10. Unripe
They walked in companionable silence for quite some time. Lyra’s stomach growled, and as they passed brambles full of berries, she racked her memory to see if they were the kind she could consume. Wilder slowed their pace as she picked some and nibbled.
“Are you sure those are edible?” he asked with a quirked brow.
Lyra’s eyes screwed shut at the sour and sweet taste. “Mhm—these are raspberries. Would you like one?”
Wilder crossed his arms and shook his head. He watched as she puckered her cheeks before smacking her lips.
“And?”
“Water, please,” she spat. “They’re not quite ripe.”
Wilder huffed and handed her the flask of water.
She gulped it down greedily before handing it back.
“Don’t you need to eat?”
Wilder shook his head. “I don’t require as much as you, and mortal food is repugnant. I left the bulk of my supplies in Fresia. I’ll eat then.”
Lyra glared. “How lucky for you.”
He rolled his eyes and pulled his pack off. “Here—” He threw her an apple that shone a deep scarlet. “Don’t eat too quickly.”
She did not heed his warning and scarfed it down, core and all, as they continued their trek, keeping off the beaten path but with it still in their line of sight.
“What are the Wilds like?”
He snorted. “Why? Haven’t you read all about them?”
“Why would I want to read about something I don’t like?” she scoffed, and he glared.
Lyra rolled her eyes with a sigh. “No. We don’t have any books about the elves.”
She ran her fingers along the ferns in their path, avoiding his eyes. That wasn’t true, but he didn’t need to know that. It would be better to let him underestimate her.
But her reply was not at all what he was expecting.
“You know nothing of the elves—at all?” he asked incredulously, halting their progress.
Lyra shook her head, feeling annoyed by his questions. She was a liar and a good one, and she didn’t like that he did not believe her.
Wilder’s eyes narrowed, but he reluctantly began explaining.
“The Elf realm is separated from the mortal realm by a veil, or a ward, if you will. It divides the nonmagical land from the magical land. And the magical realm is split between two kingdoms—the Wilds and the Mannereds. Oberon, my father, is the High King of the Wilds and a direct descendant of Fionn. Long ago, our line fractured, some ancient family squabble that divided the realm in two. High Queen Titania rules the other half, known as the Mannereds.”
That name—Titania. She had heard that name somewhere; a long-ago voice whispered into her ear. His words baffled her, though.
“And you are at war?” Lyra questioned, feigning confusion.
Wilder shook his head. “We had been. The war between our realms stretches back as far as our recorded history. But we are at peace now.”
There was peace between their kingdoms? Why had they heard of nothing but war between them?
“Since when?” Her mask slipped.
Before she could master her expression, Wilder noticed her pursed lips and lowered brows.
“What?”
“I have always been taught that the elves were at war with each other.”
Wilder gazed sidelong at her.
“And without books, how were you taught this information?”
Lyra huffed. “Our scouts passed the information on.”
He accepted that answer as truth and clarified his response.
“Your information is dated. The fighting ended long ago, and the alliance was formed within the last hundred years.”
“I see,” she replied simply. “What else should I know?”
“Well, our society is divided between noble houses that rule over their granted territories, but everyone swears fealty to my father. Regardless of their kind.” He ground his teeth at that and continued. “There are seven noble houses, three of which are related to my family.”
Lyra processed all that information and came up with more questions.
“What do you mean by ‘their kind’?”
Wilder strode around a particularly large fern and ran his fingertips over the fronds.
“Not all the elves look like me. Some resemble trees, the sun, or the night sky. There are also trolls, fairies, and pixies, although they are rarer to see. There are also,” he ticked off his long fingers, “sentient trees that are as old as the land, and wulvers.” He spoke of the last creature with a snarl.
“And the Mannereds?” Lyra prompted, trying to understand beyond what she had once read.
Wilder shrugged. “All the elves there resemble me, and the land is much different. It’s flat with manicured gardens and forests, hence the ‘manner’ part of their name.”
It took Lyra a moment to realize he had cracked a joke, but when she did, she giggled.
Her laugh brushed against the thread of power coiled around her heart. It wasn’t a complete tug on it, but enough that it stirred.
Wilder halted immediately and stared at her, enthralled. A gray fog clouded his blue eyes like heavy clouds in the sky.
That laugh, that sound. It was magic. Beautifully haunted, blessed magic.
He stared enraptured at her, willing to do or say anything she commanded.
Lyra clamped a hand over her mouth and stared at him with terror.
“I’m so sorry. I did not mean to.”
Wilder shook his head, and the power that had encircled his mind, controlling every part of him, vanished. His eyes returning to the clear, crystal blue.
It was terrifying. Utterly terrifying how all-consuming her power was.
He would have killed himself if she had commanded it—with merely a laugh, she had gripped him so completely.
Which is why she worked so hard never to use it. Even a mere brush against it was euphoric. Her blood hummed through her veins, her muscles relaxed, and the anxiety that usually coiled around her gut vanished. It was addictive.
That power could enthrall anyone or anything.
But more than that, it could destroy.
Slaughter and annihilate. As she had before. The image of that male flashed behind her closed eyes, evaporating the feeling of euphoria and leaving her feeling bereft of any feelings besides misery.
“What was that?” Wilder breathed, his brow furrowing over his rapidly darkening eyes.
She couldn’t—wouldn’t answer.
And Wilder didn’t speak to her again.
The sun rose high in the sky, its golden light shining down on Lyra. But even its appearance couldn’t bring her out of her despair. She had been a fool, a careless fool yet again.
The magic wasn’t safe; it was corruption. And although she hadn’t meant it to, it had happened, and their tenuous alliance had crumbled.
Wilder had barricaded himself behind a wall of silence to keep her at bay. To keep himself safe from her. The monster.
The memory of the sea witch in the cave sprang to her mind. What was it the witch had said?
“A monster—a monster that would destroy the entire world.”
No one would ever understand her. Not her father, and certainly not her friends if they ever learned the truth of what she hid.
Lyra walked in silence beside him, seeing past the wonder of the land and keeping her eyes on the path.
What good would it be to enjoy anything at all?
She had no one to share it with—and she never would.