by Cora Avery
Brittle needles crunched under her feet, which seemed to be moving slower and slower. Until, finally, she was forced to sink against one of the monstrous trees and close her eyes.
Sometime later, a glint of light blinded her as the sun shouldered away the night, gold rays cutting through the thready gaps in the trees.
Her throat ached and her head hurt, not from iron, but from too little sleep and lack of food and water. Pixie though she was, she was not immune to the needs of hunger and thirst. While she knew these lands, she was not so familiar with them as to know every small stream. The Greengast was still a day, maybe more, away.
A rustle in the underbrush stopped her breath. Shoulders tense, she scanned the rusty red floor of the forest. The blanket of dried needles glowed warmly under the sun’s burgeoning light.
She forced breath back into her lungs. The forest was full of whispers and creaks. Thousands of hidden creatures were either on their way to bed or just waking for the day. But their noises were far off and muffled.
“You’ve been away too long,” she chided herself after a moment.
But then a dark figure darted out from behind a tree.
She flinched, heart leaping into a run, though the rest of her body was too tired to even push off of the ground.
The furry little figure stopped just out of reach. He sat back on his hind legs, his nose twitching in her direction as if attempting to catch her scent.
At the sight of the rat, she eased back.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “You followed me all the way out here?”
He dropped to all fours again and ran to her, insinuating his head under her hand.
As soon as her palm touched his head, a word leapt into her mind.
“Yes.”
She snatched her hand away. Rats couldn’t speak. Not like that. At least, no rat she’d ever known. For a moment she wondered if it was a trick, some other creature in rat form. But he looked just like the rat from Lavana’s sewers with the ragged little half-missing ear.
Tentatively, she placed the tips of her fingers against his head. Memories of his flight from the guards came back to her, the pulse of fear zipping through his tiny body, the dull metallic flavor of ichor-gold in his mouth, images of her swooping him up, and the oddest sensation, when she had kissed him, as if being jolted out of a slumber. And after that, the world looked a bit different, clearer. Scents, too. They hadn’t changed, and yet, they weren’t the same. He wasn’t the same. He’d started to think. And he hadn’t been content down in the tunnels with his family anymore. So he’d decided to find her.
Drawing her hand away, she gazed down at him. Somehow, she’d opened up something in this rat’s head, bringing him to another level of consciousness, making him something . . . new.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to . . .”
He pushed his head under her hand again. This time, he was the one who gave his thoughts to her. Though they were not as fully formed as words, they were clear. He did not want her to be sorry. He only wanted to know what he was supposed to do now.
“Whatever you’d like to do,” she said to him, now that he understood her.
He sat back again, cocking his head, as if thinking about this. Then he turned and scampered away.
She sank back against the tree, allowing her eyes to close again. She’d brought a rat to consciousness. How such a thing was possible, she had no idea, but magic was like that, especially Pixie magic. It could grow and change, fade and disappear. It was as alive as they were. And since she had not used hers in such a long time, it wasn’t really surprising she had abilities she wasn’t aware of.
Unbidden, her mind turned to Kaelan. As rare as Princes were, being among the nobility, she’d known more than a few. Yet, she’d never seen one vanish as he had. His magic was strong, even though he was physically weakened. When he’d healed her . . .
An ache spread through her chest.
A Princely healing would’ve been quite useful at the moment. Even Endreas’s cool, lapping touch . . .
She pushed those memories away, disgusted. No wonder Kaelan wanted nothing to do with the Raes. Even though Endreas had hurt her, tortured her, the memory of his breath was still sweet, the thought of his touch still twisted some knot of need deep within her. The power of the connection between Princes and Raes wasn’t healthy if it filled her with yearning for someone as cold and manipulative as Endreas. But then, was he really any different than the rest of the Pixie nobility? What Lavana had done to her was excessive and cruel, but not unheard of. This was the way of the Raes. Lavana had decided she wanted the Enneahedron and nothing would stop her from claiming it, even though she didn’t actually require it to vie for Radiant. It would merely make her claim almost impossible to challenge. Yet instinctively, Magda understood, even respected her cousin. If she had been living here all these years, instead of in exile, she might’ve been the one torturing Lavana. She hated to admit it, but deep down, she knew it was true.
She admired Kaelan’s ability to put his ideals ahead of his nature. Perhaps the kiss of a nymph had helped him evolve to a higher consciousness than the rest of the so-called nobility. And yet, for some reason, the thought of Kaelan’s lofty principles only strengthened her desire for Endreas’s silken fingers.
“Snap out of it,” she growled, forcing her eyes to open. “Get up and get moving.”
Just then, her rat friend returned. He ran up to her and dropped a clutch of slender green reeds into her lap.
She gathered up the reeds and tipped their hollowed ends into her mouth, drinking the sugary water within. It trickled down her parched throat like cool honeyed milk.
Before she could thank him, he was gone.
Soon after, he was back with more reeds.
“Thank you,” she said to him.
His black eyes gleamed knowingly at her. Then he darted off again.
By the time he was done, her thirst was abated and her lap was full of mushrooms and nuts and even some goldenberries, though only a few had survived the trip to her between the rat’s sharp teeth. She devoured everything he brought.
“Thank you,” she said, leaning back, stomach tender with the sudden influx of food, but she’d been too hungry to pace herself. “But I’m the one who’s supposed to be giving you the food, remember?”
He nudged her hand with his head.
“More,” he said.
“I don’t think I can eat anymore. I don’t want to be sick.”
“More words,” he said.
It took a moment for her to grasp what he meant. She straightened up slightly.
“I don’t know if I can give you more,” she said. “I don’t know if it’s possible.”
He bounded onto her lap and pressed his forefeet onto her chest, his nose twitching against her lips.
“I owe you too much to deny you, my little hero,” she said. “I only hope you won’t curse me when you fully realize what it is you’ve been given.”
She planted a kiss on the top of his head.
THREE DAYS they traveled. Slowly, she grew stronger and faster. When she couldn’t find food on her own, Hero (as she’d taken to calling him) found it for her. He kept guard when she needed to rest. Otherwise, he curled up on her shoulder and snoozed while she moved deeper into the wilds of the Brackwood.
Though she knew there were many creatures in the trees, they avoided her. Not surprising. Pixies gave safe haven to the small folk, but they were not loved for it. They soaked the land with too much blood and were callous both towards those that served them and those who suffered at the hands of the Elf King. She knew, from living among small folk in the human world, that Pixies were only hated slightly less than Elves.
Yet, there were many more powerful creatures that continued to haunt Pixie territory: trolls, bans, ghouls. Not that the fairies, sprites, and imps couldn’t cause their fair share of trouble, but they were less malevolent than others. They knew it was generally not worth it
to play their pranks on a Pixie.
As she moved though, she could feel the weight of eyes upon her. Every once in a while, she would stop and glance back through the gnarled black trunks, the moss-draped vines, the dewy dense ferns. But whoever was watching her, she never saw them. She didn’t worry about it too much. Too many creatures lived in the Brackwood for her to concern herself over curious gazes.
Finally, she reached the gully. Tangles of brambles stood between her and the hollow, thorns thick as her thumbs. Tamia must’ve grown tired of company, not that she had ever really invited it.
“Hero, wake up.” She shrugged her shoulder. The rat’s eyes snapped open, his needle-sharp claws digging into her shoulder.
“Ouch!” She winced. “Watch it.”
He pulled the sharp little daggers out of her skin.
“Sorry.”
“Think you can get through here?” she asked, gesturing towards the waist-high wall of thorny bush. Though he spoke in her mind, she preferred to speak to him aloud. It was just more natural for her.
“Of course,” Hero said in a rather haughty tone.
“Good,” she said, plucking him from her shoulder and putting him down on the ground. “I have to go up. I’ll see you on the other side.”
Hero sniffed around the bramble, finding a gap and slipping through.
The clouds began to thicken and the clean aroma of rain grew stronger.
She had to walk a ways until she found a likely tree. As she did, a shower began, gentle and warm, but soaking nonetheless. When she gripped the lowest branch of the tree, her hand slipped and she toppled back to the ground, tripping on a root and landing in the mud.
“Are all Raes so graceful?” a voice said from behind her—a smooth voice she knew.
She scrambled up out of the squelching muck, backing away from him.
Endreas leaned against a tree on the other side of the muddy patch, pale hair dry, braided to his scalp along the sides, loose behind. His clothes, his buckled vest and trousers, arm wrappings and knee-high boots, all leather and all black. Only his shirt was a pale silver hue. Not a speck of dirt on him.
Her heart hammered out curses against her chest. He’d followed her, somehow, and she’d led him straight to Tamia. What an idiot she was.
She searched the woods around for signs of Lavana or her warriors.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’re alone.”
That did not make her feel better.
“Lavana has no idea that I’ve been following you.”
Though a part of her simply wanted to run, those black eyes looped around her like ropes, holding her in place.
“I will never tell you where the Enneahedron is,” she said.
He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t really care. I have an interest in the future Radiant of this little . . . hamlet of yours, but the Enneahedron itself is of no concern to me.”
She chewed her lip, not sure what to think. The fact that his presence tugged at that aching place in her core wasn’t helping.
“Who are you?” she asked.
He pushed away from the tree. She tensed. But he didn’t move any closer.
“What are your plans?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest. “You know where the Enneahedron is, don’t you?”
“I told you I’m not—”
He held up his hand and she stopped, which surprised even her. His dark eyes gleamed as a small smile touched his lips.
“And I told you,” he said, “I don’t care where it is. I only want to know what you intend. Are you going to take it to the Crown? Do you intend to make yourself Radiant?”
“No,” she answered, because it had been her answer for so long, but after what had happened with Lavana, she wasn’t so sure.
“Then what will you do?” he asked. “There are no other Raes of age who have a rightful claim. It’s either Lavana . . . or you.”
“There are younger ones,” she said. “When they come of age . . .”
“You would let your province go without a Radiant? You know what that does, don’t you?”
She bit her lip. Too long a time without a Radiant would incite chaos among the Pixies, disrupt the order among the small folk, and worse, the land would start to die. This was why only a year was allowed to pass for the new Radiant to be chosen. Any longer would bring droughts, floods, tornados, ice . . . The Radiant was a part of the land and the land was a part of her.
He strolled around the mud puddle, rain running over his face. She backed up as he approached. He stopped a few short feet away, just out of reach.
“I have something for you,” he said. With a twist of his wrist, her finger-knives appeared. The silvery sheaths bundled in his long fingers.
She stepped forward before she remembered herself.
He held them out. “Take them.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Don’t you want them?”
“What do you want in return?” she asked.
“Can’t a man simply return a lady’s weapons without being accused of having an ulterior motive?”
“Maybe, but not you,” she said. “You shoved an iron nail into my leg, and my shoulder.”
He let his hand fall to his side. “Oh, that.”
“Yes. That! So you’ll excuse me if I don’t trust that you’ve come here out of altruism.”
“No, you’re right,” he said. “There is something I want.”
“What?”
“You.”
In a flash he was upon her, kissing her, rough and hungry, flooding her with a torrent. He towed her against him, dragging her into the pulsing current of his body, holding her there, drowning her in his nectar sweetness. The dizzy churn of their breath meeting, mingling, of his tongue sweeping between her lips, stole the air from her lungs and almost stole her away from her senses. The thirst inside her suddenly returned, greedy and raw. In his arms, she plunged, diving straight into the silent depths of darkness where nothing, no one, existed but them.
How easy it was to lose all rational thought to a Prince, especially this Prince. Riker had never kissed her this way. He’d never really wanted her, only been drawn to her because of what they were. But there was no doubt, as wave after wave of need washed over her, that Endreas’s desire was real. And she knew that he felt her heat flowing back into him. There was just one thing holding her back.
She ripped free and punched him in the face, knocking him flat on his back and into the mud.
He groaned, cupping his jaw.
She kicked him in the side. He grimaced and rolled over. She ripped her finger-knives from his hand and jammed them on. Pushing him onto his back once more, she straddled him, blades drawn and held up by her shoulders.
He ran his fingers lightly over his jaw, but his eyes were bright, dark as they were, and she could feel them tracing the lines of her body. He smiled.
She snapped all of her knives away, except one. Her wolf blade.
She drove it into his shoulder.
He cried out, hands locking around her waist, but he didn’t try to throw her or even resist.
Leaning over him, she let the knife retract slowly.
He bared his teeth as the blade left his body. The hot metallic tang of blood mixed with his sweet and cool scent. His eyes went hazy for a second, but then refocused, sharper than ever.
He seized her face and kissed her again, harder, biting her lip. She shoved him back. The mud splattered onto his face, clinging to his hair. He chuckled.
“You’re sick,” she said, breathless from his kiss.
“A little bit,” he admitted, still smiling, pushing his hips up against her. She held back the sound that almost escaped her, but her eyes fluttered as another aching surge ran through her.
She crushed her hand down on his wounded shoulder. He growled, starting to push back against her, until her wolf knife pressed to his throat.
“Tell me what you really want,” she said.
“I told you.”
> “There’s more than that.”
“You don’t think you’re enough, magpie?”
“Why aren’t you with Lavana? Weren’t you her Prince?”
His expression hardened and smoothed. His eyes went still like the water at the bottom of a deep well. “I am no Pixie Prince,” he said.
Before she could ask what he meant, his hand shot between them. He grabbed her wrist and flipped her over. Mud oozed under her, soaking into her clothes as his weight pressed onto her. He seized her other wrist and pinned both of her hands above her head. Had she been in better shape, she would’ve been able to stop him. But as his tongue ran up her neck, his hand cupping her breast, his thumb grazing the pliant tip, hardening it, she forgot about fighting, about the mud, and just about everything else.
“I will take Lavana if I must,” he said, “but I like you better.”
She snapped out of the fevered fog he’d cast over her. “You have no idea how to talk to women, do you?”
“No,” he said with a smile. “They usually just give me what I want without forcing me to listen to their insipid thoughts.”
“God, you’re an asshole.”
“No, I’m an Elf.”
She shoved him away. Or more precisely, he allowed her to shove him away. Scrambling to her feet, she looked him over again as he rose, languidly, to face her.
Sputtering, she said, “That’s not—you can’t be—”
“Have you ever met an Elf?” he asked. “Or even seen one?”
Wiping the lingering tingle of his tongue from her neck, she said, “No. Of course not.”
He held open his hands. “Well then . . .”
“But you’re a Prince,” she said. “You are, I know—”
“I am,” he agreed. “Crowned Prince Endreas, heir to the Throne.” He bowed with a flourish.
“But . . .”
He felt like a Pixie Prince to her, to that primal being inside of her. How could he be an Elf?
She took a step back. Her skin itched as the mud began to dry, the rain having stopped at some point. “You shouldn’t be here. I should kill you for being here.”