Season 8: Quen a Omagen

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“Well this is going to be fun.”

Kruxeral’s tone was anything but amused.

“Are they… okay?” May asks from the satyr’s shoulder. Both her and Cay’s eyes are wide as saucers at the sight before them.

“Oh, they’re fine, more or less,” Kruxeral scowled. “I’m more worried what this will mean for us.” He looks at Merla, his eyes darkening. “They already know we are here.”

“How? We only just-” She starts but then a crescendoing sound makes her stop short.

The musical sound of fey laughter is not anything new to Merla but when she hears this symphony it feels different. There is joy – something the fae-bard expected considering the place she and Kruxeral had been summoned to – but there was a tone underlying the brightness that made the hairs on her arms rise. For the first time in many many moons, Merla has to fight the impulse to run run run run.

“Whatever you see, or think you see, trust in your heart’s truth, Merla.”

Kruxeral’s sudden vehemence, both hands on her shoulders startles her. His eyes are bright green like limes that are too sour. It is a shade Merla has never seen before.

“You won’t go far from me, will you? We do this together.” Her words sound more like a plea than the assertion she intended them to be.

His eyes get brighter still before settling into their normal emerald colour. Kruxeral looks like he’s about to speak but someone catches his eye from the approaching party. His lips form a hard line.

“No matter what you see, I am with you, arael’salif*.”

Merla’s breath stills at his words. It is the first time since he awoke that he has called her that.

“The procession has arrived,” Astra says before Merla can reply. The winged unicorn shakes her mane, the act drawing the eye of several fey from the entourage moving towards them.

Astra called it a procession but it was more like a parade. The exhibition on display from the fey coming to greet them was tumultuous and chaotic. Some were dancing, others were playing instruments, many were drinking and eating, and quite a few were enjoying the company of those around them in very sensual, intimate ways. As they drew closer, a gleeful delight began to drape itself over Merla’s mind, making her smile widen and her thoughts turn into bubbles.

“Here they are, the Revelry Envoys from the Summer Court!”

From the head of the parade, a lithe faun skips towards them, plump berries decorating their small horns and bright leaves in their dark hair. The thin cotton top that stops just above their navel is the only piece of cloth they wear. As they saunter over Merla and her party get a full view of their lower body, every private bit on display without care for modesty. May, suddenly overcome with a poignant feeling of exalted delight, gives a little yelp and tries to fly off Kruxeral’s shoulder. Cay rushes to the pixie’s side when he sees her unsteady flight and the two instead seek refuge in the shifting waves of Merla’s hair.

The faun gives a throaty chuckle as they come to a stop, glancing down at the pixie and sprite trying to hide. Their eyes drift up to meet Merla’s and the pleasant smile turns sharp. She feels a jolt of panic electrify her veins. But then the faun blinks and their brown eyes light up with light as they take a sultry step towards Kruxeral.

“Ah, Kruxeral, it has been too long! You remember me don’t you?” the faun says with a side glance to Merla.

“Saem, your jovialness is unmistakable.” Kruxeral smiles and starts to flourish a bow.

“Oh, come now. That will not do! Greet me properly, like you used to once upon a time,” Saem entreats, leaning in close, pressing themselves against the Kruxeral.

With a fluid grace inherent to his fey nature, Kruxeral side steps the faun’s attempt at affection and laughs brightly like it’s a game. He glances at Merla, and she sees a slight discomfort there. Saem notices the look and, once again, their smile becomes a little too wide and razor sharp.

Kruxeral sees this and casually says, “A lot has changed since those days.”

Saem dances closer to the satyr once again. “Surely not everything.”

“Not everything,” Kruxeral gracefully dances away, the movement intended to draw Saem’s attention away from Merla, “but enough.”

“I see.” The faun stops dancing and all the good humour that had been in their face leaves as they turn to face Merla. “Yes, I see it very well.”

Kruxeral stops too, the green of his eyes becoming that bright, sickly shade once more as his own grin slips from his face, replaced by alarm.

“Pardon my rudeness. Who might you be, mortal?” Saem asks her with a derisive smirk.

Kruxeral frowns. Merla is not so naïve as to jump to be bait the fey’s words are meant to elicit.

“I am Merla,” she answers, a warm and genuine smile lighting her face. “It is a delight to meet someone who Kruxeral knows so well, Saem.”

“Hmm, yes. A delight…” Saem studies her, their head tilting slightly. “How fascinating. A resilient one I see. Oh this will be fun.” They giggle and the hairs on the back of Merla’s neck stand on end. Saem waves their fingers at May and Cay who are peaking out from the curtain of her hair. Neither wave back.

Kruxeral is watching her, but Merla holds the faun’s gaze, not shying away from the wild, chaotic energies exuding from them. It is not the first time she has had to deal with fey games – though this one that is about to be played might be more tricky than any she has been part of before. Still, they may underestimate her but Merla will happily prove to them she is not to be taken lightly.

Saem suddenly spins around, claps their hands twice and the parade of fey pause in their revelries.

“The Court of Joy welcomes you! Come, Euphoria awaits!”

Saem skips over to Kruxeral and loops their arm through his, practically dragging the satyr along with them. The parade begins to change shape, like a river wending its way between the rocks and jetties that are the decommissioned army of the Summer Court.

Flying out from Merla’s hair up to Astra’s crown, May asks, “What about them?” and points to the flower soldiers.

“Oh, pshh,” Saem waves a careless hand, “I wouldn’t worry about them. They are quite fine where they are. The Grapes of Wrath will wear off… eventually. Maybe. Who knows!” Their smile is cruel as they speak, eyes lingering on Merla a moment too long for comfort.

Kruxeral strikes up a conversation with Saem, drawing their attention back to him when Merla sees the satyr point a finger at Cay. The sprite, who had been flying up to join May, stops and looks to his left. Following his gaze, there is a collection of fine bottles that looked like they once contained some kind of beverage. He flies over but before he gets too close the sprite reels back, throwing an arm across his face to cover his nose. Quickly Cay returns to Merla, landing on her shoulder.

“There was something in those bottles but it’s no feywine I’ve ever smelt. It looked clear, like water,” he says quietly to her.

“Then we know not to drink the clear wine that looks like water. Well done, Cay,” Merla replies back in a low voice.

Cay nods and flies up to join May on Astra’s crown.

Amongst the synchronised swaying forms of the se’akhrua**, their faces all turned up towards the sun, Merla spots Commander Georus Mardum. The eladrin commander is undeniably and completely inebriated and has to be picked up by the fey from the procession as Saem says he should come along. Merla knows a little about the young male and his eagerness to prove his worthiness of being a great commander to Queen Titania. Now he is acting like a careless youth, stripping off his armour and uniform.

“By the stars, now that I am free let us dance!”

The fey around him cheer in delight and Georus gets swept up into the arms of a dryad. Their cluster begins to undulate in a similar way to the se’akhrua. It is but a few moments later that the moans of pleasure start.

“Ah-ha! I knew he would fit right in,” Saem laughs. “I see you blush at the sight but I remember when you would be the centre of such frivolities, Kruxeral. But we can reacquaint you later. Come, come! We mustn’t keep our Angel waiting.”

May and Cay look at Merla, clearly expecting her to say something. She does not, choosing instead to lead the way as they begin to follow behind the Parade of Pleasures.

“What sort of place is this Merla?” Astra asks, not looking at her mistress. The Daughter of Summer senses the question hidden behind the one she asks.

“It is the Court of Joy, Astra.” Merla says, choosing not to answer the unasked question.

“I know that,” the winged unicorn replies. “But what sort of place is it? I feel… something awakening in me.”

Merla looks up and sees a fevered light in Astra’s eyes. It seems familiar but the fae-bard has never seen such a look in her partner’s eyes before.

“This region, also called Lliira’s Enclave, is known to be a favoured spot for the Goddess of Joy to come visit when she wishes to be in the Feywild.” Merla answers. She feels something stirring within her too, but Merla isn’t sure what is its source. Could it be something external, an effect of this region trying to make her act in a certain way? Or are these bubbling emotions her own finally getting a chance to release?

“So why isn’t it part of the Summer Court already? Seems like the kind of place that would be,” Astra comments. Her voice almost sounds giddy, which is odd for her.

“I have my suspicions…”

“Which are?”

“When the call came for us my Mother almost sounded doubtful. She had warned Commander Mardum that this region was dangerous.”

“It seems fine to me,” Astra says, the beginnings of a prance taking over her steady, long strides. Merla notices her own feet have started doing a lilting skip but she makes herself take purposeful, measured steps instead.

“I know little about Lliira herself. Besides the obvious, the Lady of Joy is known to hate most forms of violence – especially at celebrations.”

“That is going to make fulfilling the Compact difficult seeing as there seems to be a constant celebration going on wherever we look. Well, don’t those little ones look sweet.”

The sudden comment confuses Merla. She looks past her partner and in a grove of trees are fey children running around playing a fitful game of tag. To Merla, the shouts almost sound like screams. She gives a cautious look to Astra who seems to hesitate, looking like she wants to go join them but a hand on her side draws her along with Merla. She keeps her hand there until they are well out of earshot of the playing children.

I shall rule this place until our army has been defeated in battle.

Even before Merla saw the army out of commission she knew they would not be able to fight the denizens of the realm of Joy. It was odd then that the Compact for a region virtually dedicated to Lliira – a good, lesser deity of joy, happiness, contentment, release and festivals – had an implied militaristic challenge to it when the goddess herself abhorred violence. Merla kept thinking about it as they travelled through the undulating hills and clusters of trees, playing with ideas and schemes and tricks, anything that might work. But the more she saw of the region the more her thoughts kept turning to her Queen Mother.

She admired Queen Titania’s strength and cunning, the way her presence was felt all the way down to one’s soul. The Summer Queen’s heart was great and the love she has for her people and Court is unmistakably strong. Merla has seen her Mother be wise and just, fair and true to the values any Great Seelie Queen should hold most dear – and she was not afraid to strike down those who would threaten such virtues. It was not in Merla’s nature to jump to having a sword in her hand at the first sign of conflict – despite how often it has been like that in recent moons. There is a time and place to fight but Merla has begun to wonder if, perhaps, she was becoming too much like her Queen Mother. It was part of the reason why she had suggested and chosen her current path – becoming the Tosgaire Saliysuli*** for the Summer Court and not a commander of an army of se’akhrua. Certainly her increasing confrontations with the Unseelie had meant there were more times than naught where Merla has had to fight to protect people or stop their schemes. What she has been doing for the past moon cycle has been more about connecting with the fey of different regions and uniting them so the whole could become stronger. Alone and separate, each of them – including her own home – could slowly fade one by one as the Darkness that threatens them all keeps things imbalanced and weakened. They are all on the same path so why shouldn’t they join together?

But these fey, this Compact, everything about this Court felt like it was testing her. She could not explain why this thought kept cycling through her mind, only that it was something Merla felt in her gut. Why she would be tested though she could not say. Merla could only hope that she and Kruxeral would be able to succeed in the task they had set out to do.

If such a thing was even possible.

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“Lady Euphoria, may I present the Revelry Envoys from the Summer Court! Come, come you two, don’t be shy. Our Angel is a delight. Don’t be afraid.”

Somehow, Saem’s words did little to discourage that feeling.

At some point on their way here, Saem had gone ahead to ensure their reception would be worthy of two such distinguished guests, as they put it. Kruxeral waited until they were out of earshot before speaking very rapidly to her.

“I spent some time here in my youth before joining the Summer Court. Saem, my relationship with them- It was complicated and is part of my past. You are my future Merla. I am sorry-”

“You do not have to apologise for anything Kruxeral. I have eyes of my own. I could see very well what you could not say.”

He sighs, relieved. But it is a brief respite before his expression becomes serious once more.

“Remember what I said. I will do what I can to make sure you are safe but if, for whatever reason I cannot-”

“Trust in me, as I trust in you. Even if we are apart, I am always here,” Merla touched his bare chest, over his heart. “As you are here, with me, arael’salif.” She placed his hand over her breast.

He looked like he was about to say something more but Saem had returned. Their smile was bright but their eyes told Merla she had to be careful, if not for her sake then Kruxeral’s.

Merla and Kruxeral bow to the celestial curled up on her cushioned platform. She does not acknowledge their presence, just continues to play with the little chocolate people she has been eating since they arrived. Lady Euphoria appears young, but older than any child. Merla wonders if there could be any way to tell. The messy tangle of the angel’s hair falls over one shoulder, sections of it ridiculously bright colours that have no business being next to each other yet somehow make one feel happy just looking at it. Her robed dress looks like it will slip off one shoulder, but never quite gets there. There’s two columns of light that radiate up from her back but no sign of actual wings.

“It is a great pleasure to meet one who is close to the Lady of Joy in person,” Merla begins.

Lady Euphoria starts to hum. Merla is caught off guard. The melody almost sounds like the one she always hears in the Summer Court, but slightly different.

Kruxeral glances at Merla, eyes bright with understanding. Does he hear the same song as she? Does he know whose it is?

He steps forward. “That song, how do you know-”

“The last remaining chocolate people copulate desperately, losing themselves in a melting frenzy of lust, spending the last of their brief lives in a spasm of raspberry cream and delight.”

With a burst of their chocolate shells, a thick pink cream seeps through her fingers and runs down the back of her hand. Euphoria sighs and all the gathered fey do so as well, including Saem, head rolling back a little. Even Merla feels something release within her, allowing a tingling warmth to spread from her belly. She looks at Kruxeral who is staring at her with ravished hunger. Merla feels a desire to leap into his arms, to press her mouth to his and taste all of him over and over again. His throat bobs as he swallows, gulping down air, clearly fighting back a similar urge. Merla tries to take a steady breath but it just makes her throat tighten in repressed excitement.

She feels she may go mad.

“Lady Euphoria, we came because we thought we were needed here-” Merla begins but the faun cuts her off.

“Needed to put on a revelry to sooth our hearts and win us over? Please.” Saem scoffs. “As you saw no army can defeat ours for we are blessed by the goddess of Joy herself. No violence will be had in our realm for the Lady of Joy detests such baseness. We are free and so we celebrate, the revelry never ending.”

Euphoria looks at Merla and it’s the first time she notices the angel’s mismatched eyes – one forget-me-not blue ringed with gold, the other a verdant, shifting green. It startles her. Euphoria tilts her head as she begins to lick the chocolate and cream from her fingers.

“What’s the word for things not being always? You know… The thing that lets you know time happens.”

The question comes out of nowhere. Kruxeral looks from Lady Euphoria over to Merla, just as confused by the off beat question.

“Change?” Merla offers.

“Hmm… I was afraid of that…” Euphoria crooned.

Saem nods sagely. “Change is a dangerous thing. Change brings conflict. We do not believe in change.”

A small frown creases Merla’s brow. “It is a dangerous thing to unbelieve something only because it frightens you.”

The court goes still, their otherworldly grace making them all momentary statues. They stare at Merla as if she has spoken harshly though her words were said softly.

“I like the stars,” Euphoria says. She is looking directly up at the sun high in the sky. Tears are streaming down her face, yet she seems unphased by its brightness. “They are full of illusion. Always flaring up and caving in but from here they seem permanent. From here we can pretend things last.”

The folk begin to stir restlessly. Kruxeral and Merla share a look. The way Euphoria is speaking to them is setting the fey on edge. It was not the norm, not the way things have been. Perhaps there is an opportunity for them to still win over the Court of Joy?

As if sensing her train of thought, Saem steps up to Merla, a soft finger dragging along her jaw to make her look up at them.

“Come now you two, I have heard you make the best revelries together that win over the hearts of any and all who join them.”

Euphoria stands up and bends side to side, her robed dress slipping from one shoulder to expose her chest as she slowly spins around. “What win I if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy who buys a minute’s mirth to wail a week?”

The Court stirs, a buzzing beginning to build, like the start of music or an orchestra warming up before a concert; the movement of dancers as they get limber before a great ballet; the rustle of leaves before the wind picks them up ahead of an approaching storm.

“Ah, an excellent suggestion my Lady! We can help you create a revelry!” Saem’s grin is inhuman with too many teeth. It is disconcerting seeing such cruel expressions on a faun’s face. “Something to really tempt you to express your deepest joys, whatever they may be.”

“Saem what are you planning?” Kruxeral asks. His eyes widen in slow, creeping realisation. “You cannot mean to-”

“It is just a little something to help you along!”

Kruxeral steps in front of Merla protectively. “I will not let you do this to her. She is-”

“Mortal. She came into our realm of her own free will. You know how it works here.” For a moment, Merla thinks Saem’s smile looks sad.

“But she is of Summer, the Daughter of Queen Titania!”

“That is precisely why we must.”

There’s a pause even as the Court’s infectious energy continues to drone on. It does not touch the three of them as Euphoria looks on from her cushioned platform, fingers twirling in her hair, round and round.

Merla looks up to Kruxeral and sees his wood-brown features have changed, becoming more inhuman and frightening. The last time she had seen him look like this was when it was directed at her. She had told Kruxeral she was returning to the Mortal Realm after giving away part of her heart to her Queen Mother. She had thought it was intimidating then but that time pales in comparison to now.

“Merla is nothing like her,” Kruxeral says, his voice low, vehement.

“For your sake I hope that’s not true.” It is the first time Saem has sounded sincere. The honesty stuns Kruxeral. The faun looks down at Merla who has stepped out from behind the male to stand beside him. When their eyes narrow, the fae-bard thinks she sees the faun’s eyes have changed colour.

“Mortals are such fragile things after all,” they say, looking at her. “Just tender feelings walking around exposed in their delicate shells…”

Kruxeral’s stunned silence leaves him. He is about to leap at Saem but Merla lays a halting hand on his side and steps in front of him.

“We will accept your offer of help to begin this revel, but I have a further proposition. Let this be the battle that decides the Compact.” She addresses Lady Euphoria. “There will be no violence – only joy, happiness and the chance for us to persuade you to join the Summer Court.”

“We will agree, if you allow us to bestow these raiments upon thee,” Saem says. There’s scattered laughs and gasps of surprise, but no such reaction from Euphoria. She has become enraptured with looking at the sun through her hair, which has changed to be rose-pink and peach.

“Do you ever wonder if what you look at is the same thing everyone else is seeing?”

No one else seems to hear her question but Merla and she doesn’t know how to answer.

With a gesture from Saem, three fey come over. The first is nearly hunched over completely and carries an ugly tattered dress filled with holes. The second is short, with a pointy chin and nose carrying a circle of brambles with foul smelling mushrooms that excrete a putrid-smelling dust. The third’s joints are bent double so their limbs are at odd angles which makes it unbelievable that they can carry a tray with a decanter of thick, dark wine and a single crystal glass steadily. All of them have red mushrooms growing out of their heads, back and shoulders, and all are grinning excitedly at Merla.

“Show us Summer can be something other than violent, warmongering ruffians. If you can be our Mirthful Monarch for the entire day, being the embodiment of joy whilst you are enrobed in such exquisite vestitures, then our court will join yours.” The faun’s grin is wide and utterly disturbing.

Time in the Feywild is a funny thing and a day here could last longer than they have time for. Merla gets the sense that if she tried to bargain for anything shorter, she and Kruxeral, even May and Cay and Astra would find things getting a bit difficult when it came to leaving. On the heels of that realisation was the one that told her she was at the mercy of Lady Euphoria – and by extension Saem.

But it was strange. Merla could tell Euphoria was powerful, yet it was Saem who spoke most to them. There had been a moment though where the angel had talked directly to Merla. If Merla could do so again, possibly connect with Euphoria in some way and draw her out, then perhaps there could be a way through this.

“Merla.”

Kruxeral’s voice in her head makes her look at him. He is subtly shaking his head, eyes pleading with her to say no. She looks over the circle of brambles, the tattered dress, and the strange wine all being held out to her like some parody of a coronation. There is something more to this than a simple dawning of a smelly crown, threadbare clothes and questionable refreshment.

But if she refuses what would become of the se’akhrua and Commander Mardum? What would become of them? And what about her goal to help restore Balance to the Feywild?

“I accept.”

The shouts and jeers from the crowd are deafening. Euphoria tilts her head so far to the side that she bends over as she looks at Merla. Kruxeral looks like he might be sick.

“Excellent. Now- oh!” Saem lets out a surprised chuckle, eyes sparkling with mischief. “My my, now this is a first.”

Kruxeral rushes over to her. “Merla what are you doing?”

“If I am to do this I would do it completely. Besides, that dress would fit better without my armour,” Merla says with a nod to the hunched fey.

She snickers and a couple of mushrooms pop off from her back.

“Merla, listen to me, you cannot go into this unprotected. Let me-”

“I have to do this Kruxeral,” she says calmly.

“But why? We can just leave, tell the Queen it was a hopeless endeavour. She will understand!”

Merla shakes her head as she undoes the final clasp of her armour. Saem and the gathered fey all give shouts of encouragement but Kruxeral reaches out to stop her and their shouts of glee turn to cajoling cries of wanting. Merla takes his grasping hands, holding them close to her even as the beautiful, stained glass-looking studded leather armour falls to the ground.

“You want to protect me but I do not need you to do that anymore. I am perfectly capable of being strong on my own. I need you to believe in me. What I am doing is for more than just our home.” She rises up on her tiptoes, leaning her forehead against his and grins. It is the smile of someone who is not entirely mortal. “They have only seen the least of what I can do.”

Kruxeral looks deeply into her eyes. He is fighting against the urge to cast a spell, something that would prohibit her from doing what she is about to or to help her in this ordeal. But he knows that if he does, it will be over and there will be no third chance. They would have to go home, leave the Commander and the Sunflower Warriors behind, and somehow explain to Queen Titania what happened.

“Remember what I said,” she whispers, placing a hand over his heart.

He is shaking as he closes his eyes. Merla stays close even as the excitement of the denizens of the Court of Joy gets louder, impatient.

“I am with you,” Kruxeral finally whispers, his voice rough. When he opens his eyes they are the warmest green, the same shade as the trees in the Enchanted Forest surrounding Perihelion Palace.

Merla nods and smiles, pulling back to look at Saem.

“Apologies for keeping the Court waiting. I will be ready in but a moment.”

Kruxeral steps back, his grip on her hands lingering as long as he can before he has to let go. Merla goes back to unclasping her cape’s mantle. By the time she is done the only things she wears is the circlet with the imperial topaz gem resting on her forehead and her small clothes. Everything else she has discarded.

Merla holds her arms out, the gesture opening her up to more than what is about to be bestowed upon her. It is also her way of letting the emotions she was trying to keep under control, free. A wave of heated giddiness crashes through her when she does. Merla lets out a small, precocious giggle.

“I am ready.”

The grin isn’t as wide on Saem’s face as it was before. They wave their hand and the three fey rush forward, eager to dress her.

“Long has it been since we have crowned a mortal,” Saem starts, picking up on the excited chittering of the fey. Their voice carries easily over the sound of shouts and giggles and taunts. Euphoria is sitting down again, knees tucked up to her chest, mismatched eyes glued to what is unfolding in front of her. “How many moons have passed since the last Mirthful Monarch’s Dance of Ecstasy I cannot recall. Too long, says I! That is why we bless the one named Merla, the supposed ‘Daughter of Summer’, to be the Once and Future Monarch!”

As Saem addresses the court the first of the mushroom fey helps Merla don the ragged and torn dress. It is ridiculously long and looser than she thought. Merla can tell she will either need to hold it up or risk tripping on it. Deciding one more tear wouldn’t make much of a difference, she pulls a thread, which opens a new hole. Then she rips a slit starting from her upper thigh all the way down to the ends of the skirt. There are whoops and cheers from the fey, their inhuman voices making Merla shiver even as she blushes at their eagerness to see her exposed legs. This way, she reasons, she will be able to dance and not trip on the skirt. Or so she hopes.

“What fine threads the Mirthful Monarch wears. See how they compliment her form to expose her truths for all to see?” Saem says with a gesture to Merla.

Merla frowns, a little confused at why the dress suddenly doesn’t feel as big as it was. When she looks down it fits her perfectly, hugging every curve as if it is a second skin.

The pointy chin and nose mushroomed fey comes up next, jagged teeth poking out from his mouth as he grins at her. He gestures for Merla to bend down so he can place the putrescent mushroom and bramble crown on her head overtop of the circlet she did not take off. Before it even touches the flowers of her circlet they close up. The gem in the centre flares to a momentary brilliant light.

“Only the finest jewels for the fairest mortal in the realm. But be careful! Those gem’s edges are poignant and sharp!” Saem warns with a laugh.

The crown gives off a sickly sweet smell that nearly sees Merla gag. As she inhales, a puff of dust from the mushroom lands on her tongue and she coughs, inhaling more of its spores. Her head starts to swim and the jagged toothed fey that bestowed the crown quickly backs away as she stumbles.

“Merla!” Kruxeral’s catches her in his arms. “Merla are you alright?”

“As fine as lime tarts.” Merla replies with a giggle. Kruxeral sees her pupils dilated, the gold ring nearly non-existent in her eyes.

The satyr softly curses.

“A drink. I need something for my dry throat!” Merla slurs as she stands up again.

“Here you are, Your Mirthfulness,” Saem chuckles. The third mushroom fey holds out the crystal glass to Merla who eagerly takes it and drinks.

Merla has had many kinds of feywine. She has also had the unique experience of tasting soulwine. The wine she downs like water is an amalgamation of the bubbles of feywine and the over ripe, meaty fruit taste of the soulwine, mixed with a sediment that tastes like dirt. Merla wants to throw up the moment it hits the back of her throat but once she starts drinking she cannot stop. So she gulps and gulps until the glass is drained completely.

“Ha-ha excellent! With the final part done, we are ready to welcome Merla, the Mirthful Monarch of the Court of Joy! Come my dear it is time for your first dance!”

Merla’s head spins and she has a hard time finding her balance. The breath in her lungs feels like it is passing through a thick forest before it reaches her centre which makes her breaths very laboured. Then someone’s brittle, clawed fingers close over her wrist, pulling her forwards and she stumbles, falling to her knees. A voice shouts out, angry, a tone she recognises as someone close to her heart.

“It’s alright. I am fine. Just can’t seem to keep my feet on the ground. Haha! Light feet, full of whimsy, that’s what Mama always said. Or was it little feet?”

“Merla let me-”

The voice is pulled away. Merla tries to reach for it but all she sees are colours. Endless colours. So many colours. The Feywild has always been a vibrant place but never before has she seen so much. Is this what her Mother sees all the time? Is this what she tastes on her tongue when she breathes in the air of the Summer Court?

“I wonder what music tastes like,” Merla muses, trying to find its flavour on the air.

“You heard her! Our Mirthful Monarch wants a song! She cannot dance without one!”

“A song? The Song?” Merla closes her eyes and stands up, cupping her hands to her ears. “I want to hear the Song…”

Instead of the Song, Merla hears vicious laughter ring through the air as musicians begin to play. She smiles and starts to tap her bare foot against the ground, marvelling at the feeling of the vibrations up her leg into her pelvis. As she starts to dance the quaking goes higher and higher until it reaches her heart. Each step she takes, every leap, twist and turn is done to match its rhythmic beat. She grabs a fey’s hand and spins, laughing with unbridled joy and excitement, and Merla feels her dance partner rise to meet her cheerfulness.

Then Merla is passed on to a new partner and another and another, some of them pushing her, others handing her over with care, a few being reckless, others not caring one way or another. She does not mind so long as there is music and she can dance. She is a child again, flowers in her hair, a song in her heart and the means by which to bring it to life.

A part of her tries to pull against the compulsion she feels to dance, knowing that she will not be able to stop unless someone allows her to. But it is a threefold enchantment Merla is under, all of it donned and consumed willingly. She tries at one point to drag her feet, but hands haul her along until the music catches her up again and she is swung around, passed hand to hand through the crowd, pushed, shoved, pinched and bruised once more.

It starts to become laborious after a minute, an hour, a day – Merla does not know how long she’s been at it. The adrenaline that was with her at the beginning has started to wear off and her feet hurt something fierce. If only she could fly like a songbird, then she could give her feet a rest as her wings carry her through the music.

“Merla!”

It was that voice again, the one that squeezed her heart and made her bloom with happiness every time she heard it. Where was it? She had to find it.

“Sing your song, Merla.”

Why did that voice sound like it was coming from inside her mind?

“Do something before-”

“Krxueral?”

It was the first time in hours Merla had used her voice other than to shout or laugh or scream. The raucousness of the revelry was all around her and though she was still under the three-fold glamour, Merla felt a memory tug at her. It was something important. Something she needed to do. Not for her, but for those she cared about. Even for the people here. But what was it?

“Whatever you see, or think you see, trust in your heart’s truth, Merla.”

That wasn’t it – but it was close.

Merla swayed gently from side to side, eyes closed, her head tilted so her hair, drenched in sweat, hung over one shoulder. The bramble and mushroom crown puffed and she inhaled its sickly sweet spores. Then she opened her eyes and she saw a pillar of light sitting on a platform covered in pillows and cushions.

She heads towards it, through the dance, the fey swinging her around and about, brushing her neck and lips with kisses whilst their fingers pinched her arms and back, tempting her with all manner of distractions. One moment Merla thought she saw Astra, wings fanned out as she reared back, a pair of centaurs running their hands down her sides. The next Merla thought she saw Cay and May diving into a vat of paint, using their bodies as the brushes by which they could decorate a slab of rock. But she did not see Kruxeral anywhere and suddenly her desire to find him was so strong, it nearly tore her apart with need.

She was about to turn away from the pillar of light when a soft, warm hand gently took her wrist. Merla halted mid-step and found herself looking into her own eyes.

“Who in the world am I?” her eyes asked her.

Merla feels her throat tighten as the intoxicating jubilation she was feeling was suddenly pulled out of her.

“Who in the world am I?” Merla repeats to the person with her eyes. Except they weren’t her eyes anymore. One was a kind brown, the other was gentle grey, and it was she who had a gentle hold of the person’s wrist.

Blinking, confused, Merla lets Euphoria go. The light around the celestial gets brighter as her wings unfold. It starts to hurt Merla’s eyes.

“That’s the great puzzle,” she replies.

Merla gives her a confused look. “You sound different than before.”

“I sound how I am meant to, to those whose joy is true.”

“Oh.” There was no other answer to such a statement.

Merla looks down and sees her feet are bloody and dirty yet she does not feel any pain. Then she realises why.

Below her feet Merla sees herself singing and dancing in a wild frenzy, the revelry all around her. The crown of brambles and mushrooms has fallen to pieces, the dress barely holding on by a thread. Even though she is practically stripped down to nothing, the shimmering radiance coming off her in waves could only be because she is the one conducting the revelry. With every hand gesture, every trill of notes she sings, the fey all around her, Euphoria and Kruxeral move to the music’s command, her music, their forms coming together and moving apart only to come together again.

She sees Kruxeral, the way he holds her close as they dance and sing together, making music like no one else can. Part of her feels his touch on her skin even here in this strange place and it sends a ripple of acute excitement and happiness through her that reaches the deepest parts of her.

“The price of getting what you want, is getting what you once wanted,” Euphoria confides.

Merla tears her eyes away from the scene below to look at the angel next to her. Euphoria’s hair is once more a mix of a thousand colours yet is pure white at the same time. It floats around her head, diffusing the light of her wings only slightly. The fae-bard raises an eyebrow as she registers what Euphoria just said.

“Do you speak of my desires or your own?” she asks.

“Anyones,” Euphoria shrugs, the amusement never leaving her face. “I have seen what getting your desires does to the joy in one’s heart.”

Merla thinks for a moment, not entirely sure if she agrees or disagrees.

“Some things are too big to be seen in one thing; some emotions too vast to be felt,” Merla says, slowly. “I don’t know why certain people shine for others, why it is him and not someone else… But we are what we are, neither as good or as bad as others paint us. What we are doesn’t change how truly we feel, only how free we are to follow those feelings. That’s why I have and will always choose to believe in Love. It has been what’s guided me through the dark, it has helped me save the ones I love over and over again, and I know it will see us through these troubled times.”

Tears had begun to spill down Merla’s cheeks as she spoke, though they were not tears of sorrow. It was just as she said, some emotions are too vast to be felt.

“Like bubbles are we, all echoing in an endless storm, always the fear of rupturing to air. Bubbles touch. And, true, they break, but some are coupled in a rainbowed joining and float, and are… then burst together.”

Merla suddenly laughs, thinking how silly what she said sounded yet feeling like it was true all the same. Euphoria is laughing with her, clearly understanding what she meant even if Merla didn’t entirely know herself.

The angels sighs. “It has been an age since I have danced like this,” she says, glancing down. “My people try to get me to join them every day. Especially Saem. They yearn the most for the light of Joy.”

“It is like watching light ripple through water,” Merla breathes in wonder, her eyes tracing the other Euphoria’s movements around Merla and Kruxeral.

Euphoria giggles softly. “You are too kind.”

Merla smiles. “It is true. I have never seen anyone dance quite like you do.”

There is a moment of companionable silence.

“You embody the values our Lady of Joy holds dear, Merla. That radiance you have is not your Mother’s. It is your own. Do not forget that.”

Merla nods, unable to trust herself to speak.

“You have also proven that Summer has not forgotten what it can be – a joyful, loving, and welcoming place where many can find sanctuary in its realm. It is because of you that we see this. The Court of Joy will join the Summer Court, but our alliance is to you, Princess Merla.”

“To me?” Merla asks, stunned.

Euphoria nods. Then she blinks and her eyes change to forget-me-not blue and verdant green once more. Her smile is only slightly rueful as she adds, “I cannot see the future and as much as I may dislike it, change is coming – one way or another.”

The two look down as their physical forms embrace. A kiss brushes across lips, a caress skims across a back. Then Merla feels herself falling back down into herself, Euphoria’s words follow her.

“For what does it mean when nightmares dream of peace? When shadows wish for light?”


*arael’salif – Heartsong (said to someone you love deeply)
**se’akhrua – Sunflower Warriors
***Tosgaire Saliysuli – Summer Revelry Envoy


Continued in ‘Blood Feuds, Ancient & Modern’ 🌻