* * *
I hear Pappa come in long before Carter does. Of course, he’s calling to me in the Elven way, so Carter can’t hear him at all.
Vancia? Are you home? Where are you?
In the living room, I answer without making a sound. And I have company.
Now he repeats his question, using his voice this time. “You home Vancia?”
I scoot further away from Carter as I hear Pappa’s quick footsteps echo through the marble foyer, hurrying toward the living room.
He steps into sight, surveying the wide open, sunlit space, his eyes dropping to me and Carter sitting on the carpeted floor at opposite ends of the low wooden coffee table, our shoes kicked off, our school papers intermingling. From the expression on his face, you’d think he caught us half-undressed in a lip lock.
Both Carter and I scramble to our feet, and my heart stops at the look Pappa directs toward him. It makes me feel like throwing myself in front of Carter—like I’m taking a bullet or something, but I hold my ground.
“Hi Pappa. I didn’t think you’d be home for a while. We saw you on the news.”
“That was recorded,” he growls, never taking his eyes from my project partner.
“Pappa this is—”
“Carter Fields.” Carter steps forward with his hand extended. He’s got stars in his eyes as big as our TV screen, but I’ll give him credit. Most humans who find themselves face-to-face with Davis Hart, Senior Georgia Senator and Science and Technology Committee Chairman, are speechless for a few minutes. Maybe Carter’s debate team experience is coming in handy. “It’s an honor to meet you sir,” he adds.
Pappa must be surprised as well because the frown drops momentarily, and he grips his hand and shakes it. At the appearance of Carter’s charming dimples, my father’s scowl returns.
A few monosyllabic answers later, my project partner apparently gets the No Trespassing message. “Well, I guess I’d better get going. My mom will have dinner ready soon. It was nice to meet you sir.”
Pappa nods, and I come quickly to Carter’s side, helping him gather his papers and books so he can stuff them into his backpack.
“I’ll walk you to the door.” Pulling Carter along with me, I speed-walk toward the foyer and open the front door to the view of a wide double staircase flanked by stately planters overflowing with blooms. At the bottom, in our circular drive, Carter’s old Jeep looks sorely out of place parked next to my convertible Mercedes and Pappa’s new Bentley.
“Sorry about the cold front back there,” I say as we step outside together.
He blows out a whistling breath and nods. “An ice storm is more like it. He’s different than he is on TV, huh? Does he always act like that when you have someone over?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had anyone over before.” Great. That was stupid. Not only am I the weird art geek girl, now he knows I’m friendless as well.
Carter’s puzzled expression warms into a pleased grin. “So, I’m the first guy who’s been to your house then.”
Not the reaction I was expecting. His flirty tone makes me suddenly aware of the humid warmth of the evening air. What does it mean? Does he talk like that to all girls or is it actually something to be worried about?
We’ve been working together after school on our senior project for about two weeks now, and what started out as awkwardness has turned into a fun daily exchange of ideas and jokes… and sometimes long, loaded glances. Or maybe they’re only significant on my end.
I study his face, trying to calm my racing pulse and wishing I could read his thoughts. Unfortunately, that’s one thing we can’t do. Some of my kind can read emotions, which is pretty close, but I don’t have that glamour. Mine is artistic giftedness, which is almost laughably useless. Reclusive artists aren’t exactly the poster children for winning fans and influencing people.
I know Pappa would rather I had some really badass glamour like hypnotic musical ability, or acting or athletic prowess, so I could be groomed for celebrity and have a fan pod of my own, do my part to advance The Plan. I can almost feel his disappointment when he walks into my painting studio and looks around, as if he’s thinking What am I supposed to do with this?
Like all of my people, I have the Sway, but mine seems rather weak compared to the others I know. Or maybe I just haven’t tried very hard to convince people to think or do things they otherwise wouldn’t. Another disappointment to Pappa, who is the king of Sway. He could convince a cattle rancher convention to go vegan.
It might be worth it to use whatever Sway I do have on Carter now—nip this in the bud—if there even is a this. But when I open my mouth to do it, I find myself unwilling to influence him after all, so I try subtle redirection instead.
“Usually when I study with someone, I do it after school in the library, like we’ve been doing. We can work there tomorrow again—I think we got enough done today that we’ll wrap it up on time.”
“I don’t mind coming back here. Your old man doesn’t scare me.” Carter’s face breaks into a sunny smile, showing me that he knows how ridiculous his tough talk sounded.
What he doesn’t know is that he should be scared of Pappa. And he’d be terrified if he knew how old my “old man” really is.
Chapter Two
Promised
What exactly is going on here? Pappa’s silent voice would probably raise the roof if he asked the question out loud.
I cringe and close the front door, hurrying to join him in the immaculate kitchen. Sliding onto a barstool at the granite-topped center island, I watch him pace and begin to sweat.
“Nothing,” I answer, preferring to use human speech. Unlike the Light Elves, who don’t interact with humans at all, Dark Elves do, and I’ve spent nearly my whole life around them, going to school with them since kindergarten. Sometimes I forget I’m not one of them. “Just school work. Carter’s my partner, and we have a senior project due in a few days. We’ve been working on the visual art element at school, but there’s no way to get the written part done during the school day. We have to work on it after.”
Why are you speaking aloud? Are you trying to deceive me?
A fair question. When we communicate in the Elven way, mind-to-mind, it’s impossible to lie, but I’m insulted anyway.
No. Why don’t you trust me? I never disobey you. And there’s nothing going on. Just school work. Happy now?
He gives me a long, searching look. Why is your partner so attractive? Did you influence your teacher to be paired with him?
No. She drew names from a jar. At his narrowed eyes, I add, I know the rules, Pappa. Don’t worry.
He visibly relaxes. Good. Glad to hear it.
He goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a glass pitcher of saol water. When he turns back around, his forehead is wrinkled and his brows are furrowed. I know this expression—it’s his I’m-the-single-father-of-a-baffling-teenaged-girl look. His eyes come up to meet mine.
You know I’m only concerned about what’s best for you. I don’t want you to be stuck with someone who’s… so far beneath you.
I flinch at his snobby remark, but I shouldn’t be surprised. He and his buddies from The Council are always saying things like that, though I doubt they’ve taken the time to get to know any humans very well. They’re too busy courting their votes and making laws to govern them, influencing them to hand over their money… and their sons and daughters to be members of the fan pods.
Unable to help myself, I come to my friend’s defense. “Carter’s very smart, and he’s really nice. Everyone at school likes him.”
Mistake.
“You do have feelings for that boy!” Pappa roars, letting the pitcher hit the countertop with a bang.
He must really be mad, slipping into human speech at home like that. Real smart, Vancia. Way to go.
“It is absolutely out of the question—for all the reasons you so well know,” he continues. There’s a long pause, and something new enters his eyes. “And ther
e’s another reason. Perhaps I should have told you before, but you were only a child and not even thinking of such things… and I didn’t want to scare you.”
I sit up straighter. The granite under my forearms feels suddenly colder. “Scare me about what?”
Pappa gives me the same wide smile I’ve seen him wear at high-dollar fundraising events, the one he uses when he’s trying to convince donors of what a great guy he is. “It’s good news, actually.” He reaches across the countertop and takes my hand. “You are promised to someone. You have been for a long time.”
I blink several times, trying to remember how to inhale and exhale. “Promised?”
“Yes. Betrothed. Engaged. Promised in marriage. A very important marriage, actually. One that will ensure your future as well as that of all our people.”
“Marriage?” I repeat, my thoughts and feelings twirling together in a sinking whirlpool. All his words after that one sounded hollow and unintelligible, like the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher on one of those holiday specials I used to watch on TV.
Now Pappa’s wide smile turns into something resembling irritation. He withdraws his hand. “Yes, Vancia, marriage. You can’t be completely shocked by this. You’re nearly eighteen. You know that’s the age of bonding.”
“Yes, but…” I’m already engaged? I haven’t even… dated, or whatever. “Who is he? Do I know him?”
Now the see-what-a-great-thing-this-is smile is back. “No, you’ve never met. But I have no doubt you’ll approve when you meet him. He’s an excellent match for you. His father is the leader of another clan. So, you’re marrying, in essence, a prince. I thought you might like that, as much as you enjoy reading those fairy tales of yours. We’ll be travelling to Mississippi as soon as school is out for the summer. You’ll be married during the Assemblage. It will be quite the grand occasion.”
“I’m getting married in Altum? This summer?” All I can seem to manage at the moment are dumb questions.
I travelled to Altum, the traditional home of the Light Elves, ten years ago with my parents for the last Assemblage. Elven people from all over the continent had come together to trade, hammer out policy, and in general, have a hell of a party, as we do once every ten years.
I loved the opportunity to play with children from all the different clans, especially the Light Elves, who don’t use spoken language at all. They reminded me of characters from my favorite books and fairy tales—so mysterious, hidden from human eyes, so close to nature and the ways of the First Ones.
Pappa and the other members of The Council don’t hold them in such high regard, calling them the Lightweights behind their backs and laughing. They think the Light Elves are stubborn and rather backward to ignore and avoid the human world and accuse them of trying to prevent the inevitable—the day when the Fae will rule the earth again as they did in ancient times.
“So, which clan is he from?”
“Actually he lives in Altum. His father is the leader of the Light Elves.”
Again, I’m struggling to find enough breath to answer. “I’m betrothed to a Light Elf? But… you don’t even like them.”
He laughs out loud. “Of course I do. I think they’re… quaint. A bit naïve perhaps. But they’re fine people—especially your betrothed. And with some convincing, they’ll see the light eventually. You will have a role to play in that. Once you’ve acclimated to your new husband, you’ll persuade him to see reason, and we’ll be able to share The Plan with them and get them on board. All our peoples will be united. It’s a perfect arrangement, trust me.”
Arrangement. Arranged marriage. The words spin through my head like Irish step-dancers. I’m going to be bonded to a boy I’ve never even met. Or perhaps we did meet as seven or eight year old children, but I don’t even have a clear memory of the Light King, much less his son.
Arranged marriages are quite common among our people. With the age of bonding being so young and the bond being a forever one, it makes sense. You don’t want to spend eternity with someone based on a hasty decision or changeable things like feelings and attraction.
But having spent my entire life around humans, reading their books and watching their movies and listening to their music, I’m finding the idea of a marriage without love rather… repellant. I never quite realized it before this moment, but I want that racing heart, that head-in-the-clouds, dreamy feeling I’ve read about and hear the girls at school describing.
The closest thing to it I’ve ever felt is for my book boyfriends, and before that, for my childhood best friend Nox. His parents were musicians, like mine, and we grew up together in Los Angeles, running around at rehearsals, entertaining ourselves as the grown-ups made music and shared the peculiar lifestyle of the music industry.
Around the time we turned twelve, my feelings for him changed from goofy, bickering, teasing friendship to a massive crush. He changed, too, becoming a tall, lanky, handsome pre-teen whose beautiful eyes and budding musical talent made my heart fluttery.
“I’m not sure,” I whisper, the quiet statement seeming to echo off of every shiny surface in the kitchen. They’re the first words of defiance I’ve ever dared to speak toward Pappa.
He gives me a disbelieving look. “What do you mean you’re not sure? What is there to be sure about? It’s been arranged.”
My chin lifts, my eyes meeting his straight on. “I’m not sure I can… marry someone I don’t know, someone I don’t love.”
He grunts and turns to pull two glasses from the cabinet behind him. “Love. What does all their love get for these humans? They divorce almost as soon as they get married. They bond with anyone and everyone who catches their eye. All they get is pain for their efforts. What we have is far superior to love.” Setting the glasses on the counter between us, he fills them and pushes one to me. “You can marry him, Vancia. And you will.”
His tone leaves no room for argument, and I drop my gaze, nodding weakly, though everything inside of me is thrashing like a two year old having a meltdown at the grocery store. Taking a sip of the sweet and slightly bubbly liquid does nothing to cool the angry lump burning in my throat.
“What’s his name?”
Pappa studies me a long moment before answering. “It doesn’t matter—you don’t know him. But soon all will be revealed, and I promise you my daughter—you will enjoy living the life of a queen. You will see that I’ve done very well by you indeed. Now, dress for dinner. Our guests will be here within the hour.”
Chapter Three
The Council
I drag my heavy silver fork through the beautifully presented food on my china plate, having no appetite for the four course meal served in our large formal dining room. Everything tastes fine, but I can’t eat—unlike our two human guests, who are shoveling it in like they’ve never had anything so delicious.
Stifling a giggle, I turn away and study a wall mural of bathing nymphs under a fantastic starlit sky.
I have to remember the humans can’t help it. Edda’s culinary glamour affects them more strongly, just as other forms of glamour have a more powerful effect on humans than on other Elves. Maybe that’s why Pappa invited the men here tonight for a meal. It’s unusual for him to entertain their kind here, but nothing he does is random.
The members of the Council are here as well, posing as Pappa’s friends. I suppose they are the closest thing he has to friends, though I wouldn’t trust a one of them as far as I could throw them. Their lips smile and agree with Pappa while their eyes seem always to gleam with secret intent, as if seeking some new angle for self-advancement.
Like all Elven people, they are tall and elegant, the men improbably handsome, the women, beautiful and eternally youthful. Looking at them seated around the long dining table in their impeccable clothing, it occurs to me they could be Pappa’s brothers and sisters, the resemblance is so strong. You’d think that would strike the human men as strange, but they don’t seem to be fazed by it.
“Now, I’m not sure abo
ut that, Davis. What about the areas near schools? People get all up in arms about putting cell towers close by.” One of our guests, a fifty-ish man who looks like he knows his way around a fundraising dinner table, is getting red in the face as he gestures with his fork, arguing with Pappa. I recognize him as a senator from the opposing party.
I tune back out of the dull conversation, which concerns the latest advances in cell phone and tablet technology and expanding signal coverage—pretty much all Pappa and his Council ever talk about. Tonight he seems to be trying to convince his fellow senators to change their positions and support a bill pushing more aggressive construction of towers and expanded wireless signals.
I have nothing to add, even if I were interested. Which I’m not. My mind keeps returning to Pappa’s announcement and all its repercussions, which slam into me one after the other, making my lungs ache.
I’ll have to move.
To Mississippi.
Rural Mississippi.
I won’t see the people I’ve spent the past five years with at school anymore. I won’t see my teachers.
I won’t see Carter.
Now my lungs burn and threaten to close altogether, making me feel like I’m drowning right here in the perfectly dry, perfectly temperature-controlled room.
I’m not all that close to any of my human peers, but still, after being ripped so suddenly from my childhood home in California, there’s a certain comfort in the familiar faces and the routine I’ve developed here. I much prefer our Georgia home to our place in D.C., where I don’t know anyone except our servants.
I guess I won’t be going to art school either, though it’s secretly become a wish of mine over the past few months. Listening to the other students talk about college entrance exams and essays, applications, and weekend campus visits, I began to entertain the idea of going away to school myself, researching them online and halfway falling in love with one or two.
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