Chapter 10
Little remains of the writings of ancient Seers, as most of their art was spoken, passed on from master to apprentice.
But there are indications that some things act as conduits between realms quite naturally.
For example, the roots of trees are essentially bridges that carry life, so they can be spelled to lead to other places.
—OLD ONES, ANCIENTS, AND THE FOLK
As mirth reached his eyes, Thea found herself in a sort of stupor. The shadow stranger was even more knee-weakeningly handsome than she’d thought. She wanted to step closer. To touch his cheek to make sure he was real.
He made a movement with his hand—drawing a weapon?—that woke her out of her daze. It was a split second, but she had no time to think, whipping out her blade.
Before she could do more than draw it, shadows swirled over her sword, yanking it to the side with such force that she nearly lost her grip.
Gasping, she moved back a step, putting space between them.
The shadows came at her, twisting like scarves tossed in the air.
She sliced toward them only to find they were not solid at all.
The blade went through as if they were nothing more than breath…
then caught as if stuck in a rock. The contradiction of that blanked her mind as the impact jarred through her hand so painfully, her fingers convulsed.
Her loosened grip was enough for the shadows to disarm her.
The sword floated in the air. She was about to grab for it when it wobbled and fell toward the ground.
She caught it nimbly by the hilt, slashing out again.
The shadows swept at her from different directions, too many to fight. She deployed her finest sword work to keep them off. It lasted until one wrapped around her wrist at the same moment another went for her neck, tightening like a noose. She gasped and choked, one hand reaching up to grab it.
“Enough,” the stranger commanded. “Return to me.”
The shadows loosened from Thea’s neck slowly, almost as if they were sulking. But they moved back to him as ordered, swirling in an agitated orbit.
“I would apologize,” he said, tilting his hand so the darkness wove between his fingers, “but you drew your weapon on me. I’m afraid my shadows don’t like that.”
Thea returned her sword to her scabbard, watching him carefully. Those things were not just shadows, but he’d made his point. She couldn’t harm him. “I thought you were reaching for a weapon.”
His eyes were warmly appreciative. “You are fast for a Sylvan.”
His comment on her speed reminded her of the pixies’ remarks. So what was he, then? “Which makes it sound as if you are not a Sylvan.”
He merely tilted his head to the side, showing his rounded ear.
“Not human, either,” she said. “Humans don’t appear as figments, nor do they have shadows that are both spirit and solid.”
He lifted an eyebrow as if enjoying her reasoning. “Definitely not human.”
“Not a lutin, kobold, or drude,” she said firmly. “You’re so tall, I have to look up at you, which is rare for me.”
“You are quite tall,” he agreed, his tone neutral enough that it was neither compliment nor insult.
“Naiads have hair like seaweed,” she went on. “Dracu have horns. Skrattis have tusks.” She waved a hand at him, indicating his lack thereof.
He grinned. “Regrettably tuskless.” At that lopsided flash of teeth, something fluttered in her stomach.
“I have it,” she said, snapping her fingers. “A pixie.”
He chuckled, and the sound traveled up and down Thea’s arms like a light touch. “Perhaps I am not one of the land folk at all.”
Her suspicions deepened. “Who are you, then?”
Hand to chest, he made a slight bow. “Damon, at your service.”
“And what does Damon’s service involve?”
His smile became wicked.
Thea felt her cheeks heat at her unintentional innuendo. “I didn’t mean…”
He laughed softly again, as if enjoying her discomfiture, his smile so warm it made something ache in her chest, which triggered an alarm in her mind. She did not react that way to strangers, especially ones who were clear threats. Some magic had to be at work here.
He might have noticed a change in her demeanor because his own became more formal. “There are only a few more hours until morning when you need to be back home.” He gestured toward the ballroom. “Will you dance?”
Thea stepped back, though she was reassured by his claim that she was to go home. “I didn’t come here to dance.”
“Didn’t you?” His smile twitched. “The slippers. The dress. What did you think they were for?”
“I had no idea, though now I assume for your personal amusement.” She noted the way his mouth twitched at that. “Where am I?”
“Ah, Sylvan,” he said with a shake of his head. “That is not how things work here. I don’t answer questions for nothing. You have much to learn about my realm.”
“Since it’s your realm, you can tell me.” She lifted the hem of her skirt, watching as his eyes followed the movement. A wash of heat flooded her bloodstream, making her dizzy.
His effect on her was unnerving. Twitching one of the daggers from its sheath, she let the skirt fall. “Or should I try to get past those shadows again?” Longing to redeem herself from the last attempt, she threw her blade at his thigh.
The shadows caught it, twisted it, and handed him the dagger. As she’d thought.
Her lips twisted. “Worth a try.”
“If you’ve had your fun,” he said, offering her the hilt.
Thea sheathed the knife, frowning as he offered his hand. He was affecting her badly enough already. Instead, she retraced her steps to the front of the castle, striding ahead of him.
“We can dance without touching,” she said firmly, stopping as she reached the doorway. “I don’t trust this place or anyone in it.” She eyed the Skratti with suspicion.
“Fine,” Damon agreed, moving to stand beside her. “However, you can’t dance with a sword.” He pointed at a statue of a woman supporting a round disc over her head—clearly the Ancient Solis, holding the sun. “Put it there. It’s no use to you anyway. We’ve established you can’t hurt me.”
Thea leaned her sword against the statue, turning to find that Damon had followed her. He wasn’t standing close, but she still felt the power of his presence as if he were. “It’s not only you I’m worried about.”
“Ah.” His brow furrowed. “I thought there was some sort of truce between the Sylvans and Azpians.”
So, he was at least somewhat informed. “The Skrattis have been breaking it.”
“You folk and your squabbles.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, there’s only one way to find out if this Skratti has a thirst for Sylvan blood.” He gestured toward the dance.
Not much of an invitation, but Thea would not shy from a confrontation. She needed answers, and if he wanted blood on his dance floor, so be it.