Page 14 of The Wind and the Wild (The Keepers of Faerie #1)

“

N o,” I tell him, bracing myself for a challenge I must rise to.

He merely cocks his head. “ What is it like?”

“ What?”

“ Being able to lie. What is it like?”

I try to give him a disparaging look, but it’s difficult under his gentle sharp gaze.

“ I’m not afraid of the woods. I’m afraid of Faerie.

” A half lie. “ And it doesn’t feel like anything; you can just do it.

Some people lie badly, and you can feel your heart react to it, or your face gets hot, or your hands sweat, but that’s worrying you’ll get caught. ”

“ Do you get those things?”

“ Depends on the lie. And who I’m lying to.” To a faerie in a hidden library? All of the above symptoms.

He leans over me, enough I must force myself not to step back, but he is only curious. I stop myself from wiping my face to ensure it is clean.

“ You don’t look red in the face,” he says.

“ I’m not lying.”

His brow furrows. I press my lips together, trying not to laugh.

He brushes a light finger to my chin, as if testing if my skin is hot, then twists his lips in confusion and turns, gesturing for me to follow again.

My face burns now at his brief touch, but he isn’t looking. Or perhaps he saw it and realized.

Can they hear our heartbeat? I hope not.

“ Not far,” he calls back, and I’m relieved he didn’t ignore the question. Pointing, he says, “ There, you can see.”

Following his finger, I do indeed spot a swarm of bees a few dozen steps into the open trees. There is no reason to fear such a thing. These are bright open woods with a gentle-enough faerie.

No reason to be frightened.

It’s as if my feet have sprouted roots.

No reason to be frightened, Niamh.

Trotting after him, I slow just behind his long gait. My heart is pounding.

Turn around, turn around, turn around.

I’m uncertain why I don’t. I already hate my own fear. What if he sees it as well?

Despite the cane, he walks quickly. When he glances back, my hesitation seems to amuse him, and he catches my hand again.

“ It is all right, this section is not the Faerie you hear about in your little human tales. These trees are not empty, but most of what dwells here would not harm you and certainly would not come out in the sun.”

Truly, I believe he means to comfort me, but such words only have chills crawling across my skin. After the sun set early that first afternoon in the library, I keep an eye on the morning light.

Releasing me a few steps from the hive, he approaches with caution. A few dozen bees buzz leisurely , and I wonder if they collect from the honeysuckle. They look just as our mortal human-side-of-the-border bees, and I watch one buzz past my face on lazy wings.

Aidyn hums something. The words are recognizable, but my mind grasps at them uselessly, and I’m unable to keep them in my thoughts for more than a moment.

He continues the strange humming, soft under his breath, a sleepy lullaby tugging at the memories of my childhood: gentle high grasses on a hot summer day, lying atop the covers with the windows flung open on the sticky dark nights, moths flying in heady stumbling paths about the outline of the moon—

Gasping, I stumble back, my feet ready to flee.

He’s going to sing me into this world forever.

This is why I venture into the forest alone, only alone.

Even without my name, he can—

With a start, Aidyn goes quiet, and he stares at me with likewise wide eyes. Turning his head, he glances into the trees as if searching for a predator.

Finally, he whispers, “ What is it?”

As the panic fades, something between confusion and humiliation replaces it. “ Why... were you singing?”

He blinks a few times, then points to the hive with an uncertain hand. “ The bees? So they won’t sting you? Their sting is quite bad for humans. Very painful.”

Oh. Full embarrassment takes hold, and I glance at the waves of golden combs sitting within the bark, dripping honey.

His hand is rather close, and bees drift through his fingers without harm.

They’re more aggressive in their flying patterns around me, though I’m not standing close enough to be a threat.

“ Sorry,” I say, still feeling more than a little silly for such an immediate and aggressive overreaction.

His own confusion still sits in his eyes. “ What was wrong?”

Now that I’m forced to explain, I wave my hand a little, rubbing my neck, feeling too silly to admit it. “ You hear stories... about fae who... sing humans to sleep forever. Or make them dance themselves to death.”

His eyes flicker away, and he drops his hand with a thoughtful expression. “ This is true, it has been done. But we sing for many reasons. Again, it seems I must apologize.”

“ It’s all right . . .” I whisper.

“ It will not affect you... That is, it will , but there will be no permanent spellwork.”

I nod, expecting him to once again pick up the tune, but he only gives me a concerned look and pulls a small comb of honey from the bark before returning and handing it over. Slowly, I take it, uncertain what he wants me to do. He puts the rest in his mouth and smiles, gesturing.

He wants me to try it. I don’t know why this startles me—I have been stealing berries from this side of the border for years, after all. The comb crunches against the roof of my mouth, and my gums hurt with how sweet it is.

“ The cakes I could make with this,” I say, thinking about glazes and possible icings, let alone the cake itself. When we were younger, Una and I would dip figs into honey, though that seems too sweet now.

Aidyn quirks an eyebrow. “ Cakes? ”

He sounds so much like a child being offered a pie that I snort, licking the remaining honey off my fingers. “ If you hadn’t scared me half to death the other night, you would’ve ended up with another pie.”

Heaven knows why I’m suddenly feeling so brave, but the look of deep offense lighting his face has me laughing again.

“ If you’re nice to me, I can bring you another one.” Niamh, why are you offering to return?

Regarding me with low-lidded eyes, he hums and passes me on his return to the library. For some reason, the offense doesn’t seem nearly so dangerous. I wonder if he has brothers or sisters and if he is practiced at fake anger.

Taking a final glance at the bees, I trot after him.

“ You enjoy cooking?” he calls back.

Surprised by his interest, I say, “ Yes . . .”

“ There are many books here. They will have recipes you can try.”

My heart expands, and I can’t keep the grin off my face. What kind of midsummer pie could I make? “ I can’t read them.”

“ I can pick some and tell them to you; you can write them with your own hand. You will be able to read them then.”

He pauses at the base of the curling metal stairway, letting me pass by first. Brass flowers decorate the undersides of the hand railings with many unfamiliar petals.

Three steps up and I am looking him eye to eye, perhaps even a little down at him.

Amusement quirks at the corners of his lips, his eyes inspecting my hair.

He takes a strand that has unwoven from its braid and tugs it carefully before letting it bounce back.

“ Red is a lovely color,” he says. “ Autumn leaves.”

You have such nice hair. Women with such hair have fire, don’t they? I wince a little at the memory, but the way he says it is so nostalgic and faraway I can’t compare the two—not truly.

“ What is wrong?” he asks at the same volume.

“ Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“ Now that is a lie, correct?”

I try to smile, and it comes out funny. “ Correct. ”

He nods but doesn’t pry. Eventually, I move out from his gaze and climb the stairs, hearing his soft steps behind me.

I want to ask him a dozen things, including why are you here?

But the question I came here with still presses against my thoughts, and I look back at him as the safety of the dim library envelops us.

He catches up to my stride, though we’re in no hurry.

Quietly, I ask, “ Do you know about the monsters coming out of Faerie?”

His already faraway expression twists into something slightly more pained, if only for a moment. “ Yes. ”

I wait, and finally, he continues without prompting.

“ I will get word to someone who can fight them back. It may be a few days, but I will.”

“ Are you leaving?”

He shakes his head. “ I have my ways.”

I leave it at that—if he wished to explain, he would have.

“ Why do they come out? For the most part, they don’t hurt anyone.

They’ll eat our animals, but we don’t even see them.

Until we do. We figure they attack if we’ve done something to offend one of your kind, but it is only a theory—and a way for parents to keep their children from treading on faerie circles—so I’m not sure it’s the truth. ”

“ Why?”

I blink at him, pulled from my thoughts.

“ Why did you encounter one? You are correct: they rarely interact with humans. I don’t know what exactly you’re witnessing, but there are a few things humans could mistake as hounds.

Any one of them would eat just about anything, but generally, all fae are attracted to those with magic in their soul. Humans do not have enough.”

“ I was...” I pause, not knowing how to answer easily. “ Near the border... and not paying attention.”

Perhaps I can find their picture in the book, and he will know precisely what I am referring to.

“ I do believe humans generally have enough fear not to do such a thing.” He doesn’t sound amused but is nearing it in a wry sort of way. “ You were certainly frightened enough by a few words of song.”

He seats himself at the same dusty table where I set the book. I hover near the railing, touching the soft leaves of the tree growing over the second story.

“ A friend asked me to bring him to Faerie. We got to talking. I was a bit enamored with him, so I wasn’t paying very good attention. Trust me, it’s not a mistake I repeated.”