by Wendi Wilson
Using her momentary blindness, I popped out my wings and zoomed toward her, landing a kick to her chest before her eyes even opened. She stumbled back a few more steps and, as the steam dissipated, I saw her smile. It was full of pride.
“Very good, December. I see teaming you up with Mr. Oberon was not a mistake, after all.”
“You thought it might be?” I asked, flapping my wings to circle around her.
She shrugged. “When you two became an item, I was a little worried you’d be more concerned with making out with each other than sparring.”
I blushed at her candid words and a split-second later she was right in front of me, a smile of satisfaction on her face. I bolted up toward the ceiling, silently chastising myself for letting her distract me, which was the point of all that talk of “making out.” I zoomed to the right, circling around until we were back to facing each other. My feet touched the floor and I popped my wings back in as I widened my stance.
I called to wind, swirling it around me until one of my signature tornadoes formed. I built up the energy higher and higher, sending it away from me and toward my teacher.
Ms. Jeannie yawned. She actually yawned, patting her hand against her mouth for good measure.
As the tornado neared her, she pushed her hands toward me with a loud growl. A gale-force wind followed the direction of her hands, and my twister changed direction and headed back toward me. I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth and tried to redirect it back to her, but it was no use.
Her control of air was impressive.
I let go of air, and the cyclone vanished. Ms. Jeannie smirked at me, pulling her blonde hair into a high ponytail and tying it with a ribbon.
“Let’s see what you do with this,” she said, moving her hands like she was conducting a symphony.
Air rushed past me, but not in a steady gust and not in a single direction. It swished over my right shoulder, down my back, and around my waist. Round and round, it circled, cinching tighter and tighter until the pressure on my ribs was nearly unbearable.
I stared at Ms. Jeannie with wide eyes as she jerked one hand back over her shoulder. The tug around my waist was instantaneous, and I stumbled forward.
“What the…” I muttered, my hand searching for some way to relieve the pressure.
But I couldn’t. Nothing held me but air.
“Think, December,” I whispered when I was jerked forward again.
I dug my heels in and leaned back. I eyed Ms. Jeannie and the motion of her hands, moving back and forth over each other like she was pulling on an invisible rope.
Air feeds fire.
The words tickled my brain, an idea quickly forming. Without thinking about it too hard, I called to the flames, which sparked to life in my open palm. My lips curved upward at the sight, and I locked eyes with my opponent.
Knowing she’d expect me to throw it at her, and that she’d be prepared for that, I cocked back my arm as if that was exactly what I planned to do. She threw up an arm, so only one hand still held her lasso of air.
I brought the fire forward and held it in the stream of air flowing from my torso to her hand. The flames soared toward her faster than she could react, and she released her rope of air as the fire singed her hand. The pressure around me evaporated, and I bent at the waist to catch my breath.
Once I’d recovered, I looked up at Ms. Jeannie, who was nodding in satisfaction as she shook her hand to relieve the sting.
“Good thinking,” she said.
“You have to teach me that trick,” I replied, grinning at her.
Her smile made the skin around her eyes crinkle as she nodded. Settling back into a wide-legged stance, she stretched out an arm and motioned me forward. The excitement in her eyes said come and get me as much as the movement of her fingers.
I got the distinct feeling she missed this. That teaching gym class didn’t even compare to the thrill of magical combat.
My choices in elemental weapons scrolled through my mind—wind, fire, earth, water—but it kept coming back to that ice spear I’d made with Grandfather. If I wanted to impress Ms. Jeannie, I had a feeling that would do it.
I’d only created it once, and I was seriously pissed at the time. I wasn’t angry now and I doubted I could manifest it, but it was worth a shot to see the look on my instructor’s face. I took a few deep breaths, then held my hand out to my side.
As I called to water, I remembered my conjuring lessons with my Dad. At the time, I’d created things like chocolate bars and notebook paper…this couldn’t be that different, could it?
It has to be easier than conjuring a chair. It’s just frozen water.
I willed the water to freeze as I imagined a short spear with a dull edge. If it worked, I didn’t want to actually kill Ms. Jeannie.
Just scare her.
My lips turned up at the corners as I imagined her shock. My fingers began to sting and I looked from her face to my hand, my own eyes widening. Water, so cold it burned, twisted and turned and swirled over my palm.
The speed of the churning water slowed to a stop, becoming a frozen spike with a dull tip, just as I’d imagined. The heat of pleasure rushed through me at my accomplishment.
My eyes flicked up to Ms. Jeannie, who just stared at my weapon with her mouth hanging open. Not wasting another moment, I reared back and flung it in her direction. It spun end over end as she watched it fly toward her, shock making her reflexes evaporate.
I opened my mouth to shout at her to move, but she seemed to come to her senses and ducked out of the way at the last second. My ice spear shattered against the wall behind her. Ms. Jeannie watched the shards fall to the floor before whirling back around and stalking toward me.
“Who taught you how to do that?”
She didn’t sound angry, exactly. Her expression was a mixture of disbelief and awe and maybe a little irritation.
“Puck,” I answered. “Are you mad at me? You told me to show you what I could do.”
“No, I’m not mad,” she said, smoothing out her expression. “That was amazing. I guess I’m just a little jealous that I can’t do it.”
She chuckled, making the tension drain out of me. I’d thought for the briefest of moments that my grandfather had taught some kind of forbidden magic that could get me in deep trouble.
I wouldn’t put it past the old trickster.
I smiled at Ms. Jeannie and asked “Have you ever tried?”
She shook her head, then gave me an enthusiastic yes when I offered to show her how I did it. We spent the rest of the hour working on it, and while she couldn’t quite make it happen, it got easier for me every time I demonstrated.
Easier and faster.
By the end of class, I was conjuring a solid spear within ten seconds. And I knew if I kept practicing, I could shave that time down.
“Thanks, Grandpa,” I mumbled as I made my way to the locker room, my confidence at an all-time high.
I couldn’t wait to see him again, to show him how I’d progressed. He was going to be so proud of me. I smiled until my cheeks hurt, imagining his reaction.
It was going to be awesome.
CHAPTER 15
“I have to leave.”
My mouth snapped shut at those four little words. I’d been about to tell Grandfather about gym class, but all thoughts of wind lassos and ice spears flew from my head as the implication of his words hit me.
“Sebille?” I asked, clearing my throat after my voice cracked on the word.
“I’ve been summoned,” he confirmed.
We were in his suite, alone for the moment as we waited for the others to arrive. I lunged for him, wrapping my arms around his middle and squeezing tight.
“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” I mumbled against his chest.
He returned my hug for a brief moment before moving his hands to my shoulders and pushing me back so I could see his face.
“I’ll be fine,” he promised. “I’ve survived life with Sebille
for many, many years, and as far as she’s concerned, nothing has changed. I’m her inside man. She needs me, especially now that that little guttersnipe Aubrey has been exposed and ousted.”
A knock on the door interrupted us and I took a step back, allowing him to pass by to go answer it. I swiped at my eyes, clearing away the beginnings of tears that tried to form there. Puck swung open the door and my family filed inside.
Mom was first, kissing his cheek as she passed, followed by Dad, who simply nodded in greeting. Shaela was next, then Charles. Puck started to close the door and I swallowed my disappointment. Someone was missing. Someone important.
A hand slapped against the wood and the door stopped, remaining slightly ajar. Easton slipped through the opening, and just the sight of him made my heart race.
“Sorry I’m late,” he huffed, and I realized he was breathing hard. “I had to lose Alwyn. He’s a wily bastard, and I ended up having to literally run away from him.”
He ended his explanation with a grin, which made me laugh. My humor was quickly smothered by shame as I remembered why we were all gathered there.
My grandfather was headed back into the city where no Sylph was safe. Particularly a double agent who must lie to the queen every time he opened his mouth.
I remained silent, watching the others’ expressions as Puck caught them up to speed. Mom protested, arguing that she’d just got him back after so many years and wasn’t ready to lose him again.
I knew the feeling.
Dad looked like he wanted to argue, then snapped his mouth shut. I could practically see the wheels turning in his head as a muscle ticked in his jaw. It was obvious he didn’t want to risk Puck by sending him back into the belly of the beast, but at the same time, he knew his mother.
If Robin Goodman did not return at her beckoned call, she would know he’d switched sides. She’d want him dead.
“If he doesn’t go back,” Dad said, “she’ll come here looking for him. And she won’t come alone. Her army will bring the war to us now, and we’re just not ready, with Finn being ill. No offense, Easton.”
“None taken,” Easton replied. “And he’s right. It’s better for us all if we don’t give her a reason to attack. We need my grandfather, and we need to be the ones who dictate the pace and location of this war.”
“Ellie,” Puck said, his voice low and soft, “I know you’re scared, my darling. All I can do is promise you I will return.”
“How can you know for sure?” she asked, her voice cracking with emotion as she swiped her fingers under her eyes to clear away the moisture.
“Because I am the notorious Puck,” he said with a wide grin and an eloquent bow. “No one bests me and I always get my revenge.”
I could feel some of the tension in the room lessen at his teasing words, but something about them rubbed me the wrong way. He was being arrogant, and arrogance was the way of fools.
If I knew one thing for sure, it was that Robin Goodman was no fool. So, was he lying to us? Or to himself?
“EASTON, I need to speak with you. Alone.”
That last word was spoken with a sneer in my direction, but I didn’t react. Alwyn Jameson knew the tightrope he walked when it came to me, and that all it would take was one strong gust of wind to knock him right off.
So I just gave him a bland smile and turned my attention to Easton. I’d leave, but only if he asked me to.
We were standing in the middle of the dining hall, where we’d headed to grab some food after my grandfather’s departure. Shaela and Charles still sat at the table behind us, and my parents had gone back to Mom’s room to rest.
“Whatever you need to say to me, Father,” Easton snarled, “you can say in front of December. I trust her.”
“A fact you’ll live to regret, I’m sure,” Alwyn grumbled, but then spun around and motioned for us to follow him.
I shrugged at Easton and he rolled his eyes, but we followed his father through the entrance and out into the hallway. I was actually quite interested in what he had to say. Not because any of his ideas held any weight as far as I was concerned, but because Easton had been extremely tight-lipped whenever I asked what his dad was always whispering to him about. He always asked to change the subject and kissed me instead.
And since I rarely got the chance to kiss him anymore, I always let him get away with it.
Alwyn led us to Finn’s office, and I flinched a little when the door slammed into the wall as he stormed inside.
“Have a little respect,” I said, following in behind him and pointing in the direction of Finn’s bedroom. “The king is sick and you’re slamming around here like you own the place.”
“Do not speak to me, hybrid.”
“Father,” Easton growled, but I placed a palm to his chest to hold him back.
I had this.
“Did you forget who you’re speaking to, Alwyn?” I asked, keeping my tone light and conversational. “Or perhaps you need a reminder.”
I lifted my hands into the air and he flinched, turning his face and upper body to the side. I lowered my hands with a satisfied smirk, and he straightened, clearing his throat and adjusting his tie after tightening his blonde ponytail.
I knew I was being a bit of a bully, taunting him that way. Normally, I wouldn’t condone that behavior in anyone, especially not myself, but Alwyn Jameson deserved much more than a little fear and embarrassment.
He abused his family—emotionally, verbally, and, in Easton’s case, physically. He kept mother and son apart for most of his life because of his petty jealousy. He didn’t deserve respect or dignity.
“What do you want now, Father?” Easton asked, his voice bored despite the tension I could feel rolling off of him.
“Show your father some respect,” Alwyn gritted out, his arrogance overriding his fear of me. Remembering himself, he cleared his throat and adopted a more subservient tone. “I am only trying to help you, son.”
Easton’s face remained passive, but I noticed the immediate increase in tension in his shoulders and the slight tightening of his jaw at the word son. My own blood heated in response. He had never been a true father, nor had he ever shown the slightest bit of affection or love. I bit my tongue to keep from lashing out.
That man did not deserve to call Easton son.
When neither of us spoke, Alwyn’s lips twitched as if he took our silence as a good sign. As if we were duly chastised, and were ready to listen and accept his so-called help. God, I hated him.
I opened my mouth to tell him as much, but Easton’s fingers wrapped around my bicep and pulled me in close to his side. He pressed his lips to my temple and whispered a few words before turning back to his father.
He’s not worth it.
The words rolled through me, and I realized he was right. Getting all worked up over Alwyn only gave him more power. Reacting meant he affected me. And he didn’t deserve my anger. He deserved nothing.
“Our people are growing restless,” Alwyn began when Easton and I remained silent. “As more days pass with King Finn showing no signs of recovery, the Sylphid community is fracturing. They need a leader, someone they can look up to with respect and admiration.”
“They have one. Easton,” I snapped, my ire rising a few notches with each word he uttered.
Alwyn pressed his lips together so tightly the color leeched from them. He was obviously biting back a retort, and some part of me wished he’d just spew his hatred so I’d have a good reason to smack him down.
My instincts screamed at me to protect what I loved and Alwyn Jameson was a threat to the thing I loved most. While I usually fought to bury my darker Zephyr-induced urges, Easton’s father had a way of bringing them to the surface in record speed.
“While you will no doubt be a great leader one day,” Alwyn continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “you are young and inexperienced, two traits that do not inspire confidence in a king. I would like to offer myself as your confidant and advisor, to show the public that
you have strong guidance that can be depended upon to lead us into the future.”
I literally choked on my own spit.
Alwyn’s eyes tried to fry me on the spot as I coughed into my hand. I hacked until my airway cleared, then stared back at him with incredulous eyes.
“You have got to be kidding.”
“I assure you, I do not kid,” he replied with as much condescension as he could muster. Then he looked back at his son. “Think about it, Easton. I shall await your response.”
He slipped from the room, wisely giving me a wide berth as he did so. He closed the door behind him, this time so gently it didn’t make a sound. Smart man, heeding my warning from before.
I turned to Easton, ready to rage about his father’s audacity, but the look on his face stopped me. His expression had turned thoughtful, like he was weighing his options. A deep feeling of dread settled in the pit of my stomach.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
You’re not seriously considering his asinine offer, is what I really wanted to say, but I held my opinion in check. I would be supportive, no matter what he decided. Even if it killed me.
Easton’s eyes refocused and locked on mine, narrowed into slits that boiled with suspicion.
“He’s up to something,” he said. “I’ve always known his endgame in marrying my mother was to be king. That possibility was lost to him the moment she abdicated her claim to the throne to me. But now…now he thinks there’s a chance he can rule through me.”
“By making you think you need him,” I added.
“He must think I’m so stupid,” he said, barking out a derisive laugh. “Like, somehow, I’ll just forget everything he’s done to my mother—to me—and trust him.”
He paused for a moment, his eyes searching mine, as he shook his head.
“Never,” he vowed. “I will never trust him, nor will I ever take one single piece of advice that flows from his lying, cheating, abusive mouth.”
