Chapter 21 #3
The grin grew, but the grimace didn’t totally disappear. Still, Attalus followed as she led him down into the subterranean grotto.
The air was thick here too, but not just with miasma. Water trickled in along the rocks, giving the air a cool humidity.
“What is this place?” His voice went hushed, as though he understood without explanation that this was a special, sacred space.
“This is…the faelands.” Her hand slipped from his as she delved deeper into the rocky chamber.
Leita carefully picked her way across the slick rocks, over to the pool that gathered on its far side.
With a wave of her hand, her magic pushed the floating motes of miasma away, revealing the crystalline water beneath.
A faint glow emanated from below the surface, luminescent algae and small creatures flashing blue and green. Their light caught in the veins of pyrite and quartz, making the rockface glitter.
Although Attalus liked glittering things, he didn’t seem to enjoy this place as much as the crystal pavilion above. She’d rarely seen him look so disturbed, his brows knitted as he slowly entered the damp, glowing grotto.
He held his tail aloft and his wings tight to his back, careful where he stepped and touched. “There’s something…” He reached out to touch one of the dripping walls but stopped just short.
“It’s said the very soul of the faelands can be found down here. That Queens commune with it and make their sovereign’s pact.”
“What does it say?”
“Nothing. It’s never spoken to me here.” She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice but failed.
Leita didn’t know why exactly she’d thought to bring him here, only that it was important. That he feel and understand the weight of what she needed to do. Perhaps…she wanted someone to—if not share, then at least understand what it was she bore.
Attalus finally touched his palm to the wet stone. His nostrils flared and his wings twitched at the contact. “It feels almost…sad.”
Yes, exactly. “It’s forlorn,” she said, gratified when Attalus nodded in agreement.
“You both have been tormented by the former Queen.”
“The faelands suffered as much as the fae.”
Attalus’s serious gaze found hers, and Leita’s heart lurched in her chest when he reached out for her. He was always reaching for her, touching her, yet this felt different. How was it he always knew she needed that little something more?
Leita went to take the hand he offered, relieved when he reeled her into the comfort of his chest. He held her close as they stood in the grotto, the air still and quiet.
“I know nothing about this, really, but I’m trying to learn,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “It seems to me the faelands might need a little coaxing.”
“I’ve tried,” she grumbled.
“I know you have, agae. You’re nothing if not devoted.” He kissed the top of her head, perhaps softening the blow of what he was trying to say. “Someone who’s been hurt so badly finds it difficult to trust, though. They need softness, gentleness. Patience.”
Leita didn’t think they were strictly talking about only the faelands now. “I’ve done all I can to make it trust me.”
Attalus rumbled soothingly. “I doubt you can make it do anything, an entity so ancient. Their trust must be earned.” Smoothing back her hair from her face, he told her gently, “You’ve tried other things—now, you might have to be gentle with it. Let the faelands come to know you.”
Leita tried to swallow past the knot in her throat but couldn’t. “I think I’ve forgotten how to be soft and gentle.”
His smile was heartbreaking. “Then practice on me,” he suggested.
Her instinct was to refute him. That he was only flirting. But the longer she looked, the more genuine he seemed. Leita wanted to argue, but really, what did she have left to try?
Damn it all, she feared he might be right—and that was terrifying.
She buried her face in his chest, not wanting to accept that truth just yet. “I don’t know how to start,” she mumbled.
His grip tightened around her as he said, “Tell us about your mother and sister. Perhaps the faelands remembers them, too.”
The sting of what he suggested wasn’t so bad within his arms, but Leita held on tight anyway. It wasn’t something she wanted to do—she’d prefer never to speak of them again, instead holding them close in a deep, dark place inside where their memory wouldn’t hurt so much.
That was the only way she’d been able to carry on without them. All these centuries later, Leita wasn’t far away from the orphan girl who’d been cast across the border, severed from all she knew so she might survive. In that deep, dark place, Leita knew she was still that girl, scared and alone.
To take the hand offered was terrifying, for what if it was rescinded? Or, what if it brought her somewhere even worse?
Those had always been the possibilities that haunted Leita’s life. Everywhere, from human village to wilderness to the palace of Fallorian, those questions were the root of all her worries and troubles.
Leita clung to her azai, wishing she wasn’t so small.
Whether she’d said it aloud or he felt her need through their bond, Attalus whispered, “I have you, agae. You’re safe.”
Leita took a shuddering breath, gathering the air and courage she’d need. Finally, in slow, halting words, she said, “I was almost as tall as Lilibet even though she was twenty years older…”