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This year’s production of A Battle of Wits has a record number of fae signing up for a place to help; everyone’s wanted to stick their nose in it since the show was announced and people realized, hey, this is after the vernal equinox, it’ll be springtime by then. Everyone wants to see if Sorrel’s been, like, possessed, or if there’s an ancient prophecy that requires a game show, or if Queen Supernova has descended from the starry sky back into the faery realm. There’s an air of tension about all of it as the Sage Court emerges from their hidden places into a human realm teeming with early buds and springtime birdsong.
(Sorrel said something about being proud of the unexpected surge of interest in honoring one of the Court’s traditions. Everyone saw through to what Sorrel really meant: don’t you dare be nosy. )
Corundum’s aware that all this is going down around her, don’t get her wrong, but they have priorities and they stick to them. To be fair, that’s probably how they got accepted as one of the handful of fae allowed to help out in the first place; possibly the only other with an intention that isn’t curiosity is Kestrel, who just seems excited to co-host their first show. In other circumstances, Corundum might feel slighted by this, but he can’t bring himself to mind; they’ve had to double up some jobs to give everyone work. Because there’s another fae helping them hand out little slips of numbered paper, they can sneak glances behind them into the auditorium full of humans.
The last little group finds their seats and Sorrel the Clever strides onto the stage, backed by jaunty music, looking down on the mortal crowd assembled. Corundum finds themself fidgeting with a leftover ticket number, creasing it without really thinking. By the time the first pair of humans are called onto the stage, they’ve made a traditional flower, pinching the bottom petals closed with their fingers. An ancient art of the Sage Court, Corundum has been taught. He turns it upside down in his hands, and then back around again, and the humans aren’t quite as silent as the presence of a Court’s leader demands. What’s missing?
The humans do well against each other. Some of them introduce themselves with what are, to Corundum’s study, typical names, and some do not. One calls themself Ainsel, the old trick. Another claims that their name is unpronounceable, so they will not say it. Though they sometimes fumble their challenges, Corundum admires their shrewdness; Sorrel’s ways of disguising the Court’s true nature have clearly been outstriped by this generation, even if they themself don’t bat an eye at the more bizarre non-names offered up. Corundum compacts and pockets their little paper flower, and suppresses a quiet sigh. It would be just like Sorrel to not know the difference between a human name and a random string of sounds.
Corundum considers herself an upright member of the Sage Court, which means they respect and admire the wisdom shown by higher-up fae. They would do nothing to dishonor the Court, not intentionally, but-
The doors open, and that’s Wisteria, and the Foxgloves, lit from behind by the light of the human projector as if eclipsing a sort of artificial sun, issuing challenges. And Sorrel and Kestrel, quick-thinking, and Corundum can only watch as the Foxglove entourage picks up Wisteria’s train after it. And the humans aren’t silent as they should be, as Corundum is, shocked, no; they’re whispering to one another, words passing between one another like snowflakes, openly defying the awe that by all means should be inspired in them by these powerful fae leaders.
It’s disrespect. It’s bravery, and curiosity trumping both. Isn’t that admirable?
Corundum looks at Sorrel the Clever, and the Foxglove Court he hates so much because all Sages hate the Foxgloves, even though some of them weren’t even alive at the same time Iris was, and the folded flower, neither up nor down, is burning a hole in his pocket. There are surprisingly little texts on the history of flower-folding in the great libraries of Winter.
There are Foxgloves that look hardly older than her in that train, holding the fabric of Wisteria’s dress and whispering to one another, and they hate Corundum because the Foxgloves hate the Sages. And they all rule over the humans, like queens, who rule over the birds and the forests. There’s an order to all things, and everything that Corundum is told makes sense in a world that makes sense, but-
“Wow,” says Corundum, quietly, defying the Courts both. It’s disrespectful, and brave, and curious above all, because there’s
something
here, that’s true and beautiful, that’s buried so deep, waiting to be discovered. And then, when the Foxgloves are challenged by the Sages to a Battle of Wits, the whole words is turned.