by Gwynn White
Inwardly she wailed at her stupidity for mentioning it. Darkness-cursed secrets! If questioned, who could she attribute that description to? None of the fae she knew ever commented on smell. That was her thing. She had to stop her fingers clawing at her leggings.
Nyx blinked. “Oh my.” With no clue as to what he was thinking, she stood dead still while his attention shifted to Klaus and the rest of the battalion. A slow smile spread across his strange yet appealing face. “I’m beginning to understand, my prince.” He rubbed feathered human hands together. “A Pyreack fae. Some humans.” The way Nyx said humans suggested their presence was even more astonishing than a Pyreack fae. Owl-like, his head turned to her. “I’m not exactly sure what that skinny thing is. But her magic….” Laughter like a pealing bell rang out. He spun to Averin. “It’s her, isn’t it?”
Another creature who smelt magic. Sweat broke out all over her body, and she had to clench both clammy fists to keep her magic in check.
Averin meet her gaze. There were no stars or dancing lights in his endlessly blue eyes. But no pain either. They just—were. He nodded twice, decisively. “It is. She’s the one we’ve been looking for.”
Nyx turned back to her with his nose twitching like a field hare’s.
Time for her and her magic to take control. And she wasn’t going to bother with any of her fancy titles. She dropped into a flourishing bow, almost scrapping her knuckles on the carpet, speaking once she’d straightened. “Hello, Nyx. I’m Stasha, an orphan from Askoval in Atria.” She wiggled her hips provocatively. “Hence my skinny lack of voluptuousness. It seems my reputation precedes me.” She summoned three fireballs and breathed a sigh of relief when her fire offered her three orange-sized balls to juggle. Her magic had to be concerned about Nyx to agree to something that could be perceived as trivial. But she hoped the subtle threat wouldn’t be lost on the feathered fairy. After the third toss, she snuffed the flames. “I could do more, but I’d hate to ruin this lovely carpet.”
Nyx clapped his hands, laughing. “I love it, Stasha, Orphan from Askoval in Atria. What else can you do?”
“I’m a one-trick pony.” She gave him a sultry smile, hoping he wasn’t one of those blasted Falsefinders as well. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t set your feathers alight.”
Nyx’s eyes widened, not with fear, but with sparkling delight. He beamed at Averin. “Is she always this fierce?”
Averin nodded. “That she is.”
Nyx swirled in a cloud of green glitter. “Astounding. And wonderful. Fantastic, too.”
Smiling, Averin clapped Nyx on the shoulder. “Feather burning will have to wait. We need to get everyone settled before word of our arrival reaches the king and queen.”
The knot in her stomach pulled so tight, she was sure she’d bust a gut. She longed to cradle her stomach, but she kept her arms at her sides.
“The other voluptuous humans—” Nyx winked at her, then pointed at Klaus— “are headed for the carnival, I assume. They’ll make for good fun, and the food will fatten them up.” His beaming face brightened. “I think we can call that a win-win. I’ll summon a sylph to escort them there. As for the Pyreack—”
She had sudden insight into why Averin hadn’t wanted to talk about that section of the Zephyr cloud island. Fire blazing from both hands, she jumped in front of Klaus. “My friends are not trained monkeys. Averin, that wasn’t the deal.”
“Give me some credit,” Averin snarled. “Nyx, the humans are my guests. Have chambers prepared for them in my quarters. See that they’re comfortable. Give them new clothes. Serve food. Plenty of it. Books too, for Scholar Klaus. He has free run of the palace library. And other amusements for everyone else. Whatever they ask for, within reason, grant them.”
Nyx blinked, then gurgled a laugh. “This day just gets better and better.”
Relief for her human friends extinguished her fire and loosened the muscles in her neck and shoulders. “I’d like my room to be next to Klaus’s.” She shot a sideways glance at Suren, not mentioned in Averin’s hospitality. “And Suren, unless you have some dark, dingy dungeon lined up for him.” She stood taller. “If that’s the case, my pile of moldy straw is next to his.”
Averin’s eyes flashed. “Stop implying that I break my bargains.” He plucked a feather from Nyx’s back, making Nyx wince, and placed the feather on his open palm. “Spread the following message throughout Zephyr,” he said to the feather. “Most of you won’t recognize my voice. I’m Prince Averin Trysael, and I bring you good news. I’ve found the fae who shook the world eighteen years ago. Her name is Stasha, Orphan from Askoval, Bearer of Wild Magic, and Weapon Coveted by Nations and Kings. She has allied herself with us. As the winds will tell you, she’s a real fireball. With her help, Princess Boadicea of Ocea and I destroyed Angharad death camp. I’ve claimed the gold mine for Zephyr. This is the first step in avenging our loved ones who died in that foul camp.”
Averin strode to Suren and slapped his face. Suren’s head whipped to the side. Stasha yelped as a perfect print of a black raven formed on Suren’s cheek. It quickly faded. Mouth gaping, Suren touched his face. “You marked me. Why?”
Averin had to have a reason. She squeezed Suren’s hand and waited for Averin to explain himself.
Averin’s head bent over the feather. “I’ve brought another friend with me to the palace. His name is Suren Vulkren, and he’s a Pyreack fae.” He looked Suren straight in the eye. “I’m in his debt, for he saved my life at great personal cost. Fae of Zephyr, you will not fail to recognize Suren, for he wears my mark. Attempt to harm him and you will invoke that mark. If you persist, that mark will pull a cursing down upon your head. You will not survive it.” Stasha’s eyebrows shot up at the cold malice in Averin’s voice. He covered the feather with his other hand. “Suren, please accept my thanks for all you have done for Stasha and me.”
Suren’s boots rustled the thick carpet pile. “Of course.” His feet stilled, and he looked Averin dead in the eye. “All debts are cleared.”
“Not quite yet.” Averin whistled in a breath and exhaled it on the feather. It flitted up into the air, hesitated under the dome, and then shot straight through the gleaming stone. “Now all debts are cleared.”
“That feather will take your curse to every fae in Zephyr?” she asked, incredulous that it could be so easy for Averin to curse fae he didn’t even know to death. That had to take the same kind of emotion that fueled her white heat, yet he’d shown none of that when she’d challenged him about Suren at the Crossing. He certainly knew how to be a mystery.
Averin nodded. “Not that I’ve ever done it before. It smacks of Darien’s sleeping stunt. But under the circumstances, it seemed fitting. As for the bit about Angharad.… His spies at court will make sure he hears of it. The truth will spread to the entire continent, and there’s nothing Darien can do to stop it.”
She swayed her hips. “Seems like a victory dance is called for.”
“No doubt my mother is already planning a victory celebration.” Averin cocked his head, then sighed. “And so it starts. Brace yourselves.” He must have heard something.
Back straight, she waited, heart pounding wildly, to meet her fate.
A buzzing sound echoed down the chamber from the direction Trystaen and Eliezar had taken. It grew ever louder, as did the tension spewing from her and everyone else waiting for it.
“What is it?” she demanded of Averin.
Before Averin could reply, a brown beetle droned into the hall. Shiny as polished brass, it was as big as the plump seat cushion on Martka Alonya’s chair in her study.
The beetle buzzed in front of Averin and hovered noisily on brittle brown-and-gold wings. Protruding on a thick neck, a bronze-colored face set with canny brown eyes stared at him. Brown lips pursed. So, not a beetle but a male fairy. Seemed it was only fae and Ildrim who had blue eyes here.
The fairy’s carapace snapped closed over his wings to form a brown tunic with sharp points hanging at
his sides. Sturdy legs clad in fine brown leather breeches dropped from his underbelly. He thumped onto the carpet. From his two horns of chestnut-colored hair to his knee-high brown boots, he stood just a little taller than Averin’s knees. He folded beefy arms across his thick-set chest and bowed to Averin. “Prince Averin, Her Majesty Queen Geminara of Zephyr summons you and Lady Stasha to the Dome of Dreams. You are commanded to join her without delay.”
As evocative as the Dome of Dreams sounded, her stomach knotted, and her magic stood at attention. Was this where she ran into her first suffocating air magic?
The grime on Stasha’s skin chafed. She looked down at her torn, filthy Pyreack leggings and Eliezar’s too-big tunic. They were rank with sweat. She sighed at the state of her boots. Anyone told that the scuffed leather had once been red and beautiful would be excused for not believing her. Even her hair was matted with dirt. She opened her mouth to protest the timing of Queen Geminara’s summons.
Averin waved her to silence. “Good day, Brock Winkleglow. I take it, the queen is aware that we haven’t yet bathed?” Averin’s voice was mild, but one eyebrow was raised.
“After hearing your broadcast, Her Majesty summoned a wind from the Crossing, my prince.” Brock Winkleglow bowed so low, the sharp points on his tunic smacked together in front of him. “She is fully appraised of—” He straightened and looked directly at Stasha. “Everything.”
Fabulous. Could this get any worse?
She flashed a confident smile to cover up—everything. “Well then, Averin, what are we waiting for?” She held out her arm for him to take. He’d done that at Boa’s camp when they were trying to impress Boa into supporting the Angharad raid. It seemed appropriate now.
Averin snorted a laugh. “Not so fast, pit princess. You have no idea of what you’re walking into. Trust me; you don’t want to rush this.”
All her fake confidence deflated. She folded her arms across her chest and scowled. Averin dipped his head at Brock Winkleglow. “Inform Her Majesty that we are on our way.”
“Of course, my prince.” Brock Winkleglow’s carapace snapped open. His wings flared, and his legs flipped up to lie against his belly. Buzzing a slow drone, he lumbered around and plodded along the bend in the wall.
Stasha looked at Averin expectantly. “What now?”
“Nyx, get everyone settled while we’re gone.” Averin started to turn, then stopped. “And summon a healer.” He held up his hand. “Wait. Not just any healer. Find Khatar. Have her attend to Scholar Klaus’s leg.”
Nyx rubbed his hands together. “I’ve never served humans before. What a fun assignment.” Shedding green glitter from his ruffled feathers, he sailed forward. “Come, everyone, follow me.”
Heaviness filled her as Klaus and the others obeyed.
Klaus looked back at her. “Behave yourself,” he mouthed.
She smiled and mouthed back at him, “Stop fussing, you silly brute.”
Nyx and her friends had just reached the curve in the wall that would take them away from her when Averin called to Nyx. Nyx stopped. With his head titled to listen, he looked like a strange green human bird.
Averin spoke. “Spread word through the palace that these are my honored guests. If anyone sports with them, they answer to me.” Air swirled viciously from his hand. “They won’t like the consequences.”
Nyx rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think I haven’t thought of that? I’ve already started drafting a list of dos and don’ts.” He plucked a feather out of his arm, wincing, and held it up like Klaus did with a newspaper. “No eating unless the food is presented to you by an approved person.” He paused to look up at Averin, “Me and Prissy Lightbreeze, I’m thinking.” His nose scrunched. “And maybe another couple.” He scratched his head with a very ordinary fingernail. “I’ll ponder that.” He looked down at the feather. “No accepting kisses from—”
“Got it,” Averin called. “Just listen to Nyx, and you’ll be fine. He knows what he’s talking about.” He waved them away and turned back to her. “Now to get us presentable.”
She took a step back. “This is about the carnival, isn’t it? What will fae do to them?”
Averin frowned, more at himself than at her if his downcast eyes were anything to judge by. He seemed to make some decision that had him look solemnly at her. “I’m the first to admit that humans aren’t treated particularly well in Zephyr, although it’s nothing as bad as Pyreack. As you suspected, here at the palace, they serve in the carnival. Not exactly like trained monkeys, but fae feed them spelled food to make them perform on command. Or they’ll be spelled to dance until they drop. Accepting a fae kiss can trap the human into loving the fae unto death—and that death tends to come very quickly. Things like that.”
Fire roared through her restraint. “And do they have a choice in this? Or are they mere slaves, like the wretches we rescued from the Pyreack death camp?”
Averin shifted from foot to foot. “Please settle your flames, pit princess.”
“Darkness curse me if I do! And if you don’t answer me, I swear, I will douse you in fire.”
He smiled wryly. “Which I will quickly extinguish.” When she didn’t reply, other than burn brighter, he spoke. “They have no memories of their lives from before they’re brought here. When they’re released, they’ll remember none of this. And the Trysael family frown on spells that can kill a human—like the kiss.” He sounded lame, as if he knew it wasn’t an acceptable answer. “I guess it’s why Trys, El, and I started calling the boys and Feral Fox ‘master.’ It helps differentiate them in our minds.”
Klaus too… they all called him scholar. “And that makes it okay? How can you possibly allow this? Averin, it seems to me that Pyreack and Atria are not the only fae kingdoms that need to fall.”
Instead of lambasting her for that unpleasant truth, freely aired, Averin ran his hand through his grungy hair. “It wasn’t always this way. Humans and fae once lived together in harmony.” He grunted. “Long before my time.”
She shook a burning fist. “Keeping humans captive to mock and torment doesn’t sound very harmonious to me. You better spread word that anyone who touches a single member of the battalion will be fried to a cinder and served up on toast in your precious carnival. And as for Klaus.” She rose onto her toes and snarled, “If they harm him, I’ll use every ounce of white heat I have to blast your precious carnival into oblivion. And by all the darkness, I swear it won’t stop there.”
Instead of dread at that prospect, knowing she could protect Klaus with magic no one in Zephyr apart from King Seph could likely match gave her power—fierce, magnificent power that didn’t care what the barbaric Zephyr fae gossiped about her. Let them whisper that she was wild and out of control. She spat on the floor. It mattered nothing. She was a decent person who’d never dream of harming an innocent, be they human, fairy, or fae. That counted for everything.
Averin pushed his hand through the veil of fire covering her face to brush her cheek with his knuckles. Her jaw was clenched too tight to even feel his touch. She did catch the acrid reek of his burning hair and skin. “Threats are unnecessary. I’m well aware that Klaus is your greatest weakness and your greatest strength. Just as your white heat is both a magnificent blessing and a terrifying curse granted you by the two-faced god.”
She stomped her fiery boot on the floor. “Don’t you dare credit that evil, joy-sucking deity with my magic.”
Averin pulled his hand away, and his eyes narrowed, probably with pain at his weeping blisters. “Zephyr acknowledges the gods, same as Ocea. Although Boa may be a bit more fervent than I am. But I give you my word, Stasha. If anyone so much as smirks at Klaus, I won’t just slap my mark on him. I’ll ward him with every protective spell I know.”
Her flames abated a little. “And the others?”
“Them too, if it makes you happy.”
“Do it.”
“Can it wait until after we’ve seen the queen? Brock will be back here any minute now
if we don’t move our butts.”
“Better hope no one gets to them first.”
“They’ll have to get past Nyx. Trust me, as easy going as Nyx may seem, no one wants to tangle with Prince Averin’s sprite.”
Her fire slowed to a gentle fizzle, then slipped back under her skin.
Time to make peace with Averin. “It sounds like there’s a story lurking there?” She kept her voice light—a total contrast to her fury. Her turn to give him whiplash with her shifting moods.
A smile skittered across his face, a sign that he’d accepted her peace offering. “One in particular. That’s all that was needed. But for another occasion.” His burnt hand hovered in front of her. It was almost entirely healed. “May I?”
Not sure what he wanted, she nodded. She and Averin had had enough arguments for one day.
Fingers almost brushing her body, he sailed his hand over her head and down her front. Her skin tingled, not just from wanting his touch, but also from the magic he’d cast over her. She looked down her front. Her filthy rags had gone, replaced by black fighting leathers. More decorative than practical, they were trimmed with golden buttons and red piping, which matched the bright-red boots she stood in on the bare stone floor. Her face fell; she’d burned a huge hole in the once-fabulous carpet.
It was a small price to pay if it kept Klaus and the others safe.
Determined to show no contrition, she tossed her head back. Her braid fluttered like it had just been washed and dried. She picked up the end to see a red ribbon. Averin must have noticed her ribbon back in Askavol, before the Pyreack fae had destroyed everything.
That he chose to bind her hair with one made her insides glow—until she recalled Hathrine’s shredded body hanging on a pole in Angharad and Tarik’s blood-stained ribbon wrapped around the Tiyanak’s wrist. If Averin knew what she now associated with red ribbons—
She forced her back straight. Neither the Tiyanak nor the Pyreack would rob her of red-ribbon-inspired hope. “Fancy. I like it.”
He clicked his fingers, and his rags gave way to his usual gold-trimmed black leather trousers and tunic. Even his face was clean-shaven.