“It—it will be an honor,” I stammered, mentally cringing at my uncharacteristic loss of composure. Suddenly in need of fresh air, I crossed the room to open the door. I showed Gadfly out and stood gazing across the field of summer wheat as his figure receded up the path.
A cloud passed beneath the sun, and a shadow fell across my house. The season never changed in Whimsy, but as first one leaf dropped from the tree in the lane, and then another, I couldn’t help but feel some transformation was afoot. Whether or not I approved of it remained to be seen.
Two
TOMORROW! GADFLY said tomorrow. You know how they are about mortal time. What if he shows up at half past midnight, demanding I work in my nightgown? And my best dress has a tear, I can’t get it mended by then—the blue one will have to do.” While I spoke, I massaged linseed oil into my hands and set at them with a washing cloth, scrubbing my fingers raw. Usually I didn’t bother cleaning the paint off myself, but usually I didn’t work for fair folk royalty, either, and I had little idea what trivial nonsense might offend him. “I’m low on lead tin yellow, too, so I’ll have to go into town this evening—shit. Shit! Sorry, Emma.”
I lifted my skirts away from the water spreading across the floor and dove for the fallen bucket’s handle.
“Heavens, Isobel, it’ll be all right. March”—my aunt lowered her spectacles and squinted—“no, May, would you clean that up for your sister, please? She’s having a hard day.”
“What does shit mean?” May asked slyly, flouncing down at my feet with a rag.
“It’s the word for when you spill a bucket of water by accident,” I said, aware she would find the truth perilously inspiring. “Where’s March?”
May gave me a gap-toothed grin. “On top of the cabinets.”
“March! Get off the cabinets!”
“She’s having fun up there, Isobel,” May said, slopping water over my shoes.
“She won’t be having fun when she’s dead,” I replied.
With a bleat of delight March hopped down from the cabinets, kicked a chair over, and went bounding across the room. She came toward us, and I lifted my hands to ward her off. But she was heading not for me but for May, who stood up in time to crack heads with her, which gave me a momentary respite while they tottered about in a concussed daze. I sighed. Emma and I were trying to break the habit.
My twin sisters weren’t precisely human. They’d begun life as a pair of goat kids before a fair one had had too much wine and enchanted them on a lark. It was slow going, but I reminded myself that at least it was going. This time last year they hadn’t been house-trained. And it worked in their favor that their transformative enchantment had rendered them more or less indestructible: I’d seen March survive eating a broken pot, poison oak, deadly nightshade, and several unfortunate salamanders without any ill effects. For all my concern, March jumping off cabinets posed more danger to the kitchen furniture.
“Isobel, come here a moment.” My aunt’s voice interrupted my thoughts. She watched me over her spectacles until I obeyed, and took my hand to scrub off a smudge I hadn’t noticed.
“You’re going to do well tomorrow,” she said firmly. “I’m sure the autumn prince is the same as any other fair one, and even if he isn’t, remember you’re safe inside this house.” She wrapped both her hands around mine and squeezed. “Remember what you earned for us.”
I squeezed her hands back. Perhaps at that moment I deserved being spoken to like a little girl. I tried to keep the whine out of my voice as I replied, “I just don’t like not knowing what to expect.”
“That may be so, but you’re more prepared for something like this than anyone else in Whimsy. We know it, and the fair folk do too. At market yesterday I heard people saying that at this rate you might be headed for the Green Well—”
I snatched my hand back in shock.
“Of course you aren’t. I know you wouldn’t make that choice. The point I’m trying to make is that if the fair folk see any human as indispensable, it’s you, and that’s worth a great deal. Tomorrow will be fine.”
I released a long breath and smoothed out my skirts. “I suppose you’re right,” I said, privately unconvinced. “I should go now if I want to get back before dark. March, May, don’t drive Emma mad while I’m gone. I expect this kitchen to look perfect when I come home.”
I gave the overturned chair a significant look as I left the room.
“At least we didn’t shit all over the floor!” May shouted after me.
When I was a little girl, a trip into town had been nothing short of an adventure. Now I couldn’t leave fast enough. My stomach wound a notch tighter every time someone passed by the window outside.
“Just lead tin yellow?” asked the boy behind the counter, neatly wrapping the chalk stick in a twist of butcher’s paper. Phineas had only been working here for a few weeks, but he already possessed a shrewd understanding of my habits.
“On second thought, a stick of green earth and two more of vermilion. Oh! And all your charcoal, please.” Watching him retrieve my order, I despaired at how much work awaited me tonight. I needed to grind and mix the pigments, select my palette, and stretch my new canvas. In all likelihood tomorrow’s session would only involve completing the prince’s sketch, but I couldn’t stand not being prepared for every possibility.
I glanced out the window while Phineas ducked out of sight. A patina of dust coated the glass, and the shop’s location in a corner between two larger buildings gave it a dark, shabby, out-of-the-way air. Not even a single, simple enchantment brightened its lamps, sang out when the door opened, or kept the corners free of dust. Anyone could see that the fair folk never gave this place a second glance. They had no use for the materials used to make Craft, only the finished product itself.
The establishments across the street were a different story entirely. A woman’s skirts vanished into Firth & Maester’s, and I knew from that brief sighting alone that she was a fair one. No mortal could afford the lace gowns sold there. And no humans shopped at the Confectionary next door, whose sign advertised marzipan flowers, sweets made from almonds imported at great cost and danger from the World Beyond. Enchantments, and enchantments alone, were worthy payment for Craft of such caliber.
When Phineas straightened, his eyes shone in a way I recognized all too well. No—“recognized” wasn’t the right word. I dreaded it. He shyly brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead as my heart sank, and sank, and sank. Please, I thought, not again.
“Miss Isobel, would you mind taking a look at my Craft? I know I’m not like you,” he added in a rush, scrambling to keep his nerve, “but Master Hartford’s been encouraging me—it’s why he took me on—and I’ve practiced all these years.” He held a painting to his chest, self-consciously concealing the front side as though it weren’t a canvas but his very soul he feared exposing. I knew the feeling intimately, which didn’t make what came next any easier.
“I’d be more than happy to,” I replied. At least I had a great deal of experience in faking a smile.