Excerpt
The
Fairy Midlands
Sting Crowwing,
tall and thin in his fairy form, exited the Unseelie portal and led out his
ebony stallion, Carrion. Sting was counting down the hours as the Change grew
closer. He had one chance to build his own future, and he was determined to
make that happen. But first things first, he needed Amera. As the runes faded
the door disappeared into the trunk of the massive, rotted oak, closing the way
to Omnion and the Court.
Sting slipped
the heavy black reins over the large head of his war horse. The reins brushed
the cat skulls and dog bones woven into Carrion’s mane. Sting pulled a silver
clasp from his pants pocket, gathered his long black hair, and fixed it at the
nape of his neck. Carrion stood still as Sting slipped his leather boot into
the stirrup and mounted. He adjusted his over-long black wings on either side
of the saddle. The fairy checked his weight in the stirrups, then gathered the
reins and commanded the stallion forward into the night.
Carrion picked
his way through the tangled roots and moved slowly through the Unseelie-marked
land. Sting breathed a sigh of relief. The rules and expectations—the Court’s
and his father’s—shackled him to a future he didn’t want. Outside Omnion, it
was just him and his own desires.
He stopped the
horse at the edge of the forest and studied the long grass undulating in the
breeze, the feathered seed tips of which just brushed Carrion’s belly. The
greens and tans looked like smoke under the night sky. Sting cast an
invisibility glamour and, as they crossed the meadow, the massive horse and his
rider appeared as nothing more than shadow.
Slowly, they
approached the rolling hills of Seelie land. Honeysuckle and roses sweetened
the wind. The trees appeared fuller, sharp branches softened by foliage. Sting
listened to the cricket and frog songs, the harsh wildness of his home replaced
by the touch of Seelie creativity and mirth. Even the moon appeared gentled,
suspended like a white boat riding the dark currents of night.
When they
arrived at The Hill Sting halted Carrion, and they waited in front of the
massive rose-covered mound that housed the portal to the Seelie Realm.
Sting’s father had laughed at him when he’d found out about the girl, but
instead of discipline his father didn’t seem to care that Sting kept slipping
outside the Court to visit her, even though it was forbidden. His father had
just smiled, showing his sharpened teeth, and warned the boy,
“Become what you
are.”
But what did his
father know? Old and wing-clipped, he lived according to all the rules and
disciplines of the Unseelies. His father was an Enforcer, Vollstrecker of House
Orba Alis, the Dark Queen’s punisher. He delighted in pain. There were plenty
of Unseelies who loved his father’s lash, but none lasted. His father used them
and tossed them aside. The thought sprinted across Sting’s heart and chilled
his blood: maybe his father didn’t love anything, even their queen. Wasn’t he,
even now, tacitly helping Sting by ignoring visits like this?
Sting studied
the fully open blossoms on the hill and noticed that, like the grassland,
Night, deity of the Unseelies, had her effect on Seelie land. In daylight,
these roses reminded him of Amera’s lips and tongue, but under the moon they
appeared the color of bones.
He smiled and
let his thoughts wander, loving the sweet agony of waiting. The thought of
Amera’s lips pressed against his, the smell of her hair, made his aching body
thrum with magical possibility. Carrion tugged on the reins, seeking to lower
his head and graze for insects. Sting let them fall slack. But then a buzz,
like a trickle of lightning, got his heart pumping, indicating Amera’s
approach.
He felt a
coldness still clinging to him from the Dark Forest, and he shook his shoulder
blades and wings to shrug the chill away. His chest feathers ruffled then
smoothed down. His stallion, sensing Amera’s mare, tossed his head, the bones
in his mane sounding like Brownie percussion. Carrion’s ears pricked forward,
and he whickered softly.
With a shimmer,
the gem-encrusted golden door appeared then solidified in the hillside. Seelie
runes glowed blue, one of the sacred colors of the Seelie Court as it signified
life and purity. The door swung open.
A palomino mare
entered the meadow, prancing and moving until she finally stood head-to-head
with Carrion. The horses blew softly at each other; Carrion stood stock still
while the mare, Pear Blossom, tossed her head and shifted on her feet, dancing
with impatience. But Sting’s eyes fixed on Amera, who walked out and closed the
Seelie door. She glanced shyly at him and smiled. Her long golden hair glowed
white under the moon and her dark skin appeared washed out, looking almost as
bloodless as his own. Odd, he thought, then grinned at her, eager to touch her.
She gracefully swung onto the mare’s bare back.
They both looked
at the door to make sure no one had followed her out. It thinned, shedding
solidity until it billowed like a ghostly curtain and vanished, the runes fading
like fireflies in the dawn.
The horses
started moving, knowing the way. As Sting looked at Amera, her shoulders sagged
and her head angled downward. Her hair, which normally curled over her
shoulders, thinned and drooped, and her youthful face sagged and wrinkled like
a rotten apple. Her long, slim fingers curled claw-like, knuckles knobby and
protruding. Startled, he reached for her.
She glanced at
him and smiled faintly. The crone image flickered and disappeared. Slipping out
of his reach, she urged Pear Blossom forward. The mare broke into an easy canter,
and Sting and Carrion followed.
Once they left
the meadow and entered the unclaimed land Sting and Amera began changing the
landscape, moving toward their bower and far away from prying eyes. The final
point of passage was a golden gate locked with mixed magic. He sang the lock
open with a deep note laced with darkness, and her laughter, light and golden,
pushed the barricade out of their way. They dismounted, leaving the horses
outside, and entered the bower together.
As the gate
swung closed soft candles flickered and caught, ringing the small room.
Thrumming with anticipation he watched her, waiting for her transformation. Her
forest- green riding tunic swirled into a sky-blue dress of spider webs and dew
drops that sparkled in the soft light. His breath caught as he studied her
face—high, sharp cheekbones, summer-sky eyes, and skin the color of a black
deer’s hide.
He knew she had
bespelled him but, in the radiance of her glamour, he didn’t mind. She was so
unlike any of the dark females in the Unseelie Court that leaving her made his
heart all the more shadowed. How he relished the sting of separation.
“I’ve missed
you,” he said.
Amera reached up
and tenderly stroked his cheek, but where light usually beamed in her smile
sadness gathered across her face. She had dark shadows under her eyes and her
aura appeared dull and flat. She embraced him, pressing her cheek against his
chest feathers. He frowned, bewildered by the sadness that didn’t belong to
her. He bent his head and breathed in the scent of her hair. He felt her tears
spilling against his feathers, eliciting a nip of pleasure. He pushed it away.
“What’s
troubling you?” he said.
Amera looked up,
blinking wet lashes. “We’re in trouble.”
“What? Do your
parents know?”
She shook her
head. “No, not that.” She studied his face and frowned. “Do yours?”
Sting raised an
eyebrow. “No.” The lie spilled off his lips.
Her eyes darted
away.
“So, tell me
already,” he prodded. Patience felt strange to him. He needed answers. Sweat
gathered between his wings as her brow creased. He knew she was trying to find
the words, was struggling.
“It’s better if
I show you.”
She stepped away
from him and circled her hand in front of her dress. Sparks glimmered and spun
in the air, spiraling and brightening to reveal an object wrapped in green
blankets. It hung suspended in front of her, and she reached out; taking it in
her arms, the light faded. Sting stepped closer and looked as she carefully
peeled the blanket away like a leaf of cabbage.
“What is it?” he
asked.
“A mistake. You
have to fix it. I-I can’t.” She tilted the bundle so that he could see the golden
face of a sleeping baby.
A little bit of
fluffy black hair stood upright. Sting frowned at the straight, ink hair with
the tanned skin. It didn’t look right. The Seelie hair curled tightly. Some
said from their laughter catching in the strands. While the Unseelie hair hung
sleek, letting fear and love slip away from their minds. Amera waved her palm
over the baby’s face and its eyes opened, revealing one sky blue one like hers
and one toxic green like his own. He stepped back and hissed in surprise and
disgust. Amera bespelled the child back to sleep, tears rolling down her
cheeks.
Sting knew
without asking that the baby was theirs. As impossible as it felt, somehow
their need for each other contained just the right elements to make life.
“When did that
show up?” he asked.
“Last night, I
guess. I woke up with it next to me in bed this morning.”
A chill ran up
his spine. The mixing of light and dark magic was forbidden to manifest life.
Mixed magic had no place in Fairy; it belonged to neither the Seelie nor
Unseelie Court. Whether plants or animals, they always caused trouble and
heartache. But a child! There would be consequences, punishment for them both. And
Amera! Did the Seelie have Enforcers? They must. Sting couldn’t bear the
thought of someone’s lash nipping and slicing Amera’s silken skin. He looked at
her tear-streaked face and knew he had to do something. This abomination had to
disappear. Or, better yet, die.
“Give it to me,”
he said. As he took it, he could feel the weight dragging on his magic. He
looked at Amera, who smiled and stood straighter. Her aura brightened and the shadows
under her eyes faded.
He placed the
bundle on the ground and ran his hands over his feathers. He felt the magic
blur his body, sharpening his nose and chin into a beak, feet into claws. His
arms merged with his wings. His claws took hold of the baby and lifted it
skyward. Amera glamoured the bundle, lightening the weight so he could fly with
ease, and she camouflaged it to reflect the surroundings so that it was near
invisible.
Sting flew toward the edge of Fairy. When he
returned, Amera would owe him for this favor. He was going to enjoy making her
pay.
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