by H. E. Edgmon
Oh, right. See, fae are not of this world. They never have been. But five hundred years ago, their homeworld, Faery, was on the verge of collapse. Fae magic sucks its power from the natural world around it. Because of their magic, their world was dying, turning into a barren wasteland that could no longer sustain life. The Court convened and made the decision to flee.
The most important, most powerful, and wealthiest fae across Faery gathered together and opened a door to another plane, not knowing what would greet them on the other side. That door led them here, to Earth, to what the humans know now as Upstate New York.
Emyr’s adopted ancestors built their kingdom there, swearing to watch over the door generation after generation. The other four monarchies spread around the globe, each building a hidden kingdom of their own in a separate corner of the world. Right under the noses of the oblivious humans.
“I mean, I guess.” Briar frowns. “It’s just, you know, you hear fae, you think names like...Twinklepumpkin.”
I blink. “Twinklepumpkin?”
“You know, I knew as it came out of my mouth that it wasn’t good, but I couldn’t stop it.”
She flushes and I chuckle, and then the room goes silent and heavy again. I curl one hand around her upper arm, stroking my fingers back and forth against her skin.
I remember what it felt like, standing outside, to wield that fire in my hand. The warmth. The surge of power. I hate how much I want to feel it again.
Finally, Briar announces, “Well, I guess we’re just going to have to go to Asalin to sort this all out.”
I blink at her.
Really, it’s great that Briar wants us to be in this together, but that’s taking it a step too far.
“You cannot go to Asalin.”
“Why? It’s not like I’ll be missing anything here.”
Briar’s parents homeschool her, though their approach to learning is more about throwing their kids outside and letting them experience the world around them than it is curriculum-based. My mother never showed much of an interest in teaching me anything. It was only after I met Emyr that I started picking things up from him, sitting in on lessons with his tutors and absorbing a secondhand education that way. Briar and her family have mostly filled in the gaps for me in the years since, offering lessons on anything I’ve shown interest in from human history to how to use a laptop, but there are still plenty of things that don’t make any sense.
It’s a good thing I’m gay, so no one expects me to be good at math.
“It’s against the rules.”
“Oh, you’re right.” She rolls her eyes at me. “I forgot about your lifelong dedication to rule following.”
I narrow my eyes and scoff. “Okay, fuck off. I just don’t know how you plan on me sneaking you into Asalin. I’m not sure you’ll fit in my duffel bag.”
She gives a considering glance toward the closet where the bag is stashed, then shrugs. “We’ll tell him that where you go, I go. And if he won’t allow it, we tell him he can shove his contract up his ass. And...if he tries to call our bluff, then we go from there.”
“And what about your parents? You know, the adults responsible for making sure their seventeen-year-old child doesn’t get into trouble? Flying to New York to invade a fae kingdom seems like a great way to get into a lot of trouble.”
She crinkles her nose at me again. “I’ll talk to them.”
“I’m sure that conversation’s going to go swell.”
She rolls her eyes at me, sits up, and punches me gently in the arm. “Shut up. My parents are very antiestablishment. I just have to explain to them that a great injustice is being done and I have to help stop it.”
“I think you’re overestimating your own charm.”
“Oh, I think you’re very wrong about that.” Briar smiles, fluttering her eyelashes at me. “So, what time are we leaving?”
CHAPTER THREE
MONSTERS AREN’T SUPPOSED
TO BE BEAUTIFUL
Apparently, Briar is very aware of exactly how charming she is. At two in the afternoon the next day, the two of us are strolling up to the main lobby of the Laredo airport, bags in tow. Though I wasn’t privy to the conversation she had with her parents and grandmother, I’m told it went something along the lines of this.
“Everyone, I want you to know I’m going away for a while with Wyatt.”
WHAT?
“As you know, his life before he came here was a bit of a shitshow. Now, he’s embroiled in some legal mess he’s got to get himself out of.”
GASP.
“He needs moral support while he works through this. I’ll call and text every day and let you guys know if there’s any way you can help. But I can’t just sit back and watch my friend suffer alone.”
TEARS. APPLAUSE.
Honestly, if she didn’t hate everything about American politics so much, I’d suggest she run for president—assuming that’s actually how the conversation went. There is a chance she’s skirting the truth, so I don’t feel bad for whatever lies she had to spin to convince her family to let her get on a plane.
Of course, even though Briar is here with me, that doesn’t mean she’s actually going to come to Asalin. We still have to talk Emyr into it.
When we get there, he’s waiting for us, just inside the entrance. Well, waiting for me. The first thing I notice—his horns and wings are gone. He’s got a glamour in place now.
Would have done you some good yesterday, before Nadua ripped a hole in you, huh?
But where did he get the glamour? He appears to be totally alone. And as glamours are Influencer magic, there’s no way he could’ve done this as a Healer.
When he spots us moving toward him, he narrows his eyes. As soon as we’re within earshot, he snaps, “Who is this?”
Briar doesn’t give me a chance to respond. “My name is Briar. And I’m coming with him.”
Emyr looks surprised that she addressed him directly. He clears his throat, standing up straighter. “You absolutely are not. Asalin is no place for a little human.”
“I’m hardly little, my guy.”
He slides a shrewd gaze toward me. “This girl. She’s yours?”
Mine? Like—Oh. Like, mine. I think he’s asking if Briar’s my girlfriend. And, like, no. She isn’t. I mean, there was a time when yeah, kinda, but then I realized I was a huge homo, and anyway, we work better as friends, but—No.
And also, it isn’t any of his business.
I don’t answer the question. Instead, I say, “If she can’t come, I’m not going. I might not be able to run forever, but I can definitely make this as inconvenient as possible for everyone involved.”
Emyr glances around, gnashing his teeth. His gaze flicks across the dozens of humans moving this way and that, filing through the airport around us. Wondering if he could throw me over his shoulder and carry me past the TSA agents without causing an incident?
At length, he seems to come to a decision. “Fine. But I’m going to have a hell of a time explaining this to my parents.”
That seems odd, coming from his mouth. Big and muscled and princely as he is, it’s weird he’s concerned with answering to anyone, even the king and queen.
He looks weird, too, without the wings and horns. And his ears. They’re all rounded and short, perfectly human instead of pointy and fae-like. It reminds me of those baby dolls that look almost real, almost human, and that creeping feeling of discomfort they cause. An uncanny valley.
He isn’t dressed like himself, either, the pink suit and excessive jewelry gone and replaced with a pair of gray track pants and a powder-blue T-shirt with a V-neck so deep I can almost spot his nipples. (That part, at least, reeking of over-the-top indulgence, seems on brand for him.) He has a single bag in one hand, a black leather backpack. The whole thing seems kind of off. He’s smaller, maybe, in more w
ays than just how much space his body takes up.
But I guess the wings and horns are still there; we just can’t see them. Because when he turns to get into line at the ticket counter and I step in behind him, I ram right up against them—invisible but as solid as ever.
In the few seconds between running into him and jerking away, my mind has just enough time to process a few things. His wings are as soft as I remember them being, like velvet to the touch even though they look like leather. And they’re thin. I can feel the threads of bone underneath the supple skin—and, as I jerk back, a hint of the razor-sharp barbs that shoot out of them when we touch, a weaponized reflex to the unexpected brush of my body on his.
My heart thunders as I backpedal away and collide with Briar, who steadies me with a hand in the crook of my elbow. Close call. Any slower to pull away and I could have nicked myself on those things. The mental image of my skin flayed and my blood leaking all over the floor is enough to make my veins itch.
I guess Emyr would have just healed me. But still. Talk about an incident.
Emyr looks over his shoulder to blink down at me. Shit, he’s tall. I mean, I’m short, I know I’m short, but he’d be tall compared to anyone.
“Are you all right?”
Even though nerves are shaking their way through my body and making my tongue feel like lead, I snap, “I’m fine.”
He narrows his eyes and huffs, turning around.
Briar and I exchange a silent look.
She shakes her head to say, This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?
I roll my eyes. Pick up on that, did you?
* * *
The plane ride isn’t so bad, really. Emyr gets us three first-class tickets on a nonstop flight, because of course he does. Our seats are side by side, technically, with Briar’s in front of us. That goes about as well as he should have expected. I drag Briar down into the seat meant for him and glower until he sits alone in the row ahead. I spend the first half of the flight bouncing the soles of my boots against the back of his chair just to annoy him and the second half writing profanities on my jeans with a Sharpie and watching Briar sleep.
How she can take a freaking nap with all of this going on is beyond me. She questioned me for hours last night about what Asalin would be like, what she would see when we got there. She was delighted at any mention of the creatures there—creatures she would never get the chance to see outside of a fae village. She’s excited about this whole thing, like we’re going on a vacation. I sort of get why. She’s endlessly optimistic everything’s going to work out in the end.
I don’t share that same positivity.
I catch Emyr’s gaze on me, his head twisted over his shoulder to watch me—probably through an invisible wing—and raise my eyebrows. “What?”
“You’re very beautiful.”
Oh, we are absolutely not doing that. “Shut up.”
He balks before he growls at me, the reverberating noise making my hair stand on end and my fingers flex. “Why would you say that?”
“I am not beautiful.”
He opens his mouth as if to argue before stopping short. Frowning, he hesitates before he informs me in a clipped tone, “Beauty is not specific to women.”
Ugh. I don’t want to have this conversation. “I know that, loser.”
And I do know that. I’ve known plenty of beautiful non-women in my lifetime. I’m sitting here talking to one of them right now.
Not that I’d tell Emyr as much. He doesn’t need to get it in his head that just because I can’t stop looking at the sharp angles of his face, his full mouth, those dark eyes framed by long lashes, the lean, tightly muscled length of his body...
Where was I going with this?
“Then why would you be offended by a compliment?” His irritation is growing more obvious. Good. Let him be irritated. Let it sink in properly that I am not the golden goose. I am more like an actual goose, hissing and honking and attacking small children who just want to give me bread.
Anyway, I want to tell him I’m not offended, that he doesn’t have the power to offend me, but that isn’t the truth. I stare into his eyes, my mind filing through the other possible responses.
Because I don’t want to be beautiful. Because I don’t want any sliver of my value to be defined by you or anyone else finding me nice to look at. Because I’m a monster, and monsters aren’t supposed to be beautiful.
I’m saved from having this conversation by the light above us dinging on. A too-cheerful voice instructs us to prepare for landing.
Emyr sighs and turns back around. “I hope you’re ready to go home, firestarter.”
Yeah. Me, too.
* * *
A limousine with dark-tinted windows picks us up from the airport. A limo! Like we’re headed to the worst prom ever! (Though I suspect most proms are pretty bad. I’ve never actually been to one, but it seems like a fair assumption based on what I know about both human high school and straight people.) The driver, a witch, flashes a wink and tiny fangs at me when he opens the door to the back seat. As soon as he starts to drive off, Emyr presses the button to close the partition.
“So,” he begins, leaning back on his side of the bench, eyeing Briar in a way I don’t appreciate. Which is just to say, I’d rather the fae not have their eyes on my best friend at all, ever. “You’re human.”
Her nose crinkles up. “Well, sure, mostly, last I checked. I mean, I haven’t checked in a while, though, so it’s possible things may have changed. I once went through a phase when I was five where I thought maybe I was a puppy. I would demand all my meals be from a bowl on the ground and I...”
She trails off, laughing softly as her cheeks turn plum colored. “You know, I thought that would be a funny story, but in hindsight, I think it just makes me look like a weirdo.”
Emyr hums, neither confirming nor denying he thinks she’s a weirdo. “How did you two meet?”
“My mother found him. She has a problem with turning our place into a safe house for anyone who needs it. I mean, not that it was so much a problem when she brought home Wyatt. But it can be an issue. She just shows up with feral cats sometimes, you know? Oh, and once she found this backyard dog breeder on Facebook—Do you have Facebook?”
“Of course they don’t have Facebook,” I say at the exact same moment that Emyr says, “Yes.”
I tilt my head, eyes narrowing as I consider him with skepticism. “That’s new.”
Emyr nods, his thighs parting wider so he can reach into the pocket of his sweats and fish out a cell phone. My tongue involuntarily flicks out at my lower lip. “It’s been a pet project of my mother’s and mine for the last few years, bringing more human advances to Asalin. Other kingdoms have been doing this for far longer, integrating bit by bit into the human world. And the more advanced they’ve become, the harder it’s been for us to stay connected to them. This is my attempt at changing that.”
Huh. Well, I don’t know how things work for fae in other parts of the world, but Asalin has done a great job of hiding itself away and staying disconnected.
Maybe that’s another reason on an already long, long list that I can’t imagine being happily married to Emyr. Giving up the human world? Walking away from people like Briar and her family? Never going to Starbucks again? That sounds miserable.
But hey, at least I could still use Twitter.
He continues. “There’s been some pushback from the more traditional sects. But we’re making progress. My people do enjoy the Netflix.”
Briar grins, almost as if in spite of herself.
I nudge her thigh with my knee, hard enough to get her attention. She turns her head toward me and offers an Are you seeing this guy? kind of smirk.
I narrow my eyes. I hate you.
It’s not true, and she knows it. I could never hate her.
When sh
e looks back at Emyr, her eyes widen until they’re two black saucers with thin white rims. Her lips part, and she breathes a gasp so soft it’s almost indiscernible.
My gaze shoots toward him.
Oh.
The glamour is wearing off.
Emyr’s horns have begun to appear, color slowly bleeding from the top of his head to swirl up around them. The same thing is happening to his wings and claws. I can make out a hint of fang between his lips.
It’s a strange sight to behold, the way his inhuman appendages come to light. It reminds me a little of the way our energy reacts when magic shoots through us, like someone’s taking a paintbrush and swiping it over our bodies. I can’t help but stare until every piece of him is visible once more.
My gaze returns to Briar. She’s still wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
Emyr’s brow furrows. He’s watching her, too. “You aren’t afraid?”
“A little,” she admits quietly, finally pulling her gaze from his wings to look back into his face. “But not because of the way you look. Mostly because I’m pretty sure you’re a shitty person. You are forcing my friend to be here, after all.”
He shakes his head, audacious enough to actually try and refute that. “I’m not forcing anyone to do anything. Fate determined where our paths would lead a long time ago.”
“Do you really believe that?” she asks. “That your marriage is unavoidable? That this bond means you have to be together?”
Of course she knows the story. Briar knows everything.
“I do,” Emyr answers quietly. When I look at him, I realize it’s me he’s staring at and not her. It’s that same look I can’t name—too fierce, too hungry, too wild. It makes my legs itch with the need to run.
“And you’re okay with that?” Briar demands, leaning forward, her gaze intense. “You’re fine with signing away your future for this?”
Emyr frowns. “Wyatt may not be what I would have chosen for myself—” no fucking kidding “—but this is the way things are. There will be no one else for me.”
I don’t believe that. I refuse to believe that. There is no way in hell that I am Emyr’s perfect baby machine.