by Lexi C. Foss
I glanced at Sol, but she’d done the trick skillfully enough that he hadn’t heard her. He chomped down on the last of his snack and fluttered his eyes closed, blissfully enjoying the simplicity of a tasty treat.
Yes, I knew what Sol needed. He needed to be around fae strong enough to help him. Fae like me…
Fae like Cyrus and Exos with royal lines stronger than mine.
Perhaps even a fae like Claire.
She edged closer to me, her fingers grazing my arm in a way that made my magic snap taut against hers. She sucked in a breath but didn’t back away.
“The king’s orders are never disobeyed,” I said, trying to put ice and steel into my tone like Cyrus was so good at doing. He seemed to have a knack for pushing the Halfling away, and that was one skill I needed to work on. If I was going to be her guardian, I didn’t want to end up mating with her. Not because I disliked her, but because it was just too complicated.
She flinched at my tone, and even though she backed away and left me feeling guilty, I knew it was the right thing to do.
“Right,” she said, her teeth grating at the mention of Cyrus. “Well, at least he won’t be getting any dragon steak. Right?”
I nodded. “I didn’t get enough for him.” A lie, but Sol would help cover that up with his mighty appetite.
She crossed her arms and seemed pleased by that. “Honestly, I vote we never let him have any of the meals we cook together.”
Together.
Why do I like that?
I cleared my throat and continued folding the salad patties. “Agreed.”
We worked on the last of the meal in amiable silence, Sol displaying one of his rare bouts of patience until the dragon steak and patties were done.
We all sat around the table, and Titus joined us, his skin steaming as he used his magic to dry himself. He grinned as he settled next to Claire and gave her a kiss. “It smells delicious.”
Claire laughed and leaned into him, but her eyes were on me. “It was all Vox, really.”
Sol grabbed his steak with both hands and ripped into it. He chewed and swallowed the enormous bite, then smacked his lips. “Delicious,” he agreed.
I took one of the leaves from my salad patty and used it to pick up my portion of steak. “Bon appétit,” I said with a grin.
We dug into our food, and for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel uncomfortable around other fae. Food always had a way of bringing everyone together, which, I guessed, was why I’d learned to cook in the first place. I didn’t exactly have the most stellar social skills, so I let a good meal do the work for me.
By the way Claire looked at me—like I’d just given her a piece of her life back—maybe it worked a little too well.
“So, tomorrow,” Titus said, putting down the last of his leaves with a satisfied sigh. “I’m off to Fire Quad without you, sweetheart.”
She appeared slightly uneasy at the notion. “And where am I going?”
He lifted his glass and gave Sol a salute. “Earth Quad.”
Sol’s eyes went wide. He was well into his second slab of dragon steak, and he paused midbite. “What?” he said, his mouth still full.
I chuckled and began clearing the table. “Titus is right. Claire hasn’t had any earth training, and you’re the only one who can show her around the Earth Quad.” I grinned at Sol’s open horror. “Welcome to escort duty, big guy.”
“Well, fae on a spit,” he cursed, dropping the tainted piece of meat. “That’s why you brought home dragon steak.”
“No.” Because I didn’t know her schedule. “But I assumed you’d need something positive in order to remain here.”
“Damn it. I knew a great meal was too good of a thing coming from you, Vox.” He crossed his arms and glowered at me.
I sent him a whisper of wind so my words only made it to his ears. “Remember, a month of credits!”
Excitement lit his eyes. Even if it was a silly bet that Claire would make him admit he’d met his match, it was one way to get him to agree to take the Halfling to class.
He nodded.
Challenge accepted.
Claire
Earth class was not what I expected.
Sol had painted a picture with his size, giving me the impression that all Earth Fae were, well, ground shattering. I mean, the man’s fist could crack stone.
So when we entered the outdoor arena surrounded by trees and buzzing life, I blinked. And as the students who were half of Sol’s size began to stroll inside, I blinked again.
Several of the girls glanced at him and blushed while saying hello. He engaged in pleasantries, but I sensed his unease and wondered why he kept himself apart from the group who clearly wanted to engage with him.
However, I followed him as he meandered along the outskirts, each step shaking the ground beneath him. No one else seemed to carry such weight or energy, some of the other males appearing downright petite compared to Sol. Almost sickly.
How strange.
“Hi, Sol,” another female fae said, her dark hair the color of midnight stones and her eyes a gleaming azure shade.
“Aflora,” he returned, his lips curling fondly.
“Have you decided about the Solstice Ball yet?” she asked, her hands tucked behind her as she swiveled on her feet.
“You know I hate those events.” He said the words with a smile, his affection more brotherly than flirtatious. “But I’ve heard Glacier wants to take you. Say yes to him.”
“I’ll wait for you,” she said instead and gave him a little giggle before flouncing off through the flowers with a jump in her step.
Sol sighed, shaking his head. “Damn Solstice Ball.”
“What’s a Solstice Ball?” I asked.
“This big holiday dance where everyone gets dressed up. Happens around the Festivus season, seven weeks from now.” He sounded completely disgusted by the idea. “It’s like couple purgatory.”
“Why?”
He cut me a sideways glance. “Did you miss the part about dressing up?”
“That sounds fun to me.”
He looked me over and snorted. “Yeah, I suppose you’d enjoy wearing a ball gown and slippers. But me in a tux? No, thanks.”
“Then wear normal clothes,” I suggested.
He chuckled. “That would certainly shock the masses.”
“Then do it,” I encouraged him, smiling. “I’ll go with you. And I’ll wear jeans.”
His amusement melted into shock. “You want to go to the ball with me?”
“Sure.” It seemed like the least I could do after all this forced guardian crap. And it hadn’t taken a genius last night to determine how much he didn’t want to take me to class today. Maybe something like the ball would show him I wasn’t so bad. And besides… “It sounds fun.”
“Fun,” he repeated, sounding dubious. “You really want to go?”
“Yeah, why not?” I smiled. “I mean, only if you want to.”
“What about Titus?” he asked. “Wouldn’t you prefer to go with him?”
“He’s not mentioned it.” But perhaps that wasn’t what Sol meant. Was he trying to come up with an excuse for us not to go? I glanced at the girl with dark curls, watched as she laughed with a beauty most men would adore. “Do you want to go with Aflora?” I wondered out loud. Because if he did, I’d understand. I mean, we weren’t dating. We were hardly even friends. But I sort of wanted to be friends. Maybe.
Sol followed my gaze, his expression turning into one of adoration as he slowly shook his head. Not necessarily the kind of look a man gave a woman he wanted to fuck, but perhaps Sol was different?
“Nah. Aflora has a childhood crush on me, but I’m not right for her. It’s because she was one of my sister’s best friends,” he explained, running his fingers through his copper-colored strands. His earthy brown eyes flitted shyly to mine, then dropped to the ground. “I, uh, lost my sister a few years ago.”
“Oh, Sol, I’m sorry.” That wasn’t
at all what I expected him to say.
He lifted a shoulder. “It’s the plague, you know. Spirit Kingdom is next to Earth Kingdom, so, uh, it spread.” His mouth twisted. “That’s why everyone looks, uh, small.”
“You mean this isn’t normal?”
“It didn’t use to be.” He grimaced, palming the back of his neck. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to talk about this, just thought you might want to understand why I’m so much larger.”
“I was wondering,” I admitted. “I… I don’t know much about the plague. But I know my, uh, mother somehow caused it.”
He nodded. “That’s the story, but I think it was general corruption amongst the Spirit Fae.”
“What do you mean?”
Sol shoved his hands into the pockets of his navy slacks, his shoulders hunching. “I shouldn’t talk about it.”
“Why?” I wondered. “Because it’s me? Or in general?”
His mouth twisted. “It’s, well, both.” His earthy gaze met mine, the light green flecks hidden in his brown irises coming to life beneath the sun above. “We’re not supposed to talk about it.” That last part was a whisper, his expression contrite. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I’m glad you did,” I admitted. “No one will talk to me about my… what happened. I mean, Exos gave me the basics, told me how my mother left Mortus during the third stage of the bond and then refused him after returning to the fae world all those years later. And somehow that started a plague. But that’s all I know.”
Sol lifted his face to the sky, the glow tanning his features and lending him a handsome appearance. I could see why many of the Earth Fae females wanted his attention. He seemed completely oblivious to his charming looks, which made him all the more attractive.
“That’s the story they want us to believe,” he said quietly. “But my mother told a very different tale.” He glanced at me, then at the students assembling on a variety of tree trunks throughout the courtyard—tree trunks that weren’t there seconds ago. “Class is starting.”
Meaning he didn’t want to talk about this anymore. I understood. We hardly knew each other, and he didn’t trust me. Given my introduction to this world and the events of the last few weeks, I couldn’t fault him for disliking me. Maybe I’d read his responses to the ball completely wrong. It wasn’t so much shock at going as it was shock at me asking him to go.
Note to self: don’t bring it up again.
“Okay,” I said, recognizing that he needed space. “I’ll go find a, uh, seat.” I took a step and tripped over a piece of earth that wasn’t there a second ago.
Sol caught me by the arm before I could hit the ground and yanked me upright. “Shit, my bad. I thought you sensed that.”
I frowned, looking down at the two tree stumps that had magically appeared without my knowledge. “How…?”
“This is where I usually sit. I made you one, too, thinking you wanted to, well, you know, but you can join the others. That’s cool. I mean, you can do whatever you want. I’m not, this isn’t, well…” He palmed the back of his neck again and shook his head. “Yep.”
My lips threatened to curl at his stammering, my heart warming in his presence.
He’s nervous, I realized.
That made two of us.
“I’d like to sit with you, if you don’t mind.” I gave him a small smile. “You’re the only one I know, and I’m not very familiar with earth magic yet.”
He nodded and considered me for a long moment. “This class is all about creating life from the soil. It’s a self-educated course, which is why everyone is spread out. Most work in pairs or quads, learning the feel of the earth and producing art.”
“There’s no professor?” All the courses I’d attended so far had someone in charge, but looking around, I saw none.
He shook his head slowly. “Most of our elders are, well, sick. There are a handful on campus who lead the more advanced courses, but you have to pass the intermediate levels—like this class—before you can join. And most don’t make it that far. But I’m close.” His brow furrowed. “I just need better control.”
I glanced at the pair of tree stumps and chose the one closest to me. “Well, you seem to be doing okay.”
“That?” He snorted. “That’s simple.” He pulled a paper from his bag and handed it to me. “That’s what you have to create to pass.”
I stared at a sketch of an intricate tree with fruit hanging from the limbs and vines wrapping around the base. Then I glanced around to see other students had already started growing their trunks while sitting on top of them. “Is this the first day?”
He chuckled. “No, we’re halfway through the semester.”
What? “Then where are all the trees?”
“Oh, we move them after class to the nearby acres.” He gestured to the forest around us. “They’re all thriving in their own way.”
“But why?” I asked, baffled. “I thought the purpose was to create the drawing.”
“You have to make it within the course hour,” he clarified, smirking. “Anyone can make that with enough time. It’s the speed that matters, and the tree in that drawing has close to a hundred or so years of existence on it. Not an easy task, especially when you lack control.” He sat across from me and pointed at the ground. “Let’s start with the basics. Press your palm to the earth and tell me what you feel.”
I immediately felt guilty. I’d expected a professor or someone to teach me, not Sol. He had his own work to do. “You don’t have to waste time on me. If you just point me to where the textbook is, I can start reading. I clearly have a lot of catching up to do.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Put your palm on the ground, Claire.”
I swallowed and did what he said, mostly because he was a muscular giant and that look on his face brooked no argument. And his tone, well, it sort of reminded me of Exos’s tone.
My heart gave a pang at the thought, my connection to him humming in response.
Still alive.
I closed my eyes, wishing I could follow the path to him, to find—
“What do you feel?” Sol asked, his deep voice drawing me back to him and the task I’d been assigned.
Heartbroken, I wanted to tell him. But I knew that wasn’t what he desired to know.
So I pushed my reservations aside and allowed him to help me. It was the least I could do since he’d chosen to take the time to help me when he didn’t have to.
Life fluttered beneath my hand, the tickle of grass against my skin a tease to my senses. I tilted my head, following the thread of the element into the soil beneath and luxuriated in the earthy notes filling my nostrils.
It felt almost refreshing. Cool. Hypnotic.
I sighed in contentment.
Fire breathed passion. Air stirred sensation. Water encouraged tranquility. Spirit warmed my heart.
“Earth is invigorating,” I breathed, swimming in the undercurrents of power.
“Yes,” Sol agreed, his voice thick with an emotion I couldn’t see because my eyes were still closed. I had the picture of a tree in my head, the one with fruit dangling from the limbs. Mmm, what I wouldn’t give for a peach. That wasn’t what I’d seen in the photo, but I craved the sweetness of summers past. My grandmother used to bake the most delectable pie. I could almost remember the smell if I concentrated enough.
My lips curled as I found the ingredients in the earth, not for the dessert, but the core ingredient—a peach pit.
It seeded beneath my palm, growing roots to secure itself to the soil, and pushed through the grass. “I miss peaches,” I whispered, my brow furrowing. “I miss home.”
“Me, too,” Sol agreed, his words a breath on the wind. “But I can never go back.”
“Why?” I asked, my creation growing in my mind, boasting vitality and scenting the air around us. “Why can’t you go home, Sol?”
“Because there’s nothing left,” he grumbled. “The plague has taken everyone I love. There’s no one for
me to go back to.”
“Why is it spreading?” I asked, not understanding. “If Ophelia is dead, how are more fae falling ill?”
“Because it’s not her.” Sol’s tone sounded pained, causing my eyes to flutter open in concern. His eyes were on the tree I’d unknowingly blossomed, the leaves budding as if in the heat of spring. Several other students were gaping at my creation, most of them staring in awe. “That’s very impressive, Claire. But it’s not the assignment.”
My branches sprouted with life, my desire to taste a peach taunting my tongue. It all came so naturally, so unexpectedly, that I giggled when the first hint of little green pits developed on the tree.
“What is it?” a soft voice asked.
Aflora.
Her wide blue eyes gazed lovingly at my creation, her lips parting as a peach fully developed before her.
“A fruit tree from my childhood,” I said.
“It’s beautiful,” she praised. “May I touch it?”
I nodded, biting my lip, uncertain of what else to say. But the petite fae seemed too lost in the masterpiece hanging over my head to care for words. She stroked the tree with adoration, several others wandering over to join her.
Sol watched without a word, a strange spark of energy in his earthy gaze.
Had I messed this up? I wasn’t trying to garner attention, or to even create a tree; it just sort of happened. “My control needs work, too,” I mumbled, wringing my hands in my lap.
He didn’t reply but stood to reach the highest branch and plucked a fresh peach. Several fae watched as he sampled the fruit of my labor, their expressions anticipatory. He took another bite, chewing, his brow furrowed. “It’s sweet.”
“It’s a peach,” I replied, confused.
“I like it.” He shrugged and grabbed another to toss to Aflora. She caught it with a furious blush and skipped away, her long black hair waving in the wind. A few others held out a hand, and he tossed each of them a peach from the branches above, then dropped one into my lap before taking a second for himself. “The fruit in the assignment is supposed to be dry and bland, not sweet. I prefer your creation.”