Chapter 27 Under a Canopy of Pink
Under a Canopy of Pink
The targets were high and low. At different angles. Far away, then close. Behind me. To the side. Then in front. The combinations were never the same. The targets were always in a different place. It was more challenging than anything I’d experienced before; and gods was I here for it.
Targets would only flicker for a flash before vanishing, requiring the next blade to be in the air before the last one sank in.
I knew without doubt that this would have been impossible as a human, but as fae—as fae—I felt like a vengeful goddess.
Thanks to Kaelun’s second unara, the blades kept reappearing in my hands instead of the bandolier, allowing me to throw to my heart’s content.
I had no idea how much time passed, but eventually I held my hands on my hips, sucking in deep breaths, relishing the sweat dripping down my body.
“Impressive.” Artton’s voice came from behind me, and I turned my head toward him as Kaelun let the pit go back to its natural form before coming to my side and facing his uncle. “Endymion claimed you were good, but I rather think he downplayed your skills.”
“Careful, Artton,” I said, sucking in another long breath before righting myself, “that sounded an awful lot like a compliment.”
He smirked. “Take it as you like.”
I rolled my eyes, the euphoria from throwing suddenly draining from me and giving way to annoyance—the emotion quickly becoming synonymous with this insufferable summer fae. Hand on hip, I said, “What do you want, Artton?”
All humor left his features, and he shared a look with his nephew before refocusing on me. “I’m here to ask you to reconsider our request to see your memory.”
I scoffed. “Clearly, they don’t want me to agree that badly,” I said, swiping my slip-ons and slipping them back on.
“What would make you say that?” he asked.
“Because, they wouldn’t have sent you to ask.” Turning my attention to Kaelun, I gestured for us to go— side-stepping Artton’s large, stubbornly unmoving frame to make for the bridge.
“Nyleeria.” My name off his tongue was pure command. I pivoted to face him only to find him reaching for me.
My hands instantly sought blades. “Don’t,” I said, voice glacial.
He paused, looking down at his hand as if he hadn’t even realized he’d reached for me before he pulled up to his full height, jaw clenched, and utterly unapologetic.
I glowered at him for a long, hard moment, then made for the bridge again.
Head high, back straight, I’d planned on walking right across the damn thing with steady strides, showing the strength in my conviction—in the no I’d so clearly stated to Caius.
Unfortunately, fear didn’t give two shits that I was trying to make a point, and my body came to an abrupt halt when I reached the threshold.
“Kaelun,” I said softly, putting my right hand to the side, indicating that I needed his help. He conjured the rope and shifted to hand it to me.
“Stand down, soldier,” Artton ordered, coming up behind us.
Kaelun stayed still, his eyes darting between mine, his rope, and his uncle—no, his commander. An apologetic sadness crept into his features as he took a step back, the rope vanishing along with his help.
I whirled on Artton. “What’s your play here, commander?” I spat the title at him with as much disdain as I could muster.
“If you’d just listen to me for a second—”
“Did I fucken stutter before? Because my answer is no, Artton. And how dare you come here and corner me like this,” I said, voice raising with each word.
“We need—”
“I don’t give a fuck what you need. I truly don’t. So, stop. Fucken. Asking.”
I turned my back to him, the blood in my ears louder than his next words.
Anger filled my heart as unbidden flashes of the memory they so coveted filled my mind, and the false sense of bravado fueled by a need to get away overrode my fear.
One moment I was on solid ground; the next I’d stepped onto nothingness, walking away from the platform and the pressure to share what I’d already lived too many times.
Kaelun kept his distance as I’d gathered a few of Endymion’s books and made my way to Tarrin’s side.
I was grateful for the sound barrier that prevented the human from hearing anything outside the confines of these walls—I was uninterested in hearing them talk about me or what they thought my memory could unlock for them.
Actually, I was uninterested in anything they had to say.
They’d left me alone to find the refuge I sought next to Tarrin—a trend that spanned over five days.
Yes, Myron continued his healing sessions, Kai brought me food, and Kaelun walked with me to grab new sets of books from my residence, but they’d done it all in near silence.
Kaelun had tried to convince me to sleep in my residence once instead of draping myself over the side of Tarrin’s bed, but I’d ignored his suggestion.
At some point, someone had brought in two large lounging chairs that faced the windows. Like all rooms, this one had a marvelous view of the lake, which had long since gone out of focus as I slipped into my thoughts—the book I was reading on court politics all but forgotten.
Today marked a week since I’d found Tarrin and dragged him over the border. A week since I begged for Caius to save him. A week of Myron constantly tending to him.
A week since Endymion had left.
I hadn’t heard anything from the autumn commander since he’d returned my daggers, and a part of me felt stupid for thinking I would.
In fact, the hope that he’d get another note to me was the main reason I’d gone back to my residence daily.
Or at the very least, more books. But nothing had come, and while a part of me was disappointed, for some reason a larger part of me was worried.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t just him I worried about.
No, worry had become a constant companion of mine.
It was Endymion, Tarrin, the twins, the fate of Lumnara, and so many other things that weighed heavily on my heart.
The only thing I hadn’t worried about was my powers—that is, until I overheard Caius ask Kaelun if I’d dispelled, to which Kaelun said that I hadn’t needed to because of my emotional state.
Apparently worry is akin to fear… so my powers didn’t flow as freely, or as Kaelun put it, sputtered before they could amass.
Which was a problem to be solved on another day.
Right now, I was grateful I didn’t have to deal with learning how to dispel—especially if I’d be forced to do it with Artton. Luckily, he’d been overtly absent.
“Mind if I sit?” Caius’ deep voice startled me, and my book tumbled to the ground. Kneeling, he collected it and put it on the small table between us. “May I?” he asked again, gesturing to the empty chair to my right.
I nodded.
His features softened slightly as if grateful I was willing to receive him. The leather chair creaked slightly under his weight as he got comfortable.
“How are you doing, my dear?” he asked with softness in his voice but concern in his eyes.
“I’m okay.”
His left eyebrow cocked up in accusation, but he let silence reign.
We sat there for several moments before my swirling thoughts had me releasing a sigh and looking over my shoulder toward a prone Tarrin. “I’m just worried, is all,” I finally admitted.
“I understand, but Myron says he should wake any day now.”
My hands fisted in the fabric of my flowing skirt as I fixed my gaze on them.
“I know,” I said, choking on the next words—the ones I’d only thought, and even then, had tried quelling in their infancy only for them to continue to grow as the hours and days passed.
“I want him to wake up, I do.” I threw a pleading look Caius’ way. “It’s just…”
“It’s just what will you learn once he does,” the High Lord said, finishing my thought.
I nodded, my chest constricting from the shame of my fear and the fear of the truth. “Yes,” I rasped, Caius’ form now blurred through watery eyes.
He stood and offered me a hand. “Why don’t we get some fresh air? I know just the place.”
Wiping my eyes dry, I looked up at him, then his hand, then back to him.
As if understanding the silent question I hadn’t realized I’d asked, he said, “The wards have been changed so we can valen directly in and out of this suite out of convenience for everyone.”
Nodding, I stood and slipped my hand into his. A heartbeat later, he valenned us away.
Soft, fluffy clouds lazily meandered across the otherwise blue sky, and I somehow knew instantly that we were no longer in the Summer Court. Retrieving my hand back, I slowly spun around in stunned silence at the beauty I beheld.
No matter which way I turned, I was greeted by untidy stacked rows of tiny pink blossom trees that swallowed the horizon.
Stepping further into their depths, the pink canopy blotted out the sky, and I couldn’t help but marvel at how the tree branches seemed to reach for one another, like hands desperate to entwine as if they weren’t whole unless they were connected.
For the first time in days, my power hummed as if contented. Taking in a deep breath, the soft sweetness of the blossoms tickled my senses in all the right ways. I closed my eyes and reveled in it for a few breaths.
Caius stepped beside me, and I looked at him, his sharp features oddly softened by the pink canopy, and in that instant, I knew exactly where we were.
“This is the Spring Court,” I breathed in reverence.
The High Lord closed his eyes and took in a long, deep breath of his own before nodding.
“Of all the places I’ve seen in Lumnara, this one is my favorite,” he said, opening his eyes and dragging his gaze toward mine.
His power, raw and unbridled, didn’t belong in this place of delicate beauty, like somehow his mere existence could accidentally harm it.
Perhaps that’s why he loved it so much. It was a place he could be softer in a world that had forced him to be hard.
“I can understand why,” I said in earnest.
Caius clasped his hands behind his back, looking at ease as he took slow strides forward that were so nonchalant they bordered on a saunter. I meandered next to him, feeling more contented than I had in a long while.
“It really is beautiful, Caius. Thank you for sharing it with me.”
“It’s my pleasure. I know how important nature is to you, how it helps soothe what you’ve been through—are going through—if even only for a moment.”
I nodded. “Yeah, it’s been a lot. Almost too much,” I admitted.
“I know, and I’m sorry that Artton added to it.”
I stopped mid stride, and he did the same, shifting his focus toward me. Brow raised, I said, “As in you’re sorry how Artton asked for me to show my memory, or that he asked?”
“How,” he said, tone even.
I crossed my arms. “So, what?” I demanded, gesturing around us. “This is your way of softening me so that I’ll finally say yes?”
“No. This is my way of helping you gain perspective?”
“And exactly whose perspective would that be, Caius? Yours?”
His jaw flexed as he took a moment to respond. “You’re right. That’s unfair of me to say. Here.” He gestured for us to take a seat on the ground. “Let’s have a seat, not as adversaries on this, but from a place of wanting to understand each other.”
I eyed him, wondering what his angle was. “And you’ll finally listen to me on this, like really listen?”
Putting two fingers to his lips, then touching his chest just above his heart, he said, “As the Mother is my witness.”
I learned about this tradition in one of the many books I’d consumed lately but hadn’t seen it in practice until that moment.
It wasn’t a bargain, but the Mother’s Oath was a promise that the fae took seriously—each court having a different tradition as to how it was ‘vowed.’ There were even folk tales that had made their way into children’s books warning that a fae who promised on the Mother could be stripped of their powers should they falter—in fact, some went as far as to claim that it was the reason the ancients of old had lost some of their power, even worse was that a fae could become human.
Still hesitant, I took a seat, leaning against one of the smooth tree trunks, Caius mirroring me only a pace or so away.
“I must ask,” Caius started, “are you afraid that we will use the information we glean against you for our own gain, or are you afraid of reliving the memory?”
I swallowed hard, his question cutting through all of my defenses. Was I truly afraid they’d use what they’d learn to steal the power for themselves, or was that merely an excuse to shield myself from reliving the memory? Because if it was anything like the vision Endymion and I had shared…
I shuddered at the thought.
“It’s both, Caius,” I said in truth. “And yes, I’m terrified to relive that memory.”
He made to speak, but I lifted a finger.
“Even if you believe I won’t witness it in any meaningful way,” I said, acknowledging his counterargument before it could be made. “As for the other part, can you truly sit there and tell me in earnest that you’d willingly hand over the keys to stealing your powers?”
He regarded me for long moments, his tempestuous eyes going distant before refocusing.
“No,” he finally said in earnest. “I’d be lying if I said I would.
But my reasons would be prideful. Truth is, the fallout of someone stealing my powers is inconsequential in the grand scheme.
It would just mean there would be a new High Lord of the Summer Court. ”
“So, you’re saying that I should say yes because there’s more at stake?”
He nodded slowly. “I suppose I am.”
“Shouldn’t it being a higher risk mean that I should guard the truth at all costs?”
“No. It should mean that you guard your power at all costs.”
“I don’t understand the difference,” I said, flushing from my heart kicking up in frustration and defiance.
“Nyleeria,” he said gently, leaning toward me a fraction.
“Don’t you understand your enemies already hold the key?
Thaddeus knows how to steal your power, and we can only assume that he’s shared that knowledge with Wymond as part of their deal.
Is it a risk to share the key with us? Yes, of course.
But isn’t it reckless to dismiss an offer to change the lock if we can? ”
“Damn it,” I breathed, the word thick with emotion. “I hate this. One impossible decision after another.” My chest was heavy and my eyes burned, as I choked on the bubbling emotions. Collecting myself enough to gain my wits, I asked, “Have you heard from Endymion?”
The High Lord’s brows pulled together. “No, I haven’t,” he answered, his tone almost cautious.
“Is that normal?”
The crease between his brows deepened a fraction. “No.”
Ignoring the ache in my chest, I took a moment to gather what resolve I had left and sat tall. “Okay, Caius. I’ll do it, but under two conditions.”