CHAPTER 22 #4
I remind myself that I am here to complete a task, and the male before me is not the reason I came.
I tell myself that he will be all right if I leave him alone, that, like the sisters, he can simply vanish at will.
But the sprites need the woodlands to become unseen, and the male in front of me is in no condition to be left alone in the forest.
He takes a wobbly step toward me, reaching out his hand to grasp mine as he nearly stumbles under his own weight. He’s as light as a gentle breeze when I catch him between my hands to steady him.
His nose scrunches as he huffs a series of quick rhythmic breaths, much like a hound on the trail of its prey.
His eyes saucer when they land on one of Eon’s small blooms braided into my curls.
He plucks it from my hair, shoving it against his nose, the petals fluttering toward his face as he inhales the scent.
He takes another ambling step toward me, pointing at the flower, repeating something I struggle to understand. I may be unfamiliar with the words but there is no mistaking the excitement in his voice when he says, “Mah’nai. Mah’nai sa’hi.”
“What?” I wonder under my breath.
He takes another step toward me, wincing when his leg nearly falters beneath him. The pain doesn’t stop him from squeezing my hand tightly and waggling the flower in my face while he continues to repeat the foreign words.
“All right,” I say in a whispered breath.
Without enough time to consider all the options and potential pitfalls of a plan that I’m only now forming, I pin the male with a pointed stare. He is far too frail to walk off the ship, but all I can think about are the razor-sharp teeth behind that smile when I say firmly, “Neh,reh.”
He gives me a hesitant nod and I pick him up like a child, popping him on my hip and sweeping my cloak over his body to shield him from view. The sentiment is one I learned from Tig, most often directed at her sister. Be good
Pulling my cloak over my head, I spin on my heel, ready to slide into the shadows above deck and—
“Awri.” I choke out the name under my breath when she emerges from a nearby shadow at the base of the narrow stairway.
I wonder briefly how she made it below deck without me hearing but decide it’s a question for another time.
“What are you doing?” she asks pointedly, with no attempt to stifle the anger in her voice.
“He needs a healer.” It’s all I can think to say.
Her brow drops, and she looks at me as if I’ve just said the single most ridiculous thing on Terr. Of course, she is already well aware that the sprite is injured. After all, I boarded the ship after she’d already departed it. One of the general’s cloaked companions. No doubt her brother is nearby.
“What did you say to him?” she asks, the heat of her voice matching the aggravated step she takes toward me.
When the sprite begins to growl, pinning her with a threatening stare of his own, her brow dips at the fea and she stills. I don’t have time to be impressed with him before the general glides down the stairs behind her, his feet landing firmly in front of me, Riesh in tow.
Riesh’s eyes bulge when he sees the sprite in my arms. I try not to wince, try not to think about the many ways I’ve exposed myself.
“Put him down, Shivaria,” Awri cautions me, “He’s already attacked two members of the crew.”
Despite what I expect, the general doesn’t demand that I unhand the fearful sprite as his friend had, he doesn’t tear into me, doesn’t demand answers.
I think I might prefer anything but the contemplative stare on his placid features as he takes in the scene before him.
I can’t help it when my feet shift beneath me.
I disguise the uneasy fidgeting by readjusting the sprite at my hip.
The general puts his hand up, silencing any further protests or demands made by his friends.
“There is a cart by the road. Take him there,” he says.
I might balk at the order if I wasn’t so eager to get off the ship and away from what I’m certain will be an inquisition. I don’t let myself ponder the outcome of this evening when I slide between the males, make my way topside, and begin toward the cart.
Though I can’t distinguish the words, the angry clip of Awri’s tone skips across the stone streets after me. Her companions’ tones are much lower and mercifully more level.
I don’t linger and attempt to overhear the conversation. I don’t need to. I’ve raised a disturbing number of questions among them and shaken the foundation of the woman I portray. They will never see me the same way again. How can they?
The driver doesn’t move from the front of the cart when I approach the thick four-walled wooden box and swing open the door fixed to the back. My breath catches in my throat when I take in the cargo. Fea. Many of them.
Boggles and pixies, even a satyr stares back at me.
Others have names I do not recall, though I saw them all among Awri’s drawings.
The satyr closest to the door cradles his arm, a small bloody wound near his wrist. By the way he withdraws from the sprite, I can only assume the male on my side is at fault for the injury.
I debate the complexities of leaving the sprite in the cart, as the general ordered.
Then consider the repercussions of ignoring the order and taking him to the sisters.
I begin to peel the sprite off my hip, my obedience to the general the only sure way out of this.
A simple claim of ignorance and unrestrained curiosity when I followed them to the docks. And the use of the sprite tongue?
I will think of something.
The male keeps a firm grip on my arm, hooking his legs around my waist when he waggles the flower at me, repeating the foreign phrase. There is no time to consider the consequences when I sigh, closing the doors of the box cart, and take the sprite to my horse.
The ride back is much slower with the wounded fea cradled between my legs.
I do my best not to jostle the sprite beneath my cloak, conscious that every moment I delay there is a greater risk of being overcome by anyone tempted to pursue me.
There is no lie I can tell myself to stifle the ever-growing pit that begins to form in my stomach. I will answer for this.
The guards don’t stop me when I ride through the thick granite gates, though both look at me curiously. It’s too early for them to have rotated shifts and I’m sure they are wondering how it is that I am returning when they never saw me leave.
Thankfully, the sprite seems content to remain tucked away as I dismount, handing the reins to a young stable hand.
Making my way through the quiet corridors, I hurry back to my room.
It’s still early, and I can only hope the sisters are waiting for me.
If not, I’ll need to consider taking the male to Felias.
I puff out a breath of sheer relief when the moment I enter my room, the sisters’ breathy whispers land on my ears.
Their joyful laughter spills from the washroom, and the male sniffs the air before wriggling down from my side.
He takes a number of painful, cautious steps in their direction, speaking into the night, his words lost to me.
A silence falls, a thick tension blanketing the air. Tig and Eon rush to the doorway, eyes as wide as I’m sure mine were when I first gazed upon him. Tig’s eyes flick to me curiously and I open my mouth to explain the events of the evening.
“Mah’nai,” Eon practically squeals as she rushes to him.
Tig’s eyes continue to grow, her head whipping toward her sister who tackles the strange sprite to the ground in a fit of giggles. He embraces her with his working arm, peppering her cheeks with kisses.
“What does it mean?” I wonder aloud.
There is a glassy sheen over her eyes when Tig turns to me, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips when she answers, “My mate.”
“How?” I whisper.
A beautiful chuckle breaks from her throat as she watches her sister in the arms of her mate, a tear falling down her cheek.
“Voh,” she replies simply.
Fate.
The sisters insist on taking the male to the forest and I’m relieved when they decline my offer to send for a healer.
I’m not sure where I would find Caden or how I’d convince him to assist the sprite.
I assure myself they know much better than I how to go about healing him.
I trust that if they need something, they will tell me.
Not long after the sisters depart, I answer a thundering knock. It isn’t unexpected but I’d hoped to avoid it until morning. If not forever. I smooth the nervous features of my face, ignoring the pit in my gut when I unlatch the door.
Awri shoves past me, scanning the room. “You brought him back here?”
The general, Riesh, and Kishek crowd into the room behind her just as she’s made it into the washroom, checking behind the doors for any sign of the male.
“I did,” I say, calmly.
“Then where is he?” she demands, coming to a huffing halt in front of me.
“Gone,” I reply.
“Gone where?” she asks.
I grit my teeth, the tone of her voice calling to the warrior inside of me, when I say, “He’s safe.”
It’s all she needs to know.
Awri puffs out her annoyance upon my reply, and when the general snags her bicep, that annoyance trails along the length of his arm, landing firmly on his face.
“Leave it, Awri,” he demands, even as she balks at him.
Sneering, she says, “Aren’t you the least bit curious how a mortal who claims ignorance to the existence of the fea in our veil speaks the sprite tongue?”
Kishek steps up to her side and twines his fingers with hers. Her eyes soften when she looks down to their joined hands and back to his face.
“You are exhausted,” he says, “Let me take you to bed. We will talk tomorrow.”
She gives him a reluctant nod and leaves the room without meeting my eyes, pulling Kishek behind her. Her brother follows after them, lines of worry, and perhaps exhaustion, creasing his brow when he looks me over like he’s never seen me before.
“She shouldn’t have spoken to you like that,” the general says from the doorway.
It takes everything I have to stifle my shock when he says it. He has every reason to be as angry as Awri, and I find that the lack of suspicion and condemnation from the male is more disturbing than anything I expected.
“She just needs time,” he adds.
“I’m not sure I have that kind of time,” I quip, understanding that time is relative to the immortal standing in front of me.
The general raises a brow at me before smoothing a loose piece of dark hair from his eyes.
“I only did what I thought was best to help him,” I say.
“She knows that. We all do,” he says calmly.
I feel my eyebrows hit my hairline in disbelief when I challenge, “Then why is she angry with me?”
He leans against the frame of the door. “Because, in teaching her a valuable lesson, you have made her feel vulnerable.”
“What lesson?” I ask.
“If someone doesn’t want to show you who they are, you will never truly know them.” He says it as if we are having a casual conversation over polite tea.
His voice holds no accusatory tone, there is no question in his eyes, no demand that I explain myself.
His words wash over me, and I feel the gentle sway of a ship beneath my feet as memories of a woman I had once been are stirred by the current.
I shake my head, warding them off before they take hold, tasting the bitterness of the lesson I know all too well.
“It’s a lesson we all learn,” he says matter-of-factly. “Though not all who teach it to us have nefarious intentions. Your motives were obviously well intended with the sprite.” Shifting his weight off the doorframe he adds, “When her mind has a chance to puzzle it out, she will see that too.”
Against my better judgment, I ask, “What makes you so sure?”
“Because we were all there, the moment you learned there are still fea left in this veil. There was no pretense in your surprise when you saw her in that tree, no deception in your curiosity when you asked questions for hours after.” He shrugs.
“Now you speak the language of the sprite, and the male on the ship freely gave you his trust, denying it to all who came before you.”
I’ve given too much away tonight, and though I don’t know yet what it will cost me, there will be a high price to pay for it.
“If the fea in A’kori have given you their trust…” He shrugs again, at an apparent loss as to what that might mean to him.
I have no doubt he will be piecing together every word and action he’s ever witnessed from me until he has teased some deeper truth from it all. An uncomfortable silence falls over the room. I’m not sure if he’s waiting for an explanation or a rebuttal but I can’t give him either.
“It’s late,” I say, deflecting and entirely unsure if he will leave it until morning.
He nods, a flicker of disappointment passing over his features as he turns toward the hall. He grips the lever on the door, glancing back as he says, “Maybe the fea are wrong about you.”
I’m not sure why my heart aches when he says it.
“Or, maybe,” he adds, “you are simply wrong about yourself.”
I don’t reply. What can I say? Unlike the male standing before me, I know exactly what I am.
“You should know that twining your life with a fea is rarely worth their chaotic meddlings,” he says, as he begins to swing the door closed.
I can’t help but chuckle, remembering the golden braid still woven into my hair. But the feyn are fea, and I can’t help but wonder if he is trying to warn me off the species entirely.
I quirk an eyebrow at his back and ask, “All fea?”
“I’d like to think that some are worth a bit of the chaos,” he answers as the door shuts with a loud click.
After the events of the evening and even after all the general said, still, there is a giant vacancy where my stomach should be.
I refused the general as a companion, making Awri my only friend at court, my only line to the king.
No matter what the male says and despite the fact that he has known her for years, I know that there is no way to truly mend the rift that settled between us on that ship.
Because even if she began to see the events of the evening in the same light as the general, she now knows a greater part of who I am and what I am capable of.