CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A soft breeze blows a lock of hair across my face, and I brush it away, glad a recent trim means my bangs are short enough not to get in my eyes. The warm sun hangs high in the sky—it must be around noon. I lace my fingers together and stretch my arms overhead. I can’t believe I fell asleep while Krivoth carried me, but something about the smooth sway of his gait and the sure strength of his arms holding me lulled me into a feeling of safety.
Lush grass of a kind I’ve never seen covers the meadow. It’s a good foot tall, and the individual blades are narrow and a vibrant green that makes me think it’s tender and sweet. Storm certainly seems to think so. He’s several yards away, but the sound of his teeth grinding a mouthful vigorously reaches me. His jaw moves side to side, he swallows, and his head dips to rip more grass free.
Dots of yellow buttercups decorate the field like a giant threw a handful of golden coins, spreading them wide but unevenly as nature will.
A group of a taller plant stands to one side, topped by fat clumps of tiny white blossoms. Butterflies flutter around the flowers in a cloud.
No, wait—those aren’t butterflies!
They have tiny human-like bodies wrapped in clothes made of leaves, some green, some blue, some a patchwork of both. Wispy explosions of white hair stand out from their heads like dandelion puffs, and their skin is the light pink of wild roses.
But most impressively, wide butterfly wings spread from their backs in a range of iridescent colors that sparkle and flash in the sunlight.
“Mist,” I hiss out the side of my mouth, trying to be quiet. I flick a discreet finger toward the tiny fae. “What are those?”
“Sprites. They’re not any more of a mouthful than birds.”
“Mist!”
“I jest.” But her Cheshire-Cat smile says she’s at least thought about eating one of them.
I take a few steps closer, filing details in my mental wiki as I go. Each of them has different patterns on their wings. Do they mean something specific or are they simply beautiful?
One of them spots me, and a high cry goes up, “Stranger!”
They all turn toward me and freeze, hanging in midair as if physics and gravity don’t apply to them. Which of course it doesn’t. They’re magic!
Then another high, piping voice shrieks, “It’s an elf!”
The mass of them surge toward me, arguing the whole way. “Mine!” “I saw her first!” “I want the elf!”
I stand completely still as they swirl around my head in a dizzying rush. Then they’re on me, landing in my hair, sitting on my shoulders, and clinging to tiny fistfuls of my purple T-shirt. One of them tries to land on the upper slope of one of my boobs, and I fight down a laugh as they slide off, my chest too small to offer much of a shelf.
Little hands pat at me as they all talk at once, their voices blending into a smear of high-pitched sound. Then one digs through my hair to grab the top of my ear, and a loud whistle cuts through the chatter.
As soon as the rest fall quiet, the one clinging to my ear shrieks, “It’s not an elf!”
I wince. They sure are loud for such little things.
The pressure on my ear disappears, and butterfly wings flap right in front of my face in a mixture of pink, purple, and blue. The tiny sprite hovers before me, dressed in blue leaves, her little pink face twisted into a scowl as she points an accusing finger at me. “You’re not an elf.”
“Sorry. I never said I was.” I raise both hands, palms out. “I’m human.”
“Bah, humans don’t come from Avalon. Orcs and elves do.”
“What’s Avalon?”
“It’s our original home realm. It’s where the elves still live.”
“Did you come here recently?” Have they just come through a portal like me?
“Not us. Our parents’ parents this many times.” She holds out both hands, fingers spread wide.
“Ten generations. Sprites have been in Alarria a long time. Why do you want Avalon?”
Isn’t this home to them by now? It already feels like my home, my magic humming inside me like it always should have.
“Avalon has elves and castles and parties!”
Fascinating. So there are different realms of Faerie, and they’re not alike. Good to know.
“And war and court trickery and carefully manicured gardens instead of true nature,” Mist says, her voice lacking even the slightest trace of mockery. She lifts a paw to point to the white flowers the sprites just came from. “Don’t you love meadowsweet? The elves never allowed it anywhere near their castle grounds.”
The sprite puts her hands on her hips and lets out a humph so loud it makes her dandelion-fluff hair quiver. Then her expression grows thoughtful instead. “Humans aren’t from Alarria. How did you get here? Do the doors of Faerie open once more?”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “The Moon Goddess brought me here from Earth. It was a shining round portal that disappeared.”
“She’s a human, but she has magic like an elf,” Mist says.
The sprites all “ohhh.”
“I’m about to practice it,” I say. “Do you want to watch?”
“Yes!” they chorus, taking to the air and flying around me in a dance of delight that makes me laugh. At least their mercurial nature makes them quick to please.
Krivoth stalks from the trees, holding several long sticks and…
“Are those mushrooms?” I blurt. Mushrooms on steroids, that is. The things are huge, with wide caps the size of dinner plates, but far thicker. They’re bright red and dotted with white spots, and the thick stem is pure white.
“Toadstools,” he says. “You don’t want to eat these. They’re poisonous.”
“But if you give the cap the tiniest of licks, it’ll give you wonderfully wild dreams,” the sprite says.
“Oh, hallucinogenic mushrooms.” I nod. “Got it.”
“No, you don’t.” Krivoth scowls at the sprite and shakes a red toadstool at it. “Poison.”
“Fun!” the sprite counters, seemingly undeterred by his large size.
He stomps off across the field, his broadsword clearly strapped to his hip.
“Aren’t you afraid of him? “ I ask. “He’s an awfully good fighter.”
“Orcs also come from Avalon. And orcs don’t hurt sprites,” she says, as if it’s a well-known truth.
I stare after Krivoth, her words confirming what I already felt. No matter how “monstrous” most humans would find his appearance, he’s a good guy.
Using brute strength, Krivoth grasps a stick in both hands and drives it into the ground with a powerful flex of his wide shoulders. It stands upright, the end whittled into a point, which he impales a toadstool on, sliding the entire length of the stem onto the wood. The red cap of the mushroom ends up being a good five feet off the ground—about the same height as an ogre’s torso.
“That’s perfect!” I call out.
While he strides over, I make sure everyone else is out of the way. Storm still eats on the far side of the field, but he’s turned to face us so he can watch. On my left, the sprites sit on the meadowsweet like the clumps of tiny white flowers are little cushy chairs. Mist stands behind me, off to the right.
Krivoth stops directly behind me, only a couple of feet away, his arms ready to catch me. It’s sweet, though I also hope like hell I don’t need it. As much as I like rolling around on top of him, I’d love to get this power thing sorted.
I shake out my arms and get ready to take up what I like to think of as my “ready stance.” It’s the one you see in all the video games and movies—legs shoulder-width apart, hands raised. Only, I’m not making fists. My palms are open and forward, ready to channel power.
It swirls inside me, like a caged animal eager to be let free.
I grin. I got this!
Focusing, I strain with all my might, throwing my hands forward. Nothing. My crystal doesn’t warm or glow.
I try again. Again, nothing! My magic surges inside me, battering at the walls. I can feel it—I just can’t harness it.
“This isn’t magic like elves!” a sprite says, and answering squeals of agreement ring out.
“Patience. Big magic takes time,” Mist calls out, then she sidles up to me and whispers. “You can do it, right?”
“I hope so,” I mutter.
“Can I help?” Krivoth’s deep voice rumbles from behind me.
“Yes!” I spin to face him, excited all over again. “Can you carry me and let me feel your magic? It helped so much yesterday.”
“Of course.” His handsome face looks so serious as he steps closer and sweeps me off my feet. Unlike today’s bridal carry, he instead lifts me so I face his chest. My legs wrap around his waist, my hands slide around his neck, and I press forward until I can feel the thump of his heart echoing through me. He hasn’t even started using his magic actively, but I can feel it. As a Wild Fae, Krivoth’s a magical being. Magic sings in him even when he’s not using his power. It’s simply part of who he is.
He starts walking, calling upon his stealth magic until each footfall becomes perfectly silent.
My power settles, as if it senses his flowing with easy purpose. I reach for the feeling of his connection and control. As an orc, his magic’s so innate he probably doesn’t even realize how he’s doing it, and no amount of words will make up for this—feeling him do it.
In a flash, I realize I’ve been sent a mentor to help train me, only one who’s young and gorgeous and muscled.
Score one for me!
I shut my eyes and close out the rest of the world until there’s nothing but Krivoth and me and the magic running through both of us.
The closer he holds me, the longer I’m in his arms, the more I feel it, live it. I cling, pressing against him with my entire body, from forehead to toes. Everywhere we touch tingles, the feeling electric.
Finally, it happens—a tiny gate opens inside me, and my magic flows, rising to the surface.
Krivoth’s arms tighten around me as if he feels it, too. Then he stops, bending over to set me on my feet.
“Keep touching me,” I say.
“I will.” And he does, his hands firm on my shoulders as he spins me around to face the toadstool.
My crystal warms on my chest as I lift my hands and punch my power forward. It slams into the toadstool. The fleshy red cap explodes, the small pieces flying backward. The stick cracks, breaking right above ground level, and goes flying to bury the top pointy end in the ground, where it vibrates like a plucked string.
The sprites cheer and take to the air, shouting high calls of “elf magic!”
Elation sweeps through me, filling me with joy as I spin around.
“You did it, and you didn’t even knock me over.” Krivoth offers me a smile.
“I did it!” I throw myself at him again.
Only this time, it’s on purpose.