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“Maisri, we aren’t going to find it—”
“But it is the only one and all the other children have seen it! Please, Veyka—”
“Perhaps I may be of assistance.”
The walls were talking.
Or I’d lost my mind.
At this point in my life, anything is possible.
“Here.”
“Oooohh,” Maisri cooed, her eyes going wide. Her hand dropped out of mine.
Not the walls or my imagination.
A faerie.
Her skin was black, but when she moved it shimmered with starlight. Starlight she very well may have never seen, trapped in this foreign refuge.
I am not responsible for the actions of my ancestors.
I felt pretty damn responsible for the half of the residents of the faerie caves who bowed whenever I walked by.
“You’re beautiful,” Maisri declared, completely unabashed.
A soft smile. “Thank you.”
It would have been easy for anyone to miss her.
It certainly was not because I’d let down my guard in the relative safety of the faerie caves.
Ancestors below.
If Arran found out I was being so careless, he’d chain me to his side.
The bond in my chest hummed approval at that prospect.
“Where are you going?” The shimmering silver-black faerie asked.
She was tucked into a small alcove off the main tunnel. Though this wasn’t really a main tunnel, was it? Maisri had led me through a dizzying number of twists and turns to arrive here.
“The crystal waterfall,” Maisri said, her smile bright.
She stepped closer, into the alcove, examining the faerie without a hint of reticence. Being a child had its advantages, in any realm.
“You have taken a few wrong turns, I’m afraid,” the faerie said. She inclined her head back the way we’d come.
Every movement was graceful, unhurried.
All the Faeries of the Fen were beautiful, I’d noticed. Unnaturally so. But what was natural, when it came to legendary beings?
Once I got over the surprise of seeing her—and the female herself—I was able to notice more.
She sat at an altar. Several crystals were arranged atop it—one an opaque white like Percival’s communication crystal. The others were pretty, but otherwise unremarkable.
They all seemed inconsequential before the flames. Black, sparkling flames. Like the color of Arran’s eyes. Like the faerie’s skin. Beautiful.
