CHAPTER 37
THE A’KORI PALACE
Present Day
“You never saw the sprite again?” I ask, trying and failing to look as if I’m only making simple conversation with the female.
She’d hardly begun the tale of her youth and already the questions that have risen in my mind could keep us here until dawn.
“Never,” she says, smiling around a sip of mulled spices. “But I still bear the mark of our bargain and often wonder about the day she will come to claim her price.”
The memories of the feyn are clearly unlike the memories of my kind.
They seem to recall with perfect clarity the events of the past whether it has been two days or two hundred years.
I have no doubt the sprite will always remember the bargain, even if it were not etched upon her skin.
How the fea will find her to exact that payment is another matter entirely.
“And … you are close with the Vatruke?” I ask.
She nods, and I’m relieved when she answers, “I was close with them, back then. Before they were known as the Vatruke. Divisions among the feyn only began after the sundering. I think many of us would have liked to maintain those bonds, but the Vatruke made it impossible. I was either with them or against them. As were we all.”
“How could you maintain friendships when they were ending the lives of the fea?” I ask heatedly, and Nurai raises an eyebrow at my tone.
“That, child, is the reason I am not with them.”
I try not to bristle. To her, ancient as she is, I will be a child until the day I pass into the next world. Perhaps even then.
“After the sundering, the siblings became very guarded, very selective of those they kept close,” she says.
“Siblings?” I wonder aloud.
It is Xeyvian who answers from his place beside me. “Arda, Vos, and Nix.”
“And Muri,” Nurai adds, a flicker of sadness distorting her features.
Xeyvian nods. “For a time. Though Muri turned on them during the first war.”
“Faidra said that Muri was killed in the first war,” I say. It isn’t a question, but I’m pleased when Nurai explains further without making me dig for the answers I clearly seek.
“Muri was always close with the fea, and the others must have known that she would never agree to harm them. I believe they kept it from her as long as they could, and when she found out…” Nurai trails off, unable to speak the last of it aloud.
“She came to me just before the war and told me of the conversation she had with the sprite at the market. Fea were disappearing, ancient stands of trees had begun to die, and none of the fea knew why. The sprite was sent by the fea to ask her for help and offer aid.”
“What aid?” I ask.
Nurai shrugs. “I wish I knew. Muri never told me, and then, she was gone.”
“And you never sought out the sprite so that you could ask?” I wonder incredulously.
Nurai raises a hand to her ribs, absently stroking where I can only assume the fea bargain is concealed beneath her gown.
“If there was anything she wanted me to know, she would have found me long ago,” she says. “I, on the other hand, have no doubt I could spend a feyn lifetime searching Terr for the sprite and never find her if it is her intention to remain hidden.”
I can’t argue with that. Even Tig and Eon can be difficult to find, and they seem to seek my company eagerly. Still, there is a question sliding off my tongue before I know I’m asking it. “What did you do to the fea to make them mistrust you?”
Riesh’s fork clatters against his porcelain plate when it slips from his hand, and the general tenses beside me.
Her face is far too calm when she answers, “Why would you assume it is anything that I have done to them? When the fea began to go missing and our world descended into war, they fled into the forest of Brax and have had very little to do with the feyn since that time.”
“But they seek sanctuary in A’kori?” I ask, wondering at the dichotomy of what she tells me.
“When they are desperate enough, yes.” She takes an elegant bite of food as if she hasn’t just proven my point.
The fea are willing to risk chai’brukar, the ship breaking seas off the Braxian shores, yet the sprite who bound Nurai has not sought her out. Why?
Nurai covers a yawn with her silk napkin, before using it to blot the side of her mouth.
“You must be tired,” Xeyvian says to her, his hand brushing against my thigh. “It was a long journey.”
“I am,” she replies with a smile, sliding her chair out from under the table and rising from her seat.
“It was lovely to meet you, Shivaria. I am sure we will have more time to talk again soon.” She dips her head the slightest bit, her eyes traveling the length of my form once more, before raising an eyebrow and turning to let herself out.
“You know,” Riesh says around a mouthful of meat as he points his fork at me, “the fea really have distanced themselves from the feyn since the first war. It isn’t just Nurai.”
I know that. I have seen it myself. Though I hadn’t exactly tried to hide my skepticism as the female wove her tale. Still, I find that I am mildly annoyed when Riesh speaks up in her defense.
“You weren’t even born yet,” I say.
Everything he knows about that time he either read in the histories or was told by someone else. While I hate to admit that it’s a lesson I’m beginning to know well, unless he witnessed it himself, he should be open to questioning the validity of the story.
“True.” He stabs a piece of breaded fowl and pops it in his mouth. “But I believe what Xey tells me about that time.”
Because Xeyvian was alive then.
I don’t miss the unspoken meaning of his words, and why hadn’t I suspected as much? The male had already told me he’d known Siserie for two hundred years. How old is he? More questions, always more questions.
He seems pleased at the expression he’s put on my face when I slide my chair out, the general following suit as he thanks his friends for joining us.
Riesh seems content to remain behind as we depart, apparently committed to a valiant attempt at devouring every morsel of food before bed.
Awri doesn’t linger, flowing out of the room behind us, she heads toward her chambers, toward her mate.
I can hardly imagine what it might take to repair the rift between us, but it’s one more thing I may not have to consider after tomorrow. She may never speak to me again. Though I might harbor some regrets about that, I certainly won’t blame her for it.
It isn’t a long walk back to our rooms and I can’t help but wonder where Nurai is sleeping. Not that I can do anything with the knowledge. It’s just that I might prefer if it were on the other side of the palace, if not outside the grounds entirely.
I’m running my fingers through my hair, already dressed in a richly colored sleeping gown, when I eye Xeyvian through the mirror that sits across from our bed.
“How long is she staying?” I ask.
Apparently, I failed to make the question sound casual when he chuckles before replying, “You don’t like her.”
It’s not even a question and I wonder what kinds of emotions the male felt from me over the course of our meal.
“I don’t trust her,” I tell him—even if it doesn’t matter, even if by tomorrow any trust he’s ever laid at my feet is broken beyond what I can repair.
He raises an eyebrow at me. “I’m not sure you trust anyone, mi’ajna.”
There is one. But for the most part, he’s right. I was raised not to trust, but to question everything outside the La’tari regime and to seek the inevitable outcome of every situation. I was taught to plan for each possibility as I tried to force the course of my choosing.
But this is not the same. There is something about the female, something about her story. And as much as I try to tell myself that maybe it is only my own ignorance causing this feeling in my gut, I can’t make myself believe it.
Eyeing his reflection in the mirror, I watch him step up behind me and wrap his arms around me. He buries his nose in the crook of my neck, taking in my scent, and mumbles into my hair, “Should I have her thrown out now, or should we let her sleep until morning?”
I puff out a laugh, though I’m not entirely sure he’s joking. Tempting as it may be, I won’t bristle any more feyn until I know my fate, not if I can help it.
“Maybe after she’s told me all her tales about Brax,” I say.
“She does have plenty of those.” He smiles.
I shouldn’t ask, but it’s too tempting when the male holding me begs for my questions. With a single finger, I stroke the long muscle of his arm, braced around my waist.
“But not as many as you.” Curiosity rings in my voice when I say it.
He shakes his head. “No. Not as many as I do.”
Ask. His unspoken request begs of me, and maybe there are some things I can know, even though they will change nothing.
“Were you alive for the sundering?” I finally ask.
He nods, slowly, as if he’s afraid the answer might frighten me.
“Like Nurai, I was still young when the veils were formed,” he explains.
“I think humans might have a somewhat different idea of what young means,” I tease.
He shrugs, his mouth turning down thoughtfully. “I’ve known feyn of two hundred years that I would consider children, and some as young as thirty that I would let advise me. When I say that I was young, I mean I lacked the sound mind of a male who understands the weight of his choices.”