by Wendi Wilson
“Hi,” he said, his voice cracking on the word. He cleared his throat and held out an arm, motioning toward the two chairs by the fireplace. “Would you like to sit?”
I moved over to the chairs without comment and sat gingerly on the edge. I was a bundle of nervous energy, ready to have the mystery that was me solved. To finally get the answers I’d longed for all my life.
I reached into the small bag I’d brought with me and pulled out the threadbare baby blanket I’d brought with me. I smoothed it across my knees as Cris moved to sit in the chair facing mine. He looked at it with raised brows, like he had had no clue what it was and why I had it.
“It’s the only thing I have from when I was born,” I explained. “I was wrapped in this when they found me on the steps of the library.”
“Oh,” he said, a shadow of sadness falling over his face. “I wasn’t there when you were born. I had no idea…”
“Why don’t you just start at the beginning?” I offered when is words trailed off into an uncomfortable silence.
He gave a firm nod, swallowing thickly. His eyes glassed over, lost in memory as he organized his thoughts. When he was ready, he focused, staring straight into my eyes.
“Sebille is my mother, as you now know, and I am heir to the Zephyr throne. With that position comes certain responsibilities. Certain expectations. I was her protégé in every sense of the word.”
“What about your father?” I asked, wondering for the first time if I had a grandfather out there somewhere.
He slowly rotated his head side to side, his lips drawn down.
“I never knew my father. She killed him before I was born.”
“I’m sor—” I started, but he cut me off with a wave of his hand.
“He was a power-hungry faery, nearly as ruthless as my mother. He only slept with her to gain power, and having a son with her was a means to end. A grab for the crown. I’ve heard enough stories about him to know that I was better off without him in my life.”
He paused for a few moments, his face softening. His lips curved up as a gentle light sparkled in his eyes.
“Almost eighteen years ago, I was sent to spy on a Sylph village north of our home city. I was hiding in a small copse of trees the Sylphs had cultivated and grown when I first spotted her.”
“My mother?” I whispered.
“Yes. I found her to be irresistibly beautiful, though I’d never been attracted to a Sylph before. As you know, our kinds don’t mix. So, while I knew my attraction was strange, I couldn’t stop my feet from taking me to her.”
“What did she look like?”
“She was blonde, of course. Light hair spun with golden strands that sparkled in the sunlight. As I neared, she looked up at me with fear in her bright blue eyes.” He tilted his head, studying me. “Eyes the same exact color as yours.”
He coughed, then spent a few seconds clearing his throat before reaching for a pitcher of water on the table next to him. He offered me a glass, and I declined, anxious for him to get back to the story.
“The fear I saw on her face quickly dissipated as her cheeks burned with a rosy blush. There we stood, a Zephyr and a Sylphid, mortal enemies. Yet, there was something between us. Something instant and undeniable. I know it sounds ridiculous, December, but it was love at first sight. For both of us.”
“Who was she?” I asked, my voice low and scratchy with emotion.
“She told me to call her Peony, after the flowers she’d been picking when I first saw her.”
“That wasn’t her real name?”
He shook his head. “She refused to tell me.”
“But, why?”
“Who knows? It’s not like I was completely honest with her, either. She had no idea that I was Prince Crispin, heir to the Zephyr throne. It was frightening enough that I was a Zephyr and she, a Sylph. So she told me to call her Peony and I told her to call me Cris.”
“What happened next?” I asked.
“We spent the next three days and nights together, hiding among the trees where I first spied her. We talked, we laughed, we…loved. On the morning of the fourth day, I woke up alone. I searched for her for hours. I even Glamoured myself to look like this,” he said, waving a hand around his face, “and entered the village to look for her. I told everyone I was on vacation, touring Fae villages across the land. She wasn’t there, and of course, no one knew a Peony.”
“She just…disappeared?”
He shrugged. “She could have been hiding from me, but I doubt that. It didn’t feel right. It felt like foul play, but with no real name and without even knowing if she even lived in that village, my hands were tied. There was nothing I could do so, brokenhearted, I went home.
“Things were different for me after my time with Peony. I lost all desire to rule the planet, a craving my mother had spent my entire life driving into me. She wanted to subjugate the humans, I wanted to taste Peony’s lips one last time. She wanted to dominate the Sylphids, I wanted to be with one forever.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
I knew he didn’t tell her the truth. It was pretty obvious from their reunion the night before that she’d had no idea where he’d been. And when he told her about me, there was no doubt about it. She was shocked and appalled.
“I lasted a few more years by her side, but with each day that passed, I grew more restless. So, much like Peony had done to me, I left in the night. Disappeared, never to be seen again. Never to take my place as king. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want any of it.
“I spent almost fifteen years searching for Peony, dodging my mother’s spies, and secretly helping humans wherever I could.”
“You helped the humans?” I asked, surprised. I hadn’t expected that.
“I couldn’t do much,” he clarified. “I healed the soil in a few gardens, so people could grow their own food. Clarified a water reservoir. Things like that. My efforts had to remain subtle, or I’d be leaving a trail for my mother to find me.”
“I’m sure the people appreciated whatever you did for them.”
“Then a few weeks ago,” he continued, ignoring my subdued praise, “I heard rumors of a black-haired, half-human Sylph who had just enrolled in Oberon Academy. I was intrigued, to say the least, and headed this way to see if I could get a look at you. I hid out in Alvaro Forest for days, waiting to catch a glimpse. You can imagine my surprise when my mother showed up.”
“You saw her sneak in?”
“Yes,” he said. “But you have to understand, December. I couldn’t stop her. I could not show myself, or I would lose the freedom I’d worked so hard to keep.”
“I understand,” I said, motioning toward the water pitcher.
He poured me a glass and passed it over. I drank the whole thing in long gulps, suddenly feeling parched. Once I finished, he took my empty glass and set it down. I nodded for him to continue, and he returned the gesture before speaking.
“I waited just inside the tree line, out of sight and out of Sebille’s sensory range. If I got too close, she’d know I was there. I heard the sounds of battle, imagining all the destruction she must’ve been wreaking inside the building. Imagine my surprise when I felt a rush of raw, unadulterated power just before my mother flew through a window, her body engulfed in flames.”
The corners of his mouth turned up and pleasure shown in his eyes. I fought off a blush, his fatherly pride doing strange things to my insides.
“In that moment, I knew what you were. The Zephyr magic I could feel in the wind carrying my mother away from the building, the Sylph magic in the fire that burned around her, it was obvious that you were of both races. As soon as she was gone, I flew up to the busted out window of Finn’s office and got my first look at you.”
He smiled, but it didn’t chase the sadness from his eyes. He blinked a few times and cleared his throat.
“You look exactly like her,” he said, “except of course, for the black hair. Same nose, same chin. Same fathomless blue
eyes. After a moment of shock, it hit me…you were mine. A child that I never knew existed.”
He stood and stepped toward me before squatting down on his heels in front of me.
“A child that I would have raised with the love even greater than that which I felt for her mother.”
I couldn’t stop the tears that flowed down my cheeks if I’d tried. A myriad of emotions swirled through me, the lump in my throat making it hard to breathe. I’d longed to hear words like that my whole life. I’d longed to feel the love those words described.
“In that moment, I made a decision. I went to Finn, told him what I was, and that I wanted to help him and the students prepare for the war that’s inevitably coming. He believed me because I told nothing but the truth. He could taste the honesty. Since he didn’t directly ask me if I was the son of Sebille, I didn’t have to lie. He accepted me as a teacher and asked me to be your mentor. You know the rest.”
“Did you tell him?’ I asked. “Does he know she’s your mother, now?”
He barked out a bitter laugh, saying, “I did. I agonized over my confession, sure he was going to make me leave here. Leave you.”
“What did he say?”
“The old bastard already knew,” he said with a smile. “Apparently, he recognized me immediately, but decided to let me keep my secrets. He knew I was being sincere in wanting to help, and that’s all that mattered.”
I laughed, some of the emotional tension in my chest easing. Cris’s eyes crinkled at the corners with his grin, and a sense of peace washed over me. I didn’t have all the answers I wanted, but I finally knew at least half of the story. A weight lifted from my chest, and I breathed deeply.
“So, what now?” I asked.
“Well, I didn’t get fired. Finn is letting me keep my positions as teacher and mentor, but I’m on probation. I don’t mind, though. As long as I get to stay here. With you.”
He stood, holding out his palm. I took his hand, feeling that spark I’d felt the first day we’d shaken hands in his classroom. I realized, then, what it was—a spark of recognition.
I let him pull me to my feet, only a foot of space between us.
“We can figure this out as we go,” he said, a flash of uncertainty crossing his face.
Taking the initiative, I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around his waist. He tensed for a moment, then his body relaxed and his arms looped around me, squeezing hard.
That hug marked the start of a whole new chapter in my life. I, December Thorne, the orphan, finally had a dad.
And he was proof that if you had a good heart and made the right choices, blood didn’t matter. He was the Zephyr prince and I was his daughter, and we both made the decision to be good. We would not let our bloodlines define us.
We were who we were, and that was okay. It was better than okay.
It was awesome.
Epilogue
“So, I see you didn’t fare much better than the last time you faced the girl.”
Sebille sneered at the infuriating Sylph as she combed the burnt ends from her hair. He was disgustingly arrogant, so confident in his acerbic wit. Just the sound of his voice grated on her ears, driving her to madness.
“Why is it that I keep you around, Puck?” she asked.
“I do not know,” he answered, his tone blasé. “Perhaps you enjoy my dashing good looks and humorous anecdotes?”
He slumped in the high-backed chair, one knee hooked over the armrest as he sipped a chalice of red wine. He was a useless fool. A buffoon. One that had worn out his welcome in her home.
“I should just kill you and be done with it,” she said, her tone no more serious than if she’d been talking about the weather.
“Oh, ho! You do not want to do that,” Puck called out. “But I would love to see you try.”
“Do not test me, Sylph,” she warned, her back teeth grinding together.
They both knew that a fight to the death between them would be a long, drawn-out battle of which either of them could be the victor. Sebille, as queen, was the strongest of the Zephyrs. Puck, coming from a pristine bloodline and being several hundred years old, was in the top echelon of all the Sylphids.
There was not a faery alive that could best either of them, with the exception of maybe Finn Oberon. And December Thorne.
He smiled at the thought of her, that young slip of a girl that had managed to outwit Sebille. Not once, but twice. And from what he’d heard, with the help of the queen’s own son. He smothered a laugh and attempted to keep his face blank.
“I brought you here, gave you a place in my home. You said you wanted revenge. You wanted to make Oberon and Dobbs pay for letting the council kick you out and ostracizing you. While we succeeded with Dobbs, that insolent king still sits atop his throne. Have you lost your taste for vengeance?”
“I most certainly have not,” he said, leaping from his seat to strike a debonair pose. “I simply prefer to keep things…civilized.”
“The time for old-world manners has passed, Robin,” she said, calling him by his given name in a gentle voice.
Too bad he had never, and would never fall for her ploys. She was truly mistaken if she thought he were stupid enough to do so.
“What would you have me do, my queen?” he asked, bowing low at the waist with an exaggerated flourish.
She smiled then, all teeth and no humor, like the cat of old who ate the canary, as the humans once said. Puck braced himself for whatever terrible deed she had planned for him. And he was certain that it would be terrible.
“It’s been too long since you’ve been home, Puck.”
He sucked in a sharp, silent breath and held it in his lungs. Was she suggesting—
“Your knowledge of the school, the faculty, and its students is outdated and useless to me. I want you to return to Oberon Academy, make amends with Finn and the council, and be my spy from within. Make yourself useful once more. You have a granddaughter there, yes?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“Good. Use her presence as a reason for your return. Finn Oberon is a sentimental fool. He will not deny you entry.”
“And what shall I do while I’m there?” he asked, a nerve ticking in his jaw.
“Get me the girl. Then use your proximity to take your revenge on the council. It is a win-win for us both.”
“Yes, your highness,” he said.
With one last bow, he left the parlor, a savage smile etched across his face.
It was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. He would return home. Show his face for the first time in over a century, consequences be damned.
It was finally time for his exile to come to an end. For good.
Chapter Seventy
1
“You’re going to have to move faster than that!”
Easton’s words taunted me as he dodged my swinging foot. Before I could pull my leg back, his fingers wrapped around my ankle and he swung me around in a circle, sending me flying away from him. I flapped my wings to right myself, panting as I contemplated my next move.
Hand-to-hand combat in the air was hard. I’d been practicing with Easton every day, and while I was improving, I hadn’t figured out how to defeat him yet. His reflexes were lightning-quick and with every attack I launched, he parried it with extreme precision.
I just wanted to beat him once. One time, and I’d be happy.
He charged me then, and on what had become instinct, I fell into a defensive stance. Or as close to a “stance” as you could get when you were flying. I watched his face as he neared, focusing on his eyes as he’d instructed me.
I’d spent the first week or so of his training trying to watch his hands and feet—after all, those were the dangerous parts. He kept reminding me that it was impossible to watch all four appendages at once, and the eyes were the best indicator of where a foe would strike.
I’d yet to get any hints from that icy blue stare.
Then it happened. The quickest of glances,
he looked down at my legs for a fraction of a second before refocusing on my face. Keeping my face blank, I had only a moment to formulate a defense before he nose-dived toward my feet.
I shot upward, then leaned forward to watch his body pass underneath me. Grabbing one of his ankles with both hands, I spun in a circle, swinging him around. He tried to bend at the waist to free himself, but the centrifugal force of our spinning kept straightening him out.
Taking aim for a wall covered in thick pads, I released him, slinging his body across the gym so that he hit the wall with a dull thud. I flew toward him, touching my feet gracefully to the floor as his body slumped down into a sitting position.
Then I shook my hips and raised my hands in the air in a little celebratory dance.
“I did it. I did it,” I sang. “I beat Easton Oberon!”
Easton laughed as he climbed to his feet. “Aren’t you even going to make sure I’m okay before you start celebrating?”
“Nope,” I said, smiling at him. “I know you’re okay, because you slammed me into that wall at least twenty-seven times and I’m okay.”
He smiled back, his eyes filled with pride and affection. “Seriously, D, good job. You’re making great progress.”
“Thanks,” I said, bumping my fist against his when he held it out to me.
The bell rang to signal the end of class, so we said our goodbyes and made plans to meet up at dinner. Several students shot me smiles and waves as they headed toward the locker rooms. Taking out Easton Oberon was no small feat.
Since I always met with Cris after classes and gym was my last one of the day, I’d taken to just staying in the gym until he arrived. It was easier than trying to rush to my room, change, and rush back before he arrived.
I still thought of and referred to him by his name, even though I knew he was my father. It was taking time for me to adjust, and while I was happy to finally have a dad in my life, it was strange to think of him that way after knowing him as Cris for so many weeks.