"I'm finishing each bottle as I go, so you might as well save on washing them," Rain replied, spinning slowly on a bar stool, letting out the most dispirited "whee" William had ever heard.
He took a seat beside her and grabbed the nearest wine to hand. Realizing he had no corkscrew, he removed the cork with his teeth and spat it across the room.
"I'm impressed," Rain said, scratching her left wing. "You always struck me as the prim type."
"Kira taught me how to do it," he said. "But that's no matter. I think both of us are under a lot of stress right now..."
"You have no idea."
William's smile was grim. "You might be surprised. Anyway, I've got an official assassin from Centralia coming in by train this evening. He's taking out an unlicensed poser lurking among us. I'm going to be busy managing everything that goes on here so Jared can make speeches and look handsome. I would appreciate it if you could fetch and look after the assassin until I have time to debrief him, her, or hir. In exchange I'll give you access to the secret library that has the Lore of the Realms, the books with all the laws and magical bindings of this world. Only Seasons, their consorts, and the elected head of state are supposed to be let in. You might be able to find some loophole to get yourself disqualified from the throne of Faerie."
"I'll do it. But why'd you pick me?"
After taking a deep swig, William passed the wine to Rain. "Because you have no interest in politics, power, wealth, love, or admiration. All you want is freedom, which is what you already have and are fighting to keep. It makes you the least vulnerable person I know to manipulation. Even Kira, Amber, and Radcliff, who are the most honest people I know after you, love too deeply to be truly independent. They would lie and cheat for the sake of their hearts."
"By that logic you're kind of in deep shit, buddy."
"Aye, there's the rub."
...........................
There was a room deep within Summer's castle that William counted among his favorites. The lights were kept dim and shifted into various pale, bejewled colors. A grand piano off to the side could provide music, or the soundproofed floor and ceiling could ensure blissful silence undisturbed by any hubbub outside, and the temperature was kept cool as the inside of an underwater cave. Held back by panels of glass on four sides were tanks of translucent jellyfish who were fed plankton daily by the servants, floating and pulsing like abstract, gelatinous sprites. In the center of the room was a huge couch, large enough for five people, and a mound of fluffly blankets and plush pillows to snuggle in and watch the jellyfish.
To William's surprise as he entered the room, intent on tending to his headache, someone was already playing the piano. A boy, no older than twelve in appearance, wearing black denim pants, a button-up white long-sleeved shirt, and a green velvet coat. His feet were bare. It was some of the most exquisite, virtuoso piano playing William had ever heard - he himself was more of a plinker, though his efforts were pleasant enough to listen to. After a moment William realized who it was. No wonder the boy played well; five hundred years was a long time to practice.
Hamnet Shakespeare froze, his fingers tensed over the keys. "Am I intruding, Sir Meloy?"
"Not at all. You're doing much better than I ever have. Mind if I sit?"
"It's more your castle than mine, Sir," he said, but resumed.
"You can call me William if you want." Too tired and stressed to care about his dignity, William set about making a nest of cushions on the couch and esconced himself within, pulling a blanket up to his neck and settling into comfort.
Hamnet allowed himself a brief laugh. "I don't really like calling anyone 'William', Sir Meloy. When a father bargains his son to the fairies in exchange for genius, the son may be excused for some lingering sense of rejection, and reluctance to be reminded of the father."
"Wouldn't he have had to make the deal before you were born?"
"Even so." He stopped talking after that, but the music continued, and William let it carry him away.
That is, until he felt someone lightly touch his shoulder. "Mrr?"
It was Kira, taking a seat and tugging on the blanket. "Gimme, cold."
"Hmm."
"The kid plays well."
"Mmm."
"What are you sad about?" She pulled William's head towards her shoulder.
He yielded and leaned against her. "What makes you think I'm sad?"
"You always come to the Jellyfish Parlor when you're sad."
"And you're saying you don't?"
"Touchy."
"The word is 'touché.'"
"Right. Give me a backrub and I won't call you a stuck-up, deal?"
"Deal."
He took a seat beside her and grabbed the nearest wine to hand. Realizing he had no corkscrew, he removed the cork with his teeth and spat it across the room.
"I'm impressed," Rain said, scratching her left wing. "You always struck me as the prim type."
"Kira taught me how to do it," he said. "But that's no matter. I think both of us are under a lot of stress right now..."
"You have no idea."
William's smile was grim. "You might be surprised. Anyway, I've got an official assassin from Centralia coming in by train this evening. He's taking out an unlicensed poser lurking among us. I'm going to be busy managing everything that goes on here so Jared can make speeches and look handsome. I would appreciate it if you could fetch and look after the assassin until I have time to debrief him, her, or hir. In exchange I'll give you access to the secret library that has the Lore of the Realms, the books with all the laws and magical bindings of this world. Only Seasons, their consorts, and the elected head of state are supposed to be let in. You might be able to find some loophole to get yourself disqualified from the throne of Faerie."
"I'll do it. But why'd you pick me?"
After taking a deep swig, William passed the wine to Rain. "Because you have no interest in politics, power, wealth, love, or admiration. All you want is freedom, which is what you already have and are fighting to keep. It makes you the least vulnerable person I know to manipulation. Even Kira, Amber, and Radcliff, who are the most honest people I know after you, love too deeply to be truly independent. They would lie and cheat for the sake of their hearts."
"By that logic you're kind of in deep shit, buddy."
"Aye, there's the rub."
...........................
There was a room deep within Summer's castle that William counted among his favorites. The lights were kept dim and shifted into various pale, bejewled colors. A grand piano off to the side could provide music, or the soundproofed floor and ceiling could ensure blissful silence undisturbed by any hubbub outside, and the temperature was kept cool as the inside of an underwater cave. Held back by panels of glass on four sides were tanks of translucent jellyfish who were fed plankton daily by the servants, floating and pulsing like abstract, gelatinous sprites. In the center of the room was a huge couch, large enough for five people, and a mound of fluffly blankets and plush pillows to snuggle in and watch the jellyfish.
To William's surprise as he entered the room, intent on tending to his headache, someone was already playing the piano. A boy, no older than twelve in appearance, wearing black denim pants, a button-up white long-sleeved shirt, and a green velvet coat. His feet were bare. It was some of the most exquisite, virtuoso piano playing William had ever heard - he himself was more of a plinker, though his efforts were pleasant enough to listen to. After a moment William realized who it was. No wonder the boy played well; five hundred years was a long time to practice.
Hamnet Shakespeare froze, his fingers tensed over the keys. "Am I intruding, Sir Meloy?"
"Not at all. You're doing much better than I ever have. Mind if I sit?"
"It's more your castle than mine, Sir," he said, but resumed.
"You can call me William if you want." Too tired and stressed to care about his dignity, William set about making a nest of cushions on the couch and esconced himself within, pulling a blanket up to his neck and settling into comfort.
Hamnet allowed himself a brief laugh. "I don't really like calling anyone 'William', Sir Meloy. When a father bargains his son to the fairies in exchange for genius, the son may be excused for some lingering sense of rejection, and reluctance to be reminded of the father."
"Wouldn't he have had to make the deal before you were born?"
"Even so." He stopped talking after that, but the music continued, and William let it carry him away.
That is, until he felt someone lightly touch his shoulder. "Mrr?"
It was Kira, taking a seat and tugging on the blanket. "Gimme, cold."
"Hmm."
"The kid plays well."
"Mmm."
"What are you sad about?" She pulled William's head towards her shoulder.
He yielded and leaned against her. "What makes you think I'm sad?"
"You always come to the Jellyfish Parlor when you're sad."
"And you're saying you don't?"
"Touchy."
"The word is 'touché.'"
"Right. Give me a backrub and I won't call you a stuck-up, deal?"
"Deal."
