Chapter 3 #2
Thea cleared her throat to buy herself a second to think of a polite reply. “Yes, we must seem rather plodding to you. Pixies are nimble.” She hoped the compliment would massage any ruffled feathers.
“They can’t help it,” Winter said, taking a sip from his thimble. “Trees grow slowly. As do Sylvans. But they can be taught.”
Thea bit the inside of her cheek. She hated not being able to speak her mind. For the past several years, the only diplomacy she’d employed was granting enemies a quick death. She did not have the patience for this.
“If you’ll pardon me,” she said, standing, “my sister needs me.” It was true in a general sense.
“She seems perfectly content to me,” Autumn observed, her eyes shifting from Enora to Thea. “You’re not looking for an excuse to leave us, are you?”
Thea’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
She could not lie. If a tactician knows anything, it’s when to retreat.
“Excuse me.” Turning on her heel, she made her way across the room, cursing under her breath.
She’d bungled that. Why had Enora assigned her the pixies?
She’d rather have talked to Fen, even if his conversation was dangerously boring.
As she neared the table of naiads, Enora shook her head subtly as if to say, “Not now.” She must be learning something the naiads were reluctant to share.
Thea gave a slight nod and headed to the fireplace.
Wick had returned to the bar and was talking with the pixies, probably saying all the right things to smooth over Thea’s abrupt departure.
“Difficult things, aren’t they?” a deep voice said from behind her.
Thea spun to face the chair, which she’d somehow forgotten was occupied.
It wasn’t like her to be unaware of anyone in her vicinity.
A tall, lean young man with a face hidden by shadows lounged in a relaxed way, one leg stretched toward the fire, the other bent.
She examined him. Velvet and silk clothing.
Rings glittering on his fingers. Too refined for the Grotto.
“You look surprised,” he said, the firelight illuminating well-shaped lips. “Did I startle you?”
Her shoulders tightened at the blunt reminder that she hadn’t been alert to her surroundings. “I was distracted.”
He turned to look at the bar, then back at her. “The pixies were rather rude.”
“Eavesdropping is rude.”
He smiled, showing even, white teeth. “It’s almost as if they know you have a temper and were trying to ignite it. Is your anger a thing worth seeing?”
“Maybe.” Thea took a step closer. The shadows were strangely thick so near the fireplace.
“You’d like a better look at me, I suppose,” the stranger said, his tone neutral, almost bored.
He murmured something and the firelight fell on his face, illuminating him.
Thea’s breath caught in her chest, an instinctive reaction as her mind tried to understand what she was seeing.
He couldn’t have been Sylvan because his ears did not come to a distinctive point at the top.
He was too tall to be any of the other forest folk.
And he couldn’t be a human because she had never heard them described as ethereally, devastatingly handsome.
Which he was. Also, a human would have been devoured by the trees long before it could find its way this deep into Thirstwood.
The longer she looked at him, the less she could think. His eyes were dark, his hair darker, and shadows clung in defined arcs under his pale cheekbones and jaw. She could look at him all day.
Go closer, some instinct said.
“Breathe,” said the stranger.
Thea blew out an angry breath. She never forgot to breathe.
But she had.
Someone opened and closed the door, admitting a gust of wind that rattled cups behind the bar, carrying with it the scent of blood.
Though Thea wasn’t as connected to the trees of Thirstwood as Cassia, she sensed the forest’s anticipation, a muted but distinct awareness, the blood trees readying for violence.
This stranger was a threat, and the forest sensed it.
“Who are you?” she demanded, her hand resting on her sword hilt.
His eyes glittered as he looked her over. “Straight and tall as a pine, lovely as a willow, fearsome as a winter storm.”
Her upper lip curled. “That’s from ‘The Ballad of the Sylvan King’s Daughters.’ Don’t listen to lutin bards. They don’t hold truth in as high regard as Sylvans do.”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t see the lie. Well met.”
A frisson of awareness slid over her arms at the way he looked at her. “Who are you?” she demanded again. “I’ve never seen you here before.”
He made a gesture as if tipping a hat, shadows swirling over his fingers. “I’m a traveler. You may think of me as a friendly stranger.”
“Only forest folk are welcome here.” She made a quick decision, knowing her sister and Burke would agree. “As you’ve trespassed, I’m taking you back to Scarhamm for questioning.”
His melodious chuckle made her want to close her eyes as if she were listening to beautiful music.
“You trespassed first,” he replied.
Thea had to take her eyes off him, if only to prove to herself that she could. So beautiful.
He tilted his head. “You don’t even know what you did. Do you?” The shadows swirled around him, touching his forehead and cheeks as if to reassure themselves he was there. She wanted to touch him, too. “If I had any feelings,” he murmured, “I might think that was sad.”
His vagueness and the pity in his tone set her off. She grabbed for his arm, prepared to haul him back to Scarhamm.
Her hand passed through him as if he weren’t there.
A chill ran from her neck to the small of her back. Impossible! “What foul magic is this?”
“I’ll tell you.” He leaned in, his grin returning as he watched her shiver. “If you wear the dress.”