by Alex Lidell
“I combed the throne room this morning,” Autumn says, pacing back and forth along the oak table in one of the palace library’s alcoves. Around us, shelves of books reach up to a vaulted ceiling, hanging candelabras bathing the space in warm light. Seated at the book-laden table, Kora, Tye, and I inhale the scent of aged paper and bindings as we follow Autumn’s progress with our eyes. Without River’s firm opinions, Coal’s guarding presence around the edges, and Shade’s comforting warmth, our group feels thin, wobbly. We all try to ignore it.
Autumn quickens her steps. Turns. Walks back, fingers fiddling with the tips of her silver braids. I don’t know what fills me with more dread—her ragged, unpolished nails or her simple, mindless outfit. Black tights and a man’s sweater that looks like it may be on backwards. When I realize by its scent that it must be River’s, my heart lodges in my throat. Missing a brother can hardly be easier than missing a quint mate. “I found several folds in the Gloom, but only one that’s new. Following that direction, and knowing Griorgi’s prior choices, and his intended goal of—”
“Just say it, Autumn.” I rest my elbows on the table, my heart pounding. “Do you know where they are?”
She swallows, her gaze skimming over Tye’s. “I know where they are going to be in ten days’ time.”
“The Blaze capital.” Tye’s jaw tightens with understanding. “In a week and a half, Blaze will be celebrating Samhain—as if spirits and darkness warrant a bloody festival. Bonfires, masquerades, trials of fear and courage—the lore is that by showing the darkness how close you can get to it and not be afraid, you’ll intimidate it into staying put for another year.” He rubs his face. “Point is, everyone will be out in hordes, celebrating and drinking. A perfect target.”
“Won’t it be the same in all the courts though?” I ask.
Autumn shakes her head. “Blaze is the only court to celebrate Samhain. Many in Blaze have a fire-magic affinity, like Tye, so I think they are partial to the tradition.”
“Stars,” Tye says. “Around that time, no one might even notice a bloody portal from Mors opening until Griorgi has slaughtered half the capital.”
Autumn nods, her face grim as she turns an open book toward us. “It isn’t just that Blaze will be distracted. Samhain actually is the time when the wards between Lunos and Mors are weakest, especially where Blaze is. Between the celebration, the weakened wards, and River’s blood, Griorgi has everything he needs for a major offensive.”
“If the bastard catches Blaze unawares, they will not stand a chance.” I slide my hand into Tye’s, squeezing his callused fingers. “So we go warn Blaze. With only the two of us, we should be able to beat Griorgi there.”
Autumn stops pacing, her gray eyes flashing in our direction. “Three of us.”
“Eight of us,” Kora drawls, lifting her chin as if daring anyone to contradict her.
Tye shakes his head. “You can’t go, Sparkle.”
“Tye is right.” I wince. “You are the only Slait royal left, and someone has to keep the court thriving no matter what happens. Plus, you’ll need to coordinate with the Citadel, see if they can help somehow.”
Autumn opens her mouth to protest, only to shut it when Tye sends tiny sparks of fire dancing like shackles around her wrists.
“There is also the bit about you sharing Griorgi’s blood,” he says softly, his green eyes apologetic. “You said ancient magics are fueled by blood and that there isn’t a bloodline in Slait stronger than Griorgi’s. If things go poorly, we can’t let him use you too.”
Tye and I leave as soon as we can manage, which is before dawn the following morning—Autumn having stayed up all night to work out a carefully sketched map of exactly which Gloom passages to use and when. Apparently, between the Gloom’s shifting nature and its life-energy-sapping existence, planning a balanced and expedient route takes a good deal of calculation. All the formulas make one thing clear: Tye and I will need nearly every one of those ten days to get to Blaze on time.
“How is it even possible to draw a map for something that keeps shifting?” I ask, yawning over my coffee as Autumn drums her fingers on the parchment she is sending us off with.
Kora gives me a dark look.
Autumn blinks, rubbing her eyes. “The same way seafarers use charts. Last I checked, the ocean’s currents and winds seldom stay still either.”
“Thank you, Sparkle,” Tye says with a seriousness that twists my stomach into a knot. A knot that only gets heavier when the pair of us move out, racing against time.
Our first seven days pass in a quiet blur, each of us lost in our own thoughts and worries, the only comfort coming with sleep, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms. Or, when too cold, the tiger’s fur. I find myself pressing my ear to Tye’s heartbeat each night, letting it stand in for each of my males, willing them to stay alive until we can reach them.
The landscape morphs more with each day we travel, the land’s magic affecting the soil and vegetation in the Light and Gloom both. In place of the neutral lands’ dizzying peaks and Slait’s lush forests, Blaze stretches into wide savannahs, with trees far enough apart to keep the canopy from closing. On the ground, the brittle grass rises in shades of yellow and brown, often with patches of orange-tinged soil showing through the strands. The sun’s power grows, slowing me down as we move deeper into the heart of Blaze, reminding me of the trial arena. Only the bright-blue moss growing in the Gloom remains a constant.
“How long have you been away from Blaze?” I ask Tye as we slide back into the Gloom on the morning of our eighth day. The drab colors and sounds chill my core as always.
“Not counting the recent excursion to Karnish?” Tye turns to look over his shoulder at me, his dapple stallion bristling unhappily as grass crunches underfoot with a dull crackle. “About three hundred years, since I joined the quint. No, wait, I think I was arrested in Slait before that. So, a long time.”
A tinge of sadness spiders over my skin. “And you’ve not talked to your family since?”
“No.” Drawing the sword strapped across his back, Tye hacks a thick clump of moss off a low-hanging branch. “Damn parasite. I swear it’s spreading more each time we step here.”
“This?” Reaching out to another patch of moss, I brush my fingers through the bright, almost glowing, strands. They feel as thick as a tiger’s fur, warm and velvety.
Tye cringes. “Don’t touch it.”
“Why not? It’s pretty. The only thing with any color here.”
“Pretty?” Tye snorts. “You know why it’s colorful and bright?” Tye plucks off a piece, hissing as he holds the blue tuft on his bare palm for a few seconds. When he finally drops it, the skin blisters with red burns. “The moss feeds off magic. The only native to the Gloom, and it preys on everyone who enters.” Reclaiming his sword, Tye hacks off another blue clump, this one as big as a sunflower. “Coal says the qoru are battling it constantly too. The one and only thing Lunos and Mors have in common.”
“Maybe it just doesn’t know what to do with me, since I’ve no magic of my own.” I pull my hand away, feeling the loss of the moss’s warmth. “Still, it feels like the friendliest thing out here. As if it’s keeping us company.”
The words hang in the air between us, underscoring the others’ absence. I swallow, turning away. A few moments later, Tye rides up close enough to put a strong hand on my knee. “Let’s take a few hours in the Light, Lilac Girl,” he says with a cheerfulness I know he doesn’t feel. “Dead rescuers are not nearly as effective as living ones, and I think the horses could use a bit of fresh air. Plus, I’ve something better than moss to show you.”
The something better turns out to be the horizon of civilization, the distant peak of the Blaze Royal Palace beckoning from far-off plains. Its gilded, spindly towers rise into the air like twisting flames, catching the sunlight. “It looks like we are almost there.” I stretch my lower back. “Ahead of schedule.”
Tye snorts. “We are neither. It’s all much far
ther than it looks.”
Despite my inclination to not believe him, the male turns out to be right. With little by way of reference, moving through the savannah and a slowly growing density of small villages—clusters of low earthen huts and wide-eyed fae children—feels like a great deal of forward motion without much to show for it. By the time we finally enter the populated area at the outskirts of Blaze’s capital city, Ferno, it’s early evening.
Only two days until Samhain remain and decorations adorn almost every door and fence. Every post and window is strung with garlands and lights, and many walls show off chalked sketches of animal skeletons, tormented spirits, and nose-less, sharp-toothed . . . “Are those qoru?” I point to one of the better drawings, this one covering the wall of a busy pub. Here, bright lines of chalk depict a pair of qoru sitting cross-legged at a small, round table, each creature nursing a mug of bubbling brew.
“Aye.” Tye’s usually amused voice is tight, as if braced for a blow. “My people take Samhain to its proper absurdity. When the fires are lit the night after next, the whole city will look like a flaming river—with enough colts standing so close to the flames to prove their courage that the healers will be busy for the next month.”
I give Tye a sidelong glance, wondering whether he realizes how closely Blaze’s Samhain spirit fits with his own flex mastery. “Ferno is a great deal busier than Slait, isn’t it?” I say instead, taking in the chaotic streets. The place feels more like a huge, overcrowded village from the mortal lands than Slait’s stately capital. The closely packed sandstone and orange-clay buildings seem to tumble over each other like a natural organism, reaching multiple stories into the air so they almost lean over our narrow stone street. Fae bustle in every direction, some overhead on walkways that crisscross the road, some brushing right past us on feet and horseback—all so busy with their own errands that at first we seem to be anonymous. A feeling that lasts all of about one minute. As we ride, a turned head or two morphs into hushed whispers, which soon give way to hordes of children running into the street to see the novelties for themselves. All are dressed in loose, billowing fabrics of white and red and orange, long-sleeved tunics and pants that billow in the wind like a tribute to the fire magic Blaze is known for.
“Slait sprawls,” Tye says finally, a smile in his voice. “Blaze—Ferno City, especially—is more of an anthill. It’s had to grow up and down and over itself instead of out, by virtue of being situated over the only source of abundant groundwater for hundreds of miles in any direction.” Tye sighs. “And by the time we are halfway through, with how densely populated it is, the whole damn place is going to know we’re here. Are you hungry, lass? We might as well get this over with.”
“Get what—” I cut off as a beautiful pointy-featured female piling wood on a future bonfire drops her bundle and gasps, one hand pointed at Tye.
“Tyelor? Stars. You are him, aren’t you?” Rushing over, she all but knocks into Tye’s stallion, who dances disapprovingly. The female wipes her hands on her apron. “The Tyelor? Flex champion?”
Swinging down from the saddle, Tye bows hastily. “Aye, lass.” His coy smile and sparkling eyes are such a perfect mask that I doubt anyone but me sees the heart-tearing pain beneath. “And an awfully hungry one. Can you point my mate and me to a decent dinner?”
Mate. The word rolls through me with a possessive warmth, even as it brings weighing stares.
“That’s a mortal.” The female makes a face.
In my dusty black riding tights, billowing white shirt, and black leather vest, I suddenly go from feeling strong to feeling like a bug under this random female’s shoes. It’s a harsh reminder of what humans are to fae in most of Lunos—nothing. Or worse than nothing.
“She is?” Tye blinks, helping me down from Sprite’s back while a boy runs forward with an offer to take the horses. “I’d not noticed.”
“Enough gabbing.” An older female comes out of what looks like an inn, her wrinkled face spreading into a smile. “Welcome home, Master Tyelor. We’ve never stopped cheering for you, you know. One of our own colts rising up to challenge the prince himself. Whatever happened at the end, we all tell our youngsters of you. Come, bring your guest in and we’ll set you up with some supper.”
The tips of Tye’s ears darken, but he covers the blush with a bow, straightening just in time to catch a tripping boy who clutches a wooden mug in one hand and a sharp knife in the other.
“Master Tyelor! Master Tyelor!” the boy says, extending both items to Tye as the male sets him back on his feet. “I’m training in flex too. Would you carve your name for me? My coach says—ow!” He yelps, protesting loudly as the previously simpering female grabs his ear and escorts him away.
“You are more famous than River,” I say quietly, following Tye to a table that the innkeeper has ordered to be set. “Was it like this before you left?”
My male nods once and pushes the bread toward me, the aroma of yeast and fresh flour filling the air. Breaking into the thick crust, I study Tye over the haze of false privacy. The whole dining room is watching us. Watching him. The realization seeps through me slowly, mixing with Tye’s words and secrets. He wasn’t just an athlete; he was a hero. A beacon of hope, showing the low-born commoners that work and dedication could take them to their dreams. And if I know Tye, he thinks he let down every one of them.
I slide my hand along the tabletop to grip Tye’s fingers, my thumb caressing his callused knuckles. I’m here, I tell him silently. And I love you.
Tye’s gaze penetrates mine, as if anchoring itself in my soul to the exclusion of the world. The feline intensity makes my heart stutter, the sudden need to be closer so overpowering that my breath catches in my throat. My male. This glorious, mischievous, wounded, loyal warrior is mine. History and present and all.
“Well, if it isn’t you,” a cold voice snaps. The female stalking toward us looks sweaty from a hard ride. Red hair pulled back into a thick braid, she wears the livery of a palace servant and glares at Tye with icy green eyes.
A muscle in Tye’s jaw ticks. “Saritta.” Rising from his chair, he bows to the newcomer. “An unexpected pleasure, running into you so . . . efficiently.”
I rise too, my body tense, an acrid possessiveness washing over me.
The female snorts. “What were you expecting, Tyelor? A parade? A noose? With you, one can never quite tell.” Saritta’s face swivels toward me, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “And what is that?”
Tye pulls me close against his body, his brown leather armor creaking, his hard muscles a wall of support at my back. “Saritta, allow me to introduce my quint-bonded and mate, Leralynn. Lera, this is Saritta. My sister.”
26
Lera
Saritta freezes, the gaze she pins me with changing from dismissive to intrusive. Her scent of sweat, soap, and starch lingers in the air between us.
“Mate?” Her nose wrinkles, her perfect features contorting from surprise to confusion back to unfiltered disgust. “You mated with a human? That is low even for you, Tyelor.” Putting her hands on the tabletop before her brother, she leans forward, her voice lowering. “If you came back to ask for Mother’s blessing, you can go back where you came from, you bastard. You’ve created enough problems for our family without piling more dung onto the heap.”
When Tye’s face remains unreadable enough to rival Coal’s, Saritta spins on her heels and strides out of the inn.
I am on her heels before I can think, ignoring Tye’s protests behind me. My hand closes around the female’s wrist just as she steps outside. With the breeze, the smell of harsh soap is even more prominent. That, coupled with the roughness of her skin and strength of her muscles, tells me the female labors hard at the palace. “Your brother returns after several centuries and you intercept him to do what, exactly?” I demand. “Do you even care why we came?”
Saritta looks down at me, pulling her hand from my grasp in a single, hard jerk. “Do you know how much our mother sacri
ficed for your mate to twirl around a horizontal bar? What it cost her to let him play athlete while she worked to the bone to feed us?”
“I—”
“Go ask your mate how he threw decades of her sacrifice away for a night of drink.” Centuries of hurt and pain roll through Saritta’s green gaze. “How he left our mother and me with nothing but debt—walked away rather than face what he’d done. How he never even acknowledged that we’d been attacked, much less came home to help. After all our mother did for him, Tyelor left her the one time she needed him. If you’ve any brains in that mortal head of yours, you would turn tail and run as bloody far from him as you can.”
I stare at Saritta, my mind sifting through and rearranging her words in search of meaning. “You think Tye left you for fear of facing up to a mistake?” I say incredulously. “You actually think that the male with the biggest heart in Lunos ignored an attack on his family because he didn’t care for you? That after giving up his youth and his tiger for flex, he walked away from it all for a night of fun and debauchery?”
“When the night of debauchery leads to forfeiting the one competition that might have changed our social standing and future? Yes, my brother is enough of a coward to run after that.” Saritta’s eyes narrow. “And what’s this babbling about a tiger?”
“Tye’s animal form.” I frown, wondering if I’m misusing the words. “The tiger Tye shifts into.”
“Tye isn’t a shifter.” Saritta snorts. “And if he tells you he is, he’s lying. Get used to that, girl, if you’re with him. Shifter.” She shakes her head. “Shifters don’t survive flex beyond colts’ school games. You stand at a crossroads, lass. Open your eyes to the male sitting across the table from you, or else drink in his lies until, one day, the world tells you the truth.”
“You are wrong,” I ground out, putting all the weight of my pain behind it, my missing quint mates, my love for Tye, so fierce inside me that it almost hurts. I catch Saritta’s green gaze, though the female, nearly as tall as her brother, towers over me. “You have no notion of what Tye is. No notion of why he left. And certainly no notion of what he’s done since. And if you care too little to bother finding out, stay the bloody hell out of our way.”