by Ryan Graudin
Memories of Mab’s wrath after Guinevere’s choice return. I see them in a new light, from the other side of the looking glass. It wasn’t Guinevere’s loss that our queen was mourning, but her chance at King Arthur’s heart.
“I suppose though, she always held a seed of resentment against the crown after that. As deeply as she buried it, she couldn’t protect it from the madness. When it started stealing her reason, she took all that anger against the crown and started wreaking her revenge. As twisted as it was . . .” The duchess’s words fade, eyes hazy with memory.
For some reason the betrayal seems easier to accept, now that there’s some pain, some emotion behind Mab’s actions.
“I’m staying with Richard,” I tell her. “It’s what I need to do.”
“It’s your choice.” The way Titania says this makes me think she wished it wasn’t.
A cough, brutal and filled with pain, racks Titania’s body. I hear the blood rattling just behind her lungs. Despite the closeness of Herne’s woods, the Fae is too old to be here.
“You’re going back north?” I ask, my question pointed. It would only do harm for her to stay, inviting the madness.
“It seems I must,” she admits between coughs. “There will be much to tend to in light of Mab’s unmaking. Herne has told me of the accord he struck with King Richard.”
“Yes . . . the world will be very different now. For the better, I think.”
“Such hope. Such youth.” Hair like water-strung comets pours over Titania’s shoulders as she laughs. The sound rings like a church bell, full of sorrow. “The world has always been spinning forward, evolving. . . . Only time will tell us what difference this will make. But I hope, youngling, I hope for all our sakes that you are right.”
It’s strange, looking at her and knowing our worlds are now severed. I won’t be in the court when the new queen rises from the swell of courtiers. I will not watch as the strongest, most ruthless of the Fae first rests on Mab’s earthy throne. But there’s little doubt in me which Frithemaeg it will be. Titania’s sway in the court is already strong. Not many will challenge her.
“Peace be with you, sister,” I say.
She nods. “And with you.”
Those words mark the end of my life as I know it. The end of Fae and the Guard. The end of spells and soul feeders. The end of forever.
There’s a light on in Richard’s window, clear and dazzling despite the late morning sun. I run to it.
Thirty-Four
Mortality is a sweet, terrible cup. I’ve learned to drink it slowly, day by day. The weeks seem longer than before, filled with complicated duties. Introducing magic into the mortal’s world is no easy task, but it’s one Richard has accepted wholeheartedly. They laughed at him, Parliament, the press, all of them. Then the Fae began appearing. The mortals were terrified at first. But after several silver-tongued speeches, Richard put most of their fears and misgivings to rest.
I’ve become an ambassador of sorts: the go-between for magic and mortal. My days are filled with reports from the surviving Fae and interviews with the clamoring press. It’s hard without Breena. I miss her every day, and that ache refuses to go away.
Even in the middle of all this chaos, we still find time together: stolen, candlelit dinners, strolls down the river in the last long draws of autumn light. Some evenings we’re too exhausted to talk much. We just enjoy each other’s company: strokes of the arm, the brief, tingling meeting of lips.
This evening, walking along the Thames beneath the amber sunset, Richard’s face looks especially agitated. I hook my arm into his, walking nimbly over the pattern of gray-brown stones.
“What’s wrong?” I catch glimpses of shadows behind us, Richard’s human security, following at a distance. And somewhere, on the other side of the river, the youngling Ferrin keeps watch.
“Long day.” He shrugs, rakes his stray hairs back with his fingers. “We talked about the concept of magically infused technology in Parliament.”
“Oh? How’d they take it?”
“There were lots of questions, of course. You’ll have to go talk to them. They want to know about all of the different properties of magic: its reliability and safety. Things like that. I don’t even know where to begin with that stuff.”
“You? The most magical of us both?” I tease him with a jab between the ribs.
He jerks back, bumping into the river barrier. “Hey, now! I might have to hex you or something.”
“I’d like to see you try.” I smirk. Richard’s magic, though powerful, was never like mine. It works on its own terms. He hasn’t quite gotten a handle on it.
“Will you see them?” he asks after our playful banter dies.
“If that would make it easier for you. But I’m going north to meet with Titania tomorrow to talk about the redistribution of the Guard and policing London for soul feeders. She’s just been appointed the new queen.” News I greeted with relief. Despite my past differences with Titania, her blunt ruthlessness is what it takes to run a kingdom of Fae.
“How did they decide that?”
“It’s mostly an age thing. . . . But I think most of the older ones didn’t want the job—it’s a lot of responsibility.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” he laughs.
“It’s good it’s not one of the older ones,” I go on. “We don’t want a repeat of what happened with Mab.”
“Well, I’m glad it’s Titania. I like her.” Richard wraps his arm around me, steers me in his own direction.
“Where are we going?” I forget Titania and all of the meetings.
“I want to show you something.”
We cross a street thick with traffic and walk along the bridge over the river. It’s soon obvious where we’re going. Straight ahead is a structure of such power and elegance that all of London revolves around it: Parliament’s clock tower.
We climb the limestone steps all the way to the tower’s iconic clock face. Fire-flared, tangerine sun-rays fill the glass around the lacing black iron. I stand, admiring the web of light.
“My father used to bring me up here when I was a boy. He loved clocks. Loved the gears, all of it.” Richard lets out a little laugh. There’s only a hint of the old sadness in his eyes. “Of course, you probably remember that.”
“I wasn’t with you then,” I whisper, entranced by the show of color. The light ebbs, fading into pale rose before the glass returns to frost white.
“That was just a sideshow,” Richard tells me, and walks back to the stairs. “The real view is up here.”
We climb a few floors above the cloudy clock face.
My heart aches at the height. I hold my breath and look out on the blooming night lights of London. One by one they flicker on, like harmonic, long-lived lightning bugs. The view is bittersweet: a breathtaking reminder that I’ll never fly again.
“You showed me my kingdom once,” Richard says, coming up behind me. He wraps his arms around my waist and gazes out onto the glowing landscape. “You showed me what I could be. You showed me how much you loved me and believed in me.”
I clasp his hands tighter to me. Being up so high, without the reassurance of magic, has made me a bit dizzy.
He hugs me closer. “None of this would have happened without you, Emrys. It’s just as much your kingdom as it is mine.”
London’s lights form patterns—an electric cosmos riddled with constellations. I squint my eyes and they become a blur. A single, blinding brightness.
“Do you remember what you asked me at Windsor? The night you made your choice?” Richard moves to my side. The wind bites my back where he once stood. “You made me promise that this—us—would be forever.”
I turn from the smearing lights and stare at Richard. He’s looking down at me, eyes smoky and intense.
“It’s you and me now, Embers. And one day, someday, we’ll tell the whole world that. But for now all I can offer you is this.” His hand slips into the pocket of his trousers and pulls
out a small velvet box. “It’s a symbol of my promise.”
The ring inside is jade and silver filigree. I gaze into the band, studying how its sterling curls over a base of minty, sea green. Deep in the fullness of my soul, I know Richard is right. No matter when that final end comes, we are forever.
“It reminded me of your eyes,” he says after a moment.
“It’s beautiful!” It truly is. Somewhere in the world a jeweler sleeps well, knowing his masterpiece has found a home. “It’s enough. You’re enough.”
Richard closes the last few inches between us and kisses me. I bask in the taste of him—purely him. No panic, no worry. Just Richard. His sun spices and sea salt. The unyielding muscles of his arms under my palm. The warmth and love of his breath on my face.
His lips against mine are passionate, yet not frantic. There’s no fear of discovery, no rogue magic behind the intimate brush of skin. It’s simply us together: a sea of red hair swirling with his lion’s mane. Milky skin on gold, freckles dancing everywhere. The night bathed with hushed whispers and secret smiles as we become closer to one.
In a brief break of passion, I catch sight of the stars and their luminance. They are few, scattered at this hour, twinkling and dancing to music those of us on earth can’t hear. I think of Breena. Of all the others who’ve slipped up into the heavens. One day, in a few short decades, I’ll join them.
Richard’s fingers tighten around mine, tugging my thoughts back down to the clock tower. I smile and kiss him again. Big Ben chimes the hour, shaking the stones beneath our feet. The time is here and now. It is ours.
Acknowledgments
There are many, many people who helped this story bloom into a novel. Those who were there at its birth: my sister-in-law, Cara, who oh-so-innocently gave me an encyclopedia of faeries for Christmas; my dear friends, Helen MacMillan and Ferrin Gersbach, who read chapter two in its short-story form and demanded more.
Many more loved it through all of its awkward growth spurts: my amazing critique partner, Kate Armstrong, who rescued the second draft from a jerky prince and moist kisses; my college professor, Trish Ward, who answered my small mountain of emails asking for Old English translations; my agent, Alyssa Henkin, who dug this manuscript from the bottom of the slush and took a chance on it; my editor, Alyson Day, who took the diamond I’d already pulled from the rough and polished it even more; Wendy Higgins, who sustained me through revisions with lots of advice and digital chocolate.
There are also many, many people who helped me grow from a writer into an author. Those who were there at my birth: my mom and dad, who taught me the power of faith and chasing my dreams, and who didn’t freak out when I chose to spend their money on a creative writing degree.
Many more loved me through all of my awkward growth spurts: my writing teachers—Rene Miles, Marjory Wentworth, and Bret Lott—who showed me the strength of words and how to wield them; my friends and family all over the world, who challenge me to new heights every day; my brothers, Jacob and Adam, who accompanied me on imaginary adventures and let me kill them off with sword-sticks in the backyard; my husband, David, who goes on real-life adventures with me. Who shares my soul-tie.
And over it all: God, the giver of stories and life, who has blessed me with so much of both. Soli Deo Gloria.
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About the Author
Ryan Graudin grew up by the sea, surrounded by oaks draped in Spanish moss. She was perfectly content there until her mother dragged her on a trip to London. Wanderlust has plagued her ever since, an ailment she sates with heavy doses of traveling and writing. Her first novel, All That Glows, is the direct result of both. Ryan currently lives in Charleston, South Carolina, with her husband and is always searching for the next adventure. You can visit her online at ryangraudin.blogspot.com.
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Credits
Cover photo © 2014 by Amber Gray
Lettering by Annemieke Beemster Leverenz
Cover design by Alison Klapthor
Copyright
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
ALL THAT GLOWS
Copyright © 2014 by Ryan Graudin
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Graudin, Ryan.
All that glows / Ryan Graudin.
pages cm
Summary: “As Emrys, one of the faery bodyguards of the British monarchy, is trying not to fall in love with her latest charge, the rowdy bad boy Prince Richard, an ancient darkness starts preying on the rest of the monarchy”— Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978-0-06-218741-3 (pbk.)
[1. Magic—Fiction. 2. Fairies—Fiction. 3. Bodyguards—Fiction. 4. Princes—Fiction. 5. Kings, queens, rulers, etc.—Fiction. 6. London (England)—Fiction. 7. England—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.G7724All 2014
2013037285
[Fic]—dc23
CIP
AC
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Epub Edition © JANUARY 2014 ISBN: 9780062187420
14 15 16 17 18 LP/RRDH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
FIRST EDITION
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