by Valerie Mars
Sage takes advantage of the moment, hitting my blade with such force that it flies from my hands. Now that’s a little embarrassing. He fixes his blade to my chest while grinning like a jackal, looking so unlike his golden brother. “What’s so amusing?”
I catch some sweat threatening to brine my eyes, trying to remember the last time I felt this ragged. “I fight like a smithy now. An out of shape smithy,” I gasp with chest heaving.
“Here I was elated to finally beat you.” He pouts while lowering the weapon. I take a step forward to shake his hand, which he meets to pat my back a few times. Firmly. “We’ll get you into shape, Hothead.”
I haven’t heard that nickname in years. “Here’s to hoping I get full-on fire and brimstone, eh?”
“You’d still be out of shape,” he chuckles. “Same time and place tomorrow?”
“Oberon willing,” I reply with a nod. “Thanks, man.”
The gaze of our spectators weighs like a wet cloak on my back as I make my way to the benches. I make a point of tossing Mitch Cinderfield’s mate a sultry wink, knowing it’ll knock him down a peg or two. Selfish, but Mitch is an asshole, anyway. The little demon winks back, and I know I’ll get a good fight out of Mitch tomorrow.
One of Mally-girl’s friends spars with another Separatist, who looks to be as fresh as her. The yellows of his eyes announce him as such, but he still has his hair and a trim midsection. He’ll come around, but it’s going to take more time than we have. I take a drag of water and sit down, watching Mallory’s friend work the newbie through some transitions. He’s rigid and unsure of himself, and no doubt will be for some time. He doesn’t know it, but he was more lethal a few days ago than he will be for weeks to come. I’ve seen first timers gain the upper hand through unpredictability alone.
The newcomer lunges forward, leading with his foot before thrusting his blade forward. I click my tongue a few times before realizing I’ve done so. Old habits die hard. The male training him explains the importance of leading with one’s blade, confirming the novice is in capable hands and I’m unneeded.
I leave my water skin and take off for the grounds. I could use some cardio, anyway.
The Autumn chill feels good as I make for the winding curve of the lake. Like many features of the citadel, it reminds me of Gus. It’d be a pointless quest to search for a lake or pond that doesn’t bring him to mind, though. I use his image to fuel me, sucking air through my nose as my lungs send a desperate plea for a return to normalcy. I don’t blame them. They’ve had an easy ride for a while now. But that time is over.
When my calves tighten, I remember the words of the Winter tanner who pulled me aside this morning: Gus and Wren decided to stay home with the children while there’s still peace. They aren’t coming. I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t recognize the sensation of relief that came with the news. This is my fucking chance. I’m not about to let some craven calves slow me down. I sprint around the rest of the lake to remind my body who’s boss, slowing into a jog only when I’ve crossed onto the main path.
A smattering of people line the lane ahead, the closest one running while wearing a brigandine. The tiny plates flex with his movements, their clinking making my ears buzz. I take it as motivation not to become complacent in my jog, resolving to advance past the racket. It takes most of the straightaway to accomplish this, and I’m gassing out by the end. I round the corner and drop into a lazy jog again. This time it’s voices that greet my ears, their words unkind.
“Fucking sep,” a male overtaking a female jeers. His form passes her, and the lick of auburn hair revealed sends my already elevated heart rate to the stars. I pick up my pace a little, lungs protesting with all their might, but lack of oxygen never meant much to an idiot like me.
I know it’s her when the floral citrus overwhelms my senses despite all the sweat dripping into my mouth as I suck air. She hears my approach, jumping off the side of the path to allow me a wide berth. She stares off to the side with downcast eyes. My hands tingle, itching to torch or at least choke the shit out of every single bastard who may have accosted her this morning. The poor thing looks miserable, but she’s due credit in that her forelocks stick to her cheeks; a sign of her efforts.
I wonder how different her experience would be if she had come during peace and been allowed to present herself as human. I can’t stand to see her look this way. And while I hope this week moves quickly for her, a selfish part of me hopes it doesn’t—that time slows a little when we’re together.
My hand is inching toward her shoulder before my brain’s even half-cocked, my words only registering once they’ve escaped my lips. “You move…for no one,” I force out between gasps for breath.
Fuck. That sounded way too serious. I scramble to soften the statement, but the little thing is quick to turn and fly into my arms for a hug, shouting my name. The fae who called her a sep turns to examine our commotion, no doubt frowning. As if my reputation can worsen by lowering myself to hug a new Separatist, anyway.
She peels away, peering up at me with her bright amber eyes and freckles that make me want to explore. Her dress from last night comes to mind, and I wish I had been close enough to see the freckles I suspect mark her shoulders and collarbones. I tell my dick to calm down before deploying one of my panty-dropping smiles.
“You were stunning last night.”
Her mouth quirks to the side as if she’s fighting the compliment. “And you looked like you were having fun,” she replies. “Summers always looks like they’re having fun.”
“We all know hard times are coming. May as well have fun while we can, eh? That’s the Summer way.”
She sighs, wiping her brow. “Spring isn’t bad, but I miss you and Kai already. Although I saw Kai earlier.”
I didn’t know about this. “Oh?” I palm the sweat from my forehead and run a hand through my hair, which seems to distract her very much. Oh, but if I had more than a week to spend with you.
“Yeah, Ryland summoned him to teach me…” she leans in close, hand cupped around her mouth, “spy stuff. Everything from body language and emotional manipulation to keeping a straight face, myself.”
Well, well, well. “Did they have you practice those straight faces, Mally-girl?” I can think of several ways I’d like to test her, likely none of which she’d be pleased to hear.
She crosses her arms and shifts her weight to one leg, throwing her hip to the side. “Didn’t get a chance before Ryland suggested I hoe around for intel.”
Ho? “I think I understand the implication, but you’re going to have to teach me yet another word.”
“It isn’t as fun as memes or s’mores, I’m afraid. It evolved from the word ‘whore,’ maybe. Anyway, he was the last person I wanted to hear from on that topic.”
Would it be wrong to show her what such methods look like? Absolutely. But that doesn’t stop me from grinning like a mad man as I remove my tunic. I stretch out the process like a real asshole, pretending to struggle with extracting my arms as the shirt’s over my head. When I finally finish, I see her line of sight directed toward my abdomen, eyes widened.
I click my tongue and her eyes dart to mine. “Your poker face needs serious help, Meadowbrook.” Her cheeks bloom, and I wonder if I’ve pushed a bit much. Still, I’m happy to have my fun while it lasts. I eye her dampened hair. “What brought you out here, anyway?”
“Kai insisted I need to show face and practically threatened to haul me down here himself if I wasn’t seen exiting the building twenty minutes after the lesson. Normally I’d hate this kind of stuff, but it’s been nice to beat the ground and imagine I’m stomping on Ryland’s face.” That’s fierce, coming from her.
“Still heated enough to take a wooden sword to a practice dummy? Maybe I can find a purple wig somewhere…”
She furrows her brows a moment before cocking her head to the side. “You’re a swords master or something, aren’t you?”
Remembering that I got my ass handed to
me this morning by someone I’d have pummeled years ago, I begin rocking on my heels. “I ought to be. I mean, I was. I’m a bit out of practice, but I can definitely still teach. Did you—wait, I thought we were just beating a mannequin?”
She hides a giggle with her mouth. “I may as well learn something while it’s the popular thing to do. Playing with swords where I come from renders you a virgin.”
Well, that’s obscene. It’s hard to imagine a world that snubs swordplay while celebrating the act of pressing a button on a firearm. “I can assure you our world works quite the opposite.” I motion for her to follow me. “Even children know how to swing a sword and apply a basic throwing technique.”
“I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse,” she says through nervous laughter. “But I think learning a little will help me in either realm, if you’re okay with lending your time despite me having nothing to offer in return.”
Oh, but there are many things you possess that would suffice. “How about you show me what s’mores are tonight after the gala mixer?”
She presses her lips together tightly, chest rising as she inhales but delays release. Her brows come together. “Can Kai come too?”
Bloody Kai crashing my Mallory party. It’s probably better he’s there to keep me in line, anyway. I don’t know if it’s because she’s human or because she’s herself, but this girl utterly addles my mind.
“Sure, just tell me what I need to bring and we’ll find you. He saw your glamour, right?”
She affirms with a nod. “He did, and that sounds wonderful. Let’s go beat a dummy.”
“Aye, I’ll see about that wig. This won’t surprise you, but you wouldn’t be the first around here wanting to swing a sword at a lavender-haired fae.”
She looses a puff of air in response. “Are you telling me there’s a line to open up a can of whoop-ass on this wig?”
My laughter comes without thought, bellowing into the air and rustling some nearby Winter folk sparring with their hands. Stars, I could listen to her strange phrasing all day. I’d listen to literal gibberish if it came from her lips, though.
I know I just got my ass kicked and nearly lost my breakfast running around a lake, but I’m feeling pretty alright at the moment. The sun is shining, my lungs are alive again, and Mallory Meadowbrook wants me to teach her how to open a can of whoop-ass. Whatever that means.
22
Mallory
Concentrating on the dummy was unbearably difficult with Bash and his glorious body standing a few feet behind it. I felt like I was marring his figure with my weak human filth when we hugged goodbye. The truth is, I’ve never touched something like that before and likely never will again.
It was a normal hug, but even his back feels seductive. I’m convinced this man has muscles there that humans are yet to discover. If Americans found it first, they’d plant a flag on those suckers and start drilling for oil. One could argue that I am just a thirsty human girl, but I’m not the only one displaying half those traits on the sands.
I felt the cool daggers of jealous whispers throughout the session, most of them wondering why Bash is wasting his time on a “fresh sep who’s never gonna make it.” Bitch, I ain’t even gonna be here, yet I’ll still be getting more from Bash Ankerstrand than you. Even if you do look cute juggling six flaming swords over there in your warrior princess costume.
No one needs to point out I’m incorrect, of course. I’m well aware there’s no way someone as flirty and good-looking as Bash isn’t cleaning pipes every night, but this is my narrative and I get to spin it as I please. And I didn’t see anyone else getting hunky man hugs.
We split ways to bathe and prepare for the gala, and now I’m flipping through my dresses while dreaming of s’mores. I already know what I’m going to wear, but I keep looking everything over in hopes there’s one I’ve missed that’s even more perfect, because the one most suited to my earrings is also a pastel purple, which is Autumn and therefore a no-no.
I’m getting sick of wearing Ryland’s colors, especially after his comments today. And any day, really. Every perusal through my wardrobe feels like a power play, but I’m not about to pair these gorgeous earrings with a red shirt dress that doesn’t match. That’d be downright disrespectful.
At least I won’t recognize Ryland, even if he’s standing right in front of me. On the flip side, that makes every male present suspect of being a faehole, but that doesn’t differ far from normal, judging by my experience on the grounds. The difference now is that they won’t know I’m a Separatist by sight, but neither will the other Separatists. I hope they don’t expect me to get any serious spying done tonight, because that’s a tall order. Hello, fellow fae who may or may not support the Techies. Please tell me more about why you think they want to kill us?
I slip into the periwinkle dress, hating how well it fits my body and the glamoured earrings. But I guess it isn’t really my body tonight. Everyone will be seeing the blue eyes and platinum hair of the glamour, instead. So in a way, it’s like I never wore Ryland’s colors. That’s what I’ll tell myself, at least.
I tuck my glamour ring into my bosom, which sits a bit higher than usual due to the generous pushup bra I’ve been provided. Is it awful that I have the urge to tear it open and see what they use to make underwires? All in good time, I suppose. Instead of ruining the bra, I don a pair of matching heels and head to Ferra’s.
It isn’t quite Ferra who opens the door, but it is. Tonight’s Ferra is living her goth dream with black and gray hair draping down to her back and a dress as dark as the depths of time. Edgy Mallory in early high school would have died for this.
Her nostrils flare as she takes me in. “We match!”
“We…do?” Then I notice the lavender scent isn’t just from me anymore. I need to get better at faking my fae senses. “Do you think they got lazy or something?”
She shakes her head. “I’m thinking it might be a Spring thing altogether, but let’s go find out. You ready?”
“Ready to eat, at least. I worked out today.”
She hooks her arm around mine as we head toward the stairs. “What did you get yourself into out there? I heard rumors Bash Ankerstrand was tutoring a new Separatist.”
Oof. News flies fast around here. Literally, in the case of wind-gifted fae. “It started with a shitty jog. A wog, if you will.”
We unhook to navigate the winding stairs down to the ground floor. “A silent Ferra is a listening Ferra,” she says. “Keep going.”
“He was also jogging and happened upon me.” She doesn’t know my relation with Ryland, so I give her a half truth. “A lot of the joggers faster than my slow ass mumbled slurs or rude things while passing. He stopped to check in with me, and I ended up ranting about it. He took me down to the practice dummies to take out my frustration. I’ve never held a sword, so he offered his expertise.”
“I heard his tunic was missing, and you kept grabbing his arm.”
“The tunic part is true, but he was the one doing the grabbing. Probably in an effort to explain grip and stance.”
“Hmmmmmm. Grip and stance, huh?
“He was showing me how to handle the wood,” I state with every lick of dry British humor I can muster. I whip to her with a straight face and we erupt into giggles before she addresses me in a stern tone.
“I was serious about what I said the other night, Mallybrook. Don’t get attached to the idea of him sticking around. If you’re in for a quick romp, however…”
“Oh jeez.” Little does she know how quick it’d be.
She hooks my arm again, giving it a pat. “There’s my sweet girl. I knew you weren’t the type for casuals.”
I could be if I didn’t know him, which sounds daft given I don’t really know him, but I’d like to. Maybe it’s that he knows me—was there when I was at my most vulnerable. Am I just latching onto him and Kai through trauma bonding and good looks?
“I could pencil him in if I must,” I scoff wit
h fake frivolity.
“Me too, girl. Me. Too.” We exit a side door facing the castle, and my heart flutters in excitement. This might be the only chance I have at seeing one in real life.
At first glance, it lacks a lot of the proper defenses I’d expect from a castle, but maybe that’s because there’s already a capital city around it with multiple thick barriers. There had to be more during the War of the Ancients—they probably never rebuilt them, being it’s largely unoccupied.
The castle possesses all the ostentation the citadel lacks. The path leading to the main entrance glitters with various types of quartz and opalescent seashells, while sculptures of flower petals so delicate they look as if a breeze would send them fluttering line the doors. I could spend an hour examining every sculpture and detail in the front doors alone. It’s every season, all together and everywhere at once—no, it’s nature. Mother Nature, herself.
We pass under the ancient doorways and enter a reception chamber several stories tall. “This is more like it,” Ferra murmurs.
“Think the toilets are made of gold?” I can’t help myself.
“Only one way to find out,” she replies as a female clicks her tongue at my question.
We ride the current of resplendent gowns and brocade doublets until reaching a cavernous ballroom. Ferra tugs me along several times when I stop to examine paintings or lace curtains. Everything here is handmade, the painstaking attention to detail drawing my every glance into an inspection.
The massive chandeliers of the ballroom that house hundreds of tiny candles also catch my eye, spawning the image of all our gowns and the lace curtains going up in flames as one extravagant conflagration. Hopefully they’ve figured out fire safety by now. I’ll bank on that. They probably have water fae for that, right?
I nudge Ferra. “Hey. There are people who can shoot water and stuff, right?”
