by Gwynn White
Averin slipped his arm around her waist and tugged her to his side. “I’m so going to miss you.”
Her face fell when he took his arm away and opened the gap between them. “There you go again. Prognosticating evil like a witch at a traveling show.”
“That was nothing.” They reached the end of the silver walkway. A dozen different passages and hallways opened before them. Averin took the darkest, narrowest one. It stopped at a circle of misty white light. “The real show starts here.” He wagged that finger at her again. “One thought, and one thought only. Remember.”
She sucked in a breath that burned like a coal all the way into her lungs as Averin pulled her into the light.
Every thought Stasha had ever had vanished, brushed from her head like a table wiped clean after a Hiding of the Moon feast.
With no time to grapple with the problem, she stepped out onto a cloud. Or, rather, into a cloud that looked no different to the white veil that hide the Trysael palace. She froze, yelped, then tried to shift her weight upward away from her feet, as if that would stop her plummeting through the puffy mist to the ground, far, far below.
At least Averin still held onto her arm. He kept walking, dragging her with him. Her boots clattered on a hard floor. It wasn’t a real cloud then; just a room of some kind spelled to look like one.
Charming hospitality.
Some of the panic racing her pulse abated enough for her to notice a fae dressed in a long silver robe that almost merged with their gray-white surroundings. Sapphire eyes so much like Averin’s looked out at Stasha from the fae’s sun-kissed yet almost ethereal oval face. Long, wavy dark hair fell unfettered down her back, and a simple silver diadem rested on her brow.
It had to be Averin’s mother.
Trusting her nose more than her eyes to assess Queen Geminara, she sniffed once.
The queen’s head jerked in her direction. A frown. But no matter what Averin’s mother thought of the intrusion, the air around Stasha still rang with a familiar scent. She was back home in Askavol, and it was midsummer. The floral breezes, so typical of the Atrian summer, were coaxing the pine trees into sharing their crisp, clean essence.
She rocked back, stunned at the warmth and welcome that scent implied. Averin was right. His mother hid a great deal of passion behind that beautiful, remote, and calculating mask.
Averin let go of her arm, bowed, then straightened with his hands at his sides. “Your Majesty, as requested, I present Stasha, an orphan from Askavol in the kingdom of Atria.” That he’d ditched all her grand titles was telling. They wouldn’t impress this particular fae.
Not sure what to do, Stasha bobbed a curtsey. Boa had expected that when they’d first met. No doubt this formidable fae would too.
“The winds speak of an amber pendant.” Queen Geminara held out a slender hand. “Show it to me.”
Curse those winds.
Stasha slipped her hand through the glamour and fished out her red amber pendant. It was only five steps to the queen, but they could have been a mile. She was clammy with sweat by the time she dangled the chain and pendant above Averin’s mother’s hand. She guessed she should let it fall into Queen Geminara’s waiting palm, but she’d never let anyone other than Tarik and Klaus touch her precious stone. It didn’t sit well with her to start now.
Queen Geminara’s unsettling eyes seared her.
Fire raced to her right hand, and ice spears to her left. Chain still swinging in the air, she jerked back, as if distance would stop her magic from breaking free. Thus far, the tree had honored their bargain to keep her water magic hidden, but that could change at any moment.
One thought, Averin had said. Just one thought.
Sweat pricked her neck. That thought could not be about magic. She closed her eyes for a second, and then it came to her: for the world to know peace, they had to work together to destroy King Darien. If showing her necklace to Queen Geminara of Zephyr helped make that happen—
She let go of the chain.
Pendant swaying, it snaked down and settled on Averin’s mother’s hand. Queen Geminara ran her fingers over the amber. Her blue eyes flashed as she looked up at Stasha. “Where did you find this? The temple in Ocea?”
“Find it?” Stasha blurted. “I didn’t find it anywhere.” She made air quotes around find. “I was born with it.” That sounded stupid, even to her. “Okay. Maybe not born with it, but I’ve had it my whole life.”
Queen Geminara looked straight over her head at Averin. “Feisty. I’m beginning to understand the events at the Crossing that led to your unprecedented broadcast.”
Averin shrugged dispassionately. “Stasha is who she is. Nothing could or should change that.”
“Hmm.” His mother picked up the chain with two long, manicured fingernails and held it out to Stasha. “Take it.”
As soon as Stasha touched it, his mother pulled both her hands away. She rubbed them together, as if cleaning them. Stuck-up fae.
Stasha tossed the chain over her head with a scowl. Hidden by Averin’s glamour, the amber settled comfortably on her chest.
Now what?
Queen Geminara was looking over her head again, except this time, she peered past Averin to the swirling light behind him. “Brock,” she called in a low voice. “Attend me.”
Brock the beetle fairy droned through the light and lumbered to Queen Geminara’s side. His carapace snapped closed, and his legs dropped to land him heavily on the mist-cloaked floor. Only his head and shoulders protruded above it. He lifted his hand and swirled one stubby finger in the air.
A gentle breeze eddied the cloud, which snaked up to entwine Stasha’s legs. She was about to brush it away when she caught Averin’s warning frown. His legs were also ensnared.
This had to be the moment his mother ravaged their heads.
Her thoughts rushed to her magic. That was a red flag right there. She had to trust the tree to protect them.
But if it didn’t—
The wind whipped the cloud past her pelvis. It chilled her backside. Curse it! She’d already decided not to think about magic. Not when—
One thought. Just one thought. How hard can that be?
Dank cloud skimmed her breasts and shoulders. She shot a desperate look at Averin. The cloud already wreathed him like a shroud.
Huh.
How come he was already covered? Why was hers so tardy? Not that she wanted a clammy cloud covering her face. Who would? No one with a jot of sense would. Certainly no one she knew.
Cloud seeped into her nose. It reeked of curiosity—if that was even a smell. She sneezed. Once. Twice. Three times.
When her eyes reopened, her world had reduced to nothing more than a white cocoon. Cloud—or was it the wind driving the cloud?—pricked her head, both inside her skull and out. Prying jabs, they dug into things that didn’t concern them.
A spark lit her blood.
How dare Averin’s mother subject her to this? Not even at their worst had the Martka and Kňazer pried in her head. Zephyr would burn before she let this busybody fae have access to a single one of her dreams.
She clawed at the cocoon. The cloud parted with no resistance to spill away and vanish as it hit the opaque floor. She blinked in the now-harsh glare streaming into a tiny glass-domed pod. Averin stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, giving no clue as to what he’d revealed to his awful mother.
The swish of fabric hooked her attention. That nosey queen was on the move.
Stasha’s first instinct was to fold her arms to guard against any more invasions, yet to do so would show weakness. She threw her head and shoulders back and fixed her fiercest stare.
Queen Geminara stepped in front of her. “How intriguing you are, Stasha. Welcome to Zephyr.”
Averin’s mother may have gotten something interesting from that stunt, but, sadly, Brock’s polished boot revealed more to Stasha about the findings than Queen Geminara’s shuttered face did. Her marked lack of emotion blasted the words
of welcome into oblivion.
Queen Geminara turned to Averin. A smile lifted her face and made her sapphire-blue eyes dance, just like Averin’s did.
Stasha’s heart sank at the similarity.
“You’ve done well, my son,” his mother lilted. “Even better, your heart remains untouched. There’ll be a party tonight at the carnival to celebrate your victory. In the morning, our plan will roll forward, and you will finally receive your long-overdue reward.” Without waiting for Averin to reply, she took Brock’s hand and spirited from the dome.
Cheeks burning, Stasha rounded on Averin. “A party in the carnival! Over my dead body. Acolytes will fly before I put one foot in that place.” Shouting at him beat having to process his mother’s words: Even better, your heart remains untouched.
She’d cracked her heart open to Averin—a huge leap forward, given how much she still missed Tarik. Even with all of Averin’s mixed messages, she’d hoped he was as attracted to her as she was to him. Seemed she was wrong.
“And as for your plans and rewards—” Her voice boomed across the pod. “Don’t for a second think that—”
“Shut up!” Face twisted into something truly terrible, Averin grabbed her arms. “Or by my god’s two faces, I’ll—” A chilling snarl tore from his lips. “For once, keep your mouth shut and think.”
She was about to yank away to deck him but was stopped by the sickly sweet stench of fallen fruit left to rot. Klaus had once called it the stench of despair. How else to describe starving eyes—hers included—looking with anguish at peaches, apples, and plums rotting beneath laden trees in the Kňazers’orchard.
The stench of despair streamed off Averin. She snapped her mouth shut and held her breath to block it out. That didn’t stop her mind from racing as he shook her.
A year after Tarik’s death, when she’d first meet Averin, she’d barely been breathing. Averin had restored her breath with his kiss. It was his unwavering belief in her ability to win no matter the crazy odds that had woken her from a year-long sleep. In so many ways, Averin had been her savior.
Now he leached despair, and she had no idea how to help him. He needed to be freed from whatever tortured him as much as Klaus had needed to be rescued from Angharad.
He tossed her arms down with another animalistic snarl. “If you can’t unravel what just happened, then you’re not the fae I thought you were.” Eyes nothing but obsidian abysses, he turned away and strode to the ball of light that marked the entrance. “Let’s find your rooms.”
“Not so fast, wind boy.” She grabbed his arm and tried to swing him around to face her. He was as unmovable as the rock on which his home was built. “Averin, please. Look at me.” She hated to beg, but what else could she do?
He turned slowly. His eyes had changed again, this time to shuttered sapphire. Just like his mother’s. She fought the urge to cringe. “Please help me understand,” she whispered.
“Stasha… things….” He licked his lips. She guessed his mouth was as dry as hers. “Look, winning the war is everything. You said it yourself a dozen times.”
She waved her arm. “What has that got to do with anything that happened in here?” He was silent for so long, she snarled at him and started for the entrance.
He jumped in front of her. Gentle fingers clasped her chin. “Sacrifice. That’s what it’s all about. For a greater cause. A better world. Hopefully one where fae and humans can live side by side in harmony. That’s what this was all about.”
She sighed. “More riddles, Averin?” Her dull voice reflected the bone weariness that had come upon her. “Can you never just give me a straight answer? I’ve fulfilled all my bargains with you, yet you are still in my debt.”
Shrewd, speculative look firmly in place, Averin canted his head. She saw his mother in the action and had to fight back prickling tears. “Tomorrow. After breakfast. I’ll tell you everything.”
She folded her arms. “Swear to it. Bind yourself to tell me the truth.”
He rocked on his feet and huffed out a belly-deep sigh. “A binding? You have that little faith in me?”
“You’ve got that dead right, buster. Unless you swear to me, anything you say tomorrow won’t be worth a lick of spit.” She worked up a juicy spitball and lobbed it across the pod.
Averin watched it splat against the glass wall, his expression unreadable. It slid with snail-like slowness to the floor, and he still said nothing. What to do with him? Her eyes flashed. A blast of fire perhaps? Her hands itched.
He must have seen her start to lift them. “Okay, pit princess, for whatever good it’ll do us, I swear on…” He looked around the pod as if seeking inspiration. He must have come up short because he scratched his sharp chin. His fingernails raked against stubble hidden by the glamour.
“Your life would work,” she said, going for a light voice.
“Wouldn’t you just love that.” A pause, then a bright blue light flashed to reveal a raven with inky-black wings sitting on the floor at her feet. Averin in his shape-shifter form.
“Planning on flying away,” she asked dryly, looking down at him. “Trust me; I will hunt you down.” He hadn’t yet told her what he’d traded for his ability to shape-shift, but now wasn’t the time to ask.
The raven cawed. Rough and grating, it sounded like a laugh. One wing lifted, and he buried his sharp black beak into his feathers. They splayed, poking in every direction until one flight feather tumbled onto the floor. The blue light flashed a second time, and Averin stood before her. He scooped up the feather and held it out to her.
Her eyes almost popped out of her head. This was no small offering. She took the tip, holding it reverently in case she damaged it.
Averin didn’t let go of the quill end. He looked her straight in the eye. “I swear to you that if I don’t speak my truth tomorrow after breakfast, I will be unable to fly until the next Hiding of the Moon.” He titled his head, just like a bird would. “Good enough?”
“Fae celebrate the Hiding of the Moon?” she asked to grab time to consider his offer. “I thought it was a human festival granted by the moon goddess to protect us—them—from you fae.”
“Stop stalling. Accept or counter.”
She huffed that he’d seen straight through her. Having experienced the wonder of flight in the sleigh, she had some measure of what it would cost him to be landbound for three weeks.
More than that, by giving her a feather, Averin was offering her part of himself. Yet she knew him well enough to know that not to haggle would rob the bargain of much of its force. She slapped a hand onto her hip. “The day after the Hiding of the Moon.”
He glared at her. “Really? Hiding feasts are my favorite times to fly.”
She couldn’t let an opportunity to learn something new about him pass. “Then state your case. Convince me why I should give in to you.”
“Where to even begin?” He shifted his weight from boot to boot. “The darkness is…” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s… It’s a cloak. Add that to my dark feathers, and I’m invisible.” He sounded wistful. “Free. For a few short hours once a month, I’m not Prince Averin Trysael of Zephyr, and I don’t head up our military. Not even my Azura exist. It’s just me and the sky.”
She shivered delightfully. What she wouldn’t give to have wings. Could she make a trade with some deity—not the two-faced god, obviously—for the ability to fly? Her shiver turned into a shudder. As if she didn’t have enough trouble with her magic. Imagine trying to hide three different kinds, including wings, from Averin. Way too much to think about. She narrowed her eyes. “So you’re telling me, you don’t like having all that power?”
He burst into laughter. “I said for a few hours a month. How could you possibly have missed that?”
“Ha!” She poked a finger at him. “Then your case isn’t as pitiful as you make it out to be. The day after the feast or no deal.”
“I’ve always said you drive a hard bargain.” He shrugged. “I accept you
r terms.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “No counteroffer? That’s unlike you.”
“I thought this entire discussion centered on what I like.” He let go of his end of the feather. “It’s yours.”
She held the feather up and ran her fingers carefully along its stiff black barbs. “I’ll treasure this.”
“And so you should.” A gentle smile wrapped her in warmth. “No one aside from me has ever held one of my feathers.”
Basking in the rays of his smile, she stroked her chin with the stiff tip. “Sure about that? You could have molted while spying on me and Klaus in Drueya.”
“Firstly, I don’t molt. I merely choose to drop feathers when they’re no longer required.” The stars in his eyes sparkled. “Secondly, I know for a fact that no other hand has ever touched one.” That glowing smile turned smug. “The feathers I choose to shed self-destruct before they hit the ground.”
She twirled the feather. “All except this one?”
“You’ve got it, pit princess. Keep it safe.” He started toward the entrance. “I wouldn’t want it falling into the wrong hands. With a bit of dark magic, it could be used to ground me for life. I paid an exorbitant price for my wings, and it would crush me to lose them.”
Yet he trusted her with it. Averin made her head spin. The sooner breakfast was eaten, the better.
She tucked the feather into her sleeve and followed him. “Any chance of finding a bath? And food. I’m ravenous.” Her stomach rumbled to prove it.
“Of course. I promised to fatten you up. I’m not sure where my mother is putting you. We’ll have to ask.”
“My prince, I’m here to help.” A mauve-skinned creature with eyes the color of thunderclouds flitted through the entrance. She curtseyed in midair, then hovered before Averin on translucent amethyst-and-black wings. Urn-shaped plumb-colored horns rose through her violet hair. Even her silk gown glimmered in every possible purple hue.
“Maelia.” The surprise in Averin’s voice matched his quizzical expression. “Her Majesty sent you?”
“Yes, my prince. I’m instructed to take Lady Stasha to her chambers.”