Lava Red Feather Blue

by Molly Ringle

  “I shall not.” Larkin accepted the pin from him.

  Merrick hopped off the bed. “Should I leave the book with you?”

  “Please. I might read a few poems more before attempting to sleep.”

  “Goodnight then. Come find me if you need anything.”

  And did he mean that in a flirtatious way?, Merrick pondered as he returned to the living room and set the fireplace shovel in its place. Would Larkin take it as such and come out to the sofa to show Merrick the customary eighteenth-century thanks for 2:00 a.m. poetry readings?

  He didn’t. Nor did Merrick really expect it. But as he lay on the sofa, alert to every sound of a turned page or a shift on the mattress from the guest room, he couldn’t stop his mind from replaying the way Larkin had looked naked—which at the time had been as impersonal and non-erotic as any stranger in a locker room, but which Merrick’s memory had catalogued anyway—or imagining that accented voice murmuring requests in his ear, or picturing the two of them remarking how intimate activities hadn’t changed much over the centuries.

  Although had they actually?

  He gave far too much thought to it, in short, before telling himself to stop it and drifting off to sleep.

  CHAPTER 17

  WHAT’S YOUR PLAN IF EVERYTHING GOES smoothly, Larkin?” Nye asked the next morning at breakfast. “Assuming there’s no trouble from the fae and you can shake free of the palace, any ideas where you’ll go, what you’ll do?”

  Larkin sipped his coffee, which Merrick had brewed and which proved to have a deliciously rich flavor. “Two hundred years ago I did have some thoughts on the matter. But the world has changed so much that I hardly know if my ideas are still sound.”

  “You planned to leave the island?” asked Merrick, mixing a second helping for himself of cold oats, sesame seeds, dried fruit, and yogurt. Larkin found the dish pleasing, despite being accustomed to poached duck eggs for his breakfast.

  “I did intend to.” Larkin adjusted the spoon in his empty bowl. “I had considered South America or New Spain, as I speak Spanish and Portuguese. Although likely now an old-fashioned version of both.”

  “Those places have changed quite a bit,” Nye said. “Steer clear of Los Angeles, is my advice, unless you like traffic and concrete.”

  “I’m not convinced you should go anywhere yet.” Merrick smiled, his elbows on the table, his coffee mug suspended between his fingertips. “You don’t know about TV, rock music, films, email, emojis … we have a lot to teach you before you can set off alone.”

  Larkin smiled too, as he indeed did not understand any of those words. “I promise not to be hasty.”

  Their gazes held a few seconds, and Larkin’s thoughts wandered back to where they had found themselves in the middle of the night over the poetry book: namely, that upon reflection, he judged Merrick Highvalley more enchanting than disturbing. True, the man was immature and insolent and had scant concept how to conduct oneself with tact, but at the same time showed competence in navigating this bewildering world of phones, cars, and iPads. Merrick had also, it seemed, broken all his scheduled activities in order to look after Larkin, which exhibited kindness.

  Furthermore, his voice became deep and cultured when he read his father’s poetry aloud, and that sylph delicacy to his profile was rather beautiful. Larkin had stared at Merrick’s hands as they held the book last night, and found them alluring too, smooth and unscarred, with tiny hairs above his knuckles like any man, no feathers there. Larkin felt curious to see those blue-tipped downy feathers at the nape of Merrick’s neck again. He had never been intimate with a faery or even a half-fae human, nor had he been tempted to try, but perhaps those inclinations were changing.

  When Larkin had made the jest about poetry and seduction, he had meant merely to show he was no longer distressed. A moment later, when detecting the flash of interest in Merrick’s glance, he belatedly realized it might sound like flirtation. Larkin ought to be careful, as he had little idea what did pass as flirtation in this century. Still, he counted himself flattered by that spark that had jumped between them.

  The healthy return of Larkin’s appetite this morning: perhaps that, too, he could credit to Merrick and the pleasant feelings he inspired.

  However, none of these thoughts could matter in the slightest. He had the palace, the government, and the fae to deal with—possibly including Ula Kana herself. Then if all of that miraculously ran smooth, Larkin supposed he would learn what he needed to know about the modern era and leave the island, while Merrick would stay on Eidolonia with his family and his trade.

  “I have perfumes to drop off at a few shops today before I meet with Sal,” Merrick said. “Will you two be okay for a few hours around here?”

  His father, chewing oats, nodded and lifted a hand to wave him off.

  Merrick rose to take the dishes from the table.

  Larkin set down his folded napkin. “Please, friend,” he told Nye, “do put me to use today in whatever employment might give me exercise. Gardening, moving heavy items, whatever you require. And whilst I do, you can speak to me of the modern world.”

  Nye beamed. “Now that sounds like the perfect day.”

  Since Sal wouldn’t be back in Dasdemir until late afternoon, Merrick dropped in on two shops who regularly carried Mirage Isle goods and gave each proprietor the festival scents, along with samples of their upcoming summer fragrances. All the while, he wondered how Nye and Larkin were getting on, and furthermore what Larkin would do with his life. He also fretted, of course, whether the palace would discover Merrick’s involvement and arrest him. Could he ever again relax with that possibility dangling over his head? Should he just turn himself in?

  He flinched. No, anything but that.

  Around noon, stepping out of the second shop, he received a text.

  Sal: Did you see the news? The group of surveyors in the fae realm has been killed, all 3 of them. Reported by their fae guides who just returned. The guides were temporarily immobilized by the attackers, who were mainly fire fae, with one matching the description of Ula Kana of all things. None could be sure as they hadn’t seen her before. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?? I will be home about 4.

  Merrick’s legs lost their strength. He slumped back against his car.

  Three people dead. At the hands of a faery resembling Ula Kana.

  He thought he might throw up. Words like “guilt” and “regret” didn’t begin to describe this horrible feeling, this futile wish to undo the last few days. Except he wouldn’t wish Larkin back under his spell, would he?

  Didn’t matter. He couldn’t change anything now.

  When he focused on the street around him again, he realized the news had begun to spread. Humans and fae were pausing to talk urgently with each other, glancing at the sky, frowning while reading their phones in the middle of the sidewalk.

  Maybe the faery in question wasn’t Ula Kana. Maybe these attacks were unconnected to Merrick and Larkin.

  Nye and Larkin would soon hear, in any case. Merrick whirled, jumped into his car, and sped back to his father’s house.

  CHAPTER 18

  WHEN MERRICK CAME IN, NYE WAS SEATED in front of his computer at the living room desk. Larkin stood behind him, leaning down to view the video news broadcast. THREE SURVEYORS KILLED IN FAE REALM, glared the headline below the reporters.

  Nye and Larkin turned to Merrick.

  “Saw the news when I got online just now,” his dad said.

  Merrick tried to form words, failed, and tried again. “Have they confirmed it’s Ula Kana?”

  “No,” Larkin said. “All the fae who saw the attackers were too young to have seen her before. They couldn’t be certain.”

  Fae could live centuries, even millennia, and couldn’t be killed by humans or other fae. Most did eventually grow weary of life and chose to be reabsorbed into the elements and reborn, at which point they seldom remembered much about their past incarnations. Though fae could have babies thr
ough sex—as evidenced by the existence of Merrick, Cassidy, and many others—they did so rarely, by choice. Most cycled through rebirths instead.

  So not only did modern humans have little firsthand idea what they might be up against with Ula Kana, but neither did most modern fae, who had regenerated within the last two centuries.

  “It might not be her,” Merrick attempted. “This might not be my fault.”

  “You would never have freed her on purpose,” Nye said. “Everyone knows that.”

  “I don’t want everyone to know!”

  “Nor do I wish myself back under the enchantment,” Larkin added. “But—”

  A rumble ripped through the ground. Lamps and dishes jingled as the whole house shook lightly for a few seconds.

  They exchanged glances. “Earthquake?” Merrick said. Eidolonia was subject to earthquakes, along with volcanic activity. But given the timing …

  Merrick went to the front window, facing the city. Larkin followed.

  As soon as he pushed aside the curtain, they saw it: a plume of smoke rising into the blue spring sky from the direction of central Dasdemir.

  Merrick raced out the door, Larkin at his heels. They ran up a nearby hill. Tall grass whipped against his legs. The city view opened out below as they reached the crest.

  “The palace,” Larkin said. Breathing hard, he dropped to his knees.

  Billowing smoke obscured the palace’s southern tower. Sirens wailed. Tiny shapes streaked around in the sky above the palace, accompanied by glimmers of light like firecrackers.

  “Is that them?” Merrick said. “The fae? Ula Kana?”

  “I cannot tell from here.” Larkin’s voice sounded broken. “But that’s how they behaved when … when they attacked before.”

  The Upheaval of Dasdemir. Likely to be the worst trauma of Larkin’s life.

  “They’re fighting them off,” Merrick quickly assured. “The palace, the emergency response. That’s got to be some of what we’re seeing. We have inventions, tech along with magic and iron. I’m sure if … here.” He fumbled out his phone to bring up the news.

  “We should go there.” Larkin stayed upon his knees. “To help.”

  “They’ll call me if they need me. I’m a volunteer rescuer.” Merrick scrolled through updates, but all the news coming in was still fragmentary, repetitive.

  “How shall we know … oh. Yes, of course. I do keep forgetting.” Larkin had glanced over to see Merrick tapping at his phone.

  A text with a red exclamation point splashed onto the top of his screen. “Nationwide alert,” Merrick said. “‘Central Dasdemir is being attacked by band of fae. Take cover immediately. Keep alert for further updates and emergency instructions.’”

  Larkin got to his feet. Flashes of magic and misty arcs of water battled the fire. “We shouldn’t remain upon this hilltop,” he said, but he didn’t move.

  Merrick could smell the smoke, bitter and sulfurous. The sea wind brought it straight to them.

  The smoke over the palace twisted like a living thing, squeezing itself into a dark knot. Then, as if releasing its tension, it shot off, directly toward their hill.

  “Down!” Larkin seized Merrick’s arm and hauled him to the ground.

  Merrick’s chest hit the lumpy dirt. Thick grass rattled in his face. He and Larkin, flat against the earth, craned their necks to look up.

  The sky turned from hazy brown to near-black. Flickers of lightning traced the edges of the encroaching clouds. Static crackled in shocks all down Merrick’s body and lifted the roots of his hair. Then, in a flash of eye-piercing light, the fae streaked past, so swift Merrick saw them for only a second. Fear raked across him like claws. Twenty or so fae surrounded a brighter, larger faery: someone with a thin, white naked torso, soot-blackened hands, flames in her hair, and legs like ropes of lava, red and glowing and branching into multiple grasping tendrils.

  She was an exact match for the paintings of Ula Kana in Merrick’s textbooks.

  Embers rained down, stinking of sulfur. Merrick and Larkin batted them off their heads. As soon as the fae swept past and the darkness in the sky began to lift, they leaped to their feet.

  “It was she,” Larkin said, sounding wretched. “Oh, Highvalley, I’ve seen her, it was she. Can you doubt it now?”

  “Come on. Before we get caught in a grass fire.”

  They rushed to the house, darting aside to stamp out smoldering embers where they could. Three neighbors ran up, asking what they’d seen. One, a matter-witch, wrenched open a fire hydrant with her magic and began flinging water out over the field. Even in the midst of the excitement, Merrick wanted to drag Larkin away before his accent and appearance incited any suspicion.

  Nye had shambled out his front door to talk with them too. Once Merrick had ascertained that the neighbors were on the lookout for spot fires, he pulled Larkin and Nye indoors.

  “You can’t just talk to people!” Merrick told Larkin as soon as he shut the door. “Do you want everyone to start guessing who you are?”

  “I fear the time may have come when they’ll begin suspecting,” Larkin retorted.

  Merrick sighed, still shaking from that glimpse of … he didn’t dare even think her name. “What are they saying?” He moved toward Nye’s computer.

  “Don’t know yet,” Nye said. “Still all breaking news. Chaos.”

  Merrick sat in the desk chair and began opening browser tabs to bring up as much information as he could. Nye dragged over another chair. Larkin paced between the desk and the windows, looking out every few minutes.

  “No one was killed this time,” Merrick finally said in relief. “They destroyed the south tower, but the spells on the building protected people long enough to get them out.”

  Most Eidolonian buildings, in accordance with national code, had been treated with spells to keep the building materials from crushing anyone. Falling walls and rubble would freeze in a shield around any living thing they encountered. Gravity would eventually overpower the spell, but there was often enough time to rescue people.

  “One woman got hit directly with lightning,” Merrick read on, “but the emergency response was right there and used swift-heal to revive her.”

  Swift-heal was a potion that healed any injury short of death and occasionally could even restart a stopped heart, as long as it was administered within a couple of minutes. It was a rare substance, closely guarded by the authorities. Like other truly useful potions, it was made of difficult-to-obtain ingredients from faraway continents as well as the fae realm, required specific and intricate magic applied at precisely the right times, and took years to age into its proper potency.

  “What of the attacking fae?” Larkin leaned over Merrick’s shoulder to view the screen.

  “The prime minister’s going to make a statement at two-thirty. Palace remains closed to visitors until further notice, and everyone’s supposed to stay inside.”

  Two-thirty was only an hour away, but it was an hour that dragged like a heavy chain. Larkin paced throughout, once muttering that he knew very well what the island was dealing with and what name to give her. Merrick snapped that these comments were not helping him feel less guilty or stressed, thank you; and Larkin shut up.

  Merrick kept checking the account he had set up for Larkin’s messages, but the palace hadn’t responded. Likely they were too occupied with the attacks—or else were rapidly closing in on Larkin’s location. He envisioned himself taking to the sky and flying away at top speed to escape arrest, then … remaining a fugitive for the rest of his life? Leaving the country? Would Eidolonian agents hunt him down across the ocean?

  Nye, worried enough to stop chattering, went into the kitchen and made a pot of genmaicha. The green tea didn’t particularly calm any of them, but they each drank a cup before the prime minister appeared on the live feeds.

  Akio Riquelme stood at a podium on the steps of Parliament, half a mile down the street from the palace. A gown of black and purple draped his stout f
orm, and the wind ruffled his graying hair.

  “This morning’s news, from both our survey team and from Floriana Palace, has been bad indeed,” he began. Merrick grimaced out of habit at the mere sound of his voice, but this time listened rather than switching it off as he usually would. “The fae who attacked the palace a short time ago were indeed led by the fire faery known as Ula Kana.”

  Merrick and Nye each drew a sharp breath. Larkin stayed immobile, clutching the empty tea cup on his lap.

  “Not only did many present at the palace have visual confirmation, including one faery who was alive at the time of the Civil War and recognized her, but Ula Kana herself spoke. We’re reviewing footage captured on the phone of a witness and are not yet ready to release it, but I can tell you she said: ‘Your people have invited severe vengeance for what you’ve done to me and my land. I am furious to find that during my captivity you’ve turned my island fouler still, smearing your ugliness and noise and light everywhere. You’ve loitered too long, and I shall burn you all to ash.’”

  Frigid water seemed to run down Merrick’s spine and spread into his organs.

  Larkin shut his eyes and let his shoulders droop.

  “Given these threats,” Riquelme continued, “we feel sure that the murder of the three surveyors was also the work of Ula Kana and her followers. Her being awakened is a clear violation of the truce set in place long ago. Indeed, this agreement has now been officially broken. For this morning it was discovered by the palace that Prince Larkin has disappeared from his bower.”

  Merrick twitched and covered his face with both hands. His empty tea mug clattered to the carpet.

  Larkin still said nothing.

  The journalists live on scene with Riquelme erupted in a clamor. Merrick peeked through his fingers.

  Riquelme batted a hand at them in a quelling gesture. The uproar fell to a murmur. “We are, of course, sending out immediate investigations in order to learn what’s happened to the prince. We want to know who has done this, and why.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Merrick moaned into his hands.