Ballad Read Online Free PDF Page B

had his head cocked, listening like when he’d sensed me before, only now he heard something else.
    The thorn king. I heard the melody begin to ripple across the hills as he began his journey across them. My ears had barely registered the sound, but when I blinked, James was gone. I hurriedly pushed myself out of the water—the surface moved in slow concentric waves around me—and I saw James, a dim figure in the darkness, running flat out like his life depended on it. Running toward the antlered king and his slow song for the dead. Who ran to meet death?

    Long after James had traded the hills behind Thornking-Ash for his dorm room, I made my own way to the hills. I wasn’t interested in the antlered king’s music, though. It was faerie music that drew me now—it sounded like a dance, as improbable as that was.
    I had never liked the dances. If there was one thing in the history of the world that had been invented to make me feel like a complete outsider, it was the dances the faeries held inside faerie rings. And this dance, on the biggest hill behind Thornking-Ash School, was no different—but it was ten times bigger than any dance I had ever seen. And no faerie, with the exception of myself, of course, could touch iron; mere proximity to it drove most faeries far under the hills and into isolated stretches of countryside. So no matter how tempting the music of the Thornking-Ash School might be to my kind, the invisible iron that reinforced it and the shimmering cars in the parking lots should’ve rendered it a faerie no-fly zone.
    But there were hundreds of faeries of every size and shape, from the tall, lovely court fey, who I expected to see, to the short, ugly hobmen, who I didn’t—they rarely ventured out from their holes and their drudgery to come to the dances. They all danced in twos and threes, touching each other’s hair, moving their bodies as one, all beautiful while dancing.
    Hanging back a few dozen feet, up to my waist in the dry field grass, I brushed my palms over the seed tops and sighed. I wasn’t thrilled to see any of them. I had been hoping to have Thornking-Ash to myself.
    But their music called to me, pulling at my body, irresistible. The longer I stayed there, listening to its pulsing rhythm, the more I knew that I had to go and feel it for myself.
    The dancers didn’t interest me, with the impossible shapes they made of their bodies and the sensuality of skin touching skin. It was the musicians I headed toward. A lithe, beautiful boy faerie was all wrapped around a skin drum on his lap and it was he who gave the dance its hypnotic, primal heartbeat. There was a haunting fiddler who scratched and wailed on his fiddle, another faerie who shook a tambourine in perfect counterpoint to the booming drum, and a flutist who called us to dance with frightening, frantic urgency. But that drummer—the one who could make his drum sound like water dropping into a bucket or like the footfalls of a giant or like rain scattering on a roof—he was the one to watch. He was the one who could make you forget yourself.
    “Dance, lovely?” a big-footed trow with a face like a shovel caught my hand. No sooner had he touched my fingers than he released them.
    I sneered at him. “Yeah, I didn’t think you wanted any of that.”
    The trow leaned toward another near him and said in his slow trow way, “It’s a leanan sidhe .”
    And just like that, I had been announced. As insidious as the fast, primitive beat, the words were passed from dancer to dancer, and I felt eyes on me as I moved through the crowd. I was not just any solitary fey, I was the leanan sidhe. Lowest of the low. Nearly human.
    “I didn’t know dancing was one of your talents,” called a faerie as she whirled by me. She and her friends were no taller than my hip, and their laughter stung like bees. I watched them spin for a moment, their feet falling unerringly with the driving drumbeat, until I saw her tail peek from under her