Chapter 11
Leita stared at the border, and the border stared back. Weak and distrustful as it was, it had little to say to her, a stranger.
The border itself was an odd bit of magic and only grew more so the longer Leita considered it. She could feel the ancient rites that had created it and the spells and enchantments used to give it form.
While magic was inherent to all fae, to use it in unnatural or artificial ways required what were known as spells.
They could be a command or a request, usually words to bind that magic to whatever it was being manipulated.
So inherent magic could make plants grow quicker, while a spell could make a plow harvest the fields.
Meanwhile, an enchantment was used to keep magic in a certain form. Magic was kinetic, a dynamic force that always wanted to be moving and changing. To keep it static, say, in the form of a wall, or even as a glamoured disguise over the face, an enchantment was used.
As Leita walked along the border, she could feel the layers upon layers of spells and enchantments.
Like a hedge manicured into various shapes, the border was made of magic that’d been shaped and set by fae hands.
Although the border couldn’t be seen other than a sort of purplish aurora in the corner of the eye, it still took on a physical manifestation after millennia.
Because it was so old, it’d become something intrinsic, in and of itself. Like a forest or mountain, the border simply was. It had a sentience just like the Lune River or Fallorian. It heard her when she spoke to it, even if it was reluctant to speak back.
To Leita’s untrained eye, the layers of spells and enchantments seemed rather…cumbersome. There were few of the original rites to be found, and those that remained had been set deep underground in the border’s foundations.
She’d been walking the border since the night before, considering how to add her own enchantment to strengthen it…and whether that was the correct thing to do at all. It was a problem without clear answers, but it was preferable to thinking about the night before.
Leita’s wings buzzed angrily just remembering it.
The kissing had been…pleasant, but the memory of his mouth was marred by the words that’d come out of it—namely, his sudden decision that she could solve all his problems with a simple diplomatic message.
Nothing was that simple, and Leita wasn’t convinced adding a dragon mate would spell success for her reign.
She was already asking so much of the fae. So much upheaval and change at once understandably shortened tempers and raised suspicion.
Leita herself was hardly ready for a mate like Attalus—she doubted the fae would be, either.
Really, the nerve of him to just assume—
Something tickled Leita’s toes. Along her boots, faint purplish magic glowed. The border was…reaching out?
Bending down, Leita gently touched the magic with her fingertips, expecting it to jerk away. Instead, the tendrils curled around her fingers like smoke, all sinuous, hazy curves. Straightening, Leita brought the border magic with her, bringing it closer to inspect.
The tickling touched the pads of her fingers.
Had it…responded to her strong emotions just then?
Thinking of Attalus and the way he frustrated her, Leita’s heart began to pound. The magic in her hand glowed brighter, the sensation not unlike a little creature licking at the sweat on her skin.
Leita held her breath and poured her vexation out, concentrating all that feeling in her hands. The border lapped it up and demanded more.
Thrilled as much as she was shocked, Leita obliged. With thoughts of her irksome dragon on her mind, she channeled her frustration and doubts, her anger and fears into the border along with her magic. The border took and took, cajoling her to go on, to keep giving, to hand over everything.
She might have, too. For a moment, the sucking at her hand coursed through her whole body. Her magic sparked and shuddered, unhappy to be pulled at. A pinch in her belly grew painful, and Leita tried to pull back, tried to close her fist shut and sever the connection.
But the border, so weak and starved before, hungered too much. Voraciously it gobbled at her magic and emotions, sucking down all the strength it could catch.
For a horrible moment, Leita’s lungs contracted—then she managed to close her fist.
At the same moment, something hard wrapped around her middle and wrenched her back.
The connection was cut, the border’s magic fading away like so much smoke in the wind. The wall of it gleamed bright as a mirror before winking out.
That was…strange.
“What in all fucking hellsss was that?” The snarling voice punched against her cheek, the rasping sss slithering down her ear.
Leita shuddered, looking up to behold a wild-eyed Attalus standing behind her. It was his arm around her middle, it was him who’d pulled her back.
“Didn’t need help,” she muttered, trying to pull out of his grip.
Attalus looked about as convinced as Leita felt; she could hear how her words slurred in her shock. Eventually, though, he did release her—after leading her a few steps away to a tall rock to sit on. She hated to admit it, but the support was nice for her wobbly knees.
Leita couldn’t have fathomed the border would do something like that. It was a greedy thing, hungry for magic and wanting to repair itself.
Shivering, Leita wrapped her arms around herself. She refused to be scared, but she’d allow a few moments to be shaken. She hadn’t known an entity could do that, and if she was honest, it made her fear fully connecting with the faelands even more.
So much bigger, would the faelands suck her dry? Would there be anything left of Leita afterwards?
Her stomach rolled at the unpleasant thought.
Leita couldn’t quite meet Attalus’s gaze when he squatted down to catch hers.
“Did you mean to do that?” he asked.
She wanted to lie but couldn’t and so said instead, “You shouldn’t be out in the open. You’ll be obvious from above.” Her tone was far more waspish than she’d meant, but she didn’t try very hard to stop it.
“No, what’s obvious is this purple wall shining like an aurora around you,” he argued. He stood up now that he had her gaze, and for once, it was him that frowned at her. “It looked like it was…doing something to you.”
“I was reinforcing it.”
“Willingly?”
Not entirely, but she’d bite her own tongue before admitting it. “That’s what I’m out here to do.”
“Hmph.” Now that they were settled, Attalus rested his hands on his hips and looked about the landscape.
It was still a stark view across the forest, ashen from the wildfire.
With the rain had come new green shoots, but it would take time for the forest to heal—especially if the faelands wouldn’t accept her help.
Given his profile, Leita could take her time to look at him.
He wore the trou she’d brought him from Hallevale, as well as one of the billowing shirts.
She’d purposefully gotten it too big, trying to accommodate his wings.
He’d cut slits in the back to allow for his wings to push through and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows.
He looked…honestly a little strange. As though the clothes were a costume, a disguise meant to tame him.
She knew dragons typically wore kilts, tunics, and robes of light, breezy materials, but this was the best she could do under the curious stares of the Berengion couple. A linen kilt with a jeweled belt would no doubt suit him far better.
Attalus caught her looking and leaned over to inspect his middle as though he might find something there.
He grinned at her, but it quickly fell when she didn’t return the gesture.
She didn’t have the energy for games. Once she’d caught her breath, it’d be wise to head back to the cave, as another long sleep might try to catch her.
However, she suspected there was something on Attalus’s mind.
He hadn’t followed her all the way out here for nothing, and she was coming to learn that the way he swished his tail was a bit of a tell to his mood.
Sinuous as a banner in the wind, his tail seemed to float behind him as he regarded her intently.
“I didn’t mean to offend yesterday,” he said finally.
Leita merely nodded. It wasn’t really an apology, so she didn’t really have to accept it.
“I think, perhaps, now that titles and circumstances are out of the way, we might discuss something even more important.”
“And what’s that?”
“What it means to each of us to find our true mate.”
That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say at all. She was also surprised at the almost shy way his wings bobbed before he came to sit alongside her on the rock.
“Our kinds put much importance on finding a true mate, so I suppose we should as well. But I admit, I’m not sure how to truly feel about it.”
Leita couldn’t help peering at him, curious about where he was going with this. It was Attalus who avoided meeting her gaze this time; to the barren landscape, he said, “Finding one’s mate has meant disaster within my family, you see.”
She listened with as much awe as she did horror while he told her the story of his family, how his father had slain his own true mate in a fit of madness.
How, rather than die alongside her, he’d taken mistress after mistress before finally a new queen was found.
That could’ve been the end of it, the tragedy of losing his first queen left to heal, if badly.
Instead, the king in his madness had demanded Attalus’s mother. Coerced into the king’s bed, she had done what she could to survive, turning the king’s head and favor to her long enough to be made the third queen. That could have been the end of it, too, if an unhappy one.
Instead, his mother had found her true mate, a human sailor, and for some decades, they were secretly happy. They had a daughter, Attalus’s own half-sister, and that could have been the end of it, had the secret not been exposed.