Page 29 of Crowning of the Sword

Seeing Lily so free and unencumbered gave Ember a delightful glow. She finished making the bed herself, and as she smoothed her hand over the silken sheets, she thought about what she had done in this bed, wondered if Cole too was remembering all that they had done the night before. The carved chest had vanished from the corner, and she wondered if she would see it again, when she would see it again. Life was long with the fae. She had found her prince, and she was going to live happily ever after.

The guide came as soon as she called, requesting it take her to Cole. It bobbed in acknowledgement and led her out of the castle and down a sunlit path through a vast apple tree orchard. Boughs bent with red fruit, each smooth-skinned and shiny, without flaw. She had assumed that Cole would be at the training grounds she had visited before, where the centaurs had thundered up and down the obstacle course, but this path led to a different place.

A tented marquee with a fringed silken roof sat on a soft green lawn. Inside the tent, soft cushions lay scattered around knee-high tables spread with silver dishes of fruits and sweets, and bottles of wine with drops of condensation beading the glass. Lots of fae were there, reclining, laughing, and chatting, wings folded and tucked, jewels glittering in the sunshine.

Beyond the marquee stood two hills on either side of a gully, and in the skies between, were what looked like a flock of birds, whirling and diving. Ember halted, not sure what to do. She couldn’t see Cole anywhere, and she hadn’t yet met any other fae apart from Lily. She hadn’t tried either because they all turned away from her when she approached. Even so, her humanity was a novelty, and perhaps they wouldn’t be unkind to her if they knew their Prince had an interest in her. Thankfully, as she drew closer, she recognised Swirl, standing with a group of centaurs at the side of the marquee.

He turned as she approached and smiled in greeting. “Have you come to watch the Eagles fly?” His voice was sonorous, drawing the attention of the nearby fae. As they caught sight of Ember, they put their heads together, deep in gossip. Some flicked her hostile glances, and she guessed they knew what had happened to Lissa.

“I came to find Cole,” she said, relieved that there was at least one friendly face there.

“He flies too,” said Swirl. “There, look?”

He pointed up to the clouds. Ember focused and then stared in open-mouthed awe. Winged fae rode winged horses through the sky, performing complicated manoeuvres, as if they were dancing. The skill the riders employed to prevent their wings colliding with those of their mount was enviable. Wings beat in tandem, keeping the riders balanced, even on the tightest of turns and the deepest dives. Cole was amidst them, easily recognisable as the only fae without wings of his own, and he rode a horse of pale gold with a white mane and tail, its majestic wings dark bronze.

“Don’t be too impressed now,” said Swirl, teasing. “A horse with wings is practically an insect.”

The others with him laughed and nudged one another, but Swirl’s flippant mockery was wasted on Ember. She watched with deep admiration as Cole’s mount climbed higher and higher before making a steep dive through the gully. She thought it must be like heaven up there, bound by nothing but the open sky, and her fingers unconsciously went to her necklace, fiddling restlessly with the links.

“Would you like some wine?” said Swirl and snapped his fingers for a servant who was there in an instant, pouring Ember a crystal glass. The bubbles danced merrily, the sweet fae wine warming her through as she sipped.

Over the rim of her glass, she saw Lissa standing alone on the other side of the pavilion. Ember had never seen Lissa alone before; it was as if the other fae were avoiding her. She didn’t have the same aura of confidence that she’d had the first night Ember had met her, when the fae had fallen back from her left and right as though she were a grand ship parting the waves. She looked as though this was the last place she wanted to be, and it was only stubborn bravado keeping her there.

Ember hesitated a moment and then, murmuring a farewell to Swirl, approached her. Lissa watched her, nostrils flaring, dislike written all over her face, but she forced a smile and inclined her head.

“Good morning,”

“Good morning,” Ember replied, and then in a rush, “I’m so sorry about what happened. I —”

Lissa raised a haughty eyebrow. “It’s not your place to apologise for the prince’s judgement. His word is law.”

“I didn’t mean that, exactly. I’m just sorry you got hurt.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Her voice was brittle. “I’m tougher than I look.”

She was using the exact words that Ember had once used to her, and Ember wasn’t sure how to take that. Lissa gave an airy toss of her head, her tone becoming light.

“When I have helped him win the tournament, he will reward me. He won’t forget me. Everything I have endured, that I have suffered, will have been worth it. His thanks will be immeasurable.” She glared at Ember. “And if you do anything to impede that …” she broke off, shaking her head with a wry chuckle. “Goodness. How quickly you arouse disdain. I wonder if that’s a human trait? I’m trying to control it, but it’s desperately difficult.”

“Thanks,” said Ember, tartly. Despite the pity she felt for Lissa, she felt an inordinate amount of dislike too. “Perhaps we should just stay out of each other’s way?”

“Done!” said Lissa, and strode away, leaving Ember alone and feeling a little silly. She sipped her wine, but the sharp sweet tang had become acidic and unpleasant, and so she tipped it out, handing the glass to a passing servant.

She decided she’d go back to the castle, perhaps paint a little. If Alena was there, she could ask her what it meant to become fae. Would it hurt? Would she have to die to be brought back as a fae? No, that’s vampires, she reminded herself.

There came a rushing of air behind her, followed by the thudding of a great weight. Cole slid from his mount, tossed the reins to a waiting servant and strode toward Ember, lifting her in his arms and kissing her.

She clung to him, her limbs becoming liquid, and he smiled beneath her lips, easing her away.

“Not now, my darling,” he chided, and she smiled, delighted to be in his sight again. “You look very content. Not too sore?”

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she caught a sly smirk between a couple of fae who were blatantly eavesdropping nearby, but she shook her head. “No.”

“Good. Would you like to ride?” He led her toward his horse, and she followed hesitantly, unsure of what he meant. “This is Farla.” He took Ember’s hand and let the mare take her scent, her soft lips nuzzling at Ember’s palm. “There. Do you like horses?”

Farla eyed Ember as if she understood every word, and Ember hastened to reassure them both that yes, she loved horses, although she hadn’t ridden one since she was a child.

After her parents died, the authorities had sent her to live with an elderly aunt who owned a small farm, with a few cows, a couple of friendly dogs, hundreds of chickens, and an equally elderly horse called Bob. Bob had been stoic and uncomplaining with the lonely girl, letting her climb aboard and ambling around the pasture under her direction, enjoying the apples and carrots she pilfered from the kitchen as payment for the patience he showed her. Her aunt was too old to manage the farm and her as well, and she’d only been there a few months before the authorities had come knocking again, the animals sold, the farm gone, the aunt placed in an old folk’s home, and Ember sent to live in one of the first of many foster homes.

---