Forever Fae 1 Page 5

  James.

  How do you charm the uncharmable?

  Chapter 6

  CHARMING JAMES WASN’T even in the realm of possibility, as far as I could tell. But after thinking more about it, I decided I didn’t have to. James was part of the group, but he was also an outsider. The others seemed to scoff or disregard most of what he said so his obvious contempt and dislike for me might not significantly affect my plan. I had to focus my attention on the others and forget all about James, or maybe drive an even bigger wedge between him and the others.

  I’d never been a big talker, so the thought of engaging them overwhelmed me. I hardly knew what to say. So I thought of my bold, talkative sister. What would she say? How would she say it? She probably would have been released by now if she had been the one captured instead of me.

  As I rode with Nole one afternoon I decided to put my plan into motion. The weather was inconsistent, altering without notice from foreboding rain to blinding sunshine. Now it looked like rain.

  We rode ahead, not too fast, not too slow. A perfect pace for conversation. It was now or never, and I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

  “Is our island much different from yours?” I forced a smile and tried to make my voice a little sweeter. He didn’t even glance at me.

  “Is this your first time on Copaxa?”

  Nole sighed theatrically. He talked the least out of all of them, but he was the leader and the one with whom I mostly rode, so I really had no choice but to focus my efforts on him.

  “I’ve never been this far north before. I always wanted to, but I’ve never had the opportunity. I suppose I should be thankful for that, at least. Will we be passing the castle? I’ve heard so much about it.

  The tall, ice-blue towers and lush green gardens. The liquid magma moat and golden drawbridge.” I drew a large breath and puffed it out through pursed lips. “Have you seen it yet? You must have. There are only two ports in and out of Copaxa. You must have crossed at Luxen? That is the more popular of the two.

  Larger, I think.”

  I studied his face, hoping for some form of acknowledgment, but the savage only frowned and stared straight ahead. I tried to gauge his level of annoyance. He looked down at me from under his hooded brows and then refocused his gaze on the road. Keeping the conversation going would not be easy.

  “I hope the weather clears soon. Our journey would certainly be more pleasant if the sun stayed out.

  Not that I don’t love the rain. It’s rather soothing, don’t you think?”

  No answer.

  “First she wouldn’t stop crying, and now she won’t shut up,” said Sandy-Brown, or Otis, as the men referred to him. He laughed through his words—the jester of the bunch, always with something clever to say.

  “My sister hates the rain. She is a tad vain, and doesn’t appreciate the effect it has on her hair.

  Speaking of hair, you and your men wear yours rather long. Do the women where you are from wear it in a similar fashion? I am curious to see the females of your race. I bet they are strong and fierce, and do as they please and not what they’re told.”

  One word. One nod. This was the first step. Then develop a friendship, of sorts, with him.

  I kept talking, determined not to give up, but after a painful half hour it was clear that Nole wasn’t interested. We swayed in silence while I considered the plan B I didn’t have. My thoughts were interrupted when the men halted and I slammed into Nole’s rock-hard chest.

  “What is it?” I said, looking up into his face. With closed eyes, he raised his hand to silence me. His nostrils flared as if he caught a scent in the air. I tried to do the same. I smelled nothing except the sap from the maples.

  A light swishing noise sounded, followed by the rustling of leaves. Nole slowly lowered his hand to grip the jeweled hilt of his sword. My eyes grew large and I held my breath as I strained to make out the sounds.

  Swish, swish, swish.

  We all looked at one another.

  Swish, swish, swish.

  I leaned back into Nole’s chest and wondered if I should be scared. How foolish. I rode with savages. What did I have to fear except the savages themselves? They would overcome whatever obstacle we faced and come out victorious.

  A cluster of thick bushes rustled and through them strolled a creature almost as big as the horses. A shriek. It paused to glance at us through its big blue eyes before continuing to cross the road. Its massive paws smacked at the dirt, one lazy paw at a time. When it shook its head, its loose, hairless skin flung saliva on us and on the nearby bushes.

  Although the animal was virtually harmless, the horses still found the creature threatening, bucking and neighing wildly as the animal neared us. Nole calmed his horse into submission; he spoke gently in a foreign language and reached around me to stroke its mane. I could feel his chin nearly resting on my shoulder and could smell his musky scent, a mixture of smoke, pine, and ale-tinged sweat. It wasn’t unpleasant.

  Remmie galloped forward to position his horse beside Nole’s. He reached over his shoulder and snatched an arrow, quickly pulling it back onto a bow, the tattooed muscles in his arms straining. I reached my hands out to try to stop him.

  “It’s just a shriek! It won’t hurt you.”

  The curious animal, which stopped to witness the commotion, continued along, shrieking at us in a high, piercing scream before disappearing behind a handful of trees.

  With a slight nod from Nole, Remmie shouldered his bow and turned his horse around to reclaim his spot behind us. Remmie had listened to me when I told him the animal was no threat, and no one had challenged this. I glanced over my shoulder to meet his gaze and an unfamiliar ache settled deep within my stomach, forcing a cool sweat over my whole body. With heated cheeks, I snapped my head back around to face forward and nervously I played with my fingers as I tried to regain focus.

  “What language did you just speak?” I quietly asked Nole, determined to continue my plan.

  “Optan.”

  I held back a satisfied smile as I looked overhead to see the clouds triumphantly part; I took it as a sign. I allowed myself to hope. And this distracted me from the brief moment I’d shared with Remmie when our eyes had met.

  “Is that the language you speak in Optavia?”

  No response. Several minutes passed before I thought of anything else to say. It thrilled me that he responded, but I was also excited to have seen a real live shriek. I’d only seen them in drawings.

  “Are you married?” I blurted out, returning to the task at hand.

  I heard a loud belly laugh from behind me. “Will wonders never cease? I think the girl fancies ya,”

  Otis said.

  I rolled my eyes at the interruption.

  Nole clucked at his horse and we moved on. I looked around at the others as I bounced up and down on the seat of his horse.

  “I bet you’re not—married, that is. I bet you’re all single.”

  “And what makes you say that?” The savage with the silver-streaked hair—the one they called Roland—picked up his pace on his horse until he trotted beside us.

  “Please don’t misunderstand me. I mean no offense. I just meant that most wives would be unsupportive of their husbands spending long periods of time away from them.” I paused again. It was getting a little easier to talk now. “I am quite envious. I’ve always wanted to travel. You must lead very exciting lives.” Nole pulled on the reins and his horse abruptly stopped.

  Without looking at me, he said, “Will you be talking for the rest of the journey?” It didn’t matter that his raised voice and tone reminded me of the way my father scolded me, or that he might pass me off to someone else. What did matter was that he spoke a full sentence to me. I tried hard not to smile at my small success, but I could feel my face glowing, ripe with smugness.

  “Does it upset you?” I studied his face, trying to read him.

  “Immensely.”

  “Then yes,” I said, smil
ing. I could have sworn he fought back a smirk. Although he probably would never have admitted to it, he didn’t mind my chatter or else he would have gagged me or handed me off to Remmie. He didn’t appear to have much patience.

  He exhaled through his dry, pink lips and then tipped his head back, cursing in his native language.

  At least that’s what I thought he did. Roland shook his head at me, grinning all the while. That was encouraging. They responded to torment and humor. I knew I could easily manage that after years of bantering with my sister and brother.

  “Glad it’s you and not me,” said a voice from behind us. Definitely Otis.

  Nole ignored him.

  It was funny how much information I had gleaned since encountering them days before. When my head wasn’t filled with thoughts of home, I had nothing to do but observe them and study their characters, which I admit, I didn’t dislike. Under different circumstances, I could have seen myself becoming quite fond of all but James.

  The next few hours weren’t unpleasant. I talked more than I ever had and, though they did not respond, I could tell they listened. I shared quite a bit about myself; the more they knew the better. I talked about the farm, our apple orchard and our cornfields, our cozy three-room log cabin, our beloved and individualistic animals: Matilda, the stubborn mule; Alphie, the nuisance goat who ate our hanging clothes and anything else he got his thieving hooves on; and Bella, our beloved and affectionate cow. This raised some eyebrows. I explained that Bella was in the habit of rubbing against my family and me like a cat, and enjoyed lapping us up with her enormous, rubbery, purple tongue. I did not discuss my family. I didn’t want them to use the information against me. The less they knew about them, the better. I asked them questions too, which they initially refused to answer until Roland at last thought it acceptable to interact with me, or he no longer cared if it angered the others.

  “Are you normally this talkative?” Roland studied my face, his brow furrowed, as if he might be able to figure me out by the way I spoke.

  “No, never, actually, but I figure we’ll be spending some considerable time together so why not make it a little more pleasant?”

  He nodded.

  “Your name is Roland?” I leaned toward him.

  “Roland Arteris.”

  “Do you have a family, Roland Arteris?”

  “In a sense.”

  “In what sense?” I swayed to the movement of the horse.

  “Don’t encourage her, Roland.” Nole spat out some of my hair that had blown into his face.

  Annoyed, he grabbed it and dumped it in front of my shoulder. It was all I could do not to scold him for his lack of manners.

  “I am not married nor do I have any children of my own, but I have helped raise our Remmie. And also had a hand in Otis’s upbringing as well.”

  I pushed for further details and it surprised me how much he offered. It was sensitive and personal, and neither Otis nor Remmie scolded him for sharing.

  Roland and Remmie’s father were part of the warrior guard, and an unidentified group of men had killed Remmie’s father in his sleep. Fortunately, Remmie and his mother were visiting his aunt when his father was killed. His mother was devastated by the loss, and Roland tried to help his friend’s family as best he could, comforting her and helping to raise him.

  Otis’s story was every bit as tragic. He never knew his father, and he lost his mother to fever before he was ten years of age. With no other family, he resorted to living in the busy streets of Anderall, a large city in central Optavia. When Roland first encountered Otis, he was being beaten with a rolling pin for stealing smoked meat from the local butcher, prompting Roland to rescue Otis and bring him back to the castle where he could earn his keep by working as a page. Roland said he returned to the castle often to check that Otis was being well cared for, and when Otis announced that he wanted to become part of the warrior guard, Roland ensured that he was well trained and prepared for such a demanding role.

  While Roland talked, I turned to face Remmie and then Otis. Each met my eyes and then returned their gazes forward. They offered no comment on their stories. I almost forgot my goal while Roland spoke, feeling privileged he’d share such personal stories with me.

  James snorted on and off. I tried my best to ignore him.

  “You are an honorable man, Roland,” I told him when he finished. “Were you a close friend of Remmie’s family?”

  He cleared his throat. “I suppose you could say that.”

  “What would you say?”

  “I fought alongside Remmie’s father as part of the warrior guard. And Emma… Well, I am close with her as well. We grew up in the same village.”

  I saw something in his eyes, something I often saw in my father’s when he spoke of my mother. Love.

  Adoration. Though my father was undoubtedly in charge of my household, he was devoted to and hopelessly in love with my mother. She could wield her influence on him no matter how decided my father was on issues, and he would never even realize that she’d done it. I could see Emma’s influence on Roland as he thought about her.

  “You love her.” It was more question than statement.

  He looked at me for a long moment before he continued. “Be careful.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I took it to mean I had asked him something that I shouldn’t have, something in the “none of your concern” category. I immediately wished I could take back my words, but he didn’t seem angry with me.

  “So, is that what you all are? Part of the…warrior guard?”

  No one offered comment.

  As the day continued, Nole remained quiet and Roland continued to speak with me, though he was selective in which questions he chose to respond to. Nole didn’t respond to me again.

  I was sure I had spoken more to these men—my abductors—than I had spoken to anyone else in my entire life. How odd that this situation, this undeniably bad situation, would force me to open up and share my thoughts and feelings with others. I hoped I would have a similar effect on them. For my own sake.

  Chapter 7

  AS DAWN APPROACHED, I heard the sound of running water in the distance. We trotted off the trail in search of it, and soon happened upon a glorious cascading waterfall that flowed into a small basin. A thin mist hung in the air, making everything it touched glisten: the blue and yellow wildflowers, the baby’s breath, tall blades of dark green grass, shiny smooth rocks.

  Roland, who proved himself every bit of a gentleman, offered me a hand to get down from Nole’s horse, and I took it without hesitation. Though I knew I should not care for Roland, it was impossible not to. He reminded me of my father: strong, protective, and above all, good. After all, most men didn’t help raise other men’s children without any type of obligation attached. I believed him to be an honorable man, just misguided. I was certain I could use his growing affection for me to secure my release.

  I had to keep reminding myself that sharing information about me was about getting them to like me and not the other way around. I couldn’t allow myself to grow fond of them, no matter how clouded my feelings were becoming.

  I dismounted the horse and walked to the water’s edge so that I could glimpse my reflection. The water was clear and calm but for a red kipper fish lazily skimming the pebbles along the water’s floor.

  My usually wavy hair hung bone straight, weighed down with a pound or more of dried mud. My tourmaline green eyes looked flat, and dark crescents sat below them. But my skin was intact—just like always. Granted, a touch paler than normal, even for me.

  I wanted to jump head first into the water and wash away the layers of dirt and dried blood that had had taken up residence on my skin. How many days since I cleaned myself? Five? Six? The days seemed to run into one another like one big, long blur, no beginning and no end. Just one long, continuous, and utterly exhausting day.

  Otis and James assembled logs and kindling on the pebbled shore next to the deep pool of crystal-cle
ar water. Remmie knelt by the edge of the forest and dragged his fingers through the mud, painting his face with mud as if he meant to blend in with the dirt. He did this each time he went into the woods to hunt. Then he took a blade from his boot and sliced his palm, squeezing his hand until blood dripped from where he’d taken the mud.

  “You look confused.” Roland made me jump. “I startled you.”

  “I didn’t hear you coming.” I tore my gaze away from Remmie as he slung a quiver full of arrows over his shoulder. With a bow in his hand he hurried into the forest at a pace my eyes had difficulty following. He always brought food to the fire, and he always did so alone. “Why does he make himself bleed before hunting? And the mud? I don’t understand. I learned about savages…” I spun around to face Roland. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you that.”

  Roland raised a hand and waved it through the air as if to brush off the offense. “We must give to get.

  We offer a piece of ourselves before taking from the land. The more we take without giving back, the more our strength fades.”

  “Your kind takes from mine all the time and you don’t seem to be the weaker for it.” The words came out before I could stop them, and I wondered if he’d respond with anger. Perhaps the others might have, but not him. I couldn’t see him raising his hand to anyone.

  “I am not my king. I pledged allegiance to the crown before he was crowned and I am a man of honor. A man of my word. I will serve him until I die. But don’t believe for a second that I support his choices or his tactics.”