by Elise Kova
The pathway that stretched out from the tunnel snakes through the forest and into a basin. Trees are perched on the ridge all around the circular area. In the little valley, there are four people.
No, not people, monsters.
One man has horns like a stag sticking up from his head. He keeps running his fingers through the fire, miraculously unburnt, while chanting low and thick. Another man and a woman dance around him. They have both stripped down to their small clothes and their bare skin has been completely covered in bright purple paint, a pattern of swirls, dots, and lines slithering across with an almost hypnotic effect as they move.
The woman has hair a deep red, dark brown skin, and wings like a butterfly. The man is pale, and has rams horns curling on either side of his face, and strong arms that end in bony claws. I shudder violently at the sight. They sing and squeal and cry out to the moon above as it stares down at what I can only describe as some kind of dark ritual.
These creatures are fae. No wonder why Lord Fenwood thought he would die tonight. I’m certainly not safe. I should leave before they spot me. But the fourth person’s presence is what keeps me here.
Standing opposite the man chanting and playing with the fire is an old gentleman with beady black eyes and gray, slicked-back hair. Oren is half naked, his chest painted as well. Unfurled from his back are two pale, gossamer wings, like those of a dragonfly. My throat goes dry and gummy. The slight hunch to his back… I let a fae into my bedroom.
Lord Fenwood let a fae into his home. He must have found out Oren’s true nature and planned on confronting him tonight. I dig my fingers into the dirt and pine needles, resisting the urge to scream in frustration.
Confronting Oren to out him as a fae would be suicide, the lord must have known this. Hence the letter. I think of his strong arms protecting me. What if he’s done this to keep me safe? He should have just sent Oren away.
Before I can take any foolish actions, all four people raise their arms and faces to the heavens above and let out a primal scream that comes to an abrupt stop. Slowly, reverently, they all turn to face the ridgeline opposite the pathway. Standing on a boulder, lording over the group, is a man I can only presume is their leader.
He wears a cape trimmed heavily with wildflowers. His broad chest is bare. Little more than a loincloth is draped around his waist and does nothing to hide the bulging muscles of his thighs. Across his body, more lines and symbols have been drawn in luminescent paint. Draped behind him, dragging on the ground as he walks, are tattered, crimson wings.
He exudes an air of power and authority. I am as entranced by him as I am terrified. He’s like a poisonous draught that promises to be the most delicious thing in the world…you’d knowingly risk death just for a taste.
The leader lifts up a small item with both hands as he descends toward the bonfire in the center of the glade. I can’t make out what he’s holding until he’s closer to the firelight. My heart drops out of my chest, rolling down to stop at this man’s feet. Lord Fenwood is dead. He must be.
Because this fae monster holds my mother’s book.
Heart racing, I bend my knees so I can get a better look. No, it couldn’t be, please let it be anything but that. But sure enough, the book has the all-too-familiar markings on its front and spine.
The four other fae walk slowly around the fire to each touch the man, chanting, whispering. They caress him like lovers, like sycophants, like supplicants who see him as a god. The leader comes to a stop and opens the book. His lips move, but I can’t hear the words he says. At the same time, the other individuals begin dancing once more. The pale blond chops off a braid from behind his ram’s horn and throws it into the fire. The antlered man rips a piece of his clothing and quickly reduces it to ash. Oren runs a bejeweled dagger down his palm and holds it over the fire to allow his blood to drip into it. The fire changes color, going from a normal orange, to bright white, a deep red, and then an unnatural black streaked with purple and white.
Then, the leader closes the book, and raises it over his head. He’s going to throw it into the fire, I realize. Foolish instinct to protect that worn tome takes over. I push up off the ground.
“No,” I whisper. “Please don’t.” The book is all I have as proof of the mother who loved me. It was supposed to be the last gift from my father. None of the fae notice me now standing atop the ridge. They’re all too focused on the man and the book.
He begins to move his arms; gravity is now in control.
“No!” I scream and charge forward.
The fae turn toward me. I would be frozen with fear if not for the momentum the slope of the ridge gives me. I run, arms pinwheeling; I’m off-balance. The man’s hands leave the book as I close the gap. Everything happens with surreal slowness as the book falls through the air.
The fae with the butterfly wings charges for me, but the others seem too stunned to do anything. I duck around the woman and jump for the book before it can meet the flames, but my foot catches on a root. My ankle crunches, I twist. It’s too late, I’m too far off-balance. How did I close so much distance so fast? How did I ever get this close to fae while still breathing?
Not that it matters with the way I’m falling…
The man’s eyes widen, a vibrant emerald shade—the same color as spring, as the rebirth of the earth itself—unnatural, stunning. We lock gazes and my breath is stolen from me. His terrifying beauty is the last thing I see before I fall into the flames, and the world explodes with white heat.
Chapter 9
If I’m honest, death hurts a lot less than I thought it would.
The fire has turned into sunlight, enveloping me like a blanket. Nothing hurts. In fact, the opposite. Maybe it’s like the time Misty stepped on my foot and broke several bones. I didn’t realize how bad it was until a few hours later. Cordella told me about how a body can go into shock as she bandaged me in the stables so Joyce wouldn’t see and scold me for getting hurt.
I went into shock over a broken foot. Falling into a raging fire would be a whole different level of numbness.
But I’m not completely gone. There’s shouting in the distance; the garbled words gain a brief moment of clarity before becoming too far off to hear. I’m drifting in a pale sea, being taken out to the great Beyond I have no choice but to submit myself to. I hear new voices, chanting and singing. This isn’t like the feverish words the fae spoke around the fire. This singing is bright and joyous. I hear the chords of a thousand lutes playing and somehow know they’re all strumming for me.
I think I hear my mother’s voice among the chorus. She’s singing for me to come home. She’s singing for me to return to her. Finally, finally, the chorus sings my heart, reunited finally.
Silence.
Then a woman’s voice. “What are we going to do with her?”
“We take her to Vena,” a familiar voice decrees. I know that voice. How do I know that voice?
“Are you mad?” a man asks. “We can’t take her to Vena. Even if she could survive that long here—which she can’t—we can’t take a human to Dreamsong.”
“Vena is the only person who will know how to get my magic out of her,” the second voice says. It’s deep, like the lowest note of a lyre rumbling in harmony with thunder on a distant horizon. Unmistakable. I try and fight for consciousness.
“Hol has a point,” another man says. “Even if we wanted to, she’ll die before we make it to Dreamsong.”
“Then we’ll have to move quickly, won’t we?” the deep voice says.
“Or, we leave her back in the Natural World; we go to Dreamsong, ask Vena what we should do, and then go back to perform the ritual that will restore the magic to its rightful place,” the woman says.
“Unless you plan on tying her to a chair, I doubt she’ll stay put. That much has now been made painfully clear to me.” That’s the deep voice again. He seems to know me.
Do I know him? My head feels so fuzzy and heavy. I crack open my eyes.
&nbs
p; “She’s waking up,” Oren says.
It’s midday and the sun is blinding. I blink slowly as the world comes into focus. Oren hovers over me, wearing a shirt this time. However, two slits must be cut in the back to let out the dragonfly wings that swoop on either side of him.
I jerk away from Oren and from the other four people who are behind him.
“It’s all right, we’re not going to hurt you,” Oren says.
“She’s not going to believe you,” the woman with the butterfly wings says. I recognize each of the individuals now as those who were gathered around the fire.
“Let him coddle the human until he’s blue in the face, then we will force her to do what we want.” The man with ram’s horns folds his arms over his chest, biceps bulging, highlighting faintly shimmering markings that run up them. “I don’t care if she has the magic of the kings of Aviness. She’s not going to know how to use it. We can overpower her.”
“You’re not going to force me to do anything,” I snap. Likely not the best thing to do. But my head is splitting, I’m surrounded by fae, and I’m tired of being spoken about like I’m not here—that’s something Joyce would do to me.
All five of them stare at me in varying degrees of shock. The woman’s lips part and she gapes at me. The man with the stag horns exchanges a wary look with Ram’s Horns before turning back to me. Their leader furrows his brow slightly, dark brown hair cascading into his face with a tousle of the wind.
“I didn’t think you spoke common,” the man with stag horns says to the man with ram horns.
“I don’t,” he replies, still staring at me. “And I bet she doesn’t—didn’t—shouldn’t—speak faeish either.”
“Is it the magic?” Oren looks to their leader.
“Likely,” he murmurs in that deep voice of his, gaze shifting back to me. His eyes are greener than the sunlight canopy around us. Greener than should be possible. A unique shade, almost like a…
“Lime,” I whisper and inhale sharply. “No, no, no, no.” That single word is on repeat. It can’t be. It’s not possible.
He crouches down. His tattered wings twitch slightly behind him. There’s still remnants of purple paint underneath his nails.
“You’ve broken all the rules, Katria.” The words are steeped in frustration.
“It’s you,” I breathe. “Lord Fenwood.”
“I suppose now that you’ve seen the real me, you should know my real name, too. Davien.” He motions behind him. “The gentleman with the antlers is Hol. My other horned friend is Giles.”
“You’re not even going to attempt a horny joke? Disappointing,” Giles mumbles while grinning like a cat.
Lord Fenwood—Davien ignores him. “The lady is Shaye. And of course you know Oren.”
I’ve scooted myself all the way back against a tree in an effort to get as much distance as possible between me and these creatures. As my back presses against the bark I begin to get a better sense of my surroundings, even though it’s nearly impossible to tear my eyes off the fae. I expect them to launch at my throat at any second even though they haven’t killed me yet.
We’re not in the deep pine forest anymore. Ancient oak trees stretch up with a spiderweb of branches to catch the sunlight and cool afternoon breezes. Moss dangles off their limbs, swaying. Small motes of light, a rainbow of fireflies bright enough to be seen in the daytime, drift around us. The moss has an iridescent sheen to it, not unlike the crimson of Davien’s wings.
Every color is brighter than I’ve ever seen it. Every scent is sharper. The air itself feels alive, powerful and fearsome, in an entirely different way than the dark forest. I do not feel threatened here. Yet, at the same time, this feels like a place of great danger.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“We’re in the Bleeding Woods, to the northeast of what you know as the Slate Mountains.”
“Northeast…” I struggle to process information. “There is nothing northeast of the Slate Mountains. They’re utterly impassable. The world ends.” Every fool who has ever tried to go across them has never returned.
“Impassable for your kind.” Hol glances in my direction from the corners of his purple eyes before going back to scanning the woods around us. Every muscle in his body is tensed. Like he’s ready for a fight…or ready to run. “At least, without the help of people like us.”
“The Slate Mountains are a line between worlds,” Davien says with forced calmness. There’s agitation burning in the backs of his eyes. He’s frustrated with me. Fine. Let him be. He was the one who kept all of this a secret and who’s now dragged me into it. “On the other side of them is the former kingdom of Aviness—where we are now.”
“Most people call it the fae wilds these days,” Giles says, scanning the forest while he speaks, the wind tousling his blond hair around his horns.
“Why have you not killed me? Why have you taken me here? What do you want from me?” My questions become hasty and frantic.
“I want the magic you stole.” Davien’s voice becomes more of a growl. “The magic that was my birthright.”
“I didn’t take any magic.” I shake my head.
He grabs my shoulders with his broad hands and shakes me. “You came into the glen, you disrupted the ritual, you stepped into the flame.”
I suppose I did do all of those things. “I never intended— Fine, if you want whatever this magic is, then take it back. I truly don’t know what you’re talking about and I wouldn’t want it even if I did.”
“If only it were so simple.” A shadow crosses over his face. “I spent my entire life, nearly twenty-four years, looking for the pieces I needed to complete that ritual. I waited five years just for the stars to be aligned. And you think you can give it to me just because you say so?”
“Enough.” Oren presses fingertips lightly on Davien’s forearm, interrupting the man’s rant. “You’re not accomplishing anything with this.”
“Maybe he will,” Shaye says with a devious grin. “We’ve never had a human who stole fae magic before. Maybe if he shakes her hard enough it’ll burst out of her. Or her head will pop right off.”
My eyes go wide.
“None of us are touching her.” He must realize he’s contradicting himself, because Davien releases me with a frustrated sigh.
“I think you just touched—”
“Silence, Giles.” Davien pinches the bridge of his nose. The way he looks at me now reminds me of every measure of disdain Joyce and Helen ever showed me, and then some.
“I didn’t mean to—” I begin to say. My instinct to placate at that mere look is brought forth.
He cuts me off. “That much is clear. And yet you’ve risked ruining everything.” Davien begins to walk off through the woods. “We’re taking her to Vena.”
“Up with you,” Oren says gently, helping me to my feet.
“All the way to Dreamsong, through the Bleeding Woods, with a human.” Shaye glances back at me before locking eyes with Hol. “I give her three days.”
“Generous,” Hol says. “I’d be shocked for two.”
“Great, now I have to pick between one—which seems too short—and four, which we can all agree is far too generous,” Giles mumbles. “I’ll take four, if I must. Hear that, human? I’m being optimistic for you.”
They’re talking about how long I’ll manage to stay alive, I realize. I shake my head slowly; it becomes a ripple down my spine that quickly evolves into shudders. I can’t move with my bones rattling so violently. My back hits the tree and I slide down it once more, curling up into a ball and clutching my head.
“We have to get moving.” Oren tries to pull me up by my elbows. “It’s not safe for us out here.”
“Of course it’s not! I’m not safe with any of you.”
“None of us are going to hurt you.”
“At least not while you have Davien’s magic,” Giles says with a singsong voice. His skirt swishes slightly around his thighs as he walks.
A
whimper works its way up my throat and escapes as a muted, garbled noise. “I want to go home.”
“You can’t,” Oren says.
“Take me back,” I demand. “Take me back now,” I repeat, louder. It’s enough that I gain Davien’s attention. He stops and slowly turns to face me as I push myself off the ground of my own accord. “You—You made a deal when you married me. You took an oath that I would never be left wanting. And I want to go home.”
Davien slowly stalks over, his muscles rippling with a power that calmly promises that he could tear me apart if he desired. His fae magic is like an aura. I’m shocked that it doesn’t ripple the air around him like heat off of stones on a summer day.
“About that,” he almost purrs. “First, home, where would that even be? Back to that ‘decrepit manor’ you told me your family lives in? Is that where you consider your ‘home’? Or did you make my estate your home?”
“You left it to me, in your letter.” I try not to let myself be intimidated, but it’s harder and harder the closer he gets. “I want you to take me back there.”
“I hear how you keep using that word—want. But it’s not going to have the effect that you think it will.”
“But—”
“Yes, I made you a very generous vow that, I’ll point out here and now, I did not have to make. And you’re right in that I had to uphold it. However, you’re forgetting a rather key part of it.” He comes to a stop before me, staring down the bridge of his nose. “My vow only lasted until you, or I, departed that mortal plane. And seeing as we have now crossed the Fade into the land of Midscape…we are no longer on that mortal plane. So my vow was fulfilled and is nullified.”
He takes a half step closer. My back hits the tree again, preventing further escape. He’s so close that I can feel his breath, just on the edge of the brisk air of winter.
“You have no claim over me here.”
“I just want to go home,” I whisper.