I’ve never seen a fairy before, and I can’t seem to tear my eyes from it. I can barely make out the flit of wings; beyond that, it looks like a ball of light bouncing around the plants and water like it’s tending to them. I scan the rest of the magical waterfalls and pools, but I don’t spot any other little balls of light.
There’s no one else in here other than the group of guards around me and some other sentries standing here and there. I look around in awe, and I can’t get over the magical feel saturating this place. It reminds me of an echo of something I felt in Vedan when I sat with Nadi in the overgrown gazebo. There, it was like I was feeling the loss of something, but here, I’m overwhelmed by how alive it all feels.
The iron and crystal surrounding me has an industrial look to it, and yet it merges seamlessly with the touches of nature and the magic sprinkled throughout the space. The details in this room look like they shouldn’t fit together, but something about their essence feels the same, oddly enough.
I’m led deeper into the space until I’m standing almost at the far end of the long room, in front of several bulky, high-backed thrones. They appear to be made of the softest looking moss I’ve ever seen, and I have to fight the urge to step forward several feet and touch it. Really, I want to go full cat and rub all over it, but that’s a level of weird I doubt these people are up for.
I look down and discover that the guards have stopped me just shy of a rug that’s all grass. It looks like a living rug, and there are these delicate little purple flowers that trim the edges on every side.
Long black hair and blue eyes flash through my mind, and I try to blink away the image of the shifter that liked to call me flower. The feel of the knife in my hand when I held it to his throat comes to me unbidden. I’m sure wherever he is, he’s not thinking of me as some sweet purple bloom anymore.
The guards all around me are silent as death, but out of nowhere, they straighten, standing a little taller and a hell of a lot stiffer. That slight movement is the only indication I get that something is happening. Quietly, people slowly pour into the room single file and take a seat in the soft mossy thrones. Women in barely-there dresses sit demurely, their eyes trained on the chair in the middle. Some old and wizened males enter, and I automatically peg them as the brains of this line up. They’re followed by younger, muscled, and armor-clad males who I mark as the brawn.
My eyes narrow as I watch Ryn file in and claim a seat on the far left. How is he Hidden when he’s clearly some kind of leader or royal here? He smirks at me, and before I can stop it, another growl starts up in my chest, and I take a step forward. The guards in front of me tense and move to block my advance.
Get a fucking grip, Falon. How about we don’t invite a death sentence straight out of the gate.
Deep rumbling laughter fills the room, bouncing around the crystal surfaces and slowly getting absorbed by the greenery. A large chuckling shifter enters, his long straight white hair flowing behind him, and his smile accentuating the dimple in his chin. He looks familiar somehow, which doesn’t make much sense. He has one blue eye and one purple eye, and they’re filled with amusement as he takes me in.
Where the fuck do I know him from?
“What’s so funny, little brother?” another male asks as he follows the laugher in.
This male has light gray hair with white streaks in it. It falls just to his shoulders, thick and arrow straight. His aqua-colored eyes watch the amused face of the male he called little brother. There’s a cunning glint in his green-blue eyes, and it almost feels like he’s hunting the male who I think looks familiar as he confidently strolls to the throne in the middle and sits down. So this must be the Syta.
The leader of the Avowed doesn’t pay me any attention as he settles in and adjusts his soft cream-colored tunic. Oddly, all eyes—except for apparently his little brother’s—are fixed on him as if they’re not allowed to look anywhere else until they’ve been given permission.
I don’t know what to think of his arrival. I expected maybe an announcement or more fanfare involved in the entrance of the King of the Avowed. Instead, he just walks in casually as if whatever is about to happen is business as usual. What do I know, maybe it is. I realize I’m still growling quietly, and I immediately work to swallow it down.
Shit. Nice first impression, Falon. Just growl the whole time the leader enters.
I internally face palm and hope he doesn’t take it personally.
“Sorry, brother, it couldn’t be helped,” the familiar male I still can’t place starts. “I found our guest’s response to the Commander amusing. It seems she doesn’t take kindly to being rendered unconscious,” he adds, his mismatched eyes sparkling as if he’s letting me in on some inside joke.
Whatever it is, I don’t get it, and I study him for a beat as I try to solve the puzzle. Is he secretly Hidden too? No, that can’t be it. I would have remembered another Ouphe tainted gryphon aside from me and Ami. Especially another white-haired and purple-eyed highborn looking person like me in the Eyrie. Ami’s face flares in my mind. I hope he’s okay. I wonder what he and Tysa think about my leaving. Maybe I should have taken the time to say goodbye. Guilt stirs inside of me, but I push it away to deal with later. I focus on the row of moss covered thrones and try to figure out which one of them is the friendly lie detector-slash-seer that Ryn said would be present.
“Shall we get started?” the Syta asks, finally done primping and settling into his throne. His tone sounds bored, and I don’t know if I should be offended or worried by that.
No one answers, which seems to be what he expects, and he gives a nod and finally turns his piercing gaze to me. I can’t explain the feeling that washes through me when his eyes connect with mine. It’s like I can feel his power, and it’s hard as fuck not to buckle under the weight of it. There’s a humming sensation that starts up just under my skin, and it’s as if his power is calling to the power that exists in me.
It’s not exactly a comfortable sensation. Our magics don’t feel like old friends that hug and pat each other too hard on the back and start reminiscing about the good times. His magical touch has an arrogance and vitality to it. Mine feels more like an ancient grumpy presence that’s pissed because someone just fucked with its nap. The Syta just stares at me, and I can’t help but feel suddenly vulnerable, as if his stare alone has stripped me bare. I get the distinct impression that he’s trying to hold on to something he’s taken from me. Something that he has no right to. I don’t exactly understand what all of this means, but the ancient feel rolling inside of me feels like it wants to flex.
I drop my chin slightly and stare at the Syta, determined to give him a lesson in not touching things that don’t belong to him. One of his eyebrows flicks up, intrigued, but the weird ass staring contest continues. The room is still, you could hear a pin drop, which is strange because I would think the waterfalls on the walls would make some kind of noise. I can see slight movement in my peripheral, but I don’t dare pull my attention from the aqua stare fixed on me.
Challenge accepted. I just hope it doesn’t get me killed.
3
“So it appears that what my brother and his soldiers have said is true,” the Syta starts, like he’s hoping his voice will snap me out of my fixed stare. “You are not marked, and I have no sway over you. They also tell me that you claim to not be from here, is that correct?” the Syta asks me, his eyes never blinking.