by Kristie Cook
I stood there like an idiot, not knowing what to do. I wanted nothing more than to take her into my arms and tell her everything would be okay now, that we were together and nothing else mattered, but that would have been a lie. A huge, fat lie. We couldn’t be together, and everything most definitely would not be okay.
She seemed to sense it, too, because she didn’t come rushing toward me, either.
We stared at each other awkwardly for a long time before I turned and walked over to the balustrade, staring at the mountain face but not really seeing it. She joined me, though remained several feet away.
“Where are Brielle and Charleigh?” she asked. “Are they okay?”
“I have no idea,” I admitted, and I started to tell her the story but then stumbled when it came to the part about Winter Court.
“They held you prisoner?” she asked, her eyes wide. We’d moved inside by then, a cup of tea in front of each of us as we sat at the breakfast table by the kitchen’s picture window. “I can’t imagine how awful that was!”
I stared at my teacup, guilt squeezing its fist around my heart. It really hadn’t been awful at all. Not where I’d wanted to be, but nothing like, say, the Vault. But Maeve was her sworn enemy, had killed her brother.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” I said, which was the truth. Maybe someday I would tell her about Maeve and me—if we were ever given the opportunity—but today was not that day.
She nodded. “I imagine you wouldn’t. So how did you end up here?”
Shit. I didn’t want to tell her about my deal either. I didn’t want to hurt her. I didn’t want what little time we had together to be so deep and heavy. I didn’t want to put more strain between us, especially when everything already felt so strange. New and awkward, nothing like how we’d left things.
But that was a different world, literally. A whole different life, for both of us.
“Wait,” she said before I even opened my mouth, “before you start, are there any flowers here?”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Flowers?”
She shrugged while her cheeks pinked—the most color I’d seen in them yet. “Winter Court froze our lands when they attacked. I haven’t seen a flower in weeks, and I’m craving some.”
I laughed. That was so much more like my Sadie. “I know where we can find some.”
Shrubs of various colors bordered the back veranda, but none of them were currently flowering, so I led Sadie around the side of the house, no fewer than five of Saoirse’s men following us. An archway in the fence led to a park that was still within the city’s walls—still within safety, in other words. I didn’t know if we could go farther, such as to the falls over the giant steps Tor had originally brought me down when we came to the Court of Souls. Sadie and I were both wanted, and the Court’s best men had left with their prince. And considering the mission they were on, I didn’t want to jeopardize anything by pulling more protectors away from the city and the people just because we wanted to frolic in the woods. So to speak. Anyway, the park offered plenty of flowers for Sadie to choose from.
“Oh, gods, this is amazing!” she mumbled around a mouthful of petals.
“You are such an elf right now,” I said with a smile—perhaps my first real smile of joy in a long time.
Chapter 21
Somehow, Sadie scarfing down flower after flower as though she hadn’t eaten in a year—which she surely had as flowers were treats to the elves, but not sustenance, not the only thing they ate—helped to bridge the chasm between us. It wasn’t like it had been before, but I rediscovered the easy comfort I’d always had with her. The reason I could tell her anything with no fears of how she’d react, what she would think of me. I wasn’t ready to tell it all, but I did spill everything about Shadow Vault Citadel and my deal with the king.
“Wow. We talked about the Vault at school, remember?”
I nodded. “I had no memory of it then.”
“But you do now. Someone did something to you, Elli.”
“I know.”
“And now they’ve undone it?”
I shrugged. “I guess. I think . . . I think it was my brother. I just don’t know if he put us in there in the first place or if King Caellach did or someone else. But I’ve been thinking about it all and the timing and everything, and I think it was Dorian who made me start to remember. He broke the spell or something.”
“Why? Why take your memories in the first place and why give them back now?”
“So all of this could play out? To torture me with those memories?” I shrugged again, trying to cover up how I’d almost flinched at the thought of those memories—especially the ones I hadn’t shared with her yet. The ones I hadn’t truly acknowledged for myself yet. “I honestly don’t know.”
“Well, at least you know why everyone wants you and that you have this badass power.”
“You’re one to talk,” I said. My elbow jerked out to bump hers, but she was too far away, and for some reason, neither of us could quite close that gap between us. Like we knew that it represented what we hadn’t spoken of yet—what truly kept us apart rather than empty space. “What did you do to those Winter Court soldiers?”
She frowned. “Do you remember what I did when you were trapped in the mirrors?” I nodded, recalling the pile of rubble she’d created in the library, trying to get me out. “I can do that with minds, too.”
“Whoa. You can make minds explode? Wait—can you do it to the Shadow king?”
“Something like that. Break them, anyway. Most elves can. Some of us are just stronger—though no, I’m positive I’m not strong enough for the minds of any fae royalty, but especially not King Ceallach.” She paused, gnawing on her lip. “Last night . . . that was the first time . . . I’d never taken it so far before. I’d never killed anyone until last night.” Her last words came out as a near whisper, as though her remorse made them too heavy to lift with her voice.
Perhaps that was the change I’d sensed—the change over her, over us. Neither of us were the same as when we’d been together before, just two college kids having the time of their lives. Maybe that was a good thing since we couldn’t be together anymore.
“You did what needed to be done,” I tried to assure.
“Oh, I know.” She lifted her chin and looked out across the pond we’d come to. “I’m sure it won’t be the last time, and one day I’ll probably get used to it.”
My stomach dropped at that probability. “Oh, Sadie, I hope you never get used to it.”
Our gazes locked, and those electric blues were nearly overflowing with tears. She blinked them back, though, and looked away again. “I wish the same for both of us, Elli, but I’d rather get used to killing if it means protecting those I love than get used to watching them die.”
Her words felt like a dagger cutting into my very soul. I could one-hundred percent agree—but for me, not her. Not my Sadie, whose light was supposed to counteract my dark.
She must have seen something in my expression, because her eyes dimmed and her mouth turned down as she let out a sigh. “It’s growing dark. We should probably get back.”
The rest of the evening and the next few days remained just as awkward. Though I hated wasting any time we had together, I was actually grateful when Saoirse insisted on training several hours every day. However, when Sadie decided to join us, I only clamped down harder on my power.
“I know what your problem is,” she spoke up one afternoon after watching Saoirse and me in a literal power struggle on the back lawn. The Shadow fae kept attacking me in a myriad of ways, with her many different abilities, and I used my own various brands of magic to fight back, but never with the one power she tried so desperately to provoke. But now we both stopped and turned toward the blond elf who sat on the steps of the veranda. Her long hair was arranged in an array of braids, her eyes brighter than they had been but still not quite like they used to be, the rest of her coloring improving, as well.
“Well
?” Saoirse prodded.
Tilting her head, Sadie trained her focus entirely on me. “I always admired you because you embraced that dark side of yourself.” I opened my mouth to argue, but she held up a hand. “You maintained control, yes, but you also used to accept it as part of yourself. You knew it was there, and you didn’t deny it, any more than you do that birthmark—” She cut herself off, glancing at Saoirse. The birthmark was on my hip, not anywhere sexual but also not easily seen by the casual friend. “But not now. You’re in complete denial because you fear it so much.”
“I keep telling her that,” Saoirse chimed in.
Sadie stood and strode over to me, coming closer than we had yet. “You think it’s evil.”
“Well,” I began. If she knew what I’d done and why I even had it, she’d know I was right.
She cut me off. “But how can it be, if it’s a part of you, Elliana?”
“Perhaps because I’m evil,” I sniped, growing more uncomfortable by the second with the direction of this conversation.
Saoirse snorted. “You’ve met evil at the Court of Shadows. If you really believed you were, you’d have no problem wielding your full power like the king does, consequences be damned.”
I frowned, unable to argue with that.
“You’re not evil, so stop with that bullshit,” Sadie added. “Just because you possess some really dark and powerful energy doesn’t mean you’re on the brink of becoming some murderous villainess.”
If she knew the truth, though, she’d know I already was.
“It doesn’t matter if the energy is dark or light,” she continued, her tone growing more impassioned. “It only matters how you use it. And I know that sounds trite, but it’s true. It’s just power, no different than your angel magic or sorcery magic or fae magic. You don’t judge those, do you? But for some reason, you’ve led yourself to believe that dark energy means evil and can’t be anything else. You try to separate it out rather than accept that it’s simply part of you. A part of you that I—” She stopped herself again with another glance at Saoirse before returning those blues on me. “A part of you that’s just as amazing as the rest of you. And because of that—it can’t possibly be evil.”
While Sadie and I held each other’s eyes, I could feel Saoirse’s gaze bouncing between the two of us. Her own energy shifted just a tad, and I was pretty sure she’d just figured out that Sadie and I had been more than just friends. She didn’t acknowledge it, though, not out loud. I wondered if she’d tell Tor.
“That’s all well and good and not much different than what I’ve been saying,” Saoirse said, “though you do seem to have a better understanding of our girl Elliana here.” She let that hang for a moment, confirming that she did know about us, before continuing. “But what ideas do you have to overcome it?”
Sadie’s eyes glinted as they still held mine. “You learn to use it like you do your other magic—small bits here and there integrated with your other powers.” She broke our gaze and turned to Saoirse. “You may or may not have noticed that Elli naturally and expertly combines her various types of magic into her own unique brand. Her wings are a perfect example. They’re feathery like angel wings, but when she needs them to be a weapon, those feathers harden into double-edged blades—that’s demon or sorcery magic at work.” She glanced at me when I frowned at the word demon, and I could practically hear a finger shaking at me. “Don’t even go there. That’s exactly what I mean when I say it’s a part of you—you make it what it is.” She looked back at Saoirse. “Now take her fire ability. You can tell by its properties and the way it behaves that it’s fae elemental magic versus sorcery, right? But she uses her sorcery magic to control and wield it.”
“No, I don’t,” I jumped in. “I just do what needs to be done with it.”
“Exactly,” Sadie said pointedly.
“She’s right,” Saoirse said. “You don’t wield fire magic like fae do. Go on. How do we overcome her fear and hatred for her own power?”
“You take a little bit of this and a little bit of that, and you don’t even realize you’re doing it, right? It’s just part of you,” Sadie said to me. “So you do the same with that oh-so-dark-and-scary power of yours. Instead of focusing solely on it, separating it out even more from the rest of you, bring it into the mix. Add it in to your other magic, just a little at a time until you figure out how to use it as you need to, when you need to.”
Saoirse tapped a finger against her chin. “It makes sense. You’re obviously too scared to open the floodgates completely, unless you’re really pissed off, but that’s not control. So maybe you just slide it open enough for a trickle at first.”
“Yes.” Sadie nodded. “Just enough to boost your other magic, learn how it works together, what you can do with it.”
I gnawed on my lip. It could work—in theory. But my beast inside was already pacing, and I couldn’t tell if she liked the idea or hated it. There’s only one way to find out. Sadie was right. I needed to stop treating my beast as a separate part of me and learn to become one with her. After all, wasn’t that what shifters did? Weren’t the human and the animal two sides of the same soul? My beast sat on her haunches within her cage, and I could feel her cock her head and twitch her ears forward at this thought. Sadie had no idea just how right she’d been about mixing all the different parts of me, including the shifter blood.
The mixed DNA of the Amadis bloodline went back to Ancient Greece, to Cassandra, the first matriarch, and her twin brother, Jordan, who became leader of the Daemoni. He’d been the one to first sully our angel blood with that of various creatures, and the results continued down the line, but my parents, each in different ways, were the products of a new mix. Each more powerful than anybody before them, greater than the sum of their parts. And then together they created us—Dorian, Brielle, and me. Perhaps it was this more intense concoction or maybe because of the circumstances of our conceptions and births and lives, but we did, indeed, have our own brand of magic. Together, as siblings, but even as individuals. At least, Brielle and I did. I didn’t know much about Dorian.
Brielle leaned more heavily on witch and fae magic, tapping into energy of nature and earth, blending her angel magic with it to create spells and potions or to manipulate energy around her. She was trained to defend herself, but she was more of a sideliner, strategizing and manifesting behind the scenes, using her brain to help on the fringe and stay out of the fray. I, on the other hand, relied heavily on whatever powers I could use offensively and defensively. I wanted to be in the fight, protecting those who needed it, taking down those who deserved it.
If this dark power within me—what I’d always referred to as Darkness with a capital D or as my beast—could be useful in that way, without killing an entire town around me, then why wouldn’t I want to learn to use it? Why wouldn’t I want to blend with it instead of pushing it away?
My beast purred, lay down, and rolled over, exposing her belly.
I supposed that was my answer.
“I guess we can try,” I said, hesitantly. But first—
“One thing, though,” Saoirse said. “Do you think you can learn to forgive yourself?”
“You will have to face your truths,” Sadie added. “Head on. No turning away from them anymore.”
But first I had to accept every part of me, fully and completely, including the past.
I nodded in agreement.
And then I ran.
Chapter 22
At first, I rounded the manor and headed for the park, seeking peace and solitude, but then the noises of the plaza called to me. Late afternoon meant the cafes were preparing for the dinner crowd, and fae were finishing their shopping and other business for the day, others joining them for a shared meal before going home.
After passing through the front gate, I slowed, crossing the courtyard to the archway that led into the business part of town. The sun was setting behind the mountain, washing that end-of-day golden light over the white marb
le buildings and cobblestone pavers. Some of the domes of the surrounding buildings were already glowing in blues, pinks, purples, greens, and yellows. The whole scene was breathtaking and magical.
I stared at the fountain in the center for a moment, the cascading water twinkling as it caught the colored lights before pooling in the basin. A couple of faelings chased each other around it in a game that had their heads thrown back in laughter. Other fae were gathered in small groups, chatting about their days, I presumed, as they waited while the musicians set up for the evening’s entertainment.
If I’d come upon this scene before being whisked away to the shiny world, I would have thought it impossibly magical and surreal. But except for the architecture and all the pointy ears, it wasn’t all that different from any other town. Even in our own dark, war-torn world, the days ended similarly with a gathering of family and community for a shared meal and laughter as everyone wound down for the night. Funny how across the dimensions, we were all much more alike than we were different.
A few of the nearby fae saw me enter the plaza and gave a small wave, while others smiled shyly before turning away, and yet others watched me with guarded expressions.
The engagement ball hadn’t gone as planned, meaning not everyone was won over by the idea of the prince marrying an outsider on the king’s demand. Most, however, seemed to have adopted the view that if the prince himself were happy—and they fully believed he wouldn’t have brought me back if this wasn’t what he wanted—then they were happy. They owed him so much. He deserved a good wife, they said.
A good wife.
As if.
My pace was slow as I started to circle the plaza. I didn’t know what I thought I would find here. Escape, I supposed. Escape from what needed to be done. But as the shop owners greeted me and the cafe servers invited me in for dinner, it became clear that this was not an escape. This was reinforcement. Because these people—these fae—they would be my people. In some ways, they already were.
