Page 8 of This Midsummer Heart
It’s as if the world moved on without me. In so many ways, it has.
Miserable, I wait outside the gates and watch as the Guild of Scribes take over the grounds of what were once both my home and my seat of power.
I stand with my own bedding in my arms, my trunks beside me as I wait for servants from the House of Fetes to come assist me. My former subjects haven’t even left me enough cases to hold all my belongings. I suspect they’ve actually stolen one of the trunks I’d already packed, but I had no time to check.
My throat tightens until I almost can’t breathe. All that I’d had and been is now gone. It’s almost funny, that I had not thought I’d feel its loss. Back when I had made my now-ruined plans, someone else would’ve handed over the keys well after I had left the House of Elves. I wouldn’t have had to watch it happen.
Standing here on the street, with countless carts and pedestrians bustling by as if this is not the end of an era, makes me feel no bigger or braver than the tiniest vole.
I worked so long to build this House. I wasraisedto bring the elves together, born of a political marriage between a dark elf king and a wood elf noble lady, the match made with the intention of ending the fighting between elves. The conflict was long and bloody anyway. Elves do not war with one another intending to kill. It is no less brutal, the way we fight. We maim each other with blunted arrows aimed at armor, and slice each other with swords and knives enchanted to never cut too deep—but they do cut, and we do bleed, hurt and grow weak. And when it is done, our elven healers patch us up and sent us back into the fight again.
It’s no way for a boy to grow up. I endured it anyway, because I was born to. I learned to lead, well enough to achieve my parents’ dream and unite the House of Elves.
But I did not lead well enough to keep it.
I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for that.
Chapter five
At Titaine's Mercy
Auberon
Atlast,someofTitaine’s people arrive to assist with my personal effects. A formation of half a dozen fae—tall, wiry warriors and not servants—saunter up the street, a smug expression on each face. I recognize the fae in charge, and I know he takes all too much pleasure in my current state.
Does he know? Do all of the House of Fetes know my abandonment means I am no longer the elven Houselord?
“Woodric,” I greet the warrior stiffly.
“Better give me those, your lordship,” Woodric says, his voice as shockingly deep and gravelly as ever. “Can’t have the lady’s former mate seen like this.”
I give him the wadded ball of my bedding, and frown as the fae warriors—slight beings, compared to the elves—lift each of the trunks the Scribes so helpfully deposited outside my own gates. Elves are pure, lean muscle. But fae?
They are no stronger than children without their magic. Was I misled?Dothe fae still have their magic?
I follow the bleak procession down the street and around the corner to the House of Fetes, marveling at how easily they carry all my worldly goods. I thought Titaine was out of options when she came to me. Had she planned this all along?
By the time my boot touches the first stepping stone inside the House of Fetes’ grounds, I am very certain I’ve been set up, and furious. As Titaine appears farther ahead on the Fetes’ winding garden paths, I am ready to shout at her—until I see the sweat beading on the back of Woodric’s neck.
Each of the six fae are dew-skinned from their labors. Theydon’thave full access to their magic—and they aren’t glamouring away this sign of their diminishment, either.
My anger vanishes, becoming something near to pity. They were my people once, too—though by the end of my time with Titaine, I rarely had a hand in any business of the House of Fetes. I can’t help but feel for them anyway. The elves will grow ordinary without their magic, maybe even weak. But these fae?
They might die without magic.
Titaine might die.
The thought strikes me like the first effects of poison. Minutes ago, hadn’t I hoped to never see Titaine again? Now I feel as though I wished this fate on her.
Still, she puts on a brave face. As I meet Titaine on the path, she is as ethereal and golden as ever, just as on that day when I first beheld her on the road through the woods, looking like another ray of sunshine filtering through the boughs. Of course, she wears her glamour in front of me now. Even when we were together, it was not often I could see what lay underneath.
Titaine’s glamour does not add to her beauty, however. The lines of her face are simple and delicate, her cheeks and lips naturally rosy. She only uses glamours to hide her feelings. If I had noticed that when we were still together, I might’ve saved us both a lot of heartache.
“I see you don’t need a servant to dress you after all,” she says, arching a brow as she reaches out to straighten the neckline of my tunic. One corner is folded in against my collarbone. “But barely,” she adds, her mouth curving into a wicked grin.
“What do you want, Titaine?”
She meets my gaze levelly somehow, as if she were anywhere close to my height. Her hand still rests lightly on my collarbone. The bees are buzzing merrily in the garden around us, competing with the white and yellow butterflies, the sun hot on my back. It’s perfect, here in the gardens of the House of Fetes. For a moment, I’m transported back in time—to a happier era.
