Page 85 of Fated or Knot

“Then I’ll speak for the rest of my pack in saying, what our omega does, we wholeheartedly echo. We will be the child’s godfamily,” the kelpie king declared.

As Dorei cried tears of joy and Kellam beamed and thanked them all, I stood behind them, gaping in shock. I had a whole godfamily?

Where have they been?

The dream transformed into a retelling of my own memories, which were crisper than one would expect a three-year-old’s to be but still covered by the pleasant haze of innocence. Dad and I had taken a magirail ride! I’d smushed my face on the glass to watch the world go by, only getting bored when I realized there was mostly water between the fae nations.

Then we’d taken a long walk with my hand in his, up to the biggest building I’d ever seen. It was late springtime, and the Serian winter was finally gone, revealing a field of growing grass and flowers on the path to the palace. “Remember, Metalark. You want to be on your best behavior,” Dad prompted.

“Okay,” I giggled agreeably.

I was meeting my godfamily, and Dad was nervous. We reviewed what best behavior meant, because he knew I was about to meet the most powerful Unseelie fae in Serian, while I was blissfully unaware of what that meant.

Once I’d promised to be polite to anyone I met, he lifted me up above his head and let some of his wind magic ruffle my wings as I flapped them eagerly. I couldn’t fly yet, but someday!

We met Nemensia in the entry foyer. Dad tried to introduce us formally. I practically vibrated at his side, fascinated by the pretty nixie and her glowing fins that flowed behind her when she moved.

There were more subtle instincts at play. Little omegas wanted the safety and comfort of their mother’s nest and the softness of their hugs. I’d yearned for these things withoutknowing what I was missing, and Nemensia had the right kind of milky smell that saidMom.

I wandered from my father’s side mid-introduction and toddled over with my arms out. She dropped to her knees, on the end of her expensive dress, and swept me up.

“Hello, baby Metalark,” she murmured. Unshed tears glimmered in her eyes as I snuggled into her with full trust.

That was all it took for her to work to convince Dad to let me sleep in her nest during our stay. We were spending a fortnight here, a rare vacation for Dad and an opportunity for me to meet my godfamily. She became Mama Nem, as my tongue didn’t have the agility for the full grandeur of “Nemensia” yet. Though I often forgot and just called her Mom. She never corrected me.

Her nest had seemed beyond massive. It had multiple levels and was full of soft materials I’d never touched before but loved. The ground floor had been designed for kids, while Nemensia disappeared upstairs if she ever needed a break or a moment with her males. One always stayed below to watch us. There were three of their kids still young enough to live in the nest, and they tossed me in with them without hesitation.

The youngest was Tormund, who was an energetic and playful tot with a tendency to grab and hold on to things with his full strength. He became a lot gentler after I screeched when he grabbed one of my wings. He’d pet it in apology. There was also Eletha, a tiny purple nixie with white markings on her fins. She was my age and cuter than most dolls, with wide eyes that took up most of her face. The last kid still in the nest was Kauz, who, at four, was mostly wings. He had almost no control of them, so they dragged behind him and tangled with everything, including his other limbs.

At night, the royal pack would carry us to the biggest bed I’d ever seen, and I slept in various spots. Along with Mama Nem’sinstant acceptance of me had come that of her mates. They called me their bonus child, and each spent some time with me.

Dad had raised me bilingual, but at that age, everything I said was a jumble of two languages that required some finesse in interpretation. The best at understanding me was Papa Rennie, also known as the dark elf king Rennyn, who ran the palace for his mate. I followed him like a duckling “helping” him if I found him, which wasn’t very often, considering how he was always in motion and I was usually in the gaggle of the royal pack’s youngest kids.

He’d hum or whistle and snap his fingers, walking to his own rhythm in the halls as he went to and from what were probably very serious matters Nemensia didn’t have time to address personally. He had a lucky coin he’d flip, which, with a little sleight of hand, would become a candy or a shiny chocolate made from a beetle-shaped mold that he simply called a bug, conditioning me to say “Yes, I want a bug!” I was more than a little peeved when he handed me a real bug once.

The Unseelie called him the Clever King, and even at that age, I noticed that many of the adults he interacted with were overly polite when he was around. He tried to teach me some cleverness in idle moments, like little cheats for card tricks or just the subtlest of word changes for hiding inconvenient truths. I failed at following his lead each time, and he’d ended up ruffling my hair, saying, “We’ll wake the Unseelie in you yet. Maybe in a few years, p’nixie.”

P’nixiestarted as his shorthand for what I was after a lighthearted discussion of what exactly to call a pixie-nixie hybrid. As far as they knew, I was the only one so clearly possessing traits of both of the most sought-after fae races in Thelis and Serian. Very special indeed.

I met the royal pack’s other, older kids mostly in passing. There was Fal, who, at eleven, was a tired, cat-eyed elf boyclearly sick of being the eldest kid of a gigantic family. He avoided the little kids when he could, so he and I barely interacted. He was deep in study with various tutors to be the next queen’s lord, with all the expectations that came with it.

The next eldest, Marius, more than made up for his disinterest. He was seven, almost eight, at the awkward in-between phase of early childhood and the start of his training as the next queen’s protector. With little to do until he got bigger, he was the family’s wild boy, and by day two of my stay at Serian Palace, he’d presented me with the biggest flowering weed in the queen’s garden—roots, dirt clots, and all. “Want to be friends, p’nixie?” he’d giggled.

This had been before he’d gotten his scar. He had a chubby, often dirt-streaked face, and fast feet to avoid the gaggle of servants assigned to try to keep him clean and safe. I was too small for some of his mischief, but we sought each other out when the whole family was together. He was, perhaps, my best friend. The one with all the fun ideas and the extra set of hands when I was playing, especially on beach day.

And beach day was the best one of my stay. We’d built sandcastles, chased crabs and sandpipers, collected shells, and, of course, played in the sea. His father lurked underwater in kelpie form while we floated around, surfacing at random under a kid to send them into the air from a gentle toss of his snout. My wings had been saturated with water and sagged into fins, but I still attempted to flap them with a gleeful giggle each time he launched me before I fell back into the sea with a splash.

The kelpie king, Papa El, was a very busy male. However, every time I was with him, I sensed his fatherly affection on omega instinct. It was a good thing my father wasn’t around when we first met, though, because I broke the news to Elion that his features resembled a horse’s. He reminded me of a noble animal that was both strong and graceful, with half his blue-green hair shaved off, his gray skin dappled like his kelpie form’s coat, and gold rings glinting on his nose and ears.

Which was great, because I loved horses! Dad had the gentlest mare, Meya, and we went for rides together. When I was older, he promised I’d get to ride Meya on my own!

Elion listened to my whole horse speech with the most amused expression before saying, “I’m glad you like horses so much, p’nixie. I hope you never lose that.”

I mostly saw him at night and during his morning walk, as he was usually hearing petitions, hosting meetings, or conferring with Nemensia on important-sounding matters. He was nothing like his son, neither the wild boy nor the grumpy male I knew, possessing easy charm to the point it seemed like everyone liked him.

The morning walk was a favorite of mine since that was one of the only times Papa Theo wasn’t working either. The redcap king wore shorts and a sleeveless vest most days, plus some of the largest weapons forged, strapped to either his back or hip. The clothes did nothing to hide the blood-red heritage tattoos wrapped around his limbs like chains of stylized knots. He was the biggest male I’d seen before or since, a mountain of muscle with one expression carved deep in his craggy face, but I’d taken one look at him and lifted my arms up to be held.

I spent the morning walk on his shoulders, holding the Unseelie’s fearsome Blood King’s ears for balance while flapping my wings and looking around at the world from a seven-plus-foot vantage. I felt quite safe up there.

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