Lament - Мэгги Стифватер

At the end of the set, I dampened the strings with my hand; Luke's attention immediately returned to the thorn trees.

I cuffed his arm, pulling his eyes back to me, and demanded, "Okay. Enough's enough. What are you looking at? I don't see anything. Is someone there that I can't see?"

Luke shook his head. "I'm pretty sure you can see Them all now, if you try hard enough. But there's nothing to see there. Yet."

"Yet?" That was an ominous way of saying "nothing."

He gestured to the upward curve of the yard. "This massive hill, those thorn trees, the storm--I can't imagine a time and place any more perfect for the Daoine Sidhe to make an appearance."

The name seemed to whisper recognition in my soul. "What's that?"

"The 'Forever Young.' The faeries who worship Danu. They're--" he seemed to struggle to find the right words, "--of music. Music calls them. It's what They live for." He shrugged, giving up.

"And if any music would call them, it'd be yours."

My fingers touched the key at my neck. "Should we be worried?"

"I don't think so. They refuse allegiance to her, and in return, she's done everything she can to destroy Them. Of all the fey, They're the weakest in the real world--the human world. They'd need a storm like the one we just had to even think about appearing before the solstice." But I knew from his persistent observation of the thorns that he still regarded them as a possible threat; I raised an eyebrow. He added, "But I did say there's no such thing as a safe faerie, didn't I?

There are Sidhe that would kill you just for the prize of your voice."

I stared at the thorns, a bit taken aback by this new bit of knowledge.

"I won't let anyone hurt you." Luke spoke softly.

I almost believed it was true; I could have been convinced of his infallibility if I hadn't seen him slain on the kitchen floor by an enemy that wasn't even in the same building. But I lifted my chin and leaned my harp against my shoulder again. "I know. Do you want to play anything else?"

"You make me want to play music until I fall asleep, and then wake up and play some more. Of course I do."

I leaned my harp back and began to play a moody, minor reel, slow and building. Luke recognized the tune immediately, and lifted his flute again.

Together, we twisted the reel into something at once towering and creeping, inspiring and sobering. The melody dropped low on my harp strings and Luke's flute ripped upward, dragging an aching counter-melody ever higher in the octave. It was almost too raw; both of us laying everything that made us who we were out in plain musical language for anyone who cared to listen.

In the shadow of the three thorns, the darkness stirred.

The tune throbbed, driven by a faint drum from the depths of the trees like a heartbeat. I could see the music, pulled tight like a cobweb, stretched into the darkness where it coaxed and lured the shadows into life. Every infatuated note, every hopeful measure, every bit of emotioncharged sound took shape; and, in the shelter of the thorns, the tune became real--music became flesh.

The two faeries that stood there in the trees were slight and sinuous, with pale skin tinged green, either through trick of the light or by birth. One held a fiddle in his long green hands, his young face turned toward us, and the other held a skin drum under her lean arm. Unlike Eleanor and Freckle Freak, there was no chance of mistaking them as human, though they were as beautiful as they were strange.

I let the reel fade away, half expecting them to fade as well. But they remained, watching us from their nearby copse.

Luke whispered in my ear and I started; I hadn't seen him move. "I know them. I call them Brendan and Una." '"Call them'?"

His voice was still low. "The Daoine Sidhe don't tell anyone Their true names; They think it gives others power over Them. Stand up when you talk to Them--it's very rude not to."

He stood, lifting his chin, and addressed the faeries. "Brendan. Una."

Brendan stepped closer, his face curious if not friendly. "Luke Dillon. I thought I heard your particular brand of suffering." He started to move out of the trees, but fell back, holding his hand in front of his face. "And still armed to the teeth."

I thought he might be talking about Luke's hidden dagger, but his eyes were on the key around my neck. Luke nodded. "More than ever."

Brendan held up his fiddle, a beautiful instrument covered in some sort of paint or gild, patterned in woven flowers and vines. "I was going to ask to play with you, but you know I cannot abide that rubbish. Can't you take it off so we can play like old times?"

Luke shook his head and looked at me; his expression was so protective and possessing that warmth stirred inside me. "I'm afraid it's not coming off this time. I'm sorry."

Una--slighter than Brendan, with pale hair piled on her head in a half-dozen fat braids--spoke from the trees, her voice either teasing or mocking. "Look how he glows when he looks at her."

Brendan frowned over his shoulder at her and turned back, assessing me and my harp. "So you're the other voice I heard. You play nearly as well as one of us." Luke looked at me sharply, and I knew it was an incredible compliment.

Standing, I tried to remember what the old faerie tales had mentioned of human-faerie etiquette. All I could remember were random passages about being polite, not eating faerie food, and putting out spare clothing to get rid of brownies, and I wasn't sure any of that applied. I went for complimentary; it always worked with Mom's catering customers. "I'm not sure that's possible, but thank you anyway."

The compliment tugged Brendan's mouth into half a smile, and something inside me sighed in relief at answering correctly.

"I think you'd find a more agreeable existence playing music with us than in this world," he replied. "Surely you know that Luke Dillon and his music aren't like most of your kind."

Una added, disconcertingly close, "He learned from the best."

I turned my head to see her a few feet away, just as I felt Luke step behind me, wrapping his arms protectively around my body. His voice was amiable, despite his firm grip around me. "Not that I don't trust you, Una."

Una smiled and spun in the grass. "Aw, Brendan, look how he holds her."

Brendan, unsmiling, studied us. "So this is Deirdre, is it? I've heard rumors whispered around Tir na Nog, about Luke Dillon and his disobedience. How the man who has no love for anyone now suffers in its grasp."

Luke's voice was pensive. "It's true."

Brendan's face mirrored Luke's. "Defiance is a trait we prize, but I do not think it's one that will serve you. The Queen is a jealous monarch." He looked at me. "Do you know what fate awaits him for sparing your life?"

"She didn't ask me to," Luke snapped.

Una came close, seeming to be less affected by the iron than her companion. Her eyes locked on mine and I felt disconcerted, falling into their ageless green depths. Then wrinkles formed around them as she grinned and asked, "Do you love him?"

Luke went very still behind me. There were a million reasons why I should've said no, but there was only one answer that was true, even though it seemed completely irrational, even to me.

I nodded.

Luke let out a deep breath.

In the thorn trees, face half-lit by the fading sunlight, Brendan's eyebrows knitted. "How interesting. It's very difficult to understand humans--even you, Luke Dillon, and you so like us."

Una swirled back to Brendan, running her hands around his chest and back as she circled him.

"Didn't you hear their music, my friend? Have you ever heard humans make music like that before? That must be what love is."

Behind me, Luke's voice was sympathetic. "It's just what it sounds like."

"A symptom," Brendan said, as if love were a disease only humans could catch. But there was something like fondness or respect in his voice. "You're both fools."

I stepped out of Luke's hold. "Tell me why. Please, can you tell me about Luke, since he can't?" I felt three pairs of surprised eyes on me, but I pressed on. "I want to know who controls him, and what keeps him from doing whatever he wants to do. I know you must know." I remembered that faeries liked politeness, and added, "Please" Una looked at Brendan, her face eternally smiling. "Oh, Brendan, do." She said Brendan with a bit of sarcasm, mocking the names Luke had given them. "They might stand a chance if she knows. And that would please me."

Brendan frowned petulantly in her direction. "I've not seen anything please you in four hundred years."

"This will. Look at Luke Dillon, how he stands beside her though the Queen--" "Shut up," Brendan said, so modern that I almost laughed. "Don't give it away for nothing." He regarded me. "What will you give me if I tell you the story?"

Una laughed and spun away from Brendan, dancing in the grass again to get a closer look at us.

I was taken aback. I didn't know what a faerie would be interested in, but I doubted it would be anything I'd be willing to give. Luke's lips brushed my ear as he whispered, "A tune."

"Cheater," Una said reproachfully.

"Shut up." Brendan turned toward her, and Una smiled brightly at his annoyance. "Do you never shut up?"

I addressed him. "I'll give you a song. Not just any song. I wrote it myself."

Brendan pretended to consider, but even in his strangeness, I could see that he was sold. "Fair.

Begin."

I looked to Luke, and he nodded. I sat at the harp, fingers trembling a bit with nerves that I didn't otherwise feel, and played the most difficult song I had ever written--fast, complex, and beautiful, and I played it perfectly because it had to be. When I was done, I got back to my feet and looked at Brendan, waiting.

"I am envious," he said. His face looked like he really meant it, and I remembered Luke saying that some of Them would kill for the prize of a voice. I believed it.

"You're also tall," laughed Una, and she whirled around the rotunda and back to his side.

"Neither is likely to change."

Brendan ignored her and spoke to me, though he looked at Luke. "Shall I tell you the entire story?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "About a brilliant young man, the only son of a king who refused to kill his father's enemies on the battlefield? Whose soul wandered while he dreamt? Who played music to make the faeries envious? Who had golden hair and a face to tempt the Faerie Queen?" "Very poetic," Luke growled.

Brendan smiled for the first time. "Very well. How about a young human named Luke Dillon who walked out into the solstice when he shouldn't have, and was stolen by the thing that calls herself the Faerie Queen? 'Come hither,' she told him--"

'"And kiss me!'" shrieked Una. '"Love me! I shrivel in my self-made prison!'" "Shut up" Brendan said. "She demanded he court her, and he denied her as no one ever had."

Una swept up her skin drum from the ground and played an ominous drum roll with the palm of her hand. Brendan spoke over her. "And so, inspired by his soul's dreamy wandering, she ripped it from him and caged it far from his body."

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