by Wendi Wilson
I did know that. The Zephyrs had used that magic to help the humans. They cleaned the drinking water, revived the dead soil so crops could grow—but only in certain areas that they had total control over. It was how they kept the human race under their proverbial thumbs.
But, for some reason, though I knew all of this, it never occurred to me that I could do it myself. I thought I was human my whole life and the Zephyr magic always seemed like some highly-coveted secret that only they knew.
Apparently, my brain was still wrapping around the fact that I was one of them.
“But there are other things you can do with water,” Puck continued, pausing my wandering thoughts. “Things that will aid you in battle. Give you an advantage.”
With those words, he raised his hands into the air. His eyes slid closed as if in concentration, and a light breeze ruffled his hair. I watched in fascination as his hands circled around each other like he was rolling an invisible ball between them.
My hair stuck to my neck as the humidity in the room escalated. It wasn’t really hot in the gym, but I was sweating, nonetheless.
I forgot all about the sticky feeling when a white mist started to form between Puck’s moving hands. The mist rolled and swirled, forming a round shape that seemed to be quickly solidifying. My eyes widened and my mouth fell open as the mist turned into actual water.
My grandfather’s eyes opened, and he smiled at me, saying, “Water is slightly more difficult to shape than air, but with practice, you will be able to pull it to you and form whatever you need to aid you in battle.”
He spread his hands apart and the ball of water expanded growing larger and larger until I was sure he’d lose control of it. Then, in a move that looked like it had been practiced many, many times, he spun around. In a fluid motion, one hand dropped and the other reared back over his shoulder, the ball of water going with it. He launched it forward and, holding its spherical shape, it flew through the air and splashed against the far wall.
I clapped my hands and grinned as he turned back to me and bowed with a flourish. He arched a brow, waiting for me to speak like he already knew what I was going to say.
“That was really cool and all, but how will splashing someone with water help me in battle? If I do that to Sebille, it’ll just piss her off more because I got her hair wet.”
He smirked, his eyes taking on a faraway look like he was imagining that happening. When he refocused his gaze on mine, he arched one finely sculpted brow.
“That was but a mere demonstration of the ability, my dear,” he said. “Imagine using water to flood the battlefield, pushing your opponents away from you should the need arise. Imagine using rain and mist to blind them, giving you time to move positions and regroup.” His blue-green eyes narrowed and a dark smile twisted his lips. “Imagine forming spears of ice to pierce the hearts of your enemies.”
My eyes widened as my breath hitched in my throat.
“We can do that?” I asked in wonder. Then a frightful thought hit me. “Wait, can all Fae do that?”
Magic, I could handle. Physical combat? Fine. Giant icicles flying at my head? I wasn’t so sure.
“Only the most advanced magic users can form ice quickly enough to use it in battle. It’s not practical, with the time and energy it takes, not to mention total concentration. But you, my dear granddaughter, are no typical faery. If my theory is correct, and they usually are,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk, “with practice, you should be able to form them efficiently and in great speed.”
“You think so?” I asked, the doubt evident in my voice.
“Why don’t you give it a try? Nothing spectacular, mind you. Just an ice cube to start. Something you would use to chill your drink.”
“But how? I mean, I know how to call water, but how do you freeze it?”
“The same way you turn air into a tornado,” he explained. “You call forth the element, then will it into the form you desire.”
I nodded, but I wasn’t so sure I really got it. Directing wind into a cylindrical shape was not the same thing as changing its physical state. But Puck was older and more experienced than me, and I decided to trust him.
“Cup your hands together like this,” he said, wrapping his hands together while leaving a gap between his palms.
I copied his movements, and imagined water forming inside. The element came quickly and, just as quickly, poured out of my hands and onto the floor.
Puck nodded, his expression turning serious.
“Well done,” he said. “You have a great command of water to pull it forth so effortlessly. But, with changing the physical properties of water, you must always be thinking one step ahead. When you call the water to you, you must already be focusing on the form you want it to take, which is why you saw me forming the ball with my hands first. Try again.”
I cupped my hands together once more, mentally calling to water. I imagined it forming a cube of ice. Something cold and hard that I could hold in the palm of my hand. I willed it so, and though it was really cold, the element formed as a liquid and slipped between my fingers to splatter on the wood floor.
“Again.”
I tried again as my grandfather commanded, garnering the same results. My shoulders drooped with defeat and I opened my mouth to surrender, but he cut me off.
“It’s like you’re not even trying,” he hissed, his voice harsh and filled with venom.
My head jerked at his tone, and I stared at him, my mouth falling open with shock. I expected him to huff out an apology for losing patience, but the only thing I got was a hard stare and more angry words.
“Why am I even wasting my time here?” he snapped. “If you’re not going to put in even the barest minimum of efforts, why should I try to help you?”
My shock ebbed as anger started to take over.
“I am trying,” I gritted out in my own defense. “You need to give me some time to figure it out.”
“Will the Zephyrs give you time in the heat of battle? Will Sebille give you a moment to form your weapon? I think not.”
“That’s not the same thing,” I argued. “You’re not my enemy and we’re not in battle. I’m just learning.”
“Excuses,” he spat. “I’m done here.”
He turned on a heel and started stalking toward the door. I watched him go, my blood thumping in my ears as I tried to rationalize his behavior in my mind.
He’d been nothing but kind to me since his big reveal in the woods that day. A doting grandfather. A patient teacher. Grateful to have his family back.
Was it all an act? Was he fooling us, making us think he’d changed when he was really the same old Puck, pulling double agent against us, instead of for us?
Anger burst inside me and I let it flow, filling my veins with hot energy as I watched him walk further and further away from me.
“I wish I had an ice spear right now,” I mumbled, envisioning a bright red target right on his ass.
My breath hitched as a burning sensation spread across my palm. I looked down as my fingers automatically tightened around the object that had formed there. I gasped, lifting it up to get a better look.
A piece of ice shaped like a large icicle rested in my tight grip. The tip looked sharp and jagged, ready to do some real damage to someone.
“Magnificent.”
I stumbled back as Puck appeared right in front of me. I’d been so intent on my icy creation, that I hadn’t seen him turn and head back in my direction. He nimbly plucked the ice spear from my grip, smiled as his eyes drifted over it, then tossed it across the room. The spear shattered as it hit the floor, small bits of ice spreading in every direction.
“Couldn’t have you stabbing me with that thing, now could we?” he asked when I looked back at him.
“I thought you were leaving,” I gritted out between clenched teeth as I tried to hold onto my anger and not let hurt slip in and take its place.
Grandfather’s hands streaked
forward, gripping mine tightly before I had a chance to pull away.
“I am sorry, December,” he said, his eyes wide and as honest as I’d ever seen them. “I did not mean any of it. I just thought, given your history, that if I invoked real anger inside you, the manifestation of ice would come easier to you.”
My heartbeat slowed, the thumping of my pulse in my ears fading.
“It was a test?” I mumbled, wide-eyed.
“And it worked,” he said, smiling brightly. “I already knew you were powerful, but to see you in action…”
“I could have killed you,” I said, cocking my head to the side.
“I know,” he said, his smile never faltering. “And without even trying, I’d bet. How did you form it?”
I could feel my face heating with embarrassment. He was my family, my grandfather, and I’d been just as quick to doubt him as a stranger relying on rumors. I felt terrible.
“I thought…I thought everything I loved about you was a lie and I was angry,” I stuttered out. “I imagined stabbing you with an ice spear and it just sort of appeared. I-I’m sorry.”
His face paled, his eyes widening with shock and glassy with unshed tears. Filled with guilt, I struggled to apologize again, squeezing his fingers that still held mine.
“I’m sorry, Grandpa,” I said, trying to lighten the mood with the shortened nickname. “I shouldn’t have doubted you.”
He shook his head, but his eyes remained locked on mine as tears dripped over and trickled down his cheeks.
“Did you say…love?” he asked, his voice shaky and unsure.
My head jerked back a little. Did I?
I did.
“I…uh—”
“It’s okay,” he interjected. “I completely understand. It was simply…an expression. Not to worry. I won’t take it to heart.”
“Stop,” I said, tightening my grip when he attempted to pull his hands from mine.
He ceased his struggling, his eyes overflowing, a single teardrop skipping down each side of his face. My own eyes burned, and my vision blurred. I blinked away the tears and steeled my spine.
Truth time.
“I hated you for a long time,” I said, my voice low and soft. “You came here and tried to rip away everything I cared about. Once I found out the truth, I understood, but it’s still taken me some time to get to know the new you. You fixed what you broke. You gave me my mother. You’re training me to protect myself and the ones I love.”
I paused, my eyes filling quickly with tears that ran over and spilled down my cheeks.
“And that includes you.”
He pulled me close and we hugged. We laughed. We cried.
And we healed.
Chapter One Hundred Eleven
13
The rest of the week sped by, while feeling like it went on forever at the same time. I had Shaela and Charles to hang out with and Blossom to snuggle with when I was alone. Classes were going well and keeping me busy the rest of the time.
My mother was settling nicely into her new position and the students seemed to like her. Especially Tiana. I didn’t tell a soul, but I reinforced my Glamour every single day. Mom gave me long-suffering looks every time Tiana sucked up to her, but I held onto the illusion of pure innocence.
No way was I letting that bitch hurt my sweet, amazing mother’s feelings with her devil’s tongue.
Mom and Dad continued their courtship, which was adorable. He wooed her like they were a couple of teenagers experiencing the first throes of passion and true love.
Like me and Easton.
Or, at least, the way we were before.
Finn continued to linger in the darkness, despite the healers’ best efforts. Freya sat by his side day and night, talking to him, begging him to come back to her. Nothing helped. Not the herbs or the tinctures. Not the healing powers of the strongest Sylphs in the area. Not his family’s soft-spoken pleas.
There had been no change.
As the days wore on, I saw less and less of Easton. When I did happen to cross paths with him, he was either in a hurry to get to some meeting or another, or he had his asshole of a father whispering God-knew-what into his ear.
So, it was a total surprise when I opened my door to find him standing there in the hall, looking haggard and desperate on Friday afternoon.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course,” I said, moving quickly to the side and closing the door behind him.
“Is Shaela around?” he asked, his eyes roving across the room.
“No, she’s out with Charles. I don’t think she’ll be back tonight.”
I didn’t know why I was whispering. Something about Easton and the moment felt fragile, like one wrong word would shatter the whole universe.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, “I needed a break and…”
“Hey,” I said, moving forward to slip my fingers through his, “I’ll always be here for you, and you never have to apologize for needing me.”
“I know,” he sighed, pulling me into his embrace. “And thank you. I’m just so tired, I can’t think straight.”
Without loosening my grip on him, I shuffled backwards, pulling him toward my bed. The backs of my knees hit the mattress sooner than I expected and I tumbled, pulling Easton down on top of me. He chuckled as he rolled off to the side, pulling me with him so we lay face-to-face.
Once we were settled, I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair, gently pulling on the strands. His eyes drifted closed and a soft moan rumbled in his chest.
“Talk to me,” I whispered. “Tell me everything.”
“Just being here with you is enough.”
When I didn’t say anything, his eyes popped open and he stared at me for a moment before rolling onto his back with a sigh. I propped up on an elbow so I could see his face and waited. He’d talk when he was ready.
Which was about five seconds later.
“I’m worried about Grandfather.” His eyes darted to mine, and I could see the dread in their ice-blue depths. “He’s not getting better. The healers can’t figure out what’s wrong with him and say that if he doesn’t wake up soon…”
His words trailed off as he sucked in a shaky breath. He had spent most of his life with Finn, being cared for and groomed to be king one day. Finn was more of a father than Alwyn could ever dream to be, and it felt like Easton was on the verge of losing him.
I struggled to find something to say, some magical words that would offer comfort and hope, but nothing came to me. The only person close to me I’d ever lost was Rowan Dobbs. My mentor and friend had been killed by poisoned alcohol, and I’d practically lost my mind with grief.
And I’d only known him a short few weeks.
I had no clue what to say to someone who was losing a parent. The thought of losing my own, after just barely finding them, filled me with dread.
“It’s okay,” Easton whispered, his eyes roaming around the top of my head as he watched my aura. “You don’t have to say anything. Just being here with me is enough. It’s perfect.”
I nodded, blinking back the stinging sensation as tears pricked my eyes. I needed to be strong for Easton. No way was I going to start crying and have him be the one comforting me.
“I just don’t know if I’m cut out for this,” he added.
“Cut out for what?”
“Being king.”
“What do you mean?” I blurted, sitting up in a rush so I could stare down at his face. “You would make an amazing king, Easton. You’re a good Sylph, but not only that, you’re a good person. You are kind, always put others before yourself, and have great dreams for the future of all Fae.”
“But I’m still just a kid,” he replied, pulling me back down and pressing my cheek against his chest. “I know I’ve been training for this my whole life, but it wasn’t supposed to happen for another couple of hundred years, at least. I don’t think I’m ready.”
“You’re ready,” I said, my voice firm and sure
despite the niggling of doubt that whispered he was right. I shook off the uncertainty, and added, “It’s just a lot at once, dealing with your worry over your grandfather, the school, Sebille and her war, and being king. Then, just to make things more interesting, your dad shows up. He’s not harassing you, is he?”
“Not really,” he said, but something in his voice told me different.
I pushed myself up, propping my chin on a fist so I could see his eyes and his aura.
“Tell me the truth,” I said.
“He’s not harassing me,” he said. “He says he’s just trying to help, and he does have a lot of great ideas. Ways to delegate the responsibility. Solutions to problems that arise in the school and the rest of the kingdom.”
He paused, his eyes searching mine for a moment before drifting shut. Ever so quietly, like he was making a secret confession that hurt his very soul, he whispered eight words that struck terror into my heart.
“Maybe I should just let him be king.”
“What?” I shouted, bolting upright.
I couldn’t curb my response or my horrified expression and Easton flinched. I was sure I would inadvertently set the whole room on fire at any moment, because my emotions roiled out of control. I worked to slow my breathing and made myself calm down before I spoke again.
“Easton, you don’t mean that. Anyone else would make a better king than that man.”
“I don’t like feeling this insecure, D. It goes against my nature—you know how cocky I am.” He smiled at me, then his expression fell. “But I feel like a feather in the wind, being tossed around over and over, with no control over where I’ll land. My father has been trying to guide me, and his suggestions have been good ones, though I really hate admitting that. I just wish Finn would wake up and tell me what to do.”
“You know what to do,” I asserted. “You’re just nervous because, yes, it’s a big responsibility. But Easton, you are the perfect person to take on that responsibility. You’ve been working toward this your whole life, and you have the whole Sylph community behind you.”