Part 41 (1/2)
That Dominique was fee explained why the unicorn tolerated him riding it. Almost. Unicorns were not beasts of burden. Mayhap the missing alicorn gentled the unicorn's nature? Sir San Juste seemed so mortal. His eyes-normally fee possessed brilliant violet eyes-were violet yet dark. Not true blood?
”Ask me,” Dominique said as they neared the door to Armand's home. ”I feel your curiosity. I am ashamed.”
”I mean you no disrespect.” But curiosity stirred. ”Very well. You are true fee?”
”Yes. But.”
She quirked a brow.
”I am a changeling. I was laid in a mortal infant's crib after I was newly born. I know,” he said. ”I should have perished. Or so say the tales I hear.”
Gossamyr had always thought Faery changelings died. On the other hand, mortal exchanges were supposed to die, as well. Yet here she stood very much alive and well.
”But my fee mother had darker reasons for hiding me away. I have never been to Faery. Though I can feel it all around.” He scanned the alley, reaching to touch the cool stone wall of Armand's home. ”Not in Paris though.”
”Never,” Gossamyr agreed. ”So you were...raised by mortals?”
”A fine set of parents. They raised me as their own. Despite-”he shrugged, easing his shoulders up as if to work out an itch on his back ”- my differences.”
”You are winged?”
He nodded. ”You must know how difficult it is for a faery to walk unnoticed in Paris.”
”But they do.”
”They are able to work a glamour for so long?”
Gossamyr nodded. ”Most mortals cannot See a faery should they spread their wings before them. And when the Disenchantment sets in, well...their wings, they dissipate. Why is it you still have yours?”
”I cannot say. They've never disappeared, much as I wished for such when I was a child. I only wanted to run and play with the others,” he said. He drew the cloak out along one arm. ”This is my disguise.”
”It serves to hide your nature well. But with the Red Lady holding court, do you know the danger you are in?”
”I know nothing of this red lady. I am not of Faery, demoiselle. I am fee, but...an outcast. I can never have Faery. I function as a mortal with some of the powers of glamour. I suspect this red lady, if it is fee she seeks-”
”The Disenchanted.”
”Disenchanted? The woman will not recognize me as one?”
”Perhaps not, for you were never Enchanted in the first place,” Gossamyr said, understanding growing. One must live in Faery to be Enchanted. Yes?
”It pains me to hear you put it in such a manner.”
”Forgive me.” She felt the wall of a house behind her and pressed her hand to it. She was so stunned to hear this man's confession, and yet, curious. He was she in every opposition.
”What troubles you? My lady?” He searched her face. A look that gentled even with its curiosity.
...a fine handsome faery man to sweep you from your feet-literally?
She stretched a look to the unicorn, which stood outside the door to Armand's home. Peaceful acceptance glittered in the beast's pale violet eyes. Perfection destroyed by the mortal who would take its horn for devastating magic. She must return the alicorn immediately.
But you vowed to help Ulrich. Gossamyr stilled. Indeed, she had made a vow.
Close, the presence of this stranger. He reminded her of Faery-at least the semblance of her former home. Your truth keeps you from returning. She wanted to be there. To touch it. To feel the comfort of her home. A home she might never again visit.
It is not your home! It was never yours!
”How long before you learned the truth?” An abrupt question, but she hadn't time for dally.
”I have always known I am a fee in the mortal world. My mortal mother made sure I knew whence I came. Though she knew nothing of the faery ways and could not teach me.”
”You were fortunate to have the truth.”
Do you know the truth of yourself?
Verity d'Ange. Always she had carried that bit of her truth, unknowing.
You have the truth complete now. You are the truth.
”Remove your cloak. Please,” she pleaded. He balked, placing a hand to the hilt of his sword. Not a menacing move, merely, unsure.
”I-I just need to see. To...to remember. Please?”
”To remember?”
”Since I have been in Paris, the Disenchantment...I think it draws away memories. I simply want to believe.”
”Ah.” He unclasped the silver agraffe at his neck and swung the cloak from his shoulders. Behind him unfurled s.h.i.+mmering violet wings, quarter-sectioned like the fetch, and her own tribe-but the upper wing was larger than the lower, unlike the symmetrical wings of tribe Glamoursiege. Such wing structure identified him as from an old and revered family.
”Wisogoth.” Not troopers but ancient earth dwellers who lived in great underground caverns lit by crystals and iridescent rivers. Desideriel's tribe.
The span of Dominique's wings fluttered in the still air, gus.h.i.+ng a sweet breeze across Gossamyr's face, a summer meadow rich with clover. She closed her eyes and drew in the aroma of all she had once had.
To seal the rift would for ever close your access to Faery.
”What is Wisogoth?” he asked.
”It is a Faery tribe. The oldest in Faery. Your tribe, I would judge from the form of your wings. Have you a blazon?”
”I know naught.”
”It is...the Wisogoth blazon covers the back. It s.h.i.+mmers with glamour.
A permanent marking.”
”I have nothing like that.”
”Perhaps you are not Enchanted?”
”Yet, I've glamour. That d.a.m.ned dust constantly spumes from me at the most inopportune moments.”