Chapter 18
Take heed before stepping through a doorway to another realm. There is a danger when entering the land of spirits that one may become lost.
—EXCHARIAS, SYLVAN POET
When Thea returned to her bedchamber, it was late evening, and another dress was waiting on her hearth.
A traitorous thrill went through her, as did her usual aversion to magic, as she moved to inspect it. She told herself this was merely another opportunity to find out more and to bring information back to the pixies.
The orange-and-black fabric was thicker than the previous gowns.
She picked it up by the shoulders and saw that it wasn’t a dress at all, but three pieces: a shirt, jacket, and trousers.
The jacket had a long train, and wings had been sewn onto the back.
They looked like butterfly wings, and the way they were sewn, it appeared they could move as she walked.
The trousers were black and had pockets.
Instead of the usual slippers, there was a pair of sturdy leather shoes with modest heels.
The choice of trousers, which would allow her ease of movement and a full stride, seemed almost…
considerate. Was Damon that observant? Was this part of the charm he exerted over people, making them feel special and seen?
Perhaps the same charm that Erebus had used on Solis—Thea should not underestimate it.
Given what she’d learned from Sunflower, she needed to keep her guard up at all times.
But she smoothed her hand over the cloth wings, helpless against appreciation for their beauty.
Should she accept this invitation? It happened to be her night off from patrol, so at least she wouldn’t have to rush back. And she did need more information, especially now that she’d agreed to help the pixies.
Decision made, she threw off her patrol clothes and donned the outfit Damon had sent.
When she glanced at the looking glass, her eyes went wide.
The clothes transformed her into a new creature, neither butterfly nor Sylvan, but a blend of both.
She took a breath, noticing how the bodice tightened over her breasts.
The neckline was… low. Heat ran through her veins at the idea of Damon seeing her in this.
She put on the shoes. Once again, she was taken through the forest to the walnut tree. The breath caught in her chest at a flash of silver in the darkness. It was there and gone in the blink of an eye, too quick to be sure she’d seen it.
Standing on the root brought her through the portal, and she emerged into the Forgotten Realm in the area of trees near the shore. As soon as her feet touched the finer gravel near the water, the boat arrived to take her across the river.
When she reached the castle, the couples were visible through the open doors, stepping slowly through their dances. Their eyes looked glassier than usual. By contrast, the lights in the ballroom looked brighter.
Damon was waiting in the doorway, his shadows like moving smudges against the backdrop of the ballroom lights. He was dressed all in black, a shirt with loose sleeves and a fitted vest. His hair was brushed off his forehead, his dark eyebrows as velvety as his vest.
He bowed from the waist as she approached, his eyes never leaving hers. She watched a pulse jump in his throat, appreciating his reaction to her. As a flush swept into her cheeks, she came to a stop close enough that she could reach out and touch that dark hair if she wanted.
“I hardly know what to say,” he said at last, his voice rough. He swallowed before continuing. “I congratulated myself on my design. I thought it would suit you. Now, I…” His nostrils flared as his eyes dipped to her shoulders, waist, and down to her feet. “I see I miscalculated.”
Her shoulders were proudly straight as his eyes came back to hers. “It doesn’t suit me?”
“It adores you,” he said softly. “It shows you for what you should be. A queen.”
She looked away, thrown off by a reminder of her mother. “I’ll never be a queen. I don’t want to be.”
“A leader, then,” he amended. His eyes conveyed something honeyed and thick. Her pulse responded. She could understand why others craved his attention. It was heady, and she enjoyed the thrill of risk.
He stayed still and silent, the moment stretching. Shadows wove around his neck and shoulders, like a moving collar to complement his black vest. His eyes moved up and met hers. “Do you like the clothes?”
She couldn’t lie. “Yes. The outfit is surprisingly comfortable.” And I feel beautiful in it, especially with the way you’re looking at me.
“I—” He looked back at the ballroom for a moment, his shadows moving as slowly as the dancers. He seemed bothered, his face drawn into harsh lines. “Let’s not go in there. Not tonight.”
She looked at him in surprise. “You told me I have to come to the dance every night.”
He swallowed. “Yes, that is the rule. But… you are here. I’m just changing the entertainment. We don’t have to dance.” He turned back to look at her, his eyes bright. “Why don’t we go in the boat along the river? See where it takes us?”
She gave him a searching look. “Don’t you know where it leads? Sometimes you talk as if you don’t know this land well at all. This is your home.”
“This has never been my home.” His eyes shifted, and he sniffed the air. “Let’s go somewhere else. This once.”
Hearing the urgency in his tone, she put her hand in his without thinking. A spark of excitement skimmed through her at the texture of his skin, and she saw something happen in his eyes as their hands met. His lips parted, then softly closed. He looked as if he’d been struck speechless.
“The boat?” she asked, hearing the hoarseness in her own voice.
He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers.
She dropped her hand and turned away, her pulse pounding in her temples.
She would have to be careful how much physical contact she allowed.
Allowed? Inwardly, she laughed at herself.
She had initiated contact. What about this invitation?
Should she trust it? She had no idea where he meant to take her.
And yet… somehow she did trust him, at least in this moment. In a way, she had no choice.
She embarked first, sitting on the bench seat while Damon stepped in and sat facing her. As the oars began turning, Damon spoke, his head turned to the side. “Take us anywhere. Stay on the water.”
Thea wondered who he was talking to. Was there a spirit steering the boat? Shadows? She could ask, but he might count that as one of her allotted questions.
“What are you thinking, Sylvan?” he asked, the tone warm and inviting. “Something interesting is happening behind those entrancing brown eyes.”
Thea couldn’t help a pulse of pleasure at his compliment. No one had ever called her eyes entrancing before. “The dancers look worse off than last time.”
After a pause, Damon appeared to decide something. “I have defenses around the castle so no one can spy on me. But most importantly, the dance feeds the magic. If even one dancer does not show up, my defenses are weakened.”
Thea knew that revelry could feed magic. Sylvans believed that laughter and dance helped create the life force that kept the forest thriving. “So that’s why you said I need to come here every night.”
He inclined his head. “Your presence makes the castle stronger.”
Does that mean I’m becoming weaker? Are you stealing my life force?
Instinctively, she felt he wouldn’t answer such a direct question, even as more crowded her tongue.
What do you know about my mother? Do you even know anything, or is this all a lie? A game? A way to worm the shadows of your realm into my world?
Are you Erebus?
Surely he wouldn’t tell her, even if he was.
Damon leaned toward Thea, his hair falling over his eyes. Her fingers itched to sweep the strands back, to rake her fingers through his thick, luxurious dark hair. What would it be like to dishevel him properly? She bit the inside of her lip, the pain a reminder to stay alert.
He raised a brow. “You have a particularly bloodthirsty look about you. What’s bothering you?”
“Your magic,” she said flatly. “Stop using it on me.”
Both brows rose. “What exactly do you think I’m doing?”
“Your… charm.” She made a motion with her hand, indicating him. “The thing you use to lure folk into your realm. You don’t have to cudgel me over the head with it.”
He blinked twice, then a slow smile curved his lips. “Well.”
She blew a piece of stray hair off her forehead, her eyes narrowing at the satisfaction in his eyes. “Well, what?”
His grin was so wide, it was almost insulting. “You think I’m using my charm on you.”
She felt her jaw stiffen. “I want you to stop.”
He laughed, low and rich, the sound bringing a frisson of awareness to the bare skin of her neck. She resisted the urge to rub her hands over her arms, glaring at him instead.
“Thea,” he said, his lips twitching. “I’m not using my magic.”
His denial only made her temper fray. “Don’t lie.”
His chin came up, his eyes losing some of that satisfied gleam.
He looked around as if searching for some way to persuade her.
“I used it in Thirstwood when I was trying to get you to wear the dresses. But not here.” The smile in his eyes made him even more attractive.
“However, you are charmed.” He said it as if tasting, relishing the words.
She made a dismissive gesture, hating that she was probably blushing. “No one could fail to notice you’re incredibly handsome. I’m sure it’s part of the… lure. The trap.” She turned her head to the side, trying to get control of herself. She’d intended to insult him, and he was clearly flattered.
“Come, Sylvan, you can look at me again,” he coaxed, laughter in his voice. “If it doesn’t make you swoon.”
“I do not,” she spat, her hand going to a sword that wasn’t there, “swoon.” She turned back to glare at him.
He was only inches away. If she leaned forward, she could take his cheek in her palm and…
she shook her head to clear it. “Since I don’t know what’s true and what’s not, I’d be foolish to find anything you say flattering.
By that same logic, you shouldn’t look so smug about what I said.
” She tried for an arch look, not sure she was pulling it off. “How do you know I was sincere?”
His lips twitched. “Ah, but Sylvans don’t lie.”
He had her there. He had her all muddled.
The silent boat moved past more silver trees, reminding Thea of her mission tonight.
Answers. She would start with something he might actually share.
Perhaps he’d be inspired to boast if she phrased this skillfully.
“You’ve been getting past our wards. No one has ever managed it.
Scarhamm is the best protected place in Thirstwood, and somehow you’ve sent me dresses. Directly to my bedchamber, no less.”
“Mm, yes, fire can create a convenient weak spot in the wards.” He motioned to the dark shapes curling about his neck and wrists, like some sort of strange accessory. “And my shadows are very good at finding and exploiting weakness.”
A flaw in the wards in her own bedchamber. She had to tell Veleda. “A rare direct answer, though not much of one. I suppose you won’t tell me more.”
He seemed to find her frustration amusing. “I shouldn’t have told you that much. I shouldn’t be tempted to answer these questions.”
“But you are tempted,” she pointed out, testing his resolve with a mischievous smile.
His smile softened, but the look in his eyes became more intense. “I reprimanded you for your directness when we first met, but I find I like it. No one in my life has ever been so forthright.”
“You haven’t known many Sylvans, then.” As soon as she said it, she realized it couldn’t be true.
There was a Sylvan at his dance. It was too easy to let her guard down around him.
“There are reports of silver trees in Thirstwood, and the only place I’ve seen them is here in your world.
It seems to me that your realm is bleeding over into mine, and not just through my hearth. What does it mean?”
He seemed to sense her shift in mood, his face becoming more serious. “Your wards are, indeed, weakening. I believe your father’s magic must be waning. My realm should not cross into yours, except in a few specific places where vestiges of old magic make the veil thin.”
“Specific places,” Thea repeated, her pulse picking up speed at the thought that he might finally tell her something important. “Like the walnut tree with the root that brings me here?”
He inclined his head. “That tree is one of the few that still belong to my father.”
“Your father?” Thea asked, expecting him not to answer, to realize he’d said too much and shut down the conversation. But he surprised her.
“My father is Erebus,” Damon said, a stillness about him as he waited for her reaction. “The king of shadows.”