Page 30 of The Fae Lord

The sound of my bedroom door opening makes me quickly pace away from the mirror and stand, hands clutched in front of me, head bowed. In case it is him.

I recognise the feet at once. It is not my husband but my maid.

I sigh and look up. But today, for the first time, she meets my eyes. She clears her throat. “My lady,” she says.

Her voice is shocking. Not because there is anything wrong with it, but because it has been so very silent within these walls for so long now.

“Your husband requests that you join him and his guests for the banquet tonight. They are not to know how you came to be his wife. If you are asked, you will reply, ‘I should let my dear husband tell you that story.’” She is speaking like she is reading from a script. Her words are stilted, and once again she is struggling to look at me.

“Will you not have a real conversation with me?” I duck my head to meet her eyes. “Please. Just one word of sincerity.”

I don’t know why I think it might work this time; every other time I’ve tried to talk to her, she has refused. She ignored my tears, why would she listen now?

“What do you want to talk about?” The question stuns me. I blink at her for a moment, then grin and rush forward, throwing my arms around her neck.

“I’d like to know your name.” I take her hands between mine and squeeze. “Please. Tell me your name.”

“Terra.” The maid dips her head into a nod. “My name is Terra. But now I have to go. I will return to dress you for tonight.”

As Terra leaves, my heart soars.

She has a name, and she gave it to me. Which means I have a chance – just a small chance – of getting her to be my friend.

I know how pathetic that sounds. But it is so lonely here.

I have never known a loneliness like it, and if I have to endure it much longer, it might just break me.

Trying not to think about the evening’s approaching events, instead I cross back to the dresser. From the drawer beneath the mirror, I take out a small piece of paper. It is a page ripped from a book that I was given when I first arrived. Next, I take the eyeliner that formed part of my makeup casket.

I look down at the sketch I started a few days ago. It is not quite right yet, but I will capture his likeness.

I close my eyes, summoning Kayan’s face to my mind. Then I open it and start to draw. When I have finished, I will draw Alana, too. Maybe even Samuel, although it has been so long since I thought of him, I’m not sure whether I’d be able to conjure his face anymore.

I bite my lower lip, trying to concentrate. But my eyes are blurring with tears.

I push the paper away, stand up, and go to the bed. I lie down, burying my face in the pillow, and begin to cry.

“Please, come and get me,” I whisper. I am not sure if I’m speaking to Alana or Kayan or both of them, but I know I need to pray to someone. “Please... don’t forget me. Don’t leave me here.”

FOURTEEN

Alana

Finn has been missing all day, and I’m almost glad of it. I have only just gotten over keeping one secret from him, and now I have another to hold close to my chest.

Except, this one feels even more dangerous. Because who would believe that I am talking to a ghost? If I told Finn I was seeing Kayan’s spirit, and that we’d had a conversation, laughed, done magic together, talked for hours while the sun slowly rose, would he believe me?

I’m afraid he’d think I’d lost my mind.

I’m afraid I might be losing my mind.

First, the visions and the vivid dreams about Eldrion – a man I despise, but who can make me come in my sleep when he’s not even touching me. Now, this.

I have heard of fae communing with spirits. But I always thought they were rumours or tales to amuse children with, perhaps to comfort those who’ve lost someone. I never expected them to be true. And I certainly didn’t expect the spirit world to have such a strange, confusing set of rules.

Kayan tried to explain as best he could. But he doesn’t seem to understand, either. All he knows is that he was alive, then dead, and now he’s somewhere in between. And that he is here to ‘guide’ me, not ‘tell’ me what to do.

As much as I hate being told what to do, I can’t help but wish the spirits were a little more lenient in this regard. It is all I can do to keep my grip on reality; trying to interpret signs and signals from a ghost might prove a little too much to handle.

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