by Sage, May
It seemed surreal, so I asked the only thing I could ask. “How much did you drink?”
He shrugged. “Enough to talk to you.” The insult was accompanied with a careless smile that betrayed his nature.
He was all unseelie, like my mother, like the queen. The kind of fae who relished making others squirm.
“Evidently. Have a nice life, Drusk.”
Now the smile faded. “Dismissed with such impetuosity. Very well, princess. I’ll endeavor to have a nice life. Till we meet again.”
He bowed low and stumbled back to his group, fading in the dark, out of sight, out of my life.
Until now.
Dodging Tricks
I only worked for half a day, but when I finally get out of the Frost estate, I feel like I’ve never had a longer day in my life.
I rode Wena on my way in, mounting the first of our horses I’d seen in the estate, to avoid arriving later than necessary tonight. Though I asked the beast to graze in the field where the Frosts keep their stallions, I can tell she isn’t here at first glance. My fat, short mare would be easy to spot among great warhorses.
I groan and consider walking home. Who knows where the capricious girl might be now?
It’s almost dawn. The clouds gathering in the lightening night sky indicate it might rain any time. Deciding the night has been unpleasant enough, I opt to avoid getting drenched through on top of everything else. I trek the ground, yelling the horse’s name. My favorite green leather boots get cold and muddy in the field. My memory might be failing me, but I don’t think I’ve ever had a night quite this horrendous before.
“Wena!”
She likes the shade of the woods. Spotting hoofprints that seem far smaller than those of the great steeds of the Frosts, I approach a path cutting through shrubbery and ash. Then I stop and spin on my heel, lifting my blade.
Drusk was all politeness, all courtesy in front of Lera; now he smirks at me, as if he knows all my secrets. As if he’d spill them out for his entertainment.
This is new. I expect veiled odium from him—unless he’s had as much wine as a pirate. I don’t trust his good humor one bit. I fear there’s a trick, a joke coming, and it will be at my expense.
The person I have been for five decades fades away. I’m an uncertain child, inclined to run away. I hate him for it.
I consider ignoring him. I should; it would be wise. He’s here to mock or infuriate me. I would have, back in our school days. I might have, another night.
I’ve had enough of doing what I should for the foreseeable future.
“What?” My irritation is obvious.
So is his amusement.
Drusk is always intimidating. At dawn, he’s something else, too. The light makes his eyes so radiant I can’t deny it: he’s bewitching. The pupils are the darkest of sapphires. I could get lost in their depths, drowning as if they were a bottomless sea. He’s a beautiful trap. I remember how Sylph promised me whatever favor I named for a chance to get his attention.
I’m no Sylph, but I can’t say I don’t understand her. I’d quite like kisses from a stunning creature such as he—if he hadn’t been so terrifying. And infuriating.
I shouldn’t notice. We’re fae; we are beauty personified. Nature unbound, in all her splendor. All of us have been blessed by the mark of wilderness. Mortals can waste away, watching the folk dance and sing. We have wings of rainbows, eyes of lionesses, and mouths the red of human blood. Each fae is stunning and terrifying in their own right, in their own way.
Admitting that I acknowledge and appreciate his specific kind of pulchritude would be giving him power over me.
If there’s one person in the whole of Tenebris who should never be allowed to have any more power, it’s him.
Or me.
“Nothing of note. I heard screams that sounded reminiscent of a banshee, and I was intrigued. I’m quite fond of banshees.”
I couldn’t tell whether he meant he liked bedding them, or eating their tongues. Perhaps both. “Well, no banshee that I’ve noticed around here.”
It would have been rather difficult to miss a shrieking spirit of the dead.
“Then it must have been you.”
I start to walk away. I won’t be his entertainment for the night.
His steps join mine, each stride the length of nearly three of mine. “What’s Wena?”
Where is that horse?
As Drusk is still following me, I sigh. “Are you that bored?”
His smile broadens. “I hear you’re often here. Wilden has been so good as to let me use a room here while I acquire a place of my own—closer to Hardrock than my folk’s house. We’ll see each other daily. Can’t we be friends, Nevlaria?”
“Not if you call me that.”
It’s not fair to take my irritation out on him, but I simply don’t trust him, or his intentions. I can’t think one reason why Drusk, the Drusk, would waste his time with me on his first day back from his assignment. He has friends. Everyone from Whitecroft is his friend. Those who aren’t want to be. If he’s here with me, it’s because of some scheme. It must be. I don’t know what he wants from me, but I can’t let him think he might be able to take it.
Drusk chuckles at my side. “You know, I wondered if I’d dreamed that conversation.”
Smirks, smiles, and chuckles.
Has the queen sent him to keep an eye on me?
I remember his mention of my grandfather; he’s posted with Alven. Perhaps I should contact the king, ask—
I shake my head. Never have I contacted the Wicked Court before. I won’t start now. It’s not worth the trouble I could get in if my correspondence falls in the wrong hands. If Morgana learned I conversed with her husband, who knew how she’d react?
My one instruction from the queen is to be invisible. Invisible girls don’t write letters to kings.
Keep your heart much closer to your chest.
I’d felt insulted by Alven’s remark just yesterday. Now I wonder whether he knows me better than I do. I am letting my emotions dictate myself right now. The only thing that should move my hand is caution, when it comes to anything related to the queen.
Drusk is intent on small talk. “You told me to call you Vlari, have you not?”
“Look, I’m tired, and I need my horse. Can we do—whatever this is—another night?”
He redirects his gaze to the woods, past me, focusing on something that seems far away. And I see his eyes change. I see him change. Power gathers around him.
I should be afraid. I should be ready to charge. He is terrifying.
And I’m intrigued.
An instant later, my horse whinnies, galloping straight to me, as fast as she can go, as though she’s chased by a horde of fire-breathing demons.
I only glance to her, before turning back to Drusk.
“What was that?”
He scrutinizes my sullen face. I wonder what he reads—hopefully, annoyance. I can’t interpret his expression at all. The years have shaped him into too proficient a liar. “I’m not the enemy, Vlari. I don’t have to be.”
He’s right. I’m treating him like he is a threat. It feels right to keep doing so. Safe.
I should thank him nonetheless.
My father would.
I’m still my mother’s daughter tonight. “Aren’t you? You want something from me. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. Here’s some news for you: everyone around me wants to use me, one way or another. I choose those I put up with. You’re not on the list.”
I still can’t read him at all, and it’s beyond maddening. His smile doesn’t fade, nor does his good humor, and he isn’t saying a word.
I’m not the enemy.
I don’t believe it. He should be. That’s the natural order of things.
Wilden was one of the popular boys. He ignored me at school, but I saw him snigger at many, terrorize the weak. He’s learned to be a courteous lordling. I’ve learned to ignore that I detest the sight of him.
While they were part of the same group, Drusk was never one to tyrannize the other students. Maybe he just liked to watch and preferred not getting his hands dirty. Maybe he didn’t like it at all. Either way, if I’ve managed to grow past Wilden’s youth, I could be nicer to Drusk.
I don’t want to. I don’t have to. He isn’t my employer’s son.
I leap on Wena’s bare back and trot away. “Thanks for freaking out my horse, by the way.”
I should head home, but after tonight, I have a set of needs I can’t fulfill at my parents’. So I head to the Thorns.
I didn’t get my own Thorn until my thirtieth year.
Sylph and I learned to tolerate each other well enough, provided we were strictly business. She is someone—she attends court regularly, never wears the same gown twice, and takes a different lover to bed every other day. Her merriments are foreign to me.
Once, visiting their estate, I met her younger sister Mephesea, who’d just finished school. Esea is another socialite, and it all ceased to matter somewhere along the way; she’s a delight. We’ve laughed like children well into midday more times than I can recall.
Esea has no concerns like mine; money isn’t an issue among the Thorns, and she doesn’t need to work. But unlike me, she has a patriarch invested in everything she does, and very little freedom for the important things in her life. She can’t live where she wants, practice the amusements she likes unless they are approved, frequent the friends she prefers, and of course, she won’t be allowed to get married or bound unless her uncle approves it.
I think I’m the lucky one, even with the threat of Morgana in the corner. At least she leaves me alone on a daily basis. Or she used to; her summons changed much. Who’s to say what’ll happen at Samhain?
I was approved by Vikro Thorn, so I know I’m welcome at the Thorns', at any time of the night or day.
My frequent visits allowed me to become acquainted with another Thorn—Sylph and Esea’s older brother. I make my way toward his chamber first.
Dekren and I have an easy understanding. We like each other well enough for an hour or two, and then, we both like to part ways as friends. He’s a delight that has allowed me some divertissement for years.
I knock at his door. There’s no answer. After a moment of consideration, I push it open. It’s still early—I can wait for him to come back. He gives me free rein of his rooms whenever I wish.
Inside, I wince and laugh all at once; Dekren was in, after all, and not alone.
To my surprise, I recognize his companion, spread out on his silken bedding. The human girl with black curls and heavy breasts; bare in the starlight, I note that the cleavage was just as spectacular as it seemed to be.
The girl lifts her head when I enter. Dekren, head between her curvy legs, doesn’t stop his affair.
She waves at me as I walk backward to get out of the room.
“Sorry,” I murmur. “I’ll leave you to it.”
She mouths something I read as “Do you have to?”
It’s all I can do to keep myself from laughing out loud as I close the door behind me. Dekren is a competent enough lover overall, but his mouth has never been his strongest point.
Commiserating with the mortal, I cruise the familiar corridors.
I wonder if Dekren bought the girl. It doesn’t sound like him. I can’t imagine him stepping a foot in the Light Market, for one. He’s also never wanted for female companionship. He’s the son of an earl, nephew of a duke of the Court of Stars. Even if he’d had the face of a troll, he would have been pursued. As it turned out, Dekren was quite the beauty—he had an almost feminine air, with his long red curls and his tall, thin frame.
I knock on another door, and this time, I am bid to enter.
Her sitting room is empty, and one glance to the bedroom shows the covers undisturbed. Going farther inside her apartment, I find Esea is in her bath, head thrown back in bliss.
Esea is a tall ethereal beauty, and though she’s young, her skin is already marked by thin, intricate designs that spell out the story of her life. A rose, for mourning, a wolf, for a battle, double lines linking them.
I’ve never asked her what happened—it’s not considered polite. After certain ordeals, the gentry of the unseelie court emerge with these drawings on our skin.
I don’t have a single one on me. Maybe there’s too much pixie, seelie, or sea blood in me. Maybe I just haven’t achieved anything yet.
I merrily barge in. “How’s the water?”
“Perfection.” Nothing else would do for her. She sighs and bats her long lashes. “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”
Esea is pretty as a button, loving and beloved by all.
She’s also incredibly dramatic.
I can only smile. She doesn’t have any occupation, other than that of being her father’s daughter. She stays at home, meets suitors, organizes balls, and, occasionally, shops.
“Tell me,” I say, getting undressed to join her in the pool.
Her bathing pool is the size of my entire room; we’ve fit twelve in there before.
Her day is interesting—and also, reassuring.
My life seems to have taken too many unexpected turns these last few hours. Hearing her tale is a reminder that the world is still spinning as it should, despite my misadventures with shades, wyrs, queens, and Drusks.
She’s met one of the men Vikro is considering for her, and he sounds as dreadful as can be for a woman like her. She’s a bronze-skinned beauty with hair like the waves of the sea. Earth and water blended in one beautiful creature.
“He’s ridiculous, wearing mustard yellow and green and gold. Not to mention it clashed with his hair.” To her, no sin could be greater, no doubt. She’s laughing at herself while talking.
What I love most about Esea is that she realizes just how silly she is.
“What was his hair like?”
“Red. He’s from Ash. I think he’s part salamander, part gentry. My father and uncle don’t care. He’s a prince.” She couldn’t say it with more contempt. “That’s what matters to them. Getting a crown for the Thorns.”
Listening to her woes, I truly start to calm down. This is what I needed. A reminder that being angry and frustrated and powerless isn’t mine exclusively; I share these blessings with the world.
“You could marry me,” I offer, playing with the bubbles and giggling with her. “That might be helpful, actually. Grandmother dearest might be thinking about matching me.”
Her jaw hit the floor. “No! Truly?”
“Tell me all about it.” I wince in distaste.
“Yes, tell us.”
I crook my head to the side, noticing the newcomers in front of the bathroom door.
Dekren is holding the human’s hand. They both got dressed—he, in a robe, and she, a satin gown the exact shade of her hair.
I can only stare in wonder. They’re already finished? I can’t have left them more than half an hour ago.
They slide in the pool with us.
“The queen wants me at Samhain. She says she wants me appraised.”
“Ah. I know that word. I hear that word every other night.”
The siblings grimace. Even the human is nodding. “She’s definitely going to get you a suitor.”
I close my eyes.
They jest about their ordeal because they know that, overbearing as their family may be in their desire to induce them into matrimony, their hands will never be forced.
The queen commands all—she’s ordered some of her own children, even those she likes, to wed. With me, she’d do so with delight.
I decide I don’t need to ruin our good humor. One change of subject comes to mind. “I saw Drusk tonight.”
Esea gasps. “The Drusk? Sylph is going to go crazy!”
I can only laugh.
“She already knows he’s back,” Dekren says lightly. “He came to see me, before going to the Frosts'.”
I’m reminded Dekren and Drusk
were well acquainted, back in the day—they finished school together.
I frequent far too many of Drusk’s friends.
Esea ignores her brother. “Tell me everything. I want to gloat at Sylph.”
I do, though there isn’t much to our encounters.
When I’m finally home, far too late, I lie in bed, rain on my face, motionless, frustrated with myself.
I am curious.
I am intrigued.
I am not myself at all.
I should have asked Drusk about the attack. I should have asked what he needed to recover from; he looked well enough. Damaging gentries for longer than a few days isn’t easy, but Drusk isn’t only a gentry—and someone managed to hurt him.
Most of all, I am haunted by one question. If he was in so bad a state that he needed an extended recovery, why didn’t he ask me for help? He knows I can heal.
I don’t spare a second to bask in my fear of the queen before fading into sleep, my mind full of the dangerous boy I have always been fascinated with.
Daughter of Void
I don’t see Drusk the next day, or the day after that. It was foolish to assume that I would; he has a position at Hardrock—soldiers and guards aren’t known to keep the light, indolent schedule of the gentry—and plenty of acquaintances to visit in all courts.
My mind eases with time. I’m glad nothing changes for his being here. I don’t feel childish or confused or out of breath again.
One week passes before I catch a glimpse of him, and when I do, I successfully avoid him.
Part of me longs for a confrontation. I need to shout and clash against him until he or I breaks, until I understand why he affects me so. I recognize this as the impulse of the darker, stupider beast firing the soul of any unseelie.
I work five days, and the sixth, after Meda’s brutal training, I’m at leisure to wander the market, striking little bargains and hearing tales.
I’m surprised to find Padetra’s stand set up. She’s an infrequent vendor, usually brought by the high tide every other full moon.