Page 16 of Crowning of the Sword

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just don’t want to cause any trouble.”

As if the sun had come out from behind a cloud, the shadow lifted from Cole’s face, his features back to their usual charming state, his manner debonair and courteous. “You’re no trouble. No trouble at all.”

His ill temper had been so fleeting she wondered if she had imagined it, and after a moment’s hesitation, she came to him again. As they dipped and twirled around the room, Ember became conscious that others were watching, and this time, they weren’t muttering behind their hands and side-eyeing her. They were watching with approval, with envy, with fascination. Under their gaze, and in the arms of the most handsome, most desirable fae in the room, she felt beautiful, dazzling. She couldn’t help a pleased smile curve her lips, couldn’t help the inviting sway of her hips. She couldn’t see Lissa anywhere anymore, and she was glad for that. But there was also a disquiet within her too, as she obediently followed Cole’s lead. Like a doll, she realised. Like a toy brought out to play.

The music ended, and she gave Cole a curtsey as he claimed the back of her hand in a kiss. When he turned away to talk to someone else, she seized the moment and took off in the other direction, pushing through the crowd, not wanting to even find Lily in case someone waylaid her again.

“I can ask for a guide,” she thought as she slipped into the hallway. “The light will help me back to my room.”

She darted into an alcove, hands folded together in a classic prayer position as she wished fervently for a guide, when she heard a voice.

“Are you lost?”

She opened her eyes, wondering if the glowing ball of light had perhaps become articulate, and then she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in surprise.

Ashe.

Chapter 15

Ember didn’t know what to say. Ashe was the antithesis to Cole. The two princes were both devastatingly handsome, albeit in an alien way, exuding power and control. But while Cole gave off an aura of fun and merriment, of careless pleasure and light-hearted play, Ashe appeared as though he carried the universe on his broad shoulders and hated every moment. Even now, speaking innocuously to her, his heavy brows were lowered, his mouth grim, as though he’d rather set her on fire than speak to her.

“I was just waiting for a guide back to my room,” she said, and added, “I hope it’s not you.”

She regretted it as soon as she had said it. What on earth did she say that for? How rude! What she’d meant was, she hoped he wouldn’t waste his time on a servant’s task, but it had come out utterly, utterly wrong. She peeped up at him, cheeks hot with embarrassment, half expecting to see a furious scowl. But to her relief, he didn’t look angry—well, no angrier than usual. In fact, he didn’t even look as though he had heard her. He was scanning the candlelit hall, left, right, and overhead, hand on his sword hilt.

“You should stay in your room,” he said. “It’s dangerous for you out here. There are too many rivalries, too many opportunities for you to get hurt. You’re … more fragile than the rest of us.”

“The Adjudicator said that lives are sacrosanct,” she reminded him. “I assumed that meant mine as well.”

“Accidents happen.”

The loaded way he said it sent a chill down Ember’s back. Quick as thought, he reached out and seized her arm, twisting it. She drew a breath to scream, but he wasn’t trying to hurt her, merely inspecting a paint smudge on the back of her upper arm that she’d failed to remove earlier. “What’s that?”

“Just paint,” she said, tugging her arm free. “I was painting in the forest today.”

He blinked, and a slow smile curved his mouth. It was disconcerting to see him like that, smiling. It changed his entire face, made him look almost … no. He definitely did not look friendly. “Creating something out of nothing? How human.” He didn’t sound patronising, rather, surprised and appreciative, and he hastened to explain. “We—fae—cannot create as such. We can replicate and elaborate on what is already there, but we cannot make something original from nothing.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that. That’s … sad.”

All those marvels she had seen around the castle, all copied from the human world? Nothing innovative, nothing created from a leap of intuition, hard work, accident, or luck. What would she do if she couldn’t paint? That gnawing itch when an idea unbidden crawled its way into her skull, the leap of joy when the ephemeral was transferred to canvas and made tangible. How frustrating, to have an idea that could never be completed.

“It wouldn’t occur to any of the fae to try,” he explained, as if he knew the direction of Ember’s thoughts. “They’re—we’re—not missing out.”

For a moment, she felt almost sorry for the fae having their powers curtailed, limited by a lack of creativity. On impulse she said, “Would you like to see my painting?”

He looked surprised. “I cannot go into Cole’s area of the castle. Only the common areas.”

“The forest is a common area though, isn’t it?” She remembered Lily saying so as they passed under the huge carved archway.

He considered this, his habitual frown creasing his forehead, and nodded. “Then it seems as if I am your guide, after all.”

He moved off down the corridor, not the way she’d come, but in the opposite direction, and she hesitated, wondering what on earth she’d let herself in for, before trotting after him. They walked in silence, a circuitous route that took them down wood panelled hallways, along a gallery lined with colourful statues, and through huge, gilded rooms that looked out over the twilight gardens. The forest was further than she’d imagined, and she wished she could invite him into Cole’s area, if only to shorten the distance. She took off her high heels and although he eyed them dangling from her fingers, he made no comment.

She continued walking a half pace behind him, noting the way other fae scurried out of his way pretending not to notice him, and she realised that when they’d been doing it to her it wasn’t, as she’d initially thought, out of discourtesy or aloofness but as a sign of respect. She wondered uneasily if Cole would know she’d gone and what he would think if he knew she was here with his greatest rival. The thought was unnerving. She’d seen a glimpse of Cole’s temper, and she didn’t much like it.

On the other hand, this might be a good time to beg Ashe if he could use some of his powers to send her home. If the tournament didn’t begin for another two months, perhaps he had time to recharge himself? Like a battery, she supposed with amusement, imagining Ashe plugging himself into a socket in the wall and lighting up like a Christmas tree. But he’d already said no, and she didn’t want to nag him and perhaps push him into never letting her go.

Around and around her thoughts went, and she was about to tell Ashe that she was tired and maybe they should see her picture another time, when finally, they were there.

---