I look up at him and smile. “This is a lot more interesting than what I’m currently studying. My Apothecarium professor has us memorizing the different uses of distilled Ironflower essence in antidotes for venomous bites, mostly from desert reptiles. I will likely never visit a desert.”
Jules returns to the chair behind his desk, eyes glinting with amusement as he sits down. “Knowledge is never wasted, my dear. No matter how obscure or difficult...or confusing. It always serves to enrich our lives, if we let it, and in ways we can rarely anticipate.”
I frown dramatically at him. “So...you think remedies for the venom of the rare Ishkartan Pitviper will deeply enrich my life?”
He smiles at this. “You know, when I was a young scholar like yourself, they had calligraphy as part of the required trivium here. Calligraphy, of all things. Oh, how I hated it—having to hold my hand at such odd angles, the letters having to be all at the same, unforgiving slant. I wasn’t interested in calligraphy. I only wanted to study history and great literature. Look around.”
I survey the messy room—books jammed into every conceivable crevice, jumbled stacks of paper on his desk.
“It’s quite obvious that I’m not someone who is overly comfortable with staying inside perfectly straight, rigid lines,” he says.
“So,” I ask with sarcasm, “did calligraphy enrich your life in the end?”
Jules breaks out into laughter and pushes up his falling spectacles. “It provided many hours of sheer frustration and often flat-out despair.”
I snort. “So much for all knowledge being so worthwhile.”
He leans back, becoming reflective. “It did, however, prove to be quite useful when the need arose to falsify documents. It turns out that I happen to be especially talented at creating false birth certificates.”
My eyebrows fly up at this. “So, the hidden Fae children,” I say, amused by the irony of it, “they were saved by...calligraphy?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “So, they were. And so might a few more. Calligraphy, of all the cursed things.” His face grows serious. “Learn all you can, Elloren, about everything you can. You will find that, when you’re as powerless as we are, it helps to be clever.”
I slump down in my chair. “It would be better to be powerful and clever.”
Jules laughs again. “Quite so, quite so.”
And as much as I want to maintain my disgruntled look, I can’t help but smile back at him, and at the small flicker of hope that now seems to hover in the air all around us.
CHAPTER THREE
AMNESTY
Two nights later, I’m outside Andras’s circular dwelling, deep in the woods and surrounded by family and friends, all of us sitting around a roaring fire near Naga’s cave. My brothers, Yvan, the Lupines, Tierney and Andras, Wynter, Ariel, and even Valasca and Alder—we’re all here. Cael and Rhys arrive last, the two Elves an ethereal white against the dark forest.
Diana insisted we all meet her here, refusing to tell us why. She stands before us now with Rafe by her side, her wide grin sparking everyone’s curiosity.
“I received word this morning,” Diana says, beaming at us as if she can barely contain her joy. “My father has agreed to grant the Fae and the families who sheltered them amnesty in the Lupine territories.”
Tierney lets out a gasp, along with almost everyone else. My own hand reflexively comes up to cover my mouth.
Rafe grins at Diana. “It seems they were undecided,” my brother says, “but then a certain daughter of the Gerwulf Pack’s alpha held some sway.”
“Diana,” Tierney says, overcome, barely able to get the words out. “I can never thank you enough for this. Never.”
Diana impatiently waves away the thanks. “I simply offered some encouragement, that’s all.”
Yvan looks positively stunned.
Tierney starts to cry, and Andras puts his arm around her. Everyone erupts into happy conversation, embracing each other, making their way over to Tierney.
“And that’s not all,” Rafe says, his smile widening. “The Lupines are offering amnesty to all the Icarals and other refugees in immediate danger. And they’re not requiring anyone who comes to become Lupine.”
Wynter grows very still, then closes her eyes and raises a hand to her heart. Cael’s head drops into his hands, as if overcome with relief, and Rhys’s face radiates a sudden serene joy. Ariel is frozen, staring wide-eyed at Rafe.
“Rafe.” Trystan has gone very still, his voice low. “Does this mean...”
Tears flood my eyes. Amnesty. There will be safety there for my beloved brother.
Diana looks to Trystan warmly. “You’ll be family. Of course, you’ll be welcome.”
Trystan doesn’t move, but his eyes belie a torrent of strong emotion.
“Uncle Edwin?” I ask Rafe and Diana, my voice catching.
“All of you,” Diana affirms, smiling.
“Rafe,” Yvan says. His face has gone pale.
Rafe turns to look at Yvan.
“Does this mean they’ll take in all Fae?” Yvan asks, his voice constricted.
“Yes, Yvan. That’s my understanding.”
“And there’s more,” Valasca puts in, her eyes flicking from Yvan to Tierney. “The Amaz have agreed to allow both male and female refugees to travel around the periphery of our lands under rune-ward protection to get to the Northern Lupine territories.”
“The Northern Lupines are allowing us in, too?” Tierney manages to ask Diana through her tears.
“Yes,” Diana happily explains. “My father secured their protection for the refugees, as well.”
Valasca glances over at me, and we break into overjoyed grins as tears slide down my cheeks.
Everyone I care about who’s been in danger, in danger no more.
“Thank you,” I tell Diana, my voice cracking with emotion. “Thank you.”
“I’m just the messenger,” Diana happily deflects with a wave of her hand, but I know it isn’t true. I know she’s worked hard to secure this.
Yvan continues to sit there, speechless for a moment. And then he looks to me, a new openness in his gaze.
“You can tell them,” I encourage him. “You don’t have to keep anything hidden anymore.”
The conversation dies down and everyone looks to Yvan.
Yvan lets out a long breath and looks to them all. “I’m part Fae.”
“Fire Fae?” Rafe asks.
A wry laugh bursts from Trystan. “Now, how did you ever guess that?”
Rafe grins. “I’ve seen him playing with fire on more than one occasion.”
Yvan’s eyes widen.
“Relax, Yvan,” Rafe says. “I’m much more observant than most.”
Diana and Jarod don’t seem the least bit surprised.
“Did you know?” I ask Diana.
She shrugs noncommittally. “I can smell it on him. Like smoke.”
“My mother is part Fae, as well,” Yvan tells her. “Do you think they’ll take us both?”
“Without a doubt,” Diana assures him. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Yvan glances down at the bonfire, holding himself rigid. When he looks back up, there are tears streaming down his face. I slide my arm around him, just as Tierney comes over to embrace him in turn, all of us overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of events.
“So,” I say to Yvan with a teasing smile, “you play with fire?”
“On occasion,” he replies, smiling back at me, streaks of happy tears glistening on his cheeks. He looks over at Rafe and laughs. “I thought discreetly.”
“I want to see what that means,” I encourage him playfully.
Yvan hesitates as everyone surrounds him with friendly encouragement. “Fine,” he relents, smiling at us. “You all might want to step back—with the exception of
the Icarals, of course.”
Ariel grins wickedly and moves closer to the fire.
We all grow silent as he lifts a hand, palm forward, arm extended. He curls his fingers inward like he’s summoning the fire, and the flames begin to dance, then lean toward him, as if they’re listening. Yvan extends his other hand behind the first and slowly moves it backward, like he’s pulling on an invisible rope. The fire leans a bit more, then a long string of it flies out to Yvan’s hand in a dazzling stream and pulls into his palm.
He closes his eyes and tilts his head up, his breathing deepening as he draws the fire into himself, as if it’s a sensual experience for him. The bonfire’s light dims and the evening’s chill seeps in as more and more of the fire flows into him. And then the fire is gone, abruptly snuffed out.
Yvan drops his hands, a pleased smile on his face. When he opens his eyes and turns to me, they’re glowing bright gold, as if lit by a torch from within. Brighter than I’ve ever seen them glow before. It startles and enthralls me all at the same time.
“What’s it like?” I ask, fascinated.
“It...feels good,” he says, smiling wider. “Like power.”
He notices me shiver, and his brow tenses with concern. He turns and flicks his hand at the firepit. Flames shoot forth from his palm, the wood bursting into flames, warmth and light enveloping us all once again.
Yvan holds up his hand. His fingertips are on fire, like candles. He purses his lips and blows out four of them, then hesitates, his eyes flickering to mine. He brings his thumb to his lips and puts the flame out with his mouth.
His eyes lock back on to mine, still bright and smoldering.
“What does it taste like?” I ask breathlessly, completely under his spell.
His smile widens, his voice a sultry caress. “Honeyed.”
Oh, Sweet Ancient One in the heavens above.
“Oh,” is all I can manage.
“I brought something for you, Ren.” Flustered, I turn as Rafe sets my violin case down beside me.
The violin Lukas gave me. I shrug away thoughts of him—Lukas is the last person I want to think about tonight.
“Tonight, there’s finally real cause for celebration,” Rafe says. “And any proper celebration needs music and dancing.”
“But they don’t know our dances,” I protest.
“Oh, please,” Diana scoffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “It takes about two seconds to learn one of your dances.” She mock bows to Rafe, and he does the same. The two of them mimic one of our very formal, stiff dances, standing exaggeratedly apart and overly rigid. Everyone laughs, and then Rafe grabs Diana close, dipping her and kissing along her neck as she squeals with laughter.
The others turn back to me, hopeful looks in their eyes.
“Oh, all right then,” I say, relenting with a smile.
I pull out the crimson violin, tightening and rosining the bow as the rest of the group pushes aside some of the log seats to create space. Then I launch into the happiest tune I know—an old Gardnerian folk dance. My playing is soon accompanied by boisterous clapping and drumming on wooden stumps, my friends laughing and whooping.
Rafe quickly teaches Diana the dance that goes with the music. She only has to see it once to immediately master it, and the two of them set off, the steps perfectly executed. Quickly growing bored with it, Diana begins to embellish the dance, adding sensual movement as she presses her hips up against Rafe, her arms high above her head, weaving about like snakes. Andras offers his hand to Tierney and soon they’re dancing as well, Valasca jumping in with Alder.
I play a few more tunes, everyone learning the folk dances with happy ease, changing up the steps, showing off. After I finish about the sixth song, Rafe goes over to Wynter and holds out his hand, even though he knows that she’ll inadvertently read his thoughts by touching him. Wynter looks surprised, but pleased, and takes Rafe’s hand. I play a formal waltz, and they whirl around the fire, joined by Jarod and Valasca, Trystan and Alder.
Diana approaches Yvan as I finish the song and holds out a hand to him. “Come on, Fire Fae. Aren’t your people famous for their dancing?”
Yvan looks to the ground, smiles, then gets up. Everyone steps back for them, eager to watch.
I play one of the folk tunes from before, and they start out with the basic steps, smiling at each other, as if they find the simplicity of it funny. Then Yvan begins to stray from it, his movements fluid, almost serpentine, as he slowly adds more complicated steps, waiting to see if Diana can follow. Soon they’re wound around each other, Diana’s eyes bright, her face flushed. A spike of jealousy shoots through me, but also relief. Jealousy at her easy sensuality, her dancing ability, her being so close to my Yvan, but relief that I’m the musician and don’t need to make a fool of myself by trying to dance with Yvan. I could never dance like that, and I don’t want Yvan to know it.
I finish the song, Diana laughing with delight as Yvan dips her low, and Rafe comes over to claim her. “All right, Diana,” he says playfully. “Step away from the Fire Fae.” He mock glares at Yvan.
Yvan releases Diana and she steps back, uncharacteristically flustered.
“Thanks for showing me up, Yvan.” Rafe scowls lightheartedly as he slides an arm around Diana’s waist.
Yvan bows to him, grinning. “I’ve simply had more practice.”
“Yes, well.” Rafe turns to me. “Stay away from him, Elloren. He’s trouble.”
“I’ve been told that on more than one occasion,” I say with a laugh.
“Set down your instrument, Elloren,” Jarod prods, gesturing toward Yvan. “Dance with him.”
There are murmurs of encouragement all around.
“Go on, Gardnerian,” Ariel says, smirking. “Dance with the Fire Fae.”
I shake my head, smiling. “No, I’m not as good as all of you.”
“Don’t worry, Elloren,” Diana says, still flushed. “He’s a very strong lead.”
Rafe raises his eyebrows at her, to which she laughs.
Yvan holds out his hand to me. “Put the violin down, Elloren.”
“I can take over for you,” Trystan volunteers with a slight smile. I hesitate, then pass the instrument to my younger brother and stand up, taking Yvan’s proffered hand.
“Really,” I tell him as he leads me to the open space, “I don’t think I can follow the steps.”
“Do you know the steps to the first dance you played?” Yvan asks, ignoring my hesitation.
“Yes.”
“Dance that.”
“All right,” I say, unconvinced, as we arrange our hands and arms around each other.
Trystan starts to play a Gardnerian folk tune, and Jarod and Valasca drum out a rhythm. We begin in the traditional way, everyone clapping along with the beat and calling out encouragement to me, and I follow along easily, the two of us perfectly in time, perfectly in sync. And then Yvan begins to change the dance, moving gradually closer, wrapping one arm around me, then unexpectedly pulling me in tight.
I stumble into him, stepping on his foot, my flushed face growing hotter. “I’m so sorry...”
Yvan just grins as the others continue to clap out the beat for us. We begin again, and this time, he eases the changes in more gradually, an extra step here, a different hold on me there. Little by little, my body loosens, the rhythm claiming me. He starts to pull me closer, until I’m pressed up against him, his fire licking deliciously toward me, but this time, I don’t stumble. I soon forget there’s anyone else around, aware only of him, fascinated by him—how he weaves around the rhythm, how he weaves around me, his eyes hot on mine, the feel of his hands, his body and fire moving against mine.
Then the drumming stops, and everyone breaks into applause as I stand there out of breath, encircled in his arms. Of course, he isn’t the least bit winded.
“See,
” he says, “you’re a fine dancer.”
I laugh. “You did all the dancing.”
Yvan’s smile is warmly alluring. “I’m a strong lead.”
I’m all too aware of my heart hammering in my chest, and not just from the exercise. “You’re dangerous, is what you are.”
It’s his turn to laugh. “Yes, but you knew that already.”
I go back to my violin as everyone else springs up—even Ariel, who relents and lets Valasca and Alder teach her a simple Amaz folk dance.
We play music and dance throughout the night, everyone learning bits of each other’s dances—Amaz dances, Fae dances, Keltic folk dances, Gardnerian dances, even the prim, graceful Elfin dance, where the partners face each other but never once touch.
And after the dancing is over, I play my favorite violin piece, the one I played so many months ago in Valgard—Winter’s Dark. But this time, I play it with a depth I’ve never been able to manage before. Who knew that such moving music could spring forth from so much hardship and turmoil?
At the very end, Wynter sings for us, and I sit and listen, Yvan’s arm draped around my shoulder. The words are foreign to me, but the beauty of Wynter’s voice seems to reach right up to touch the stars.
How can it be? How could it have happened? All of my dreams suddenly within reach?
I lean into Yvan, and his arm tightens around me. My life isn’t at all how I’d imagined it could be a year ago, but better. So much better.
The others gradually disperse, leaving Yvan and me alone by the fire, the stars bright above us.
“Elloren,” he says, his voice low, his hand caressing my shoulder. “If my mother and I... If the Lupines grant us amnesty... If we join them...will you come with us?”
My face warms from something that feels like sheer joy. I know what he’s asking—he doesn’t need to elaborate. By now I can read his feelings almost as well as my own.
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