Page 33 of This Midsummer Heart
Would that have made a difference? I can’t imagine it would’ve. I’m still me. She’s still her. A better connection to nature was hardly going to change our personalities.
Some fae and elves are just city folk. There’s no sense in making something melodramatic out of it. It just seems a touch…strange. How could we both be so busy that the fae lady of the sun and the king of the dark elves never thought to take time away from our duties? How long has it been since she spent all day in sunlight, or since I walked through a deep forest?
As I follow Titaine up the slope, she is already reaching the crest. The light catches her wings then, making their ephemeral shape flare to life. My breath catches in my throat as she turns back to face me, her features lost to shadow. Her hair and wings are lit up with golden fire.
I shake the thought loose. Of course the fae lady of the sun is like a Muse’s creation, beautiful and full of magic—more beautiful, even, than her mother, who came to Glowarian Forest once to treat with my father. But it wasn’t her beauty that drew me to her.
Titaine told me once that other men who pursued her treated her like a prized bird to be kept in a cage, appreciating only her beauty and resisting any acknowledgment of her power. I never minded having a powerful wife. I sort of think I preferred it. And it’s not as if there’s anyone out there whose power can compare to Titaine’s. No, her allure lies in a thousand little things, in a secret smile as she solves some magical problem beyond my grasp, in the way the flowers seem a little brighter when she traces her fingers across them, in the way she finds common ground with every kind of fae, or how she would burrow into my side in the middle of the night, so that I woke each morning to the two of us lying like entwined branches…
What am I thinking? All of this strange fatigue—like weights around my neck and each of my limbs—is making me foolish.
But I swear that, for just a moment, her face lights up with a smile when she sees me.
“There’s a human village up ahead,” she calls down from the top of the hill. The evenness of her tone proves I’m imagining things. “There’s nothing for it. We’ll have to spend the night there and resupply.”
As if Titaine would smile at me.
I lurch up the hill, sticky dampness growing beneath my collar. Was this the effect of magic diminishing in the world? I never imagined it’d be so human. So…
Disgusting. Do I smell? I think I might smell.
By the time I reach the crest, I no longer cared about my appearance. A lock of black hair sticks to my forehead, my shins burning and my clothes cling to my skin. And Titaine thought a sleeveless style was foolish! I might perish if I wore anything more. As things stand, I am sorely tempted to chuck my shirt into the nearest hedge and continue on wearing only mail.
Then I stand at the top of the hill at last, gazing down at the so-called village that lies sprawling in the valley below.
As we begin the descent, the leeward slope of the hill is no more forgiving, studded with rocks and patches of loose gravel. If we’re lucky, we’ll reach that town before nightfall. Already shaded by the descending sun, it’s difficult to make out the dark terrain surrounding the town.
I blink a few times, then resorted to squinting. It seems my eyes are getting tired, too. As an elf, I have excellent sight. As a dark elf, a little shade shouldn’t trouble me.
Yet I cannot not make out what lies ahead.
“Notice anything?” Titaine asks, as if she senses my new shortcomings. That would be just like her.
“That’s a town, not a village,” I say curtly.
“It most certainly is not!” Titaine stiffens, and I notice how fresh she still looks, how untroubled by our trek. Is this a glamour?
Now I’m back to hoping she doesn’t notice my breathlessness, my sweat and my…odor.
This is preposterous. Elves smell of woodsy things, of the understory and loam after a gentle rain. They do not smellmalodorous.
“I won’t let you bait me,” she says, her expression becoming serene, and then she glides on, her steps as brisk as when we set out this morning. I make sure to keep extra distance between us.
As if I could keep up. If she is bearing this journey better than I, it cannot be just a glamour. She walks too quickly for that. Where I begin to fret I’ll lose my footing on a loose stone, she simply hops over it, as sure-footed as a cat.
It isn’t until we’ve traveled another half hour, the sun dipping low, that I chance a look ahead.
From above, the land surrounding the village appear dark, like some kind of murky ring of water surrounds it. Now that we’re closer, my eyes can finally make it out.
It’s a thicket, full of rosebuds. And at least from here, I can see no clear path through it. And just as Titaine’s beauty is entwined with viciousness, so too do these roses mean thorns.
I eye my bare arms, then the rose briar ahead. I didn’t imagine it. Titaine reallydidsmiled at me.
She just loves to be right.
Well. We’ll see how well those flowing silky layers of her dress fare. As if she’s dressed any better!
After five minutes of picking my way through the thicket, the answer is clear: Sheisdressed better, her enchanted gown repelling all the briar’s attempts at snags and scratches. But I’m not going to tellherthat.
