by Eva Chase
They’re eyeing me with open curiosity, but that makes sense. Sylas told me he hasn’t taken human servants since Kellan joined his cadre because of the other man’s intense hostility toward mortal beings, so these fae haven’t seen someone like me in their domain in quite a while. Whether they’ve ever seen a human with starkly pink hair is debatable. I’m just glad that I don’t pick up any obvious animosity or disdain in their expressions.
“It’s good to see you all looking well,” Sylas says in his authoritative tone. “I’d like you to meet a newcomer to our pack. This is Talia. She’s come from beyond the Mists. My cadre-chosen August has brought her here as a companion—not a servant—and she’s still becoming accustomed to our ways. I expect you all to help ease that transition and to offer every reasonable kindness.”
Heads bob in acknowledgment all through the crowd. I smile at them, hoping my mouth doesn’t look as stiff as it feels. How much kindness will the fae consider “reasonable”?
Sylas scans his pack with a smile of his own. “Excellent. Why don’t you take leave of your work for a short while and tell me how you find yourself these days? And if you wish to get to know Talia a little better, I’m sure she’d be more than happy to make your acquaintance.”
No pressure at all. I shift my weight on my feet, a faint tingle reminding me of the illusion that’s hiding my brace and any unevenness to my gait from our spectators. Since bodily magic is one of August’s specialities, he contributed to the glamour, instructing me to focus on steadiness over speed. If I lurch around too much, the glamour won’t be enough to disguise my old injury.
Sylas glances at me, probably appraising how well I’m coping. Even if my nerves are jittering all through me, I have to show him I can handle this. He’s taking on my enemies for me; I’d better at least be able to take care of myself among my allies.
I raise my chin a little higher and take a step forward to meet the fae heading our way. Apparently reassured, Sylas ambles on into the crowd, pausing here and there to speak with his people.
Many of the pack-kin gather around him to wait for his attention, but several drift closer to me. They look me up and down tentatively as if I might prove unexpectedly dangerous, but one woman who doesn’t appear to be much older than I am plants herself right in front of me.
Her long, smooth hair gleams such a pale but warm blond you could believe it was made out of sunbeams. She peers at me with close-set blue-grey eyes that are just a tad overlarge, giving her an unsettling insect-like appearance. But her grin is broad and as far as I can tell genuine when she thrusts out her arm at an awkward angle, as if she’s been told shaking hands is how humans greet each other but has never actually done so to know what it should look like.
I clasp her hand in return, finding her grip warm and firm, and give it a quick shake, even though I feel a bit silly. “Talia,” she says in a silvery voice, lingering over each syllable as if tasting it. “You’ve come a long way. I’m Harper of Oakmeet—I mean, obviously. I hope you like it here.”
“I like what I’ve seen so far,” I say, which is true if we don’t count anything outside this domain or Kellan or the fae from other packs who’ve intruded here.
More fae have drawn up around her. “What part of the human world are you from?” a burly young man asks, his voice gruff but his eyes gleaming with curiosity.
“Um, America.” I’m not sure if I should get more specific than that when I can’t answer any specific questions about what’s been happening there recently.
He hums as if that’s good enough anyway, and a knobby middle-aged woman pushes between him and Harper to inspect me. “You’re taken with our August, are you?” she asks in a possessive tone, as if evaluating whether I’m worthy.
I guess it’s not much surprise that August with his cheerful, kind demeanor and innate protectiveness would have a lot of fans in the pack. A blush tingles across my cheeks at the thought of what they might already assume about our relationship, but with luck that only makes my answer sound more honest. “It’s hard not to be.”
“You wanted to come, then?” Harper says eagerly. “Did you know where he was bringing you?”
“I—I knew a little, but it’s hard to be prepared before you’ve actually seen the place.”
She hums to herself, her gaze going distant. “It must be so exciting.”
A pleased exclamation pulls the attention away from me for a moment. Sylas is brushing his hand to the forehead of a willowy woman in what looks like a gesture of benediction, his face glowing with happiness.
“A new member of the pack,” he booms with such blatant delight a smile catches my lips that I don’t have to force at all. “What a blessing. We’ll make his or her arrival a safe and joyful one.”
My gaze skims down the woman’s body and catches on the slight swell of her belly. Fae are nearly immortal, but the trade-off is that they struggle to have children. How long has it been since this pack last had a child in its midst?
The woman and the man at her side who I assume is her husband—mate?—duck their heads with pleased smiles of their own, but all at once something clenches in my chest. Sylas has so much to defend here, so many people who are depending on him, who couldn’t easily fight for themselves if Aerik or some other lord launched an attack. It isn’t just the men of the keep I’m putting in danger but all of the pack as well.
He’s risked their security for me. He’s put it all on the line to give me some kind of freedom. I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay him for that.
I don’t know how I’ll live with myself if Aerik hurts any one of them.
Before those gnawing worries can grip too much of my mind, one of the fae women near me leans in and twists a lock of my hair around her finger. “How is your hair this shade? It can’t be natural.”
“August dyed it,” I say quickly. “He thought it looked nice like that.”
She makes a slightly disgruntled sound. From what I understand, only the truest of true-blooded fae with barely any human heritage in the mix would generally have coloring this unusual. Even Sylas only has a purple-ish tint to his coffee-brown hair. Maybe she thinks I’m attempting to rise above my proper place.
A stout man at my other side jabs at my thigh. “What are these pants? It’s an unusual material.”
I manage not to flinch away from him, but it’s a near thing. My pulse skitters at how tightly they’re closing in around me now. “They’re called jeans. They’re very popular in America these days.”
More fae nose in on our gathering, volleying another question and another. “Have you been out to the pastures yet?”
“Are you going to stay here forever?”
“Do you know any crafts?”
“Will you be hunting with us?”
“What of your human family?”
I have no time to come up with answers under that bombardment, and the last question gouges straight through my heart. The smack of pain constricts my throat. Before I can manage to regather my smile and my voice, a wiry figure elbows her way through the throng to my side.
The woman who reaches me is the first faerie I’ve seen who actually looks old, so she could have a couple of millennia on me. Her serene forest-green eyes study me from a pale, wizened face framed by tight coils of slate-gray hair. She stands half a head shorter than me but not at all stooped, her posture straight and bearing commanding enough that I doubt she bows to anyone other than Sylas. There’s a kindness in her expression, though, that lessens the ache of my loss like a balm.
She spins to frown at the others, who’ve already backed up a step, whether out of respect for her seniority or her general presence, I can’t tell. “Let’s not badger the poor thing,” she says in a spirited if raspy voice. “I’d imagine she was overwhelmed plenty already before you lot started hailing questions on her head.”
“It’s all right,” I say, not wanting any of the pack members to think I’ve taken offense, as grateful as I am for her interven
tion.
She glances at me with a twinkle in her eyes and a wry tone that makes me like her even more. “Very polite of you to say so. Speaks well of your upbringing. Still…” She turns back to the other fae. “Give her some space. August isn’t the fickle sort. I expect she’ll be here more than long enough for you all to indulge your curiosity bit by bit rather than in a deluge.”
The others start to drift away with a few offers that I should seek them out if I’d like to see this one’s garden or that one’s weaving, leaving only the wizened woman and Harper, who’s stayed with an air of impenetrable confidence as if it never occurred to her that the woman’s orders might apply to her too. I don’t mind. Two is a much easier number to cope with than a dozen.
I lower my voice in the hopes that the other fae won’t overhear. “Thank you.”
The newcomer pats my arm. “Think nothing of it, my dear. Our days around here tend to be much the same, so it’s not surprising they get overeager with the appearance of someone new, but that’s no reason you should have to weather a storm of interrogation.” She steps away herself. “I’m often out on sentry duty, but if I’m around and you need a helping hand, you can always ask for Astrid.”
“Thank you,” I say again as she heads off.
Harper tucks the silky fall of her hair behind her ears, as if she’s anxious about making a good impression herself. “If there’s anything in our territory you might like to see—I don’t know what sorts of things you enjoy—I’d be happy to show you around. Without too much badgering.” Her shy grin suggests she has at least a few more questions she’d like to ask.
Explore the domain—experience more of this world I’ve spent the past nine years in but have seen so little of. My spirits lift at the idea, but a twinge of fear deflates some of that elation. How safe is it for me to roam farther beyond the keep, especially without Sylas or his cadre ready if the wrong fae crosses paths with us?
“I—I’m not sure,” I say, stumbling. I don’t want to dismiss her friendliness. If I’m going to be living here for a while—maybe even forever—I’ll probably be happier the more I integrate with the pack. And Harper seems like one of the friendliest of them, with no sign that she’s put off by my mortality. “I should talk to August before I make any plans. I think he’d be worried if he came looking for me and found I’d wandered off without telling him.”
He probably would be, and Harper doesn’t appear to take offense to the excuse. “Well, whenever you want to.” She pauses and sidles closer, her voice dropping to a stealthy undertone. “What Astrid meant to say is that living here can be unspeakably boring. But I think you just might change that.”
She looks like she might say more, but at Sylas’s return, she settles for flashing me another grin and meandering off toward the forest. The fae lord sets his hand on my shoulder again, watching her and then glancing down at me with a trace of amusement. “Already making friends, are you, little scrap?”
I’m comfortable enough with him now to wrinkle my nose at his old nickname for me, even though I kind of like it—or at least the tenderness with which he says it. “Maybe. She seemed as if she’d like to be friends.”
He nudges me toward the keep, and we stroll across the grass to the main door. In the entrance room, he stops and turns to face me. “It might do both you and Harper good to spend some time together. She’s one of the few of the pack who was born in Oakmeet and hasn’t had the opportunity to venture beyond this domain… She’s dedicated enough to have remained with us when she could have struck out on her own, but I can tell she’s restless. As I suppose you must be too after staying cooped up so long.”
“I can’t complain about the treatment I’ve gotten here.” My gaze travels back to the door. “But it was really nice getting outside. Do you think—she suggested that she could show me more of your territory—would it be safe?” And there’s also the matter of my foot. Disguised or not, with the misshapen bones and their perpetual ache, I’m not up to any extended hikes.
Sylas pauses, considering. “Until the most immediate concern of Aerik is dealt with, I’d prefer that you remain within hearing—in the fields around the keep, on this side of the hills, or no more than a few steps into the woods. One of us can reach you quickly at a single shout, and it’s unlikely anyone would harass you that close by anyway. Perhaps we could arrange a venture farther afield with appropriate transportation and August accompanying you when the timing seems right.”
“Okay,” I say. “That makes sense.”
He gazes down at me and strokes his fingers over my hair, trailing heat in their wake. “I want you to have as normal a life as I’m capable of offering you here, Talia. I know what it’s like to lose a home you loved and to be unable to safely return… Whatever is in my power to make up for that loss, you’ll have it.”
The intensity of his tone strikes a chord deep inside me. A home he loved—the Hearthshire he still uses in his title, even though he and his pack haven’t lived there in ages. That they were driven from after his soul-twined mate was killed over the crimes she committed.
I swallow hard. “You still miss your old domain a lot, don’t you?”
He shrugs, but with a weight to his shoulders that stops the gesture from looking remotely casual. “It was the first territory that was truly my own, and we built our home there from the ground up by our own power, with every feature I could have wished for. The thought of it falling, neglected, into disrepair…” A growl creeps into his voice. He dismisses it with a shake of his head. “We will have it again. As many centuries as it takes, I will earn it back for us.”
And it may take centuries longer now that he’s decided not to use me as a bargaining chip. Emotion swells in my chest for the sacrifices he’s made, this powerful and devoted man who’s barely known me a month and yet saw something in me worth shielding. I grasp his wrist. “Thank you.”
When he meets my gaze again, I bob up on my toes, and he lowers his head to accept my kiss. The ardent press of his lips leaves no doubt that he’s satisfied with his decision. When I drop back on my heels, giddiness is tingling through me.
“I didn’t mean to pull you away from your new friends for long,” he says, his voice a touch rougher after the kiss. “Don’t venture far, but explore all you like within those boundaries. This place is yours as much as it is the rest of ours now.”
I squeeze his arm and let him go, stepping toward the door. But as I slip out into the sunlight, a question I’m afraid to voice sinks heavy in my stomach.
What will become of Sylas and his people if Aerik does discover their theft of me? Will they lose even this backwater fringe domain they’ve made their own?
How many more lives will be ruined because of my blood and the monsters who crave it—because I’m too weak to stand against them alone?
Chapter Five
Sylas
“You wouldn’t know it at first glance, but she’s got grit to her.” Astrid gazes toward the waning moon from where we’re standing at the edge of the northern woods before shifting her attention to me. “I suppose she needs it if she’s going to carve out a real place for herself here. You’re expecting her to be around for quite some time, my lord.”
It isn’t a question. Astrid has been with me long enough to recognize these things without asking.
“August has already become quite fond of her—and she of him,” I say, measuring my words. “She has little to return to.” Not after Aerik and his cadre slaughtered her family. It’s pained her too much to share the details, but from what she has said and her reactions when the subject comes up, I can picture the scene far too vividly. The image brings a snarl to the back of my throat.
Perhaps Astrid notices that defensiveness, or perhaps something in my demeanor when I introduced Talia this morning gave it away. Either way, the smile she offers me holds a grandmotherly amusement along with due respect. “I’m guessing the fondness extends beyond August.”
I’ll accept that prod
ding—she is as old as my actual grandmother, after all, and she’s been a presence in my life since I was born. I count it as an honor that she left my family’s domain to follow me to Hearthshire and then here. That doesn’t mean I have to confirm her suspicions, though.
“She is pleasing enough to have around,” I say in the same even tone. “But somewhat unsure of herself in such unfamiliar surroundings. I’d prefer that her transition to this life didn’t involve any trauma.” Any more than the immense amounts it already has. “The rest of the pack has accepted her well enough? There hasn’t been any muttering or disparaging?” I kept my ears pricked after Talia returned to the village, but without standing over her shoulder monitoring every interaction, I can’t be sure of what might have been muttered or conveyed in a hostile glance.
Astrid shakes her head. “Not that I witnessed. You laid out your expectations clearly—and she hardly made it difficult to follow them. It didn’t take half an hour before Brigid had her gamely mixing paints for some new mural her lot has going up in their house, and after that a bunch of them had her going from garden to garden so they could show off their coming harvest. She never gave any sign she was anything but pleased to compliment their work.”
Relief sweeps through me, more intense than I’d expected. She’s already fitting in here, establishing bonds—it’s not the life she’d have had if Aerik had never rampaged into her childhood, but it’s the closest to a normal one I can offer her.
I tip my head to Astrid in thanks for her report. “I’m glad to hear it. If any trouble does come up, even a murmur of it—”
“I’ll make sure you’re aware of it, my lord. Though I will say, if you’ll allow it, that I think the girl could hold her own all right against a sharp remark or two. She’ll garner more approval if anyone with doubts sees her stand up for herself rather than having you intervene.”