Page 11 of A Palace of Smoke & Mirrors
They wanted me to find my biological father—yetanotherman I couldn’t care less about.
My list of deplorable men was getting longer every single day, and it was truly beginning to concern me. Nonetheless, why should I have cared about a man who had a one-night stand with a married woman, knocked her up with his half-breed offspring, and then abandoned them both? Why would I want to find him only for another controlling man to try to lay his claim on me?
No, thank you.
Not even with a thank you. Just no and fuck off.
Even the Court of Darkness, too.
Blythe? I didn’t know her.
What do I owe her? What do I oweanyof them?
Nothing.
I was sick and tired of Faerie, and all of its lies and deceit. Sick to the point of violence. I wanted my magic back—even thoughitwas a snivelling little traitor, too—and I wanted to go to the Forest of Eyes and Ears. I could trust the Forest in a way I could never trust any living person—ortheir horsesortheir Houses, for that matter. The Forest would protect me while I practised some of the more basic magic tricks, and once I’d mastered a shield for myself and Brynn, I would go home.
Even if I couldn’t build a shield in the end, at least I’d go home knowing I tried.
Fuck Wrenlock. Fuck Lucais. Fuck Caeludor.
The Malum? Over it.
Court of Darkness? Not interested.
The Oracle? Unsubscribed, bitch.
“Aura.” Wrenlock’s deep, rumbling voice cut through my consciousness, and I shook my head as I resurfaced in the present moment, blinking rapidly to realign myself with my surroundings.
We’d stopped in the middle of the road, which had transitioned from dirt and sand into cobblestone, and some of the mist had cleared enough that I could begin to make out the colour in the windows of nearby stores and houses bleeding through the gloom.
“You went off somewhere in your head again,” Wrenlock remarked. “Are you okay?”
I pressed my fingertips into my eyes and rubbed them, trying to wake up properly.Why do I feel like I keep falling asleep? Probably the aftereffects of burning myself out with power, I suppose.“I’m fine,” I answered tersely.
He didn’t look convinced, but we continued to walk.
Barely a few steps further into the outskirts of the city, I noticed someone staring at me—a girl who looked about my age with fire truck red hair that made her stand out against all the grey. She was carrying a wooden bucket down the road in the direction Wrenlock and I had come. Pausing, she hiked the bucket up on one hip and cocked her head to the side as her eyes sought out mine. As soon as I glanced over, she gave me a small wave with the hand she’d freed—a wave with a delicate flare of pure flame.
Fire magic.
My eyes nearly bugged out of my head at the sight of someone holding fire burning in their bare palm. It was beautiful and terrifying, and it made something awaken deep in my stomach, twisting up into my chest. I gave her a small albeit awkward wave back, and her brows drew together as she watched like she’d been expecting something else and I had disappointed her.
Quickly, my eyes darted away, and the only fire I experienced again was of the flames licking at my cheeks as we moved into clearer sections of the city.
I am still a human in Faerie.
I’d do well to remember it.
Caeludor was not like Sthiara in its streets. Where Sthiara had been quaint and reminiscent of the Victorian era in Belgrave, Caeludor was something out of a gothic nightmare in the Middle Ages. The buildings were multi-dimensional, leaving cavernous spaces between their high ceilings and long walls, and the structures were taller than they needed to be. Everything was elaborately decorated with spires, overlaid tracery, and carvings of cauldrons, broomsticks, and unicorns. It was also largely bland and greyscale, whereas Sthiara had been bursting with colour. I could easily tell that not only the fog was to blame.
Somehow, though, the resident faeries were more diverse. A few of them even presented as human in their appearance—but, if I looked closely enough, I could spy an identifying trait such as a tail or a third eye. None of them looked remotely interested in us as we walked through their streets, even though Wrenlock was the only person partially undressed, and I didn’t have the pointed ears that were so commonplace.
For a moment, I felt like Livia waking up on solid land for the very first time. Then, another thought struck me, and my heart sank.
“Have you put a glamour on me?” I asked, turning to Wrenlock with tears already welling in my eyes. They didn’t fall, but I still wanted to slap them away.
Why does my heart feel like it’s breaking all over again at the thought?
