Chapter 20
V ada helps me plant three seeds in little pots and settle them in Kallan’s room.
They won’t need light yet, but if they grow, she promises to put them in her garden and help me tend them.
To each, we add a few strands of my hair and a few drops of my blood from a pricked finger.
The hair was Vada’s idea. A worthy use of my gift, she said.
The blood was mine. It’s human spirits that are said to enhance fae magic.
Not our blood, hair, or bones. But Unseelie beliefs have persisted for ages.
If bone and hair can help, as their legends suggest, then maybe living blood can do even better.
No sooner have we scrubbed the dirt from our hands than Katiya arrives, telling us it's time for the celebration. Her typical armor remains. But thick swaths of coal line her eyes, and her hair is partially braided, pulled back, and decorated with small objects that look a little too much like bone for my liking. She’s the one who leads me from the room as Vada hurries off to change for the celebration.
Night has fallen. Torches and candles in the windows and archways along either side of the gorge light the space, along with more on the canyon floor and a few small bonfires.
Strings bearing purple banners painted with various symbols are stretched from one side of the gorge to the other, providing colorful decorations floating above those gathered on the ground.
Joyful conversation, mixed with notes of celebration and lively music, enlivens the night. I truly hope their wards conceal sound because this riot will no doubt carry some distance, despite the high cliff walls squeezing us all in.
My pulse increases with each step I take in the wake of Katiya’s long-legged stride.
“What is going to happen tonight?” I venture with a hesitant glance at the party going on below. “At the celebration?”
Katiya slows and slips into step at my side.
She grips my wrist, eliciting a gasp of surprise.
The long claws at the tips of her fingers graze my skin, but do not cut.
“Still so nervous?” Her fingers drum against my pulse.
“I told you before. We will dance and celebrate your arrival. Any reason for hope is a good one.”
A chorus of drumbeats begins below, the sound seeming to resonate through the very stone around us.
“They don’t think I’m bait like the last one?” I ask.
Her grip tightens ever so slightly. Kallan may believe me innocent, but I sense his sister is not entirely convinced or maybe just very wary. Not that I can blame her for that.
“They do not know of that one,” she says, a slight hiss to her words. “Only those who were there and his closest advisers.”
“But those Unseelie who found me…”
Katiya draws us to a stop. “Orek,” she bites out the name, “was there that night.” Her lips purse.
“He is one of our commanders and holds deep hate for all Seelie and any he believes touched by them, even humans. He wished the last one sent away or used poorly.” She grimaces.
“It is one of many things he and my brother disagree on, and that he was proven right on that human’s intent has only emboldened him and his beliefs. ”
“He’s a separatist?” I lean in and ask in a whisper, reminded of what Kallan told me when I believed him to be Elias.
She opens her mouth to speak then closes it again. “No,” she says slowly, almost doubtfully. “But there are those who wish Orek king, though the magic of our land did not choose him. He is the head of a powerful clan. Many follow him.”
Great. My stomach drops, and I find myself staring at the floor.
Katiya lifts my chin with those long-clawed fingers, her other hand still firmly gripping my wrist. When I finally meet her sharp gaze, she says, “You are not there now. You are here. I am taking you to present you to my brother so that all may see you are under his protection, even if you do not yet bear his mark. Be bold, Aimee.” She smiles, exposing her fangs, before releasing my chin.
“You are hope. You are life.” She gestures for me to lift my head and mimics the act herself.
“Do not let the ills of others dim you.”
The music grows as we descend to the ground level. The urge to turn and flee grows with each step. Without Katiya’s firm grip on my wrist, I likely would. I’m not one for the limelight. Never have been.
“Lift your head. Do not be afraid,” Katiya says just loud enough to be heard over the music.
The words are for me, yet her attention is focused straight ahead, her confident grin and intense gaze for those gathered just ahead to turn to stare and gawk.
I swallow against the tightness in my throat and do what she says, lifting my chin high, my shoulders sliding back.
Hopefully, no one can see the slight quiver in my limbs.
The gathered fae peel back before us, creating an open pathway straight down the center of the gorge. I can’t see where it leads beyond the turn ahead, but I know who waits there at the end.
A wave of conversation ripples through the crowd as they part.
Katiya strides ahead, me at her side. We’re quite the contrasting pair—her in full black armor that’s skintight to her lithe form, from the knee-high boots to the fitted bodice and sleeves.
The only splash of color is her pink tail, the tight pants fitted to accommodate it, and her matching hair.
But me? I’m a cascade of dark violet, the color mirrored in some of the decorations but a sharp contrast to the more neutral tones of the clothes of most of the fae around us.
Chin up. Breathe.
I repeat the mantra over and over as we march at a steady clip down the pathway.
Katiya does not wave or motion to the crowd, so neither do I.
The fae around us look and shout words lost in the music, but none reach out to touch us or block our path.
It’s a level of discipline and respect humans never seem to muster.
It’s especially impressive with not a soldier in sight to keep them in place.
The walk is long, and time passes far too slowly. But then I focus on the sight ahead and breath catches in my throat.
The Unseelie King stands at the front of a raised platform in his full armor, even a helm, one which I’ve yet to see him wear.
It conceals his face from view with only two holes for his eyes and a slit at the mouth.
Even his ears are covered with two black cones poking up amid the other vicious-looking spikes angled back from his face.
In a way, it almost looks like the head of a dragon, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s the inspiration, though I didn’t know such creatures existed in Faery or in their lore.
His long hair is loose, hanging down behind him like a short cloak.
He's unmoving as we approach, legs apart, hands gripping the hilt of his sword, whose point rests on the wood between his legs. The silver blade gleams in the light toward its black hilt and tip, but I notice again that the middle section of the blade’s length is dark.
His presence is magnetic. Powerful. It would be hard not to stare at his imposing form, even if the weight of his gaze wasn’t a tangible thing drawing me to him across the space between us.
I don’t need to see beyond his mask to know that his attention is fully on me, almost like a lure, drawing me closer.
I no longer need Katiya’s guiding hand, nor do I need to remind myself to lift my head.
We’re almost to the short flight of steps leading up to the platform when I finally glance at those standing behind their king.
Vada’s face is a comfort, as is the gentle smile she sends my way.
Another healer I recognize as well. The third one causes me to freeze then stumble as Katiya pulls me ever forward.
Orek. He stands off to the left side of the platform, arms crossed, a deep scowl on his face, and a narrowed gaze piercing me like a dagger. His lips wrinkle, baring his fangs, before he mouths one word clear as day.
Bait.
I snap my attention back to Kallan, resolutely refusing to look at those around him. The music dwindles to a murmur. Conversation has dropped to whispers, as if everyone holds a collective breath.
Katiya does not stop at the stairs but leads us up to stand a few feet in front of her brother.
She does not bow but inclines her head to him, a gesture which Kallan returns, the first time I’ve seen him move.
Finally, she releases my arm. A tingling sensation begins in my fingers, blood rushing back into them. I didn’t realize her grip was so firm.
Kallan shifts his sword to one hand and extends the other to me, that open black gauntlet like an invitation from a knight of death. That’s how the Seelie see him. How he wants to be seen. But it’s him as Elias that I see as I slide my hand into his.
His sister quickly steps away, and Kallan fills the void, turning me as he does so that I face the assembled fae. The pathway we walked down has closed. It’s just a mass of expectant gazes now, filling every inch of the gorge as far as I can see.
He raises his sword high in the air then our joined hands. Cheers ring out, the sound so deafening I hunch in toward Kallan’s side, half expecting the cliffs to crumble around us.
My legs tremble. Even my breath becomes short.
They’re cheering for him. For me. But what have I done?
You are hope. You are life. Katiya’s words echo through my mind, strong and sure amid the cacophony.
But I haven’t helped them yet. I have done nothing to give hope or life. And the one I came to save isn’t even in Faery.
There’s so much joy for a simple hope. It pours from every face here, every raised voice.
Even the music thrums with possibility. Tears burn at the corners of my eyes.
I didn’t come for them. I didn’t even consider all of these people when I ventured here, only me and my brother.
I was willing to risk myself for him, for my twin, who got all the shit luck in life, while I’ve had many blessings.
It felt like the least I could do. My hope, my prayer.
Find a cure for Matt and leave as soon as I can. Maybe do as the coven asked. That was the plan when I came here.
But now, the thought of leading Kallan into danger makes me ill. No. That’s not happening. I can’t.
I glance up at Kallan, though I can see nothing but the side of his helm. I cannot betray the man who has helped and protected me. I won’t.
Leaving him… I pinch my eyes shut. That is going to be hard enough. Would the coven let me come back after I return to Earth with the potion for Matt?
Maybe. But maybe not. Especially if they realize I can’t keep my end of the deal.
There’s a good chance that, once I leave, I’m never coming back.
Our joined hands lower, but I’ve yet to open my eyes again. Guilt has settled like a heavy weight on my chest, and I can’t bear to see so much expectation that I know I’ll fail to meet.
Kallan turns us away from the crowd and deeper onto the platform.
His hand slips from mine, and I suck in a breath, suddenly adrift. But the sensation is fleeting. A moment later, he’s touching my cheek, his warmth nearly cocooning me.
“Aimee.” Urgency fills his voice. “Are you all right?”
Finally, I force my eyes open. He still wears his helm, but he’s brought his face level with mine, his golden eyes searching my face in earnest.
“It’s just so much,” I manage to say. Too much. “They’re reacting like I’m some sort of savior. But I’m no one. I’m nothing.” The words spill out in a rush. I’m almost shouting, but they barely reach my ears over everything else.
“You’re far from nothing.” He must have sheathed his sword because he draws me closer with an arm around my back.
I shake my head. “I’m not.”
Kallan cups my face in his palm. “No one can be everything that others need. You can only be who you are. But if they want to celebrate you for that, if people find hope and joy because of who you are, let them.” His thumb strokes my cheek, wiping away a rogue tear.
“Let them, Aimee. Hear them and know that you are enough just as you are.”
“But I’m—”
“You are enough,” he repeats, that thumb still soothing my skin. But his gaze has slid to the side and is far away.
Kallan drops his hand, and I blink rapidly, suddenly wondering if we’re no longer talking about me at all.
Maybe, none of this is really about me at all but only about the power I can provide their king. Some might feel slighted by that, but for me, it makes it easier to hear their joy. If it’s not me they celebrate exactly, it lightens the pressure on my heart.
Get it together, Aimee. This isn’t about you. I pull in a deep breath.
If there’s anything I’ve perfected over the years, it’s putting on a brave face when I’m crumbling inside. Kallan’s gaze settles back on me.
I give him a firm nod. “Thank you. I’m okay.”
He nods in return, his arm settling on my shoulder.
It’s still there, firm and supportive, when I turn back to the crowd, give them my best smile, and dip into what I hope is a decent-looking curtsey.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Kallan’s hand slide from my shoulder and extend at my side.
I take it, letting him lift me back to my full height.
The roar of the crowd increases, the sound vibrating through the platform on which we stand.
I stand there beaming, seeing everything and nothing, for at least a full minute or two before Kallan gives me a gentle squeeze. I turn to him, finding I’m somehow much calmer than moments ago.
“What now?” I ask.
“Now the people drink and dance and celebrate.”
That’s it?
“For how long?” I ask instead.
He chuckles. “As long as they wish.”
“And us?”
His fingers flex on mine at the comment. “We celebrate as well, if you wish.”