Chapter 39 There’s a Difference
There’s a Difference
Winter’s chill enveloped me the moment I’d crossed over, and it was easy to discern the truth in Tarrin’s claim that time now flowed differently between the two realms, as it should’ve been the height of summer.
We’d have to be careful with how much time we spent here. If I was the catalyst for this change, then only the gods knew if being back on human soil would make a difference to either realm.
A tickling sensation shifted my attention to my arms to find my leathers expanding downward with newly-formed sleeves that protected me from the elements.
“Cool, right?” Kaelun said, reaching out his arm and flipping his palm up then down to show off his own expanded armor.
“Very,” Tarrin answered for me, looking thoroughly impressed.
“See,” I said, falling in behind Artton who began leading us north. “Being fae has its perks.”
I could hear the smile in Tarrin’s voice from behind. “I’ve had about enough magic to last me this life and the next.”
“Amen to that,” I agreed.
“Are you even human?” Kaelun asked.
I whipped my head over my shoulder to see that Kaelun had done the same. Both of us turned back when we saw the warning look Tarrin shot the curious fae, which had him focusing forward with a smirk.
“I mean no offense,” Kaelun said, and I didn’t have to look back to know he’d raised his hands to emphasize his innocence. “It’s just, well… humans normally expire after a certain age.”
“Expire?” I said, through laughter. “Like, oh, this fruit is no longer good. Time to throw it in the compost?”
“Kinda.”
“Seeing as how I’m the oldest one here, kid,” Tarrin snipped, “let’s just say I’m well preserved.”
“Shame,” I heard Artton mutter under his breath, knowing that the only reason I heard it over the crunch of our footsteps was because of my fae hearing.
Sidrick’s chuckle flitted forward, indicating he’d heard it too.
“Behave,” I whispered in a warning tone.
“I thought saying it under my breath was behaving,” Artton said back.
“You know what I mean.”
“Do you think because of your link to King Thaddeus—”
“Kaelun,” Artton warned, “as much as I love it when Tarrin is pestered, we’re not on a family hike.”
“Sorry,” he said, and I could practically hear his shoulders dropping through his voice before we were left to our own thoughts and the unmistakable rhythms of winter.
As the hours passed, the part of me that felt like an intruder had all but forgotten we were in the human realm and I was fae. It was just us and the wilderness—and fae or no, I’d never be convinced I didn’t belong.
I hadn’t expected it, but the punishing pace Artton set showed the divide between human and fae stamina. Though he never complained, Tarrin’s labored breath at times reminded me of hunting trips Eithan and I had been forced to make during the winter—I didn’t envy the man.
Needing to limit the amount of time we spent in the human realm to reduce our risk of being tapped, we’d only stopped once for a quick lunch; continuing until dusk when Artton finally dropped his pack.
“We’ll camp here,” he declared.
We couldn’t afford to rest for an entire night, but we needed fuel and sleep before forging on.
In one of our planning sessions, Tarrin asked why we didn’t just valen to where we indented to enter the Autumn Court.
Unfortunately, there’s something in the magical resonance of valenning that High Lords can sense at their borders from a fairly large distance away.
“We’re going to hunt,” Sidrick declared, placing his pack next to Artton’s.
Kaelun followed suit.
I watched as the edges of the forest swallowed them whole, aching to join the hunt. I’d been warned before we left that I would stay wherever camp was in case something happened—they’d always know where I was.
Pouting as the heat from the hike was cut through by the winter breeze, I gathered kindling and wood as the other two made camp.
I’d always loved making fires.
Sitting on my knees, I leaned over the pit I’d dug out, and piece by piece I piled tiny pieces of wood, smiling as they started to form a little log cabin. Feeling confident in the structure, I readied my flint.
“Stop,” Artton ordered.
I froze, looking for Tarrin to see what he’d done, only to find him as confused as I was. It took me a second to realize Artton had directed the command at me.
“What?” I asked, eyes wide.
“Absolutely no magic, Spark. We went over this. Using it in the human realm depletes us faster.”
I blinked up at him, still confused.
“Ny, did you just try to light the fire with magic?” Tarrin asked.
“No. I went to use a flint,” I said and lifted my hand up to show them, only it was empty. Knowing I must have dropped it when Artton yelled, I stood looking for it.
The summer fae came to my side. “There was no flint. Your bag is over there, unopened.”
“Oh,” I said breathlessly. “I…” Had I really just done that?
“It’s a good thing, Spark,” he said with a softness he seemed to reserve for me. “It means that you’re… well… becoming fae.”
“I really did think I had a flint, Artton. I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head. “It’s okay. As a safety precaution while we’re here, if you’re thirsty, ask someone for a canteen. If you’re making a fire”—he winked—"ask one of us for a flint. That way you’re never lost in the task, which means you can’t just run on instinct."
Stars, when had elemental magic become instinct? I’d made progress over the past few days… but instinct?
“It’s a good thing,” Artton repeated. “You should be proud.”
I nodded, not really sure what I felt.
“Here,” Tarrin said from my other side, holding out a flint.
I took it from him with a small smile. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” he said, then went back to finish his own task.
The raging fire had simmered to cooking coals just as the brothers returned with big smiles. Sidrick mussed Kaelun’s hair as they approached, which spurred him to push his elder sibling away with the hand that wasn’t carrying three healthy-sized rabbits already skinned, cleaned, and ready to cook.
“I’ll take those,” Tarrin said, reaching for the rabbits, and it took me back to how he’d found a way to make a gourmet meal at the lake. Stars that felt like a lifetime ago.
Within minutes the rabbits were ready on a makeshift spit someone had fashioned, and each of us found our seats around the fire.
Tarrin dusted the snow off of a rock that tilted sideways as he sat down, leveling out when the unstable side caught on mine, and I didn’t have to glance at Artton to know the exact look he silently threw Tarrin.
It wasn’t lost on me that he tracked the human’s every movement.
Tarrin leaned toward me close enough that I could feel his warmth. Then in a whisper intended only for me, he said, “You can conjure fire?”
If I hadn’t known just how honed in our fae senses could be first-hand, I would’ve thought he’d said it quiet enough to be private, too.
“I can,” I whispered back, not wanting him to feel foolish.
“And it doesn’t. I mean. It doesn’t hurt you at all?”
“No. It doesn’t.”
Tarrin eyes traced my features as if it were the first time he’d seen me—and perhaps it was. Perhaps this was the first time he stopped looking for the Nyleeria he used to know.
“You look… older.”
“A fae matures physically until about the age of a hundred, which is when they look like humans in their late twenties or early thirties. Then their aging is almost non-existent. So, I guess in order to become fae, my body had to mature.”
Sadness crossed his features, as if those years had been stolen from me somehow. Maybe they had, but against the list of things that had been stolen, that one didn’t even compute. “How did they make you fae?” he asked.
I’d tried to explain that they didn’t do anything to me the day he’d woken up, but he wasn’t able to hear me then, and I wondered if he was ready to hear it now.
We hadn’t spent any time alone since then, and I could only imagine the number of questions his mind was swimming with.
If our roles had been reversed, it’s possible I would’ve drowned in them already.
Shifting in my seat to face him a little more, I said, “The fae didn’t change me, Tarrin. The Mother did.”
Deep creases formed between his brows. “The… Mother…” It wasn’t a question or a statement. Rather, it was as if he’d said it in his mind so many times that one of those disbelieving thoughts slipped into existence.
“Yes. The day after I’d left, I followed what I can only describe now as music.
It was like the Mother had crafted her own personal siren song for me and I was helpless to ignore its summons.
I communed with her, Tarrin. I laid my hands on the soft, colorful bark of her tree, and we became one. That’s when she turned me.”
“Did it hurt?” he whispered, and this time the barely audible words weren’t because of the need for privacy.
I shook my head, remembering the dream state of connectedness we’d shared. “No. She healed me in the most beautiful way.”
“And…you’re okay with it? With being fae, I mean?”
I scoffed. “You know better than to ask that question. We both know it doesn’t matter what I’m okay with, Tarrin.”
“May our fate be kind…” he started.
“And may we be strong enough if it’s not,” I finished, repeating the toast I’d made during the first meal we’d shared.
“I’m sorry, Ny,” he said after a long pause. “I’m sorry for all of it.” Tarrin reached out his arm, bringing a hand up to cup my cheek. I blinked, and the hilt of a blade smacked across his knuckles.
Shocked, we both snapped our focus upward, finding a stone-faced Artton no more than a pace or so away. “Try to touch her again, human, and I’ll use the pointy end next time.”
With a swiftness I’d never witnessed from Tarrin, he snatched the blade and flicked it down, driving it harmlessly into the ground as he stood up, facing Artton at eye level.