Chapter Text
Archfey were not known for abandoning parties half-finished. It was no surprise, then, that after the… “unscheduled intermission” of the play, and a thousand reassurances from Lord Airavis that it was safe for Mr. Renner to continue, it resumed. Rue did not even have to lift a finger for their many contingencies to spring into effect. Certain parties and their retinues withdrew from the theatre - namely the Chorus’ delegation - but most stayed. Rue remained long enough to perceive an empty seat in the Seelie box, and then retired for the evening.
Back in their apartments, they lifted the skirts of their dress so that the stool in front of their vanity disappeared into shining red petals, and sat down with entirely less grace than befitted the Master of Ceremonies. Their reflection in the mirror was cut off just below the eyes, still adjusted for their glamoured form, and they let out a ragged breath. They began to unpick the flowers from their ‘fro one at a time, and thought of nothing.
The chime of the mantelpiece clock in the drawing room startled them back into consciousness. The clock did not mark time, as such, but was attuned to the events of the Bloom. It was “midnight” - the closing of the bar at the reception. Some - the Lords of the Wing especially, if their intent to lose the wager was genuine - would continue to revel well into the next day, but for many of the fey in attendance, the Bloom was now over. Some were likely already preparing their exits.
Rue’s duties were not over yet; in fact all they had left to do was something that they had no ability to plan out of their hands. It was customary to receive an audience from each of those who wished to express their gratitude for the Bloom, and for Rue in turn to thank them for attending. They even had party favours to hand out. It was a time they usually relished, the recognition of their hard work, a final chance to send everyone off with smiles on their faces.
The very thought exhausted them.
They finished changing into their dressing gown. It wasn’t as fine or delicate as the one they had worn in glamour - soft, opaque brocade fabric, cut straight and simple. It was vintage. An antique.
A relic.
They should have been selecting their ensemble for their many successive audiences. They should have been making sure the parlour was fit for the purpose. They should have been sleeping, taking advantage of what they anticipated would be their last opportunity to do so before the Lords of the Wing departed, whenever that happened to be (always before it was impolite to stay, but never before two thirds of the other attendees had left). Instead they stared at the enchanted to-do list hanging on the wall and nursed a snifter of brandy.
They attempted to drown the miserable dread that had settled at the bottom of their stomach over the course of the intermission. It had made itself truly known when Binx and Andhera’s assurances gave way to the accusation Major Hob had come to deliver, and compounded with every torturous second that followed.
The speed with which he cast the matter from his mind to turn his attention to Lord Airavis’ predicament, darting off through the colonnade on all fours, stung. Rue knew their own selfishness in wanting to grab his wrist to stay him, force him to finish this conversation, and they burned with anger that had lost all of its focus the moment he spoke up with a quavering voice.
“Of what missive or epistle do you now refer that you… You have never spoken to me of any--”
Rue knew, in that moment, whose direction that anger ought be diverted to, though their thoughts contorted themselves to avoid it for as long as they were able. Perhaps the letter had been intercepted by someone of the Goblin Court, had been read and deemed counterproductive to the Major’s mission and disposed of. This attempt at self-deception fell apart all too easily, but it was no relief to be distracted from it, because arriving at the portal only brought fresh anguish. The slumped corpse of Prince Apollo and the narrowed pupils, outturned ears, and snarling lips of K.P. Hob greeted them.
They were very little comforted by the knowledge that he was under the influence of Dominate Person. After all it was not a new thing for Major K.P. Hob to act according to his orders while speaking from the heart.
“Two darlings of the Court of Wonder die by my hand tonight, and I find retribution for the wrong done to my Lady. You have wounded me, saboteur, and you shall bleed in kind.” They couldn’t take their mind from the gleam of his halberd’s blade in the light of the portal, the instant before Wuvvy interposed herself between them with a feral snarl and a flashing blade of her own.
Time washed over them, and washed down their brandy. Seeing their glass had been drained without them enjoying more than a sip of the drink, they considered the bottle on the coffee table. They turned the snifter in the light for a moment, and then set it down and moved to their wheelchair. It had been a long and exhausting day, and if they kept slipping off into some faraway place while they were selecting their wardrobe, it would do them well to be sitting down.
The time for themed ensembles and statement pieces was done. They chose a pretty dress, not plain but certainly not as ostentatious as the evening gowns they had worn to the last two events. It was a deep, shimmering sea green at the collar, deepening into a rich ocean blue at the hem, and they paired it with a shawl made entirely of lightweight ruffles that rested on their feathers like sea foam, threaded with silver. They chose a cane patterned with coral with a grip reminiscent of a seashell.
It was pre-dawn on the tidal island, late or early enough that everyone reasonable was deep asleep and all the rest were reticent to leave the welcoming embrace of the Lords of the Wing’s celebration.
There was a beer garden not far from House Wing’s nest, deserted except for a small - both quantitatively and physically - party of salt goblins and Trickster fey raiding the bar facilities, presumably to replenish the nest’s stocks. They scattered in drunken laughter and squeals when they saw Rue approach.
They were about to move on when they heard a stifled sniffle, and peeked around a rose-covered trellis to see Baroness Alven sitting on a bench. The tears were no longer falling, but it was plain to see she had been crying. The instant they opened their mouth to speak, she looked up and was startled by their sudden appearance.
“Oh!”
“Oh, my dear, is something wrong?”
“No, no,” she said, trying and failing to put on a brave face. “Please, it is nothing. The last event of the Bloom has simply gotten me all emotional.” She pulled herself together admirably to say, “Is there something I may assist you with, Mistrex?”
“Oh, I do not wish to trouble you with anything, Your Ladyship.”
“Please,” she smiled again, and this time there was a little bit more genuine light in her eyes with it, “trouble away. I am sure the distraction would do me much good.”
They sat down on the bench beside her, and said, “Very well.” They had written a note to pass to any Sea Foam serf they could intercept moving between the Wing manor and the central compound, but this would do much better. “I realise that it is short notice, and it is by no means a demand, but it occurs to me on this fine morning that I would be most pleased to offer the Wavemaster the honour of speaking the closing address. I am aware how pervasive rumours can be, and I am sure it would be… clarifying,” they smiled, “for everyone to see how entirely to your court’s credit this Bloom has been.”
Whatever blotchiness still existed around the Baroness’ eyes was cut through with her sharp, attentive gaze. Rue hoped that she saw it for the olive branch they meant it to be - even if they had a dual intention of getting the address off their own plate. She dipped her head with very convincing gratitude, and said, “That is a most kind offer, Rue. I shall bring it to the Wavemaster at their earliest convenience, and you shall receive an answer by midday.”
“I am, as ever, your most humble servant.” They stood, and curtsied deeply. It was kind of Alven to put a timeline on Sea Foam’s response, and they recognised it as a returned olive branch. Rue was at least briefly gratified, as they returned to their wing of the acreage, to know that they had not entirely lost their touch as a courtier.
They had almost made it to the refuge of their tower, when they rounded into the corridor and found the way blocked by a familiar silhouette. Major Hob was standing facing the door, with his hat tucked under his arm, statuesque; when they paused in the rhythm of their walking on seeing him, they thought he may have just knocked on the door and be waiting for a response, but he did not move when none came. He almost raised his hand to the knocker, then seemed to think better of it and returned it to his side, becoming perfectly still again.
The first tap of their cane against the marble floor made one of his ears swivel, and they finished the last syllable of, “Major Hob,” just as his eyes caught up. His pupils were wide as he fixed on Rue, and his entire body did a sharp about turn in order to face them fully.
He did a Goblin salute. “Master of Ceremonies.”
“Please, it’s just Rue,” they said. There was a world in which those words were spoken in a softer tone, under tender circumstances. As it was, it was just a fact. They no longer considered themself to be Master of Ceremonies. They were, for the first time in countless aeons, just Rue.
His mouth opened, shut again. “I can come back later,” he bumbled, “I see I have caught you at an inopportune moment, and I merely wished-- I will return later in the day, an it please you.”
“No, please. Come in.” They unlocked the door, and led him into the apartments. They prompted him to sit, when they reached the drawing room, and after a moment’s hesitation, he did so. “I will make tea,” they offered.
“No, thank you. I do not wish to impose upon you, and I will not keep you long.” His tongue nervously licked the side of his muzzle before being deliberately confined back behind his fangs. He collected himself. “In the case that indeed you have sent letters that did not reach my eyes, I thought it best to deliver this in person: I most humbly apologise for my behaviour during the intermission of The Green Hunter’s glorious première, and it is my fondest hope that any damage sustained by yourself heals swiftly and painlessly.”
“You didn’t wound me, Hob. And you don’t have to apologise for what Suntar did to you, that was not your fault.” A spark of the night’s anger rekindled itself in their stomach, and whether it was at Hob or for him was difficult to say.
“My sorrow extends also to those words which were said to you in anger. That I even for a moment considered the possibility that you worked with the ignominious Prince Apollo is a regret deeply held within me. It was a great disservice to you. To the extent that I can consider myself as having made your acquaintance during this Bloom, I believe you to be most principled, skilful, and above all else courageous. For the dishonour I have done you, you are well within your rights to demand satisfaction of me, and I ask only that you are swift in demanding it, if it is your wish to do so.”
Did he really believe they would ask such a thing? After all of it - after everything they said, letter or no letter? There were a thousand things they ought to say. The only one that made it into the air, after considerable pause, was, “I demand nothing of you.”
Some inscrutable emotion passed over his face. He stood, and bowed. “Then I thank you for your time and your generous consideration. They are most gratefully received, and will be held fondly in my thoughts forevermore. Thank you for a magnificent celebration, Mistrex. It has truly been a Bloom for all to remember.”
All these kind words, and they felt as if they had been slapped. “Are you leaving?” Even as they said the words, they realised that this was the Goblin Court’s parting audience - Hob was here performing his duty, again, and not out of sentiment.
The question stayed his hand as he reached for the brim of his hat where it was tucked under his arm. He did not meet their eyes, and whether consciously or not, his voice rested lower than it had before. “I am summoned by His Majesty the Goblin King. I regret, the stage is set for war.”
A second slap. “But we stopped Apollo and Suntar’s plot.”
He took his time in answering. “I am grateful to Prince Andhera for so quickly pronouncing that his sister acted alone, for if there were any Unseelie in her retinue who aided in the scheme, they must now remain silent or commit treason. The Court of Wonder has not been so quick to reassure, however.” He paused, and added, quieter, “Prince Apollo is dead at my hand. Retaliation from Wonder must be expected and prepared for. As a Major my responsibilities to that end only grow.”
Rue had long ago become used to the feeling of their glamoured form, how to make it appear to move naturally, and there were a few holdouts in their mannerisms that must have been alien to other owlbears. For example, the motion of “pursing their lips” was impossible to perceive with their beak, but they felt their imaginary lips pursing tightly together all the same.
Hob’s eyes flicked upwards for the briefest of moments. “You wish to say something?”
“Only what I have already said. Only that I wish you would think of yourself.”
“To what end?”
“I'm sorry?”
He seemed to have been ready for them to speak. Both the question just uttered and the one to come were spoken plainly, without the stammering and stumbling that had accompanied many of his interactions with them during the Bloom, even within this very conversation. “What good can you imagine would come of such a shift in my priorities?”
“Your happiness, of course.”
“My happiness,” he repeated. After a bated moment, he took a long breath in, his eyes fixed on them with his brow lowered. He dipped his head in a minute, rigid semblance of a bow. “Mistrex, I thank you for the concern you extend to my happiness, but I must assure you that I am in want of no such intervention. I would caution you, most humbly-” his voice rolled over the word like thunder through a cloud “-against your hypothesis that following one's heart must always lead to happiness. I am glad that it is so for you, if it is so, but I believe to apply that principle universally would prove a grave error.”
“Do you mean to tell me you are perfectly happy as you are now?” they challenged.
His ear twitched. “I mean merely to invite you to consider what allowing myself to become distracted from my investigation has wrought, and why I might be skeptical of further deviations resulting… in my happiness.” There it was again - he seemed to bristle as the word passed his lips. If it was anyone but K.P. Hob speaking, Rue might have suspected it was being used as a euphemism.
The allusion to a punishment from the Goblin Court riled their gut again. They wanted to take him by the shoulders and check him all over for whatever hurt they had inflicted upon him, kiss it better or visit it on his tormentors in return - they had not yet decided. They knew in truth they would not have the opportunity, as they reached a claw towards his own and said, “What did they do to you?”
He did not flinch back, exactly. But he withdrew slightly. Carefully. Politely. They retrieved their hand from where it hung in the air. “Rue,” he said, and their heart ached at the way he said their name. “The pain of being dressed down in derision and scorn by one's betters is a pain as intimately and early known to goblins as that of teething.” He looked down and away. “The pain of heartbreak, however, finds me a stranger. When it comes to comparing the following of orders to the following of the heart, I wonder which you would find has caused me more unhappiness.”
They looked away. The bitter overwhelmed the sweet as he as good as confessed that he would have returned their feelings, but for this revelation. “I understand.” They stood. “Allow me to walk you out, Major.”
He only gave another silent bow of the head in reply.
When they reached the door, they could not stop themself from asking, “Will I see you again?” and feeling foolish for it.
“I am to ride out as soon as I am able,” he said, and fitted his hat back to his head. Surprising them, he added in a tone of much trepidation, “But before that… I am to be married.”
“So soon!” They meant it to be a question, reserved, but it burst out of them as an exclamation. They were sure that he could feel their anguish bleeding through the marginally more polite emotion of surprise.
He dipped his head slightly, they thought more in acknowledgement of their emotions than affirming of the facts. At length, he drew a breath, and said, “The Goblin Court felt it would be most prudent to avoid… a long engagement.”
Their heart sank until it was drowning in brandy and bile. “Of course.”
Major K.P. Hob departed from the Court of Wonder’s wing of the manor house with measured military strides and did not look back. Rue closed the door when he rounded the corner and was gone from view, and locked it behind him. They collapsed into the chair that was nearest them and held their face in their talons for many long moments, and no time at all, before they raised their head and spoke into the empty apartments:
“Wuvvy?”
They felt her appear - a change in the air - a fraction of a second before she was visible to them, hands clasped behind her back, standing at the ready. Her stance shifted before they could speak. “What's wrong?” she asked.
A wet note of laughter issued forth from them involuntarily. “If I tell you, will you promise not to duel anyone about it?” they said, half-joking. At least half-joking. Probably.
Rue could hear the curve of a smile in her voice when she said, “No.” They also heard the current of sincerity underneath the returned half-joke that made it much less than half a joke.
They couldn’t look at her directly. “That's just as well, I could probably use some sense knocked into me.” The airy tone they adopted broke and wobbled in the attempt, and they dropped their head back into their hands with a stifled sob. It wracked their chest, and clenching their throat to silence it only sent a shot of pain through them. The air shuddered in and out of their lungs.
Wuvvy’s silence was unbearable, but they didn’t want her to say anything, either. They didn’t want her to see this. They wanted her to see all of it. They didn’t want to be touched. They wanted to be held tighter and fiercer than she had ever held them before.
There was a memory, long-distant now and as close and clear as it had been on that day aeons ago, when she had first seen them. When she had second seen them; the very first time she glimpsed their true form, they had shut themself in their chambers for… weeks? Months? Time had no meaning between Blooms, and the ordeal had been one long panic attack, stretching breathless gasps into an ocean and shrinking moments of relief into a raindrop. They had emerged from their quarters in their glamoured form and spoken no more of it for a time. They had even managed to convince themself, a little, that Wuvvy had not seen anything at all, until the second occasion. She had frozen for but a moment before she closed the distance and embraced them wordlessly, and they had drenched her fur in tears. Wuvvy had been their assistant for some time by then, but it was only after that embrace that they truly felt they were sharing the burden of the Bloom with anyone else. What ecstatic weightlessness had filled them! What strength suddenly at their disposal!
“I'm sorry,” Wuvvy said, and it was a heavy stone dropped into weak arms.
They wiped their tears from their eyes and ruffled their feathers. “No, that's not why I called you here.” They cleared their throat, and finally looked at her face. Her wide doe eyes showed concern and sorrow, but under that, deep, there was the ferocity of a Champion, a spark that had never died and never would. “I want to thank you, Wuvvy, for what you did, and what you have always done for me. I know that you know of my meeting with the Chorus. And I know that you will be an excellent Master of Ceremonies.”
She shifted bashfully to her other hoof. “It’s not my gig yet.”
“Yes, it is. You helped me plan this Bloom and you have implemented everything. If I have one iota of influence left in this court, I will use it to give you what you are due.”
She nodded, looking down with a small smile that was then carefully tucked away. “What are you going to do now?”
They touched the brown parcel-string tied around their pinky talon delicately. Home. Binx had offered it to them knowing what the mortal plane was to them. Or, knowing what it ought to be. Rue had no idea how the place of their birth actually rested in their heart. They had been separated from it much too long to know. They shook their head. “I don’t know. I don’t think I can think about that yet. I… Quite frankly, I don’t know what I’m going to do without you,” they laughed shakily. “But your contract is done. You are no longer bound to me.”
Her stare was steady and intent as the magic between them rippled - it didn’t come cascading down, like they half-expected it to. Just shifted. Changed its course. She allowed it to settle again before she said, “Let me make something incredibly clear. I was never bound to you. I made a choice, and I would make it again. If you released me a thousand years ago, I’d have stayed. If you released me yesterday, I’d have stayed. I love you with my whole heart, and I did it on purpose.” She broke eye contact, and rocked slightly on her hooves. “With that in mind, there’s something I should probably apologise for.”
They gave a single nod, trying not to flinch from it. It stung a little to admit it out loud, and there was that instinct, like after she first saw them. To sweep the problem out of sight and out of mind, and act as if nothing had changed. It did not work then. That did not stop them from being tempted, now, but they said, “You burned the letter.”
There was a slight twitch in her face before she decided to correct them. “I tore it into tiny little pieces, actually.”
“Okay, well you didn’t have to tell me that.” The thought of all their words - drafted and redrafted by candlelight before the sunrise until they inked them onto the nice paper in their best cursive - envisioning it going up in flames had been painful enough. The good paper was thick, not easily crumpled or torn, and rending it into tiny pieces would take more than an impulsive spark of Prestidigitation.
“I’m trying to be honest.” Her smile was sombre, and faded fast.
There was little point of being angry at her for it now. Whatever she had felt, whatever they were feeling, they were emotions attached to events that may as well have happened an aeon ago. “Well, you were right, Wuvvy. He’s made his choice, and it wasn’t me.”
“I’m sorry.” They believed the remorse in her voice, and didn’t meet her eyes. They’d never found it so hard to look at Wuvvy before. “Rue?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to worry about the wedding. You don’t have to look at it, think about it, anything. I’ll take care of everything.”
“I know you will. Thank you, Wuvvy.” They knew they should feel lighter. They did feel lighter. They were sure they did, it only made sense, being unburdened from the Bloom, from Major Hob, from all of it. There were no more tears coming. They were shed, and they were done. They felt lighter. “You know I love you, right?”
“I know.”
“And I forgive you. And I hope you can forgive me.”
She nodded her head, swallowing something that Rue did not fight to understand. Whatever she was feeling, it was her own. She took their hands in hers, and looked up at them. They recognised their past self reflected in her face, a professional affectation adopted when there was an entourage to organise. Their conversation with Wuvvy was over; their audience with the Master of Ceremonies, however brief, had begun.
“The Chorus is in the upstairs parlour when you’re ready.”
Rue did not keep them waiting much longer. They probably wanted this overwith more than the Chorus did. They ascended the stairs to the parlour - upstairs for Rue, downstairs for the Chorus. Their theatre masks were all curved downward into despair, and as well as the black robes they had all donned, there was also a teardrop shape carved into each mask’s right cheek.
“Hello, Rue,” they said, and there was already a sharp edge to the greeting that suggested they had noted that Rue was not, like them, wearing mourning attire.
“Hello.” They were glad that this was only the second parting audience they had attended on. It had happened before that has the audiences wore on, they began to repeat the same platitudes without thinking; in their tired state, I hope you enjoyed the Bloom would surely have passed their beak, and it would not have been well received.
“Have you thought any more on our offer?” the Chorus asked.
“I have thought on it a great deal,” they said. “And I think you may well be right. It may be better for you if I stand with you, rather than against you.” They felt the hum of the magic intensify, like the buzzing of a hornet rallying a swarm, preparing to sting. They ignored the warning and pressed on, “But it would not be better for me. So, I thank you. But no. I will not be joining the Chorus. But you don’t have to worry about me, because I won’t be staying in the Court of Wonder, either.”
The swarm of hornets turned to a tidal wave, crashing over them. They had to close their eyes against the force of it for a moment, but they leaned into the deluge.
“I renounce my station as the Master of Ceremonies, and I renounce the Court of Wonder.” Like a broken wave it subsided, as the influence of the court’s magic lost its hold over them, able only to tickle their feet with its ebbing.
“We would caution you against such a definitive severance,” they said, “but it appears we are already too late for that.”
“If it is any comfort, you would not have been able to change my mind.”
“We see that. All that is left is to thank you for this Bloom, Mistrex, and the service you have done the Court of Wonder over your many years as Master of Ceremony. We would not trouble you further, except to ask a small favour, only for as long as the celebrations here continue.”
“What is it you would have me do?” they asked warily.
“There is a memorial to our late Prince, at the amphitheatre. We would ask that you ensure it is not removed before the Bloom’s guests have departed.”
“I am sure Wuvvy, as my successor--”
“We would not wish to overburden so new a Master of Ceremonies.” They cut in without urgency or force. “With so much for her to take care of, we fear it would be forgotten. It would comfort us much to know you are its steward, Delloso de la Rue.”
“I am sure it would.”
“You were close with the Prince once, were you not?” they asked, as serene and neutral as ever.
Rue spoke the binding oath moments later, but those were the words that clinched it. In truth they resented nothing more than any tether which might keep them bound to Wonder for one more instant, but it wasn’t within their power to refuse. It wasn’t within their power to curse Apollo’s rusting corpse, either, as much as they wanted to.
Whether it was an aversion to the free time that would demand they returned to the amphitheatre or just a piece of their old love for their job coming back, they actually started to enjoy the rest of the parting audiences. A lot of people thanked them for their deglamourising at the tea party, and plenty of it was performative and only polite, but there were enough genuine sparks of love and gratitude that it lifted their spirits. Each audience was a fairy who had not snubbed them, and they knew the rumours would be rampant by now; it wasn’t only that they wanted to keep Delloso de la Rue on call for their next party. There were a few questions about that too, of course, the parameters of their… retirement. Whatever they were calling it.
An unforseen consequence of these rumours was that the Wavemaster felt the need to invite them onstage at the closing address. They had intended to pass the assembly concealed by the stage, not taking it, but the invitation was not meant to be malicious, and they had no reason to make a fuss by refusing it. The bouquet passed into their arms was ocean-themed, bright blue morning glories and coral honeysuckle amongst seashells, pearls, and dried starfish. It smelled of sea breezes and tearful goodbyes. The applause petered out, and the Wavemaster raised their eyebrows at them expectantly.
“Oh, no, no,” they chuckled to the assembly, “no speech from me. I will only say thank you, very much, to the Wavemaster and the Court of Sea Foam for making this Bloom so special. Thank you to all of you, for making this one of the most memorable Blooms of all eternity.” They searched for Hob in the crowd automatically. They didn’t find him, and felt a note of distress at that before they righted themself. “And thank you, lastly, to Wuvvy, for everything she does - it’s far too many things to list. I’m sure you’ve all seen her running around, making sure everything is just perfect, and it is my honour and my pleasure to pass the role of Master of Ceremonies along to her. Thank you.”
More applause, and they got down from the stage, retreating behind it rather than sitting down in the audience. They only half-listened to the rest of the Wavemaster’s speech, joined in with the applause and reflexively smiled when they heard laughter. Soon enough, they heard the bustle of the crowd starting to get up and leave, and tried to plot the best route for their exit - preferably avoiding anybody who wanted to speak with them.
No such luck. It seemed Lady Featherfowl had detached from House Wing’s party to seek them out. They exchanged cordial hellos before she said, “I wished to speak to you about the wager.”
“Oh, of course. The wager. With how spectacularly determined you and your cousin seem to be to lose it, it quite slipped my mind to mention. I gather from the rather dirty looks coming your way from half the Sea Foam Court that the rumours of a dissolved secret engagement between Lord Airavis and Baroness Alven have some merit to them? The Lords of the Wing have quite returned to their modus operendi. All is right with the world, I suppose.”
She smiled politely, but it quickly fell away to a more inquisitive expression. “Say things had gone differently…”
“I think I should keep some of my secrets, Countess Cluckingham,” they answered pleasantly. “Knowing all the variables would take all the fun out of gambling, would it not?”
“Indeed.” She seemed to be ruminating on more words, but gave a modest bow of the head and started to turn away without speaking any of them.
“Before you go,” they said.
“Yes?”
“I take it, from the lack of announcement on your behalf, that when you said to me that you had found a love match… there is more to that, which might explain your silence. Politics.”
“Yes. Politics.” She didn’t say the word with the curl of disgust that Rue had. Her crown of feathers shifted as she frowned, and it gave the rather endearing impression that she was trying to straighten her thoughts into a line. “If I may… I know that I have been guilty of overstepping in conversation with you already this Bloom, but if I may say so; I do not love my wife any less for being unable to display that love at court.”
Rue had opened their beak, but had no notion of the words that were about to come out before they were interrupted by a half-gasp from Lady Featherfowl. She raised her hand and opened her own beak, and Rue said quickly, “Please, don’t.”
She hesitated.
“I will not breathe a word of this to anyone,” they said. They had never got the hang of Gift of Gab themself, always remembering to use it a half-moment too late, making its execution clumsy, leaving the scars of the erased words on the target. It eventually lapsed out of their repertoire, replaced by more and better illusions. Rue was very aware that Lady Featherfowl likely used this spell a great deal more often than they had ever noticed, but when it came to this subject - a subject they had not precisely known until just now - she was clumsier.
“Is that a promise?”
“It’s a promise.” They felt a cord of magic twang between them.
“Thank you, Rue.”
“Don’t mention it,” they replied with a slightly droll smile.
The sun finished setting, the audience finished dispersing, and they retired to their tower feeling fortunate that technically they were the guest of the Court of Sea Foam, and the Chorus could do nothing about them continuing to lodge beneath their penthouse. They even managed to get a few winks of sleep before the next day greeted them.
They chose from a selection of Sea Foam-themed outfits that they had not yet had the opportunity to wear. The skirt of their dress was azure blue ruffles cascading over one another like waves on the shore, and would have reached the floor on their glamoured form, but on their true body showed off their calves in a way they decided they did not object to. They paired the dress with a white and gold naval-style jacket that had been in the running for their original masquerade ensemble, and a necklace in the shape of an anchor.
The studio was an explosion of flowers when they descended the stairs. It was only overwhelming for a moment; this was still their space, it wasn’t too difficult to find the gold and black peonies they needed. They worked on a simple arrangement to take to the shrine - a clear tribute to Apollo without any personal sentiments of grief implied by the flowers - while they hummed to themself. Flower-arranging was practically in their nature at this point, and they didn’t have to think about it too hard.
They saw the drawing-room-side door of the studio open out of the corner of their eye, sensing the shuffling of one of the lesser fey who worked with Wuvvy. Rue stopped humming, but there was no verbal exchange, apparently both content to let each other work, until they heard a squeaked, “Oh my goodness.”
“What’s wrong?” they asked casually, not turning from their arrangement.
“Nothing!” They placed the voice; Cranberry, a fairy with big, dark eyes and a mouse’s ears and tail. Xe had a nervous temperament that had often managed to exceed Wuvvy’s, to the point where Rue used to send them to do tasks as far away from each other as possible.
“I’m not your boss anymore, Cranberry, I’m asking as your friend. Talk to me.”
Xe hesitated as they turned to face xem, leading with their head first. Eventually xe stopped twitching xir nose and blurted, gesturing at an overflowing corner of arrangements in crates and baskets, “These flowers need to go to the pavilion by mid-morning. But I can get someone--”
“I’ll take them.”
“Really? Are you sure?” Xe kneaded xir hands into each other.
“Mmhm.”
“Thank you so much.” Xe zipped off to continue with whatever it was xe had been doing originally. Rue embarked on a quest to find a cart they could fit all of these flowers inside so that they could cast Enlarge/Reduce and make their life a little bit easier.
Apollo’s memorial was ghastly, but they couldn’t tell if that was just their bias towards the subject matter. Somebody had painted the Prince’s face and gleaming smile on the amphitheatre wall, and it wasn’t bad on a technical level, but it looked tacky. They could have improved the tribute - a “statue” constructed of golden peonies, perhaps, faceless and with a convenient place to lay flowers at his feet - but they didn’t feel particularly inclined. They tidied rude notes left by the Goblin and Trickster Courts, cleared out the marigolds that had been left without sincerity and therefore already wilted. They stayed for an extra moment, half-knelt and silent.
I hope you rot and feed the soil and something beautiful grows in your stead. And as much as they wanted to speak that into existence, they couldn’t risk being overheard.
They found Wuvvy at the pavilion, working out the perfect arrangement of chairs on the lawn so that the fact that not all of them matched looked intentional rather than slipshod. Their pride in her almost distracted them from the event they were delivering the flowers to; it wasn’t that they were surprised to find the pavilion decorated for a wedding, but they had been very deliberately avoiding thinking about it on the way over. “Before you say anything, I offered.” They un-Reduced the flower cart and began to offload them. “Where would you like them?”
“I can do that,” she said with a distressed frown.
“I’m fine, Wuvvy, just… give me something to do, I beg of you.”
She swallowed whatever further objections she had and nodded, explained what she wanted. Rue got to work, sprucing up the arrangements as they went, ensuring there had been no ill effects from the magical transportation. There were all the flowers they would expect to find at a wedding. Bridal roses, blue violets, saffron and celandine resting on branches of plum and ivy. They tried not to overthink the more unconventional flowers appearing in the theme. It wasn’t like they were inappropriate…
Sunflowers. Gold, but not the shining gold of precious metal; the warm gold cast by a lantern. Adoration.
Heliotrope. Purple, not the deep and shadowy tones that marked Unseelie purple; it was vibrant, like the iridescent wings of an insect in the sun. Devotion and faithfulness.
And maybe their botanical knowledge was rusty, but it seemed to them that some of the Lancaster roses had become confused for York roses. They had similar petal shapes, both with a yellow centre, but the Lancaster roses were less white, more pink, and more varied in their saturation. They looked pretty together, there was no doubt about that. But it was impolitic, Rue thought, to pair a flower for Unity with a flower for War.
“You could object.” Rue nearly jumped out of their feathers. Wuvvy had appeared at their side quite silently, as she often did, but they had been so absorbed in their own thoughts--
They shot her a look, processing what she had said.
A languid shrug, and she reminded them, “You’ve done it before, for less.”
“Not in public,” they muttered. “And I’ll remind you, that was while I was Master of Ceremonies and in the favour of the Chorus. Today I am just the owlbear who brought the flowers.”
Taking their very decisive drop of the subject as a hint, Wuvvy acquiesced and returned to her work. Rue did everything that could reasonably be done to make the flowers look pretty in the event space, and was about to cast Enlarge/Reduce on the now-empty cart to return it when they heard the approach of a small party to the pavilion. They turned instinctively, and saw Major Hob in the centre of a group of fey, some Goblin, some Seelie, being led by one of Rue’s-- one of Wuvvy’s-- assistants, familiarising them with the layout before the ceremony.
Rue was about to get out of sight, but either the start of the movement or pure dumb luck caused Hob’s eyes to snap up to them in that moment. Lantern-yellow with wide, round black irises. They held his gaze for longer than they should, expecting him to break it first. He didn’t. For an endless, too-short moment, neither of their eyes wavered from the other’s.
Rue turned away first, and in that moment knew themself to be a coward.