41 #4
She holds me there a moment longer before she straightens. “Just be careful down there. I’ve heard creepy stories.”
“Like what?”
“Like monsters eating nosy little girls who can’t stick to the upper levels.”
“Like really?”
“Sure, or I couldn’t have said it.”
I roll my eyes. True. “What girls? Blair—” I grab her arm and force her to stop when she starts walking.
“What do you think? Scribes and acolytes.”
I swallow hard, my heart pounding faster and a little unsteady.
“They’re rumors, but people believe them. From time to time, someone disappears. But I guess Avandal tries to keep that tiny little fact locked up behind its prestigious doors. But we witches know. So do me a favor and don’t go to the lower levels. Everything beyond two is off limits, hear me?”
“Fine,” I mutter, not intending to stick to that promise. Because I found that book on level three.
I wonder whether Faye knows though, and worry eats at me.
We walk back out into the bright sunlight. I soak it up, even greedier after those sinister stories. Aris trots over to one of the patios, stretches his neck, and plucks a purple and white striped apple from one of the trees.
“You’re aware that that’s a fruit,” I shoot down at him with a frown and earn a snort in return. “And that you’re usually a meat-only demon.”
“Oh yes, thank you so much for pointing that out. It might have escaped me.” He whinnies.
“This form makes me crave apples and carrots,” he complains, and I bite back a laugh.
He notices and snarls down our bond. “May I remind you why I am in this particular form and not in a more majestic one, fitting my beautiful spirit, unmatched station, and awe-inspiring soul?”
“Does it help that you look glorious and incredibly beautiful?”
He throws his head back, sending his long, glittery mane flying as he stalks off. “I know.”
“Diva,” I tease.
“I heard that.”
“Good.”
We pass white pavilions where harpists play, and people sit on blankets in the soft grass to listen.
Bushes and hedges are trimmed into the shapes of magical creatures—a horned bear, a unicorn, a dragon, a winged fox, a creature half-horse, half-fish—and children splash in tiny, steaming ponds, playing and giggling as they chase wild peacocks and ducks across the meadow.
Blair leads us to a tea house with white, metal framework tables and benches outside.
Aris grazes on the plush lawn next to us, and Blair makes a joke about him going vegan.
He counters with a horsey hoof stomp before she orders an array of sugary pastries baked to look like various fairy fruits, along with spiced gold nettle and lavender tea for us.
Once a blue-haired waitress brings everything, and Blair eats a fair share of pastries in rapid succession, she leans back, her face tilted toward the sun.
Her eyes are closed, her eyelids sparkling with glitter.
I haven’t seen her this relaxed—well, ever, I guess.
“Do all cities in the fae world look like this?” I ask, looking around while I lick raspberry cake filled with vanilla and plum mousse off my fingers. I’m still not feeling too comfortable about being among so many people, but Avandal certainly is worth visiting.
Blair cracks one eye open to look at me. “Better than the human world?”
“Hells yeah,” I say, not even bothering to hide my smile as I go for a cake that looks like a lemon.
“Avandal has never seen a war, and the queen values the beautiful arts—architecture, music, dancing, theater, literature, painting, and sculpture—over instruments of war. The queen and her ancestors neglected her military forces in favor of the first. Cities in Palisandre look beautiful, too, but in a more serene, intimidating way.” She sighs, stretching out her long legs.
“I’ve always loved Avandal. If I had to pick a city to live in, I’d live here. ”
With that, Blair stands and puts a few silver coins on the table, mumbling something about finding new clothes before vanishing and leaving Aris and me behind.
I sit for a few more moments, taking in the beautiful, peaceful city.
Then Aris and I stroll on alone. We leave the park and find ourselves in the middle of another square filled with merchant stalls.
The enormous statue of an angel fighting a witch has been erected in its center, and it takes me a moment to realize that the angel is none other than Caryan—and my stupid heart jolts, my blood running hotter. Seeing his absurdly beautiful face, even if only on a statue, has that effect on me.
“They built this to honor him after he brought most of Avandal’s population back after the witches attacked,” Aris explains before muttering, “Although I think they overdid it a little with his wingspan.”
“Is wingspan a metaphor for…other things, like in the books?”
It was meant as a joke, but thinking of it now—hells, why am I even asking that? I really shouldn’t, but there’s no going back now. And I can feel an embarrassing blush already creeping up my cheeks. Damn pale complexion.
“You mean in your little human-world fantasy books I had to endure?” Aris snorts, clearly amused by my obvious reaction.
I elbow him in the side. “Hey. We also watched all those lovey-dovey, blurry-eyed romantic films, too, and I didn’t say a thing.”
“To answer your question: No, wingspan is not a common equivalent for penis size—or, with this statue, Caryan would probably be…hung like me right now. Like a horse.” Aris chuckles over his own phrasing, while I’m reddening to the shade of a very ripe tomato as I glance back up at the statue.
Yeah, Aris might be right, because Caryan’s wings, in reality, are huge, but those of the figurine wind up behind and around him like a massive wall.
My attention is thankfully claimed by heaps and heaps of pigments on a merchant’s table, glittering in every hue of the palette. The artist in me is drawn to them like a moth to a flame, and I run closer, Caryan’s wingspan completely forgotten.
“Gods, I’ve never seen so many colors, Aris,” I whisper as my eyes dart over them in outright awe.
He just chuckles, ruffling and nipping at my hair with his soft horse-lip, and I feel the bond between us brimming and shimmering with happiness at my words. I know he’s been waiting a long time to see me paint again.
“Do you want some, my lady?” A woman with the greenest hair I’ve ever seen offers.
I can’t hide my grin when I say, “I might just ask for a heap of every color, please,” pulling out the coins the campus provided me with.