gown of translucent golden fabric clings to her form as she walks, the hem whispering as it brushes across marble tiles. Her feet lead of her of their own accord, and she is distantly aware that they are bare, bound only glittering gold chains adorned with countless small rubies. Her hair is loose, free from it's usual pins and ties, left to be draped back over her shoulder, chestnut coils untamed and wild.
She starts in surprise as a cold hand grabs her by the wrist. "I was wondering where you had snuck off to," a voice whispers in a low voice, teeth grazing the shell of her ear. "Your mother really does throw the best of parties."
Anya turns but before she can say a word, the stranger's lips are on hers. They taste of winter nights and heady, intoxicating spices, and she is caught off guard by how much she leans into their ministrations.
But her heart drops when the stranger steps away and she realises the identity of the man standing before her.
Elias' silver-grey eyes sparkle with mirth at her shock, a smile gracing his lips. "Surprised, my love?"
"I..." she stammers, trying to collect her composure. Words escape her, unable to find a single thing she could say that would be nearly adequate.
He is dressed in robes seemingly cut of the night sky itself, constructed out of a dark, midnight blue fabric that shimmers beneath the magelights. Upon his brow, he wears a crown constructed of ivory-white antlers. "I missed you," he murmurs against her throat, backing her up against a nearby column. "Where did you disappear to, hm? These affairs are so dreadfully boring without you by my side."
There's something different about him. The aura that normally shrouds him is different now, and it is like she is seeing him through a shimmering vein of water that distorts his image. His skin is beyond radiant, bordering on glowing, and his teeth are a little too white, a little too sharp. The colour of his hair shifts, like oil on dark water, with every movement.
She presses a hand to her eye as her head begins to throb in a pain so fierce it leaves her knees weak. "Where are we?" she manages to mumble between gritted teeth. "I don't..."
Elias cups the side of her face. "My love? Are you ill?"
You're as cold as ice, she thinks, dizzy and faint. Why does looking at you hurt?
She is distantly aware of Elias escorting her to a settee beneath a window. She does not recognise the landscape that stretches out below them. Towers of a pale white-yellow stone reach into the sky, all sharp angles and impossible arches seemingly supported by the air alone.
This isn't how it happened.
The thought strikes her suddenly, though she does not know whence it came.
Anya turns to look at Elias, the pain behind her eyes emerging once again. She clenches her jaw so tight she fears she might shatter her teeth from the force. Who are you, really? sits on her tongue, but no matter how she tries, they will not escape her lips. Instead, not entirely of her own volition she says, "I had just started to miss you."
Her voice is... not her own. It's colder, prouder, and it carries with it a level of certainty she'd only seen in Lady Cara. It is full of pure, unadulterated power—knowledge that she is untouchable and bows to no one.
"Mm, I imagine," Elias hums, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. "I shall never be free of them. They follow after me like lost children."
She does not of whom he speaks, but she nevertheless finds herself nodding in sympathy. "You are ever so popular," Anya says, laughing in a way that is not entirely her own. She does not know where the words come from, only that she cannot stop herself from saying them. "How do you even have time to spare for little old me, hm?"
"I will always come back to you," he says, voice low and solemn as he takes her hand in his own, pressing his lips to her knuckles. "Always."
"Are you swearing me an oath?" A strange, unfamiliar horror fills her heart, as if his words mean more than she knows.
"Yes," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "I am yours, always. I swear it."
A small sphere of golden light appears in the space between them, slowly unfurling into a long golden thread. One end of the thread encircles his wrist, the other encircling her own before dissipating.
She glances up at him from beneath her lashes. "You are stuck with me now, you know," Anya says, her voice barely audible over the lilting, unfamiliar music.
"How is that a problem?" he asks, hooking a finger beneath her chin as he presses his lips to hers once more.
Anya wakes in a cold sweat, flinching as her gaze falls upon Tiarnán standing in the door to her room, his amber eyes flashing in the dark light. He has his quiver slung around his waist and his bow in hand. "Thought you were coming hunting—we need to get going if we're going to catch anything."
Any other day, she would have dreaded being up this early after retiring so late, but even as she sits up and shakes by the fog of sleep, she can't get the dream out of her mind. She can still hear that unfamiliar music in her ears, can still see Elias every time she closes her eyes.
She falls back into her bed with a groan, covering her face with her arm.
~*~
Tall blades of lush grass brush her ankles as she treads along a barely visible dirt path, following Tiarnán as he navigates through the forest with ease. Dappled sunlight breaks its way through the canopy of leaves above, casting a warm golden glow across the endless expanse of green. Birds dive and soar beneath the trees, singing their familiar songs.
Tiarnán is almost invisible amidst the towering trees with his moss coloured cloak and ash brown tunic. If she glances at him out of the corner of her eye, he almost seems to disappear. A belt is loosely tied around his waist, a sheathed dagger and his quiver hanging from the leather strap. Tight leather boots adorn his feet, and he treads silently through the undergrowth with a gait so light he leaves no footprints in his wake.
She is not nearly as graceful.
As a child, she used to play in the forest with Eámann and Brigid, but those days are many winters behind her, and her days at Lord Rian's estate have done little to help her here. There she is proud and tall and dignified. She can play at being noble until it's almost convincing, the illusion only shattering when they look close enough and see that her gown has been patched a dozen times, and the soles of her shoes are starting to wear thin.
Here, she is helpless, subject to the whims of a wild woods that bow to no one. She is dressed in shades of crimson and wine, standing bright against a backdrop of clovers and ferns. The heels of her boots, meant to help her stand tall in the face of nobility, catch on tree roots that stretch across the narrow path.
Anya lifts her skirts, tucking the corner of her hem beneath her belt as she steps across a stream that bisects their path, wondering if getting Eámann to stop complaining about dinner was really worth coming volunteering to go hunting. She doesn't know how she is meant to help—the dagger strapped to her waist is heavy and unfamiliar, and any fire she might conjure would ruin the pelt of any animal they could find.
Tiarnán stops, bending down amongst the grass, his fingertips tracing an outline in the dirt. Then, wordlessly he stands, and continues on. He is focused, calm, and collected, certain in every action he makes. Sometimes, she still thinks of him as a child, and though he is still young, he has been forced to grow up far before his time. He doesn't carry with him the youth present in others his age. His memory of childhood lies long forgotten, and she wonders if he even remembers a time when their mother was still alive.
He'd been five when Gráinne had died, and in the decade that had passed since, neither she nor her brothers had any time to be children. Their youth had been stolen from them, and if her father's grief had only affected her and Eámann, perhaps she could find it in herself to forgive him.
But Tiarnán deserves better.
"I can hear you thinking," he says over his shoulder, skipping over a tree root rather than stepping over it. He bends down to inspect something she cannot see in the dirt, a frown crossing his lips for a second before he continues walking. He clears his throat, putting on a shrill voice and saying, "It's all, 'worry, worry, worry, magic, magic, magic, oh thank you, Tiarnán, for taking me for a trip into the woods to find a deer, I'm having so much fun.'"
"You have many gifts, but reading minds isn't one of them," she says, fighting back a smile. "You're not even close."
"Oh, sorry, then it's something along the lines of, 'Mr Elias it is such a pleasure to have you over for dinner, are you certain I can't spend time with you in your tent—'" He yelps as she picks up a stick from the ground and lobs it at his head. "Well, I'm not wrong!"
"You're the worst!" she hisses, though she can't say he's entirely wrong. Her dreams still haunt her, but her heart is heavy for a different reason. "I was thinking about Mother."
He pauses, mood soured. "Now you're making me look like an ass for teasing you about Elias when you're really just brooding again."
"I do not brood."
Tiarnán snorts, turning his gaze further away where something rustles through the underbrush.
"I'm..." she starts, searching for the right word, "worried."
"Going back to, 'worry, worry, worry, magic, magic, magic.'" He has the sense to dodge the next stick she throws, jumping to the side at the last second with a delighted peal of laughter. He looks comfortable out here. He looks...
Happy.
Anya swallows, her heart twinging in pain. One day, she swears to herself, I will make enough that you can hunt on the grounds of your own estate for pleasure rather than necessity.
She goes to speak but before she can even open her mouth, Tiarnán has one hand clapped over it, the other pressed to his mouth as he gestures for her to be silent. Then, wordlessly, he removes his hand from her mouth, gesturing into the distance.
There, amongst the trees and across a small clearing, stands a towering stag with a coat as white as snow. Tall antlers like branches of bone stretch out behind the stag's head as his eyes seem to meet her own. She cannot bring herself to move, her breath hitching in her throat as the stag turns away, its gaze focused elsewhere.
Tiarnán nocks an arrow, but before he can let it fly, she rests a hand over his bow. "Don't," she whispers with a slight shake of her head. Even still, she cannot hide the tremor in her voice. "Tiarnán, it's not worth it."
He gives her a long look. "You can't tell me you believe the tales Mother told us," he whispers back.
She can almost taste her dread—all cold and bitter, like the stale air of a house long since abandoned. The White Stag is said to be an omen of doom, a Fae harbinger of death and destruction. Whether she believes the tales or not, there are certain things in the world she will not risk tempting. The Fates have a cruel sense of humour, tempting them with a beast that would keep them fed for weeks.
Anya shakes her head, hair falling loose from her braid. "It's not worth it," she repeats, her voice stronger this time. "Legends are grounded in truth."
A sigh escapes Tiarnán. His shoulders sag as he lowers his bow, returning the arrow to the quiver strapped around his waist. "You're explaining this to Eámann."
She nods. Eámann will have little ground to stand on when his apprenticeship provides little for their family, and she won't hesitate to remind him of it. It's a low blow, to be sure, but that doesn't mean it isn't true
"I thought you didn't believe in the Fae." She knows he's joking, but his tone is bitter.
Elias' warning from the night prior rings in her ears, and she'd be a fool to think the White Stag's presence has nothing to do with the shadow of death that had been cast upon Mórsail.
"I don't," she says. It's not worth explaining last night's conversation to him. "But it's best... to be careful."
"Hmph."
She finally lets go of his bow, confident that he won't ignore her wishes, looking back over her shoulder to where the Stag had been, but the forest is empty and... silent. She can't hear a single bird, can't hear a single cricket or frog. Even the wind seems to have stilled as if the world is waited with a terrified, bated breath. All she can hear is the sound of her heart pounding in her ears, and the shaky shuddering breaths that escape her lips.
The light trickling in through the canopy of leaves above seems to have faded, but night is still far, far away, and once again that bitter, cold taste of dread fills her mouth. Something is wrong, and the forest knows it. Once, these woods had been more of a home to her than anywhere else, and even if she no longer knows them like the back of her hand as she once did, they still whisper a silent warning: it is not safe here.
Tiarnán senses it too. His warm golden skin has gone pale and ashy, and he grips his bow so tight his knuckles are almost white. Unlike her, he still knows these woods, knows that there are certain things these ancient trees still know.
"We need to leave," she says, voice still in a hushed whisper but now for an entirely different reason. Her mother's pendant, a shard of amber tied to a cord that sits against her chest beneath her dress, almost seems to burn against her skin. Panic stirs her magic, cords of flame weaving around her wrists and through her fingers.
The smell of rot fills her senses, as though all life around them has suddenly died and has been decaying for decades. She can almost taste it on her tongue, so strong and overpowering that she has to fight the urge to retch. The flames encircling her hands sputters and die out as she chokes back bile, her eyes stinging with unbidden and wholly unwanted tears.
"Anya—" Tiarnán starts, choking on the putrid air that has now surrounded them, but before he can finish his sentence, he's sent flying back by an invisible force. He collides into a tree with a loud thump, and his body falls to the ground.
Before she can run to his side, a hand wraps around her throat, jagged nails pricking her skin. A sharp knife presses into the divot beneath her ribs in a silent warning. "Well, hello there," a voice croons in her ear, low and raspy, "I've been looking for you."