"You have traveled far," her voice snaked over the ground and up the cavern walls before gently wrapping its way around her guest. "I must say that I'm surprised you answered my call. It isn't common for an Unseelie to make the journey to see me unless they think it will be worth their while."
The faerie man who knelt before her glanced up, his milky white skin seeming to go even paler. The creature before him laughed a deep, low laugh, and smiled at the Unseelie kneeling at her feet. He had been caught red handed. They always were.
One corner of the creature's mouth turned upward in satisfaction as she reclined back in her throne-like seat that appeared to made entirely of stalagmites and crossed her legs gently. The stone brushed her bare shoulders as the cavern's icy cold leaked into her skin.
"Don't look so alarmed," the creature waved her hand as if dismissing the thought. "The only time I ever get a visitor these days is if I make it worth their while. You are not the first, and I'm sure you will not be the last."
The visitor tried to relax but the floor of the cavern was moist and uneven, digging into his knees as he kneeled before her, both our of respect and fear. His inky black cloak hid his slightly trembling limbs, and when he tried to meet her gaze, he felt his stomach twist.
Two empty eye sockets stared back at the faerie, and he cringed as eyes of all sizes opened and closed on different parts of the creature's body: her arms, her neck, even on her bare feet. The faerie was sure the creature probably had more eyes beneath her silk dress, but the thought made him want to wretch.
"Oh, it isn't that bad," the creature purred as if reading his thoughts. She chuckled as the color flared in his cheeks. "Most mortal men and fey alike don't even notice them if I don't want them to."
Before her words could paint too vivid of a picture in the faerie's mind, she leaned forward in her seat, several of her eyes blinking in the faerie's direction.
"What is your name, child?" she inquired, cocking her head slightly to one side.
"I am no child," the faerie stated, although his voice faltered. The Seer waved away his comment without a word. She wasn't concerned with offending her guest.
"Many fey are children to me," she stated as if she had said it a hundred times before. "I've been around even longer than some of the faerie monarchs. And you—" she pointed a long, bony finger at the faerie before her, "— are hardly six centuries old. You're a child to many of our kind, let alone me."
The faerie ground his teeth together at her last comment, but held his tongue. He was young, yes, but he was competent. His ability to make the long trip to the Seer's dwelling alive and unscathed was proof of that.
One side of the Seer's mouth quirked up. "So I'll ask again. What is your name?"
"Arius," the Unseelie answered, irritation at the Seer's lack of respect still boiling in his gut.
"Hmm," the Seer mused before she echoed his name back to him, tasting each letter as she said it. "Such a lovely name for such an unholy creature."
Arius felt his spine stiffen at her insult. Unseelie or not, he was still fey, and she owed him some respect.
"Have I offended you, dear Arius?" she asked, but there was no apology in her voice. A hundred varieties of swears and curses flew through his mind, but he bit his tongue and shrugged. He would have shaken his head no, but that would have been a lie, and faeries couldn't lie.
"You Unseelie are so predictable," the Seer stated simply, empty sockets finding Arius' black eyes, her own numerous eyes blinking lazily across her skin. "You think that the Seelie court owes you some sort of retribution for the crimes your kind committed all those years ago. You think that the king should lift your exile and that your kind should be allowed to roam about freely in the court, under the protection of the king himself." The Seer barked a laugh. "As if your kind now isn't any different than your kind back then."
Arius flushed crimson.
"Traitors breed traitors, Arius, but I think you already know that." She flashed a knowing smile. His gut twisted at the word "traitor", but the creature wasn't wrong. Her kind was never wrong.
The Seer waved a hand dismissively, and Arius resisted the urge to climb the few steps up to where she sat and strangle her.
Instead he asked, "Why am I here?"
The Seer's lips stretched across her face, and Arius was certain that her face was going to tear if she smiled any wider. "My dear Arius," she cooed as she leaned forward in her chair. "It is your lucky day because I'm going to help your kind find their way back into the court."
He tried to keep his face blank as hope swelled in his chest. The Seer herself was one of the Folk, and even though she couldn't lie to him outright, she was old enough that she probably had a way to bend the truth so far that it would only be a breath short of a lie.
The Folk were dangerous that way.
"Don't you want to hear how?" the Seer pressed, her tone full of a twisted glee that made the hair on Arius' neck stand up.
Tread carefully, he told himself. She is beyond ancient. She knows how to weave a tight web.
"Well?" the Seer drawled, expecting an answer. One carefully groomed eyebrow inched its way up her forehead.
A pause.
"Alright," Arius relented as he got to his feet. "Tell me."
The Seer let her head fall back as she let out a girlish giggle that made Arius' insides turn to ice. When her empty eye sockets found him again, he had to be sure not to flinch under her gaze.
"It's all too perfect," she said, leaning forward in her chair, her hands gripping the arms of her throne-like seat.
Arius didn't answer, just waited patiently for the Seer to tell him how she was going to get him and the rest of the Unseelie Folk back into the Seelie Court.
When Arius didn't encourage her girlish giddiness, the Seer pouted, but only for a moment before she turned serious again. "Fine," she said scooting to the edge of her seat and straightening her long spine. "Don't look so excited about your bright future."
As she began to explain to him her plan, Arius couldn't help but admit to himself that it really was perfect.