Telophy

by Wanda Wiltshire

  Her eyes sparkle like gemstones as her fingers trail across my skin. ‘But must I wait, Telophy?’

  She is half teasing and half wanting, and I can’t resist saying, ‘What would you do if I told you no?’ More than anything I want to tell her no. She is immortal now, newly allegiant to me—an adult. I don’t understand why I am so determined to wait. To prove that I can perhaps? That the king in me has control over the man? Is it only my pride, or something more? I don’t know.

  ‘What do you think?’ she says, ‘I would make love with you, of course.’

  I know she means it. She is my Queen-to-be, but now she is allegiant to me, she is also my subject and therefore cannot lie to me. I know the dynamic between us would be different if she were my betrothed. If she were my betrothed, she could keep her secrets.

  And so, I do not question her about her betrothed. We have not spoken of him since that first day. She might be in contact with him or she might not. I tell myself it is not my concern. She has given me no reason to doubt her and that is enough. But even though I know her desire for me, I must give her one final chance, and so against her ear I murmur, ‘Are you sure, Finelle—a life with me is what you want?’

  I hold my breath, and she stills beneath me. I lift my face to see her features have settled into seriousness. ‘Yes, Telophy, I am sure.’

  ‘It is not too late to choose—’

  ‘I have chosen you,’ she says fiercely. Then more gently, ‘I have not spoken to him since that first day. And I will not. I told him I am in love with another and who that other is.’

  ‘Has he not called to you since?’

  ‘He has, yes, but I asked him to stop—which he has done … Anything else?’

  ‘I only want to know you are certain. After today our relationship will be much more than us. You will belong to my people and it will be too late to change your mind.’ There is warning in my voice.

  ‘I will not change my mind.’ She reaches up and pinches my cheek.

  A tap on my chamber door distracts me as I bend to kiss her. It is Nian.

  ‘Majesty, the Elder King has arrived.’

  I tell him I will be out soon and he bows before leaving us alone. I turn back to my Queen-to-be. ‘Ready?’

  She smiles. ‘Never more, my love.’

  I rise to my feet and watch as she flits across the room—a floating, jingling angel with bells at her wrists and flowers in her hair, layers of gossamer in shades of pink swirling around her thighs. I can barely wait to make her mine.

  The room is filled with flowers and the audience is small. Finelle’s parents and mine, and the Elder King, the oldest living King in Faera. Through the open balcony I see my subjects, their colours mingling as they weave among each other—thousands upon thousands all come to meet their Queen-to-be.

  My heart swells as I watch Finelle speak her commitment to me. She signs her name and I can’t help smiling at the way her nose scrunches as the blade moves towards her finger. I send a stream of light her way to help divert her from the sting. Her finger is pierced and the bead of blood pressed to her signature. My mother steps forward, places the welcoming tiara on her head.

  No one will take her from me now she has made her promise. My heart thumps hard against my ribs. I wish she could feel it, truly know the effect she has on me. It makes no sense it should be so, but I am beyond caring. She will be my wife and that is all that matters.

  Finelle flies out to greet her subjects-to-be as though she were born for it, a tiny light at the centre of the multitudes, pale pink wings sparkling into the sky. She is happy and eager and my heart spills over as I follow her. I know my grin is so wide that all the world can see. Already I can see my faeries love her—each face aglow.

  She comes to me exalted, and together we wave to our subjects as we alight on the balcony of the welcoming room. As we go inside, I sweep her into my arms.

  ‘They love me,’ she says. ‘They really do.’ She pulls my lips to hers and kisses me ravenously.

  I laugh when she lets me go. ‘Do you plan to eat me, Finelle?’

  ‘I do,’ she says and dives at me again.

  ‘Ten days,’ I tell her when we come apart again. ‘Only ten more days.’ Delicious torture. I will count each eagerly.

  The days since Finelle’s welcoming have been filled with ceremony. I’ve been barely left alone—the vibrations of those around me all excitement and joy. I’ve been a king on my own too long and my subjects crave the balance their queen will bring. I try to imagine what Finelle is doing, how she is feeling. I long to reach out to her with my mind—just to tell her good morning.

  The sun is a kiss as I fly across the forest dressed in cerulean blue. A jewelled sash embroidered with marriage motifs has been placed around my hips, and a band of gold depicting the joining of male and female just beneath my bicep. I am oiled, perfumed and painted, and a wedding crown sits upon my head. I am ready to meet my love.

  The joy of my people hums inside me. The sensation began when the day of my wedding was named and announcers spread word of it through the kingdom. The happy feeling has only swollen since. And now as the hour of my marriage draws near, the vibration of my subjects is stronger than ever, as though they all dance as one. Never in my life have I been so full of hope. I have made it to my wedding day, my renewed honour intact, and despite the scars of my past, for the first time feel I might actually deserve the blessing of this life of mine—I might deserve her—my Finelle. Except, strictly speaking, she is not my Finelle. I push the ugly thought away before it can ignite my insecurities.

  I arrive at the glass pools of Nevere—the place of our first outing. Specifically, where Finelle sighted the white stag. The area is transformed with flowers and sunstones and the Elder King waits on the highest of the salt rocks, the first of my spirit leaders with him, her long dress floating on the breeze. Around them are the people most important to us—Finelle’s family and friends, my parents and grandparents, as well as my Most High and several of my High Guard—and beyond them a multitude of my subjects. I fly directly to the Elder King and, with my heart ready to burst from my chest, I wait.

  And wait, and wait. Unease begins to trickle into my mind—and that of every faery present. I feel the shift in their mood deep in my soul, like fresh wine turned sour. Finally, I use the power of telepathy I gifted to her and call to Finelle for the first time in ten days.

  She does not answer and my unease turns to anxiety.

  My guests are whispering to each other, and further away, so are my subjects. Can they sense my panic? I call out to her again, but still she does not answer, nor can I sense the strand of her soul inside me. Fear slides through me. My inability to feel her might only be my panic, but the reasons she does not answer are few— none of them good. I leave the Elder King and after calling my best scouts to me, fly down to Finelle’s parents. Leander’s forehead is lined and Melody’s eyes are full of tears.

  I keep myself together for their sake. ‘When did you last see her?’

  ‘Late morning,’ Leander says. ‘The daystone was almost full yellow. She said she was needed at the castle and would see us here.’

  I frown. ‘Needed at the castle? By whom?’

  Leander’s voice is little more than a whisper. ‘She did not say.’

  I tamp down on my impatience. ‘But someone must have come for her?’

  Leander glances at Melody before looking back at me. ‘I do not know.’

  ‘There were friends in and out all morning,’ Melody says, a tremor in her voice. ‘It might have been one of them.’ She sounds anything but sure. ‘Oh, why did we not ask?’ Her tears escape.

  ‘Do not worry, I will find her,’ I tell them, my words more confident than my feelings. ‘The wedding will go ahead.’

  My search takes me to her soul guide, to her spirit leader, to her friends. It takes me to local markets and every place and person she spent time with these last ten days. I discover she has made all of the usual weddin
g preparations—right down to releasing the seed to make her body ready to conceive our child. But nobody knows either her whereabouts or the identity of the person who sent her to the castle. Sick with worry I return home and retreat to my private chambers to consider my next move. Immediately my eyes are drawn to a note on my bedside table, and in my name I recognise Finelle’s hand. Before I even pick it up a layer of stone is forming around my heart.

  I break the seal and my worst nightmare is confirmed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  My dreams rush from me like water sucked down a sinkhole, in their place an explosion of fury. Finelle has betrayed me. She is probably hiding with the male she is betrothed to—the male I gave her opportunity to leave me for. With a roar, I tear the note to pieces, hurl our photo against the wall, Finelle’s smile lost in a shower of crystal. My goblet follows, a decanter, a bowl filled with little things she’d collected for me, the pillows from my bed, the sheets torn away—everything in pieces. When I am spent, I fall among the ruins, my body heaving.

  I am still there when the maid Lia slips into my room. She scans the chaos and sets the tray down before leaving to make ready a bath for me. When she returns, she hesitates at the door, her face flushed. ‘I am sorry, My King.’ Her words are seasoned with pity and I despise the way they make me feel—weak, impotent, no king at all. Everything I have done, the sacrifices I have made, has led to this: abandonment, shame, disrespect.

  I rise to my feet when Lia steps closer. Long before this day she made it clear she wants me. I cross the floor and pull her body to mine. Sighing, she melts against me, her arms coming around my neck, lips pressing kisses on me. She is soft and sweet smelling, and holding her takes away the sting.

  But holding her is not enough. I peel her arms from me, turn towards my bath and don’t look back when I say, ‘Come, if it is your desire.’

  After, I am filled with a nauseating mix of self-loathing and fear. I know what passed between us will only sate me for a few hours at most. Making love without love is such a miserly thing in the end—giving pleasure to the body while stealing from the soul. And my soul is aching, for Lia’s husband is a member of my High Guard. I tell her to leave me and take the food she brought. I cannot eat.

  When she is gone, I allow poisonous thoughts to fill my head. The stone around my heart sinks deep, overcoming all that is tender. Why would she wait until our wedding day? So my kingdom could bear witness to it? Did she want this humiliation for me? This pain? I lie on my bed and close my eyes, but see only her—twirling on the riverbank near her parents’ home, singing and laughing and falling into my arms. ‘I love you, My King, my Telophy, my husband-to-be.’

  What kills me most is how I worry for her. When I find her, she will know my wrath. I want her to feel what I feel. When I find her, she will regret what she has done. But I can’t find her. She has vanished completely and I still cannot feel her—which means she cannot be inside my kingdom.

  I spend my time alternating between rage and despair, neglecting my duties, ignoring my Fae, numbing my pain with all that is bad for me. I am sinking and my kingdom sinks with me. Everywhere I go my subjects watch me. They whisper behind their hands, approach me with care. ‘What can I do for you, My King?’ they ask. ‘How can I help?’

  They cannot help. My hope is gone and my shame is great. And the more I see their pity, the worse I become. The female who declared her love for me could not have injured me more completely.

  I don’t know who fetches my father in the end, but he finds me in my private chambers where I have been withdrawing to more and more often. He arrives like a clap of thunder, pushing wide the door without announcement. ‘Move yourself,’ he commands. ‘Each night the Shadow Fae have their way while you rage and weep. This is not what it is to be King. Your suffering is a burden to your Fae.’

  ‘One I can do little to alleviate,’ I tell him as I stand.

  My father’s chin lifts and I feel his ill judgement of me. ‘Find a way.’

  ‘And then what? Spend my years watching my subjects whisper behind their hands? The great King Telophy abandoned on his wedding day. I see the way they speculate. I gave them a queen and now she is gone. Even you can’t ignore the cost of that.’

  His gaze is steady. ‘Then make them unknow it—confuse them.’

  ‘My whole kingdom?’ I wonder is it possible to alter the memories of so many. ‘Is this within my power?’

  ‘You will not know if you do not try. But whatever you decide, you cannot go on like this. You need to put this female and the offence she has caused behind you.’

  I know he speaks true. I can barely meet the eyes of those around me, and to endure their pity indefinitely is unthinkable. I am King.

  And so, the decision is made.

  From where I stand I can see far across my kingdom, the forest rising and falling before me, the great white expanse of mountains, and far below, the lake, connected to the first of the rivers that flow throughout. My subjects are about to have their histories altered. If what my father has suggested is possible, all but a few chosen ones will forget their king was ever to wed. Finelle’s welcoming will be undone in their minds and they will never have known of their Queen-to-be. Despairing I may be, but I will be able to hold my head high again.

  First I find the soul-strands of those Fae I want excluded from the confusion, pluck them from the others. Finelle’s thread is still missing so I know that she too will be omitted from the confusion. I know not which thread belongs to her betrothed, but I suspect that it too is missing.

  I close my eyes and lift my hands to the sky, the sun warm on my palms. I open every part of myself to the power and it enters me in a rush. I don’t tamp down on it as I usually would, but let it build as I form the replacement story in my mind. Finelle never was. There was no welcoming, no broken vows, no Queen-to-be. The King is alone and always has been. I focus the power on my entire kingdom, on every soul tied to me but a select few. My heart cracks as I push the lie into my subjects. In every direction, the power rushes out of me and into them, taking my strength with it.

  My head soon begins to whirl with the strain, a fierce roar building in my ears, deafening me to my surrounds. But still the exchange goes on, the power flowing into me like a storm only to be dragged out again. Unable to hold my weight, I fall to the ground, trying desperately to pull back. But the confusion rages on until I am too weak to even cry out. I feel myself begin to fade.

  I wake with a pounding headache and ringing in my ears. The pungent odour of calamire root stabs the inside of my nostrils and makes my eyes water. I open them and blink. Hypatia is bent over me holding a small vial beneath my nose. She smiles. ‘Welcome back, My King.’

  I am shattered. My body feels as it once did when I would spar with my father and lose badly—spent, broken and riddled with pain. It takes me a few moments to remember why I am here. When I do, a horrible sense of foreboding comes over me. ‘How long have I been here?’

  ‘Through a night and day, Majesty. You were found barely breathing … no one knew what to do.’ Her voice is cautious and holds other information.

  My Fae have been a whole night without me. Pressure builds in my chest making it difficult to breathe. ‘Tell me,’ I manage to say.

  ‘Nian left at first light to seek the assistance of King Layton.’

  First light. ‘Only this morning? Why not yesterday?’

  ‘You were not found until after dark, My King. It was too late. We thought you would not … remain with us.’

  The feeling of dread grows. ‘How many?’ I ask, just above a whisper.

  My healer lowers her eyes to the ground. ‘Sixty-seven.’

  Horror sweeps through me and I clench my teeth so tight I think they might crack. Sixty-seven. The number of lives lost in one night due to the deceit of a female. The number of families suffering due to her selfishness. The number of people who’d cried out to their unconscious king as they were bled to death by Shadow Fae. My m
ind is a raging furnace, my breathing fast and loud through my nose. Finelle is blessed not to be standing before me.

  Hypatia removes the gold stopper from a jar and begins rubbing fragrant oil into my chest and shoulders with long, calming movements. The scent fills the room and the oil seeps into my skin, rushes to my blood. Soon my senses are numb. I close my eyes and become lost in it, the pain drifting away and with it my rage.

  When I wake, I am alone but for Lia. She is standing a short distance away, her brown skin shimmering. Little swirls of gold paint decorate her arms and shoulders. She comes to me, her smile dreamy and soft curves swaying. More than anything I want to pull her into my bed and sedate myself in her. But something stops me—a small, still voice telling me it would be weak, perilous, exploitative—a reminder of addiction, and of addiction overcome. What would become of me if I allowed myself to slide further than I already have? What would become of my Fae if I took my focus from them and gave it to what my body craved? I tell her I need to be alone.

  I dress and consult the keeper of the ledgers, peruse the names of the dead. More than thirty are of my guard and I am heartsick when I read these names—most are young and inexperienced. I offer my prayers to the Great Spirit for every lost faery. Then I begin planning meetings with their families.

  My blood burns when I think of Finelle. I would never have confused my people if I’d known this would be the result. But now it is done and she is nothing to them. To my subjects I am as I ever was—a king in need of a queen. I vow to spend as little time choosing her as possible.

  It is sixteen days since my failed wedding when I hear a voice in my mind—small and unsure. Telophy?

  My heart jumps to double time and my throat seizes up. Finelle?

  My King, I need to see you.

  Emotions crash over me—sorrow, rage, regret—but my voice is steady as I reply. The courtyard in my garden. Go now and wait.