Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales by Heather Fawcett

Author:Heather Fawcett [Fawcett, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Worlds
Published: 2025-02-11T00:00:00+00:00

13th January

We convened before sunrise in the sprawling banquet hall. Niamh had suggested we meet here, where the court could see us. I had not fully understood what this meant, for I had imagined, given both the importance of my research and the likelihood that the queen’s spies still haunted the castle, that our discussion would take place in private, with only those we trusted in attendance. But, in addition to being open to the sky, the hall had many glassless windows so long and tall one could simply step through them from the gardens beyond, which meant we had an audience of innumerable eavesdroppers, courtly and common alike. Most did not even bother to conceal what they were doing; I saw several boyish-looking courtly fae setting up a table for playing cards just outside the closest window, and another brownie selling nuts from a basket on his head wandered along the wall (only the basket and two long-fingered grey hands were visible). A troupe of ghoulish-looking bogles dressed in rags perched upon the roofless walls, gawping down at us with their hollow eyes, occasionally catching hold of insects and tossing them into their cookpots. Nobody seemed to think any part of this strange; as far as I could tell, this was simply how court business was conducted in Where the Trees Have Eyes.

I was dressed once again in my queenly attire, much as I missed the simple shifts and cardigan I had worn at Trinity. The cardigan in particular, shapeless and scholarly as it was, had large pockets at the front that could hold my notebook and an array of pencils. Today’s gown—black again, with intricate silver lace across the bodice in the shape of flowering vines, which extended up my neck—had pockets, but I did not wish to use them. They seemed to be under a similar enchantment to the cloak I had obtained from the Hidden Ones; whenever I put my hand inside, I found some new trinket, or sometimes a piece of fruit or handful of sugared nuts. I worried that if I stored my notebook there it would vanish—or, almost as bad: become sticky.

Callum Thomas was present, as was Lord Taran, who leaned his head on his hand, looking bored, his dark eyes gazing absently up towards the sky. Niamh Proudfit sat across from them at the oak table, tapping at her typewriter and occasionally muttering inquiries and instructions to her personal attendant, a merry-faced spriggan.[*1] In addition to these was Wendell’s half-sister, whom he kept ordering away, after which the girl would simply sneak in through a window and crouch somewhere out of sight, until he eventually gave up and ignored her. There were also two members of the Council—which had dwindled in numbers due to many councillors having fled the castle in terror of the queen’s curse. One was a poet, and solely referred to as such, an elderly mortal man who spent much of his time dozing off, which was no great

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