Page 11

Chapter 10

T he fae that rescued Emillie from the mercenaries adjusted their sleep schedule to accommodate her travel needs without missing a beat. Edira explained over the nights following the inner workings of their group: being the eldest sibling of the three high fae, she controlled their spice business from a financial standpoint. Pol, the second-born and most personable, executed the sales wherever they set up shop. The youngest and most shy of the three, Haen, put their keen eye to work by preparing the supplies for quick exchanges. Luce had been assigned to their business when they expressed interest in traveling outside L’Oden Forest.

“Any fae merchants seeking work in other regions of Myridia are required to take a guard with them,” Edira explained when Emillie inquired after Luce’s position amongst them. “We didn’t know Luce before that. Since then, we’ve all come to be quite the family.”

Pol smirked. “I don’t know if Luce would’ve chosen us if she had a say, but I think she’s come around.”

The lycan huffed and tossed her head before glaring at the fae, making him laugh more. Though Emillie could not communicate with Luce, Edira often spoke for her. Edira’s telepathy, it seemed, had been a deciding factor as they initially began their journey together.

When they reached the foothills on the western side of the Keonis Mountains a couple nights later, Emillie breathed a sigh of relief. It had been some time since they had left the boundaries of Valenul. Nonetheless, she could not help the swell of hope that, at last, she would be safe and far from Loren’s reach.

L’Oden Forest spread out before them in a massive expanse of emerald, with the evergreens stretching into the inky sky, unlike anything Emillie had seen before. She once believed the forests of Valenul to be impressive. Nothing compared to the sheer size of what stood before her now.

“Gods,” she breathed as they made their way toward the treeline.

Edira chuckled. “Silve is good.”

“I have never seen anything quite so…” Emillie could not find the words to describe her awe. Stunning, glorious, and even magnificent did not do the forest justice. That she struggled with such a seemingly simple task only amused Edira more.

Yet the feeling did not last. From one heartbeat to the next, Emillie plummeted back into reality. This was an experience she should have shared with someone she loved. Ariadne. Her father. Camilla or Revelie. Even Alek.

Kyra.

Her heart ached at the thought, remembering the fleeting early mornings entangled with the beautiful redhead while discussing their plans for the future. Or, she supposed, her plans. Kyra had likely never intended to fulfill them.

The more she thought about it, however, the more Emillie recalled the signs of Kyra’s discomfort. Pulling her hand away. Leaving when others entered a room. The silence that accompanied Emillie’s dreaming of far-off places. Tension anytime she mentioned how they would fool the Caersans of Waer Province.

She should have known—should have seen it coming.

Silence enveloped Emillie, not for the first time over the last two nights. The fae had been understanding anytime they attempted to pry her history from her, and she refused to give any more than her name. Knowing who she was and why the mercenaries had wanted her gave them more than enough power over her should they seek it. Therefore, it would have to be enough for now.

Luce, however, did not hide her disdain for Emillie. Those sharp golden eyes often narrowed in her direction or rolled anytime she grew distant. If the lycan could speak with her, Emillie was certain she would get an earful.

Much to her relief, Luce could not speak to her and likely never would. Though she did not understand the reason for her to be bound in that form, she knew it for what it was: the sign of a prisoner forced to protect the merchants with whom she now traveled. Based on her experiences with such imprisonments, whatever she had done did not bother Emillie. They would likely part ways soon, long before their chance to officially meet and speak.

Before long, they entered L’Oden Forest. Passing between trunks so massive it would have taken twenty men to encircle it with their arms made Emillie’s pulse quicken. If trees of such size grew on the outskirts of the forest, she could only imagine what lay at the heart. Woodsy scents took over from the fresh breezes of the foothills. The muddy highway from the mountains shifted to damp dirt, then a strange mossy road. Though Emillie’s eyes could adjust to the lowest of lights, there was no need as they journeyed deeper under the thick canopy. An eerie glow emitted from fungus dangling along the tree branches and flickered from large toadstools.

Emillie never took to the magical stories Ariadne loved so much, but neither had she properly researched the mysteries of L’Oden. If she had bothered to read any of her sister’s fae tales, she was certain she would have been more prepared for such a fanciful display.

Indeed, it seemed Emillie had stepped into a fantastical tale. For so long, she had set her mind to studying medicinals provided by mages, but she never took the time to indulge in what the fae could provide. Perhaps if she had sought their guidance in anything, she would have discovered the ethereal realm sooner.

It was Emillie, however, who rode a stolen horse into the realm of the high fae, not Ariadne. Though driven to the forest through a series of horrific events, perhaps it would be she who lived out the ridiculous stories.

Such thoughts soured the elation brought about by the fascinating scenery. Ariadne could be dead for all Emillie knew. It should be her sister who experienced such beauty, for there had been so little in her life as of late.

“We’re almost to Baalor,” Edira said after giving Emillie time to soak in the view. “We’ll set up shop for a day or two before moving on to the capital.”

Emillie said nothing. She merely nodded in agreement, struggling to pull herself back from the dark thoughts.

“Remember…” Edira moved a little closer, her horse huffing and tossing his mane. “Do not speak of what happened in the mountains. I will not endanger Luce or either of my siblings.”

For a long moment, Emillie just stared at her. “Of course. I would never.”

“Thank you.” Edira nodded, a small smile playing on her lips.

When they reached the town nearest the edge of L’Oden Forest, Emillie was not prepared for the bustling marketplace in the middle of the night. She had always been under the impression that the merchants who visited Valenul adjusted their sleep schedules to accommodate the vampires’ nightly routines. As it were, fae from across Myridia remained awake and alert as they moved through the strange forest town.

Stairs spiraled up the thick trunks of trees, leading to suspended bridges, platforms, and homes or businesses. Those which remained on the ground were carved into the sides of the massive trunks, not unlike buildings etched into the sides of cliffs across Valenul that had once belonged to dhemon clans. No fires lit the paths; only more luminescent plants and fungi provided any light. Even the moss underfoot seemed to alight when stepped upon.

The people of the town surprised her just as much. Though she anticipated seeing the high fae with their elegantly pointed ears and almost otherworldly grace, she had not been prepared to see so many lycans shackled in their wolf forms.

“I thought the lycans were prisoners,” Emillie said to Pol.

He nodded to her. “For the most part, you’re correct. But the full moon is tomorrow, so they’ve gathered in preparation.”

Emillie gaped at him for a long moment. She had read about the lycans forced to remain in their wolven form with the exception of the full moon. “How does that work?”

Haen snorted softly and shook their head but did not say anything. They merely glanced at Luce before refocusing ahead. Clearly, such things were common knowledge amongst the fae. Once again, Emillie’s lack of fae research made her desperate for more information.

“Lycan folk are widely considered…lesser than high fae,” Pol explained, giving Luce a look that very clearly meant he did not agree with the statement. “They once rebelled against the Queen of L’Oden many centuries ago in a struggle for independence. It failed. Since then, lycan and their descendants have been treated terribly and considered dangerous. This means more eyes are on them, and they’re far more likely to be unjustly imprisoned. Therefore, most of them avoid their wolven form when at all possible.”

“And they’re cursed when they’re imprisoned?” Emillie’s heart went out to the lycan. They were much like the Rusan vampires—treated with disdain yet depended upon for protection. Lycans provided much-needed security for traveling merchants, while Rusans kept Caersans safe during the daylight hours.

With a nod, Pol continued, “Often, their crimes are taken out of context or blown out of proportion. The curse, passed down by high fae wardens, called Handlers, and kept secret from the public, binds them to their lycan form except for the full moon to mark them as dangerous and untrustworthy.”

Again, her stomach knotted. “That is terrible. What happens when a high fae commits a crime?”

“Their magic is inhibited by a collar controlled by the Handler who holds their key, but they are otherwise left alone.”

The memory of Azriel, frozen in the Harlow foyer with a collar around his neck, flashed through Emillie’s mind. It flared with a soft magic she did not recognize, and its fine craftsmanship pointed to fae construction. It would make sense to use a fae-made item to contain a fae, even a dhemon with no magic. Instead, the collar had prevented her brother-in-law from using his tremendous strength to break free of his constraints.

“And how are lycans contained, then?” Emillie pressed, unperturbed by her own constant stream of questions. How else would one expect to learn and understand another culture’s subtleties? Most was observable. Minor pieces that seemed typical for one group of people stood out to others. “Are they not stronger or more powerful in their lycan form?”

Thankfully, Pol did not seem put out by her questions, even if Haen kept mumbling under their breath. “They are stronger, yes. However, the curse is woven with the same enchantments as is used in the collars. Since most lycan only possess the ability to transform, they are often completely cut off from the rest of society in terms of communication. By pairing them with high fae, they’re unable to stay with other lycan long enough to develop a language of their own.”

“Gods,” Emillie breathed and looked to Luce. How long had she lived with no one to speak to for most of the month? “I confess, I am shocked by these customs. I always considered the fae to be…more understanding than Caersans.”

That made Haen chuckle. They finally turned to her and said, “Everyone has prejudices. I’ve seen what your people consider justice. Such acts of cruelty are barbaric, even by Algorathian standards.”

The words were a blow to the gut. Emillie blinked at the usually-silent fae in mute shock. She had never agreed with the prison system of Valenul, but to compare cells and corporal punishment to the Pits? Absurd.

“Justice is a fair, unbiased trial,” Emillie said, her voice quieter now, “and a punishment that suits the crime. I do not condone Valenul’s practices in any way, but neither do I find suppressing one’s ability to communicate with the world conscionable. With no one to speak to, I would go mad.”

Golden eyes flickered to her. Luce searched her face for a long moment before refocusing ahead as they wove between the high fae and lycans. Not for the first time since their meeting, Emillie wished she could converse with the woman trapped in her wolven body.

“I’m thankful,” Edira interrupted before Haen could snap back, “for my gift in telepathy. Luce may not be able to communicate vocally to us, but she and I have many conversations.”

Tension released from Emillie’s chest that she had not realized had grown exponentially over the course of the last few minutes. She ached for Luce. Not only had she lived a life in which she was looked down upon by other fae, but she had likely been unjustly sentenced.

Still she did not ask why Luce had ended up cursed. As curious as she was, it was not Emillie’s place to inquire after so little time together. Perhaps she would learn the truth of it one night.

“When is the full moon?” Emillie tilted her head back to peer at the sky and found only the canopy of trees and fae construction above them.

“It begins soon,” Edira said, then added as though anticipating her next question, “It’ll last for two nights.”

Emillie raised a brow at her. “How does your telepathy work?”

The high fae woman laughed. “No worries. I don’t use it unless invited or if it’s absolutely necessary. You’ll know if I do. Trust me.”

That did not assuage Emillie’s concerns. She had no idea what to expect from someone’s telepathy. How Edira could expect her to know when such things were occurring baffled her. With next to no encounters with magic, she would likely never realize if her mind was being invaded.

And in that moment, she realized how much that idea troubled her. She had spent the last couple of nights dodging questions about her past and hiding what drove her to run from Valenul. The last thing she needed was for someone to forcibly search her memories for the answers. Sharing what happened to her father…to Alek…with Kyra…

No, she would not let that happen.

As they continued through the town, Emillie took in the wide variety of faces that looked up at her in curiosity. Like all fae folk descended from a god or goddess, their features mimicked those of Silve—though with more humanoid characteristics. While the Goddess of the Forest was always depicted as a tiny sprite with a green complexion, wings, and black dreads, that was where the differences ended. High fae and lycans in their fae forms had skin tones that ranged from deep ebony to alabaster with hair of all common shades. Some took on more ethereal hues—many blondes had hints of lavender or peridot, while those with black hair shone a variety of colors in the light. Very few fae were true brunettes, as most had hair that leaned red or orange. Likewise, their eyes sparkled with more jeweled tones than Emillie had ever seen before; even vivid purples and pinks were not uncommon.

Though Emillie had seen many fae merchants in her lifetime, to be presented with the vast array of differences detailed just how narrow her view of the world was as a sheltered Caersan woman. One could read about the lands of Myridia all their life and still never comprehend the beauty of it all through words on a page. Experiencing it excited her.

When they reached the far reaches of the town, they hobbled the horses and set up camp. Emillie had found her rhythm amongst the merchants rather quickly and took to assisting them with unloading bedrolls and pots from the wagon and gathering wood. Pol made and tended the fire while Haen started cooking. Being spice merchants, their food never lacked flavor, and Emillie found herself wonderfully surprised each time.

Though Edira usually put up a small shelter for Emillie to use during the daylight hours, that morning, she left with Luce in tow after announcing they needed new supplies to wrap up their journey to L’Oden’s capital, Cerelis. What those were, she did not specify, though when no one else questioned her, neither did Emillie.

The three of them who remained moved about the small campsite without speaking. Nearby, another party of merchants began speaking animatedly after a fae stepped out from a canvas tent, adjusting their clothes. They embraced as though seeing a friend for the first time in too long. The fae stretched their limbs and accepted a bowl of food with unsteady hands.

Emillie watched with silent curiosity, but all around them were the same exclamations. Though the high fae spoke in their own language, which she could not understand, the intonations were clear: surprise and joy. When she turned to ask the fae siblings with her, she found them uninterested in the commotion around them. Instead, they turned to look back toward town.

It had not been long since Edira and Luce left, but when Emillie followed their line of sight, she found the high fae woman returning with a basket of fresh vegetables. The dark brown wolf, however, did not accompany her.

Instead, she strode alongside another tall, muscular fae woman with an ochre complexion and black hair that haloed her elegant face in tight spirals and shone with deep purple highlights. She wore tight-fitting trousers that displayed the gentle curve of her hips and a shirt that hung loose from her shoulders. As they drew nearer, the newcomer spoke animatedly so her full lips pulled into a broad, beautiful smile.

Emillie’s heart stuttered. Her breath caught at the otherworldly beauty of the woman with her delicate hands and long, pointed ears. The air rushed from her lungs when those golden eyes turned to her and latched onto her face with a familiar intensity.

“Luce!” Pol called, his own grin growing. He called something else in their own language, and when she responded in kind, he laughed.

Gods. Emillie snapped her gaping mouth shut. The lycan was, without a doubt, the most stunning woman she had ever laid eyes on. A goddess amongst mortals.

“Allow me to reintroduce our magnificent guard,” Edira said as they approached. Mischief twinkled in her hazel eyes. “Emillie, this is Luce.”

Caersan manners snapped into place, and Emillie curtsied, holding her dirty and torn dress like a ballgown. Her heart thundered, yet when she met Luce’s gaze, something different shone there. Not for the first time, she had the strange feeling that the lycan wanted to devour her whole.

Edira fought back a smirk. “We don’t hold to such customs here, Em. Not unless we’re in the presence of royalty.”

“You forget,” Luce crooned, and gods if her voice did not sound as angelic as she looked, “that I am, in fact, a queen around these parts.”

This time, Haen snorted back a laugh. “So you’ve said many times.”

“And you’ll do well not to forget it,” she said, stepping over to embrace the two high fae.

Guilt curled in Emillie’s stomach. It had not been that long ago that she wept in a carriage after Kyra ended their hidden relationship, yet now she looked upon the lycan with a yearning she could not quite place. She had always viewed herself as the type of woman who would need time to get to know another person to find them attractive. After all, it had always been so within the Society.

Twice now, however, she found just how wrong she was.

Perhaps it was for the best that Luce did not seem to pay her much mind—even more so that she seemed to regard Emillie with a poorly-hidden disdain even in her fae form. As it were, she turned back to the camp and decided that, perhaps, she would give Luce just as much space as she appeared to desire from her.