A Dance with the Fae Prince by Elise Kova
Chapter 16
Davien follows behind them,pausing when he notices that I’m not in step with him. “Are you coming?”
I fold my arms and walk up to him. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t speak for me.”
“Would you have refused them?”
“I don’t know.” These fae have done very little to endear me to them. I’m not sure if I want to be sitting at their table and breaking bread.
He chuckles and shakes his head. Under his breath I can hear him say, “You really are human.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” We start walking.
“You would not only pass up an opportunity for Hol and Felda to be allies by sitting at their table, but offend them as they tried to make amends.” Davien laughs. “You don’t understand anything about how words can be twisted against you. About deals, rituals, or the laws of hospitality.”
“Don’t mock me.” I glare up at him. Yet, as if he’s ever in a competition with himself to see how much he can frustrate me, he smirks. His green eyes sparkle in the sunlight.
“I’m not mocking you; I think it’s charming that you’ve lived a far simpler life.”
“I doubt it. But even if you’re right, simpler doesn’t mean good.” I avoid staring at him, instead looking at the joining on a roof.
“How did you know that song?” he asks, seemingly out of nowhere. I wonder if he can tell I’m uncomfortable and is trying to backtrack to something more harmless.
I glance back up at him. Can he tell I’m uncomfortable?
“Wait, don’t tell me, it’s yet another one of the old songs you’ve heard around town?”
“Yes,” I lie, and swallow to try to remove the taste of metal from my mouth. It seems like the more I lie around him, the harder it becomes, and the longer that metallic taste lingers at the back of my throat. My mother was the one who taught me almost all the songs I know.
“It really is incredible how much of us is left in that world…” He trails off, eyes filled with longing as he stares ahead. Davien is a good head taller than most people, so he can see down the entire street without issue. But I don’t think he’s looking at anything in particular. I wonder what he’s trying to see, what place…or time.
“It really used to all be one world? I heard the old myths, about the ancient magic wars. I remember what they told me about the Elf King carving up the land. But I thought…” I look around me. “I guess I have to believe it’s true, seeing this place, seeing you.” My gaze snags on intricate leaded glass that adorns the second floor of a building we pass. “Glass art, did it come from the fae as well?”
“It did.” Davien smiles. “The fae are an offshoot from the dryads. They were the old sentinels of the forest, long before the magic wars were even a whisper on people’s lips. Unlike the fae—which were a natural evolution of time and magic—the dryads made the humans with their own hands. Initially, the fae looked after the early humans, teaching them how to use their magic to work with nature.”
“Humans had magic?” I try to imagine such a world and fail.
“Long ago, before the Fade. Perhaps that’s why you are able to be a vessel for the ancient kings’ magic.”
I curl and relax my fingers, trying to see if I can feel the magic that even Vena said she could sense in me. But I feel absolutely nothing. I know the magic is real, I’ve seen it. It poured from me in the woods that night. Yet I can’t summon it even if I try.
We arrive at a stone house with a clay roof. Hol and Felda lead us inside, down the hall, and to a kitchen that takes up the back half of the house. Davien and I are seated around a table as Felda and Hol bustle about their kitchen. I notice pegs by the back door—a messenger bag very similar to Raph’s hangs on one.
“Please don’t punish him…” The soft words slip from my lips unintended as Felda sets down a board with a rustic sourdough loaf and knife.
“What?” She blinks and tilts her head at me.
“Raph. Please don’t punish him when he returns home. I wouldn’t want him to be hurt because of me.”
“Hurt?” She shakes her head and seems aghast at what I am suggesting. Her brows furrow slightly, as though my concern has offended her somehow. “We would never hurt our son.”
“But, in the tavern…you seemed so upset.”
“I was upset.” Felda puts her hands on her hips. “I don’t know how I managed to have the most precocious child in all of Dreamsong, but I guess that is my honor and burden to bear.” She grins as though some part of her really does think it is an honor to be associated with Raph’s antics. “But he’s been appropriately reprimanded already. As long as he doesn’t step out of line again today—which is a challenge sometimes for that boy—there will be no more words on the incident when he gets home.”
“Oh, good…” I stare at the bread that Felda begins to cut. Is it really that simple? I’ve never seen a child be so easily forgiven when they erred. Helen and Laura never made a mistake. And whenever I did, I felt the repercussions for days usually. When I sense the weight of another pair of eyes on me, my gaze is drawn across the table to where Davien sits. He watches me with a slightly furrowed brow, as if he’s inspecting or studying me.
“Please help yourself to our bread and wine,” Hol says ceremoniously as he pours mead into each of our cups.
I welcome the excuse to look away from Davien. His stare is just too probing. I worry about what he would see if I met his eyes for too long. I never expected to miss the blindfold.
“How are you finding Dreamsong?” Felda asks.
I welcome the change in topic with a smile. “It’s a truly magnificent place. The fae are some of the best craftsmen I’ve ever seen.”
“We have a good many who possess old rituals on tradesmanship, long passed down in their families and courts.”
“When you say rituals…is it the same as what I saw in the woods that night?” I look to Davien.
“That was a ritual, yes, but so was what Giles did when we made camp in the Bleeding Forest,” he says.
I chew on a slab of bread for a moment, considering everything I’ve learned about fae and their magic so far. The bread is tangy and has the right amount of chew to complement the crisp crust. “So a ritual can be anything? And accomplish anything?”
“There are some limitations,” Hol says. “For example, we can’t bring back the dead, or change someone’s heart.”
“So as you can see, not many limitations.” Davien smirks.
“How is a ritual made?” I think of what Vena said about finding a way to get the magic from me. Is she going to make a ritual herself?
“There are a few who are in tune enough with their magic and the inherent laws of our world to invent new rituals. But most rituals are passed down orally or in written tomes kept within families and courts,” Hol explains.
“It’s why the nearly complete eradication of the Aviness family crippled the fae and has made us weak for centuries. The glass crown had a ritual performed on it long ago that still stands and demands loyalty from all fae…but it can only be worn by the true heir of Aviness. As long as an Aviness heir is alive, it will heed no other master. And it requires the power of the lost kings to unveil its full potential.” Davien looks out a window with a glare, casting his anger toward someone or something far beyond the table.
“So fae can’t perform magic with their thoughts?” I think about my actions in the woods. How the magic came to me unbidden, heeding only my subconscious need to survive.
“There are some exceptions, like summoning wings or claws,” Hol says. “Or our glamour.”
“But otherwise, no,” Felda adds. “However, there are some rituals that give us varying control over power for a certain length of time—like what’s on the glass crown. What we can do during that time, and how long it lasts, all depends on the ritual.”
“You saw one such example in the woods.” Davien brings his attention back to the present and rests it on me. “The way that Butcher moved is a closely guarded ritual, passed down in their ranks; they cast it on the capes they wear. I’ve heard it’s called ‘shadow stepping,’ where they can move from darkness to darkness. It makes them particularly deadly at night. But the ritual expires quickly. They only have so much movement they can perform in that manner before the charged magic is exhausted.”
I’m beginning to frame fae magic in terms I can understand—that I’m familiar with. I think of when I repaired the plaster on the walls of our manor. The “ritual” would be the act of combining the ingredients and mixing them in a bucket. I suppose the bucket—or vessel for the magic—is the fae performing the ritual, though it sounds like the vessel can also be a thing, like the glass crown or the Butchers’ capes. Then, they can use the plaster—magic—until it runs out or becomes useless—dries.
With this framework, I say with mild confidence, “I think I understand.”
“Really?” Davien arches his eyebrows; he seems impressed. I give him a sly smile.
“I think so. Here, let me see if I have it right…” I explain my analogy to them. “That’s about it?”
Hol leans back in his chair and chuckles. “No wonder we could teach ancient humans. For a people who lost their magic overnight, there’s definitely traces of understanding there.”
If that’s true, I might be able to learn how to use the magic within me. I avoid Davien’s attentive stare by helping myself to another slice of bread, dipping it in the oil and herbs before popping it into my mouth. It’s like he can sense what I’m thinking. I wonder if one night at the manor he bored a hole into my mind with those eyes of his while I was blindfolded and oblivious. Now, he has a window to my innermost thoughts whenever he wants.
I bite my lip. I really hope that I’m wrong about that…because my mind isn’t a place that anyone should spend too much time in. It’s dangerous enough for me, and I live here.
The rest of the meal goes smoothly. By the time Hol and Felda escort us to the door, I can honestly say I’ve enjoyed myself. Felda actually gives me a little squeeze before we depart.
“It’s been a delight to meet you,” she says. “Hol has filled me in on some of your circumstances, more than he likely should, I admit.” Her mouth quirks into a mischievous grin. I see where Raph gets it from. “I know that coming here wasn’t part of your plan…but I’m glad Davien has you with him.”
I glance over to where Davien and Hol are engaged in an intense, hushed conversation. They don’t seem to hear Felda’s soft words.
“I’m not… I don’t know what you think. But—”
“You don’t have to explain,” she says a little too quickly. Like I’m embarrassed and she’s doing me a favor. “It’s just nice to see someone with him. Hol and his other king’s knights have certainly tried their best. But they had their obligations here, keeping Dreamsong safe. They could never stay with him for long, either, because as you can see with Davien, we fae aren’t meant to live in your world. I can imagine how lonely it was with only Oren for company. Bless him, he’s a good man, but not the greatest conversationalist.” She laughs. I smirk as well. “From what Oren has said, it sounds like you two get on well.”
Before I can say anything, the two men rejoin us.
“We should return to the main hall,” Davien says. “The last thing we want is for Vena to need us for something and us not be available.”
“Of course.” I nod. We bid our final farewells and return to the streets of Dreamsong.
“I’m glad they’re doing so well,” he says after we’re far away from the house.
“Were they not?” They seemed like an enviably normal family to me. More normal than what I ever thought possible, previously, for a family.
“Their family’s ancestral home is in what is now the Bleeding Woods. Their Court of Leaves was led by one of the last blood survivors of Aviness,” he says with a somber note. I see his hands clench and the muscles in his jaw bulge. “The Butchers drove them out of their home well before Raph was even born.”
Davien slows and shoves hands in the pockets of his loose-fitting trousers. He’s wearing a tunic that’s open low on his breastbone. The flat expanse of his chest is on display underneath a series of necklaces. He fits in so naturally here. There’s something to the air around him that just…belongs.
I suppose that’s not what surprises me. What surprises me is how envious I am of it. It’s not the fae that I want to be a part of. I just want to belong. I want some people, some place, some time to be mine. I want to not be a castaway fighting for forgotten scraps on the floors underneath tables I’ll never have a seat at.
To have a family. A table.
“If you become king, will they get to go back to their home?” I ask softly. “Will they rebuild the Court of Leaves?”
He meets my eyes, exposing the murky depths of his pain. So many things about this man are still a mystery to me. But rather than being frightened…I find myself more and more intrigued by the endless possibilities of them. I want to ask. I want to know. I want to peel back every layer of him as I feel him doing to me every time we’re together.
What’s wrong with me?
This endless push and pull between us threatens to rip me apart.
“If—when I become king, these lands will once more belong to the people who made them. The courts may return to their ancestral homes or rebuild anew, whichever speaks more to who they are now.
“I will see that the fae are strong again. That we have a seat at the table at Midscape’s Council of Kings. I will demand the lands the Elf King stole from us back and I will fight for the fae to return to the prominence we deserve. I will see every court rebuilt to keep the High Court in check, so that no king ever feels so powerful that he can act without accountability. I will use the power that’s trapped within the glass crown and the hill of the High Court to help my people however I am able for as long as I draw breath.”
I stand in awe of him. The way he speaks is filled with conviction…and not because he’s practiced these lines like Laura or Helen did before Father’s parties so they had the best chance to woo a suitor. He speaks the truth that he knows, that he has cemented onto his heart above all else.
The need to touch him becomes irresistible. A man with a noble mission is more attractive than I ever expected. I want to hold his hand and caress the soft skin of his palm. I want to press my fingers across the strong muscles of his chest and…and…my mind gutters.
Heat crashes over me, flushing my cheeks and making me shift my weight from foot to foot as it pools uncomfortably in my lower abdomen. This man makes me want dangerous things. Things I’ve never thought I wanted before and certainly never needed.
“We should return to Vena,” I say, my voice not sounding as strong as normal.
“We should.” Yet his eyes are still locked with mine, head ducked slightly. For the first time since coming to this world, he looks and sounds like the Lord Fenwood I knew in the manor.
The rest of our walk is consumed by an awkward, tense silence. Our shoulders brush seven times. But who’s counting?
Yet we both resist closing that dangerous gap between us. Because in that space was the line of no return. And somehow, in broad daylight in the middle of a busy street, we just came dangerously close to crossing it.