“You are the prince of one of the most powerful nations of the world, and you were going to marry into another, and yet you know almost nothing about it.” Fedya lifted his head. “Tell me, what do you know about my people? Or better yet, what do you really know about yours?”
A beating rush clouded Killian’s head, his mouth suddenly dry. Fedya’s home? Eskor? “I…”
Fedya sighed and stepped back from the desk. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
He started to walk away, but as Fedya headed toward the door, Killian inhaled sharply. “Wait.”
Fedya stopped and glanced over his shoulder. Killian’s mind was blank, but he spoke anyway, the words fumbling in his mouth.
“I’m not…I mean…” He paused, tried to steady his voice. “I do care about other people, and I do want to learn.”
Fedya scoffed, rolling his eyes with another shake of his head. He reached for the doorknob.
“Wait—”
A loud, ripping sound cut Killian off, and he stopped in his tracks as enormous leather scrolls unfurled from the ceiling. One by one they fell, unrolling with one long rip before hanging in the air, all around them. Finally they stopped, surrounding them both from all sides, gently swinging back and forth.
Killian’s words escaped him as he stared up at them, eyes wide and mouth still partially open. Each scroll was brightly painted in bold hues of blues, purples and gold. They all shared the same flourishing lines, depicting swirls of pointed-petaled flowers, and slender, graceful horses and swans. For a moment he forgot about Fedya, staring up with short breath at each wonder the scrolls contained.
A glittering, golden palace with emerald domed turrets filled one scroll, surrounded by smooth, blue snow and a clear, white sky. Killian walked toward it, drinking in its splashes of color, his gaze overtaken by the delicate details of a thousand painted windows and gilded doors.
He heard Fedya gasp, soft and shaky, and he quickly turned around. Fedya too had become frozen in place, staring up at the hanging murals. But he stood in front of one in particular, and Killian recognized the simple, vacant image as the same painting he had found in his room—an empty landscape, devoid of life.
But as Killian sidled up to Fedya’s side, the image began to change. It started with a single drop of ink, a black splatter, directly in the middle of the scroll. Then it began to grow, swirling outward until it reached the ends of the canvas before bursting into bright splashes of color. The smooth lines circled and spun, until a new image began to form on top of the once empty landscape.
A strained, quivering breath emitted from Fedya’s lips, and Killian glanced back at him. Fedya reached up for the scroll, though it swayed far above him, and for the first time, Killian realized there was no thick, dark fur trailing up Fedya’s arm. In fact, as he peered over at Fedya’s face, he found there was hardly any fur at all. His horns and fangs were almost entirely nonexistent.
Killian hesitated, and then nudged up to Fedya a little bit closer. “It’s beautiful,” he said carefully. “I’ve never seen any place like it before.”
Only now did Fedya lower his gaze from the scroll. He swallowed once, glanced at Killian quickly, but it didn’t linger. “I have.”
Fedya was no longer towering over him. In fact, the top of his head barely reached Killian’s brow.
“It’s my home.”
His words lingered between them. Then Fedya bit his lip and started toward the door. Killian watched him, his stomach turning inside itself as Fedya’s words sunk in, and he looked up, staring at the palace one final time. Though surrounded by leagues of sharp snow, the palace thrived with warmth and energy. The horses pranced and the swans practically flapped their painted wings.
There was music now, far-off chimes mingling with the peculiar scent of sweet pastries and the nip of snow. It was real. All of it was real.
And Fedya was a man. Not a monster.
Killian spun around. “Fedya, wait.”
He ran over to him, reaching him before he could leave.
“Have dinner with me tomorrow? I want you to tell me more about it... about Eskor. Bring your books, or we can come here. Wherever you want, I just want you to tell me more about your home.”
He reached out without thinking, grasping Fedya’s hand in his own, and squeezed tight. “Please?”
Fedya tensed and looked down, staring at their entwined fingers. His hands were cold as ice, yet his face remained calm, impossible to read. His lips parted, and for a moment Killian’s heart jittered with hope. But then Fedya twisted his nose and scoffed, tearing his hand away. “No.”
The jittering jolted to a halt. But he threw his arm out, blocking the door. “Why?”
His voice almost cracked, and he bit his tongue. Fedya stared up at him, with those same golden brown eyes that had so entranced Killian in the middle of a dance. Those eyes that drew him in like magic, promising riches and delivering nothing but broken dreams.
“Because you won’t understand. This, all of this,” he motioned back at the sweeping library around them, “it’s just another one of your adventures. It’s not real to you.”
“Then make it real.” Killian’s voice was tight, but he couldn’t let go. Not yet. “Please.”
Fedya lingered for a moment, eyes trapped in Killian’s. Then his gaze dropped, landing on Killian’s neck one more time, and he shook his head, sighing as he ducked under Killian’s arm, escaping out into the hall.
“Tomorrow,” he called without looking back. “Dinner.”
K
illian spent the next morning outside. If he stood between the stable and mansion and tilted his head toward the garden hedges, he lost sight of the fence that surrounded him, and for a brief moment he looked like he was free. But then he’d turn, and the walls of the mansion would return and the fence would creep back into view and he remembered why he was really there. Still, it felt good to pretend, at least for a few seconds.
A violet bruise had blossomed on his throat overnight, speckled in green and orange. It hurt to swallow, but Killian swore he’d eat something tonight with Fedya. He wasn’t going to miss out on this opportunity for something as inane as a sore throat.
He pulled the scarf a little tighter and kept walking. It hadn’t stopped snowing since he’d walked outside, but the snowflakes didn’t bother him as much anymore. Maybe he was getting used to the weather in Thale. He paused, glancing around, one eyebrow raised… did this place really even count as Thale at all? A mansion in the middle of nowhere, invisible bells that brought him what he needed. Probably the work of something a little bit more magical than Thale.
He eyed the winding trail that snaked off and disappeared into the tall hedges. Every time the wind blew the tiny sound of the flowers ringing tickled his ears, begging him to come back. But he shook his head, focusing on the ground, and avoided the path. His throat began to ache.
He wandered to the greenhouse, stopping in front of the door. It was just as pretty as the inside, a domed little building covered in green windows and flourished iron accents. His mother would love a greenhouse like this.
“I wouldn’t stand there if I were you.”
Killian nearly jumped. Fedya was remarkably quiet for such an enormous creature. Except…Killian stared. He looked smaller than usual. More human.
Killian’s lips spread into a grin. “I’m not minding the cold so much anymore.”
“I’m not talking about the cold.” Fedya rolled his eyes. “Though I doubt you’d be quite so happy covered in frozen water.”
Fedya nodded to Killian’s feet, and he frowned, looking down. He stood in the center of a perfect ring of slightly raised snow. Killian’s eyes slowly widened and he thumped his heel against the ground. His boot clicked against creaking wood, a hollow knocking reverberating in response.
He glanced back up, and he swore Fedya looked like he was smirking. Almost. “My mistake. It likely dried up years ago. It will
be the fall that kills you.”
Killian scrambled away, kicking up snow, and Fedya snorted. Killian tried not to scowl, and he loosened the scarf from his neck, suddenly much too hot. Fedya just rolled his eyes again and walked into the greenhouse. Killian watched him for a second, and took one final sweep of the grounds before giving the well a wide berth and following in after.
“I thought we agreed to meet tonight,” Fedya said without looking back, wandering over to the same group of azaleas as before. “You don’t need to follow me. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m not following you,” Killian said, drifting his fingers across the soft petals of a group of daisies. “It’s warm in here.”
“I thought the cold didn’t bother you anymore?”
Killian glanced up, but Fedya had turned his back to him. Killian bit his tongue and kept quiet, walking slowly through the rows of benches and flowers. The sound of his clicking boots echoed all around, but the small greenhouse still felt cozy. He ducked beneath some hanging ivy, circling back around to where Fedya sat. Fedya didn’t look up, head tucked down. Killian carefully tilted his head, glimpsing around his shoulder.
“You can’t fit both of those in that one pot.”
Fedya stiffened and jerked his head up. He held two pots in front of him, one of which gleamed shiny gold, decorated with a pattern of raised, carved flower buds. He’d begun digging out the azaleas from it, trying to squeeze them into a second, plainer pot already bursting with orange flowers. He eyed Killian guardedly. “I won’t just leave them to die.”
Killian smiled and edged a little bit closer to him. “You don’t have to let them die; those flowers just need their own place to grow. If you try to put too many flowers in the same pot, they won’t have enough room to breathe.”
He reached around the edge for the pot, but Fedya tensed.
“There’s hardly enough dirt in this one as it is.” Fedya tucked the pot closer to him. “There won’t be enough and the ground outside is too frozen to dig more up.”
Killian bit back a wider grin. “You don’t need soil from outside.” He looked around and saw a stack of plain pots. He snatched one from the top and set it in front of Fedya before turning around, scanning the shelves. “I’ll show you.”
He could feel Fedya’s eyes boring into him, but he kept his steps light as he turned around and scanned the other shelves. They were all piled with more pots and gardening tools. He stepped over to a white sink and pulled open the cabinet underneath. Yes. He pulled out the bag of soil, scattering a few packets of seeds to the ground in the process. One of them caught his eye, the photo of a rose printed on the packet. Killian hesitated, then snatched it up before shoving the others back inside the cabinet.
“When gardening, it’s better to use soil specifically created for plants. It has more nutrients and will help the flowers grow better.” He set the bag of soil on the counter beside Fedya and nodded, tearing open the top. “Try it.”
He tried not to watch too intensely as Fedya cautiously glanced inside the bag and pulled out a scoop. In silence Fedya filled up the other pot, rearranging the azaleas inside. Killian leaned his elbows on the counter, no longer bothering to hide his smile. Fedya looked pleased when he finished, but then he looked at Killian and the pride scattered from his face.
He snatched up the gold pot and turned to leave. Killian quickly straightened up from the counter. “Fedya, wait. Didn’t you say you were looking to plant roses?”
Fedya paused, glancing back over his shoulder. Killian pulled out the packet of seeds, offering them over. “I found these next to the soil. Maybe they’re still good.”
Fedya remained guarded, staring at the packet and refusing to take it. Killian took down another pot and sprinkled the seeds in his hand. Fedya instantly gasped.
The seeds shimmered, like tiny flecks of diamond in Killian’s palm. They seemed to pulse with light, radiating warmth that was all too familiar. Powerful.
“Put them back.” Fedya took a step back. “No good can come of them.”
Killian stared at them. They were so beautiful. “They’re just roses,” he murmured. “What harm could they do?”
He reached for another pot and dropped them inside. They didn’t clink when they hit the bottom. Fedya sucked in a loud, sharp breath as Killian covered them with earth, but he missed their beauty immediately the moment they were concealed from view.
“This will only take a moment.”
Not even the Winter Rose had a seed so lovely. He went to the sink eagerly, splashing in the cold water. He stared at the pot. More water? Less? Maybe they would get too cold out here and die. He should probably keep them close.
“Killian.”
Killian’s head jerked up, ears pricking. The sound of his name in Fedya’s voice sliced through his racing thoughts, and for the first time he realized how much his hands had been shaking. Fedya stared at him, and a flicker of something odd tugged at his face. Killian recognized it. Fear.
He set the pot down and yanked back. A jolt of electricity stung his hands, and he shivered. What had just happened?
“I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what just happened. You’re right, we’ll leave it alone.”
He met Fedya’s gaze again and gave a confident nod. Fedya slowly returned it. Killian forced a relaxed smile. It was alright. He headed toward the door when Fedya’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the arm.
Killian flinched, but Fedya’s eyes shot past him, round as moons and staring right at where Killian had just been standing. A cold prickle crept up Killian’s flesh and he slowly turned back around. A gasp lodged deep in his throat.
The pot where he’d planted the rose seeds shimmered in purest silver, burning so bright it stung Killian’s eyes. He squinted, shielding his face and taking a step back. Then the soil began to shift, practically bubbling, spreading apart, revealing a long, thin stem. It snaked up higher until it burst from the soil, floating midair, surrounded in sparkling light.
Fedya’s nails dug into Killian’s arm. He whispered something, but Killian couldn’t hear him. But he didn’t dare look away, rooted to the ground.
Gold thorns began to jut out from the stem, glinting sharp, and petals followed after. The rose started spinning a little bit faster as one by one the petals unfurled. The energy crackled louder, sizzling and popping, every sound causing Fedya to twitch. Killian couldn’t look away, mesmerized as the flower spun faster and faster.
Killian’s fingertips burned, aching to touch it. He reached out and Fedya jerked him back. But he didn’t care. He kept his hand out, fingers outstretched. He brushed against one of the thorns. A slice of white-hot pain slashed through his flesh. The rose stopped spinning.
“Killian…”
Fedya sounded distant. Strange.
The rose shattered in a discord of shrieking thorns and petals. The thorns flew across the room, whistling through the air. Fedya yelped and Killian dropped to the floor, yanking Fedya down along with him. They slammed into the cold ground, the thorns still whipping through the air above them. Killian craned his neck, trying to look up, but all he saw was Fedya, his face a mix of horror and betrayal.
The thorns stopped fairly quickly, the whistling and sizzle of magic died down. Slowly Killian pulled himself to his feet. He looked around and winced. The windows of the greenhouse were cracked. Broken pots and flowers spilled across the benches and onto the floor. The stem of the rose lay at his feet, completely gray. Fedya stood up beside him, looking around cautiously.
Killian kicked the dead rose stem away, hoping Fedya hadn’t seen it. “Are you alright?”
Fedya’s eyes shot back to Killian the moment he spoke. “You just had to keep going, didn’t you?” His voice was hard. Hateful. “I told you to put them back, but just like before, you refused to listen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry!” Fedya slammed his hand on the counter. “Look ho
w far sorry has gotten us. Does sorry fix this? Does it fix any of this?”
Fedya waved his hand around to the broken remains of the greenhouse, almost knocking over a hanging basket of ivy in the process. He didn’t seem to care. His voice rose, threatening to crack. “Will your endless apologies take everything back? Make it all better again?”
“You’re not the only one struggling with this. I left my mother to come after you. I don’t even know if she’s been told that I’m gone. My friends—”
Fedya scoffed. “Friends.”
Killian’s face burned hot. “Yes,” he said, words clipped. “The most important people in my life, my friends. I didn’t even see them after…after the…” Killian’s throat swelled shut, the gruesome image of the shattered chandelier flashing in his mind. “…I don’t even know if they’re safe.”
“Then I guess you’re not a very good friend.”
Fedya’s words silenced even Killian’s racing heartbeat. Pain, raw and palpable, spread through his veins, stinging like a million needles, and when Killian swallowed, his throat ached. “I’m doing all of this for you. Because I’m your friend. I’m trying to help you.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
Killian’s voice shook. “You’re better than this.”
“You don’t even know me!” Fedya verged on roaring. “Why are you doing this? Is it to make yourself feel better? To ease some guilty conscience, like taking me back is somehow going to turn back the hands of time and make everything better again?”
“I…” But Fedya was already walking away. Killian’s throat swelled shut, thick and fuzzy. He tried to swallow, but his voice barely managed a hoarse whisper. “Things don’t have to end this way.”
“Wrong, Killian. That’s where you’re wrong.” Fedya stopped by the door. The fur on the back of his neck bristled until it stood on end. “You want to help so damn much? Go light your stupid candle and pray it all away. That’s really going to make a difference.”
FAIRYTALE Page 15