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The idea of similarities between us pleased me more than it should have. A month ago, I wouldn’t have thought I could have anything in common with the majestic creatures of the fae realm who appeared untouchable, much less a similarity with a fae king. Yet here I stood with one at my side, whom I dared to call a friend, and we found common ground.
“And both our fathers fell apart without their wives,” I added. “Father was gone for two months searching for her. All he returned with were stories of something called snow and a hardened heart we couldn’t thaw.”
Bash’s eyes widened a bit. “You don’t know what snow is?”
“I know what it is,” I said, not caring for the bewildered way he looked at me. “At least, now I do. I’ve just never seen it.”
“It’s wet. And cold. Highly overrated.”
My shoulders sagged. “Oh. I heard it glistened like glass and was as soft as fur.”
“I guess that could be said of it,” Bash mused. “Not soft enough to keep your father’s heart from hardening though.”
“Hard like ice.”
He studied me for a long while, until his focus was like a weight that pushed down on the shield around me and threatened to see beyond it. Beyond the mask, beyond the games. Beyond my claim of only using him as a means to get home. If he looked too hard, he might see it all.
And if he asked, I would remove my mask for him.
I moved away, and that was when he spoke. “I’m seeing now where you get your strength.”
I gave a dry laugh. “I’m from the center island. Strength we have in abundance.”
“How lucky for you,” he remarked. “You’ll find that strength is often a facade here, a cover for sensitive fae who will break if trifled with too hard. We aren’t as resilient as we like to claim.”
Like how he covered the pain of losing his mother with the claim that it made stealing the throne easier. But the fae told different stories about Bash. “I hear you can’t be broken.”
He drew back at that. “It’s best that way. Keeps me safe.” His voice was impassive, like I’d reminded him not to get close.
It wasn’t what I wanted him to say, but he hadn’t given any answer that I didn’t already know. We could find a million similarities to bond us or share a thousand laughs. It would never be enough. He’d share stories of his life but never his heart.
My heart wasn’t so easily guarded. I gave it freely with any scrap of affection that came my way. I gave it to my mother, who had well-earned it. I gave it to my brothers, who owned half of it. I gave it to my father, even when his wasn’t reachable. And this realm tugged at it, even when it revealed its dangers. I was constantly giving out pieces of myself, searching for a connection.
With one smile, Bash could have it just as easily. But his could never be won.
I forced a yawn. “I should go. I have a ride on the fastest chariot in the realm tomorrow.”
A darkness veiled Bash’s eyes. “Thorn.”
I nodded, searching for clues as to how deep his disappointment lay.
“Very well,” he said, frustratingly calm. “Enjoy your time. When you are done, I want to show you something.”
“What is it?”
He shook his head, buttoned the gold latch of his cloak, and moved for the stairs. “Tomorrow. Good night, my Queen.”
After he left, I found Gaia’s eyes on me, even as Brock’s wife was whispering something in her ear. The usual warning wasn’t there. It had been replaced by sadness and a tinge of defeat.
Gaia had given up saving herself. But I’d never stop until I was dead.
Bash proved an easy subject to paint. His features were molded into my mind with such detail, I summoned them with little effort. The exact curve of his eyes was the hardest to capture. I sketched something that didn’t do him justice, then left it to serve as a placeholder until I could see him again.
I blanketed the background with a night sky, and his looming mountain home lit up behind him with jutting verandas swathed in moss on each carved level. The vast windows shone through to the throne room with his prized glass heart sitting beside it. Bash stood outside on the edge of the mountain, staring into the night at his surrounding islands, all situated at a lower level as if bowing before him.
The hours passed until all I had left were the exact details of his eyes, which, though a small part of the painting, were of great importance to me.
Thorn arrived at the door as I cleaned the brushes. His suit was held together by one ruby button that shone brightly. His bronze eyes went to my painting.
