Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
OPHELIA
We haven’t touched in days, but I can still feel the tingle where his ungloved hands held mine.
Less favorable memories are trapped in my mind as well: his cousin ranting and raving about how he shouldn’t speak with me. How would she feel knowing we did more than speak, that we brushed fingers and laughed like old mates?
How would the rest of his family view our friendship?
It doesn’t matter. He returns to behaving as though I hardly exist. When we pass one another in the corridor, he gives me a curt nod and continues with his important life. Emyr has so much else to worry about, between planning a wedding and caring for a sick companion.
Yet, my stomach drops each time I see him. A naive part of me hopes for another second of his time, but that’s time he owes Princess Minetta, not me. He’s hosting afternoon tea with his betrothed and, of course, I’m working for them.
I force a polite smile and carry the tray in.
Of all the dreary rooms in the castle, this may be the prettiest. Cool light peeks through the windows, and a young woman plays the piano in the corner of the room, producing soft music that speeds up and slows down, then speeds up again.
The portrait of sunflowers, livelier than any living flower in the cursed Sun Palace, brightens the space.
I set the tray on the table without saying a word. No one speaks to me. It’s as intended. Helena follows me, quick and quiet as she delivers a second tray.
Across the room, I can feel Emyr searching for me.
He draws my attention, even though I don’t wish to give in.
He is markedly different in this space, compared to how he is in the quiet moments we’ve shared; I hardly recognize him like this.
His colorful jackets have been replaced with dark fabric, and blue bruises color his skin beneath his droopy eyes.
His hair, once shining in the light, hangs limp and lackluster.
The corner of his lip tugs up, and while it’s usually easy to return his smiles, I must force myself to do so now. Seeing him like this gives me no pleasure. I know the signs of deep sorrow when I see them.
Spark still lives, as far as I know, but Emyr is already mourning him. All the while, he’s supposed to be in love with the one at his side, but he appears so unhappy.
Perhaps he’s not in love at all. He does not look at her, doesn’t smile for her; he looks at me.
No. I push that evil thought away, turn on my heel, and leave them. I have no place in this room. Even if she weren’t with him, I could never take up space in his life. He’s a prince, and I’m the one who brings him his tea.
EMYR
Another day. Another dreaded cup of tea, when I should be deep in studies. I spend my evenings with my nose buried in a book and my days… like this. Planning for a wedding I don’t care about. A wedding that won’t break the curse.
A brief moment locking eyes with Ophelia gives me more of a thrill than speaking with Minetta, and I don’t understand how things between me and my betrothed could have changed so swiftly.
Why can’t I love her?
“Emyr?” Minetta peers at me and presses an ungloved hand to my forehead. “Are you ill?”
My brows furrow. “You shouldn’t jest about such things in our land. People are coming down with grave illnesses every day.”
Including Spark. I don’t imagine Minetta considers that concern, even though we’ve had long conversations about the curse and how it’s affecting my friend.
“My apologies.” She withdraws her hand and smiles. “You’ve been awfully distracted this morning. That’s all.”
“Have I?” I sip my tea and sweep the area, my gaze wandering about, likely proving her point. “There’s much for us to worry about. We’ve a wedding to prepare for, less than two moons from now.”
Though I hope we can move it up. Or perhaps I wish to push it away. It’s hard to say which I want.
“The wedding is not a worry. Your parents will take care of absolutely everything.”
The polite smile I have been holding wavers. “Yes. I suppose they will.”
The problem is that I’ve never been one to let my parents control anything—or at least, I’ve never wished for them to. They already control who I’m to marry, and when I’ll be married. Why should they control the rest of the dreaded event?
Because I don’t care, that’s why.
“Your Highness?” Tibalt clears his throat. “I do not know if you have forgotten, but we have somewhere to be…”
“Oh.” I lift a brow. “Do we?”
Tibalt’s expression is unwavering, the calm in the cursed storm of my life. “Yes. We do.”
Of course, my loyal guard is here to save me—to free me, really. I knew I could count on him.
“Ah, yes! The thing…” I rise and hold Minetta’s gloved hand, kissing the back with a flourish. “It was wonderful spending time with you, as always.”
Minetta beams. “Likewise.”
My words are drenched in sarcasm, but she doesn’t seem to sense it. That’s for the best.
Tibalt and I amble inside.
With each step I take, I’m more at ease until I can finally relax. “We have nothing to do, you liar. I’m not so foolish that I don’t remember what’s on the agenda.”
“I know.” He snorts and holds the door open for me. “It’s only that you were looking for an escape, and it’s my job to present one.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.” He grips my elbow and pulls me down a long corridor. “Besides, I want to see Spark.”
My heart skips a beat. “W-why?”
“Because he’s my friend as well, you dolt, and I’ve yet to visit him.” He watches me with a level expression. “Unless this is too difficult for you at this moment?”
Tibalt is right. We should visit our friend. I’ve not seen him since the first time, and I don’t wish to see him again. I don’t want to see Carwyn’s bones flash in my mind, to see Spark in such a state. Above all, I don’t want to fear for Tibalt’s fate.
He’s safe. For now. But how long until the curse begins spreading to high fae?
“Difficult?” I shake my head. “No difficulty. Let us go.”
The infirmary is as cold as before. The head healer seems unsurprised to see us, waving through the noisy ward, full of growls and cries. Tibalt, ever the soldier, doesn’t flinch. I’m the only one who does, cowering at the sounds of my tormented people.
“Where is the brownie?” I whisper.
Perhaps I don’t want the answer. Out of every cursed fae, that brownie sticks in my mind, as do the cruel words he flung at me.
The healer looks at me with a level expression. “He is dead.”
I flinch, ever the coward. “Ah. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Do not apologize to me,” the healer says. “For I am still alive. For now.”
Spark is still living as well, but he appears to be hanging on by a thread. His eyes are bloodshot, his coat lacks its usual shine, and he snaps at the cage when we enter.
“Gods…” Tibalt’s expression finally shifts. His brows furrow, and his expression crumples. “That’s not the Spark I know.”
“Nor is it the one I know,” I murmur. “But he’s in there somewhere.”
“Chances are, he will never be that Spark again.” The healer clasps her hands together. “Not unless your wedding truly breaks this curse, Your Highness. I hear congratulations are in order.”
Tibalt gives her a nasty look. “Is that how you speak to a grieving fae?”
The healer doesn’t wince, nor does she flinch. She’s as calm and serene as can be. “I speak the truth.”
“At ease, Tibalt. She’s right.” I stand taller, staring at Spark and praying to the gods that he will show me something—a flicker of recognition.
He doesn’t. His tail swishes, as if he hopes to attack me, and I turn away.
“Let us hurry, Tibalt. We’ve other places to be.” I can’t remain here without becoming sick to my stomach. I can no longer look at Spark. I won’t be the cause of his suffering.
I will be the one who frees him, no matter what it takes.
OPHELIA
Magic is a cruel, tempting mistress. She rests just out of my reach, but I long to drag her close and bask in her warm embrace.
Staying at the palace enhances the urge.
Each time I feel someone’s emotions—whether it is the deep sorrow the prince carries, or Helena’s rambunctious joy—I’m more connected to myself than before.
Helena does well at helping me control my magic. When the blue orb appears at night, we practice switching to other emotions. After weeks of practice, it feels simple to do.
But there is still so much to learn. There must be more. When can I grant a wish? Or open a portal? Or read a mind?
“Have ye tried moon bathing?” Helena asks, plopping herself onto my bed.
I look up from the book on my lap and lift a brow. “I suppose I should know what that is?”
“Perhaps not.” She shrugs. “I heard the other Moon Fae talking about it. They claim that basking in the moon’s light helps their powers grow.”
I hesitate and then nod. “Hm… then I should go for a stroll tonight, then. Is that all there is to it?”
“As far as I know. You’d have to ask the others.”
But I would rather find out for myself.
A blanket of darkness wraps around me that evening as I stroll through the gardens.
It’s a good night for a late-night walk, I think.
The moon is bright, even if it’s not yet full.
The lack of fullness means the other Moon Fae are, thankfully, not here to bother me.
I’m trying to grow my powers, but showing my gifts to those who have been practicing for years would be embarrassing.
Being under the moon is revitalizing. I peer up at the silver globe and hold out my hands, hoping I can soak the energy into my bare skin.
Perhaps it does nothing at all. It’s hard to say, but I can’t deny that it makes me feel better.
Power grows in my chest, a strength I have never been able to hold.
I stand taller, and silver glitter sparkles on my hands.
I inhale through my nose, my eyes flickering shut.
“You shouldn’t be out alone, little halfling.”
A smooth voice rouses me from my relaxing moment, even though it is someone I recognize.
I open an eye. “Do you mean to threaten me, Your Highness?”