Rowena could feel the exhaustion of the last few hours starting to encroach upon her. Her vision was fuzzy at its borders and her feet ached. She tried to effect herself like she had while at the mercy of her village’s probing eyes, standing naked before them amid the other maidens, her chin level with the floor, her gaze steady… but instead she meekly rubbed an arm and looked down at the floor.
He paced before her as He said conversationally, “I haven’t managed to pick one of your kind in almost seventeen cycles. But Gaylord is right, damn her. I needed someone… I just didn’t expect you.”
“I am privileged, God,” she said to her feet.
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Oh. I am still honored.”
“Good… If it weren’t for this shape, looking upon Me would turn you into an old goose. Consider yourself graced.”
She looked up sharply, her brows hitting her gold eyelashes. Suddenly incensed, words poured out of her like water from a spigot. “She was right! You are still a beast. You shed Your shapes for that of Man’s, but You are still resentful of me. I thought You loved the wild things in us. That’s why we paid tribute to You every Winter.” She waited for Him to say something, but when He didn’t, she shook her head and lifted her head to meet His eyes. She wouldn’t cry, though she felt the desire even in her nose. She was so angry, it hurt her stomach. “I expected to meet God… but I did not expect You.”
“And that’s not a compliment.”
“No, it is not,” she agreed.
The corner of His lip twitched. “If you weren’t positioned as you are--”
“Threatening me will not get Your power back,” Rowena informed him. “In fact, if You continue to disrespect me, I will be even less inclined.”
He looked away from her, clicking His tongue in irritation. “This is pointless then, isn’t it? I should resign Myself to being less and cast you into the Ether.”
“Do it then,” she said. “I gave my life for You. I will happily give it again if it pleases You.” Spite squeezed her words as she said between bared teeth, “The price will be twice paid and You can be satisfied that I did not choose Your brother in the Deadwood.”
He took a quick step toward her and jabbed a finger against her breast bone, pushing her slightly off balance. “A false choice! I always triumph!”
She scoffed at him, “I am certain the Great Hunter would have escaped were it not from His back! Foolish of me to doubt You.”
“I was only laid out because You got in the way, Mortal!”
“Forgive me!” she snapped. “I was under the impression that You did not care about pitiful, simple things like me.”
He blinked rapidly at her, opening His mouth to speak, but then thought better of whatever it was He meant to say. Instead, He shook His head and walked away from her. He stood in the middle of the brook with His hands on His hips. He waved a dismissive hand. “Match Me tone for tone and we will row and row until the both of us are rowless,” He muttered just loud enough for her to hear over the water. Then He turned around and said, “You have My power. Fucking use it as you see fit, Bastard Queen.”
“That is rude,” Rowena mumbled.
“It’s a compliment,” He mumbled back, and when His eyes slid off her, He put His hands to His filigree and pulled the mask from its place. “I mean, you can command the demifolk as I do. Go clean yourself, eat… I don’t care. Just leave Me alone.” He had a kindly face. She had been expecting some kind of scarred spector or square-jawed warlord, but despite His imposing figure, His features were boyish. He noticed her watching Him and He gave her a cruel little smile. “Or were you serious about the Ether?”
“I was,” she said breathily, but then she frowned at him. “But You are right, God. The Ether can wait. I smell like smoke and cat shit. I should change.” She relished His crestfallen face transforming into barely contained rage, but she didn’t stick around to see if it morphed again. She turned on her heel and picked her way through the rows of flowers, making sure to side step His reproachful little daffodil, and at long last, she came to the featureless doors into which she had entered. With a delicate push, the door swung open on well-oiled hinges.
When she appeared, a jolly cheer rang out and she was pulled into the throng of wondrous creatures. A hundred demifolk swallowed her up into their world, demanding words from her, showering her with compliments and gifts and songs.
“From where does this maiden come?”
“Hair as red as apples! You must visit my salon!”
“Does Bastard Queen have a name?”
“Mine have the best dresses for the Frue!”
“What is your family called?”
“A house for the Bastard Queen!”
“From what beasts did you spawn?”
“Step aside! Step aside! Breith Fionn comes!”
A moss-covered hart with white coat came before her as the denizens parted and quieted to let the pair conspire. The hart’s horns were slim and straight, ending in pink, velvetine bulbs--the Spring beginnings of a great spread of antler and tine. The hart called Fionn was at least fourteen hands high. He snorted gruffly and said, “I have taken on the mantle of Steward, Queen. Your wish is my command.”
Murmurs, like waves, made their way through the throng as the green-covered wapiti took to its knobby knees before Rowena. The girl remembered her manners only after getting over her initial shock. Then she reached out a hand and touched the beast on the top of its nose and then touched her own nose. “Stand. Please stand!” she bid. “I’m no queen. I was never made a beast. You have more power here than I, Breith.”
The hart’s plum-sized eyes regarded her as he stood to his feet. “I am the keeper of the law among these demifolk. It would only honor me to be at the mercy of the King’s own mate.”
The Spice King has no mate, she wanted to say, but she feared that the demifolk would lose their joyous noise if she rebuked God. Instead, she said slowly, “I am not certain what being His mate means.”
“I will inform your office. That is why I took the mantle before anyone else could,” Fionn said adamantly. To the crowd about them, he called out, “Who among you will object to my claiming? Will you, Leagh Larus? Will you, Cairne Cora? Who dares offend this law-in-flesh?”
Cheers rang out, but no one disputed his call. Instead, the folk seemed even more frenzied. The smells of anise, lavender, and honey permeated about Rowena like a cloud, but she could faintly identify the familiar smells of woodsmoke and ale. Below even that, she was aware of something like sulfur or cess. Before thinking of the implications, she said to her new steward, “I wish to bathe. Where can I do that?”
Breith Fionn snorted once, his eyes crinkling into dark, amused slits. “I will show you the way to your rooms, Frue. Follow.” The hart turned and called out, “As for the rest, you know your business! GO!”
As the crowd dispersed and the flying creatures went their way, Rowena turned to look back at the throneroom’s doors. The white doors were now completely covered in greenery, and flowering vines were making their way along walls and ceilings, creating intricate and purposeful patterns with their paths by framing doorways and blooming with luminescent flora to replace the blue lanterns of Gaylord’s design.
“Spring has come again to our star’s halls,” Fionn said softly.
“Great Breith, could I ask an audience of our Bastard Queen?”
With most of the demifolk gone, the ravenhag from before approached the queen and her steward, bowing a crown of blue-tinged feathers. The bird-lady had addressed the hart.
“Ask,” Fionn commanded.
The ravenhag introduced herself with a flourish of claw and scale. “Queen, call me Cora. My powers are weak in the Spring, but come Winter, my kind holds dominion over even law-in-flesh.”
“Mind your words, Cairne,” Fionn warned airily. “She knows not of your courtly machinations. Wait for the solstice before plying your trade.”
“My trade is the trade of our god, Fionn. My trade is the trade of all living things, for all things die.”
“She is Pyremistress” Fionn explained to Rowena. “Mind yourself.”
“You are in charge of funerals? All funerals?” Rowena asked.
“I am honored that the Queen knows of my duty,” Cora said with another bow. Then her slitted pupils met Rowena’s curious gaze and she said, “I am but a humble servant of The Spice King, which makes me your servant as well. I would ask you to consider my murder of ladies when looking for proper beasts to attend to all your feminine needs. I would have sent a missive, but such things do not allow for…” She considered her words carefully before continuing with, “... bows and the like.”
“You needn’t bow to me,” Rowena said. “I am honored by your consideration.” Fionn gave her a sharp look, but said nothing.
The ravenhag smiled and the delighted expression made her hooked nose wrinkle with inner mirth. “You are a maiden even in manner, Bastard Queen. I will take my flight then. Please consider my request at your leisure.”
She spread her arms, clicked the heels of her taloned toes, and a giant wooden pestle--not unlike something Rowena’s family had used for their baths--appeared beneath her, carrying her away in a trail of mist and feathers.
Now alone with the white hart, Rowena looked up into Fionn’s serious face and said honestly, “I am tired and hungry.” She tugged at the scorched dress she wore. “And I need clothing. Maybe something befitting a beast-yet-made.”
Fionn insisted with a stomp of a hoof, “You need garments befitting a queen, Frue.”
“If we’re alone, you don’t need to call me Jarl's Wife. Just call me Rowena.”
“Would Chieftess Rowena suffice?”
“Rowena would suffice.” She smiled at him.
The hart snorted agreeably. “Consider it done. Follow me, Rowena.”
ns 15.158.61.50da2
