Page 19 of Heir of Autumn
Aphrodite allowed the silence to hang for a moment. We could distrust her and her motives all we wanted, but she was right. The Withering didn’t just kill. It twisted its victims, too, amplifying their power in horrific ways. Sister Dolores had transformed from a nun who could bawl someone’s ears off into an actual banshee who could shatter windows and inflict tremendous damage with nothing but her voice.
What if that happened to a god?
“Your concerns are valid, goddess.” Sylvain surprised me by speaking up, willing to put aside his suspicions if it meant working for the good of all. “No. Your concerns are most concerning. But that is why we are here. We’ve learned that the Wispwell has powerful curative properties, and we intend to return to the academy with sufficient gemstones to ensure we never run out of water.”
“That is fabulous news, Prince Sylvain. Hopefully my brethren will never find the need to visit the Wispwood for healing. For your sake, I assure you, as well as for ours. I wish you the best of luck, mortals. Fare thee well.”
Aphrodite dove into the water and vanished beneath the waves.
Evander rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers. “Okay. Wow. I have so many questions. But I’m definitely most curious about how she gets her hair so nice and pink. Do you think she just magics it to look that way?”
“Hang on,” I said. “Pink? She had black hair.” Dark, glossy, and beautiful, I didn’t say, exactly like my mother’s hair.
Sylvain’s forehead creased. “Nonsense. Her hair was golden, and she had the fairest skin, as pale as the high fae of the Winter Court.”
Namirah stood up, brushing off the seat of her pants. “You’re all hallucinating. She looked like African royalty to me. Big, beautiful, natural hair. Amazing how she didn’t get any of it wet.”
And then silence as it all clicked together. Beauty, as they say, is in the eye of the beholder. Aphrodite was the very definition of the phrase, appearing in different guises depending on someone’s ideals and standards.
I swallowed thickly, something in my throat clenching. Did she take on aspects of my mother’s appearance on purpose, or was this unconscious, a hyper-charged, automatic version of fae glamor?
Our heads craned slowly toward the only person who hadn’t described the goddess yet. Satchel flitted up into the air, frowning as he studied each of our faces.
“What? What are you all looking at? Next you’re going to tell me she isn’t four inches tall.”
8
Satchel lickedthe end of his finger and raised it in the air. He squinted, cocked an eyebrow, then nodded with determination.
“That way,” he said, pointing. “I’m sure of it.”
“Right,” I said, addressing the others. “Satchel’s done this before. He can sense the presence of larger, more powerful creatures, and that includes guardians.”
He puffed his chest out and clenched his fists. “Grand Summoner Baylor Wilde taught me how. I’m very good at it.”
Evander pursed his lips and nodded. “You know, that actually is quite impressive.”
Satchel puffed up so hard I thought he would burst. “Sometimes he would use me as bait.”
“You need to stop acting like that’s a good thing,” I said, guiding him onto the palm of my hand, then setting him down on my shoulder. “Right. So now we know we’re heading that way. We just need to know how we’re actually going that way.”
“Oh, come now, Locke,” Evander said. “You’ve seen me float on my butterflies. That’s a sensible enough way to transport myself.”
Namirah cleared her throat. “I can fly in my hawk form, too, but that doesn’t mean it’s the best option. I’m sure it’s better if we all stick together, anyway.”
Sylvain hadn’t said a word all this time, probably because he was sucking on his sixth or seventh candy since we entered the oriel. Instead he swept his arm forward. The leaves stuck to his body disengaged in a fluttering spiral, then reassembled on the water.
I gasped. “It’s a boat! A pretty one, too. Nicely done, Sylvain.”
“Thank you, thank you,” he said, making a couple of exaggerated bows.
He’d crafted a vessel out of leaves that itself very much resembled a large leaf, curling up to form a boat-liked structure that seemed sturdy and solid enough to keep the water out. I remembered how Sylvain had mentioned sneaking into the Oriel of Summer to enjoy the ocean. Maybe he went boating sometimes, too. He’d even given it a proper sail.
We’d learned our lesson back in the Oriel of Air, knowing that we could end up in places where Sylvain would have little plant matter to work with. He found it a little stifling, completely covering himself in leaves, but it was the practical thing to do.
It wasn’t that tough to encourage him, either, as long as I made sure to tell him how very handsome he looked in a full suit of green armor, the leaves overlapping like scales. Lightweight, protective, and perfect for crafting things in a pinch.
Of course, using the leaves for a different purpose meant that it left him with less clothing, which was the last thing I would ever complain about. Sylvain clearly felt the same, stretching and sighing in pleasure now that he was back to his preferred bare-chested state.
