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In hindsight, Jude should have known the mission was doomed from the start.
They receive the missive in the middle of one of the many winter revels leading up to Yule. It’s a collection of reports from the mortal world, a string of mishaps and misfortunes that are too focalized to be accidents.
“What do we think it is?” Jude, seated on her throne of briar, asks Fand. She has to raise her voice against the din of the ongoing festivities. The note crinkles under her perusal. “Missing statues, lost children, unexplained snow storms. A rogue winter pixie causing trouble?”
Standing at attention by the foot of the dais, Fand nods. The knight wears a crimson sash decorated with sprigs of holly: the only indication of her seasonal observation. “They’re known to be more active during this time of year. With your permission, Your Majesties, I’d like to assemble a small contingent to detain the miscreant.”
“No need.” She’s already standing when she speaks. “I’ll go.”
“Jude.” Cardan frowns at her, rising as well. “A wayward pixie hardly requires the High Queen of Elfhame. Let the knights handle it.”
“It’s fine. It’ll be good to renew our presence in the mortal realm, anyway. The rogue fae are getting too comfortable.”
She sees the longing glance Cardan casts at the revel unfurling below them. Their kingdom is dancing, the drinks are flowing, and the music is lifting light into the night. Winter revels are always a spectacle in Faerie, and this one is no exception.
“You stay,” she says. With a finger, she pushes the edge of the crown sitting tilted on his head until it straightens. “Be their king tonight.”
He looks like he wants to argue, but she touches his cheek, softly, and he quiets.
The inside of their bedroom is cool and quiet. Jude takes a breath before slipping out of her revel dress. She’d requested something loose tonight; all those corsets and boning had been feeling restrictive lately. Making a quick calculation, she reaches for the thermals at the bottom of her wardrobe.
The door bangs open. “I’m coming with you.”
Jude groans. “Cardan—”
He paces to her side by her dresser, where she’s laid out her weapons and gear. “You’ve been throwing yourself at these missions. Some of which are trifling given your station. We have an army at our bidding, you realize. Servants.”
She’s tugging on her jeans, well-worn and soft against her body, and a thick sweater. “If I can do it, I will. I won’t always be able to.”
In the mirror, their reflections are a study in contrasts. He, like a creature from a storybook, drawn in vivid colors and bold lines, bedecked in his revel finery of black velvet and gold damask, stands beside Jude in all her mortal mundanity. Two lives that never would have come together had the story unfolded as it should have.
And yet, here they are.
Here they are.
“Again, Jude—servants. But since you refuse reason, I have no choice but to attend you in their stead.” He starts packing everything within reach into her makeshift leather rucksack. The grin he sends her is crafted to sink into her blood. “Think nothing of repayment. I bear your gratitude with relish.”
Jude rubs her brow, the reply coming with more bite this time. “I told you I’ll be fine.”
“You require someone to ensure you do nothing reckless.”
“Funny. I could say the same thing about you.” She snags her rucksack back and unloads all the ridiculous things he’s put in it: a comb, a stray spoon, a gaudy necklace he’d worn during the last revel. “A pillow, Cardan? What am I going to do with that?”
“Sleep, of course. You’ve been waking up at depraved hours of the morning. It’s a blight upon my peace.”
Jude hides her nerves with a scowl; she didn’t think he’d noticed. “Upon your peace?”
He looks down his finely sculpted nose at her, every inch the spoiled prince he used to be.“I despise waking up in bed without you.”
Used to be: because despite the imperious tone, the look on his face is earnest. Bare. Nothing hides the tenderness softening his gaze, the concern creasing his brow, and most importantly—the pout adorning his lush, glitter-flecked lips.
It’s worse than any enchantment.
“All right.” She throws her hands up. “Fine. Come with me if you want. But.” Metal sings through the air as she pulls her sword free from its scabbard and points it at his nose. “If you do anything to jeopardize the integrity of this mission, you and Nightfell are going to have a long conversation. Understand?”
“To the utmost,” he says, “of my ability.”
“Good.” Nightfell’s killing edge winks at him before she sheaths it with a snap. “It’s the dead of winter in the mortal world. Dress for the cold.”
They come to a stalemate when summoning their ragwort steeds outside the brugh. Or in Cardan’s case, steed. He wants them to share just the one. Recognizing this as the first of many ways this mission will not go according to plan, Jude decides to save her energy. Besides, his ulterior motive reveals itself the second he climbs behind her.
Cardan’s nose immediately seeks out the soft skin behind her ear, a place it’s been finding itself in more and more these past few days. Strange, since Jude isn’t the type to wear perfume or use elaborately scented soaps. She’d chalked it up as another small, new thing to learn about her husband. She’s been collecting these things about him like precious little gems: how he likes to sleep on his side facing her, how he adds an extra spoon of honey on the occasion he prepares her tea, how, sometime within the past few weeks, he’s decided his favorite place to bury his face in is the crook of her neck, and now spends every available opportunity doing so.
It’s not like she minds it, having him close to her like this, warm and solid at her back as they fly through the brisk winter night. His arms help ease the tilt and sway of her body on the steed. So slowly he must not be aware he’s doing it, he gives her a small nuzzle, his nose moving back and forth. It tickles, just a little, as he breathes her in.
After a few moments, Jude brings out the map to check their coordinates. She holds her breath as they fly over an air current, her stomach in her throat.
“We should be coming up on the area of activity soon. This is a pretty big town, so we need to find somewhere to land that won’t draw us attention.”
Then, all at once, it comes into view: lights glimmering in the distance, stark against the sparkling snow. Much, much more than a normal human town would require. The lights shine through the night, beckoning.
Like how a precious secret glitters in the dark, a flash of gold and then gone again.
As they pull closer, Cardan asks, “What is it?”
Jude doesn’t have to search her memory for long. She’s never been to one, but she’s seen pictures and movies growing up. “I think… I think it’s a Christmas Village.”
She must have given something away in her voice. “We can land there on that rise,” Cardan says, much too quickly. Is that excitement she hears?
Her stomach swoops as the steed begins a steep descent. Enchanted hooves touch upon snow-damp grass on a hill overlooking the town. Jude can’t help the grimace as she dismounts. When her feet reach the solid, unmoving ground, she takes hungry gulps of the cold, refreshing air. Traveling on a ragwort steed is an unexpected complication.
“Jude?” Cardan touches the bead of sweat on her temple, concern creasing his brow.
“I’m fine. The ride was bumpier than usual.”
She takes the hand at her face and tugs them over the crest of the hill. The distraction works: his concern is momentarily forgotten the second the Christmas Village comes into view.
It’s like something out of a storybook. From above, the whole town looks like a collection of gingerbread houses, with hatched shingle rooftops and icing-piped four pane windows. The Christmas Village itself sprawls along the main street, which is lined with glowing lanterns and endless strings of lights—the same ones they had seen from the sky. Everything starts at the town square, and then cascades out into lines of stalls and tents vaulting over the cobblestone streets. And everywhere, as if conjured up by the unseen voice crooning through scattered speakers to let it snow—soft, fluffy, white powder: it dusts every inch of the sleepy town, so that it looks like the whole place is covered in sugar.
As they draw closer, the riot of color pops up, peeking out of the blanketing white. The tents of the marketplace are splashes of licorice red and lemondrop yellow, frosted with puffs of peppermint green wreaths. Looking at it feels like a rebellion of the best kind against the pale, silvery brushstrokes of winter.
And of course, at the very heart of the square towers the tallest Christmas tree Jude has ever seen. It’s strung with so many multi-colored lights that it looks like it’s been dipped in twinkling gumdrops, casting the entire surrounding square with its warm glow.
It’s all so fantastically lovely, Jude has to remind herself she’s not in Faerie anymore.
“Cardan,” she warns. “Don’t get distracted.”
“Hm,” is all he says.
And here, Jude feels her control on their mission begin to slip.
As they walk past the first line of tents into the square, Cardan breaks his silence. “You called it a Christmas Village. What is Christmas?”
She gives him a brief explanation, though some parts are spotty even to her. He should have asked a more experienced mortal. At the end, she shrugs. “Not everybody celebrates it. Or even celebrates it the same way. But this—” She tilts her head up at the soaring Christmas tree. “This is a pretty special way to do it.”
“Did your family celebrate it?” His words are soft, careful. He knows more than anyone how the past tense can cut.
“Yeah.” She stares at the giant tree and sees in its place a much smaller one, wrapped in colored tinsel and single-colored string lights, set against the faded yellow walls of her old home. “We’d put up a tree every year. Vivi, Taryn, and I would watch the pile of gifts under it grow. We weren’t allowed to open any until Christmas, but we begged every day to open them early.”
“It’s customary to exchange gifts, then.”
“Yes.” She wonders what he makes of it. How frivolous it must seem to someone who grew up in a land where gifts are meant to be mistrusted just as much as they are appreciated.
Cardan studies the furniture-sized boxes artfully arranged and skirting the synthetic pine, giant gifts to match the giant tree. “And you keep the gifts under the tree?” She nods. “That’s senseless. Nothing would stop thieves from stealing your gifts.”
Jude snorts. “Spoken exactly like a thief.”
On the other side of the Christmas tree, a long line snakes around the square. It’s all human families, with bedraggled looking parents barely holding on to children bouncing on their toes. At the front of the line is a big man dressed in red, complete with a snowy-white beard.
“It’s Santa,” Jude says, surprised.
“Santa?”
“He’s supposed to be this guy who comes around every Christmas and gives all the children gifts. As long as you were a nice kid all year.” Suffice to say, Santa had stopped visiting her after Madoc killed her parents and brought her to Faerie. “Sometimes people dress up as him, and parents bring their kids to see him. They sit in his lap and ask for anything they want.”
“Anything? You can truly wish for anything?”
“It’s only for the kids, though,” she adds hastily. That glint in his eyes does not bode well. She finds the perfect distraction a few feet away and wastes no time redirecting his attention. “Oh, look, Cardan. It’s your people.” She wonders what it looks like to him. The pointed ears are unmistakable, if not completely unnatural.
Curiosity crosses his face before it is completely replaced by scandal. “No self-respecting elf would resign themselves to the employ of that florid human. Certainly not as his—” his eyes narrow as he reads the sign “—little helpers. What are they even doing?”
Jude squints. “I think it’s story time.”
To keep the children entertained while waiting in line, Santa’s ‘elves’ had set up a puppet booth and were telling fairy tales with miniature cloth dolls. The two of them listen for a while, standing beyond the line. It’s the tale of a prince looking for his lost love, of how the only way he knew to find her was the delicate glass slipper she left behind at the ball.
Cardan nods sagely. “Feet are excellent measures of identity.”
A passerby turns her head to stare at them. No matter how bundled up he is in a drab mortal coat and gloves, Cardan attracts attention. It doesn’t help that they’re standing and gawking at everything in the middle of the square.
“Come on.” Jude tugs him in the direction of the bazaar stands. “We need to scout the area for the pixie, but we have to blend in.”
They make a tour of the stands and stop to look at a few, for good measure. Cardan pulls up immediately at a table selling little beaded baubles and handmade jewelry. After that, there are ornaments in all shapes and sizes, made with colored glass or painted porcelain or tinted twisted wires. All the while, the air from the food stands wafts over, rich with roasting chestnuts and baking cinnamon buns.
One stand even lets customers decorate their own sugar cookies. Rows of colored icing line the table, right under shelves of knit scarves, and mittens, and wool hats. Jude squiggles a little green snake on her cutout of a bell; she’s not very good, so it looks more like a particularly verdant earthworm. Cardan ignores the icing and instead dumps the entire canister of edible gold glitter onto his cookie. He smiles at the shopkeeper, and her disapproval immediately melts into an eerie, glazed smile.
As they leave, cookies eaten and clothes stained, Cardan reaches for her hand again. Their fingers lace together like they’ve been doing this all their lives. Like lovers were the first thing they ever were to each other, even though there is nothing further from the truth.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
He levels a look at her, conspiratorial. “I saw you take something while the shopkeeper wasn’t looking.”
Narrowing her eyes, she removes the pilfered item from her coat pocket. The beanie is an explosion of red wool and white fraying embroidery looping around its pièce de résistance: a massive, fuzzy pompom the size of her fist. She shoves it on his head so that only his pointed ears stick out. It should look ridiculous, but he wears it like a crown.
They melt into the crowd like this: just another couple, holding hands and leaning in close, lost under the lights. It’s not pretense any longer. If the night continues this way, Jude is afraid she’ll forget what they came here for in the first place.
An hour passes. They prick their ears for shouts or sounds of disturbance. Jude consults the reports and they circle the previous sights of activity twice. For a town plagued by a mischievous, rogue winter pixie, everything is perfectly, frustratingly in place.
“Jude.” Cardan’s voice is so bewildered she stops to look at him. “Why do those children have knives strapped to their feet?”
“What?” She realizes they’ve come up next to the outdoor ice rink on the other side of the square. “Oh. They’re ice skating.”
“Ice skating.”
Jude recognizes that tone. She immediately shakes her head. “Bad idea.”
“I should like to try it.”
She’d known this was coming. Had known that any chance of this mission proceeding without hindrance was lost the minute Cardan joined her. And yet, she still wants to groan. “We have a job to do. We’re not here to waste our time.”
“The night is young, Jude. There is time yet. Besides, you said it would be wise to blend in.”
“I’m telling you, Cardan. Not a good idea.”
“Why are you refusing? It looks to be the kind of thing you would like.”
Crossing her arms, she asks, “And what are the kinds of things I like?”
“Three things, usually.” He counts them off of his many-ringed fingers. “Things you shouldn’t. Things that aren’t good for you. And sharp objects.” A stately sweep of his arm encompasses the rink. “That is exactly those things combined.”
“You realize you’re basically two out of three on that list?”
He grins: the third thing on his list. “Is that why you like me so much?”
He has her blushing way too easily these days. It’s a problem she must find a solution for—swiftly. “We’re already married, Cardan.”
“I like to hear you say it.”
She shoves a bunch of crumpled bills at him. “Just go buy the tickets. Let’s get it over with so we can get back to finding that pixie.”
The first and last time she had ever gone ice skating was at a classmate’s birthday party when she was seven. Taryn had been invited too, of course, but she spent their entire two hours on the ice clinging to the railing with the rest of the kids. Jude had gone straight to the center of the rink, where all the others were scared to go, even though her knees went out from under her and she landed on her back before she even got halfway there.
Somehow, the experience of rental skates has remained exactly as she remembered it: tangled laces, dull blades, the insides somehow always slightly damp. The minute she and Cardan approach the barrier, someone on the other side slips and faceplants right in front of the entrance. Somehow, the sound of a body hitting the ice has remained exactly the same, too.
She gives Cardan a long, loud look.
His answering grin is slightly less self-assured than before.
Taking a fortifying breath, Jude steps up to the edge, balanced precariously on the thin blades. As long as she stays by the rails, they’ll be fine.
She considers turning and helping Cardan as he enters after her. There are other couples in the rink, and they all seem to have positioned themselves the exact same way, with someone skating backwards and guiding the other. But when she takes her first step on the ice, her feet threaten to slide out from under her. The instinct to walk like normal doesn’t help, and soon she’s swaying in a manner that forces her to choose self-preservation over any sense of romance.
Cardan can fend for himself; it had been his stupid idea anyway.
“Jude—” There’s a muffled bang as what she imagines are his knees slam into the barrier.
Against her better judgement, she turns back to face him, even though she has to use the railing to ever-so-carefully pivot herself. Immediately, she has to swallow the absurd laugh that bubbles up her throat. Cardan has gotten himself into a predicament: he’s pressed up and hanging against the railing just like she is, but it looks like his legs have decided to do the splits without informing him beforehand.
“Ju—” There’s the sound of blades scratching against the ice as he scrambles to orient himself. “Wait—wait for me—”
“Goodbye.” She does not look back.
Skating is a little like swordplay. Jude concentrates on not locking her knees to keep her motion fluid, and engages her lower back muscles to keep her posture straight. Her glides begin to lengthen just slightly when she takes a chance and alternates shifting all her weight to either foot. She makes it a whole round on the rail when something heavy thuds beside her.
Cardan blinks up at her where he’s sprawled on his back, like he’s every bit as surprised at falling.
“Isn’t your tail supposed to help with balance?”
He scowls. “Mortals find the strangest things enjoyable.”
But his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are crinkling at the corners. The smile creeps onto her lips despite herself.
A little boy skates over and crouches next to them, holding on to his bent knees. “Are you okay, mister?”
Cardan casts her a bemused glance. She shrugs. “Fear not, child. My backside is intact, though mayhap my pride is not.”
“You speak funny.” The kid pushes forward a plastic polar bear skating aid. It’s the same height as him. “Here, you can have Sir Hugs-A-Lot. He’s really helpful if you don’t want to fall.”
“Sir Hugs-A-Lot? A strange name for a strange knight.”
“Yup! He’s my best friend in the whole wide world. We’ve known each other for forever.”
Cardan eyes him. Dressed in a puffy red coat with a scarf and mittens to match, he can’t be more than six or seven. “And how long have you been acquainted?”
“Um? I’m supposed to give him back after thirty minutes. But it’s okay, I can glide by myself now. Last time, I went this far!” He holds out his arms as far as he can. Cardan nods, impressed. “So you can have him, maybe he can help you not fall down again, too.”
Like a true knight worthy of his name, Sir Hugs-A-Lot escorts the High King to the land beyond the rails while Jude watches from the safety of the barrier. The kid skates circles around him, and she can’t resist an unqueenly snort as Cardan, leaning heavily on the skating aid, narrows his eyes.
“Enjoying yourself?” she calls out to him.
“This child certainly is,” he grumps back.
Not long after, the kid pushes Sir Hugs-A-Lot over to her, smiling shyly up at her with wind-reddened cheeks. Something must be seriously wrong with her, because she has apparently lost her ability to say no to things anymore. Although, with the skating aid to keep her balance, she has to admit: it’s easier to enjoy the ice when she’s not focusing all her attention on not falling. The wind in her face reminds her of flying. It’s kind of fun.
Bright laughter draws her attention. Her head snaps to where Cardan and the kid are now outright giggling at themselves. She has heard her husband laugh in a multitude of ways, but never like that.
They’re reenacting the signature couple pose people are doing all across the rink, except Cardan has to bend down almost at waist level as the kid holds his hands and shuffles backwards, an inch at a time. It looks awkward and ridiculous and they’re barely moving because they’re both trying really hard not to fall.
She catches Cardan’s eye. There she is, the human queen of Faerie holding on to a plastic polar bear for dear life, and there he is, the current king of the great royal fae bloodline with a human six-year-old the only thing holding him upright, and—they’re laughing. The winter moon is full in the sky, they still have a troublemaking pixie to catch, and they’re both laughing.
When was the last time she’s felt like this? This sweeping, unrestricted sense of possibility? She can’t remember.
The kid blinks up at them, not quite sure why they’re laughing but smiling all the same.
Cardan settles his hand on his head, and—as Jude watches, breathless—ruffles his hair. “Well done.”
Something inside her unfurls.
The kid has fine, sandy hair—much lighter in color than Cardan’s inky curls. And yet, the sight of it sinks deep, warming a place inside of her she has avoided giving a voice to.
After several more rounds, they stop near the barrier entrance. Sir Hugs-A-Lot has exhausted his shift. Cardan rears up to his full stature; that is, not very imposing considering his ankles are wobbling right out from under him. “Very well, little mortal. It appears I owe you a debt. Only speak your name to me and I shall ensure that debt repaid.”
“My name?” The little boy dimples up at her husband, all trusting sparkling eyes. “That’s easy! I’m—”
“Not supposed to be giving your name out to strangers,” Jude interrupts. She elbows Cardan in the stomach. Just because he was a Fae king didn’t mean he had to act like a Fae king, asking for names. “Where are your parents anyway, kid?”
“Oh.” His voice takes on a strange tone, like he’d forgotten all about them. “My parents?”
Jude’s brow furrows at the shift in his voice. But before she can question it, a blur of blue and white flies past in her periphery. Shouts and cries rise up from the other side of the rink as, one by one, like a wave has overcome them, people fall over and come crashing down on the ice. Above the din, faintly, inhuman female laughter shimmers like shining glass bells.
She’s through the barrier and ripping off her skates. “Cardan, it’s the pixie. Hurry up and put your shoes back on!” He barely has time to stumble off the ice and cast the kid one last glance before Jude drags him away. “Bye, kid, thanks for the polar bear!”
The kid waves one little hand at them, evidently a little confused, the other hand still resting on Sir-Hugs-A-Lot.
They come to a stop, hands on knees and shoulders heaving as they catch their breath. They had chased the little blue blur through the crowds around the rink and had reached the outskirts of the food stalls just before it vanished.
“We lost her.” Jude wants to shake something. “She was so close.”
“Pixies are known to be exceptionally pesky,” Cardan says, still panting slightly.
“Oh, yes, how incredibly helpful of you.”
Jude insists on retracing their steps two more times before she begrudgingly accepts that they were indeed back to square one.
“Perhaps if we go ice skating again,” he suggests.
“Nice try.” She takes him by the arm. “Come on.”
Figuring they might as well have sustenance while scouting the area, she leads Cardan to a stand selling hot drinks. Of course, he goes for the one with any semblance of alcohol. The look on his face tells her the spiked hot cider is nothing like strong, potent Faerie wine.
Sighing, she offers him her drink. “Here. Try mine.”
He takes a sip of her hot chocolate. It leaves him with whipped cream on his upper lip and on the tip of his nose: the most powerful creature in all of Faerie, defenseless against the whipped cream mustache.
(Well. The most powerful, of course, after her.)
Despite her frustration with the pixie, she can’t hide the laughter in her voice. “What do you think?”
“First, the cookie, and now this. Mortals must love sweet things.”
“So do the Fae.”
“Hm. Yes, I suppose sweet things have always been my ruination.” His eyes make it clear that he’s not referring to the hot chocolate anymore.
She swallows. “You have cream on your face.”
He takes care of it with a lingering swipe of his tongue, his gaze holding her captive.
“I hate you.”
His smirk is a slow, knowing thing. “No, you don’t.”
She pulls him in by the lapels of his mortal coat. The intention was to strangle him, just a little, maybe wipe the smugness off his lips, but instead she remembers what he looked like earlier, ruffling the little boy’s hair. Her body betrays her and she kisses the last of the cream off the tip of his nose. It really is sweet. “Don’t push it.”
Dazed and speechless, he offers her his drink in return.
“Oh.” She blinks. “Um, I’m good. Thanks. So, I was thinking we could try looking for the pixie near a garden, or maybe a body of water. I just don’t know where we’d find one of those—”
“One hot chocolate, please!”
She and Cardan both turn at the voice. They’re standing a little ways away from the drink stall, but near enough to still hear. There by the front of the line is a familiar red coat. The little boy from the ice rink closes both of his mittened hands around his newly-purchased, steaming cup of cocoa and takes a sip.
“Hello, again,” Cardan calls, as the boy comes away from the booth. “Have you parted ways with your knight companion?”
He doesn’t seem to be too surprised to see them, trotting over the second he recognizes them. “Hi, mister! Yeah, I had to give Sir Hugs-A-Lot back.”
“Friends can be such fickle things. I recommend enemies, instead. Much more likely to linger.”
Jude elbows him so hard he almost spills his drink. “Shut up. He doesn’t mean that,” she tells the boy.
“Of course, I do, Jude. You know I cannot speak untruths.”
“You can’t?” The kid grasps on to this fact with all his child-like enthusiasm. “Can you show me? Try saying a lie!”
“It will not work.”
“Say, um, um—oh! Say my hair is green.”
Cardan scowls. “Obstinate child. It is physically impossible for me to speak those words.”
The boy is unfazed. “Say ‘it’s really warm right now.’”
“I told you, I cannot.”
He points at Jude, bouncing on his feet. “Tell her she’s not pretty.”
Cardan locks eyes with her. “I cannot.”
“All right,” she says to the little boy, voice thick. She leans down to look him in the eye as she whispers, “If you push him any more, he might start to cry.”
“I will not—”
Wide eyes blink up at her. “Okay. I’m sorry. I don’t want him to cry.”
“Don’t worry about it, it’s not your fault. He’s just a crybaby. Here,” she says, reaching for her kerchief. “You have chocolate on your face.” He tilts his face up to hers so that she can gently wipe it off for him. Something in Jude’s ribcage trembles at the action, at how easy it is, for him. And for her.
When she straightens again, she realizes Cardan’s expression has morphed from indignant outrage to something soft, mouth slightly parted. He swallows before speaking. “You—”
And then he pitches forward, as if he’d been shoved from behind.
Or something had been thrown at his back.
And then, the sound of little glass bells.
“Cardan—”
“Snowball fight!” The little boy cheers.
“What fight?”
The slurry of cold, white projectiles comes from nowhere Jude can trace. “Get down!” Drinks forgotten, she drags Cardan and the boy down just in time for the snowballs to sail over their heads. But just as they go to stand, another slew of them appear, every single one of them aiming for the same place: the back of Cardan’s head. “It’s the pompom, Cardan. It’s like a big, fluffy target!”
“The what?” As they duck, she catches him mouthing the word pompom to himself. Cardan’s continued bewilderment transforms into fury as one lucky snowball smacks him hard in the neck. “That’s enough. Desist.” He slashes his hand through the air and all the airborne snowballs drop to the ground like their strings had been cut.
There’s that sound again, of bells tinkling in the air.
“Do you hear that?”
No. Not bells.
Laughter.
“Cardan, the pixie,” Jude hisses from her defensive position on the ground. But Cardan is also twisting his head left and right, searching the trampled snow.
“The child. Where did he go?” He stands and immediately starts walking. True enough, there’s no sign of the little boy, not even a flash of his red coat.
“Cardan, wait, hold on—” Jude reaches out, intending to grab on to his coat and pull him back. But the snowball attack had disrupted the crowd around the drink stand. People shove and scramble, bumping into her and crisscrossing in her vision until she loses sight of Cardan’s black curls and the white pompom still bouncing innocently on his head. When the crowd settles down again, Jude curses.
They’re both gone.
Jude searches for them at the ice rink, the giant Christmas tree, the jewelry shop Cardan had liked so much. She reaches the end of her wits at the end of the Christmas Village, where the modern cobblestone path gives way to snow-drenched ground and the shade of the forest up ahead.
“Come on, Cardan. Where are you?”
She’d spoken to herself, under her breath, but almost like he had heard her, a little creamy orange blossom pops up from the snow. As she watches, two more bloom, like drops of spilled spring, forming a line toward the forest.
“There? You want me to go there?” As if in answer, one last blossom unfurls itself from the snow, stalks buttery yellow against all the white. “All right, then.”
Jude follows the line of orange blossoms deeper into the trees, her breath fogging the air. This place is beyond the warmth of the Christmas Village and its twinkling lights. When she needs to turn in a specific direction, another flower appears to guide her. Soon, Jude is ducking her head under the low, swaying branches of a willow tree. Even though it has shed its leaves, the mass of its branches acts like a curtain that she has to inevitably crawl under and sweep aside.
On the other side, Cardan stands in the middle of a glade, his back to her. Nestled on his shoulder is the face of the little boy, cheek resting against the side of his neck. The sight arrests her, stops her in her tracks: her husband, holding a child in his arms.
“Cardan?” She’s afraid to speak. The moment feels as fragile as a snowflake. One little touch, and it would all melt away.
“She’s near.”
Jude’s eyes snap to their surroundings. The glade is tiny, nestled into a copse of trees with branches swinging so low only small animals would find it. Or small children.
“The pixie tried to lure the kid away,” she guesses. “No—she’s been trying to lure the kid away the whole night.” It explains the missing parents, and why he was always around every time the pixie made an appearance.
“Yes.” She’s not imagining it: Cardan’s arms tighten around the boy. “I caught up to the child just in time. The pixie should still be within the glade.”
“And the kid?” His eyes are closed, but he’s breathing.
“She has him in a trance. Jude.” Just her name. But she takes one look at him and understands what he wants to do. She’s seen the strength of his power. She’s been queen long enough to know that there are some things she’s better off leaving to him. She comes forward and takes the boy into her arms, careful not to wake him.
“Go ahead.” They both know enchantments can’t work on her.
“Cover his ears,” he instructs. He makes sure her gloves form a soft barrier of sound on either side of the boy’s head before he pulls himself to his full height. When he speaks, he speaks as the High King of Elfhame, ruler of all Faerie. It is a voice that can bring an entire kingdom to its knees. “Bring her to me.”
The earth and the air race to answer him. The sound of bells comes ringing, high and shrill, as the wind buffets against something flying through the air above them. Northerly moonlight, filtered and pale, illuminates a blur of blue skin and transparent white wings as the pixie falls. Beneath Jude’s feet, the snow-frosted ground shakes as the great willow yawns awake. It stretches its sleeping branches, plucks the pixie from the air, and deposits her into Cardan’s waiting hands.
The night stills.
Jude breathes a sigh. She hadn’t doubted him, but she hadn’t been sure they would complete the mission tonight. And then, she furrows her brows.
In his hands, Cardan holds a very familiar pillowcase.
“How did you even—” Even as she speaks, the fabric dents and roils as the errant pixie trapped inside struggles for freedom. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“I told you we’d need it,” he says, triumphantly.
In her arms, the boy stirs. “Mama?” His voice cracks, and the words come tumbling out as if a spell has been lifted. “Mama? Papa?”
“Shh, it’s all right.” Jude doesn’t know where it comes from, this soothing tone in her voice. “We’ll find your parents. Don’t worry.”
His little arms come around her, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of her neck. Jude swallows, trying and failing not to soak in how it feels. Ignoring the thought that she should remember it, learn from it.
They crawl out of the glade and reach the beginning of the cobblestones when they hear it.
“Sam?” A woman, panicked and crying out, voice hoarse as if she’d been shouting for hours. “Sammy? Where are you?” A male voice, just as frantic, joins in shortly after. “Sam!”
The boy perks up immediately. “That’s my mom. Mama! Papa!”
Jude winces. There goes trying to keep his name from Cardan. But her husband only leans down toward the child in her arms, lifting the fine, sandy hair from his forehead and pressing his lips to his brow.
“Fare thee well, Sam,” he whispers. “I repay your kindness in turn. You shall live happy and hale henceforth.”
Jude sets him down. Sam gives them one last look over his shoulder, wide eyes alight with dazed wonder. Then, he turns and runs to his parents, completely oblivious to the great and rare blessing he had just received from a Faerie king of legend.
“We were supposed to erase his memory.”
They’re right back where they started, by that giant Christmas tree. It seemed appropriate, since neither of them had wanted to leave right away, even after Cardan had sent the pixie off ahead to Elfhame, embellished velvet pillowcase and all. With their objective accomplished, they now have all the time in the world to walk aimlessly around the square.
“It pleases me to be remembered by him. I think it pleases you to be remembered, too.”
In the time they spent returning from the glade, it had started to snow. The dark canvas of the night sky is broken by a hazy drift, coming down upon the shingles of the rooftops and the brightly painted banners of the tents until all the sharp edges of the world blur, just a little. They come closer as they walk, Jude’s body chilled from her crawl through the forest. If her head nuzzles its way onto the warmth of his shoulder, he doesn’t make mention of it. With their heads bent close together, they could pass for any of the couples wandering the Village.
It’s strange, how being like everyone else is something she’ll endure if it means contentment just like this.
He pulls them to a stop at the base of the Christmas tree. From the corner of her eye, his feet scuff at the quickly disappearing pavement. She raises a questioning brow at him. “What is it?”
“Earlier,” he says, hesitantly, “you mentioned that it was custom to exchange gifts.” From his coat, he pulls out a little velvet box. She’d seen boxes just like this at the jewelry vendor from the bazaar.
Surprise blooms like a sunny orange blossom in her chest. “Cardan. I didn’t get you anything.” When he holds it out to her, she reaches for the box, and then stops. She has lived most of her life in Faerie, after all. “What’s the trick? What do you wish for in return?”
“Nothing. No tricks.” He looks vaguely embarrassed, which just makes this whole thing even stranger. If his tail were out, she imagines it would be swishing side to side, betraying his nerves. “And I wish for nothing except to partake in this odd mortal custom with you.”
She can only stare at him. “Why?”
“Because it mattered to you.” He raises a cautious hand to touch the side of her face, as if he’s afraid she’ll pull away. “Because I saw the look on your face when you told me of your family. Go on, Jude. Open it.”
The din of the milling crowd, the crooning music, the murmur of vendors, it all dulls as Jude opens the box. Nestled inside are two simple stud earrings, the round stones shifting in color from a vivid grass green to a rich rowan berry red as she tilts her hand.
“The mortal woman called it alexandrite,” he murmurs. Continuing to speak to her as if she’ll spook, or—most likely—strike. And he probably isn’t wrong to take precaution, because she feels poised for something, eyes wide and body coiled with a complicated emotion. “A color changing gem. ‘Emerald by day, ruby by night.’ I thought it fitting for you, and your many sides. My enemy and my lover. My pleasure and my pain. My queen of two worlds, both mortal and fae. And all the more lovely for it.”
Of two worlds, both mortal and fae.
Lovely.
He can’t know what it means to her.
“They’re earrings,” she says, stupidly.
The hand at her face moves to her ear, where he traces the round shell of it with utmost care. “Earrings were once the root of a grave mistake of mine. I sought to right that wrong with these.”
Her pulse pounds a relentless beat as she puts them on. A daze, is what she’s feeling. Because it’s all too much for her to bear. All of it—seeing Cardan holding a little human child like his own, watching him take part in mortal customs unfamiliar to him, because he knows how they are still very much a part of her, and then the earrings with their immeasurable significance—it’s too much. The tender place inside her ribcage bursts open.
“I lied.”
“Oh?”
She should have thought this through beforehand. Mapped out a battleplan, run through multiple possible strategies. All the things she does to prepare for combat. Instead, all she has is this need to tell him, fluttering through her like pixie wings, until she could lift from the ground and fly. Until all that’s holding her down is the steady weight of his dark eyes.
“I do have a gift for you.”
He’s pleased about this, her ever greedy husband. “Well, a lie was hardly necessary, then.” He holds out an expectant hand.
Jude stares at it longer than needed. This is the moment she can’t take back. This is the moment that changes everything. This is the fear and the hope and the tremulous, tender beginning. Slowly, she takes his hand and brings it down to her stomach, resting it gently under her navel. “It’s right here.”
Cardan draws his brows together. “I don’t understand.”
“Next year,” she says, unsteadily, “and the year after, and the year after that—we can come back again. We’ll do all the things you liked. We’ll decorate cookies, and go ice skating, and drink hot chocolate. We’ll eat chestnuts and cinnamon rolls and buy gifts for each other.” She takes one last shaky breath. “Then we can go listen to stories, and… and line up for Santa.”
“Santa? That’s silly. You said mortals only line up for Santa because their children—”
She watches the realization hit. How strange it is, to be living in a moment that will one day mark the before and after. To feel the balance of the world shift, as if the air and the earth and the sky will never be the same after this moment either. His hand twitches against her as the shock rolls through him.
“You’re with child.” His voice is unreasonably steady, and she finds herself tilting toward him, gravity rearranging itself from beneath her.
“Yes.”
“Your scent, all those early mornings…”
Throat tight, she nods again. “Yes.”
But he just continues to look at her, taking her in, as if once he has her in his sights, he couldn’t possibly let go. People pass them by, faceless strangers in a murmuring crowd, a haze of coats and laughter, voices singing along to the next song playing in the background, their breath fogging the air. Time goes on for these people, even though it seems to have stopped right here, right now, in this moment under the twinkling lights. The two of them are caught in a snow globe, an infinitesimal world of their own.
“Cardan. Say something.”
“Jude,” he breathes.
“Say something else. Please.”
It’s the please that does it. After everything, he still very much prefers it when she begs. Except, he’s the one that suddenly falls to his knees, like he couldn’t possibly remain upright any second longer. He’s the one who leans forward, body falling into her, as if she were the only real thing left in this strange little world of just the two of them. No, not just the two of them any longer. How great and formidable this secret she has kept; a part of her can’t help but wonder, because all her life she has longed for the power to bring a king to his knees.
There, kneeling on the cobblestones, against the backdrop of a thousand colored lights and the crisp, blank promise of snow, the High King of Elfhame bows his head, shoulders trembling.
It almost feels forbidden to see him like this. A king is never to bow to another, and yet, here is one posed before her, every line of his body carved by veneration.
“Cardan.” She wants to tell him to stand, because he belongs at her side, not at her feet. But then he looks up, and the joy that she finally sees break across his face, exultant and incendiary, takes her breath away, and he—
He is incandescent.
Something inside her stutters, then comes roaring back to life a million times too bright. She hadn’t realized she’d been anxious about his reaction until he’d given her one beyond any she could have ever imagined.
The hand on her stomach is no longer resting; instead, he cradles that special place on her body, cradles it like it’s precious.
“Are you lying?” And she knows he’s asking not because he doubts her, but because the hope could break him apart. “Are you lying right now?”
“No. I’m not lying.” She takes his hand, still resting against her stomach, and brings his palm to her heart. Let him feel the truth of it with every pounding, breathless beat.
Still on his knees, Cardan takes her hand back like it’s the dearest thing in the world. She did not think he could be capable of such tenderness, he the abandoned prince with a heart of tar. Her gloves come off with infinite care. He doesn’t put his lips to her knuckles like she thought he would. Instead, he turns her hand over and presses a warm, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her wrist. When he draws away, he leaves her holding his devotion in the palm of her hand.
“Thank you,” he tells her, voice ragged with the weight of his words.
And this is what finally gets her. Because the fae have no formal words for gratitude, for this infinite, delicate reverence.
But the mortals do.
The first tear that slips down her cheek feels like a benediction. The ones that follow after feel like absolution.
Because her life in Faerie has been an endless fight: against enemies she didn’t hate and ones that she did, against family that should have fought by her side instead, against herself, for not being fae enough or strong enough or cunning enough. She has caused so much pain and endured it in return. But now, this? This is the first time she has something to fight for. And this, she thinks, is what makes it all worth it.
Cardan stands, as if he’d been pulled to his feet by her tears. She launches herself at him the minute he’s within reach, not caring that they’re in the middle of a busy square in this little mortal Christmas Village, where everyone can watch her drag her husband down for a kiss that could break a thousand curses. This is what she’d felt like, running to him as he stepped out of the giant snake’s carcass. This is what she’ll feel like, for all the years to come.
When she pulls away, she realizes that she’s laughing, that same breathless laugh, of freedom and possibility, from before. He smiles back and puts his lips against hers, mouthing, “Thank you” again and again like he’s breathing his joy into her body. But Jude is already bursting with it. Any more, and she will come apart at the seams.
And then, it feels like she does, because the night explodes with light. As if everything she’s feeling truly has come pouring out of her. But she sees the confusion in Cardan’s face, the reflection in his eyes.
Up above them, fireworks continue to burst into streaming color. Blue sparks set fire to the sky like rays of impossible sunshine on this winter night, igniting all that it touches, until everything glitters: the snow, sparkling like falling diamonds, suspended in the mist of their shared breath. The string lights in their multitude of colors, glowing with mortal magic and a little boy’s laughter. The glint of the stones in her ears, with its shifting twin hues. The subtle, gilded edges of a secret, finally brought to light.
She takes one more heart-stopping look into the most brilliant of them all. The future—their future—gleaming just as bright in his equally wet eyes.
It dazzles her.
Because here, under the glitterlight: their future shines.