by Elise Kova
“If you smirk like that at me again, I won’t be able to stop myself from kissing that smug expression off your lips.” His breath is hot on my neck, the words deep and gravelly. “Consider this your warning.”
He releases me and I straighten in the saddle once more, but there’s nowhere I can go. There’s no escaping him as we ride together. For a while now, we’ve been pressed against each other with nothing left to the imagination. I was able to ignore it while I was focusing on the music, but now he’s made that nearly impossible.
Blessedly, he doesn’t distract me further. The music guides us to the road, only getting louder as we continue down the cobblestones. Without warning, the fog dissipates. We break through into a golden sunset, shining down on a sheltered lake, and a long-forgotten castle.
Chapter 26
The keep reminds me of Davien’s manor back in the Natural World. The architecture is incredibly similar even if it is significantly more dilapidated. This place has clearly been forgotten by man, though not by nature.
The small, crumbling castle overlooks a perfectly clear lake. I’ve never seen water so brilliantly blue in my life. Even underneath the orange sunset it gives off an almost cerulean glow.
The oak trees of the forest we left are gone. In their place are massive, ancient sentries of wood and perseverance. Their trunks fan out at their base, looking as if they wear flowing skirts beneath their bark. The mountains have also vanished.
I stare at the western horizon, blinking into the sunset. “I’ve never seen the sky so large and unbroken.”
“Me neither.” Davien’s voice is low with reverence. “And I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
I guide the horse over to the entrance of the keep. The doors have long since rotted off and vines trellis around the opening in their place. We dismount and Davien walks right to the water’s edge where it meets the castle wall.
“So, what do we do now?”
“Let’s go inside,” he decides and returns to me. “It’s getting late and there are some matters involving the ritual to finalize.”
“Finalize?” I ask.
“Vena was able to work out most of the ritual…but she admitted that we might be forced to adjust once we are in this space. Ritual is an art and we didn’t know what our canvas would look like.”
My heart sinks into the cold water of the lake and I shiver. The fae have made it clear how important ritual is for their magic to work properly…and how difficult rituals can be to make and perfect.
“How long do you think the adjustments will take?”
“I hope no more than a day, at the absolute most.” Davien begins unhooking the saddlebags. I lend assistance. “Fortunately, my horse was the one we carried on with, so I didn’t lose any of the supplies that Vena sent.”
“I can only imagine how much bloodier that scuffle would have become if we were also trying to get the saddlebags off my horse… Poor girl.” I sigh, wishing I could go back and find the horse to give it a proper burial. I only knew her for a short time, but she served me well.
“Speaking of bloody, are you all right?” Davien’s hand touches my side. “I didn’t see this when we were riding.”
I look at my side where Allor nicked me with her blade. “It was small and it’s already healed.” I press my fingers through the hole in my shirt to confirm what I already suspected. The skin is already knitted; there’s not even the slightest sign of any trauma. “I have to admit, fast healing is one really nice thing about your fae king powers. I’m going to miss having it.”
He chuckles. “If I could let you keep a fraction of this power, I would.”
“Well, if I get to choose, then please give me the magic healing.” I focus on the saddlebags in an effort to hide my shock at the admission.
He shifts a little closer to me. “You have a deal, but only after I defeat the most bloodthirsty fae to have ever walked this earth.”
“I think that sounds fair.” I look up at him with a sly smile. I hate how much just his face makes me happy. Even when the world is tough, even when death and danger lurks around every corner, there’s a lightness that only his presence exudes. I tear my eyes away from him, before I’m lost in the heady emotions. “We should go inside…see if our friends are waiting.” Hopefully not our enemies. “I’ll keep the stallion saddled, just in case we need to make a fast escape. One night with a saddle on shouldn’t hurt him.”
“Good thinking.” His expression becomes serious as he looks up at the crumbling walls, scanning the dark windows. If Shaye or Giles had made it here before us, they would’ve most certainly come to greet us by now. It’s far more likely that if anyone is waiting, it’s an enemy. “I’ll go first. Stay right at my side.” He holds out his hand and I take it.
We enter at the top of an L-shaped hallway. At our left is an antechamber that is completely overgrown by the vines and other greenery that was creeping up the front facade. Rounding the L reveals the main hall of the keep.
There’s a staircase at our right that heads up to the second floor and a gigantic hearth at our left. A rectangular, stone table positioned before the hearth is the only piece of furniture that persists. Opposite the hearth are three large windows, cut into the wall, that overlook the lake. Miraculously, the stained glass is still intact.
“It’s almost like the designs at your house.” I keep my voice to a whisper as I cross over to one of the windows, yet my words still manage to echo around the pillars and into the giant rafters that support this cavernous room. I run my finger lightly along the dark outlines of the images. Every other panel is a portrait of a man or woman wearing a shimmering crown made of glass almost identical to the one Davien wore on the night of the festival in Dreamsong.
“My home and this place were both made by and for the Aviness family.” Davien examines the glass as well. I can feel the warmth radiating off of him as the castle becomes colder with the setting sun.
“There are women wearing the crown.”
“There were a few times in our history where in lieu of a male heir, a woman took the throne.” Davien shrugs. “The last heir of the direct bloodline would have been a woman.”
“Everyone makes it sound like there have only been kings.”
“That has been the predominant way of it. And the Boltovs only pass down the crown among the men of their family. I think some forget that there were queens long ago.”
I come to a pause before one man holding the crown rather than wearing it. “Why isn’t it on his brow?”
“He must be one of those who abdicated.” Davien strokes his chin thoughtfully. “The glass crown can only be worn by a true heir. It’s part of the ritual placed on it long ago by the Aviness family. When the original fae courts banded together to fight against the early elves and named Aviness their king, they swore fealty in a ritual that still binds all fae to this day to the crown. I hear Boltov began to wear the crown on his brow through some illusion or dark ritual in his attempt to claim I was not legitimate. Though any fae would know the truth by sense alone.”
“Sounds powerful,” I murmur, staring up at the man in the glass and trying to imagine myself pictured in a window someday, abdicating to Davien.
“It is, immensely. And the Boltovs can only tap into a fraction of it. I’ve no doubt Boltov thinks if he can get the magic of the ancient kings…he could do far more regardless of whether I’m alive or dead.”
“Which is why we can never let him get it.” I look up at Davien and he gives a small nod that feels conspiratorial. Even though I know I am only playing a small and accidental part of this great story of Aviness, for the first time, I feel as though I am truly a part of it rather than a spectator.
“Indeed.” He starts back for the fireplace behind us. “We should set up our camp here tonight. We’ll do a quick search of the keep, and then barricade this room. Whenever Shaye and Giles arrive, they won’t be able to miss us.”
My chest tightens as I stare at his back.
I don’t know if Shaye and Giles are coming. The thought nearly makes me sick. They were with us mere hours ago. To think that right now they could be… I shudder and force the thought from my mind. They’re strong. And if Davien has faith that they will come walking through that door, then so will I. At the very least, I choose to believe they’ve turned back to Dreamsong to help protect it.
“I’ll make the fire,” I offer.
“You?” He seems startled. It elicits a laugh from me.
“I assure you I’m perfectly capable of making a fire. I did for my family most mornings. I did in the safe house yesterday.” I cross over to the hearth and begin to check the flue. From what I can see, it doesn’t look like there are any obstructions. Even if there were, the ceiling is high enough in here and there are enough holes in the roof that I doubt we’re going to get smoked out.
“I can use magic,” he offers.
“Or you can begin your search. Unless you’d rather I search the rooms and corridors?”
Davien frowns. “I’d rather you stay at my side. But I can see the benefit of dividing and conquering.”
“I’ll shout if there’s any trouble.”
“Be sure you do. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze and heads up the stairs. Leaving me to remind myself to breathe for a moment after a remark like that.
I rummage through the saddlebags, assessing our supplies. There’s not a great deal, but there’s enough to be comfortable at least for tonight. Luckily, among all the other supplies are some flint and steel. I retreat back through the entry hallway to an antechamber and collect dead brush and twigs for kindling. Shockingly, I find some split logs stacked and dry on the side of the fireplace. I wonder if there’s some kind of old ritual on the closet they’re stored in, given that there’s no sign of rot.
Practical fae rituals to make my life easier when I return to the human world. Those will be a must. I chuckle as I collect the wood, imagining the Fae King in my home, charming a closet so my firewood is always dry and ready. It’s certainly a nice image.
Ferrying the supplies back, I stack my wood atop the kindling and proceed with striking the flint until I get spark to catch. Davien hasn’t returned by the time I’m done stoking the flames, so I turn to focusing on food. There are some rations at the bottom of the saddlebags that I lay out on the table. I spend way too much time making sure they’re as aesthetically pleasing as possible, given that it’s only a small loaf of bread, a jar of blackberry jam, and salted meat.
“You eat with your eyes first,” I mutter, thinking of all the times Joyce chided me for the table not being set just right.
“What was that?” Davien startles me. He comes in through one of the other side doors of the main hall.
“I don’t suppose you found a larder miraculously stocked with food, did you?” I ask instead of repeating myself.
“Unless you consider moss food, no.” He approaches. “I think this will be enough.”
“I do too, I just wish it was more substantial.”
“It’s a dinner fit for a king.” He helps himself to a hunk of bread, popping open the jar and slathering his piece with jam.
I laugh out loud. “It is not.”
“I am a king, and I am eating it, therefore it is.” His eyes shimmer with amusement. He could kill me with a smile.
“Very well, Your Majesty.” I dip low into a bow.
“If you’re that concerned, why don’t we make it fit for a king?” The sun is setting outside and he’s cast in a warm glow from the fading light of the stained glass and the fire.
“How would I do that?”
“A small ritual should suffice.” He begins rummaging through the saddlebags, glancing back at the food. “What would you have in mind? Perhaps some kind of pasta? Or meat pie?”
“If those are my options, meat pie.” I watch with keen fascination as he takes a piece of chalk and marks a series of triangles and circles in a grid-like pattern on the table. His movements are strong and confident.
“Food rituals are fairly simple. You need some basic requirements of the ingredients, some heat.” He gives a nod to the fire. “And then the rest is magic.”
“All right.” Excitement rushes through me at the idea of getting to use magic again. I’m about to lose these powers, so I might as well enjoy them as I can, in whatever way I can.
“Stand here.” He maneuvers me in front of the table, standing behind me. I’ve never been more aware of the strong length of his body or the way his breath cuts straight through my clothing to hit the nape of my neck. “Put your hands like this.”
His voice is soft and low as he runs his fingertips down my arms. They land lightly on the backs of my hands, taking them with a gentle grip. He guides my palms onto the table, resting lightly at two points on the grid.
“Now, just like we did with the lantern, think about what you’re trying to make.” How can instructions be so…sensual? I try not to squirm. “Will the magic to bend to you, to do your bidding as its master. You control it. It doesn’t control you.”
“What does it feel like for you?” I ask, fighting to stay focused. “I’ve been trying to feel the magic within me, but I can’t. Every time I want to summon it, there’s nothing there.”
He draws small circles on the back of my hand with his fingertips as he considers my question. I don’t even think he’s aware of what he’s doing and I don’t point it out to him. The sensation is too delicious to stop.
“Magic… I wouldn’t say it’s a thing that I feel, not consciously at least. It’s more of a state of being. An awareness of the world and all its mysteries—the ones you know, the ones you don’t, what you can control, and the forces you are helpless to do anything but to submit to. Magic is one of the greatest things we will ever know and never be able to explain. To know magic is to touch the old gods that brought this earth from primordial chaos. It is to embrace the glimpse of greatness that we all possess within us—to boldly reach for what could be and not what is, both in ourselves and the world around us.”
Davien’s words are thoughtful and poetic. If not for his pauses and breathy stillness I would think he had practiced the speech. But every word is as sincere as the last.
I laugh softly, trying to free up some of the restless energy his speech filled me with. “You realize none of that is very helpful for me, right?”
“I suppose it’s not.” I don’t even have to turn around to know that there’s a grin on his face. “Why not treat it as you would a dance? That seemed to work for you during the tunnel construction.”
“It did, but…” I trail off with a sigh. “I wish I could feel it, is all. I struggle to conjure something that I don’t know is there half the time.”
“Knowing magic is like trying to tell you what the color red sounds like. Once you hear it, you know. But until then it’s madness to try and explain.”
That gives me genuine pause. I run my fingertips across his chalk lines thoughtfully. “I think I know what you’re trying to say.”
“You do?” The question is a mix of delight and surprise.
“I know what the color red sounds like.” I begin to think of magic in an all-new way. “Just like I know the harmonies of the pollinators in summer, or the soft requiem of winter. The world has a sound to it, a song, if you’re able to listen.” Magic must be the same. Once you hear it, you’ll be able to sing along. It is not a dance. It is the music itself.
What is the song my magic sings?
The question rattles my core. It isn’t my magic. This isn’t my power, my destiny. My fingers curl as I lift them from the table.
“What is it?”
I step away from him with a shake of my head. Wrapping my arms around myself, I cross over to the windows. The lake is a bright cerulean in the late twilight. Just as I first suspected, it really is glowing.
“Katria?”
I hear his footsteps approaching. I speak without looki
ng at him. “It doesn’t matter. There’s no point in me learning any of this.”
“Did I say something that upset you?” He comes to a halt just behind me once more. I don’t turn to face him.
“No.” I’m clearly perfectly capable of upsetting myself.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me, please.” In the face of my silence, he continues with his incorrect assumptions. “There’s no reason to be frustrated with magic. Even though we fae work on honing and perfecting our skills, our knowledge of magic is somewhat innate. We know it from birth. You don’t have that benefit, so it’s only natural that you struggle and—”
“I’m not upset that I don’t know how to use magic.” I hang my head. “I just don’t see the point in learning it. Doing so will only end in disappointment.”
“You’ll be able to master it,” he assures me.
“With what time?” I round on him. “Tomorrow, if everything goes correctly—and I know I don’t need to tell you what rides on tomorrow, that it must go correctly—then the magic will be out of me. This power was never mine, it’s yours. There’s no point in my learning it now or ever. I’m just a bystander, an accident, a thief. I am a brief note in your symphony, and it hurts too much to pretend to be anything else.”
His gaze softens, his brows turning up slightly in the center. “I don’t want you to hurt,” he says softly.
“I’m used to being hurt. I can survive being hurt.” It’s all of these other feelings that are difficult. It’s the happy feelings that I don’t know what to do with; the ones that highlight just how deep all my other wounds are.
“That’s not a way to live. You should have never had to live that way.”
“Well I have, and I’ve done just fine.”
“You survived, and that’s commendable given that I only know the tip of the iceberg of your suffering. But merely surviving isn’t any way to live. I want you to thrive—you deserve to thrive.” He takes a small step forward. I take a wide step back.