I was wide awake before dawn but remained staring at the fretwork ceiling, watching the growing light of the sun creep between the drapes of the curtains. I was usually out of the cottage before sunrise—though my brothers hissed at me every morning for waking them so early. If I were home, I would already be in the woods, not wasting a moment of sunlight. Instead, this bedroom and house was completely silent, the enormous bed I lay on empty and foreign. A small part of me might have missed my brothers' warm bodies overlapping with mine.
I buried my face in my pillow, pulling the blankets higher. If Japeth had indeed kept his side of the bargain, my family would be comfortable and well-off now. If Japeth kept his side of the bargain, if those benefits would cease if I returned to the human realm, then my family would likely resent my return rather than celebrate it.
Your skin is ... clean. A pathetic complement. Although, I supposed if he invited me here, to spare my life, he couldn't be completely ... wicked. Perhaps he had just been trying to smooth our very, very rough beginning. Maybe there is some way to let him slip where I might find the black milkweed, to get myself to the Imperial Lord. And if it's not him, someone else ...
I was heedlessly drifting from one thought to another, trying to sort through the scramble, when the lock on the door clicked, and—
There was a screech and a thud, and I bolted upright to find Willodean a heap on the floor. The length of rope I had made from the curtain trimmings now were in two pieces, one on Willodean's ankle while the other hung from the light fixture. I had rigged it to grab anyone's leg when they stepped on it. It was the best I could do, with what I had.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I blurted, leaping from the bed, but Willodean was already up, hissing at me as she brushed off her apron. She looked up and frowned at the rope dangling loosely above her.
"What in the depthless cave of the Alger is—"
"I didn't think anyone would come to this room so early, and—"
Willodean scrutinised me from head to toe. "You think a little bit of rope grabbing my ankle would stop me from grinding your bones?" My blood ran cold. "You think that will do anything against one of us?"
I might have kept apologizing were it not for the sneer she gave me. I crossed my arms. "It was supposed to be a warning bell to give me time to run. Not a trap."
She seemed poised to spit on me, but her brown eyes narrowed. "You can't outrun us either, girl."
"I know," I said, my heart calming at last, "but at least I wouldn't face my death unaware."
Willodean barked a laugh. "My master said to us not to harm you, for you to live and not die. We will obey." She inspected the hanging bit of rope. "But did you have to wreck those lovely curtains?"
Even though I didn't want to, a hint of a small smile tugged at my lips. Willodean strode over to the curtains and threw them open, revealing a deep periwinkle sky, blushing with hues of magenta and orange from the rising dawn. "I am sorry," I said again.
Willodean clicked her tongue and chuckled. "At least you're willing to put up a fight, girl. I'll give you that."
I opened my mouth to speak, but another female servant came in, a breakfast tray in hand. She bid me a curt good morning, set the tray on the table beside the window, and disappeared into the attached bathing chamber. The sound of running water filled the room.
I sat at the table and studied the porridge and eggs and bacon—bacon. Again, such familiar food to what we ate across the barrier. I didn't know why I'd expected something different. Willodean poured me a cup of what looked and smelt like tea: aromatic tea, no doubt imported at a great expense. "What is this place?" I asked her quietly, lifting the cup to my lips. "Where is this place?"
"It's the safest place you can be and that's all you need to know," Willodean said, setting down the teapot. "At least the house is. If you go poking around in the grounds, keep your wits about you."
Fine—if she would answer that, I'll try again, "What sort of ... faeries should I look out for?"
"All of them," Willodean said tightly, her voice clipped. "My master's protection only goes so far. They'll want to hunt you and kill you for just being human."
Another useless answer. I dug into my breakfast, savouring each bite of food and sip of tea while Willodean slipped into the bathing chamber. Once I was done eating and bathing, I refused Willodean's offer and dressed myself in another beautiful tunic—this one of the colour of the blue skies. I wish I knew the proper name for it, but I catalogued it anyway. I pulled on my brown boots from yesterday as I sat at the marble vanity to let Willodean braid my wet hair. I cringed at my reflection.
I was a far cry from ugly, but I wouldn't call myself pretty as well. At least I had my father's soft mouth, though it made a fool of my too-sharp cheekbones and hollow cheeks. I couldn't bring myself to look at my slightly uptilted grey eyes because I knew I would see my mother looking back at me. I'd sometimes wondered if people insulted me just for my looks.
Though I supposed that for Phoebus, Kallistê, and Oberon—for Seelie Faeries to use ethereal, flawless beauty—it had been a struggle to find a complement. Faerie bastards.
Willodean finished my plait, and I jumped off the chair before she could weave in the little flowers she had brought in a basket. I'd never particularly cared about beauty. Beauty didn't mean anything in the forest.
When I asked Willodean what I was to do now—what I was to do with the entirety of my mortal life while I planned my assassination—she shrugged and suggested a walk in the gardens. I almost laughed, but I kept my tongue still. I'd be foolish to push aside potential allies. I doubted she had the Seelie Faeries' heightened senses, and I couldn't press her about it yet, but ... At least a walk provided a chance to know my surroundings—and whether there might be a chance which I could find the black milkweed in the gardens. Highly unlikely, but it was worth the try.
The halls were silent and empty—strange for such a large estate. They'd mentioned there were others the night before, but I saw and heard no signs of them. I was almost to the grand staircase when I noticed the tapestry.
I hadn't let myself really look yesterday, but now, with the empty hall with no one to see ... a flash of colour amid the shadowy, dark background made me stop, a riot of colour and texture that made me face the ornate frame.
It was a map of what I could guess were the lands of Asteria. Curiosity and wonder took the best of me as I reached out a hand to trace the thin border between the faerie realm and the humans' lands. So thin, so delicate, so insignificant—as if the artist couldn't bother paying much attention to it. I brushed over the land sewed with a translucent thread that seemed to catch the first rays of the sun. This was where I must me now. I squinted my eyes as my eyes struggled to read the cursive handwriting weaved on the gold-like thread.
"E-la-nor," I stuttered, trying to sound out the word. It was familiar somehow, but I couldn't remember why.
I reached my hand up, above the golden lands to the woven green thread resembling the forest. It separated Elanor from a huge mass of land above it, which the artist used thread so dark, it seemed to swallow up all the light. Yet when I looked closer, there were bits and pieces of silver thread in between, which made it look like the stars in the night sky. I seemed drawn to the obsidian lands, entranced by its beauty, though a deep voice cut through my thoughts.
"Morana," someone said, and I jumped back a step. In the light of the open glass doors, a towering male figure stood silhouetted before me.
Phoebus. He wore a warrior's clothes, cut to show off his toned body, and three simple knives were sheathed along his baldric across his chest—each long enough to look like it could gut me easily as a beast's claws. His brown hair had been tied back from his face, revealing those pointed ears. "The land of darkness and nightmares," he finished, still staring at the tapestry blankly.
"What lives there—who lives there?" I asked flatly. His jaw hardened. "Morana's Imperial Lord and his cronies live there, but it is nothing you should know or worry about." Even as he bit out the words, I couldn't ignore the sheer male beauty of that strong jaw, the richness of his golden-tan skin. He was handsome, though I couldn't get distracted from my goal. I tucked the new information away, at least I have located one of the Imperial Lords.
When he realised I wasn't going to respond, he bared his teeth in what I supposed was an attempt at a smile and said, "Do you want a tour?"
"No, thank you," I managed to get out, conscious of every awkward motion of my body as I edged around him.
He stepped into my path—close enough that he conceded a step back. "I've been sitting inside all morning. I need some fresh air." And you're insignificant enough that you wouldn't be a bother.
"I'm fine," I said, casually dodging him. "You've been ... generous enough." I tried to sound like I meant it.
A half smile, not so pleasant, no doubt unused to being denied. "Do you have some sort of problem with me?"
"No," I said quietly and walked out the doors. I needed to clear my head and sort out my plan. I didn't need him following me around.
He let out a low snarl. "I'm not going to kill you, Eleena. I don't break my promises."
I almost stumbled down the garden steps as I glanced over my shoulder. He stood atop the stairs, as solid and ancient as the pale stones of the manor. "Kill—but not harm? Is that a loophole? One that Oberon or Kallistê might use against me—or anyone else here?"
"They're under orders not to even touch you."
"Yet I'm still trapped in your realm, for breaking a rule of the Covenant of Peace. Why was your friend even so close to the border that day?"
Phoebus stilled. Such unearthly, primal grace, even to his breathing. "There ... has been attacks going on lately. Across Asteria. There has been for almost fifty years now. It is why this house and these lands are so empty: most have left. They have been happening now and then, but have temporarily stopped for now, though we suspect that those behind the attacks, they have something big coming."
But he still hadn't answered my question. "Then what was your friend doing there?"
He just stared at me. Perhaps I'd gone too far, questioned him too much.
"Kallistê was on border patrol that day because I sent her to look for spies."
"Can the attacks move to aim for the humans?" My stomach twisted. "Will it cross over the border?"
"No," he said. "I ... I don't think so. There is a very low chance of it affecting mortals, and your territory. More than that, I don't know. As I said before, the attacks have slowed, and your kind is safe for now. We haven't had any progression in decades—though I wouldn't doubt the attacks would start again out of the blue." That he'd even admitted so much, spoke volumes about how he imagined my future: I was never going home, never going to encounter another human to whom I might spill this secret vulnerability.
"I've overheard some villagers talking once about how the faeries might be thinking of attacking. Is it related?"
A hint of a smile, perhaps a bit surprised. "I don't know. Do you talk to villagers often?"
"I talk to whoever bothers to tell me anything useful."
He straightened, and it was only his promise not to kill me that kept me from cringing. Then he rolled his shoulders, as if shaking off his annoyance. "Was the tripwire you rigged in your room for me?"
I sucked on my teeth. "Can you blame me if it was?"
"I might be a faerie, but I am civilised, Eleena."
My eyes slipped to the ground but on my way passed a glance at his hands. I stumbled back. There were golden talons with razor-sharp tips growing at his knuckles, poking through his tanned skin.
Noticing my stare, he tucked his hands behind his back. He said sharply, "I'll see you at dinner."
It wasn't a request, but I still gave him a nod as I strode off between the hedges, not caring where I was going—only that he stayed far behind.
Attacks on their lands, causing faeries to flee ... Attacks that might one day spread to the human world. After so many centuries without magic, we'd be defenseless against it—against whatever attacks Phoebus had been talking about.
I wondered if any of the faeries would bother warning my kind.
It didn't take me long to know the answer.