears shifted behind my ear.

“Now, now, there’s no point in getting your spear dirty, Rax.” The bearded guard said to him mildly. “If the boy turns around now, that is.”

“But that’s boring.” the first (Rax) complained. “You always let them off easy, Jonathan.”

They hadn’t noticed I was not a boy, but in fact, female. Well, at my age (I was eleven) it hardly mattered to me. I was still a little wisp of a child with a short crop of dirty hair, and there was no dress to make me seem more feminine. I wore a large, hand-me-down shirt and trousers under my cloak for warmer and safer traveling.

“I have a gift for the king!” I said sternly. “Let me see him!”

“Oho, what is this gift? Let us see.” the second guard (Jonathan) said. He gestured to his fellow, and the blades moved a few inches away.

My stiff fingers fumbled with the bag hanging at my hip, pulled out the gift, and loosened the cloth wrapped around it. The scent caught the guards by surprise, and the harsh expressions on their faces changed. That scent, my grandfather had told me, will be your ticket inside.

“You can leave that here,” Jonathan began.

“I want it!” said Rax, reaching out his hand.

“‘Tis for the king only!” I snapped, holding it close. “Take me to see him!”

They glared at me now. “He would be angry if he found out, Rax.” Jonathan said, twisting a finger in his long, brown beard.

“Fine! Follow behind.” Rax grumbled.

I sighed inwardly with relief, and they led me down the hidden stone steps of the castle that was built beneath the ruins of the former. The underground halls of the faeries.

We walked into the darkness disturbed only by torches on the walls. The guards took me down the narrow passage until we reached two tall, wooden doors that stood open. Rax stayed with me while Jonathan opened the door and shut it behind him.

“Your majesty,” We heard him say. “There is a mortal child who seeks audience with you.”

The guard behind me gave me a push. “After you, lad.”

I stumbled into the Great Hall, the throne room of the Faery King. It was bright and cold, with fur rugs on the floor, faeries sitting by low stone tables, and at the center and back of the room, sat the king himself. His throne was a simple wooden chair, but he sat on it grandly, looking young-but-wise, powerful, and incredibly haughty.

He sized me up with one look and brushed back a lock of his fine black hair. “It’s been many years since a human child walked into my hall uninvited. Don’t tell me you’re here out of curiosity?”

He’s full of himself. This should be easy. I thought, and stammered out: “I- I brought a gift for you, my lord.”

“Did you? Reveal it.”

I held out the small package and unwrapped the cloth around it. A bit of steam wafted out, and the scent of it caused a shiver around the room. The cloth had been enchanted so that whatever was wrapped in it would stay warm and fresh. I held it up a little so everyone could see the even lattice work and the perfectly etched edges of the crust. Even the king was staring fixedly. I had his attention now. “This is the last peach pie made in my village. It is yours if you would grant a boon for me, your majesty.”

The king shifted slightly in his chair. “It’s awfully small.”

“If it’s worth nothing to you--” I began wrapping it up again.

“Stop! Put it down.”

I slowly obeyed, laying it down on the table in front of the king. He drew his knife, a long, thin blade. I backed away in a hurry, and he slashed it twice.

The small peach pie now had a tiny sliver cut out of it. The king looked at me with cold, gleaming eyes. “Taste it for me, as a sign of good faith.”

I reached for it hesitantly, then plopped it in my mouth. It had been two days since I’d tasted any real food, and the sweet, spicy smell almost made me sick, but-- I chewed and swallowed while everyone watched.

“So it is not poisonous to you. You there!” the king said to one of his guards. “Taste it as well.” He carved another sliver out.

The guard’s face was satisfying. As soon as the pastry’s flavor touched his tongue, all the sternness melted away from his face. He let out a sigh involuntarily.

“Good enough for me!” the king said happily, and shoved the rest of the little pie in his mouth. There was a stifled groan throughout the room as it disappeared.

“That taste.” the king said, a smile growing on his face. “I haven’t tasted that flavor in years...”

“And now for my boon, you majesty.” I reminded him.

“I never agreed to any boon.” the king said haughtily, a smirk on his face. “That was a gift, you said so yourself.”

“I said the pastry would be yours if you granted me one. It was yours, and now you must grant me my wish.”

“My poor child, that logic isn’t binding here.” He crossed his legs, one fine boot over another. “Besides, that was barely a mouthful.”

What a-- ! But I had been warned about him. “In that case, your magnificence, allow me to bargain with this.” I pulled out another peach pie, larger this time. The whole room went quiet.

“What? You said the other was the last one! You dare lie to me?”

“I spoke the truth. The first was made last, and this before it. Grant me a boon, and you shall have it. If not, I shall defile it before you can reach me!” I held it up, as if I were going to smash it against my head.

All the faeries in the room held out their hands to stop me. My head was filthy, after all, and the lattice-work of the top crust was flawless. The king frowned. “I’ll listen. What it is you want?”

I lowered the pastry. “It is not about what I want, but about what I desperately need. Because of the war, my village has become impoverished, and our fields have been trampled by enemy soldiers. Now we face famine and starvation. The last food we had were those preserved peaches, and I brought them to you. Save us from famine, Faery King.” I bowed.

At the end of my speech I heard some murmurs of sympathy from the court faeries. Many of them had lost a great deal in the wars themselves, but the king was unmoved.

“So you want me to defend your village from soldiers?” He raised an eyebrow. “Are the men in your village such cowards?”

“All of the young men went off to war. We are but women, children, and the elderly. Those soldiers haven’t been back in months, so if you would help me trade for a winter’s supply of food, that would be enough.”

“Really?” The king sounded unimpressed. “And what are you going to trade with?”

“That... I would ask of you as well.” I reddened.

The king’s frown deepened. “You ask a great deal for a single peach pie.”

“But as a loan! When we are prosperous again I will certainly repay you!”

“With what? I doubt you have much to offer.”

“You have not heard all. It is the trade of my family to make such pastries as you have tasted today, and that was the mere bottom of the barrel, with a spell for freshness! With prosperous circumstances I could make your highness fifty more, each better than the last! And not just of this flavor. Any fruit or flavor you can name, I can make, be it apple, lemon, pumpkin, or berries and cream!”

The eyes of the attendants were glazed over. Faeries do love their sweets. The king looked at me shrewdly. “And why do you tell me this?”

“If you save us from famine now, my lord, I will repay you with a tribute of such delights, even until every ounce of gold you spend for us is repaid.”

“Payment in pastries?” The king’s mouth twisted wryly.

“Indeed, unless your majesty would tire of such things.”

“How would you deliver them?”

“Since it takes but an hour for one of you to reach our village, and two days for a mortal, one of your faeries would come for them.”

“You’ve given this some thought, haven’t you?”

“Yes, my lord. The details are here.” I pulled a piece of paper from my pouch, shook it open with one hand, and set it on the table. “These are the terms of the contract, your majesty.”

The Faery King stopped and stared at me, displeased. “Contract?”

Before I had left on my journey, my grandfather had instructed me carefully. “A contract is a delicate thing. The other party will always try to keep it as vague as possible, wriggling out of duty with every possible loophole. The vagueness will also be a blanket covering anything they desire of you as well. You must be precise. You must haggle. You must not be intimidated. You must never trust them to do you any favors.”

If not for these words, I might already be dead.

The cold, dark eyes of the Faery King lifted from the parchment, and stared into mine, daring me to repeat myself. My free hand shook just a little as I pointed my finger to the piece of paper that was covered in fine print.

“Those are my terms,” I repeated.

His stare continued and I felt as if I was getting smaller. “You insult me, child. My word on the bargain should be enough. Are you questioning my honor?” His two attendants reached for the hilts of their swords, scowling at me.

“Quite the contrary, your eminence.” I bowed my head. “These details are merely to keep this lowly mortal from confusion. I would hate to misunderstand our agreement due to my lack of intelligence.”

“Oh, you’re no fool.” The edge of his mouth curved upward. “But if you were truly intelligent, you would find a better way of dealing with me.”

I glanced at the guards that stood on either side of the door. They had started to smile with the anticipation of my doom (and the pie following it).

“This doesn’t have to be a bother.” The king continued soothingly. “Why not accept my terms?”

The king’s  terms were simpler (for him): He would deliver a winter’s worth of food to my village, and I would stay and recreate the pastries in his kitchens, and go home only after my debt was paid in full. It would be a simple, verbal understanding. My terms required him to ensure the quality and arrival of the supplies himself, and to deliver me safely back home.

My grandad had written it up with me, though not with enthusiasm. “You’re doing this the hard way,” Grandad had said, ruffling his white hair in irritation.

“But your plan will make him angry, right?” I dipped the brown feather quill in ink. “It’ll take me two days to get there, and I don’t want to be thrown in prison or beaten just for mentioning your name.”

“You won’t if you’re careful. He’s not the kind that hurts children-- at least, he didn’t used to be. But you have to get him to listen to you somehow, and my name will get you some attention at least.”

“I know, but, I want to try this first.” I’d replied, too confident for my years.

The Faery King turned out to be more sly and reluctant that I thought he’d be. “If you agree to keep this simple,” he said. “I could find it in me to be merciful enough to help you, and not just send you flying back to the human world on your ear.”

I had come too far for that. Other lives were on the line, not just my own. One false step now, and we would all be done for. I put the peach pie on the table next to the paper and bowed again. “Please sign the contract, my lord. I do not think the terms are unreasonable.”

“Well, I do!” he shot back, bitingly. His composure, like the silver crown on his head, had been shaken. “Look at all these clauses! You’re awfully specific for a little brat. Who told you to come here?”

“My grandfather taught me of your kind from a young age, my lord.”

“Oh, did he? Not well enough, child; you’ve pushed me too far.” He tossed the parchment down on the table and sat back in his chair. “I won’t sign it. I’m not even certain that you can bake at all. You can keep your pies and your promises, child.” He even crossed his legs and propped his chin on his hand to emphasize how much he didn’t care.

I sighed. Not in despair, but in reluctance, as I put away the rejected contract. I was hoping that it wouldn’t come to this. “Very well, your majesty. You leave me no choice.”

“What do you mean?” He gave me a suspicious sidelong glance.

Pulling another piece of paper out of my bag, I explained. “I wanted to do this with my own credit and my own talents, but since you won’t have it... Here is another contract. I’ve come to claim the favor you owe to Thomas Bartlemead.”

The room became stiffly silent. The faery king stiffened as well. Slowly, he turned his head to face me, quite as if he wanted me to wither on the spot.

“What?” he said, daring me to repeat it.

I gulped. “Thomas Bartlemead sent me to reclaim his favor.”

“What does he have to do with you?”

“He is my grandfather, sire.”

The faery king before me let out a long, low whistle. “Just my luck. As if harrassing me himself wasn’t enough, now he sends me children in his stead! Isn’t he dead yet?”

“He still lives.”

“Huh. Maybe I should visit and finish him off.”

“In truth, he said he honored you as a friend.” I said stiffly.

“But he still told you that I can’t be trusted?”

“He told me that faeries have no hearts in their bodies, and that their king is the most ruthless of all.”

“And yet you still came here?” He sat up. “You think to bind me with this contract? How many decades do you think I’ve lived? How many men have I killed? And now to have a scrawny brat like you trying to give me orders...?!” He reached across the table suddenly and lifted me up by my throat. It caught me by surprise, not that I would’ve had any strength left to fight back. My feet dangled helplessly above the ground.

“Just who do you think you are?” he hissed, inches from my face.

Somehow I met his eyes without flinching. “I am Thomas Bartlemead’s grandchild. Sign my contract, Faery King.”

The faery king’s lips pressed together, and he dropped me back to the ground. My limbs collapsed beneath me, so I just sat on the floor and breathed. I was nearly faint from fear and relief. Thanks, Grandad. I thought.

“Fine!” the king said. He sat down and scanned the document with a frown on his face. “Bring me a quill!”

“Please note that since this is to repay the favor now,” I had to add. “My repayment of pies is not included.”

“What?!” For an instant he reminded me of a child receiving an unfair punishment.

“You should have taken it when you had the chance! Besides, you still get the second pie.”

One of his attendants brought a quill: a long peacock’s feather. I took it first, signed my name below my grandad’s signature, and gave it to the king.  The king signed the contract with an angry flourish.

“You’ll pay for this! If this pie isn’t as tasty as it looks, I’ll have your head cut off and your eyes fed to the goblins!”

I took the contract from him and folded it neatly in half, trying not to smirk. “If my head is already cut off, I shouldn’t mind what happens to my eyes.”

“Oh, I’ll make you mind it!” The king straightened his crown irritably.

“Yes, yes. Please make haste to trade for food, your majesty!” I waved toward the door.

“With my money, too,” the king grumbled. “Come then, human child. We’ll ride the kelpie. --But don’t eat that pie without me!” He thundered a warning to his subjects, who looked gravely disappointed. The pie was left on the stone table, wrapped up in the enchanted cloth and steaming.

The kelpie was a water horse living in the lake on the other side of the mountain, a wild creature that would lure children onto her back, pull them into the water, and then eat them. By the light of the setting sun I caught my first glimpse of her. She was green like grass and as smooth as the calm water’s surface, with black eyes like wet pebbles. The king called to her from the edge of the lake, and she came, silently cutting through the water. He mounted her first, a leg on either side of her scaly neck.

“Climb on, child, and get a good grip on her mane. But try not to touch me-- your hands are really quite dirty.”

I hesitated. “It won’t go underwater, will it?”

“Why, are you that afraid of having a bath?” The Faery King gave me a flat look.

“It’s freezing out here! Maybe faeries like the cold, but humans can die from it!”

“It was a joke. No, she won’t go underwater while I’m riding. Get on, child.”

I grimaced and climbed on. The kelpie’s skin was colder than the freezing water that was now numbing my feet. Colder than ice. I wove my fingers into her seaweed mane, and hoped for the best. She took off at a fast pace, faster than a galloping horse on land. The water dragged my feet backwards and the cold wind that wasn’t blocked by the Faery King’s broad back bit my ears.

“The nearest village with the supplies you need is across the lake and down the river-- not far from here.” the king said over his shoulder. He was reading the contract more thoroughly as the kelpie swam. “What kind of a list is this? You don’t just mean supplies, you mean an entire winter’s worth of food! How many humans are there in your village?”

“Twenty-nine including me.” I answered, wincing at my feet becoming numb. “How long will it take to get the nearest village?”

“It’s just across the lake. Not long.” he said. That didn’t make me feel better. It was a rather big lake. In a strangely light tone, he added, “So Thomas had children! How many?”

“Um, just the one son-- my father.”

My hands were so stiff and cold from touching the kelpie that I didn’t think I could move them if I tried. My whole body felt stiff and numb. The swish of the water was lulling. It became quite comfortable, really. I let my head fall forward and closed my eyes-- just to doze for a bit until we got to the other village.

“And what of your grandmother? Is she well?”

“Huh?” I was shaken awake. “Um, she--”

The ride suddenly became rough, as the kelpie dodged a few boulders. She leaped out of the water and over one of the rocks, and then jerked to the right. To my dismay, I felt myself falling through the air like a sack of meal.

The king shouted something, but I was beyond help. My body crashed into the icy lake, knocking me unconscious.


When I opened my eyes next, the Faery King was sitting on a stool next to me, staring into the fire that was burning in a misshapen stone hearth. I was covered in blankets and lying on a low bed in a small, one-room cottage made of stones and thatched with straw. I felt nice and clean, like a baby that’d been bathed and swaddled. I would have liked to rest a bit longer in the quiet, warm room, but my stomach growled like an angry wolf. The king looked over.

“Oh, awake are you? Eat this.” He pushed a wooden bowl of hot soup in my face.

It smelled good, but I jerked away from it, remembering who was giving it to me.

“The old woman made it,” he said irritably. “It’s perfectly safe, providing she isn’t a witch in disguise. She’s purported to be this village’s healer.”

Faery kings don’t generally tell outright lies. I sat up and took it, blowing on it hurriedly and gulping it down while it was too hot. My tongue was a little scorched, but it was delicious soup.

“Old woman?” I asked in between bites.

“Yes, this is her hovel. I brought you here after you fell into the lake like an imbecile, and she nursed you away from death’s door.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Don’t thank me; it was in the contract. Did you intend to collapse in the middle of traveling? Trying to best me and save your village without food in your belly was really foolish. Honestly, sometimes I think you humans forget just how mortal you really are,” the king nagged. He let out a huff of laughter suddenly. “You are a bit like Thomas, you know. Once he stubbornly tried to take down an ogre by himself with nothing more than a rusted sword.” He smiled, an unusually soft look on his face. “He’d have died if it wasn’t for me.”

“You really were good friends with him, weren’t you?”

His face hardened again. “He’s an idiot. I don’t want to owe him any more favors. Nor you. If you hadn’t put in that bit about preserving your life in the contract I don’t think I would have bothered to save you.”

“Even if I am the best baker in my village?” I tilted my head up at him, raising my eyebrows.

“Is that supposed to be true? A little brat like you?”

“It is! Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Oh, you will.” The king was assuring me, but not with malice, just as the old woman who owned the cottage bustled in. She had a happy, wrinkled face with a large nose in the center. She closed the little door behind her and smiled at me, crinkling up her eyes.

“Oh, you’re awake, love!” she said. “And my daughter’s dress fits ye finer than I thought it would!”

I thanked the woman, and nervously shot the king a glance, wondering if my gender was a surprise, but he was still looking into the fire. His face was a veritable mask, and I could not tell what he was thinking.

“Ye did well to bring her to me when ye did, sire, for more exhaustion would’ve meant a killing fever. All she needs is rest now.” The old woman clucked on at me, but I didn’t really hear her. Finally, she said something about digging up more potatoes and bustled out of the room with a bucket and spade. The only sound to be heard in the room was the fire’s crackling.

“You’re not angry, your majesty?” I ventured.

Not looking away from the fire, the king asked, “Why should I be angry?”

“Since I slowed down our journey by falling... and on account of my boyish clothing. I did not mean to lie.”

“Oh, that. You didn’t deceive me.”

“You knew?”

The king rolled his eyes in a patronizing fashion. “Child, it’s not so easy to fool me. I assumed you had a reason for it.”

I nodded. “Grandad told me it would be much less dangerous to travel that way.”

“He was right about that. Not that you’re much to look at.” He was quick to add.

“No need to be rude.” I said mildly. “I’ve looked in a mirror a time or two. At my age all I had to do was cut my hair and lower my voice, really.”

“You’re what, ten years?” He frowned, like he was adding the number to a larger sum.

“Eleven in a few months, your majesty.”

“Hmm.”

“So you’re not angry, then? You looked angry just now.”

The king gave me a stern look. “Like I said, not fooled.”

My mouth twisted and I couldn’t help but say kindly, “There’s no need to be embarrassed, sire, it was a very good disguise, and I was covered in mud--”

“I’m not embarrassed! Besides,” he added more quietly. “I might have expected it anyway. It’s become very typical for any would-be heroine striking out on her own without anyone to protect her. But why you?”

“Why me?”

“Why didn’t your village send anyone else?”

It took me a moment to answer. It wasn’t that I was the strongest, or the healthiest, or even the most clever, which sometimes I thought I must have been, but... “No one else would go that could. They are afraid of faeries and creatures with the powers of darkness.”

The faery king gave a huff of laughter. “You should have told me that before I bought food for them.”

“You bought it already?” I looked around, expecting to see boxes and boxes of supplies.

“Yes, while you were sleeping like a good-for-nothing. Then, thinking that others in your village may also be at the fainting point, I started it on its way on the backs of a herd of faery horses.” The king looked down at me, a mocking gleam in his eyes. “That won’t frighten the poor humans, will it? A herd of magical, flaming horses delivering possibly enchanted food?”

“Oh, dear,” I said, thinking of several widows in particular.

“Nevermind. Just finish that and rest. We’ll leave in the morning.”

“No, I’m fine now. We have to leave as soon as possible!” I put the bowl down and tried to untangle my legs from the heap of blankets, which was more of a task than I thought. My arms got sore after a few tugs and my legs were refusing to budge. Unceremoniously, the king lifted the heap and plopped it over my head.

“Don’t be an idiot. My horses will be fine, and your villagers can panic all they like ‘til morning.”

“But--” I uncovered my head.

“No arguments, child. Just rest and get your strength back so I don’t have to go diving into any more lakes for you.”

I ended up sleeping (like a good-for-nothing, I was reminded) until very late the next day, so we didn’t leave until the sun was already setting over the village by the lake. The old healer woman had bid us a cheerful goodbye and insisted that I keep her daughter’s old dress and an extra pair of stockings. Apparently my long, muddy shirt and trousers were beyond saving. It was a frosty morning, too, so she’d given me a blanket for a cloak and tied it around me with a scarf. I thanked her as graciously as I could, but she scorned any feelings of indebtedness as a matter of principle. We started down the forest road, not on the kelpie, but on a huge charger of a faery horse, black with blue flames dancing off his enormous hooves. This was apparently the king’s personal steed, that would come whenever he called. I rode behind the king as with the kelpie, but this time he did allow me to hold onto his cloak. It felt like my station in the world had risen.

On the back of a faery horse, the journey that had taken me two days with few rests barely lasted an hour. That, and the king likes to ride at a wicked pace. His long cloak, which I’m sure would have looked very dramatic if I hadn’t been there behind it, kept whipping my ears if I didn’t clutch it right. I doubt that faeries have magicked garments, but there was a certain amount of enmity between his cloak and I by the time we reached my village.

It was already dark, but the square was bright with torches and loud with many voices. People had gathered there to stare at the possibly enchanted food. We heard adults arguing, women telling children to stay away from the boxes, the crying of those children, and the barking of dogs. The herd of faery horses had already returned home.  My heart sank as the king’s charger clattered up the cobblestones of the square. They hadn’t touched it. They’d had the food an entire day, and still hadn’t touched it. The villagers made way for us, scattering and shouting.

“She’s back! Meg’s returned!”

I waved to everyone I could see, and tried to explain the matter of the food to them. They told me my family had already taken some food in, but the rest of them were waiting to see if they’d die or not.

“No one will die!” I said loudly. “Our benefactor swore that these supplies would not be cursed or poisoned, you bumpkins. Eat and be thankful!”

They seemed a little more reassured, but no one wanted to make the first move toward the boxes in the center of the square.

The king gave a huff of laughter, as was his habit. “Benefactor, hmm?”

“Bah. My house is that way--” I pointed. “At the far end of the square, by the woods.” The king steered his horse in that direction, and soon I could see the familiar lines of my home, with yellow light leaking out of the windows and the open door, and familiar figures coming out and running towards me.

“Meg!” they called.

I dropped off the side of the king’s charger and rushed to meet them. “Mother! Ian! I’m back!”

My little brother attached himself to my leg, and my mother embraced me. “I was so worried!” she said warmly, happy now. Then she got a good look at the king and froze.

“Meg, did you see the food?” Ian asked, looking up with a grin. “They say it’s cursed!”

“It most certainly is not!” I told him. “Where’s Grandad?”

“In bed. He says his head hurts from all this idiocy.”

“Well, let’s get him out of bed! We’ve got food to eat now!” I took his hand and we ran into the cottage together. At the time, Ian was only six, and adorable as they come.

The faery king and my mother looked at one another in silence as our loud cries sounded in the cottage. While helping my grandad up, I heard my mother say, “I am very grateful to you, sir, for bringing my daughter back.”

“Not at all, madam,” the king replied, bowing smoothly before dismounting from his horse. “I am a man of my word.”

She seemed like she wanted to say something else, but instead was tapping her fingers together and smiling sheepishly. “You’ll have to forgive me,” she said finally. “I didn’t think you were real. But I am happy to be wrong.”

The king paused in the middle of patting his horse’s neck. “Thank you?”

“Certainly. Um, have you eaten? Do you eat?” My mother continued uncertainly.

“Yes, and nearly an hour ago.”

“Ah. Well, you are welcome to share a meal with us anytime, now that we have food to make it out of.” Her eyes twinkled.

“You’re very kind, madam.”

“Not at all.” She curtseyed, rather gracefully for a peasant. It was then that Thomas Bartlemead came out of his cottage. One hand was gripping a stout staff, and the other resting on my shoulder. His red hair had become white, and his back was bent. He had to squint in order to see very well. He and the king stared at each other for one long minute.

Thomas turned around abruptly and went back inside the cottage, leaving everyone in uncomfortable silence until he returned. There was now a potato sack over his head. It must have been dusty, for Thomas coughed and said “It’s been a long time, Faery King.” and he coughed again.

“Yes, it has been a long time. I’ve fulfilled the contract and repaid my debt.” the king said coldly. “More importantly, what the devil are you wearing on your head?!”

“A sack, sire.”

“Obviously, but why?”

“You said you didn’t want me to show my face again.”

“That was metaphorical! It meant you were banished from the faery world, you dolt! And what’s the point of wearing it when you’ve already shown your face to me?!”

“I didn’t know it was you yet.” Thomas said, taking the sack off his head. “And quite frankly, I forgot about it until I saw you clearly. My eyes have faded somewhat.”

“You didn’t expect me to come?”

“No. But I did hope you would.” My grandad smiled, hesitantly. “You don’t look a day older. Does he act like a young man, Meg?”

“Not really.” I replied, the long end of my scarf blowing almost horizontally in the evening breeze. Another few inches and the tassels on the end would have tickled the Faery King’s waistcoat. “He’s a grouchy old man like you.”

“At your age, everyone seems old.” My mother cut in. “Don’t pay them any heed, your majesty. Won’t you come in?”

Glancing in the door of the warm cottage, from whence delicious smells wafted, the Faery King opened his mouth to answer, shut it again, and said finally, “No, madam, I had better go home.”

My grandad bowed his head to the king. “I thank you for returning my grandchild and saving our lives, your majesty.”

“Oh, no need to thank me.” the king said cheerfully. “I’m sure you’ll still come to curse my name as I’ve cursed yours.”

Thomas stared, confused. “Why would I do that?”

“Because today I take my revenge on you, Thomas Bartlemead,” the king grinned maliciously. “--In the shape of your granddaughter.”

When he said this, all of us stared at him, dumbfounded at this declaration. In that stupefied moment, the Faery King snatched the end of my scarf that had been blowing in the wind, and pulled me to him in one swift movement.

Before anyone could move, he mounted his horse again, threw me across his saddle, and galloped away quite dramatically, letting his dark cloak billow and his laughter echo behind him.

Though I was not within earshot, I was later told that my grandfather stood staring after us, and then cocked his head to one side. “Is he really carrying her off, or is that just a joke?”

“I think he’s really carrying her off.” My mother answered, still calm in her shock.

“COME BACK HERE, YOU VILLAIN!” My grandad shouted into the night, hobbling after us. But he was too late. Far, far too late.

Once the Faery King was out of sight, he slowed his pace and pulled me up in front of him so I could sit on the saddle more comfortably. This was at least thoughtful, because I was worried that I would either get kicked in the head or fall off.

“So,” I ventured to ask. “Is this a joke, or are you actually carrying me off?”

“Oh, I’m actually carrying you off. Consider yourself my slave forever more.” The Faery King grinned. He was so cheerful about it that it took some time to sink in before I ended up struggling in vain against his arm of steel and shouting:

“TAKE ME BACK RIGHT NOW, YOU VILLAIN!”

We were all so naive. He’d fulfilled his contract, but he never said what he meant to do with us after it was complete. Never, ever trust a faery.



This story continues in the "Faery King Chronicles Part 2: The Secret of Cinnamon!"