Page 10

Extending A Pumpkin Vine

“ T oday we are doing something a bit different.” Roan tugged at his tunic, one of the simplest he had, but it would have to do.

“You have a secondary library for us to scour?” Maewyn had just come out of the bathing chamber clad in the dress he’d chosen for her.

Since arriving in his realm, she’d picked out painfully plain shifts from the multitude of gorgeous gowns that had been brought to her, but today required something more.

He didn’t insist on anything too extravagant, of course, but she still argued—pointless as the layers of mossy green gauze and golden lace looked exquisite on her, falling just to her knees and tying behind her neck to expose her arms.

Roan quickly focused back on his sleeves and the embroidery that matched her hemline.

“We’ll actually be outside, as I can’t imagine another day cooped up in that stuffy tree full of books.

” Really, Roan could imagine it quite clearly, watching Maewyn fall deeper and deeper into unspoken thought and his own heart threatening to burst, all of which was unacceptable.

She scoffed but then perked up. “Oh, are we going to visit that herd of deer your little fawn friend is from?”

Roan gave her a long look, drinking in the length of her legs as she tied a golden sash around her waist. He waited for an additional pithy remark, but there were only her expectant eyes flicking back up to him. “Would that be…all right?”

“What does it matter if it’s all right with me?

” Maewyn produced a second length of gold ribbon and turned for the mirror just outside the bathing chamber’s door.

Roan watched her tie up her hair, bare arms working overhead as her curls were lifted off her neck, and he wondered if the skin just below her ear tasted the same as her lips.

When she finished, her yellow gaze found him once again in the mirror. “Well?”

Roan’s mouth had gone dry, not that he could remember how to speak, so he mimed that they would be late if they did not leave immediately.

The gardens were overflowing with giant globes of fruit, orange, white, and the most beautiful mossy green.

Delicate but full leaves sprouted from climbing vines, soft to the touch with edges that curled like lace, and golden sunshine dappled the earth in flowing ribbons from between grey clouds.

It was the perfect day for their task, and Roan’s dread at accompanying his father into the gardens was squashed.

Maewyn, however, walked tensely at Roan’s side as they followed the king, his cloak leaving a shimmering trail over the earth. Her eyes darted around the patch with a buzzing interest. “Are we harvesting these?”

“In a way,” the king said, his voice low as he leveled pale eyes over his shoulder.

Maewyn stiffened even more—she was always apprehensive around the king, unaccustomed to the coldness he wore, so Roan slipped her hand from his elbow and instead clasped it in his. It was meant to be a comfort, but her eyes widened as they darted downward.

Roan gave her soft palm a squeeze. “I think my bride should choose the elonhyea this year.”

Maewyn’s hold tightened, and she sucked in a breath. It made his innards hitch—how fun to see her in such minor, pointless distress.

“Marvelous and fitting,” said the king, and the decision was made.

The moment he turned away, Maewyn’s face creased with upset. “Do what?” she hissed.

“All you must do is pick out your favorite from this crop. Choosing the elonhyea is mostly symbolic.” Roan tilted his head, grinning.

“Symbolic of what ?”

“The prosperity of autumn in Tenhaef. Of course…” Roan let his grin slide along his lips from one side of his face to the other. “Your choice will have a much more substantial effect on the harvest in the human realm.”

“Oh, this is how you bless our crops?”

He shrugged a shoulder, trying to withhold the elation rising inside him at handing over such power. “This is how you bless their crops. I would caution you to be judicious in your choice, but then again, you can choose to starve them if you think that’s what they deserve.”

“No,” she said quickly. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“No?” But he could see quite clearly that she would never—it was only his own rotten idea to let her bring about the downfall of the people who had sent her away so mercilessly.

“Then be generous with your pumpkin, Pumpkin.” Roan lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing her knuckles gently to his lips, disappointed only in that propriety meant he couldn’t truly taste her.

She watched his mouth, her eyes lidded heavily for but a moment.

The regret at releasing her hand nearly made him snatch it back, but she was already being guided by his father to the center of the patch.

The king explained the more intricate ways of the elonhyea to her, and Roan squeezed his hand into a tight fist as if to trap the feeling of her softness and keep it.

It was the ruse, of course, inspiring such sentimentality, but damn if he wasn’t good at playacting.

Maewyn was not so apprehensive then, listening intently to the king as he explained in florid language that she needed to simply pick out a gourd.

When she was finally given free range of the garden, Roan grinned at each of her stuttered steps as she paced the rows and doubled back many times.

Despite her indecision, she looked every bit a princess as the golden accents of her dress caught the fleeting beams of sunlight, and he knew he had chosen well.

Though she could not see herself, the others would, and they might finally begin to extend to her the respect she deserved—or rather, the respect he deserved for having her.

While she was around…for however long that might be.

The space between Roan’s shoulders prickled when Maewyn bent to inspect one of the gourds, and then his pulse jumped as she caressed the thick skin of another.

She was being meticulous, and it probably wasn’t just for show, but Roan couldn’t complain either way.

In fact, he quite enjoyed watching her fingers trace the creases of a particularly plump pumpkin, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

She was always so careful with her hands—when she ate, when she flipped through pages, when she tied up her hair—but not with him. Roan had been shoved, swatted, even stabbed for all the gods’ sake, but never touched so earnestly. How might he change that?

“This one,” Maewyn finally said, standing to her full height, triumph on her sun-dappled cheeks.

Roan had seen the next part many times—the king would place his hand on the chosen elonhyea , it would pulse with magic as it cracked open, and then brilliantly colored seeds and guts would spill out—but he had never seen a human observe the ritual.

Maewyn watched, apprehension replaced with wonder. Magic flooded into the gourd and lit up the honeyed skin of her face just like the library motes. Was there anything more beautiful in this realm or any other?

Yes, it turned out, when she lifted her eyes to spy him across the garden, grinning widely as if just for him.

Not to be outdone, Roan commanded his own magic, and his wings came. This time, the transformation was smooth and easy as he took to the air, calling to the other ravens in their raspy cry. The surrounding maples gave up an unkindness, and hundreds of black wings took to the sky.

Maewyn watched with a brightening delight as each raven plunged downward to snatch a seed and then rejoined the swirling mass above. Roan soared on the outskirts of their cyclone, his wings shimmering with iridescence among the black feathers.

“The shadow flock will carry these seeds into the human realm,” the king told her, his voice breaking her wonder.

“Roan’s going to the human realm?” Maewyn’s heart hitched.

“No, no. He is only their guide to the veil.”

She sighed, touching her chest, the pang there softening.

The king chuckled, and despite how odd the sound was, it made Maewyn brighten even more. “Do not worry,” he said, giving his head a slight shake. “He will return.”

The relief she felt was no small thing, and the beating of her heart was even less small. “Thank you,” she managed, throat going tight with something like embarrassment. At least Roan himself was not around to see it.

“I should be thanking you. My son hasn’t been so agreeable to take part in this ceremony since he was very young.” The king almost smiled then, but just as quickly his face returned to its usual stoniness. “If you will excuse me.”

Maewyn fell into a deep curtsy, startled by his brusqueness, and when she again lifted her head, he was gone. In his place stood Aunyx, which shouldn’t have surprised her, yet he always did.

In truth, she preferred Aunyx’s presence to Altair and Kree, even if he was a shadow fae which, as Roan described it, were shuddersome to most. If she couldn’t be left alone, Aunyx would do, but he was still second to Roan, a thing she had to admit as she searched the now empty sky.

“What do you turn into?” she asked, wanting to fill up the empty silence that came with his presence.

“Nothing.”

Maewyn nodded, assuming shadows were similar enough to nothing. “Is it only royal fae who become animals?”

His dark eyes turned to her. “No.”

She stared back, waiting, and then huffed. “You’ve got to say more than that.”

“No, My Lady.” After another long moment, he cocked his head, giving in. “Transformation, like shadow magic, is an old, inherited trait from the elylae that only manifests where there is true need.”

“The elylae, our common ancestor,” she mumbled to herself and then blinked at Aunyx. “Roan needs to be a raven?”

The shadow fae considered her, and though his features didn’t shift, she felt a change in his demeanor. “At one time, yes. The prince, I suspect, needed an escape and a form that was closer to what he was searching for. Always searching.” He turned his gaze back to the sky.