by Gwynn White
“You mean you could have cleaned us up days ago, and you didn’t? That’s hardly gallant.”
Averin stroked her hair. “Don’t get excited. I’m not about to waste magic on new clothes and baths when a glamour will do.” He started walking, so she fell into step with him.
Beyond the scalloped wall, a striated passageway in the familiar bold colors of orange-peel yellow, cinnamon, and black bread opened before her. At intervals down the center, life-sized stone statues of armed fae dressed in battle armor emblazoned with the air-kingdom insignia floated just off the ground. They were held up by exquisite, carved wings that grew out of their ankles. Some were male, others female.
Torches interspersed along the walls cast eerie shadows on their faces and bodies. They looked like real fae. Even their skin tones, ranging from sun-kissed tan to jet-black, matched their perfect features. Each radiated vitality so poignant, it was hard to imagine that they’d shed their flesh for stone. She half expected them to fall into step with her and Averin as they weaved around them.
Such lifelike creations that almost blocked parts of the thoroughfare had to be important. She waited expectantly for Averin to comment on them, but he said nothing. She was tempted to ask, but the weight of their presence stopped her.
The gentle breeze that whistled down the passageway fluttered the glamoured ribbon in her hair. That seemed like a safer topic.
“Does it ever stop?” she asked.
“Can you be more specific, pit princess?”
“The wind.”
“Um… remind me.” Even though his face showed no sign of laughter, she heard the mirth in his voice. “What court are we in?”
She punched his arm. “Air doesn’t always have to move.”
“Oh, yes it does.” He bumped her shoulder. “When I start telling you how fire magic works, you can explain air magic to me.”
“I stand corrected.” She made a show of rubbing her arms, as if chilled, even though it was pleasantly warm in the corridor. “I guess I’ll just have to deal with it.”
“That you will, pit princess.” He pointed to a shadowy stone archway three statues ahead. “You’ve seen and burned a hole in the carpet of the first part of my home. The rest is through there.”
This was all part of his home, brooding statues included?
“Trystaen and Eliezar live in my quarters with me, my occasional practical jokes notwithstanding. Now I add Suren and my human friends. Any more and we’ll be overcrowded.”
Her eyebrows rose. “No mention of me? Am I sleeping with the dogs? If so, a rethink is most definitely needed.”
He snorted softly. “Most definitely not with the dogs, but I doubt my mother will permit you to stay in my wing. I’ll give you a tour of it once we’re done with her.”
Her heart sank. “So I won’t be near Klaus, or any of my other friends?”
“Sorry. I’ll miss you too.” He said it pointedly, like she should have included him.
She ignored it. His head was already way too big. No need for him to know that her heart stuttered inexplicably at being separated from him.
He waited a moment, probably for her to answer, then shrugged. “My mother is famous for her wingdings. She’ll no doubt provide ample social opportunities for us to mingle.” His tone suggested he dreaded it.
She did too if those opportunities were centered on the carnival.
They reached a steepled archway, and she slowed to peer through.
In addition to a swirling wind that blocked the entrance, two of the fae warrior statues guarded it. Both were female. One was almost Averin’s height and shared his tanned skin-color. She even had his high cheek bones, full lips, and inky-black hair, although no stars gleamed from her blue stone eyes. She stood opposite a dark-skinned warrior distinguishable from all the Zephyr fae by her mauve-colored eyes and silver breastplate bearing the jade-blue Ocea crest. More telling, the Ocea warrior also lacked the almost harshly revealing detail of the Zephyr statues. It was as if she’d been carved from memory, while the others had been frozen in life.
She stopped walking. “Averin, I think an introduction is due.” She spoke softly, to maintain the quiet reverence the statues commanded.
Averin bowed to his almost too-perfect female look-alike. “Lena, you have finally been avenged. Long in coming, I know, but you’ll be pleased to know that our victory was comprehensive.” He kissed the tips of his fingers, like Boa always did when invoking her gods. “Shyael, I pray that Jahena grants you leave to rest in peace.” A long pause, then Averin looked at Stasha through heavy, dark eyelashes. “Meet my sister, Lena, and Boa’s lover Shyael. Or rather, Lena’s effigy and Shyael’s statute. As you know, they both died in the first attempt to take Angharad.”
Before Angharad, during dinner in Boa’s camp, Averin and Boa had told her the terrible story of how the Pyreack in Angharad had skinned Lena and Shyael and left them to die under the merciless sun. As far as she could tell, no statue of Shyael graced any of Boa’s camps. That didn’t mean Boa had loved her less than Averin clearly had.
She studied each woman’s face, noting little differences in the quality and intricacy of the carvings. “I don’t understand why they’re so different.”
He glanced at her in surprise. “I thought you knew. When a Zephyr fae falls in battle, their effigy immediately appears in their home. That was how my family knew Lena had gone—long before I had mustered the courage to send word home.” He stroked his sister’s face tenderly.
Stasha held her breath, expecting the effigy to blink. Of course, nothing happened. Silly of her. Lena was dead.
“Why Lena chose to take up form here and not in her and Eliezar’s private chamber, no one knows. But that was Lena—a law unto herself.” Averin smiled softly. “It was one of the things Eliezar loved most about her. He said that was why he bonded with her. She bonded with him because he willingly gifted her all the freedom she craved.” A sharp headshake. “Didn’t do either of them any good in the end.”
A lump formed in her throat for Eliezar’s loss. The night Averin had kissed her in the temple, he’d also told her that Lena and Eliezar had been drawn together by a power so strong, neither of them could resist. Growing out of that almost primordial love, they’d bonded and then were sealed, cleaved together with a link that not even death could break. Although Lena now guarded the entrance to Eliezar’s home in cold effigy, Eliezar was still bound to her and could never love again, even if he wanted to. It was good to know that their bonding had been their choice and not something imposed upon them by magic, their horrible gods, or some other outside authority. It truly was love.
Averin touched Shyael’s face with equally gentle fingers. “When Ocea fae die in battle, they go back to Jahena, the water goddess, so I had a skilled wind whisperer carve her. It’s not perfect, but it’s close enough. She and Lena were friends. That’s another reason she deserved a spot here.”
Stasha clutched her throat to cover the ever-growing lump she had to swallow. “Does Boa know?”
Averin frowned, and his wagging finger removed any doubt that this was a warning. “No. And you must never tell her. Boa has no time for sentimentality, so she’d probably hate this.”
True, but Averin’s respect was hardly sentimentality. This was one topic she wasn’t going to argue with him about. She pointed at the other hundred or so effigies. “And them?”
“They all either served in my Azura or my regulars.”
That made no sense. “But why come here? Didn’t they have homes of their own?”
“They did.” He shrugged. “You heard Nyx say he never knows who I’ll bring home next.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Why they chose to come here in death instead of their own homes, no one knows. They just did.”
“And their names? Especially the regulars. Do you know them all?”
“Now I do.” Jaw set in a hard line, he started walking.
Almost absentmindedly, she followed. Those dead soldiers
had to have loved and trusted Averin, their commanding officer and prince, immeasurably to choose to send their bodies here for eternity. But then, Averin was that kind of fae, which was why her heart ached at the prospect of not living near—or indeed—with him.
Inexplicably, Prince Averin Trysael drew her with a magnetism not even laughing, joyful Tarik had mastered. Yet as much as she wanted to be with Averin, he also repelled her with almost equal force. Maybe air, fire, and water didn’t mix.
Why did that leave her bereft?
Averin stopped suddenly and looked back down the passageway. “I think I’ll bring in a wind whisperer to carve a statute of Goul. He was the first of my human battalion to fall. He needs to be remembered with honors.”
That lump was back in her throat. “Ivan would like that. We all would.”
He nodded. “I’ll see it done. Now we better get moving.” He set a brisk pace, quickly sweeping through the effigies until, ahead, wind chimes tinkled. She jerked her head up to see what was coming.
The quiet passageway gave way to an expansive rotunda hung with silver wind chimes. The largest tube would have dwarfed the pine trees back home, while the smallest seemed no longer than her baby finger. The ceaseless Zephyr wind made music through them so beautiful, it almost brought tears to her eyes. To stem the flow, she looked past them at the apex of a triangular roof that soared above the tallest tube. It was made from at least a million facetted crystals that fired a kaleidoscope of color in the weak winter sunshine. “Those crystals and the music. It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“Not crystals. Diamonds,” Averin replied, matter-of-factly. “Even the clapper and sail are diamonds. Rather large ones, I’ll admit, but still diamonds.”
“No way! Diamonds? Like in rings? The kind fancy women who live in Ruepa wear?”
“Ruepa? You’ve lost me, pit princess.”
“That’s what Martka Gabika always said. Only fancy women who live in the capital wear diamonds. They wave them at their servants, while sitting around in stupid dresses, stuffing food into their fat faces.” That sounded painfully like the Atrian fae court. Perhaps that was what the old Martka had alluded to.
Despite the need to hurry, Averin halted. His knuckles grazed her cheek, stopping just short of her lips. “They wear them here too. And yes, the roof, and the clapper and sail on the windchime are made from that kind of diamond.”
She tossed her head back to get a better view of the sparkling gems. “Wasted in a roof. Fae… don’t they just keep on surprising me.”
“Glad you find us so intriguing. Remember, you’re one of us too.” He wrapped warm fingers around her arm. “You can regale me with all our faults after we’ve seen my mother.”
Eyes fixed on the enormous diamond hanging beneath the windchime, she let him lead her forward. Almost immediately, she fell over her feet. It pulled her attention away from the glittering gem to the stream of fae gliding up and down a silver walkway winding around the rotunda beneath the wind chimes. Rainbows flickering off the diamonds glittered on their pointed ears, cruelly beautiful faces, and exotic, brightly colored silken robes. Even their hair was dyed, or glamoured, in a riot of outrageous colors.
The diamond sparkles also bounced off a giant black-and-white statue of the two-faced god that rose up like a scepter of doom in the middle of the fabulous chamber. Apart from fae ears, the god’s two heartless faces were identical to the black-and-white-faced statue she’d grown up with. She huffed at it, hating that its evil presence reached even here. Why the fae, Averin particularly, worshipped that soul-sucking monster, she’d never know.
Averin shot her a sideways glance and pulled her back into his shadowy passageway. He leaned in close. “Like everything Nyx does for me, his list of dos and don’ts is well conceived.” Even though he spoke in a low voice, she heard it clearly above the tinkling wind chimes. “A set of rules designed just for you probably won’t go amiss.”
She jabbed a finger at the statue. “Don’t even try and make me worship that orphan-starving swine.” Spoken at normal pitch, her voice was unnaturally loud, as if amplified by the wind-chime melody.
Averin guffawed, then leaned in so close, she could feel his sweet breath on her ear. “That’s a task best left to fae with a stronger constitution for fire and arguments than I have.”
Her lips twitched. “You know your place,” she whispered. “That’s progress. So what are these rules about?”
“A sound barrier is in order.” He flicked his fingers, and wind eddied around them. The tinkling faded to silence. He must have dropped some kind of shield over them. “Pit princess, there’s only one fae in this palace you need fear—Queen Geminara.”
Her muscles tightened. “Ah… her. You have my attention.”
No trace of a smile from Averin. “Appearance is everything to my mother. She’s also the most private fae I’ve ever met. To the world, Queen Geminara of Zephyr is beautiful, remote, and calculating. In her home, behind closed doors, my mother is still beautiful and calculating, but she’s anything but remote. There is nothing she won’t do for Zephyr.” He took her hands in his. “A trait even stronger in her than in Boadicea. Please listen to me when I say that it’s never advisable to get in Queen Geminara’s way once she’s decided something is in Zephyr’s best interests. Even my father has learned not to cross her.”
Queen Geminara’s concern for Zephyr sounded a little too much like her own passion for Klaus. Was the world big enough for two fae with that much love? She itched to pick at her leggings, but her fingers seemed to have lost the will—and ability—to pull away from his. “She sounds like a handful.”
“Yup. That she is.” Averin’s face darkened, and his eyes flashed. “She couldn’t have picked a more provocative meeting place than the Dome of Dreams.” He let go of her hands to claw at his hair. “Quite frankly, I’m dreading it. You should be too.”
“If you say so.” She found a lose thread on her leggings hidden by the glamour and twirled it. “What happens there?”
“The thing you long for most will be revealed to the fae who called the meeting. In this case, my mother.”
“What?” She took a step back. “She can read my thoughts?” Fire and ice rushed to her fingertips.
Not now, she snarled at them.
Not that it mattered if ice arrows shot from her fingers to impale the two-faced god. In just a few moments, Queen Geminara’s mind games could reveal all her secrets.
Averin held up a placating hand. “Relax. She can only perceive your thoughts pertaining to your greatest dream. The thing you want most in the world.”
“It’s no big secret that Klaus’s happiness drives most of my dreams. And ending this war, of course.” She let her quivering muscles relax. “Your precious statue of the two-faced god will live unscathed for another day.”
No laughter lightened Averin’s face or lifted the sudden darkness that claimed his eyes. “It’s still a massive invasion of privacy.” He strode with brisk steps toward the rotunda. “Pick carefully what you want her to know. No matter what happens in there, focus only on that. Try to keep your mental shields up.”
She skipped to keep pace with him. “Will she read your dreams too?”
Averin’s already stiff jawline hardened. “There’s no avoiding it.” He stepped into the throng of fae moving in both directions along the silver walkway.
She followed one step behind him. The slow glide and buzz of conversations halted as they noticed Averin. Silk robes, tunics, and pantaloons rustled as they bowed to him. Although their heads were bent, she sensed their magic pinging hers.
Hide, she commanded her water magic. It scuttled into a ball and was enveloped by flames. The best she could do to conceal it.
A fae male dressed in purple-and-gold puffy breeches, tucked into crimson boots, and a crimson-and-gold-velvet fleur-de-lis-patterned tunic sidled in front of Averin. “My prince, welcome home. And with such good news.” His ring-encrusted hand lifted but stopped shor
t of patting Averin’s back. It hovered stupidly in space. Periwinkle-blue eyes settled on her. “This is Lady Stasha, I assume.” Without waiting for Averin to admit or deny it, he said, “Well, well, well. My lady, you’ve certainly sent us all on a merry chase these last eighteen years.”
Liar. She doubted he’d even stepped out the front door to help find her. He might have lacked forthrightness, but he had powerful magic. It lent weight to the full-on magical assault the other fae in the rotunda were subjecting her magic to.
Stupid, misguided fae. They undoubtedly knew the only reason Averin had brought her here to ‘ally’ with them was so they could use her power. Then why in all the darkness would they challenge her? Maybe a little show was in order.
She tossed her head back and spoke in her sweetest voice. “I am indeed her. Would you like a demonstration of my power? Tell me what to destroy, and I’ll blitz it for you.” She made a show of looking the fae male up and down. His long purple hair was held off his sharply handsome face by a golden clip studded with rubies. “Your clip, perhaps?”
His probing magic shot back from hers like a worm diving into a hole. “Something else, surely?”
Averin grabbed her arm. “There’ll be no blitzing today.” Hand waving—another sound barrier, perhaps—he dragged her down the spiraling walkway. “You’re not making any friends here,” he said, quoting her. “While not unusual, it’s also strangely uncharacteristic. What are you playing at, pit princess?”
She dug her fingernails into his arm. “He was prodding my magic, like he was testing me. Him and every other stuck-up fae here. No one who does that should be allowed to escape with their hair. I’d have shaved him clean if you hadn’t interfered.”
“That was Onver Zylmoira. He’s one of my father’s closest advisors.” For some strange reason, Averin sounded incredulous.
“Then he should have better manners,” she said primly. “Even an orphan from Askavol knows that it’s rude to prod people.”