36. Puck
Lysandra and I slip out of Edina’s room without saying goodbye. I could tell when they got under her skin, the instant she started pulling away from me. It takes every shred of self-control I possess not to scoop her into my arms and make promises I can’t keep. I shouldn’t even be thinking like this, but I can’t help it.
I’m falling in love with her, and I have been for a long time.
As soon as we’re out of the room, I grab her hand and pull her close. She comes willingly, folding into my arms like she’s meant to be there. “Close your eyes,” I whisper, kissing the top of her head. My magic swirls around us, squeezing and closing in until we’re teleporting through space, out of the palace, and away from all our troubles.
The night air is cool, a soft breeze fluttering Lysandra’s hair so it tickles my cheek. “Keep them closed.” Keeping my arms around her waist, I step behind her, summon a string of magical lights to illuminate the darkness, and send a few that flicker like candles onto the grass. “Now, you can open.”
The Iridis Hills are known for creating a rainbow effect when flying overhead. As Lysandra and I have gotten to know each other, she told me she’s flown over the hills, but never walked amongst the flowers.
One day, I’ll show her all of them. But tonight…
She spins, taking in all the purple. From above, the hills look to be one singular color, but from here, there’s every shade imaginable. There’s mulberry and grape, the lightest lavender and the deepest indigo; even the grass is heather-colored. Bioluminescent grains of pollen float in the air, collecting on the petals and making the hill glow. As if they know she’s here, the flowers perk up—even in the dead of night.
She turns to me, beaming. “How have I never been here?” she asks, extending her hands and manipulating the earth until a long shoot extends from the ground up to her hand. A purple orchid blossoms beneath her fingertips.
“What’s the significance of the orchid?” I ask. She’s grown them before, often. There’s an entire garden of purple orchids on the palace grounds.
“They were my father’s favorite,” she says, her voice tinged with grief. “These—” she points to the eggplant orchid at her side, “—are said to symbolize beauty, grace, and elegance. Something he said every queen should possess.” She turns from me, looking out over the hill of flowers. She’s retreating from me again. I should probably let her. Ignoring all sense of self-preservation, I close in behind her, resting my chin on the top of her head and wrapping my arms around her waist. “What are we doing?” she whispers.
The sadness in her voice has me calling forth my magic, tapping into one of the most beautiful enchantments I’ve ever learned. In seconds, every flower, insect, and blade of grass on the hilltop comes together to play our song. I gently spin her to face me and take one hand in mine while my other rests on her lower back. “We’re dancing.”
We start to sway and her shining brown eyes stay on mine, through every movement and every swell. When I try to dip her, she squeals and fights me until I return her to her upright position. Our laughter compliments the music, creating a wholly different melody—one that’s even more beautiful.
We dance for several songs until Lysandra presses up on her toes and whispers, “Take me home,” against my lips. I don’t go back to the palace, instead teleporting to my treehouse, where we spend the rest of the night tangled up in each other, keen to shut out the rest of the world and be together.
“Puck?” Lysandra murmurs against my chest. Orange light slants through the wall of windows, making her glow almost as brightly as the sun itself.
“Yes, princess?” I shift so we’re lying facing each other, our heads propped up on our fists while our legs remain interlocked with my simple, white comforter casually draped across our waists.
“What if we just stay here today? If we bail on the ball and sleep or…do whatever else we want.”
I kiss the tip of her nose. I know she doesn’t expect an answer, and quite frankly, if I thought she was serious, I’d stay with her in a heartbeat.
“I just…” she sighs. “I know this is over after today, and I’m not sure I’m ready.” She buries her head in the pillow. “Fuck, that makes me sound clingy. This is supposed to be casual.”
I tilt her chin up and kiss her in lieu of an answer. “I’m not ready either,” I whisper, and once again succumb to the pleasure of her kiss. “Can I tell you something?” I ask once we break apart.
“Of course,” she says.
“I’ve been speaking to someone. He’s not a healer, but he works alongside them when Fae need to work through traumatic experiences. Larisa recommended him.”
“You’re seeing a therapist?”
“He prescribes potions or tonics as well, so I suppose he’s more the equivalent of a psychiatrist.” I swallow, trying to calm my breathing before I admit this next part. “After the second trial, I realized I had a lot of issues that needed addressing.”
Lysandra strokes my hair, and I lean into the contact. It’s such a small gesture, but it’s comforting. “Because I had so little free will for so many years, weve been working toward figuring out what I want. We started small, like if I wanted to go to Hades’ club opening, and what I wanted to serve for dinner at one of the smaller parties I hosted for the courtiers, and have been building from there.”
“And what is it you want, Puck?” she asks with complete sincerity.
“I’m not sure I’m there yet,” I admit. “But I know you make me happier than I have been in centuries. Even before…I don’t think I was truly happy. I think I glorified my days in the mortal realm because it was better than my recent experiences, but the truth is, I was bored out of my mind. It’s what got me into so much trouble. I don’t think I’ve ever been truly happy, until you.”
Her face falls. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because we have an expiration date.” Tears well in her eyes. “Tomorrow, one of us will win the third trial, and—”
“What if it didn’t have to end there?” I ask, a bit desperate. “I’ve vowed to remain in the palace to help you, should you win. And you’re the princess, so if I win, you’re—”
“I wouldn’t stay,” she says so forcefully I extract myself from her. “I’d go live in the Day Court with my grandmother. It’s closer to my friends and removed enough from society that I wouldn’t have to be there every day making nice with the courtiers who would be talking shit about me behind my back.”
“You’ve thought about this.” It feels like she’s slapped me across the face. She would move away and never spare me a second thought. She’d leave the damn court.
Does she realize Day Court is mostly desert? Nothing fucking grows there.
“It would be too painful.”
“That’s what I’m trying to say. It doesn’t have to be painful.”
“It’s painful now, Puck.” She stands and starts hunting for her clothes. “You saw what it was like with our friends last night. They’re so confused about how we can make this work because they know we can’t. One way or another, one of us is going to be heartbroken tomorrow and the other is going to get everything they’ve ever wanted.”
I feel the need to get dressed too—to put a layer of clothing between us to lessen this blow. I thought we could do this, that we could survive the fallout of this trial and somehow emerge together.
“I don’t think we should sleep together tonight,” she says, keeping her back to me as she slides on her leggings.
“Fine,” I agree.
“I’m going back to the palace.”
“Fine.”
She leaves the room without turning back, and I sink onto the bed, draping my arm over my eyes to shut out the onslaught of light streaming through the windows.
I should have known better than to try and keep her.
I’m not a good enough male to get everything I’ve ever wanted.
I’m barely present through the ball, spending most of the event trying to avoid Lysandra and not think too hard about the trial. Edina and Larisa try to cheer me up, but after their many attempts, I avoid them as well. As soon as I’m able, I excuse myself to ‘get ready for the trial,’ then spend the better part of an hour listening to people wish me luck.
Sleep is impossible to come by. My bed feels too empty, too cold without Lysandra curled up beside me. I keep replaying our last night together, going over everything she said. Everything I said. Wondering what I could have done to make it go differently.
When I’m not thinking of Lysandra, I run through every possibility for the trial. I finally can’t stand it anymore and jump off the balcony of my bedroom, letting my wings carry me into the sky. I don’t know where I’m going until I land in the deserted streets of my mother’s village.
It looks like the village is planning a party. Banners are strung from doorways and on picket fences, the town center has large tables waiting to be filled with food and drinks, and there’s a maypole erected, the silk ribbons fluttering in the breeze.
They think I’m going to win. This is my victory celebration.
I land on the stone walkway leading to my mother’s house, but I don’t get the chance to knock on the red-painted door before it opens.
My mother wears an oversized sweater Edina brought her from the mortal realm, and her arms hug her slender waist. “I had a feeling I’d be seeing you tonight,” she says, running a hand over the hair at the top of her head before it reaches her bun. “Come on, I made cookies.”
“Made?” I walk inside my childhood home where the familiar scent of vanilla and orange envelops me. There are plants everywhere, all of them thriving in their pots. The ones that dangle from the ceiling have grown so long they catch in my hair as I follow my mother into the kitchen.
“Made, bought from Baxter, no difference.” She pulls out a box of chocolate cookies. As I take them, I get a flash of me and Lysandra snacking in bed one night, and her demanding chocolate because ‘it makes everything—even amazing sex—better.’
“Why can’t you sleep?” I ask, taking a cookie and breaking off a small piece. Another thing Lysandra teased me for, breaking my food into pieces instead of taking a bite. It seems everything reminds me of her.
“My baby is going into a battle arena tomorrow, you think I’m going to get any sleep?”
“I’m ready,” I assure her. “I’ve been training for weeks. If they put me with the Fae I think they will, he won’t hurt me. Edina would kill him if he did.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. While our monarchs do a great job running the realm, they have vicious streaks. I wouldn’t put it past them to give you a challenge you’re not expecting.”
“As long as it’s not Gwyneira, I’ll be fine.”
She hums but summons two cups of tea.
“Want to talk about her?” she asks finally.
“Gwyneira?”
“If you’re losing sleep over Gwyneira, we have a whole host of problems. I meant Lysandra.”
“How did you guess?” I ask, blowing on my tea and watching the chamomile-scented steam waft away from me.
“Do you remember when you were growing up and had a crush on Rachael? You had the same look then as you do now.” I blush furiously. Leave it to my mother to bring up something from centuries ago. “So, tell me about her.”
“There’s nothing really to tell,” I say, shoving another bite in my mouth. “We were attracted to each other, and that attraction ran its course.”
“You act like I didn’t raise you and can’t tell when you’re lying.”
I roll my eyes like a petulant child, but proceed to tell her everything, save the more sordid details. When I’m done recounting it all—every misstep, every romantic gesture, every discovered trauma response—she takes a sip of her tea and says, “That’s a difficult position, darling.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m proud of you for getting help, and I’m proud you’re learning what you need to make you happy. But unfortunately, you have a tough decision to make, and I can’t do that for you.”
“There’s no choice. Just a shit situation.”
“There’s always a choice.”
I pick at the edge of my cookie, spreading crumbs onto the counter until my mother slides a plate underneath it. I wave my hand, cleaning them for her, but continue to stare at the baked good like it holds all the secrets in the world.
“Come, try to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be here soon enough,” she says, holding out her hand and drawing my eyes to hers. They’re etched with concern, and yet unwavering, like she knows I’ll make the right decision.
I wish I knew what that is.
I let her take me up the stairs to my childhood bedroom, the original inspiration for my treehouse. Its walls and floors are cherry wood whose natural grooves make it look like it was carved straight from the tree, and my mother has accented it by painting the dressers, bedpost, and everything else forest green.
“I won’t be there tomorrow,” my mother says softly, lingering in the doorway. “I’m not sure I’d be able to watch you fighting without jumping into the ring to save you.” She places her hand on my cheek. “But I love you very much, and I know you’ll do wonderfully.”
I kiss her temple and draw her into a hug. “Love you too, Mom.”
Before I know it, I’m entering the arena in Day Court. It’s in their portion of the Dorchas Desert, so even though it’s early, the sun is unbearable. Rows and rows of Fae line the stadium-style seating, filing in to see the final trial. The arena is large enough to hold most of the realm, and those it can’t hover on their wings at the top of the open-air structure.
I stand beneath the stadium in a darkened hallway, waiting for instruction. I was led here by Devorah when I arrived, and after I was frisked, she told me I could choose one non-magical weapon. I asked for a sword, and she procured one for me, along with a scabbard to hang on my waist.
I rub my sweaty hands on my green tunic—the same one Spring Court soldiers wear, but I cut the sleeves off at the shoulders to fight some of the oppressive heat. As it is, I’m regretting wearing my fighting leathers; I should have worn something lighter.
No one else enters my tunnel, and I assume Lysandra and the other opponents are in their own sections, waiting for the start. It makes me antsy. I wish I could see Lysandra and wish her luck. It’s an odd thought—because I want her to lose, but at the same time, I want to be there to comfort her pre-battle nerves.
I’m a fucking mess.
I’m attempting to quiet my mind when a magically amplified voice has the crowd erupting in cheers. The entire ground shakes as they clap and stomp and shout.
“Welcome to the third and final trial!” Devorah announces to deafening cheers. “The victor of today’s trial will become Monarch of the Spring Court, and will be coronated in three days.” She goes on to explain the rules to those of us who hadn’t heard—though I have them memorized. As she does, a guard steps in front of the door to the arena.
“Are you ready?” Devorah asks, and again, the crowd goes nuts. The siren judge must be pumping them full of excitement and bloodlust because they’re practically feral. “Then without further ado, let the trial begin.”
“Off you go,” the guard says, and I nod my thanks as I walk toward my fate.
The ground is hard-packed dirt that instantly kicks up a cloud of dust as I walk into the stage area. There are several items to hide behind, but most of the oblong arena is bare.
I squint against the sunlight as a figure appears from one of the far tunnels. The glare makes it impossible to get a look at my opponent, even when I shield my eyes. Magic coils in my hand as I approach. I’d like to see who I’m fighting against so I know how to tailor my attack, but I don’t know how I’ll do that properly with this fucking sunlight.
A vine flicks out and slaps my hand away from the hilt of my sword, and I parry with one of my own.
A vine.
Not a flame, like Eldoris should have.
Not water or air or shadow. That was a vine.
“No,” I breathe at the same time as I hear her gasp.
She moves into the shadow of one of the large rock formations, and I finally get a good look at her. She’s wearing those skin-tight leathers she hates, but hug her thighs in a way that makes me unable to think straight, and the tank she wears is black, making her look like a vigilante goddess. Her purple hair is slicked back on top so it stays behind her ears.
Lysandra.
In this final trial, this last battle, they’re making us fight each other.