Ever
Alone, I trek through the dark forest, sparks from the bonfire and lightning bugs floating around me as I follow the sound of the revelers to the ancient tournament site where the Samhain feast is taking place. Fury simmers in my blood, the air symbol tattoo on my bare chest pulsing and throbbing in time with every slow breath I take.
Tonight, I will do everything in my power to keep Lara at our court. I’ll fight to keep her out of the Merits’ vile clutches. And I’ll fight to keep her for myself. For what purpose? I have no idea.
Samhain is my favorite night of the year, and as always, I am late to the feast. It matters not, for I am the Prince of Talamh Cúig, and I do as I wish.
As I clear the trees, coming out into a field of shadows, the world changes. Above the crashing sea, a bonfire blazes on the cliff’s edge, its flames reaching for the stars. Sounds roar from the revelry on the hill, and wraiths weave their incorporeal bodies around me, snickering and whispering.
“Our prince, our prince, Samhain’s freedom is sweet. Let us play here with you forever. Let us stay. Let us stay.”
They buffet my limbs as I move through them, steeling my mind, snapping barriers into place.
“Not with me,” I tell them. “I rule, and you obey. Know your place this night of open passage or I will lock you from it forever.”
Wisely, they vanish immediately.
In the distance, the queen’s high table sits against a backdrop of the crumbling ruins, and all around it, hundreds of faeries and wild creatures run rampant, released from their tethers on this night of the Thin Dark Veil. Once the seat of power of our kingdom, this was Gadriel, the first Black Blood prince’s home—a fortress of black tourmaline and stone overlooking the majestic Emerald Sea.
Surrounded by such unbridled chaos, there is much to feast the eyes upon, but there is only one person I search for among the crowds, and it is not my opponent, the Unseelie prince.
Assailed by piercing cackles, and horns and tusks and claws that scratch my skin, I stride through the crowd, creatures clutching and grasping before they bow and then make way for the cursed Prince of Air.
Pukahs, sluaghs, hags, and lesser demons twitch wings and scrape lips along their teeth, smiling as my gaze swings left then right, left then right again, seeking the purple dress I remember from the Merits’ recent visit.
My night vision is impeccable, yet I cannot locate the little gardener, the servant who should be wrapped in this dress, trembling at the edges of the crowd along with the other castle staff.
Silence falls as I walk with slow purpose past the fire to the high table, my tattoo flaring hot when I recognize each guest seated along its length. The queen in the center, Lord Stavros to her right, my brother, then Lord Gavrin. On her other side sits King El Fannon, his son Prince Temnen, and Lara next to him.
Lara is seated at the high table.
Lara dressed in my colors of silver and gold, the órga falcons gathered around her with their yellow eyes fixed on me, not blinking even once. The biggest and fiercest, Taibsear, perches on the edge of Lara’s gilded empty plate, kak kak kaking to scold me for arriving late.
Next to her lounges the dreadful prince with his green hair and long bristles quivering from his forehead like an insect’s antennae. Chop them off and, rumor has it, he would lose his hearing entirely.
Crystals drip from tree branches, their flame-lit jewels forming an ethereal crown above Lara’s head. Tonight, she looks beautiful. Almost fae.
Sitting beside her is my nemesis—Aer—the Sorceress of the Seven Winds. Aer’s long locks writhe like golden snakes, tendrils sliding across Lara’s skin, sly caresses of ill intent that the human pretends she cannot feel.
My mortal is smart. Surrounded by vipers, she regulates her movements accordingly, her breathing slow and rhythmic, her eyes fixed on mine.
The wind mage rises as I move to the center of the flat grassy space circled by nine ancient hazel trees. A water witch stands in front of each, solemn sentinels in their white robes and black capes. Bloodthirsty beings, the witches never miss a Samhain contest or tournament. And behind them are rows of seats ascending into the sky like a coliseum, filled with courtiers from both courts—the Merits and the Elementals.
“Ever, at last you join us,” purrs Aer, gliding to the edge of the long dais rendered in black obsidian and the bones of our fallen enemies. As usual, she’s dressed in bridal finery, white veil and crepe billowing everywhere—her classic beauty so perfect, so pure, so vile.
“The feasting ended long ago,” she continues. “And so, I began to doubt your attendance, your commitment to winning your human, whose subtle charms have entertained me over dinner.”
I bow low as though I am obedient and submissive to Aer’s every whim. I am not.
“Your sisters aren’t here,” I say, stating the obvious.
Her eyes, the color of old gold coins, rove over me from my midnight-colored boots and pants to my bare chest. They linger on the strange leather bracers that cover me from wrist to shoulder, whorled like twists of petrified seaweed snap-frozen into bizarre shapes when the armorers flung them high, imbuing them with air magic.
My air. Not hers.
My mother and the Merit king and his son are silent, their rapt attention fixed on the mage. So, Aer is in charge tonight. I should have guessed.
“This is the one night of the year a human taken by the fae can be won back by their own kind.” Aer’s voice rings loud and clear as she addresses the Samhain gathering as though she is high queen of all the courts. “If there is a human present tonight who wishes to speak for Lara, they must do so now.” Her eyes move through the spectators, impatient beams of gold.
Silence.
She turns to Lara. “No one has come through the veil to seek you on this night. So, you remain ours to do with as we will for another year. Before the princes’ contest begins, let us have some entertainment.”
The audience applauds, and my pulse thuds as I picture wringing Aer’s spindly neck.
“First, our Samhain tradition of scrying. Come forward, princeling, and we shall see what delights are in your future.” She plucks a red egg from the air, an órga falcon’s egg. Those eggs are precious. It is my responsibility to ensure they hatch and grow to adulthood. How dare she touch one.
“No—” I lurch forward, but with the flick of a wrist, she cracks the shell against a crystal glass filled with clear water, then her talons drag me forward to peer inside it.
Never have I felt more keenly the tight leash of her control. Magic thrums along my skin, and Aer laughs. How I wish her sister Ether, the High Mage, were here. She does not wish to torment me. Or trap me. Or bend me to her will forever.
“What do you see?” Aer demands.
“Black,” I croak. “Black shadows. No, a shape. It’s a… a heart ripped in two.”
She squeals like a prancing pixie, and the courtiers gasp as one.
The flames from the nearby fire are too hot, the waves too loud against the Emerald Sea’s cliffs. The mirrored surfaces flashing from the Merits’ pendants flare and dazzle.
Aer speaks, her voice filled with glee. “And now it is the girl’s turn.” A glossy apple appears from nowhere, and Aer tosses it to Lara. “Next to your plate is a paring knife. I challenge you to peel this apple in one single piece. If you can do it, I will grant you one opportunity to assist Everend in the forthcoming battle.”
Lara’s lips tighten. “Are there any conditions on how a fragile, weak human like me can lend aid?”
A mournful noise, like raven’s wings in flight, hisses through the air—the sound of the wind mage’s laughter. “Of course. You may not interfere physically in the match, but you may make an appeal to the court on his behalf. As may King El Fannon for the Merit prince. Will you attempt the task?”
A warm breeze lifts Lara’s hair, wrapping her shoulders, caressing her star-sprinkled cheeks, weaving through her fine dark lashes. Comforting. Reassuring her.
Aer’s gaze whips to mine. “Now, Everend, do not interfere with the mortal. Continue petting her and I will bind your magic for longer than the length of the tournament.”
She wouldn’t. She can’t, not without compromising her own magic. Our powers are linked, entwined. For better or for worse. Who am I kidding? It’s always for the worse.
With slow determination, Lara peels the apple into one long strip as requested, and then dangles it from her finger.
“Well done,” Aer croons. “Now turn and throw it over your shoulder.”
“Okay,” Lara says as she twists around and flings it into the sky. It lands at my feet, forming a very obvious letter torn in half, just like the black heart inside the crystal glass.
Flames of anger lick my gut, burning and burning as Aer reports the result of her stupid apple test. “Oh, look! We have a letter E!”
“What does that mean?” asks Lara, her voice flat.
“This particular divination shows the initial of the man you are destined to marry. His name begins with an E, just as our dear prince’s does. But look closely and you’ll see that, unfortunately, the letter is broken.” The courtiers titter at Aer’s fake sympathy.
She smiles, and then hisses, “You will never own your true love’s heart, human.”
“Aer, as always, you bring us unparalleled delights.” The queen gives three loud claps as she rises, the diamonds in her crown glittering like stars, the night’s black curtain behind offsetting her snow-white hair. “I simply adore the old games, the myriad of tricks, and the soothsaying. But you are correct, the results do not bode well for our human.” She waves her hand toward the Merits quivering in anticipation beside her.
“Dear King El Fannon, perhaps you can improve the girl’s fortunes if you take her to your lands. It is time, at least, for you to try. The princes’ contest must begin. Do tell us the regulations you have decided upon.”
El Fannon stands and bows, then addresses the court. “Our rules are simple and there are only three,” he booms across the ruins. “If an opponent uses magic, they will lose the contest. No body contact other than by way of sword. And Prince Everend must wear a Merit pendant. This will be an exhibition of style and technique, hence the victor will be decided by popular vote.”
My gut clenches. That is extremely disappointing news. I want a battle to the bone-crunching end, mortal combat, so I can kill the son of a sniveling winter hag.
“We will install Merit tablets throughout the audience for your court to use,” announces the king as Prince Temnen rises beside him and is fitted into armor adorned with hundreds of flashing Merit pendants, the one at his sternum the largest and ornately framed. An attendant from his court passes him a Merit pendant and a long, curved sword not unlike the one I wear at my hip. He steps down from the dais and strides forward.
“A question,” I say into the silence.
El Fannon’s dark brow rises. “Yes?”
“What is the point of voting when there are equal numbers of our courts present? Surely the outcome will be a draw.”
The sound of his slimy chortle sets my teeth on edge. “Not necessarily, venerable Prince of Five. The Merit points are entered anonymously. People behave in unexpected ways when they believe they cannot be held accountable. The results may surprise you.”
Temnen stands before me, a pompous grin on his face. “Everend,” he says, placing the gold chain around my neck and resetting the screen with quick stabs of his bony fingers.
The pendant falls against my fast-pumping chest as I picture those misshapen hands on Lara’s skin, ripping and tearing, forever ruining the perfect constellation of freckles and corrupting her artless character.
“You will not have her,” I say, soft as a sigh.
“We shall see.” He takes three steps back and raises his sword, so it bisects his face.
Holding the glower of his blood-orange eyes, I lift my blade and return the salute.
The grassy tournament space between the sacred hazel trees forms an oval shape—the queen’s table, which I face, is at one end, loomed over by the castle ruins. To my right, rough boulders rise until they become part of the hill the castle sits on, and to my left, steep cliff edges drop down to a wildly gnashing sea. At my back, near the other end of the oval, is a rocky outcrop useful for leaping on and around to entertain the spectators.
In the crowd, pedestals appear at intervals. Elemental courtiers crowd around them swiping fingers and claws over the screens, the sound of their frenzied chatter buzzing through the air like bees swarming.
“Quiet,” commands my mother, a hush falling over the crowd. “When a contestant cries mercy, the match is complete. The prince who has the most votes will immediately take possession of the ceann a thugann athrú—the change bringer called Lara from the human realm—and may do with her as they will.”
I find my brother’s warm gaze as he lounges between our mother’s lords, caressing his goblet. He nods, and I narrow my eyes, whipping tawny hair around his face, my last deployment of magic until the contest is over.
Raff grins and opens his free hand. Taibsear lands on his shoulder but keeps his tawny eyes on Lara. Message received—they will watch over the human.
Kian sits in the front row straight as a fir tree, his electric-blue eyes aglow. Unlike Raff, he does not offer me a smile or any gesture of good luck. And I don’t look to see what Lara offers me.
Blade tip swiping the sky, the earth, then east and west, I bow. “To the endless Elements I dedicate my sword and skill. As the Five imbues all that exists, so may my destiny unfold. To truth and honor. I give my life to the Five.”
Temnen bows. “Praise be to the Favors of the Merits. By the votes of all who revere me, may my statistics be always on the rise.” With a gruesome howl, he sweeps his clawed fingers in the direction of the Merit court seated on the ocean side of the high table. “Votes are power. Cast them without mercy.”
The queen claps once, and then takes her seat. “As it is spoken, so may it be. Begin the contest.”
Lightning-fast, Temnen rushes forward, his sword raised to strike. I step right, blocking his blade with my own, then slash. Our grunts and the grinding clash of metal rip through the otherwise focused silence. Night-blooming jasmine scents the air, and dew-drenched grass slides beneath my boots as I range forward. Back. Then forward again.
My feet move fast, steps sure and steady, each lunge of thigh powerful. The Merit prince is a little slower than me. This is good. I will win the fight and retain the human.
We move in a whirl of quick, brutal movements, our macabre dance crisscrossing between the black shadows of the hazel branches. Light from the pendants around our necks flashes sporadically, blinding and disorientating. Our fight has barely begun, yet votes are already being cast.
Temnen may be slower, but he does not tire easily. In strength, we are equal. Our heights are matched, our determination to win, too. I wield my sword with greater skill, but he fights without honor. His willingness to employ devious moves becomes clear when we round the rocky outcrop now hidden from the audience’s view, and he feints, grips my bracer, jolting me off balance, then steps back and slashes his blade across my chest before I can recover. Steel grates rib bones, blood dripping thick and black onto my boots. “Rule breaker,” I hiss, and attack with renewed fury.
He laughs and leaps on top of the rock. I follow, and we slash back and forth over the small area. Blood gushes from my chest and with it, my dark soul’s longing for violence and death—the messier and meatier and more gruesome the better.
Whose death? Whose death? Do I even care?
I feint a strike and he over-balances and then rolls off the rocks to land on his feet, feline eyes glowing orange as the crowd roars approval for his acrobatics. The Merit screen on his chest lights up, and my blood flows even more freely as I pant above him.
I spring down, stumbling before righting myself. Wounded and without magic, my energy and finesse begin to wane. With a roar, we rush together, our blades like silver fangs slicing through the night’s black mantle, then biting and crunching armor.
Taking advantage of my weakened movements, Temnen drives us toward the cliffs and the roaring sea below. The stars shift overhead, spinning into unfamiliar constellations and, suddenly, all desire to best him rushes from my body like a breeze blowing through my soul, cleansing and changing my every wish and desire.
Why should I care what becomes of the human? What bearing does her fate have upon mine? Nothing. She means nothing. She is nothing.
I don’t care, I tell myself while I continue feinting and parrying and slashing and stepping sideways. I no longer want to win. I just want him to finish me off.
My erratic movements finally begin to take their toll on Temnen. He puffs and glowers, grunts and groans, his mouth a thin line. Next, I plan to take his antennae off. If I anger him, he might lose control and kill me, then all of this will be over.
I won’t have to find my destined queen and take her innocent life before she even looks upon my face. I won’t die a prolonged death by poison. Instead, this will be quick. I can end everything right now.
Yes, the curse may pass to Raff, but what of it? He is more malleable than me. He’ll accept his fate, find his mate, and live out his long life as king of the Land of Five and be Aer’s pliant puppet.
I don’t care.
As Temnen’s blade strikes mine, the órga falcons take to the air and swoop above, gliding in a lemniscate pattern. One slash. Two. Three. Then our swords lock, and I long for a dagger to gut him with. I push back with the last of my strength simply because I detest the triumph flaming in his eyes as the briny stench of sea hags and bitter ocean spray burns my nose.
A mass of wings, darkly webbed and glittering like jewels, flaps and flutters in the crowd as the revelers hiss and cry out.
Temnen’s fetid breath gusts over me. “I’m going to delight in breaking your human change bringer, Everend. Slowly. And carefully, so I can enjoy her pathetic tears for as long as possible.”
Fury blasts away my idea to let him kill me, and I throw him off, then slash and lunge at breakneck speed. I draw him in a circle away from the cliff, then back again. I’ll send him plunging down, down into the open maws of the waiting water hags. The nine witches guarding the hazels shiver, anticipating their sisters’ feast of juicy, magical flesh.
Three hard lunges followed by a fast pivot and I have him, the point of my blade pressing into the soft meat beneath his pointed chin.
“Shall I kill you?” I grate out between harsh breaths.
Bloody tears fill his eyes. “No. Do not… Ever, I beg you, please. Do not.”
Snarling, I twist the gilded sword hilt until red beads its tip. “Mercy!” he calls loudly. Then whispers, “Please. Do not break the rules. You must grant mercy.”
“You’re disgusting,” I hiss, and throw my sword to the grass, turning to face the queen’s table.
Amid the crowd’s cheers, seven falcons glide to the ground, encircling me as they screech a warning to any who might dare break through their guard. Only a fool would cross them, for they aren’t ordinary raptors.
A bristling light emanating from her body, Aer steps down into the arena.
“Call your birds off, Everend, I wish to retain my eyeballs.”
“Garda an cailín,” I tell Taibsear. In a flurry of wings, the falcons zip through the air and land around the human to guard her.
The air witch smirks, mocking the protection they offer Lara. She could kill her in an instant.
A cold wind buffets our bodies, Aer’s bridal veil billowing around us, wrapping me in an unwanted embrace.
She faces the high table. “Silence!” The crowd obeys. “Prince Everend has won the physical battle, but now we must tally the data.”
Mouth a grim line, King El Fannon consults a large tablet. “It appears Prince Temnen has won by two Merit points. Rise my son. You are the victor.”
Two points? How is that possible?
Temnen limps to my side, chewing on a slippery grin. He nods at the blood that seeps through my fingers, soaking the grass at my feet. I ignore him and fix my gaze on the queen’s frigid smile, refusing to glance at the human I’ve just lost.
I cannot believe anyone from my court voted against me. They are loyal or so I’d thought. This result means there are at least two traitors in our midst. A feral hunger shines from Aer’s burnished eyes. Of course, she voted against me. But who else?
“Now the Merit king and the human girl may make their appeals,” she says.
El Fannon inclines his head. “Our court has won, therefore, the girl is ours. I have nothing to add.”
Like a horned owl, Aer’s head swivels to Lara, fixing her with a deadly stare. “And so, you may begin, human, and for the duration of your speech, votes may be changed.”
With the grace of an empress, Lara walks to the center of the dais. Her gaze tracks slowly over the courtiers, her chest rising on a long breath. “I dedicate these words to the Prince of Air’s unbeaten sword. If his spirit moves you through this song, you must vote accordingly. As it is sung, so must it be.”
Dana take me—the human sounds like one of us, composed and beguiling. An unyielding, deadly fae. How has she learned that skill?
She spreads her palms at her sides, parting her gold-painted lips. Out of her mouth comes a celestial sound imbued with passion and magic. A spell.
She sings.
She sings, and the blood inside me hums, pulsing in time with the pound of my heart. Boom. Boom. Boom like a thousand war drums raging. And, still, my eyes close. All my aches dissolve.
I hear the courtiers gasp and sigh, and the rush of the waves as they roll and crash against the cliffs. And Lara’s voice.
The pendant on my chest flashes brightly. Votes are changing. I cannot understand the words of Lara’s song—they’re another language, meaningless, yet they’re everything. I don’t care what they mean as long as she keeps singing. Mournful yet rousing. Passionate yet eerily calm. My human is a battle commander. A shield maiden. A warrior.
When I think the thrashing muscle in my chest will burst from my ribcage, her voice dissolves, carried away on a breeze.
Then all is silent. Nothing moves, not even a falcon’s feather.
“Thank you for listening,” Lara says as we explode into applause. Even the queen claps, fireflies erupting between her fingers.
But Aer does not applaud. Aer stares and stares at the mortal.
“That was quite the appeal, young human,” Mother says. “Please give us the new Merit tally, King El Fannon.”
The king swipes and stabs at his screen. Then, grimace growing, swipes and stabs all over again. “Prince Everend has won,” he finally admits.
Chaos detonates around me. Ignoring the shrieks of the Merits, the cries of my court, the crackle of unfurling wings, I take unsteady steps toward the high table, toward Lara, and I grasp the dais’s sharp edges and slide down, slumping against it.
Panting, I hold the gaping wound at my chest and, suddenly, Raff is above me, his palms replacing mine. The heat of his power fills me, bubbling like a hot spring, healing cell by cell, fusing fiber and jagged bone.
“You nearly let him kill you, Ever,” he accuses. “I felt you give up. Why would you do that?”
“I’m tired.” I release a breath and rub my forehead. “The court, our mother, the burn of the poison—”
“When you find your queen,” he interrupts, “all your worries will melt sweet on your tongue like amber honey. And what about Lara? You were going to leave her at the mercy of that foul prince?”
“For a moment, yes. But then I couldn’t. I couldn’t let him hurt her.”
He takes his warm hands from my chest. “There, now you are healed. Stand tall like the king you are soon to be.”
“So, you really believe my worries will all disappear? Just like they did for Rain?” I roll my neck and get to my feet.
His jaw works. “Our brother is—”
“Dead.”
Circling my shoulders, I crack my spine. Good. My body seems to function. I give Raff a steely look, and then begin to seek Lara—the human who is now irreversibly my responsibility.
“Yes, Rainier is gone, and I don’t want to lose another brother,” he says as I turn away.
“I know,” I say, then stride into the crowd.
The arena is now full of dancers, lilting music of the fiddlers and harpists and the wild beat of bodhráns directing their motions. As I weave through the writhing bodies, I don’t bother to glance around and check what the Merits are up to—or Aer. I already know what she’ll be doing, yards of white gauze lashing the night sky around her lithe shape, her eyes will be spewing red-gold lava and crackling with rage.
I find Lara at the forest end of the arena, watching the dancers while conversing with a sea witch.
The hag turns her red-eyed gaze to me as I approach, white hair braided with strings of seaweed swimming around her as though she’s still beneath the waves. “So, dark princeling, do you come now to take possession of your property?”
Before I can answer, Lara says, “A man can proclaim all he wants, but I belong to none but myself. Just because something is said over and over doesn’t make it the truth.”
“Here in Faery, it does.” The witch cackles.
I study the soft drape of Lara’s dress over her thighs, her smiling lips and the shape of her ears, round and so very different from mine.
“Girl, I have a riddle for you. If you can tell me the answer to it, I shall grant you anything you desire.”
Hand pressing the base of her throat, Lara asks, “Even to leave here tonight and return home?”
I jolt to attention, focusing on the hag’s gleaming eyes. The sea witches have impunity on our soil. I cannot interfere.
“If you wish it,” the hag agrees.
Lara nods. “Okay. And what if I can’t guess?”
“Then your prince must kiss me.”
Stifling a laugh with the back of her hand, Lara looks at me, her eyebrows raised.
I nod. “So be it.” I’m not worried. Lara will never guess Ezili’s riddle, and I am prepared to give the hag what she wants. It is a small price to witness Lara’s face infuse with hope, however fleeting it may be.
“We have a bargain, then. Now listen closely. I am what men love more than life, yet fear more than death or mortal strife,” the hag whispers through leering blue lips. “Dead men have me and rich require me, I’m what all contented men desire. Loved, feared, owned and desired—tell me, mortal, what am I?”
A frown furrows Lara’s brow. “Are you love?”
“No, small-brained human. I’m of significantly more consequence than your petty mortal emotions, for I infuse all that exists. I am nothing.”
“Oh.” Lara’s hand presses my chest, right over the new, shiny red scar. “I’m sorry, Never,” she says wearing a wide grin. “It looks like you’ll be locking lips with Ezili.”
Raw hunger simmering in her eyes, the sea witch crooks a finger, beckoning me forward.
I cup her slimy cheek and, bending, touch my lips to hers. With a deliberately slow exhale, I give her the gift she seeks. Oxygen. Life. Air.
Drawing back, my nails sink into her flesh. “Meddle with the girl, and I will make you regret it forever.”
Leaving the intoxicated sea witch to swoon with excess oxygen bubbling in her blood, I grip Lara’s arm and draw her into the trees. “I haven’t come to possess you. I wish merely to escort you to your room. Samhain is not the night to be rambling about our lands.”
“Thank you, then.” She smiles and grasps my bracer for balance as I lead her into the Black Forest.
We cut through moonshine and mist until we reach my favorite clearing, away from the noise of the revels and the castle’s prying eyes.
I lift her fingers from my arm, step back, and lean casually against a giant fir tree.
“We’re stopping?” she asks.
“You’re breathless. I’ve been traveling too fast. Ask me a question while you rest a while.”
“Okay. At the beginning of the feast, I thought I saw the moss elves. Are there other creatures who look the same?”
“No. It was they, the moss elves.” Flames sizzle under my skin, a strange feeling roiling through my gut as I hurry to explain. “I told my mother if she didn’t pardon them, I wouldn’t fight.”
Her mouth gapes as she freezes in place. “Why?”
“Well, I…” My face burns, and I lick my dry lips. “Because you wished it so.”
“Oh… thank you.” She watches her foot kick a tuft of grass. “I didn’t see Balor tonight.”
“No. Watching me fight without being able to assist would be too great an ordeal for him. He will sleep in the kitchen this eve.”
She gives me a suspicious side glance. “Are you really healed from the battle wound? And could you have died out there on the grass?”
“Yes, and yes. Those are dull questions. Ask me something you think I won’t answer.”
Gown dragging across a carpet of sodden leaves, she paces in front of me. “What’s the deal with the Merits and their obsession with those pendants? Help me understand them.”
I sigh. These are not the answers I want to give, but I’ll give them anyway. “I’ve spoken of this to you already. But as you witnessed tonight, their pendants collect points and analyze data. If their statistics reduce to a poor number, they are punished, ignored or even exiled from court. Also, their current king is not a blood heir. He, too, has been voted in. Their whole society is run on social currency. Popularity is of utmost importance, so every move they make and word they utter is calculated for effect. It makes me wonder what real thoughts and opinions fester behind this constant fakery.”
“Yeah, me too. It sounds so sad. So pointless.”
“And, by all reports, not dissimilar from the world you live in.”
“We’re not quite that bad.”
“Yet.”
Anger tightens her features for a moment, then her expression clears. “I feel like I should thank you, Never, for winning that tournament and stopping the Merits from getting their paws on me. But then again, you were forced to fight, weren’t you? It’s not like you did it out of the goodness of your heart.”
“Can a black heart be good? And besides, I didn’t win the tournament. You did.” I recall her song, the way it slid into our souls and held us all captive. Bewitched us.
She gives me a delighted smile. “And, anyway, I still don’t know what you’re planning to do with me now. So…”
“I’ll show you what I’m planning.” I grin and lunge at her, drawing my sword at the same time as I raise my other hand, a vortex of magic spinning through my fingers. It gathers leaves and twigs in an instant.
She doesn’t back away or bother to hide her laugh. “Scary.”
I sheathe my sword, let the forest debris fall to the earth, and drop my face close to her neck, snarling against her skin.
She simply walks sideways out of my reach, and says in a calm, bland voice, “Oh, you’re terrifying. Please stop.”
Her laugh warms my blood, and I want her to keep doing it. For once, I’m truly glad she does not fear me. Because if she’s not afraid, she might let me taste her freckles.
“Can you do anything else with your magic, like shift into a big bad wolf or something?”
“I’ve been known to do a little shape-shifting now and again.”
Her eyes widen. “Really? Into what type of creature?”
“It’s not a sight for the faint-hearted. Hopefully you’ll never have cause to find out.” Leaves crunch underfoot as I prowl in a circle around her. “Aren’t you going to ask me anything interesting?”
“Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Something about our differences perhaps. You may wonder if my thoughts are similar to a human man’s. Does my body work the same? Feel the same?” To hide my hunger, I turn toward the shadows. “Taste the same?”
Her laughter is loud, echoing through my soul and probably waking any of the dryads who didn’t join the Samhain celebrations.
“You can be funny!” she says. “I had no idea.”
I scowl at my sword belt as I adjust it unnecessarily. I wasn’t attempting humor.
“Okay,” she finally says. “Why do faeries dance like that?”
I can’t hide my disappointment as I reply, “How do you mean? Music plays, and we move under its spell. Isn’t that what everyone does?”
“No. At home, we don’t do that kind of dancing.”
“Which kind specifically?”
“Well, I guess we do similar wild dancing, but not many do those formal dances anymore, the ones with complicated patterns and the like. It looks wonderful when you fae do it. Important and romantic.”
The last word pricks my ears. Finally, a topic that interests me. “So, you think it’s beyond you to remember difficult steps and patterns?” I ask, stalking forward.
“If I took regular lessons and practiced, I’m sure I could learn them.”
“Then I shall give you a lesson right now,” I say, taking her shoulders and moving her to the edge of the clearing while she shakes her head at me. “Stay there.”
“Why?” she asks, looking worried.
I stride to the opposite side, tall fir trunks at my back, starlight twinkling above. “Tonight is Samhain, but I will teach you a spring dance, a romantic one as you suggest. Come, Lara, all you need do is follow my moves.”
I bow.
She bows instead of curtsying, her wide grin matching my own. I show her the steps, circling one way and then the other, ever closer as she giggles each time she trips or stumbles. After an eternity, she’s within arm’s reach, the space between us as we move front-to-front, then back-to-back is a new territory I want to conquer with haste.
“And now we embrace.”
“What?” she asks as I take her in my arms and spin us slowly around the clearing.
When her hands grip my shoulders, colorful leaves rain down, surging through air currents like breaking waves. I am the wild ocean, and she is the solid land. I’m the hurricane. Lara is the quiet center of the storm.
I summon the sylphs, the fireflies, and my falcons and they join the dance, circling above our heads. Wind whips. Leaves pirouette. Shrieks from the revel float upon the breeze.
Lara’s heartbeat, her gasps, and sighs are our only music—until she begins to hum—and then we spin faster and faster, glowworms lighting the shadows of the forest, our hair streaming like rain behind us. We dance until we are giddy. We dance until the world melts around us and her laughter becomes the new song. The new poison in my blood.
Then we stop.
“That was…” is all she says, puffing and gasping as her hands drop from my body.
I want to use magic to draw her near again, but I don’t. I just stare. And stare… until a cracking sound snaps behind me. In the trees, I spy a bright flash, a blood-red ribbon of Kian’s hair snagging on a bush.
Stepping away from Lara, I say, “Come out, Kian. I can see you skulking in the trees like a lonely moss maiden.”
He saunters into the clearing, clapping slowly. “Bravo. I’ve never witnessed such a tender sight as you teaching your mortal pet to dance. It was most touching. But what made you choose a courting dance, Ever? It was an intriguing choice.”
My flesh crawls, and I draw a deep draft of cool night air into my lungs.
“We are merely having fun.” No lie there. “It is Samhain after all.”
“Yes, so you were.” His disgusted blue gaze flicking over Lara, he paces around us. “Thank the Elements it’s not Beltaine where you would’ve been obliged to play the May King and Queen. That dance requires little clothing and even fewer civilities. I’m not sure your fragile human would survive such a ritual. Regardless, I believe your mother, the queen, shall be interested to hear of your developing friendship.”
My mother the queen—as if I’m unaware of her elevated state.
I’d like to pierce his chest and listen to the air leak from his lungs, but instead I give him a bland smile. Kian is nothing if not a fool. As a child he was untrustworthy, setting my brother Rain against Raff and me. But I was patient with him then, and I am patient with him now. For Rain’s sake.
“You voted against me?” I ask, stepping close.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I hoped this girl would leave here. She’ll only bring trouble, and the Merits will be determined to have her one way or another. And with her gone, you would come to your senses again.”
“Go now,” I say, spreading my fingers wide, waves of power sizzling from my palms as I push him backward into a bush, tipping him on his head.
As Kian scurries into the night, I take Lara’s arm and direct her to the path that leads to the Emerald Castle. “Never mind Kian. Traitor he may be, but like most cowards, he is all bluster and no storm. Come to my rooms, and we’ll play hnefatafl again. Your skill grows considerably.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’d love to. Tonight, I have a feeling I might win.”
