“‘You already know more about faerie kingdoms than any mortal.’

‘Stories,’ I said faintly, drawing my hand back. ‘I know stories.’

He gave me an odd look. ‘And have you ever needed anything else? Have you not shaken a kingdom to its foundations, found a door to a distant otherland, overthrown a queen? Hand you the right storybook, and you are capable of anything.’”

Wendell’s faith in Emily demonstrates his love for her and also illustrates the theme of Stories as a Means of Creating Reality. Further, the statement serves as exposition, referring readers to important events in the last books. In the second book, Emily used her research on maps and faerie doors to access a dangerous realm known as the Otherlands, leading to the rescue of lost scholars Bran Eichorn and Dani De Grey.

“‘Poor dear,’ Wendell said, bending to rub Shadow’s ears. ‘When I retake my throne, I shall dedicate a fleet of servants to his needs. They shall make for him a velvet bed in every room, with a fire burning beside each one, and the bones of my enemies will be preserved for his enjoyment.’

‘That started off well, but I did not care for the ending,’ I said.”

This exchange between Emily and Wendell is an example of Fawcett’s use of humor in the novel. Emily dryly notes that Wendell’s cozy promises to Shadow—complete with soft, warm images of velvet and fireplaces—end in the punchline of the bones of Wendell’s enemies for Shadow to gnaw at leisure.

“‘Why not take the throne yourself, if you are so bothered by the pedigree of its previous occupants?’ I asked, which was brazen, but then many of the courtly Fae are charmed by boldness in mortals, in much the same way that we coo when a kitten bares its teeth.

He snorted. ‘I value my neck, that’s why. Which I have managed to keep intact for many centuries—far longer than those who covet power in this bloody wolf’s den of a court.’”

Emily’s conversation with Taran provides an important insight into his character, illustrating the relationship between mortals and fae. Taran’s simple reply that he stays away from court politics because he is a survivalist shows that he is not the power-hungry creature she assumed. Emily likens Taran’s delight in her boldness to humans playing with kittens—an analogy illustrating the vast power differential between humans and faeries. The simile of the kitten, like the metaphor of the wolf den for Silva Lupi’s court, shows how Fawcett uses comparisons to flesh out the world of her novel.

“‘You could have asked for my cloak first instead of dueling him,’ I pointed out. […]

‘I thought I could win,’ Wendell said. He did not seem put out by his defeat, but almost cheerful. ‘And anyway, I have always wanted to duel my uncle. He is said to be the best swordsman in any realm. It’s been awhile since I had so much fun.’

‘He nearly decapitated you!’ I exclaimed.

‘Yes, but besides that, Em,’ he said patiently.”

This exchange between Emily and Wendell showcases how their rapport and their complementary personalities. While Emily is strategic and planned, Wendell is more spontaneous, trusting that things will work themselves out. Wendell’s casual, yet polite and patient response to Emily’s concern that Taran could have decapitated him shows why Emily loves him even though he is so different from her.

“It was not just Taran’s rumpled little scholar remark—though I will admit that stung—bur rather the overall pattern into which it fitted. […] To that end, I had asked Wendell to place a glamor on my dress—it was now black, to match with him, layers of silk with silver brocade in a pattern of bluebells.”

One of Emily’s constant fears in Faerie is that she does not look the part of a queen, a dread that is aggravated by Taran dismissively calling her a rumpled little scholar. Knowing the importance of appearance in Faerie, Emily asks Wendell to cast a spell on her dress: however, Emily’s challenge as a character is to outgrow the need for approval by the Faerie folk. She will be a confident queen when her actions, rather than her appearance, exude power.

“‘In fact, once I have retaken my throne, you will not have to do anything if you do not wish it. If you desire to sit in some corner of the castle hunched over your books and notepaper, bestirring yourself only to demand a tour of some brownie market or bogle den, then it will be done.’

I let out a trembling breath. ‘And what sort of queen would that make me?’

He looked perfectly earnest as he leaned in to kiss my cheek. ‘Mine.’”

Emily and Wendell’s banter illustrates their dynamic: Their love is based on a true understanding of each other. Wendell’s profession of love for Emily is informed by an acceptance of her: His love arises from the fact that she loves to be “hunched” over her books and delights in field expeditions for her study.

“‘Why must mortals always be solving mysteries? What is the point of life if everything is pinned and labelled in some display case? You scholars should aim to discover more mysteries, not untangle them.’

‘How Sibylline,’ I said, ‘That is ever so helpful, thank you.’”

Another example of Emily’s sharp, dry humor, these lines also highlight the contrast between mortals and Faeries. While Taran is happy living with mysteries—possibly because he is a magical creature gifted with an enormous life-span—mortals, bound by time, have no option but to be a little more practical. “Sibylline” refers to the Greek Oracle or prophetess Sibyl; Emily uses the descriptor for Lord Taran to mock his love for mysterious, gnomic utterances.

“Wentworth Morrison’s Folk-Lore of Scotland, Volume III: Thrones of Faerie (1852) remains the definitive resource on this topic, but Farris Rose’s exhaustive investigation of Cornish faerie stories […] provides additional insight. […] In many of the tales recorded by Morrison and Rose, a faerie monarch’s power is also their Achilles’ heel: while they control the landscape and weather, they can be defeated by being trapped and removed from their homes, as a flower dies when uprooted from its soil.”

Footnotes are present as a motif throughout the novel, commenting on Stories as a Means of Creating Reality. This note supports Emily’s observation that a ruler in Faerie is inextricably linked to their realm. The narrative convention of the footnote shows how one story leads to another. It also adds verisimilitude to the text, since it creates the impression that Emily’s observations are drawn from careful observation and research from credible sources.

“Anyway, Em, I am sure you are happily ensconced in your native habitat, that dreary monument to mortal rumination that is the library […] Well, why would you give a thought to romance or the faerie kingdom […] when you have a limitless supply of dusty old tomes to mutter and scowl at? I see now that my downfall as a suitor lies in my ability to offer you only a castle, great quantities of faerie silver, and various enchantment to dazzle and provoke you, instead of the full bound collection of Dryadological Fieldnotes.

Please return tomorrow, or the day afterwards, at the latest.”

Wendell’s charming letter to Emily is an example of the text’s use of the Edwardian literary style to provide authenticity and humor to its universe. The letter is both formal and heartfelt, juxtaposing images of dazzling fairy silver with dusty old books for comic effect. Similarly, expressions like “that dreary monument” exemplify the novel’s droll, period-appropriate literary humor. Wendell’s sign-off, in which the urgent entreaty to return tomorrow coexists with the acknowledgement that Emily will not return the next day, further underscores the warm humor of the missive.

“Such is the way with librarians, who are almost as unpredictable as the Folk, some minatory and persnickety, others overflowing with warmth towards humanity at large.”

Emily’s observations about librarians exemplify the text’s use of gentle, scholarly humor. Emily plays with the popular joke about strict or finicky librarians: Sometimes librarians can confound that impression, proving that their kind is as capricious and difficult to pin down as elusive Faeries.

“The politics of Faerie—indeed, everything about the place—revolves around stories. Stories shape the realms and the actions of those who dwell there. Some of those stories are known to mortals, but many others have been lost, both to us and the Folk. […] If I can gather enough of them together, I believe we scholars might come close to grasping the true essence of the Silva Lupi—which is, like all of Faerie, an intricately woven tapestry of story.”

Illustrating the theme of Stories as a Means of Creating Reality, Emily’s remark can also be regarded as an allegory for the real world. Collecting “lost stories” or forgotten, diverse, and marginalized narratives is equally important in the real world as it is in Faerie, since a single, dominant narrative only presents an incomplete picture.

“‘I have heard a similar opinion recently from another friend of mine, who seems to think Wendell will abandon me to die of exposure or some such, I suppose when he becomes tired of me.’

‘Oh, no!’ Lilja said. ‘That is not what I meant—I don’t believe for a second that Wendell would harm you. But I worry there will come a day when you no longer recognize him. And what hurt is worse than that?’”

Lilja raises a question about the corrupting nature of power. Since Folk are more susceptible the corrupting influence of power than mortals, she fears Wendell’s immense abilities will one day transform him into a stranger. Through Lilja’s question, the text poses the dilemma of balancing power with restraint. Only if Wendell can walk the tightrope will he be able to escape the warping influence of absolute power.

“She was clad in a tea-colored dress and white apron, and on her head was an enormous buttercup worn like a kerchief, two of the petals pinned together beneath her hair […] She looked, I thought, a little like a lost doll, though not one mortal children would enjoy playing with; her eyes were the usual all black, and she appeared to be a type of faun, with large and intimidatingly sharp black horns that curved backwards out of her head, and legs that ended in hairy hooves.

‘A butter faerie,’ Niamh said […]

‘Fascinating,’ I said, wishing I had time to make a sketch. My encyclopaedia’s entry on butter faeries had been sorely lacking in detail. ‘I have never encountered one before.’”

Fawcett uses vivid, detailed description and striking imagery to make the novel’s world authentic for the reader. Here, the reader can picture the red-faced faerie who wears a buttercup upside down on her head, its petals tied under her chin. The cute description is offset by Faerie’s trademark mix of horror and charm—the faerie also has sharp black horns, all-black eyes, and hairy hooves. Emily’s wish that she had a pencil handy to sketch the fairy illustrates her scientific curiosity and scholarly bent of mind.

“‘This queen seems no better.’ He came close to me, looking me up and down as a glint of mischief came into his eyes. ‘But mortals can be entertaining. And they do not break as easily as some think.’

Wendell’s expression went from one of bemusement to towering fury with such abruptness that both Taran and I fell back a step […] There came a terrible rumbling sound […] as if the attentive oaks were uprooting themselves en masse and lumbering in our direction.

‘You are speaking to a queen of Faerie,’ Wendell said, and it seemed as if the rustling leaves were in his voice.”

Wendell’s sudden display of menacing authority, backed by the magic of the realm, shows his growing power as well as his protectiveness toward Emily. The second the boggart insults Emily, Wendell shows the boggart a glimpse of his dark side. This shows that playful, humorous Wendell can be the romantic hero and the dragon-slaying knight when required.

“I must write it down. For it is in writing that I will discover a way out. A door within the story. There is one. It cannot end here. Yet some stories do.”

These lines, composed in the tense period following Wendell’s death, illustrate how the very act of observing reality and writing about it helps Emily make sense of things. The process of writing is akin to discovery for Emily. It is through writing that she finds a “door” or a solution to the unpassable problem of reality. Not only does this quote explain the way Emily’s mind works, it is also a metatextual comment on Stories as a Means of Creating Reality: One makes stories not to reflect reality, but to understand it better and thus transform it.

“I had been viewing the marriage question with such trepidation […] And yet, as I sat there upon the lake amidst the tree-shadow and reflected light and the dragonflies tussling with the wind, I no longer knew why I had been so afraid […] It was not that my worries vanished—no magic could manage that. I only realized how much smaller they were than the world that lay before me. A world that I wanted, even after all I had seen, and amidst such a thicket of danger. I wanted it very much. And I especially wanted to share it with Wendell.”

On the boat on Lake Silverlily, Emily realizes the truth about herself: She’s delayed marrying Wendell because of her worry about the ceremony. However, she desires the marriage itself, which to her signifies sharing the whimsical, magical world of Faerie with Wendell. Once she realizes this truth, she and Wendell are married by magic, since in Faerie intent is stronger than laws and rituals.

“I am bored most of the time. Bored of politics and adventure and feasting and quarrelling. Of vengeance and loyalty. I have learned there is one thing a person never tires of, no matter how long they live. And that is being in love. All else is ash and ember.”

Illustrating the theme of The Transformative Power of Love, Lord Taran’s striking quote explains why the noble feels no need to participate in Faerie politics: Love has given his life far more meaning. The fact that the sardonic Taran delivers these sincere lines when Emily sits by Wendell’s body is further proof of love’s power to transform.

“Wendell’s first inclination upon waking from the dead was, naturally, to throw a party.”

Emily’s observation draws its humor from her knowledge of Wendell’s temperament, hence the qualifier “naturally.” The juxtaposition of a grave event like a return from the dead against a seemingly frivolous occasion like a party adds to the humor through irony.

“‘The Folk love glamour and beauty.’

Lilja nodded thoughtfully. ‘I suppose. Although in our stories, they love—what is the word in English? Misfits? Yes, they love misfits just as well. Hermits and tinkers, wanderers and poets—more tales revolve around such people than the glamorous ones. Is this only in Ljosland?’

‘Misfits?’ I echoed, smiling slightly. ‘No—it is not only there.’”

While Emily often feels out of place in Faerie, Lilja reminds her of the stories in which Folk love misfits or outsiders. Emily’s smile suggests she recognizes herself in such tales: It is not always the glamorous who catch the attention of the Fae, but the wanderers and the risktakers as well. Perhaps, this is why Wendell loves Emily.

“He was as magnificent as terrible to behold as I remembered. His hair shone like dark jewels, his face all sharp lines, each at precisely the correct angle for beauty. He wore his white crown, shards of ice coated in frost, his necklaces were of jet and opal and sapphire, and over his black silk tunic and boots of pale reindeer leather he wore a fur cloak—Arctic fox by the look of it. Held loosely in his hand was an enormous sword, unsheathed and glittering. There were pearls woven in his hair.”

An example of Fawcett’s use of visual imagery, this description of the Hidden King presents a beauty associated with frost, perfection, and the accompanying coldness. Fawcett uses winter elements, cold colors, and jewel-like lines to make the Hidden King come alive for the reader.

“Yes, the place was a horror, but it was like any other horror long anticipated—reality is never a match for the imagined version, and this comes almost as a relief.”

Though she’s dreaded her foray into the waste land, once in the thick of things, Emily finds the reality more bearable than the dreadful anticipation. This observation applies to many aspects of her experience in this magical and dangerous realm.

“I’d had more than enough of feeling like the heroine in a stage performance. Yet perhaps it was better this way—the more onlookers, the greater the likelihood the events of the day would be accurately remembered and retold.”

Returning to Silva Lupi with Arna, Emily is mobbed by onlookers, but unlike earlier, she remains unfazed by the attention. This shows Emily’s growth as a character and her acceptance of her role as queen. Emily realizes that avoiding people can sometimes be a form of snobbishness that leads to gatekeeping of knowledge. It is more important that the truth play out in the open, so it is recorded and remembered.

“As the eyes of the assembled Folk fell upon me, I realized that I had forgotten to change back into my queenly attire. I still had on my old shift and winter wellies […] And yet, somehow, this seemed barely to register on my audience. The Folk stared at me as much as Arna, with an avidity they had never displayed before. Perhaps it was the contrast I made with themselves, perhaps something else. The Folk respect power above most things, after all, and perhaps there was power in abandoning my fumbling attempts to please them, as if I were above it all, even if I did not feel that way.”

In striking contrast to her earlier feelings of inadequacy and marginalization, Emily now perceives a subtle shift in the way the Folk see her. Though her clothes are rumpled and her hair a mess, she still exudes a power they recognize: the power of self-assurance. Having lost and recovered Wendell, and having saved Arna from the Veil, Emily is more confident in her heroism. She does not need to look the part of a queen to be the queen; thus, Emily has come a long way from her initial troubles in Faerie.