Page 9 of Dark Sun (Wicked Lovely 6)

She must see that I am destined for greatness! Why else would she treat me this way?

He was smiling as he drifted to sleep in the bedlike seat that his creature offered for him.

When Urian woke, his car-that-was-not-a-machine had brought him to the edge of the openness that was New Mexico. Urian wasn’t sure if the creature woke him or not, but he enjoyed the sights of the land as they zipped toward his home.

Few places could match it for its odd beauty—and he has certainly looked. Some places matched one’s soul; of this, he was sure. Urian had stood at the edge of the ocean, peering into waters filled with strange and lovely creatures, flashes of darting color and shimmering scale. He’d stood atop mountains, fleet hooves and tufted furs. He’d meandered through tall grass prairies, where fleeing hares and buzzing insects were barely noticeable over the song of swaying grass. The world was lovely.

And yet no place had filled his heart the way the landscape of New Mexico did. The moon seemed somehow larger, as if it were a glowing ball of light that could slide into a sliver in the craggy earth. And the landscape was a mix of open spaces that made him feel freer and rugged insistence on survival against odds. It wasn’t as hot as neighboring Arizona, or as snow-draped in winters as northern neighbor Colorado. It was a liminal space, a mix of many things.

Like me.

And maybe that was allhomewas-- a place that matched the shape of your soul. If so, New Mexico was the first home he’d found outside of Faerie. That meant, on some secret part of Urian’s heart, that he’d expected to find peace here. The land was everything he wanted, so shouldn’t the urge to roam be quelled?

It wasn’t, though, and so he thought that he’d hunt down his niece or his father. Perhaps violence was the answer?

He watched the moonlight across the sky, lighting trees and ravines. He waited as the car slid through mountainous sections, for New Mexico was not all desert. And with each minute and mile, he felt less lost. Not satisfied, but no longer fighting an urge to flee.

Home.

Then finally, the car stopped at a tiny house that could have been carved of stone. It was adobe: bricks made of heavy clay earth. And those bricks were built around a wooden frame. While Urian didn’t suffer from the reaction to iron or steel that most fey things did—thank you, mother—he still preferred the naturalness of his stone home.

As he exited the car, it shifted until it looked like a mustang. Muscled, wild, and not meant for being trapped in a stable or garage. In the summer months, that would change. The desert sun was draining, but right now, the car-horse-creature was nickering and stomping.

“Go on,” he whispered.

The horse-shaped faery creature brushed a sort of embrace against him, rubbing a softly furred face against his cheek, and then she was gone.

Urian stood watching the flurry of dust as the horse ran faster than any horse born in this world. Someday, he hoped that the creature would share her name, but for now, all he could say was, “Be well, my friend.”

Because she was his only long-term friend, despite their being unable to speak in the same language.

ChapterFive

Aislinn

“Sunlight?” Tavish asked. It was a simple request, but her advisor knew what he was asking. Only the regent could heal with the element or aspect of the court, and if any faery was not true to the court, they’d die of it.

Are you sure?She stared at him, knowing he understood her hesitation.

Aislinn knelt at his side. “There are complications.”

“I know,” Tavish assured her, voice shaky from obvious pain. “The side effects . . . are acceptable. Appealing, even.”

The Summer Queen said nothing. If she was wrong about his loyalty, if he was wrong about his nature, pressing sunlight into that would kill him.

If I don’t try, he’ll bleed out.

Aislinn found the gaze of her second advisor, who was rather desperately in love with Tavish, and told her, “You will escort Tavish to his room as soon as I fix this.”

Aislinn nodded at the oozing wound. The edges were blackening as if ink had poured there, and the skin started to writhe. Siobhan swallowed as she stared at the wound. Memories of the war between the courts were still too fresh.

“Poisoned,” Tavish whispered. “If you could heal me soon . . .”

Aislinn pressed her lips together tightly, as she lifted his torn clothing so that the bloodied skin was visible.

“Are you sure?” Aislinn asked. “We can call a healer and—”

He looked at Siobhan as he answered Aislinn. “Yes.”

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