Concert

If it’s too good to be true…

The ridgeback’s extended claw held. She was in no rush to withdraw it.

...it probably is.

The pearlcatcher gripped his benefactor’s hand and spoke the words that all fae swoon to hear: “It’s a deal.”

---

Had you asked him the one thousand years ago that the deal was made or now, Classico would still remain unwavering in his logic. Then or now, he cared little about what consequences that the deals of the fae would bring. He knew that her kind never gave without taking from the moment he crossed her in her woods - who raised in a town besieged by the creatures didn’t? Their deals were intricately worded, meant to trip the tongues and promises of even the finest philosophers. And they were never quite as lenient as they let on, either. Whether they chose to reap their rewards in the coming days, months, or years was personal preference, not an allowance. Deal with a fae and your life was destined to alter course, usually for the worst. But with any outcome, Classico would have still taken her offer. His choice to walk the boundaries of her territory was no accident.

Classico needed to eat now. His stomach howled and buckled, unsure as to whether the tea towels he had boiled into mash could be used for anything of substance. The bard had found out the hard way that songs did not pay bills, and with allowance due to the local tavern-inn, his options had become limited. Should he fail to pay, there would be no future to worry about - whether at the hands of an innkeeper or starvation.

His desperation had drawn the Queen from hiding, a scent so palatable that it overpowered the lilacs and lilies that dotted her territory. She, too, was experiencing a starvation of some kind. The two had met right outside of the borderlines of her territory. This area often proved to be a source of trouble for her subjects. Fewer and fewer dragons had begun entering the realm that the fae occupied. Stories of their trick deals and misdeeds had spread. Binding deals could not hold if conducted outside of the queen’s borders. Sealing one would restore some of her power to the area, but who would but stupid enough to try?

---

His muse returned as soon as the two brushed hands, and Classico was quickly on his way. He knew that his meeting with the Queen was not his last. But he intended to ride the wave of her gift for as long as a lease she gave. The Queen herself was in no similar rush. It was the kind of gift that didn’t need her continued interference. It would pay itself off instead.

The songs were quick and fast, hit after hit. The dragons in town walked about with Classico’s songs in their minds as if enchanted with earworms. The gold was more than enough for the pearlcatcher to put away his bill and pantry.

So what to make of the hunger still plaguing him?

It ate away first at his heart before it did his mind. Little by little, his songs turned monotone. His fans puzzled over the artist’s newest releases, searching for any indication of the genius he had previously displayed. All was fine when Classico had begun exclusively writing romantic ballads - who didn’t like those? Yet their appeal waned as their scope did too.

Your raven hair…
Gilded princess, a mess of raven hair…
Printed talons on my neck, no deeper than the tangles of hair you left…

His notoriety had made the new songs bit of a joke among the masses, who for some time greeted one another with extraneous questions about their hair. But even that appeal soon wore thin, and Classico’s coffers found themselves depleted once more.

The obsession bit at his mind and feet. A year to the day of their first meeting, Classico and the Queen found themselves face to face once again. He threw himself at her feet.

“Song after song I have written about you. It’s all I know how to do anymore. You must let me stay by your side. I have no choice but to follow you.”

The Queen feigned shock. “My, my, young one. Do I take this as a declaration of love?

“I…it could be. It must be. Nothing else would drive me here. Why, I don’t even know your name.”

She smiled, knowing that offering the vulnerability to one so fully under her spell would prove harmless. “You may call me Concert.”