Kingdom of Mirrors and Roses

by A. W. Cross

  “Is your biological father.” A growl edged the words. “And his debt of passage to the mortal realm is one that accumulated quite an interest in these past seventeen years.”

  “My mother never would have betrayed my father. She worries about appearances too much to ever…” Even as Fayre spoke, something swirled within her, about him, everywhere. It was as though an entire plane of existence she’d never known before was tangling before her eyes.

  Auber’s voice gentled, if some. “I will not argue on this matter, little boar. You have seen me do terrible things without so much as a word. It is hardly difficult to enchant a human. Few humans remember us at all after our encounters.”

  “That night…” Fayre whispered. “That night when I met you, you said I should be grateful; you almost didn’t accept. Why did you?”

  “Why did I?” His brow lowered. “I suppose you’ve worked out why you should be grateful then.”

  “No. I haven’t.”

  “Humans,” he flicked his hand, looking away, “you must spell everything out for them. Do you know when your kind is generally capable of coming into innate magical gifts?”

  Her head shook, confusion muddling her expression. Innate magical gifts; such a thing existed?

  “No, of course you wouldn’t. It’s when they turn seventeen.” Auber looked at his chest, glancing the hole before skimming his fingers over the bandages. “You feel it, don’t you? Something bubbling in your gut. That’s not just nausea because I’m half-naked. And earlier, when you felt threatened, that wasn’t a freak incident where thorns just decided to spring up. Your chemistry has changed. Your faery half has shown itself to have taken root.”

  “I still don’t understand why I should be grateful.”

  He tore several of her bindings from his flesh, revealing smooth skin. “Let me paint a picture, then. You find yourself, a human, with the enchanting beauty of a faery but the inability to abandon all the interest I’m sure you’ve already suffered through. The enchantment doubles, triples even, with your changing of years, and in the morning, you encounter a man. Not a good man. Perhaps not a bad man. Just an idiot of a man with no self-control.” Auber ripped more bandages off and tossed them at his bedside. “He can’t help himself. He corners you. And you explode thorns in his face.” Auber’s gleaming gaze stuck on her. “Do you know what humans do to those people they deem witches?”

  Fayre blinked, two tears cascading down her cheeks, and gasped in a breath.

  A warm hand settled on her skin. His thumb smoothed over her cheek, drying it before moving to the other. “Little one, you are safe here, as long as you understand I am trying to help you.”

  “Why?” Emotion and disbelief choked her voice. “Why would you help me? You don’t have a heart. You hate humans. You nearly threw me out hours ago when all I was trying to do was apologize for hurting you.”

  “How entitled,” he murmured, no spite touching the words, “to think you had hurt me.” He smoothed his thumb over her cheek again, then drew back his hand. “I won’t suggest I’m kind or noble. Faery folk merely have their whims and their moments.”

  “What happens now?” She forced herself to look away. “Legends surrounding you go back decades. If I share your kin, will I age?”

  “For now, I assume iron was involved in the wound on my back, so I’ll need a bit of time to heal. Then, I’m going to teach you how to control yourself—I imagine it will be difficult with how temperamental you are.” He grinned, but the expression dropped when she made no response. Looking away, he leveled his tone. “Come time when you must age, you can learn to glamour. And come the end of your measly human lifespan, well, you can surely get creative.”

  Her body went cold. “You mean kill myself?”

  He startled. Brows knitting, he stared at her. “Kill yourself. Move and start over. Wander the Land of Youth. There are many more pleasant options than the first. Why so morbid?”

  “I just…” She curled her arms around her chest and steadied her breaths. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

  “I picture that having gone over very well, don’t you?”

  Her shoulders bunched. “I wish you were constrained from sarcasm.”

  “It has a distinctly different flavor than a lie. I admit I’m partial to it.” He touched her shoulder, and she didn’t flinch as she turned her gaze back on him. He asked, “Are you all right?”

  “Everything I’ve known is a lie.”

  “Well, that’s hardly true. Your family is still your family. Even the man you claim as your father. Family is deeper than blood. Faery folk know this as many of us are born into the world utterly alone.”

  She took a shaky breath, finding no comfort in his words. Perhaps all along this is why she never felt she fit in her family; perhaps all along they felt how she was different past the color of her skin.

  Ignorant of her thoughts, he continued, “You are also still you. Personality is linked to appearance by the smallest of threads, and your appearance has changed very little. A tree is still a tree, and a flower is still a flower. I assume you still know their names. I assume you still thirst for knowledge, adventure. Some of what you’ve known may be a lie, but rather than knowing less, you’ve only come to know more. And there is no limit to what you can now experience.”

  “Are you trying to comfort me?”

  He snorted, then winced, setting a hand to his gut. “These are the facts. Whether they comfort or not, I have no control over.”

  Fayre looked at her hands and reached for her hair. Delicate tangles of vines coiled around locks, flowering, and she swallowed. “I think I need to be alone, gather my thoughts.” Standing, she stopped when he caught her arm.

  His hand slipped away. “Of course, but it’s still winter out there.” He snapped, and his armoire opened, a brilliant green cloak fluttering to her shoulders. “Take care on your way to the tower. I should be well enough by this evening, so I’ll see you at dinner?”

  A chill raced down her spine even as she wrapped the new cloak tight around her shoulders and nodded. She crossed the room to the door and set her hand on the cool brass knob.

  “Oh, and, little boar?”

  She had no energy left to flinch, but she stilled, frowning.

  “I’m sorry you had to see this monster fully.”

  Looking over her shoulder, she peered straight at his chest, glanced at his face, then shook her head. “I’m not. I’m only sorry you didn’t stop me from leaving before my life nearly ended. Without that hesitation, you’d hardly be monstrous now.”

  His eyes widened, but she didn’t wait for an answer. Turning the knob, Fayre exited, made her way to the door across the hall, and opened it into the tower bedroom. The cold air stung her nose, but she paid it no mind as she crossed the room. Hesitantly, she eyed the thick iron bars at the window. Beyond them, the snow-covered world lay in quiet bliss, but the farther she looked, the more fog seemed to gather in the distance.

  Like the edges of the world were blurred.

  Closing her eyes, she inhaled to quell her fears. Her fingers lifted, pausing before the coarse metal. Another deep inhale, and she crushed her skin against it. Her eyes snapped open when nothing happened, and she pulled her hand back to check for a burn.

  Not even the slightest indent.

  The mirror beside the dresser glinted in the dim sunlight, drawing her attention, and she glanced at her reflection. Her same face and eyes and features peered back at her from within a case of golden brown skin, but most notably, her hair lay in and around curls of vines. A crown of white flowers adorned her head, trailing down her locks in dozens of buds.

  She touched one, and it opened, making her stomach flip. Drawing her finger away, she watched it close again, but that didn’t help her know how to feel.

  She set a hand against her stomach and exhaled a calming breath. Power surged within, rocking her core. Shaken as she might be, this was strength. This was opportunity. This was more than
she had ever had before.

  The strong are never left alone. They are depended upon, sought after, exploited. Great expectations follow anyone with any gift, and expectations are like chains.

  This was responsibility.

  8

  Auber tossed a golden fruit between his hands, then took a vicious bite. Juice dribbled down his chin, but Fayre barely looked up from her own hands while she toyed with a sweet bun.

  “We should begin with control. You won’t need a glamour for at least two years, and I’m assuming you’d like to go home as soon as possible.” Auber sucked his fingers one by one, and she stopped poking her food.

  “I don’t need to conceal my hair?”

  “That should be manageable with a little willpower. Lucky for you, I don’t believe you’re lacking.”

  Not bothering to reply, she took a small bite and let the sugary bread melt on her tongue.

  Auber frowned. “Cheer up. Some humans spend their whole lives searching for something incredible. The incredible has fallen into your lap, yet you’re pouting.”

  “The incredible has tangled itself in my hair and segregated me from both worlds. While I’m sure I’ll be over it in a few days, you’ll have to forgive me these few hours of adjustment.” Her expression waned as she glared, and Auber huffed.

  “Must you be so human?”

  She scoffed. “Typical. A faery wants me to act more fae. The humans will expect me to act entirely human. Expectations really are like chains.”

  “I didn’t say I expected you to act more fae.” He took another grotesque bite and munched.

  “Sure. You just complained about my acting human. Tell me, oh great one, how would you prefer I act?” She, more gracefully than he, ripped a bite out of the sweet bun and narrowed her eyes.

  “Good to see your shock has faded into anger.”

  “Frustration, rather.”

  “Really now. Why’s that?”

  She dropped her gaze. “Humans would burn me. Faery folk wouldn’t accept me, if you’re any example. I’ve wanted adventure for as long as I can remember, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want someplace to return to. This potential is…bittersweet. Lonely.”

  He remained silent, drew inward, then mumbled, “Just like a human to look at the negative.”

  Fayre stood, scraping her chair back against the floor. “There you go again! You never cease to remind me how human I am despite knowing all along I’m not. Tell me why I’m here, Beast. Why would you help someone tainted like me?”

  He stood, and his chair slammed against the ground, uncomfortably close to the ever-licking candle flames. “You want the answer so badly, don’t you? Here it is, then: I wasn’t going to.”

  Her fists clenched, and she provided a mocking bow. “Please, Your Highness, grace me with an explanation.”

  He stared at her, and she stared back. The white bulbs in her hair bled red and black, and his gaze shifted over them before he replied, “Delhi.”

  “What?” A breath eased out of her lungs, and she stepped back. “What does she have to do with anything? Save the fact while she was here she offered me nothing but kindness.”

  “You saw me. The shadow in the forest. And I saw you help her.” His nostrils flared. “I saw you help her, and I saw what happened afterward. Leth found out about you sometime last year and suggested a trade to acquit his debt then. I refused, knowing full-well what could happen should your faery half take root in front of the mortals. I refused, knowing you could die brutally at human hands. I refused. Until the moment that woman hit you.”

  Fayre’s breaths shortened as tears gathered in her eyes. She choked them back and raised her head high. “And I bet you regret that decision now, don’t you?”

  “Regret is such a human understanding. Remember, little boar, I have done things that could haunt the worst of your men for the duration of their existence. And most I hardly recall.”

  “Are you proud of that?”

  A long silence stretched between them, something about it deadly. When afterwards Auber still hadn’t replied, Fayre wet her lips. “I thought as much.” She turned toward the door without pause.

  “Where are you going?” he snapped as she weaved through the candles, no care or worry for her cloak.

  “To my room. I’ll find you when I no longer have a very real humanly urge to hit you.” She glanced back in the final instant before she disappeared down the hall. “See me exercising my willpower and control? I suppose we can skip the first lesson. You should be proud of that.”

  ✶

  The evening stretched long before Fayre felt calm enough to leave the sanctuary of her room and her books, but when she did descend the tower steps and stare at the mirrored walls of the palace, a unique sensation of normalcy hit her.

  She had grown used to the dimly lit, confusing halls. In fact, they no longer confused her. Only when she thought about them did she recognize they made no sense.

  Holding a picture of the stairs to Auber’s chambers in her mind, she walked straight and turned the corner. Steps lay before her, leading to the second and third floor. Yet if she turned on her heel and opened the nearest door, she could be at Auber’s room all the same.

  The more moments she used to try and pick it all apart, the less she knew and the fuzzier the world became, so she exhaled and stopped. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on needing to find Auber, then she turned the nearest knob. Nothing but the merest belief he was within propelled her inside.

  A quaint sitting room presented itself. Auber sat splayed over a burgundy couch before a roaring fire. Sparkling white wine filled the glass teetering in his hand. He swirled the liquid, not bothering to look up as she took a seat in the clawfoot chair next to him.

  His eyes flicked over the dancing flames; the glow reflected in the dark pools.

  She spoke first. “What does a man with no regrets have to drown in liquor?”

  “Responsibility.” He glanced at her. “And troubling house guests.”

  “I’m worried you mean that second part literally.”

  His lips quirked. “I have before.”

  She fought the chill winding down her spine as she smoothed her fingers over the folds of her skirt. Dirt stains from a world away still spotted her apron, mottling the fabric, but she paid them little mind. “What kinds of guests do you normally have?”

  “Those of the faery variety. On occasion, children.”

  She cleared her throat. “Of the human variety?”

  “Very rarely, yes.”

  “Why do you like human children?”

  “I wouldn’t say I like them.” He sipped the wine and laid back, staring at the ceiling. “Faery folk exist because of human children. They are innocence and mischief and imagination. From the purest minds, we sprout in shades of light and dark, a mixture of fear and wonder. It’s only natural to have some sort of loyalty to a mother or father or god. At least until a sense of betrayal festers.” Soft breath clouded the glass when he lifted it to his lips again. “Anyway…have you acclimated yourself?”

  “As well as I can.” Fayre’s hands stilled, and she turned them, staring at her palms. The memory of the thorns that had sprouted from her skin made her stomach rock, and she closed her eyes. “Why didn’t it hurt? Where does it come from?”

  “A dryad’s affinity is nature. A dragon’s affinity is fire. What you are won’t hurt you even if it could kill another. And, like all things, what we are comes from within.”

  “Is that what I am? A dryad?”

  “Half-dryad.”

  Fayre swallowed the bitterness before it had a chance to escape. “Where do I start learning how to control this so I can get out of your hair and the flowers out of mine?”

  He chuckled, raising the tall glass of wine yet again. “The flowers are an improvement. Many human girls spend hours accomplishing a look half as enchanting.”

  “Your compliments really do a number on my self esteem,” she droned.

  H
is smile only widened. “Let me simplify then—you are enchanting. Even I can see why the men of your town found you tempting before your fullness.” He stared at the wine glass. “That said, faery folk draw attention and abandon it the moment they are out of sight. You have no control over abandoning such attention, so you must rein in your allure.” He thrust the wine glass toward her. “Drink.”

  “What?”

  “Drink.”

  “I’ve never…” Her gaze caught his in the moment his lips pinched and a brow arched. She curled her fingers around the cool glass, the heady scent already filling her nostrils. “Why?”

  He linked his arms behind his head and reclined, glancing out the window at the high moon. “It’s still your birthday, isn’t it?”

  Her heart thudded, and she looked between him and the sparkling liquid. “What if I don’t handle it well?”

  His sigh filled the space and seemed to rustle the flames. “I’ll make sure you retain minimal necessary clothing and do not end up rutting a satyr. Release your concerns for an evening. Tomorrow is unlikely to be so pleasant.”

  Exhaling the welling apprehension, Fayre brought the glass to her lips and drank a single gulp. The cool liquid heated her neck going down and settled in her stomach before spreading throughout her limbs. The whole of the room spun while a flurry of nutmeg rested on a bed of sweet cream in her mouth.

  Cream? She squinted at the clear liquid, tasting it again to be certain. The same luxurious sample skated over her tongue, and how in the world had he sipped this leisurely? She wanted to down it and ask for more.

  “Do try to savor it,” he said, half laughing. “I won’t give you any more.”

  Had she, perhaps, said that out loud? Or was she merely chugging it like an infant?

  “What is this?” she asked, finding it almost difficult to maneuver her mouth.

  “A delicacy from lands past yours.”

  A laugh burbled out of her, and she covered her lips. “I’m sorry.” The apology escaped through her fingers on the coattails of her mirth.

  His brows lifted.