Editing Faerie Courts (section)

==History==
There have been many many permutations of the courts, for example the twenty courts of the flowers.<ref>They knew so many little things. That the Courts were not a thing to be properly discussed in high society. All courts in all eras existed at once. For now, the flavor was to speak of light and dark, the courts above and below, a subset wintered over. But they were also the seven courts of the seasons and the twenty courts of flowers and in the right contexts and the right moments all would shuffle, invert, and every Faerie would be expected to adapt on the fly and act as if things had been this way for a long time. - [https://palewebserial.wordpress.com/2021/06/15 Excerpt] from [[Dash to Pieces 11.z]]</ref>

When [[Johannes Lillegard]] met [[Faysal Anwar]], there was more than one Court, including as always a "winter court" that was also known as "the sunless court" and held "the darker faerie".<ref>One of the darker faerie, a lucky find, his ace in the hole. He’d spent four months screwing with the rat population until something took notice. He’d expected a spirit, he’d picked up the faerie instead. '''One from the winter court, the sunless court.''' - [https://pactwebserial.wordpress.com/2015/01/03 Excerpt] from [[Interlude 14]]</ref> During [[Pact]] in 2013, there seems to have been a singular Court<ref>As your partner Rose already said, they’re weak against the unrefined, against crude things. That includes attitudes. Their court is one of dancing around subjects, allusions, games, masquerades, and complex plots that unfold over decades and centuries. [...] She wasn’t so good she could become part of the story they were telling in the court. [...] Some defy the court and try to change the game in another way, trying to bring about a larger change, and they get banished when they fail. - [https://pactwebserial.wordpress.com/2014/02/01 Excerpt] from [[Damages 2.5]]</ref><ref>Exiled faerie were kept out of towns with Lords as a matter of course. The Court apparently didn’t want exiles making deals or gaining power, so they stuck them only in small villages and towns, or even in areas well out of reach of humans. - [https://pactwebserial.wordpress.com/2014/07/12 Excerpt] from [[Signature 8.2]]</ref><ref>The Duchamp family works with the Court and the Court may well wonder what happened to its fine allies, to the highborn and noble faerie who were given as pets to the Duchamp families. [...] Sandra wasn’t Faerie, but she had picked up some things in her time as the Duchamp ambassador to the Court. - [https://pactwebserial.wordpress.com/2014/11/29 Excerpt] from [[Interlude 13]]</ref> with a single hierarchy<ref>Padraic would be unhappy, but he wouldn’t take it further from that. I know Faerie superior to him in the court, and I would act as the middleman, putting you at minimal risk. - [https://pactwebserial.wordpress.com/2014/07/22 Excerpt] from [[Signature 8.6]]</ref> led by a Queen.<ref name=":5" /> As of 2020 there are seven Courts.<ref name=":0"/>

[[Daniel Alitzer]] was witness to the death of a Queen of the Dark Spring at some point before the year 2000.<ref name=":7"/> Given the timeline it may be he witnessed the murder of a queen of a court equivalent to the ''current'' Dark Spring.

[[Rad Ray Sunshine]] used his [[Demesne]] to give his class a tour through a facsimile of the current courts.<ref>Everything was decorated. Every surface with a curl of gold. The air smelled like incense, spices, and fruits. It wasn’t ''bright'' like the other places she’d seen, but it felt like there was a lot of glare, light reflecting off of places so that there was ''always'' something glittering and trying to catch her eye. Like every part of Ulysse had sparked the mental stutters, fireworks, and imagination, everything here sparked the same.<br><br>The scene shifted. From gilded and gold to the natural. Vines crawling. Berries, fruits. Branches extended indoors, weaving around things until they looked like they’d always been meant to be there. The smells and sights that found her nostrils and eyes made her imagine that keeping to the rules about not eating in strange places would be ''very'' hard. Being closer to nature, at the Blue Heron Institute had made her want to be more active and stretch and maybe played a role in why her brain was reacting like it was to boys. And this felt more outdoors than any place she’d been, even with the four nature-covered walls of the church around her.<br><br>Again, things changed. The walls became fronts for other buildings. Figures moved within. Things that were like goblins but beautiful instead of small scrambled about. Some called out, their voices indistinct, as they held out baubles and things. There was no sun, anymore, but it felt like it was all a very pleasant shade to dwell within, here. The air was filled with music, and she took a step forward without meaning to. Students before her stirred, restless. Her eyes roved over the things in the church, and she knew Verona would have been inspired by them.<br><br>Frost crept over everything. The creatures fled. Storefronts closed and shuttered, and the shutters became wall without window. When Lucy looked up, the walls extended up as far as she could see, and she had no idea if it was night or day, indoors or out. The frost curled out over everything, in brilliant, kaleidoscopic patterns, and what didn’t captivate the eyes like optical illusions reflected things. She saw a glimpse of herself, clearer than in any mirror she’d seen, and closed her eyes before she could see too much.<br><br>When she opened her eyes, she was in the market again. There was chatter, sharp, in a variety of strange languages. Bells rang and tinkled everywhere, and the air was ''musical'' with the sound of creaking wagon wheels, carts, and ''things'' that were Other, with creaking limbs and lumbering gaits. The residents here that offered their wares were bent, stooped, or part animal, coming in all sizes, from the giant to the small. When there was beauty, it was heartstopping. A fine, elegant woman standing at the back of the room. A young man with hair that became like peacock feathers, that he wore wrapped around his body, in a tantalizing way.<br><br>Maricica was from a place like this. She would have been one of those beautiful figures in the background. All the more beautiful for being surrounded by the crooked and ugly.<br><br>Others were looking behind Lucy. She turned, then backed away swiftly, narrowly missing a small figure so wrapped in robes that its true face and body couldn’t be seen, snatching for her wrist.<br><br>At the raised back of the church, a withered old man with long pointed ears held up a baby, swaddled in pastel hues that seemed wrong amid the wet stone, roots, leafless trees, and the buildings that had been carved into the surfaces around them. It shouted something in a native language.<br><br>At the sides and back of the room, creatures made bids. Holding up coin, bent sticks, and books. And for a moment, she forgot that it was fake, and she felt the desperate need to save that child- to offer ''something''.<br><br>The scene moved away. The outdoors taking over. The leafless trees became a rule. The path through the church became rough stone, the church itself a ruin, like something that had once been like that great, intricate hall of gold leaf and fine decoration, with everything gold and great torn out. The ruin of the church had a cloth tied to the highest points, and she felt a bit of sorrow because whatever it had been a part of had been more beautiful than any and all of the places she’d just seen.<br><br>She hated the emotions these places were pulling at.<br><br>There was singing, a beautiful, mournful voice joining with a rough-edged, vulgar one, and she shivered. She ''knew'', even though she couldn’t identify the language, that it was a Faerie singing alongside a goblin.<br><br>And then they had a roof and walls again, pulling together whenever she wasn’t looking.<br><br>Not gold but bone, not cloth but spiderweb. Humans in fine clothing knelt along either wall of the church, bowed, heads bent, hands clasped. Like people were meant to bow low before a great king, queen, or terrifying emperor. But the king, queen, or emperor- she had to check. They weren’t here.<br><br>And as she watched the unchanging scene, beautiful in its own way, horrifying as she looked into each thing and saw more fine details, like polished white teeth by the hundreds, she came to realize they were bowed ''in case'' that terrifying figure made an appearance. Like anything else was the worst thing imaginable. - [https://palewebserial.wordpress.com/2020/09/05 Excerpt] from [[Leaving a Mark 4.6]]</ref> The [[Blue Heron Institute]] students later took a school trip to the Bright Fall court.