These fish truly have wings. They leap out of the water, glide for a while, snapping at bugs. Then they fold up their wings and dive back into the water. I am amazed by these creatures and thank him for bringing them to my attention.
Kenric asks if I am going to sing to them, and I shake my head. "The leviathan sang to me first."
Captain Mabry looks at me. "Those noises it was making were a song?"
I nod. "Of a sort. It seemed to be a blend of song and their kind of speech. If you ever come across another one, you might try singing to it. That could persuade it to leave you alone."
Captain Mabry looks curious. “How did you know?”
Sighing, I explain. "During our border wars, we had to figure out what passed for speech among various creatures. It was the only way we could fight them."
Captain Mabry nods. "I’ve heard quite a bit about your border wars. I guess you fought in some of those?”
I nod and heave a sigh of relief when he doesn’t push the issue. Kenric steps up behind me and wraps his arms around me. “That’s one good thing about being away from there. You won’t have to worry about those things anymore.”
I bury my face in the scent of the Old Forest and watch the flying fish. No, I still have to worry about Ellisar and whatever that asshat is going to try. A few days later, Kenric is all smiles. “We passed the halfway point. We’re making better time back than we did on the way out. We’re still probably a month from land, according to the captain’s estimates.”
I’m still a bit nervous about this. The thought of being in a crowd of humans who fear magic and burn magic users alive doesn’t exactly make me feel better. I can’t talk to Kenric about it while we’re on the ship either. He’s already warned me that they might toss me overboard. Uncivilized savages. Brute barbarians. Without Kenric to talk to, I worry in silence. “Don’t become feral, and no one here will be afraid of you. If they’re not afraid of you, you have no reason to be feral.”
I know he's trying to reassure me, but I can't help how I feel. “Just wait until you meet them. They’re going to adore you as much as I do.”
Even with my ears hidden by a glamour, I don’t look like these humans. My hair is a bit unusual among the Fey, but not dramatically so, because it’s multicolored. Two-toned is more common, and mine has three. I’m tiny compared to all these males on this ship. Kenric says I’m smallish for a human woman, too. If they’re so afraid of anything different, I worry about my safety. Numbers can be overwhelming.
“Come here, love, and stop fretting. Everything will be fine. You’ll see. We’ll stay here for a while, and if you don’t like it, we’ll go back."
I bury my face in his chest and take a deep breath. The smell of the Old Forest soothes me. We’re closer now. Captain Mabry says we should see the port in two more weeks. His ship, The Hamadryad, will stop at an island off the coast where there’s a dryad grove to leave an offering. When he commissioned the ship, the builders used a dryad tree at the main mast, and he didn’t find out about it until it was already in the water. Welton, the first mate, says that’s likely why they got such a reasonable price on the ship initially. Any time they pass near a dryad grove, they stop to leave offerings. These sailors are almost as superstitious as Mirthal. They’ve asked if I’ll come and sing in the dryad grove, and I’ve agreed. I know just the song.
Mabry and Welton don’t seem so bad, and they’re not afraid of me. Mabry probably knows that I’m Fey since he knew about our border wars. Maybe Kenric’s right, and this won’t be so terrible. A few days later, we dock at a small island. There’s a tiny pier here, and a few of us, including Kenric and I, head to the center of the island where the dryad grove is located. They carefully place their offerings, and I step forward and start to sing. It’s an old lament about a man who falls in love with a dryad but loses track of which tree she’s in, so he searches for her endlessly, heartbroken. To my surprise, I hear the alternate part being sung, where the dryad waits endlessly for her lover, also heartbroken. We go back and forth a bit before the duet ends. Then the singer decides to reveal herself.
She steps out, graceful as a deer. She emerges from the heart of the grove like a living monument to the forest’s ancient majesty. Towering and statuesque, her form shimmers with the elegance of old-growth trees. Her skin is a smooth, silvery bark veined with threads of gold and emerald, as if sunlight and chlorophyll coursed through her very being. Her hair flows in long, braided strands of ivy and flowering vines. She’s crowned with a circlet of blooming moon lotus and crystal thorns that pulse faintly with bioluminescent light.
Her eyes are vast and unblinking. They hold the depth of centuries in pools of amber and obsidian that reflect not just the canopy above, but the memory of every root and leaf that has ever grown beneath the trees of this place. She wears a mantle of living leaves that shift with the breeze. Each leaf is etched with runes of protection and judgment. Her voice, when she speaks, is the thrum of wind through this sacred grove. It’s resonant, commanding, and impossibly serene, all at the same time.
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She doesn’t walk so much as glide, her feet never disturb the moss beneath her. The grass doesn’t even bend. The grove itself seems to lean in reverence, branches bowing, petals unfurling, and even the air thickening with the scent of cedar and honeysuckle. In her presence, time slows, and I can feel the weight of centuries settle into stillness, acknowledged, but not judged. She looks at me and smiles, gesturing to her ears and clearly seeing through my glamor as she speaks in the old High Fey.
Somehow, she seems to know that I am the only one here who will understand her. "You are not one of them. You may not like where they are taking you. Their cities are full of iron and sharp, cut stone. If it is too terrible for you, come back here. You could sing with us, daughter of Oberon. We would welcome you.”
I bow to her respectfully, as I never would to Ellisar, and answer her in the same High Fey. “I thank you for your kind offer, Lady of the Woods. I have my husband here. If that should change, I may well seek this sanctuary.”
She inclines her head, still smiling, “Such courtly manners, daughter of Oberon. Keep us in mind. We could hide you here, even from your king."
With that, she is gone, disappearing into the woods again. Kenric looks at me in awe. “What did she say?"
I smile. “I will tell you later."
I quietly tag the spot so I can return quickly if needed. Better than being burned alive by vicious savages, and that helps to settle my nerves. We return to the ship, and Mabry eyes me. "I’ve never seen one of them before and never knew that they could speak."
I must have given Captain Mabry a look like he was daft, because he chuckled.
“Captain, have you not heard all the songs and poems about dryads taking mortal lovers? How do they do that if dryads cannot speak?"
To his credit, Captain Mabry grows thoughtful. "I suppose it’s a bit like the Leviathan. It never occurred to me that they could speak either.”
"There are a great many things in this world, Captain, that speak, but not so many have ever learned to listen."
Humans are too noisy to ever hear voices other than their own, I think. One must learn to be quiet themselves before they can hear the forest whisper. The next day, The Hamadryad arrives at the port city of Varpua.
There are throngs of people gathering, crowding the docks, waving signs or banners, and shouting. I can’t read the signs and shouting seems…. Hostile. Panicking, I start to hyperventilate. Kenric grabs me and pulls me into his chest. “They’re cheering. They’re happy to see us. Everything is fine, better than fine.”
Steadied by him, I take a few deep breaths and begin to calm down. “Look, they’re all waving welcome banners and throwing flowers. There’s not a tomato or cabbage in sight. It looks like we’re going to have a state reception. Why don’t we go change?”
We duck back into the cabin. “Fey or not?”
“Not.”
I’ve been practicing creating in human clothing. I chose a deep teal for his outer tunic, with copper-threaded embroidery along the neck and both shoulders. It’s cut more closely than a typical Fey tunic, but not by much. I add a purely decorative velvet cloak over one shoulder. His hose are a slightly lighter shade, and he wears soft, low boots. A properly floppy hat with a feather completes Kenric’s outfit. Personally, I have to wear multiple layers of dresses. The first one goes on, but instead of scratchy wool, I use fine silk.
The next one is mostly simple, except at the hem, where it will be visible. I choose a mustard yellow brocade. Additionally, a slightly shorter one is coral damask. Over that, I wear another dress, mostly open down the front, in a lighter shade of coral and a different damask, trimmed with lace and ribbons. I have to wear this ridiculous lump of wool called a hennin on my head. There is a veil at the back. I line mine with Fey silk so I don’t lose my sanity from the itching. I have these lovely sweeping sleeves that I am sure will end up in the gravy at some point.
I hope I look like a properly frothy confection as I start gathering my skirts and trailing sleeves. Kenric laughs and scoops me up. “It’s not as lovely as your wedding dress, but I think you look magnificent. I’ll carry you so you don't get your skirts dirty.”
The whole ship is caulked with wool and tar, including the deck, and I don’t want any of that on this dress. He steps onto the gangplank and hoists me up.
The crowd cheers, and Kenric yells out, “I present my bride. It is my sincerest wish that all of you love her as much as I do.”
Flowers start floating through the air, perhaps to show approval. While Kenric entertains the crowd, I place a tag on the docks. The important-looking man waiting next to the carriage, surrounded by guards, coughs politely. Kenric, still smiling, carries me down the gangplank. Once we reach the jetty, he gently sets me down.
Kenric's voice booms out, “Welcome home, my love.”
We get hit with more flowers as Kenric clearly charms the crowd.
He bows to the man, “It is good to see you again, Duke Jellema. May I present my Lady wife?”
I curtsey.
The duke seems to thaw just a little. I manage to say I’m pleased to meet him in a decent version of their language. Kenric has been teaching me, and Duke Jellema relaxes just a tiny bit more at this.
Jellema snorts, “I’d half expected some wild heathen, based on what the rest of the delegation said about her when they returned. I have no idea where they got that nonsense. She’s too tiny and delicate. Fighting in wars—what rubbish. They must have misunderstood something.”
At a look from Kenric, I remain silent. I ask Kenric if I should wave at the crowd, and he shakes his head. Duke Jellema asks how much of their language I speak.
“Only a little, Your Grace. I am still learning. If I misspeak, please let me know. I find it very helpful. I find that your titles and things can be quite confusing."
He nods, “They can be quite tricky to sort out. We have a whole group of scribes dedicated to nothing else. Just call everyone ‘my lord,’ and you’ll be fine. You’re foreign, so you’ll be forgiven, and if you aren’t forgiven, just give them a slightly weepy, doe-eyed apology. You’ll reduce them to a puddle at your feet."
“Thank you, Your Grace. Your advice seems quite wise."
Duke Jellema relaxes a little more. "You know, Kenric, she’s going to do famously at court. His Highness might not let the two of you go home.”
Now Kenric looks thoughtful. "I have been away from my lands for some time now. I need to return and oversee the planning for the next year."
Jellema snorts, “His Highness will let you go, quite happily. It’s her that he'll want to keep around to see if he can make her his mistress. You might not know how he is, since you’ve never been married. If you don’t mind sharing a bit, it’s a good way to gain some advancement.”
Kenric frowns, “I do mind. Quite a lot. I rather think she’d mind even more."
Jellema considers this for a moment, “Then keep her with you all the time and don’t leave court until he’s ready to let both of you go. Sooner or later, someone else will show up with a newer wife, and he’ll move on from yours.”
- Do you trust the duke?