by Kelly Meding
“Amalie,” Wyatt said.
I gaped. I’d seen Amalie and, save the piercing blue eyes and flame-red hair, the small, sparkling woman-wannabe was not the sprite I knew.
Her smile and laughing eyes turned to him. “Wyatt Truman, my friend,” she said, her voice commanding and feminine and disproportionate to her small frame. “We finally meet.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
“Apologies, Evangeline,” she said. “My people prefer to avoid the cities, but our abilities allow us to send our spirit through the body of an avatar. It helps us communicate with the outside world, without exposing ourselves to it.”
“Avatar?”
“Usually a human whose mind is already open to possibilities. It allows us to take them over for a short period of time, often without their knowledge. They wake as though from a dream and remember nothing of their possession. It is how Wyatt knows me, and how you have previously seen me. Few have ever seen my true self.”
She spun around in a circle, her delicate arms spread wide. “In fact, you are the first humans to be welcomed here in our most private home. Welcome to First Break, where the Fair Ones reside.”
Her announcement created a flurry of activity. The shimmering curtains covering the carved doors and windows drew away. Bright light spilled out. Hundreds of creatures exited those doors, and some flew from what were actually not windows, but smaller doorways. Some were proportionate like Amalie, their skin and hair colors as varied as the rainbow, but none possessed as many crystals as she. Others were squat, or had heads too large, arms too short, or bodies too slim. The smallest, no larger than a chipmunk, flew on filament wings, even more delicate than a butterfly’s. Lights the size of fireflies gathered high above us, a cloud of pearly light that never stopped moving.
They assembled on the sandy floor, creating a semicircle around us. Inhuman chatter, like the gentle buzzing of bumblebees, rose above the din of their arrival. With them came more sweet smells, like the garden of the gods had just opened up to us. It was intoxicating, invigorating.
“Fair Ones,” Wyatt said.
“You have other words for us, of course,” Amalie replied. “Names of human myth that do nothing to explain what we are. Pixies and nymphs and sprites and faeries are only titles. Human constructs of literature, to help explain how they saw things they couldn’t possibly have seen.”
“Sort of like Bram Stoker?” I asked. He’d done a lot to create false myths about vampires.
“Precisely, but there is time later for explanations. I must apologize for your conveyance, but I could see no other way to retrieve you and avoid being followed here. The Dark Ones must never find this place.”
I didn’t have to ask who the Dark Ones were. “I never realized trolls were friends with sprites,” I said. “But thank you, all the same, for the jailbreak.”
For a moment, Amalie seemed puzzled. Understanding elicited another heartwarming smile. “The being you call a troll is one of our Earth Guardians. They are our eyes and ears in the world.”
Earth Guardian. I liked that.
“May I ask,” Wyatt said, “why you brought us here?”
Her cobalt eyes flared. “As I said, the time for stories is later. We have prepared a place for you both to bathe and rest.”
An orange sprite with lime green hair sprinted to my side. She beckoned me forward with jewel-encrusted fingers. Wyatt squeezed my hand and let me go. I followed her through the parting crowd, toward the high rise of dwellings. I glanced back and saw Wyatt attended by two of the disproportionate ones—heads twice the size of their puny bodies, features distinctly male. I didn’t know what to call them, and it felt inappropriate to ask.
My sprite guided me to the second tier of homes and through one of the tallest doors. I still had to duck to enter. My skin tingled. The room was impossible given the outer façade. A palace would have been less impressive.
I had stepped into paradise.
The floor was gold, the walls brushed silver and polished to a shine. A bed covered with colorful silks stood against one wall. Opposite it, two tapestries curtained off a footed tub. Hot water steamed. I inhaled the delicate aromas of sage and lavender. It was a small room, but decorated with a luxury I had only dreamed about in my waking life. I still wasn’t convinced I was fully awake.
“Is this a dream?” I asked.
The sprite giggled. The blissful sound made me smile in spite of myself. “You are in First Break, dear one. Anything is possible here.”
“What is First Break, exactly?”
“A place where magic is born. Now please, rest and clean up. There are clothes near the tub. Our Queen will summon you when she believes you are ready.”
“Okeydoke.”
She didn’t seem to understand, but took my words as a dismissal. A curtain was pulled across the door, giving me privacy. I wandered toward the center of the room, expecting to wake up at any moment, find myself still trapped in that forsaken prison cell, awaiting my second death.
I avoided the bed and its delicate fabrics. My shoes left dirt smudges on the pristine floor as I approached the bathing area. The scent of flowers was stronger here, and I realized the water was scented, not the room. It was hot, but not scorching.
“Might as well enjoy the illusion.”
I stripped slowly, trying to keep the majority of the drying ooze in one place. I tossed the ruined clothing into a small pile by the tub. It felt great to get it all off and free my stifled skin. I appreciated the rescue, but the conveyance left a lot to be desired.
Two plush towels sat on a stool by the tub. Next to it were several bottles without labels. I ignored them and dipped one leg into the water. A soft sigh escaped. It was the perfect temperature, hot and soothing. I sat on the smooth bottom and slipped down until only my head remained above the surface. Heat cocooned me in its gentle embrace. The scents and oils siphoned the day’s stresses away and replaced them with contentment.
I held my breath and slid down beneath the water, submerging my entire body. I floated for a moment, content to be cut off from the rest of the world. Eager to simply exist. Never had a bath felt so much like heaven. It was a place I wanted to stay forever.
Or at least until I started to prune.
Chapter Twenty-one
24:01
She ran around naked, so I had to laugh at the sprite’s definition of clothing. The dress I found draped on a hook was little more than two silver curtain sheers held together at the shoulders by jewel-encrusted brooches. It would have been more at home on a Greek goddess. It looked downright silly on me and did nothing to protect my modesty. Maybe the Fair Ones—seeing how they didn’t possess genitalia of any sort—didn’t care if they ran around in the buff, but I sure as hell did.
I washed out my panties and wrung them as dry as possible. I’d rather run around in damp underwear than do without. It helped, but the gown still billowed all over the place. I located a small vanity next to the bed, and when I rummaged through the drawers, I found dozens more bottles of scented oils and perfumes, and then a handful of colorful ribbons, probably meant for my hair, in all lengths and widths.
A thick, purple velvet sash became my belt, tied tight around my hips. After a little trial and error, a second, thinner purple ribbon crisscrossed my chest and back. It created some support for my breasts, even though the fabric of the dress was still uncomfortably sheer. I briefly considered stuffing some ribbons down the front, but as long as I didn’t get chilly, my nipples wouldn’t be saluting anyone.
I stared at myself in the polished wall, surprised at the vision reflected back at me. The woman in the mirror was no longer a stranger. We smiled at each other, and she wasn’t Chalice anymore. We were Evangeline, and we looked fabulous in our Grecian dress. My hair was drying on its own, creating thick brown waves that framed my face and shoulders. Even without makeup, my cheeks blazed with color. My eyes were bright. A trick of the environment, no doubt, but still mesmerizing.
For the first time in two days, I truly felt alive. And hopeful.
A bell chimed, the tiniest tinkle. “Evangeline?” I turned toward the door and the familiar voice. My orange sprite stood in the doorway. “Amalie requests your company.”
Finally, some answers. The sprite stepped aside and led the way. The stone pathways were smooth beneath my bare feet as we ascended another flight of carved steps to the third level, then up to the fourth. Fair Ones of all species buzzed and flew and scampered. Many just watched. I felt scrutinized, but not unwelcome.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Jaron,” the sprite said.
I blinked. This was Amalie’s bodyguard? The sprite that Wyatt had once described as a man big enough to intimidate a professional wrestler? Avatar ability or not, it was a disparity I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around.
Jaron led us all the way to the top level of the complex. I paused and looked down at the circular pathways below. Activity surrounded me. We were closer to the source of the waterfall, and the pool seemed so tiny, like an onyx eye peeking up from a distance.
“It’s the Anjean River,” Jaron said. “It flows above us.”
“Cool.”
She stopped in front of a circular doorway, its border decorated with an intricate pattern. It could have been a language, but I definitely couldn’t read it. Jaron pulled back the curtain.
I ducked to step through and felt the same encompassing buzz of magic inside. The room’s physical simplicity surprised me. The main piece of furniture on the smooth, tan floor was a long, polished stone table, covered with platters of fruit and vegetables and nuts and grains. Pitchers of liquid stood amongst the feast. Another sphere hung from the ceiling, casting the perfect amount of light.
Amalie lounged in a stone chair decorated with living flowers and vines, placed at the head of the table. Her bright smile made me giddy. She waved me forward.
“Please, help yourself,” she said.
I gaped at the table’s bounty, too timid to touch anything. But the smells were tantalizing, and my stomach grumbled. I inhaled deeply, identifying the heady, sweet scent of wine from one of the pitchers. The bottle of tepid water seemed so long ago.
A throat cleared. I pivoted, hair swirling in a loose flurry. Wyatt stood just inside of the doorway, hands clasped behind his back. My heart sped up at the sight. His keepers had cobbled together slacks in much the same manner as my dress. The thin, bronze fabric was belted at his waist, cut and tucked to create a makeshift crotch, and cinched with velvet ribbon at both ankles. The sides of the legs were completely open, flashing toned muscles and tanned skin.
His hair was tousled, finger-combed, and allowed to dry, and his face was freshly shaved. His bare chest glistened, showing off a roped torso and tight abs. The new scent of fruit—apples, maybe—hinted that he’d used the oils provided. More than his physical attractiveness, though, I stared at his flawless skin—stared until I realized what bothered me.
The array of parallel bruises I’d seen two days ago were gone. The knife wound from our previous fight with the goblin scouts was likewise gone. Not healed—there would have been some faint residual marks. They were just gone, as though they’d never existed.
“Evy,” he said. I looked up, met his smiling eyes. “You look like a goddess.”
My cheeks heated. “You, too,” was all I managed.
“Do I? Should I be in that dress?”
“You know what I mean, jackass. What happened?” I pointed at his chest.
“I’m not sure. One of the gnomes put something in my bathwater that smelled like peppermint. When I got out, they were gone.”
Note to self: gnomes have big heads and small bodies.
“They possess great knowledge of healing,” Amalie said. “Consider it a gift.”
“I feel like I owe you so much already,” I said.
She shook her head side to side, as elegant as it was forceful. “You have done much for us without knowing. I feel I cannot offer you enough recompense.”
Not particularly inspiring. Wyatt joined me at the table and eyed the goodies spread out in front of us. I picked up one of the largest strawberries I’d ever seen and inhaled its tantalizing aroma. Perfection in a piece of fruit.
“Why did you rescue us?” Wyatt asked.
“As I said, Wyatt Truman, you have been a service to us without your knowledge. I could not see allowing you to wither in those cells, apart from each other, until her time is up.”
“You brought me here to die?” I asked, the strawberry halfway to my lips. A small flare of fury lit deep in my belly.
“I cannot change what has been put into motion, Evangeline. I do not possess that sort of power.”
“So that’s it? Your compensation for a job well done—so well done I didn’t even know I was doing it—is to die down here with the faeries? To sit on my ass, drink wine, and let Tovin win?”
Amalie bristled when I said his name. Her skin darkened to the color of her eyes. Every crystal glittered and winked. “You proved Tovin a traitor. He sees nothing, except potential gain for himself. There will be no peace for the Fair Ones, or anyone else, should the goblins come into power. Even the vampires know the potential cost of this fight.”
“Isleen,” I said, thinking of her for the first time in hours. “Do you know what happened to her? She was captured along with me.”
“Then she is likely dead. Vampires do not suffer threats, nor do they bargain for their people. She will have no value to the half-Bloods who captured you.”
My shoulders sagged. I dropped the uneaten strawberry onto the delicate silver platter from which it came. Wyatt slipped his arm around my waist. I melted into the warmth of him and the apple-sweet scent of his body.
“This whole time,” I said, “I thought the Bloods didn’t give a damn, that they were our enemies, but they were trying to help. Isleen wanted to help, just like her sister, and now they’re both dead.”
“She did her part,” Amalie said. “As we all do ours. Each has a role to play in coming events—some more than others.”
“Then what makes you so sure my part is over? I’m not done fighting, dammit. I will not give up and just let Tovin take Wyatt’s free will for whatever godforsaken purpose he has in mind.”
“You cannot undo the bargain they have created, Evangeline. A freewill pact, signed in blood, can only be voided by the spilling of more blood.”
“What the hell does that mean? Do I have to sacrifice a goat?”
Her color tone lightened. “That is not what I meant. This is not within the scope of my powers, but I am told that there are three ways in which this pact can be voided in blood.”
My stomach quivered. Wyatt’s other arm came around my waist, and I clasped my hands over his. I needed to hear this, but was terrified to know.
“If Evangeline dies before the end of the seventy-two hours, it is voided,” Amalie said.
“We came up with that one on our own,” I said. “But the fact that I’ve healed after every little scratch and bruise means that Tovin put some extra effort into making sure that didn’t happen. If the hound attack didn’t kill me, few things weaker than a beheading likely will.”
“And not an option,” Wyatt said.
Yet.
“If Tovin dies before the contract expires, Wyatt is free of his obligations,” Amalie continued.
“Makes sense,” I said. “And definitely a more plausible scenario, since he’s proving to be a number one asshole anyway.”
“Tovin’s well protected,” Wyatt said. “Few ever know where to find him, and he conjures. He could make you see things you can’t even imagine.”
I patted his hand. “And you can only summon the power of the sun. Weakling.”
“Very funny.”
“The caveat to killing Tovin,” Amalie said, “is that at the moment of his death, Evangeline’s time is also up.”
“If he dies, I die?”
�
�Yes.”
Terrific.
“What’s the third option?” Wyatt asked.
Amalie’s cobalt eyes burned. “If Wyatt dies before the end of the time frame, then Evangeline is freed of her constraints and may continue to inhabit her new body.”
A tremor ran up my spine. I’m sure my mouth was hanging open. In two days, no one had ever presented me with an option that included me living past the seventy-two hours. Three days was it, so no use in making plans. Knowing the option existed exhilarated me, even though the price was impossible to pay.
“Evy could live,” Wyatt said. His soft, contemplative tone alarmed me.
“Fuck you, Truman,” I snarled, disentangling myself from his arms. “There is no way that’s happening.”
“Evy—”
“No!” I stalked to the other side of the room, hit the wall, and rounded to the opposite side of the buffet table. I glared at him over the display of uneaten food and drink. “Absolutely not, so fucking forget about it. If you even think it, I’ll have someone bring you back just so I can kill your ass myself.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s not funny.”
“No, it isn’t, and I’m dead serious.”
“You could keep on living, Evy.”
“I died, Wyatt.” My voice rose to just below screaming, but I didn’t care. “I’m supposed to be dead right now, so who cares if I’m dead again in a day? I don’t want it, but that’s the way it’s supposed to be. I will not spend the rest of my afterlife worrying if you’re going to try and commit some sort of noble suicide. I’d rather take a flying leap off this walkway and land on my head.”
“Please,” Amalie said. “Now is not the time for such arguments. Now is the time for eating and resting. You need your strength if you are both to find a solution to the puzzle facing you.”
Wyatt and I glared at each other for seconds that stretched into minutes. Neither of us wanted to back down. Wyatt wanted me to live. But as much as I wanted it, too, I couldn’t knowing everything he’d given up for me. I’d lost Jesse and Ash. I’d lost Max and Danika. I’d lost Alex. I had nothing without Wyatt. Even the gift of life wasn’t enough.
