Page 11 of Cursed Shadows 1

I wipe the bug guts from my finger onto the leather chair.

Father leans forward and folds his hands on the desk. The coffee tone of his eyes sharpens to wood daggers. “I was informed last night at the court that I’ll be placed at Comlarfor the duration of the Sacrament.”Two months. “Pandora is of course competing. I loathe to leave you behind.”

He also doesn’t trust me enough to leave me home alone for that long.

So I’m not wildly surprised when he adds, “You will come.”

I nod.

“Taroh will be there, too. Of course, his family have relations, and so they will stay in the nearby town. Still, that is close enough for you both to get to know each other.”To ease my nerves.

I almost laugh something bitter. I feel I know Taroh plenty.

“But there is a concern I have.”

There.The reason father turned serious, the reason his studious gaze is glued to my face, ready to land on any flicker of expression that might give me away. But give what away?

Then, I realize it.

Before he can say it, I think it.

Daxeel.

He’s to compete in the Sacrament. He told me, ten years ago, that he will enter. So…

Daxeel will be there.

I clamp my throat shut before any sound can escape me; before I can release a whimper or choke on something I lost so long ago.

Hope.

“The matter of your dark one,” father says, and his eyes narrow as he scrutinizes me. But I’ve steeled myself, and I only look at him. “The garrisons have quarters forbothlitalves and dokkalves. Of course the quarters are divided to keep us apart—rightly so—but he will be there, and you will inevitably see him… many times, I’m sure.”

I blink, my face schooled into nothing but total blankness, like I couldn’t care less about what he’s saying to me, like I couldn’t care less about the dark fae I love and who once loved me.

He levels his stare and his voice at me, “Do you promise to stay away from him, my child?”

My heart stops beating, and time stands still for the briefest of moments, but that moment is all I need.

There’s something you should know about me.

To the ordinary human eye, I might look fae, but I am only half.

Humans see the sharp tips of my ears; the peachy tint to my sunkissed complexion; the shine of my chestnut locks; and the sharp amber gleam of my otherwise brown eyes.

But when I catch my distorted reflection in the dusty window, I see what the fae do. I see the humanness.

Hipbones too wide to be fae; thighs too thick on the seat I’m sat on; less sparkle, less dazzle in my irises; a dullness to my complexion that looks too pale next to my father’s; ear tips too rounded; and teeth that just aren’t sharp enough.

I am both.

I am fae, I am human.

And yet, I am neither.

I belong to neither, an outsider to both, in appearance alone.

Like my height. I am not small, not by human standards, but to the light fae, the litalves, I could do with a stretching. Then,them, the dark fae, the dokkalves—in front of one of those ruthless creatures, I feel very much the mouse that wandered into the path of a wolf.

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