Chapter 21 Wren
It’s been a long time since anyone has hugged me like that. It’s not like I’m entirely friendless, but the fey aren’t always the most physically affectionate of people. Even Zephyr, who’s easily my favourite, doesn’t hold me like that often.
It’s just because he said thank you, I tell myself. You just feel guilty for lying to him. You just don’t like that he trusts you.
I remind myself that my grandmother would be very pleased by this development, but it doesn’t help me a great deal as we make our way back to the castle. Cassiel trots slowly next to me, keeping pace. I try not to look at him other than to make sure he’s safe.
We stable the horses and make our way back to his room. He sits down to pull off his boots and winces.
“Take off your shirt,” I insist.
“My, Thornvale, I think you ought to buy me a drink first.”
My cheeks heat, and I’m very glad he can’t see them. “I’m checking for injuries,” I snap back.
Cassiel sighs. He begins unbuttoning his shirt, and I step into the bathroom to gather supplies. Cassiel is shirtless when I return.
He’s put on a fair bit of weight and muscle. He’s still slim, but there’s a slight broadness to his shoulders and clear defined pectorals, glistening under a faint sheen of sweat.
They would look better if it wasn’t for the bruise across his chest.
Cassiel angles his face towards mine. “Like what you see?”
Damn him. I step closer, not troubling that with an answer. I unscrew the lid of the bruise ointment and apply it to his skin. His skin is painfully smooth, as beautiful as any fey’s. It prickles slightly under my touch. It makes him look better and so, so much worse.
Cassiel inhales. So do I.
Breathe normally!
“Wait…” says Cassiel, “do you like what you see?”
“I like seeing the fruits of my labours,” I snap. “And, sure, I enjoy knowing that you’re not starving to death.”
“You say the kindest things…”
“It’s been said.”
There’s a very abrupt knock on the door, and then Queen Alessandra bursts into the room. “Cassiel, I just wanted to remind you that—”
She stops shortly. My hand is still hovering over her son’s bare chest.
“I’m fairly sure this isn’t what it looks like,” Cassiel says dryly. “Unless, of course, it looks like Wren is doctoring me, in which case, it’s exactly what it looks like.”
Alessandra’s gaze wanders over his bruised torso. “What happened to you?”
“I fell off my horse.”
“It’s my fault, Your Majesty—” I begin.
Cassiel glares, although I’m not sure if it’s at me or his mother. “No, it bloody well isn’t.”
Alessandra, meanwhile, breaks into a smile. “You were riding?”
“Yes.”
“How was it?”
“Refreshing,” he says stonily. “Until I fell off.”
She barks a short laugh. “Good,” she says. “That’s good. I just came to remind you that Lady Lunarta is visiting in two days’ time, should you wish to… make any special preparations.”
Cassiel groans. “I had forgotten. Thank you, Mother. Is there anything else?”
“No, that’s it.”
Alessandra hovers in the doorway.
“Why is everyone staring today?” Cassiel snaps.
“No reason,” Alessandra says. “You just… you look good, son.”
The ghost of a smile flashes across Cassiel’s face. “Thank you, Mother.”
The queen shuffles out, and the two of us are alone once more.
I finish doctoring Cassiel’s chest and hand his shirt back to him. He wriggles into it without much difficulty. “Did I look bad, before?” he asks. “I mean, I knew I was skinny, but—”
“‘Bad’ isn’t the word I would use—”
He catches my hand. “Please, Wren.”
I swallow. “You didn’t look healthy,” I tell him. “You… you could see your ribs.”
“I see.” His fingers slide against mine, tips pressing against my palm. He finds my other, too. It’s an action I first take as affectionate, but there’s something else in it. Exploratory.
“Your hands are calloused,” he remarks at last.
“Of course they are,” I tell him. “Also, I’m scowling at you.”
Cassiel goes quiet for a moment. “I don’t like not being able to see people, when they can see me,” he says at last, like he’s confessing to a sordid crime.
My scowl fades immediately. I keep my hands limp, because otherwise I’m afraid of squeezing his. “I know.”
What else can I say to that?
Cassiel sighs, dropping my hands. “Sit with me,” he requests, tapping lightly on the table. “Open the curtains.”
I’m only too happy to do so. I flood the room with light.
Cassiel turns his face towards it, basking in the glow of the sun.
I open the windows, letting in sound and scent.
The ivy around the windows is punctuated with cascades of purple rock cress—more on the side near my room, which is unusual given the shady position.
I hope no one notices. It doesn’t exactly scream ‘a fey lives here’ but it doesn’t help.
“Are the flowers in bloom?” Cassiel asks me.
“Yes,” I reply. “Who is Lady Lunarta?”
“A suitor,” he tells me. “I’ve never met her before, but part of an agreement I have with Mother is that once every two months, I’ll agree to meet with someone.”
It never occurred to me that Cassiel would be interested in marriage. The thought sits uneasily inside my chest, or perhaps it’s just the way he says it. It’s far from enthusiastic. “Are you so desperate for marriage?”
“No,” he says, before running a hand down his face. “Yes. It’s complicated.”
I pour myself a drink of water from the pitcher on the table, and pass one to him. We both drink thirstily. “I have no plans,” I remind him.
He sighs. “I’ve always liked the idea of marriage, companionship, friendship,” he tells me.
“Before, anyway. My parents were very happy together, and I want that for myself. I’ve always known that I would have to marry and marry young because Evander’s gay, so unless Runara beats me to it—unlikely—my children will be the future heirs. ”
I wonder if this is what my grandmother has sent me to do—to sabotage his attempts at a match. But if that was the case, why wouldn’t she trust me with that knowledge?
“I see.”
Sometimes, strange as it sounds, I forget that he’s royalty. It seems impossible to believe that Cassiel’s children could one day be kings and queens—that his offspring will be hunting my kind. His children could be killing mine for generations to come. Could be killing me, if I outlive him.
Which I probably will. Whatever my grandmother’s plans for him, I’m half-fey, and he’s human. I can’t imagine our lifespans will match up.
Never forget what you are, my grandmother told me. And she’s right. I shouldn’t. I am one of the fair folk, and he will hate me when he realises.
“I think Mother also hopes that a marriage might lift my spirits,” Cassiel goes on.
“Romance usually does.”
“Marriage and romance are not necessarily the same thing,” he tells me, in a way that’s far too sage for a man of his years. “I don’t want marriage, per say, I want—”
“Love?”
“Connection,” he corrects. “And connection when you can’t see a person is… harder.”
I don’t tell him that sometimes, even outside of sparring with him, I close my eyes and try to imagine what it would be like not to be able to open them—to exist in darkness. Fumbling around my room getting dressed is a hard enough task. To imagine walking through life that way is… difficult.
I don’t tell him. I don’t want him to think I pity him. But the truth is… I can imagine it, and I don’t like it.
“Why go on these dates at all, then?”
Cassiel shrugs. “It pleases my mother.”
He says nothing more, staring sightlessly out of the window. I sip my water and refill his glass. Minutes stretch by, not uncomfortably.
“You can see the forest from here, can you not?” Cassiel says eventually.
“You can.”
“Describe it to me.”
“Well, um…” I stare out at the mass of trees beyond the castle walls. “It’s very vast and very green.”
“That’s it?”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“Comment on the skies. The contrast of green and blue. The sun setting over it—”
“It’s not sunset.”
“See, I would know that, if you bothered to describe it properly.” He sighs, clicking his tongue in frustration.
He points roughly in the direction of the desk.
“There’s a book of poetry over there,” he tells me.
“Small. Green. A Walk Through Nature. There’s a poem towards the back called On Forest’s Spires. Read it to me.”
I locate the book and flick towards the back. It takes me a while to find the right poem. Cassiel grumbles underneath his breath the entire time, his fingers twitching like he wants to grab it from my hands and flip through it for me.
Finally, I find it and begin to read.
“Beneath the vaulted sky where soft winds play, The forest spires rise in a golden light, Their emerald crowns embrace the fleeting day, And whisper secrets to the coming night.
Their columns stand as temples carved in green, A hallowed hall where lovers dare to dream, The sunlight spills through boughs in gilded sheen, And dances bright upon a silver stream.
O’ sacred glades where time itself stands still, Where petals drift like embers on the air, Your leafy choirs hum a tune so chill, Yet wrap the heart in warmth beyond compare.
No grander court could heaven e’er bestow, Than woodland spires in evening’s amber glow.”
Cassiel is smiling when I finish. “There,” he says triumphantly. “That’s how you describe a forest.”
I arch a brow. “That’s how a poet describes a forest. Us regular folk don’t need that many words.”
“Everyone needs that many words. That’s why they exist in the first place.”
I snort. “Come again?”
Cassiel leans forward. “Look, you can argue that there are too many words for ‘small,’ but if I tell you I have three kittens, and one is small, one is little, and one is tiny—you know which one’s the smallest, right?”
I tilt my head. “The tiny one.”
“Exactly. We have to have the different words. It gives everything meaning.”
I roll my shoulders, considering. “I never thought about that before.”
He grins. “I’m sure there’s quite a few things you’ve never thought about, Thornvale.”
I flick water at him, but he only chuckles.
“I take it you’re not familiar with many other languages?” he muses.
For the first time, he doesn’t seem like he’s lording his education over me. It’s far more polite curiosity, like he genuinely wants to know more about me. I wonder how he’d react if I reply, “Does Ancient fey count?”
“No,” I say instead. “I’m not.”
“In Florwellian, did you know, they only have one word for love? There’s no ‘like.’ There is only hate, neutral, and love. Apparently, the tone carries more meaning, but that baffled me when I found out. That’s one word where you’d really think nuance would be required.”
“Hmm.” I take my father’s dagger from my belt and turn it idly in my hand, watching the sunlight dance across the bird engraving on the blade. “I didn’t know that.”
“Conversely, in Xadenese, they have five.”
I glance at him, almost dropping my dagger. “Five words for love?”
He nods, gesturing as though mapping them in the air.
“Which, I have to say, makes a lot more sense. They have maresh for ‘more than neutral’—fond, perhaps. Then venar for ‘I like you more than most of the others’—a phrase that can be platonic. Then syen for ‘this person means a lot to me.’ Then luthen for lovers. And then, finally—vastren.”
“What does that one mean?” I ask, despite myself.
Cassiel’s voice drops to something almost reverent. “Soul-swallower. The one who has consumed my soul.”
I blink. “It’s… a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
Cassiel groans, collapsing onto his arms. “You are so dull, Thornvale.”
I smirk, running a cloth along my dagger’s edge. “Have you ever been in love before?” I ask.
For once, he hesitates. Perhaps this is too personal, or too painful.
“You don’t have to—” I begin.
“Yes,” he says finally. There’s a wistful expression on his face. Not pain, not quite. More regret, I think.
“Were they your soul-swallower?”
“It sounds ridiculous when you say it.”
“It sounds ridiculous when anyone says it.”
He laughs, but it’s quieter this time. “No,” he admits. “She was luthen at best.”
“What happened?”
Cassiel exhales through his nose, tapping two fingers lightly against his temple before pointing to his eyes. “This.”
I swallow. I’ve never been in love before, but I know what it’s like to love people.
If anything happened to Zephyr or Grandma…
I wouldn’t love them less. If anything, I’d love them more.
I’d love them enough to be another sense for them, if they needed it, just like I’d still love my mother even if the flames had left only a part of her behind.
If you love someone, you love them in any form or shape.
There’s a sudden burst of anger I feel towards this person, though I’ve never met her. It’s a struggle to keep the venom from my voice. “She didn’t want to be with a blind person?”
“Oh, she did,” he says, and sighs further. He turns his face towards the window, like he’s trying to imagine it. “I was… not good to her, can you believe? I wasn’t ready to let her help me.”
My hand stills against the blade, anger fading. I feel a passing sympathy for both of them. For her, this nameless girl, desperately wanting to be with him, to assist him… and for Cassiel too, cowering behind a wall he didn’t know how to remove.
There are different kinds of darkness.
“You’re better now,” I remark, returning to my blade. “If you want to rekindle things.”
“Too late. She’s engaged.”
The anger prickles back. “She moved on quickly.”
“Well, exactly. Your soul-swallower would not.”
I open my mouth—then shut it. After a moment, I sigh. “You really don’t hear how ridiculous that sounds?”
Cassiel dips his fingers in his glass and flings water at my face.
I wipe it away. “Your aim is getting better.”
Cassiel grins. “It helps when your mouth is such a huge target.”