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“All the cities,” he replies. “But the areas in between would be a waste of time. The only fae who travel between cities are nobles, and they can bend distance. Those who can’t stay within their comfort zones. The roads are rarely used.”
We fly onward until the lights of Otaxis fade and the only illumination is from the stars. But Amell created them to hang low and in such multitudes that it’s as good as the glow of a heavy, full moon.
Amell descends and alights with perfect grace atop a large butte that is more of the same I’ve seen—rocks and dirt. While the night sky is beautiful, and the faux sunrise on the horizon is dazzling, everything else is drab.
“I thought we’d have a picnic,” he says.
I glance around and wonder where and how. We have no food.
But Amell reminds me that he is the king of the Underworld with powers gifted from a god. He turns in a slow circle, holding out his hand. From the ends of his fingers pour waves of colorful light shooting over the landscape. The light bathes the rocky terrain, which shimmers and then morphs into thick green grass, large shade trees, and fragrant patches of wildflowers. Twenty yards away through a wide furrow of eroded soil, a fresh creek springs forth, babbling among boulders that rise from the ground.
Amell faces the horizon, lifts his hand, and the top of a glowing ball starts to appear.
A sunrise.
He’s actually creating a sunrise and as the light warms my face, I can’t help but smile. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed that until now.
Amell turns to me. “Do you like?”
I spin slowly, taking it all in. As far as the eye can see, beautiful rolling hills of green grass, a sparkling blue stream, trees and bushes and even birds chirping. “It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”
He seems pleased by that and motions to something behind me. A red-and-white-checked blanket is spread on the ground under a picnic basket, shaded by the sprawling, leafy branches of a large apple tree heavy with ripe fruit.
I walk over to it and kneel on the blanket, opening the basket’s wicker lid. My eyes bug out as I see fried chicken, fresh fruit, and chocolate cake.
Craning my neck, I look back at Amell. “How?”
He cocks an eyebrow at me, and yeah, that was a dumb question. There’s not anything he can’t do.
“What will everyone think about these changes?” I ask with a laugh.
Amell walks over and settles on the blanket, lounging on his side to face me. “No one can see it but us. It’s an illusion.”
I reach into the basket and pull out a chicken leg. “It sure seems real.”
He laughs. “It’s real, but it’s not permanent,” he clarifies. “And it’s only for us to see. The food Calix put together, and I summoned its appearance.”
“It’s amazing,” I say, holding the chicken up to sniff before taking a bite. I groan as I flop onto my back. “This is the best food I’ve ever had.”
I look up into the branches above and marvel that I can smell the apples. “Thank you,” I whisper without looking at him because I’m afraid he might see my vulnerability born of his actions.
I want to cry. No one has ever thought to do something so thoughtful for me before, and I’m not sure I can convey any more gratitude without breaking down.
CHAPTER 21
Amell
I’m not surewhat I’ll do if Nyssa starts crying. It’s not something she does, and I know because I’ve seen her life. The last time tears were in her eyes was when she learned her brother had been adopted, but she didn’t even let the tears fall. She wiped them away.
Every terrible thing that happened to Nyssa throughout her life never produced a single tear, with the exception of the day she learned her brother was being adopted. All her memories that I saw came directly from her, and I could feel her emotions as things happened.
Tears are foreign to me. Fae don’t cry, and often our own emotions can be muted. Usually the softer ones stay hidden, although my anger does get out of control at times.
It’s because of my lack of experience with emotions that I’m uneasy right now watching Nyssa battle hers. I don’t know if her feeling so deeply is good or bad. I don’t know how to offer comfort.
So, I do the next best thing. I distract her by reaching over to pull the basket nearer to me. “That chicken good?” I ask.
She smiles, nods, and takes another bite. Her eyes look distinctly dry.
