by Lexi Johnson
The princess followed Sade’s gaze as if by accident. Something in her expression shifted.
She stood, and tapped her long fingernail against the side of the wine glass. The entire room silenced. Even the harpist’s interrupted note faded into dissonance.
The princess said, “Today is the last meal we will have with my Little Bird. I have given her over to the care of our guest. He is a skilled Wind Dancer. Haytham, if you would be so kind as to offer us a dance.”
Haytham’s head whipped up, his eyes narrow. “My lady?”
“It is your free choice.”
Haytham looked at the princess, and then at Sade, finally letting his gaze sweep across the court.
“We don’t dance for entertainment,” he said. Laire’s body tensed, an expression of fury flashing over her features.
Haytham continued, “But, as a demonstration…I will need a knife.”
“Of course,” the princess said, her face immediately smoothing again. She reached beneath the table and pulled free a silver blade. “It is a heartblade,” she said. “Use it well.”
Sade glanced at the knife. The knife ran straight along the top, but curved on the blade opposite side, narrowing to a sharp tip.
Sade had never seen it before. It certainly wasn’t the princess’s, whose heartblade was tucked in through the loop at the left side of her waist.
Haytham took the blade. Holding it openly in one hand, he started down from the dais to the open floor. The elves parted before him, falling back against the branches that served as the room’s walls.
“Whose knife is it?” Sade whispered, wondering how she’d mustered up the courage to ask.
The princess turned to Sade and pressed her lips against the mortal’s temple. Lowering her lips to Sade’s ear, she whispered, “My pet, it’s yours.”
Chapter 4: Wind Dancer
The knife’s hilt was warm in Haytham’s hand as he took the first position for the dance.
Every dance was different. Each step was dictated by the wind’s song. And here, with so many barriers between Haytham and the open air, he found it difficult to find his center. Outside, the music was open and free. But here, in the elven court, the wind’s glorious song was fragmented and mourning.
Haytham submitted to it. He fell slowly to his knees, his arms in front of him, the blade held loosely in his right hand.
Equally slowly, he rose. The weight of the wind’s grief made his limbs heavy.
As he began to move, the whispers of his audience faded to silence. He breathed, and the wind filled him with its music.
Freed at last from the confines of this hall, and all the chains of his oaths, Haytham danced.
His body was an instrument, and he moved like one. The knife glinted in the sunlight as he whirled faster and faster.
He called the wind through his movement. One of the closer elves gasped as the wind flung the feathers from his hair, and sent them flying in a cloud around him. The watchers clapped, their applause providing an odd counter-beat to the wind’s song.
Just as the wind moved through everything, carrying the sounds of the audience’s attention, filling their lungs and expelling itself again in sound as they gasped and occasionally cheered, the wind’s dance allowed Haytham to move to, and through, everything.
Absently, he noted the audience’s weaknesses. Through the wind’s dance, he could kill them all.
Eventually his muscles began to burn. It was a pleasant feel, the exertion -- like flying -- and he wondered if his hawk form had become visible, shining through the air around him. Given his choice, he would turn his back on the entire Edenost court, leap from the nearest open ledge, shed his human skin and into the wind’s arms.
But his oaths held him down: held him here.
Regretfully, he let the wind’s song drain away. He was sweating. Sometime during the dance, some of his hair had freed itself from the tie to fall haphazardly around his face. He pushed it back with his fingers, still breathing heavily.
Princess Laire stood, clapping her hands in applause. “Oh, that was a true gift!”
Haytham nodded, acknowledging the compliment. But his attention was focused on Sade, who stared at him, her lips parted. Her eyes were wide and wet with tears.
Had she heard the music? If so, she was the only one in the room who had truly understood.
Haytham turned away his gaze. Sade was the key to his freedom. There wasn’t any point in his trying to find commonalities between them. That would only make it more difficult to do what he had to do.
Haytham returned to the princess, holding the blade out to her.
“It’s my gift to my pet,” Laire said, taking the knife. “And, judging by how beautifully you’ve used it, I think it will serve her well.” She patted Sade again on the head.
The entire display was both shameless and disgusting.
Haytham returned to his spot on the floor, and one of the courtiers came by and handed him a glass of water in a piece of hollowed-out wood. No doubt the princess meant the coarseness of the material to serve as an insult. But Haytham was grateful that he’d be able to drink without worrying that he’d break some fragile work of elven magic.
When the meal was done, Laire sent Sade with another elf to gather her belongings. Alone -- or as good as alone, surrounded by only a few stooped-over elves scurrying about to clean, draped in coarse brown fabric that hid both their shape and faces -- the princess turned to him.
“How much of the dance does she need to learn in order to kill?”
“Not much,” Haytham said. It was true: killing was the easiest part of the dance. It was always easier to destroy than to create.
“It’s up to her to hear the wind,” he added. Though, considering her reaction to Haytham’s dance, he privately had little doubt that she’d be able to find her steps within the wind’s song.
“You have to make her succeed,” the princess said, her voice becoming fiercer. “You and I have sealed a bond of breath and soul. If my pet fails, I will see that there is nowhere in this world where you can be safe.”
He had expected threats. This, too, was part of doing business with the elves.
“I understand,” Haytham said calmly. “And when she succeeds -- because she will, whether or not she can master the dance -- I will have my freedom, and you can enjoy your revenge.”
The princess smiled. “You are cleverer than you look,” she said. “My mother said that, once.”
Haytham shrugged.
“Stay here,” the princess said. “I’ll have Sade join you with her belongings. I assume you’ll be carrying her to… wherever you’ve chosen for her training?”
Haytham nodded, and the princess left.
He crossed the room, threading his path between the sad, broken elves who had been left behind to clean up the messes of their more fortunate brethren. He stopped at the edge of the room, standing beneath an arc of red and gold leaves, and looked out onto the forest. Elven magic diffused the wind, so that, while its cry could be heard, the heavy gusts never blew inside.
In the short time that they had, Haytham would only be able to teach her the basics: enough to bring herself closer to her target, and to slay him without calling attention to herself. Haytham would have to accompany her, if only to keep her from making any critical mistakes.
The princess was counting a great deal on the fact that Aranion’s soul-bond to Sade would keep him from protecting himself. Haytham had no doubt that, even with the wind’s aid, he himself wouldn’t be able to get close enough to an elven prince to end his life.
Still, the princess’s plan was cruel. That was the norm for elves, in Haytham’s experience -- but it didn’t mean he had to like it.
Decidedly, the faster he could get out of here with the mortal, the better.
Chapter 5: The Shifter’s Den
Sade followed the elf out of the room where the feast had been held, back toward the princ
ess’s personal chamber. Every few steps, the elf looked back at Sade before turning her gaze to the front again. At the second glance, Sade realized this was the same elf that the princess had almost sentenced to entertain the birds.
When they reached the princess’ chambers, Sade saw a small silk sack lying on the bed. It had two straps, one for each shoulder.
The elf said, “We’ve packed what you’ll need for your journey.”
“Thank you,” Sade replied. The elf continued to stare at her. Sade shifted awkwardly. “Uh -- your name is Naira, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said the elf quickly, as if she’d been waiting for the question. She continued immediately by asking: “What do you want?”
“Nothing,” Sade said, a bit confused at the anger in the elf’s tone. “I’m sorry if I offended you somehow.”
“You! Sorry?” Naira smiled, but with more teeth than humor. “What have you to be sorry for?” she demanded. “You’re the one who created this debt between us. All I want to know is: how can I absolve the geis between us?”
Geis? All Sade knew of geises was that they were the means that elves seemed to use to perform their magic.
“I don’t want anything from you,” Sade said. “I just didn’t want it to be my fault that something horrible happened to you.”
Naira’s eyes widened. “You really mean that, don’t you?” She looked torn between disdain and something else. “A month here, and you are still such a fool…”
“Just…if there’s any debt between us, I’ll let it go. I only wanted to help.”
Naira blinked. She was dainty, like all the lower courtiers, with a small pink mouth, and wide black eyes that seemed like they belonged on some beautiful insect.
“You should be wary of the princess,” the elf said suddenly. “She hates you. I don’t know what happened in the Crystal Court, but it’s not love, or even kindness, that keeps her from flaying your skin from your bones. She means you no good.”
Sade stood quite still. She thought, dimly, that she should have been shocked. But the again, Princess Laire had always treated her as a possession, rather than a friend, and her kindnesses were always barbed.
And, she wondered, what about Haytham? He didn’t seem particularly fond of the princess. He didn’t seem particularly fond of anyone. Even his dance had been a song of grief and pain.
“What do I do?” Sade asked. “Is this… Is that why she’s sending me with Haytham? So that he can kill me?”
Naira shrugged. “I don’t know. But I doubt she’d put in the effort if it were something that simple. No, she means for you to learn what the Wind Dancer teaches. Whatever she told you was true. There are many truths, and elves can speak all of them.”
“But elves can’t lie.” As the words fell from Sade’s lips, they seemed an echo of another time, a memory of moonlight. But as she reached for the memory, it slipped from her grasp, leaving her breathless.
Naira nodded. “That is the difference between us and you,” she said. “Between us and Shifters.” She paused. “I’ll tell you this one thing,” she said, “and let it truly absolve the geis between us. You cannot trust any of us. The princess would see you skinned -- and the Wind-Dancer, Haytham, even if he wanted to, cannot defy the princess’s will. Like the rest of us, his wings have been clipped.”
She hesitated a moment. Then she turned her back on Sade, and, pulling at a tie on her silk robes, let them fall to her hips.
Along each shoulder blade was a mangled extrusion of mottled brown and tan, where muscle and tissue had been cut and cauterized.
“My God…” Sade breathed.
“The difference between us and the Wind-Dancer,” Naira said quietly, “is that we bear our scars on the outside.”
She cocked her head suddenly, as if listening for something. Then, quickly -- so quickly Sade hardly saw her move -- she pulled her robe back over her shoulders and tied it fast.
About ten breaths later, the princess entered.
“Oh, Sade,” she said, coming, smiling, to Sade’s side. The elven courtier stepped back and stood completely still as the princess folded Sade into a too-tight hug.
“It’ll be a wonder if I can sleep tonight without you in my bed,” said Laire warmly. “I’ve grown used to your mortal sounds.”
This close, the pleasure of the princess’s touch was almost overwhelming. Sade forced herself to stay calm.
She’d always suspected that Laire disliked her. But to think that the princess would just as easily skin her as stroke her hair made Sade feel tense, and a bit ill.
She could try one last time. “Maybe there’s another way of escaping my bond than killing the prince…” Sade ventured.
She felt the princess tense, before pressing a kiss onto the top of Sade’s head. Like the pleasure of the princess’s touch, the affection also felt false.
Laire said, “Sade, you will never be free of this pain until you’ve eliminated the source. It’s like any injury. You cannot begin to heal if the wound is continuously aggravated.” She stepped back a little and regarded Sade as if she were a foolish child. “Now, tell me you’ll listen to Haytham and do your best. Can you do that?”
“I can,” Sade said.
She’d never been more eager to get away. Once she got away, she thought, she could find a way to escape Laire’s clutches for good. All she would have to do was escape Haytham, and live on her own with the pain of the aching bond. She’d certainly managed the pain well enough so far.
“When you return in three months’ time, the healers will need to replenish the spell that holds your pain at bay,” Laire said, and Sade felt her last hope dashed. “Haytham has given me his word that he will return you by then. Goodbye, my sweet pet.”
Before Sade could move, Princess Laire pressed their lips together. The kiss was warm and horribly good. When they parted, Sade’s lips tingled.
“Now go,” the princess said. She pointed to the elf courtier. “Take her to the Great Hall. Haytham awaits her there.”
The elf nodded, and, without another word, took up the silk sack and started towards the door.
Sade followed. She looked back only once, and saw the princess seated on the edge of the bed, her expression impossible to decipher.
When they reached the Great Hall, Sade saw Haytham standing at the very edge of the room. He was staring out through a break in the branches and leaves; his bare toes grasped at the ledge.
“The Princess chose not to attend your send-off?” Haytham asked. His back was still to them; he hadn’t bothered turning around.
Sade wasn’t sure how to answer, so she just asked: “What now?”
She realized she had no idea how they would go about leaving the elven court. She’d never left, nor watched anyone leave since she arrived.
“My Lady,” Naira said. She placed her small hand gently on Sade’s forearm. The touch brought neither pleasure nor fear. “Have a safe journey,” she said.
Sade smiled down at Naira. “Thank you,” she said. In spite of the courtier’s avowed indifference, she liked the elf.
She should have gotten to know all of the other courtiers better. Were they all so horribly mangled as Naira was? If Sade hadn’t been so afraid that they were laughing at her -- just as she always knew the princess was laughing, no matter how prettily she hid it -- then maybe Sade would have made more time to speak with them. Then again, she’d had precious few moments out of Laire’s sight.
“And stay safe as well, Naira,” Sade added, with feeling. To tell the truth, she wasn’t sure which of them was in more danger: the courtier, who had to stay here and navigate Laire’s moods, or Sade, being sent away with a dangerous stranger to learn to kill.
Naira gave Sade one more nod, and, in the courtiers’ graceful and silent way, backed out of the room. Sade watched her leave, and felt an unexpected pang.
Behind her, Haytham said, “You shouldn’t trust her.”
Sade
turned around quickly. “She said the same of you.”
Haytham shrugged. “It’s not the nature of elves to trust anyone,” he said. Which, Sade noted, was not the same thing as saying Naira had been wrong.
“Come here,” Haytham ordered her brusquely.
She held back. “Why?”
“Because we’re leaving. Now hurry up. The intrigues within these trees are stifling, and if I have to stay here another minute, I think I might break something out of spite.” Glancing over at Sade, Haytham added: “I’m not going to kill you, if that’s what you’re worried about. The princess has larger plans for the both of us.”
Though Naira’s warning was fresh in Sade’s mind, she saw no choice but to go with Haytham. She certainly didn’t want to go back to the princess, she had her orders, and Haytham shared Sade’s desire to leave.
So Sade walked over to the ledge, and stood beside him, waiting.
“Make sure you’ve closed your bag tightly,” Haytham said. “I’d hate to see your things scattered across the trees.”
Sade did as she was told, double-checking to make certain the bag was clasped tightly shut before putting the bag on her shoulders.
“Good,” Haytham said, releasing the tie of his tunic. It fell to the floor in a rustle of fabric. “Once I shed my human skin, we won’t be able to talk. Just climb on my back. And try not to squirm around too much. Would be a shame to drop you.” The last was said with the left corner of his mouth quirked upwards, a gesture that made Sade think that the warning was at least in part a joke. But she couldn’t be sure.
Haytham continued to strip down. Sade asked, “Did you want me to put your clothes in my bag?”
“Let the elves keep their finery,” Haytham said. He had stripped off his trousers; now he pulled off his undergarments as well.
Sade averted her gaze, though the Wind-Dancer no reason to be ashamed. His body was sculpted muscle: broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist, light brown hair furring the base of his defined chest and crotch. He wore a large, metal collar. Two rings had been affixed to the left and right sides, and from them hung long strips of leather.
