She wasn’t the first. She wasn’t the most passionate, and she didn’t have a hot temper. I had had defiant, I had had malleable. I loved them all when I met them, and I love them still. They wait in the summerlands for me to come home—each as different as every breeze, except that they share me. She was not brave. She was not a fighter, a healer, or a quickfinger. She was nothing except attentive. Attentive, and lovely—seen through my lover’s eyes. She listened to me, and she tried to see how I saw. When passion took me away, she held me steady. When rages shook me, she brought me back. She was a peasant with nothing but a frail, foolish father—and the heart of a fey lord.
“I’ll bring him, too,” I said once again.
“It’s not just him.” We were on the step outside her home. Day was failing. That was the deal: out by nightfall, gone until morning. I assented to this pact only because she wished it. I wanted to make Syed into something incapable of remembering he had a daughter. I freed one hand from hers to smooth back her bark-brown hair. “Even if not for my father, I would be here,” she said.
“Here?” I laughed. Her eyes did not judge me. I twisted my face in disgust to move her, but she stayed still. Not stoic. Stolid. Dependable. Stable. Understanding. How had she captured a love like mine? “What is there here you could not have elsewhere?”
“Seasons. Danger. Freedom. Chance,” she said. I twirled her and kissed her.
“I could be all the chance and danger you need,” I said. She smiled lopsidedly. She was not beautiful. I’d taken queens; I had queens still.
“And yet, you could not give me seasons.” She tilted her head. Her eyes searched me. “Or freedom.” Her eyes lingered on mine, and then moved past me. They reflected the sunset. “You have to go, Aethim.” I felt the compulsion pushing my legs. I kissed her again, and her lips sated mine. She moved with me before the agreement I’d struck with her father made me move. At the treeline, she left me.
I studied her as she walked away. Not tall. Not delicate. Not graceful. Just a woman. Once the door closed behind her, I moved my eyes onto the house. A woman in a tiny house with one room whose roof needed thatching, whose walls harbored mice. She had the feylands waiting. She said freedom, but she had no prospects, and no coin. I had searched again and again on her for curses. I tried to hunt down someone that had already captured her heart. Something must numb her to her life.
Seven miles had passed under my thoughtful feet when I felt her scream. Seven miles back passed faster than thought.
At the boundary, I strained to see what hurt her. Even with Syed’s deal in play, I should have been able to see past the walls. I couldn’t. The door hung open on half-broken hinges, and something had blasted out the window. Smoke hung motionless as though pressed against the window and the door. I shoved my hands against the boundary. She was screaming; I couldn’t hear it, but I felt her.
The boundary: a wall of glass I could not go over or under. But she was screaming, and I could not hear her. I had my hands pushed flat against the smooth boundary. Now I turned my hand to rest my fingertips against it, and I pushed. I pushed with the might of my territory behind me. Summer is bounty and bliss and heat and death. In the face of this, I felt the boundary give. My fingers dimpled it, and pushed through.
The magic stripped off skin faster than I healed. I could not stop. The sound enveloped me in the pain that beat her body because her mind could not understand it. This was not torture; this was the pain of an oblivion incomprehensible to mortals. I was alien, but I wore a face. This had no face, nor any idea it needed one. It was killing her, and it would never even know her. I had to continue. I was up to my shoulder now. My sleeve was in tatters, and my flesh likewise. I could not stop the feral grimace that broke across my too-wide lips when I pushed in further. The land caught at my feet, and the darkness seared my being. I had to get to her.
“I’ll bring him, too,” I said once again.
“It’s not just him.” We were on the step outside her home. Day was failing. That was the deal: out by nightfall, gone until morning. I assented to this pact only because she wished it. I wanted to make Syed into something incapable of remembering he had a daughter. I freed one hand from hers to smooth back her bark-brown hair. “Even if not for my father, I would be here,” she said.
“Here?” I laughed. Her eyes did not judge me. I twisted my face in disgust to move her, but she stayed still. Not stoic. Stolid. Dependable. Stable. Understanding. How had she captured a love like mine? “What is there here you could not have elsewhere?”
“Seasons. Danger. Freedom. Chance,” she said. I twirled her and kissed her.
“I could be all the chance and danger you need,” I said. She smiled lopsidedly. She was not beautiful. I’d taken queens; I had queens still.
“And yet, you could not give me seasons.” She tilted her head. Her eyes searched me. “Or freedom.” Her eyes lingered on mine, and then moved past me. They reflected the sunset. “You have to go, Aethim.” I felt the compulsion pushing my legs. I kissed her again, and her lips sated mine. She moved with me before the agreement I’d struck with her father made me move. At the treeline, she left me.
I studied her as she walked away. Not tall. Not delicate. Not graceful. Just a woman. Once the door closed behind her, I moved my eyes onto the house. A woman in a tiny house with one room whose roof needed thatching, whose walls harbored mice. She had the feylands waiting. She said freedom, but she had no prospects, and no coin. I had searched again and again on her for curses. I tried to hunt down someone that had already captured her heart. Something must numb her to her life.
Seven miles had passed under my thoughtful feet when I felt her scream. Seven miles back passed faster than thought.
At the boundary, I strained to see what hurt her. Even with Syed’s deal in play, I should have been able to see past the walls. I couldn’t. The door hung open on half-broken hinges, and something had blasted out the window. Smoke hung motionless as though pressed against the window and the door. I shoved my hands against the boundary. She was screaming; I couldn’t hear it, but I felt her.
The boundary: a wall of glass I could not go over or under. But she was screaming, and I could not hear her. I had my hands pushed flat against the smooth boundary. Now I turned my hand to rest my fingertips against it, and I pushed. I pushed with the might of my territory behind me. Summer is bounty and bliss and heat and death. In the face of this, I felt the boundary give. My fingers dimpled it, and pushed through.
The magic stripped off skin faster than I healed. I could not stop. The sound enveloped me in the pain that beat her body because her mind could not understand it. This was not torture; this was the pain of an oblivion incomprehensible to mortals. I was alien, but I wore a face. This had no face, nor any idea it needed one. It was killing her, and it would never even know her. I had to continue. I was up to my shoulder now. My sleeve was in tatters, and my flesh likewise. I could not stop the feral grimace that broke across my too-wide lips when I pushed in further. The land caught at my feet, and the darkness seared my being. I had to get to her.
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