Claire Delacroix (11 page)

“It’s good, really.”

“Aye? And what will it do to me? Is it a potion to cloy my wits?”

“No, nothing like that!” Viviane laughed and her words spilled forth with haste now that she was reassured. “It’s kind of tart, both sweet and sour, and very cold. Like ale, but different -” she pursed her lips “- so not really like ale at all. And that’s salt on the rim, which makes an oddly pleasing tingle in contrast to how sour the drink is. It’s called a marguerita, although I don’t know why.”

“So you have not been struck dumb after all,” Niall mused. He flicked a glance her way. “Though your speech has become most odd during this time.”

Viviane felt herself blush scarlet again, but she couldn’t stop talking now that she had begun. “Well, I didn’t really have a choice, you know. I have to at least try to blend in, or not arouse suspicions that I don’t belong here. What could I do but dress as they do and speak as they do? I’m not a fairy or a sorceress myself and you would think that even a lesser immortal could tell that with just a glance, but still there’s no reason to draw attention to myself.”

“Indeed.” Niall’s gaze lingered on her as though she were a puzzle he was trying to solve.

“Indeed!” Viviane nodded firmly. “You know, you should try your marguerita, you wouldn’t want to hurt Paula’s feelings. It’s not precisely what you would expect and, to be honest -“ she lowered her voice and leaned closer “- I did wonder at first just what to expect, since our hostess
is
one of the fey.”

“The fey?” Niall repeated tonelessly.

Viviane had the sense that he was trying to keep his surprise from showing, though why he would be surprised by such a statement, she just couldn’t imagine.

What other explanation could there possibly be?

“Yes! Why, it’s perfectly obvious.” Viviane hastened to explain as he glanced across the deck. “She seems both old and young at the same time, which is, I understand, one of the characteristics of the little people. Not to mention, of course, her tiny build.”

Viviane sipped beneath Niall’s watchful eye.

In fact, he watched her so carefully that it was almost as though he was ensuring her response before he drank of the brew. She took another swallow, purely to reassure him that it really did taste good, and felt a languor steal through her body.

“You believe our hostess is one of the fey, merely because she is wrought small?”

It was clear from his tone that Niall did not share her conviction.

But then, he didn’t know the whole truth about this place.

Viviane was more than happy to explain.

“Oh, it could be,” she insisted. “After all, Paula believes in every manner of strange thing! Already she has spoken of great mysteries with authority, though I can’t even guess at what she means. Did you understand what she meant by calling Derek an Aries?”

Niall shook his head slowly.

“You see? She must be one of the initiates, to just casually refer to things beyond everyone’s understanding. And everyone here
is
an immortal of some kind or another - you can tell with just one glance, even when they don’t tell you so. Monty said he has known Barb forever, and he said it just as easily as that, as though there was nothing remarkable about it at all. I have met people who say that they’re eighty years of age!”

Niall’s fair brows lifted in surprise and Viviane nodded. “Imagine! They say they’re eighty years
young
and then they laugh, which just goes to show what kind of expectations they have. I wonder whether they just start counting over at some point, though I really can’t imagine when that would be.” She frowned in thought. “Maybe when they arrive here. What do you think?”

Niall’s expression was impassive. “I could not fathom a guess.”

“No, well, neither could I, really.” Viviane smiled. “Of course, it’s because they’re immortal that they’re so different from us. And so incomprehensible.”

She gulped her drink again and thought that maybe it was helping her to explain matters. “Although I don’t think that Paula has any malice towards us, not at all. She must be a good fairy. Not that I know very much about fairies, but my mother always talked about them and it seems to me that she said things like that about them, that there were good ones and bad ones, and the good ones would aid you and the bad ones would vex you. And that, of course, if
you
vexed a good one, well, then even they could act like bad ones, just to get even.”

Niall chuckled beneath his breath and shook his head.

“What?” Viviane demanded.

He slanted a steady glance her way. “I do not believe that the fey exist.”

“Shhh!” Viviane pressed her fingertips to his lips. Her heart skipped a beat when her fingers touched his flesh and their gazes met with sudden intensity. Viviane tried to chatter on as though she was unaffected, for her mother had always said it was unwise to let a man see his effect upon you.

“Don’t even think such a thing! That’s the very worst thing you could possibly do. You don’t want to insult them! Who could tell how they might turn upon us, then. My mother used to tell stories of offended fairies that would keep one awake half the night, and play tricks upon mortals and all sorts of maliciousness. It’s only sensible, really, because even mortals can be malicious if they feel that they’ve been insulted or treated poorly.”

Niall nodded, then took a cautious sip of Paula’s concoction. He rolled it around in his mouth as Viviane watched, then nodded as he swallowed. “’Tis not all bad.”

She drank again as though to indicate her agreement. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Paula knew most of the other fey that are resident here...”

“
Other
fey?” Niall interjected.

“Well, of course! There are hundreds if not thousands of fairies here, it’s so hard to keep track of them all, never mind the wizards and sorcerors. They don’t live alone!” She cast a stern glance to her companion. “Honestly, you have to use your wits here if you’re going to blend in.”

Niall’s eyes narrowed and he leaned closer, his somber manner bringing Viviane’s tirade to a sudden halt. “And where
are
we, that there are so many fey at large?”

There was a glint in his eyes that told her he wasn’t prepared to believe the truth, at least not yet. Viviane knew she had to persuade him to at least be careful, before he made a mistake and was evicted. It wouldn’t be fair if her knight was snatched away from her, right after he arrived!

“Niall - do you mind if I call you Niall? After all, it seems as though we’ve known each other for a long time, probably because of all we’ve shared, and besides, they don’t use titles here, at least not as much as I can tell.”

He lifted one brow in acknowledgement and Viviane hastened on, liking how his name rolled over her tongue. “Well, Niall, you just have to believe me. And keep your thoughts less skeptical, because you never know who could be listening. My mother always said that they fey had sharp ears, that they could even hear your thoughts if you weren’t careful, and that they never missed a chance to straighten out the thinking of a skeptic...”

“Viviane, where
are
we?” Niall interjected calmly.

Oh, it was an unexpected delight to hear him utter her name!

Even if he sounded a bit impatient when he did.

But it seemed so vulgar to just blurt out the truth and Viviane didn’t even know if it was supposed to be a secret, or whether it was forbidden to even say the word
Avalon
.

Niall wasn’t looking away, though, just waiting for his answer as though he’d wait for it all week if necessary. And she supposed he did have a right to know. Viviane licked her lips. She glanced to their companions, who seemed markedly disinterested in their conversation, although you could never be entirely sure.

“This place is - “ Viviane dropped her voice, glanced around to ensure once more that no one was listening, then leaned dangerously close to Niall “ -
Avalon!
”

He choked in the act of sipping his drink then. “Avalon!”

“I know!” Viviane nodded sagely. “Isn’t it amazing? I could hardly believe it myself when I ended up here. And now we’re both here and everything...”

“Avalon!” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Are you mad?”

Viviane straightened. “Shhh! Don’t get them upset!”

“Them?”

“The immortal ones! I
told
you! They’re all sorcerors here and who knows what kind of hexes they might loose upon us, especially if they thought that we didn’t appreciate their hospitality.”

“I would have expected more from great sorcerors,” he mused with a significant heft of his drink.

Viviane barely stifled the urge to swat him.

“Your irreverence could cost us dearly!” she hissed.

“Nay. There is no such place as Avalon,” he insisted, with all the flexibility of a mountain. “And there are no such things as fairies.”

Viviane tossed her hair over her shoulder, not caring for his tone at all. “Of course, there’s such a place as Avalon. There must be because it’s where we are.”

“Aye?” Niall challenged, his voice low. “Prove the truth of it to me.”

Viviane lifted her chin, intent on doing precisely that. She ticked off points on her fingers. “The island where we sailed from lies in the west. It’s shrouded by mist and invisible to those mortals on the mainland, except on a day of rare clarity, and people on the island say that the mainlanders are always trying to come to island. But they can’t - because they have to shed their love of material possessions and greed to enjoy the spirituality of the island life. That’s what Monty says and he should know - he’s a sorceror after all.”

Niall glanced across the deck at the sorceror in question, his expression speaking volumes.

But Viviane pressed on. “And it’s hard to navigate a safe passage through the islands - although they say that it’s just people getting lost in unfamiliar waters, it’s probably a protective spell. Immortals do that, you know, to maintain their privacy. All the myths say so.” She took a fortifying sip of the marguerita, watching Niall sip long and slowly.

“And there is no poverty on the island; the elderly come there when otherwise they might die; the shops are full of inexplicable marvels that anyone can buy for themselves. The land is blessed with bounty, the hills are wondrously green, the sky is flawless blue, the weather is perfect.
Apples
grow in unnatural abundance on trees that hang to the ground with massive fruit.”

Viviane punctuated this with a stern glance, for it was not insignificant. Her heart skipped to find Niall watching her avidly.

“And women abide upon that island in great numbers. They are revered. Barb says that there are many priestesses there, though I’ve yet to meet one. Finally, books are so common that every man and woman can collect the most beautiful manuscripts themselves.”

“And they all are in agreement with you?” her knight asked, shrugging toward their companions. “They too believe themselves to be in Avalon?”

Viviane had the feeling that he didn’t believe her explanation. “Well, not exactly,” she had to admit. “They call the island Salt Spring, for some reason. Perhaps there is a magical spring that I have yet to see. Springs are always of fresh water, after all, so that would be a marvel.”

Niall did not look persuaded.

“They say that we are off the west coast of British Columbia, which I can only imagine is another name for Ireland. Wasn’t it claimed for the English king? And didn’t Saint Columb come from there?”

Niall did not look suitably impressed by this assertion. He sipped his drink. “I believe he was of Scotland.”

“It doesn’t matter! Don’t you see - they wouldn’t tell just
anyone
that this was Avalon! Maybe they’ve altered the names of places so that Avalon can’t be easily found. It has to be some kind of a secret, otherwise everyone would just come here and there wouldn’t be anything magical about it at all!”

Niall leveled a glance at her that effectively communicated his doubts.

But Viviane lifted her chin. “You can be as skeptical as you like, but I know the truth. We’re on an isle to the west of all the world, a mystical magical enchanted place that exists on no known maps. And that
is
Avalon.” Viviane waved off any further objection he could make.

Niall took a quick gulp of his drink. “And what have you told them of your own deeds?”

“As little as could be contrived.” Viviane sighed. “Monty tells everyone that I have a fourteenth century thing. They don’t seem very interested in the passage of time in the mortal world.”

Viviane dropped her voice and practically leaned on Niall’s shoulder. “Actually, I was afraid I might say the wrong thing and prompt too many questions, so I’ve tried to be quiet. You see, I don’t think we’ve come here the usual way and they might not let us stay if they figure it out.”

That snared his attention. He considered her, his gaze sober, then glanced to her pendant. “And you came here with the aid of your witching stone.”

“It’s not a
witching
stone, because that would mean that I was a witch.” Viviane rolled her eyes. “Or that my father was a witch, which makes no sense at all. In all honesty, Niall, how can you be so gullible as to believe those false charges against me?”

Niall arched a brow. “Yet we are in this place, without explanation, by virtue of that stone.”

“A father’s love is a powerful thing,” Viviane insisted. “There’s nothing more powerful than love - my mother taught me that. And what parent wouldn’t want to see their child saved from execution?” She shook her head as she fingered the pendant, then shook her head. “I don’t care exactly how it worked; my father’s love saved me and that’s explanation enough. We’re here and alive and that’s a good thing.”

And she smiled at Niall, letting him see that his presence was a big part of everything that was good. “Thank you for returning my pendant. I was upset to have lost it, because it’s all I have left from my mother.”

“Aye?” Niall demanded softly, and arched a fair brow as he leaned closer. “Then, if you are so well pleased, perhaps you might grant me a small token of your gratitude.”