Page 30 of This Midsummer Heart (Seasons of Legend #4)

Chapter twenty-nine

The City of Ghosts

Titaine

I

remember

nothing

of

the

journey to the southern continent, nor of arriving in La Ciudad de Nadie—known these days as the City of Ghosts.

I do not see the way the people of this city leap from their beds at the sound of horse hooves after midnight.

I can only picture the way the street lights up from candles in every household’s window, a thing the people of this city do for every poor soul who wanders through the city gates too late for their safety.

I do not see the way the shades that roam the nighttime streets of this ancient, stone city bow and part as Auberon rides through its streets, how none of them will touch so much as a hair on the tail of his pure white horse.

I do not see the way the ghosts gather to watch him pass.

I do not hear him bellow for help at the gates of Nadie’s La Casa Encantadora, or give orders like a king, or see the reactions of these fetes, known here as the enchanters, as they see my wounds. I can barely recall how I got them.

And I do not see Auberon collapse the moment I am untied from him and taken into the safety of the fetes’ grounds.

I see and remember none of this, and yet I hear of it, told over and over again, with each new arrival of fetes come to tend to me, every encantador

comparing notes with the others as they gather tales from the city folk. Their voices are full of admiration, and sometimes confusion.

“Who is this elf king, to command shades and ghosts?” one of the fetes demands, scoffing. “If I had known all we needed was a dark elf to make the city safe, I would’ve written to them ages ago!”

“Maybe it’s because he’s their king,” another suggests.

“How do you know he’s a king? He hasn’t said a word since we took the lady from him in the courtyard.”

There’s a sigh of fabric, as if the other fete is gesturing or shrugging. She seems at a loss for words. “I just think he’s a king.”

The first speaker snorts.

“Really! The humans who saw him ride in think it, too. They say he is Auberon, King of the Dark Elves and Houselord of all elves.”

“Then that might make the lady Titaine.”

“No—it couldn’t be. Where is her golden glow? Where is her great magic to protect her from enemy blades? And why on earth would she be traveling with her former bonded one?”

“I’m sure there’s a story there, Mercurial. We will have to be patient and tend her well in order to hear it.”

I open my eyes to filtered sunlight in a bed so soft, it could only be made with the auspices of magic. The sheets are like silk against my skin. And yet every inch of me hurts, every movement bringing a burning pain.

“She’s awake!” the one called Mercurial says, still blurry in my vision. I blink the cloudiness away, only to find she remains unclear even after the rest of the room sharpens.

I’m in a spartan room, the walls a honeyed white and the few pieces of furniture faded to the color of driftwood. These sheets, though, are blindingly white, seeming to reflect the sun from the window behind the high headboard.

“Not sure you should be sitting up just yet, my lady,” the other fete says.

Again, I cannot quite make her out, as if her features are smudged—but I do not think that’s the fault of my eyes.

She is taller than many elves, her body twig-like.

There is something of the dark fae in these two, which might explain why they aren’t clearly visible in this bright room.

I manage to sit up anyway, pressing a hand to the pain in my abdomen, as if that will make it stop. “Where am I?” I ask, my voice full of rust.

“Your are in the House of the fae enchanters, my lady. That is Mercurial, one of our best healers.”

“And she is Chartrix Evanora,” Mercurial adds. It sounds like Chartrix is a title.

My skin prickles at the introductions. They practice name magic here.

Like the fetes of old, they do not freely give their own names.

I must be careful with mine.

Seeking answers after what feels like both an extremely long sleep and a short bout of wakefulness, I begin, “The elf who brought me here—“

That’s as far as I get before Mercurial jumps in.

“He’s the dark elf king, isn’t he? Auberon!

And that makes you the lady Titaine, Houselord of the Fetes!

” Mercurial presses a hand to her chest, bowing her head.

Even without a clear view of her features, it’s apparent she’s very young.

“I am one of the fetes under your care, my lady, though not all of us here are.”

My face must register my surprise, for Evanora continues, “It’s true, my lady, that the people of the south mostly consider themselves separate now, unless they came from the northern wolding in recent years.

I myself never thought to answer to any Houselord but that of the Enchanters—but I see you are worthy of the title.

Not just any fete could survive two wounds from a fae-killer blade. ”

Awe has crept into her voice, but I cannot say I feel worthy of it. Mostly, I just feel horrible. “I don’t remember much of what happened, but that dagger—if it is an arcane fae-killer, that would explain much of how I feel.”

“The elf who brought you said it was such.” Evanora mirrors Mercurial, bowing her head. “I am sorry, my lady.”

Before she can continue, a flush of horror steals over my already prickling skin. I know what she is going to say.

My magic is gone.

Even now, as I try to reach for it, it’s as cold and distant as the stars in the night sky.

Everything I had, everything I still held onto despite the loss of magic around me, has vanished.

It’s as if my very capacity to hold magic has been destroyed.

But how? I remember the blade, and the shadow of my attacker…

“We healed you as best we could,” Evanora continues. “There is only so much we can do in the face of such a curse, even if the elf king broke it.”

“Auberon broke the curse?” I would not have thought it possible, but even raising my eyebrows hurts.

“That is what he said, before he collapsed.”

Wincing, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Please, take me to him.”

“He’s sleeping, my lady,” Mercurial says, rushing to the other side of my bed. With the efficiency of an experienced healer, she simply grabs my ankles and stuffs my legs back into bed.

Maybe it’s for the best. I’m so tired…

“He’s been sleeping ever since he arrived here. The healers are having a bit of a disagreement about why, but it looks like magical overuse to me. When his body is ready, he’ll wake.”

Magical overuse. He must have used everything he had to get across the Bridge of Miracles. “Would you believe me if I told you he had no particular magic until a few days ago?”

Mercurial and Evanora both cock their heads, highlighting the unusual length of their necks. “Has magic strengthened on the northern continent?” Evanora asks. “How could an elf gain more magic, so far from the spirit lines of Nox and Chrysanthemum across the sea?”

I close my eyes, feeling sleep stealing over me as surely as if I’d just taken a draught. I’ve never felt this weak before. I’ve never felt so…unremarkable.

Which provides me with a way to explain.

“Auberon is a remarkable man. No, magic isn’t returning to the northern continent. But chaos is.”

Mercurial sucks in a breath. “Then it is good you are here, my lady. Mayhap the City of Nox will have better answers for you—and better magic to allow your body to heal.”

It might be minutes later when I hear Evanora speak again, her voice low as if she intends her words only for Mercurial.

“A dark elf with awakened chaos magic. He must truly be the king of the dark elves—more like the kings of old in the stories. But if he is more chaos than darkness, he will need something to temper it.”

He does have something to temper it,

I want to reply. Something to temper him as a man. Me. His opposite. His mate. We truly were meant to find each other on the road that day—even if we made a mess of so much that came after.

But my lips won’t move, and I suspect it would all sound like nonsense even if they could. A few weeks ago, I would’ve thought it was nonsense, too.

Now I can see what a fool I’ve been.

The man who crossed the Bridge of Miracles, who broke a horrible curse on an ancient blade, who traveled with me all these weeks, is not the same Auberon I was bonded to. He’s changed. The arrival of his magic is merely an outward sign of that.

The Blade of Hedril chose to manifest for him for a reason. And my heart, with all its magic, chose him for a reason, too, even if I was not strong enough to forgive old hurts and admit it.

“Need to tell him…” I manage, even though, this time, I’m not really trying to speak.

I need to tell him I love him. That I wish for a second chance. That I won’t hold back this time, or guard my heart, or pull away at the first sign of trouble. That I’ll truly be his.

That I’m not the same Titaine he was bonded to, either.

“Sleep, my lady,” Mercurial says soothingly, her hand brushing my brow.

At her touch, sleep reclaims me. I dream of a sticky midsummer night under a star-filled sky, dancing around a bonfire and savoring the hint of a cool breeze, the cold sweat on goblets of chilled mead and wine, of moving with abandon and not caring who sees.

I dream of dancing with him until the dawn this time.

Of his smile at me across the clearing. Only this time, there is no fear.

This time, my heart is full of love, for the world, for our peoples, and most of all, for him.

It is a dream of what could’ve been, were I braver, surer of myself and more forgiving. When I wake again, my heart aches.

I wonder if I will ever have the chance to make this dream come true.