Chapter 6
Maddox
“Lies are like termites. You cannot see the damage they have done until it is too late.”
— A Seelie Guide to Living Well
Istill remember the first lie I told.
My father asked me why my knees were bleeding, and instead of admitting that I snuck down to the river where I was not meant to go, I claimed there was a wolf by the camp.
This was the first and last time he looked at me with pride in his eyes.
I thought, how bad could this lie be when it earned me a pat on the shoulder and a gruff, “You have pleased me with your bravery,” from a male who reserved his kind words for his mate?
Lies are funny things. They can get you out of trouble almost as often as they can get you into it.
Unfortunately, yesterday’s lie did the latter.
This morning, I left Biscuits behind in the castle garden, with the flowers, grass, and sunshine. There is no telling what would happen if I brought him across the temporary bridge that spans the canyon between the Seelie and Unseelie lands with boards that creak when you walk on them.
Ever says the new bridge should be finished within the month. I will not be sorry to see this one burned like the last.
A single wrong step of Biscuits’s tiny hoof, and he could tumble into the canyon below. Even if he did survive the crossing, he would not leave our camp alive.
The moment our clan saw him, they would boil him in a stew.
No, my Biscuits is much safer on Seelie land.
But perhaps I am not. Perhaps I belong here, where the fog is thick and the world is dark and gray. The wolves could devour me for supper, but at least I would go quickly instead of dying this slow, lonely death of heartache.
Bones line the path as I enter camp. Some are from beasts I’ve killed. Not as many as I claimed. I am a skilled shot with a bow, but there are times when I get distracted by silly things like the shape of an odd leaf, or I accidentally shoot my friend in the foot.
However, to admit such weaknesses would only end in disaster. Failing to provide for the clan is a sure path to exile. Being cut off from the clan’s resources would have meant certain death.
Food here is scarce, especially in winter. There are no shops or cafés selling pretty pies. We must rely on ourselves to survive. Thankfully, my friends allowed me to claim many of their kills as my own.
I nod to River and Rynan where they pack arrows into quivers, then wave to two of the younger females hanging laundry on a line stretched between two wagons. None return the gestures, but I am already too distraught to let their slights add to my woes.
Wren smiles up at Ivan from their fire, fresh mating bonds marked on her skin. For a short time, I thought perhaps Wren would be the mate for me.
She thought we were only friends.
Alas, Wren and Ivan are well-suited. Meant to be.
A lie I tell to convince myself that I am worth loving.
I continue to the edge of camp nearest the forest, where my second-oldest friend, Gryffin, is stomping down the two stairs behind his wagon. No one looks his way, and he pays them no mind. He is almost always alone but never seems lonely.
If only I knew how to be that way.
I crave people. This is why I believed Rosehill would suit me. In the wake of my latest lie, I am not so certain that is the case.
“Why is your face like that?” Gryffin asks, using a lopsided stump as his chair. A pot bubbles steadily over a small fire, the scent of smoke and spices heavy in the air. A spit with what looks like a rabbit hangs next to it.
“My face is no different than it was the last day you saw me.” I sink down onto the dirt beside him and reach for the pot.
Gryff warns me not to do it, but he is too late.
I have already dipped a finger into the reddish mixture.
The moment I stick my finger into my mouth, I immediately regret my life’s choices, coughing until my eyes water.
Part of me wonders if he makes everything so spicy to keep others from asking for what is his.
With a command to keep my filthy paws out of his breakfast, he picks up the walking stick he has been carving for as long as I can recall, then reaches for his chisel. “You look as if you are about to cry. Did someone eat your goat?”
As if I would allow such a terrible fate to befall my favorite pet. “No. My Biscuits is safe.”
With a careful scrape of his chisel, a strip of gray bark flies off the stick and into the coals. “Then why are you here?”
“Ever is busy with his meetings.” Unlike Gryff, I am not content with silence. Besides the new king and, on occasion, his wife, no one in Rosehill cares to keep me company. I have tried befriending the guards, but they shrink back like I am going to roast them on a spit.
Probably because I am vulgar and grotesque.
I knew many Seelie felt this way but thought maybe Nia was more like her cousin than the rest of them.
As with most things, I was wrong.
Gryff twists the stick and begins chiseling the other side. “Are there no other fae to entertain you?”
“None I wish to see.” Or, more accurately, who wish to see me.
He trades his chisel for his dagger and saws off a slice of meat from the spit. I expect him to eat it himself, but instead, he offers the cut to me.
My face must be very sad to warrant sympathy from the hardest fae I know.
The meat is too dry and spicy, but I do not tell him this for fear he will pour the boiling juices over my head.
This might come as a shock, but Gryffin used to be happy before he lost everything.
Now, he is a stone wall who feels nothing. I never thought I would say this, but today, I envy him.
We eat in silence, something else Gryff never seems to mind. How does he survive it? Does his mind not start screaming the moment quiet descends?
I am not attracted to you . . .
I find your body vulgar and your face grotesque.
“How do you stop feeling?”
His chewing slows.
“You have lost so much, and yet you are . . .” I dare not say happy. We are too close to a fire for that. “You do not lie in bed all day wallowing.” If I had not forced myself out of my wagon, that would have been my fate this day.
“There is no food in my wagon. If I do not eat, I will die.”
That is the secret to surviving heartache? Hunger?
This advice will not help my situation. Perhaps he will be able to assist me once he knows the truth of what has happened.
“I told a lie,” I confess.
Gryffin rolls his eyes. “That is no different from any other day.”
If that is so, then why does it feel as if my guilt is eating me alive? “I lied to Nia Quill. Said I was not interested in mating with her. That I am seeking the affections of an Unseelie female.”
Gryff blinks at me, his jaw hanging. “Nia Quill? The fae you said has the most perfect flat teeth?”
In my defense, her teeth are perfect and white and straight.
“The one you claimed was the fairest female in the realm?”
Again, not a lie.
“The one you said made your heart sing?” he snorts.
I do not know why that confession is the one that makes my ears burn with embarrassment. It was said under the influence of much drink, and even though I am now sober, the words hold true. I only wish I had not spoken them aloud.
“Yes, that Nia Quill.”
The way he shakes his head reminds me of my father when he learned the truth of my first lie. “Why would you do such a foolish thing?”
“I panicked.” I could feel her anger as if it were my own, and although I did not understand why my affections should enrage her, I did not want her to feel guilty for sharing her truth with me.
So, I did what I do best and lied.
Gryff swipes his hands down his thighs, leaving greasy streaks on his faded trousers. “Tell her the truth.”
That is simple for him to say. He cares for nothing but his own solitude. He does not know what it is like to yearn for the one thing that has eluded me for thirty years: a love of my own.
I leave camp with my head hanging. The moment I make my confession, Nia will surely want nothing to do with me.
How is that different from any other day?
She has made her feelings on this matter quite plain. It would be better to come clean and then bring my wagon back to camp where I can become like Gryff and wallow alone with my sticks.
The city is bursting with life, but for the first time since I moved, I wish to escape the noise. People stare at me as I cut through the square. I am used to their eyes, so being watched should not bother me. Today, I wish to sink into the shadows and hide until nightfall.
“Maddox?”
I glance up from the cobbles to find Nia exiting one of the bakeries with a pink bag hanging from her arm. Ribbons of all colors adorn her curls, which are the shade of fallen snow.
I stand taller, but when I search for my smile, it is missing, stolen by my guilt.
“What are you doing in town?” she asks.
“I am returning from the Unseelie camp.”
“I see. Were you meeting your woman?”
Tell the truth.
I shake my head. “I am afraid that she is not interested in me.”
It is the truth, just not all of it. Small steps.
Her brow furrows. “Why not?”
I shrug. “Probably because she is beautiful, and I have a grotesque face.”
Her lips thin into a flat line as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, the skirts of her yellow dress rustling beautifully. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. I was upset and— It doesn’t matter. You have a fine face, Maddox.”
My heart should not leap, but it does. This is only kindness, but I drink it up like the immortal water from their well.
“This might come as a surprise to you, but my fine face and I are not beloved by females.” This truth is like a blade to my gut.
I have tried to win affections before, but in the end, I am never chosen.
Her wide eyes sparkle in the sunlight. “That cannot be true. You’re kind and . . . and funny.”
If only those traits were enough. “Making someone laugh is not the same as making them care for you. I have had many female friends, but each time I say I am interested in more, they find another.” Now she knows that she is not alone in rejecting my affections. Her decision was the right one.
She reaches for my wrist, her cool fingers grazing my skin, and—
This is—
I cannot find my lungs for breathing. Nia Quill is touching me of her own free will, and I am going to expire on the spot.
“Let me help you,” she says.
“Help me what?” I choke, chills racing up and down my arms.
“I can teach you how to woo your woman.”
A female who does not exist. What a mess I have put myself in.
Tell her the truth.
If I do, she will never speak to me again, and how then will I survive? I crave her attention, even if it is under false pretenses. “How would you know? You are Seelie.”
“I’m still a woman. I know what we like.”
What do you like, Nia Quill?
How I long to ask the question. To speak the truth of my feelings and not have her run away screaming.
Since that cannot happen, I smile and say, “All right.”
Perhaps one day my lie will be true, and I will find an Unseelie interested in my affections. Then I can use this advice to my advantage.
“First, you cannot seem too eager,” Nia says with a nod that makes her curly hair and ribbons bounce. “That will send women running in the opposite direction.”
I turn her words over in my mind, trying to make sense of their meaning. “You think I should act as if I care less to make her care more?” This cannot be the case.
“Yes. No. I mean . . . You can care, but not so much. Coming on too strong, especially at the beginning, can be off-putting. Not everyone is ready to jump in with both feet.”
Does one jump with only one foot still on the land? Is that even a jump?
Care less.
This makes no sense, but what I have been doing thus far has not worked, so why not try what Nia is suggesting?
Although, I am not sure I know how to care less for Nia Quill. She is all I think about from the moment I wake to the time I close my eyes at night. Well, her and Biscuits. And food, I suppose.
Perhaps I can channel some of my caring into Biscuits. He could use a new rope, since he chewed through the last one. Sometimes he becomes smelly when I bring him to the fields to frolic with his friends. Perhaps I will give him a bath and a trim as well.
“What is second?” I ask, desperate for more of her wisdom.
Nia’s gaze snaps to mine, her face turning pink from the sun. “What do you mean?”
“You said first, I should care less. I assume there is a second lesson?”
“Oh, yes. Um . . . I’ll have to think about it. Meet me outside my house tomorrow around noon?”
She wishes for me to meet her? This is working out better than I could have imagined.
I agree and then leave with a simple word of thanks to keep from appearing too eager.
Maybe this lie was not so bad after all.