My pen hovered over the surface of the crisp paper, but my thoughts were tangled in my head. I couldn't find the words to write, even though I'd been trying to pen a letter to Lucien for the past few months, ever since I'd arrived back at the Spring Court.
It was less of a problem of how to say it and more about what to say. If I was being honest, there wasn't much at all worth writing. I had only seen Tamlin a handful of times in the weeks since I'd walked back into the manor house. He was reclusive, but more than that, he was avoiding me. I could sense his discomfort with my presence at every turn, which vacillated between irritation at my intrusion and a gut-wrenching shame at the disarray he could no longer hide. I tried my best not to show how appalled I was at the state of affairs I'd found him in, but at times it was almost impossible not to marvel at how colossally broken he was. I didn't allow myself to linger too long on that thought, however, because close on its heels was a dizzying progression of wondering about who had broken him so thoroughly in the first place.
As few times as I'd actually seen Tamlin, we'd exchanged even fewer words. After his guilt-ridden request of me 'not to help me too quickly', we'd spoken only on the absolute necessities. No, Tamlin didn't know where I could find clean sheets. Yes, it would be fine if I stabled my horse in his barn. Yes, he could get me a pen and paper.
He'd not asked me one thing about me, not one damn thing. No 'where-have-you-been' or 'how-are-you', not even a 'why-are-you-here'. I would have settled for almost anything from him, even just the sound of my name in his gravelly voice.
Mixed in with my intense disappointment at the anticlimax of my return was a budding anger. Rage was a better word, in all honesty. I was enraged. I had spent the last three hundred years zigzagging across a continent not my own barely staying a half-step ahead of my own heartbreak, yet it seemed the Lord I'd once known was nothing more than a figment of my memory. I knew the rage came from a deeply misguided and intensely vain hope I'd harbored that my return would spark something in him. Even though I'd spoonfed myself the bitter truth about Tamlin ever since I'd left Prythian, it seemed I hadn't been that successful in accepting the ugly fact that he wasn't in love with me, and my undying affection wasn't going to be the salve that patched his fractured heart together.
Instead, every act of affection or decency I showed him sent him retreating further into himself. I'd stopped inviting him to share the dinner table with me within the first week, and shortly thereafter I'd stopped trying to prepare food for him altogether as it all went to rot outside the door to his study, where he'd taken to barricading himself during the day. I didn't bother to offer to go for walks with him on particularly beautiful days or ask him if he needed anything from the town market anymore. And I had only made the mistake of picking wildflowers to decorate my room with once. After coming back from a morning ride in the woods, I'd found the vases smashed and the wildflowers shredded on the floor, and a new set of claw marks dragged along the walls of my room.
So, rather than waste my energy on healing him, I'd decided to invest my days in repairing the manor house and the grounds around it. The work was backbreaking at times, and even more so because I did it entirely alone. Not once had Tamlin ever offered to help, even when I'd almost found myself crushed under a toppled bookshelf in the library or when I'd burned the back of my hand in scalding water while scrubbing grime from the floors of the hall. And I knew perfectly well that he heard my pained groans and shrieks of surprise in both instances.
I knew I shouldn't resent him for the work I was doing. He hadn't asked for it, hadn't asked for any of it. In fact, he'd made his general lack of interest in my agenda perfectly clear with his pointed absence. But, as irrational as it was, I felt the rage blossoming in my chest and the resentment building.
I knew I needed help. Clearly, I hadn't proven to be the tonic Lucien had hoped for. Life magic or no, it was becoming painfully obvious that I wasn't up to the task of helping Tamlin, let alone healing him. My fear that first day when I'd used my magic to probe on the wound inside his soul had thus far proven correct: my magic wasn't ever going to be enough.
But, each time I sat down to try and write to Lucien, I found myself staring at a page as blank as my mind. I didn't know what to say about any of it. Part of me was ashamed that I'd come back, that I'd given up on my own journey towards healing, if that were even possible. I also felt a deeper shame at how easily I'd fallen back into starry-eyed lust for a High Lord who was spoken for, body and soul, by a phantom memory. Throughout it all, the rage at my ineffectiveness and Tamlin's stoic indifference burned like acid. But beneath all of those emotions, the true root of why I had no words for Lucien, was a hollow emptiness.
There was nothing for it, I decided, gritting my teeth against the vacancy in my thoughts. I forced my pen down to the paper, and began to write.
Lucien,
I am here. Have been for months. I am sorry I did not write. Haven't much to say.
Visit as soon as you can. He is not well.
Your friend, Sirona
Once written, I folded the letter in half, tucking it into the awaiting envelope and sealed it. The sun was sinking towards the horizon outside, but I knew that if I didn't see the letter sent tonight, I'd end up throwing it into the fire in frustration.
My body ached with restless energy as I grabbed my riding cloak from the peg next to the door of the chamber I had unceremoniously declared mine and moved into a few weeks ago. A good, brisk gallop into the nearest town would do me good, I decided, as I strode down the hall. I'd made decent progress in clearing away the destroyed furniture, but I had no answer for the broad claw marks along the walls. They remained where they'd first been gouged into the wood, whenever that had been. I assumed many of the house's more permanent scars had been inflicted on the day Tamlin's lover had left him, although I didn't know for sure and knew better than to broach the subject with Tamlin. Lucien had told me very little, probably in an effort to spare my feelings. He'd implied that she (whoever she was, for he'd never actually given me a name) had turned out to be another Fae's mate. I had no other details of who she was, how she'd met Tamlin, or even how long their triste had lasted. Part of me yearned to know, but I also knew that the knowledge would do nothing other than rub salt over raw wounds.
I hurried towards the door, the light outside already a warm, golden hue the color of springtime honeycomb. If I didn't make haste, the mail service would leave from the market town, and I'd be stuck with the cursed letter all night. My indecision about whether to seek Lucien's help at all - when my own uninvited presence in the manor house was so clearly a sore spot for Tamlin - gnawed at me as I exited the house and strode towards the barn.
My mare whinnied happily at my sight, which I returned with a soft smile and gentle scrub on her nose. She'd been a faithful steed for almost six years, and at this point she was the only creature on Earth who seemed to take any pleasure at all in my presence. I twined my fingers in her mane and swung my leg up and over her hindquarters, settling in the strong groove of her back. Although normally I preferred to ride a saddle, my need to unload the letter - which felt like a twenty pound weight in the pocket of my cloak - spurred me into action. With a firm kick to the horse's side, she took off at a trot. I eased her into a canter, and then again into a gallop. Her hooves gripped the gravel of the path effortlessly as she carried me away into the dimming forest.
The town was only a half hour's ride from the manor house, and as I reigned her to a walk after passing through the gates of town, I knew I'd made it in plenty of time to see the letter safely on its way with the day's mail. A few of the shopkeepers looked up from the stoops they were sweeping to nod at me. They recognized me as a regular patron of their stalls, but they bore me no affection, I knew. Somehow, Tamlin had become quite vilified amongst the denizens of his own court, a fact which had shocked me to my core when I'd first realized why the merchants and townspeople ignored me at best, and spat on me at worst. In the few times I'd come to town, I had yet to see any familiar faces from my own time in the Spring Court. Many of the houses seemed abandoned, and there was a large section of the town that had been razed to the ground. Another one to add to my growing list of questions that needed answering.
I saw the mail carrier and waved at him to catch his eye. He inclined his chin sharply to me, beckoning me to hurry. I eased my mare forward at a trot, withdrawing the letter from my cloak along with a tenpiece to cover the charge.
"Today's mail then?" he asked. His accent sounded vaguely of Autumn Court, I realized. I nodded in response, giving him a careful smile as he took the letter and the coin from my outstretched hand.
"Please. Rode hard to make today's collection," I added in an effort to make conversation. He cast a wary eye over my horse and me atop it, and grunted by way of acknowledgement as he tucked the letter into his sack.
"Very well, girl."
I tried to conceal my indignation at the informal and vaguely dismissive address. As long as I had been a resident of the Spring Court, I'd been addressed as lady or, for those who didn't know or recognize me as a member of the nobility, mistress at the very least. The snarl in his voice did nothing to endear me to him any further, and I pulled on the reigns, turning my mare away from him. I nodded once, and quickly, before setting off back towards the manor house. The fae's eyes traveled with me down the street as I retreated away from his cold gaze, casting one backwards glance before turning the corner.
I let my mare have her head on the ride home despite the gathering dark. After the urgency of my ride into town, it felt rather pleasant to meander through the woods I'd grown up playing in, relishing the sights, sounds and smells of the early evening. I stopped to drink from a stream, relishing the cool feel of the water on my lips and wetting my palms, running them along the back of my neck and along my hairline. I shrugged off my thick cloak as the sun sank beneath the hills in the distance; it was proving to be a rather humid night, and the closeness of the trees did nothing to coax a breeze.
As a few stars peaked out above the sunset stained clouds, I urged my horse into a more definitive walk. Although the woods around the manor house had never been a dangerous place in my tenure in the Spring Court, Lucien had warned me in no uncertain terms that things had changed. The woods - and the faeries who roamed in it - was a vaguely malicious presence in the Spring Court now.
As if to underscore his sentiment, I felt a slight cold chill of apprehension slither down my spine at the sound of a snapping twig somewhere off to my right. I pricked my ears towards the sound, my mare tensing nervously under me. After a few breaths of quiet, I urged her forward at a trot, suddenly eager to retreat back to the safety of the manor house, even if it was a less than welcoming home.
My mare only went a few paces before I heard it again. A snap somewhere to the right, but closer this time. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I had the claustrophobic sensation of being watched. I urged my mare forward again, quickening her pace.
Snap. Snapsnapsnap.
My head spun in the direction of the noise just in time to see a dark shape erupt from between the trees. It collided with me, ripping me from the back of my mare and tossing me like a ragdoll. I knew a few moments of loose-limbed flight before I felt my back collide with a thick tree trunk, a blinding pain wrenching through every inch of my body as I felt a horrendous crack in my back.
I must have blacked out for a moment, because I came to with my face pressed into the dirt. The pain in my back rendered me breathless and my vision spotty. I felt my consciousness wavering on the edge of darkness, but adrenaline and fear sharpened my senses enough to keep me cogent.
Ignoring the agony in my neck as I did so, I twisted my head to look up at the dark shape hovering over me.
It was a creature unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Standing at least ten feet tall, its form resembled that of a High Fae, except its skeleton was somehow on the outside of its withered gray flesh, as if it had been made in reverse order. Its head held four glowing red eyes, two on each side, and a set of thick horns that jutted out perpendicular from its skull, which was in the shape of an ox. At the end of its arms - where hands and fingers should have been - were long, jagged claws in clusters of threes.
I barely had time to register the creature above me before it struck again, its talons ripped into the skin on my thigh. The pain sent me dangerously close to the edge of passing out, but I felt that familiar pulse of magic roar to life within me.
My magic - what most High Fae called life magic - had never been much of an asset in battle, but under extreme duress it had its uses. Life magic was more the territory of healers and midwives, used to repair wounds both physical and emotional, but rarely did it manifest as an offensive advantage. My mentor Carilka, the Fae who had first recognized my rare form of magic and taken me under her wing to master its nuances, had taught me a few ways to harness life magic in battle. I had been blessed in my travels to have very little need for these skills, but I felt my instincts begin to take over. Without some opposition, this creature would kill me and make quick work of it.
Digging my hands into the dirt of the forest, I half-dragged half-crawled away from my attacker. The creature moved deliberately and unhurriedly, watching me with a strange tilt to its head that seemed almost like fascination. I fought against a wave of nausea as I felt warm blood seep into the fabric of my trousers from the open gash on my leg. My back continued to scream in protest but I grit my teeth against it, trying to buy myself some time by slipping under a briar. The life magic flickered like a candle in a strong wind; my physical state was weakening my usual magical reserves, making them more difficult to access and call up at will.
Just when I felt the magic reach a tipping point within me, another downward stroke of the creature's claws ripped through my other leg. It left its claws buried in the flesh of my calf and dug into the ground below, holding me in place like an anchor. For the first time, I let a shriek of agony rip through my lips, the sound splitting the darkened forest around me like a hot knife.
Then, a new sensation took hold in my body. A strange, dizzying feeling, one that attached right at the seed of my magic and seemed to drain it, like a leech. With a frantic glance back to the creature, I saw its horrific skeletal form beginning to glow with a familiar champagne-colored light.
My magic.
It was taking my magic.
Weighed down by pain and exhaustion, my thoughts caught on slowly but my instincts reacted. I thrashed out with my other leg, trying to kick the creature off of me as I felt my magic continue to recede. My foot connected with the creature's arm. The exposed bone there crunched easily under my foot - it was brittle, I realized - but the creature hardly reacted. The rest of the creature's body, the horrendous gray flesh, felt spongy like a rotted apple. Trying to stifle my disgust, I pulled my leg back to kick again. This time, my kick was weaker as the creature continued to drain my magic, leaving me falling faster and faster towards the black hole of unconsciousness.
My breathing was getting ragged as my vision began to blacken. Even the pain felt like it was beginning to subside, my field of awareness narrowing as my body went slack. My head lolled back against the forest floor, my eyes no longer able to stay focused on my assailant as it continued to leech the magic out of my broken body.
My gaze softened and found its way upward, through the canopy of trees overhead. Glinting through a small hole in the tree cover, I caught a glimpse of a few stars. As my breathing turned from ragged to dangerously slow and halting, I swore I felt myself lift off the uneven ground of the forest, my body rising into the night air and fading into a soft mist.
I was so close to the edge of calm, of a dark and deep peace, that I didn't notice the creature's claws being ripped out of my leg. I didn't feel when the creature lost its purchase on my magic through whatever strange tether it had used to suck out the core of my powers.
I did notice, however, that I wasn't rising into the sky any longer. Instead, I felt myself receding backward, further from the glinting stars, and down, down down down. With a strange and vaguely nauseating sensation, I felt my consciousness slip back into my body. The pains began to reawaken, starting as soft aches and crescendoing, building, boiling, until the agony was as fresh as the instant I'd been injured.
Disoriented and clammy, I rolled onto my side before losing the contents of my stomach, retching violently onto the ground. My senses sharpened as my body seemed to respond to the adrenaline again.
The blood on my legs, the feel of the cool dirt under my palms and dug under my fingernails, the distant sound of ripping...
With a gasp, I whirled towards the sound, suddenly remembering the horrific creature that had attacked me. Where was it? What had happened?
The darkness made it difficult for me to see, and my line of sight was partially blocked by a stand of trees, but I would have recognized that shade of blonde hair anywhere.
Tamlin.
Even in my shattered state, my heart pirouetted weakly in my chest, replaced quickly by a new wave of anxiety as I realized that he was battling whatever had attacked me. Struggling to rise to my feet against the pain in my back, I braced against a tree, wincing and crying out at the pain.
I saw Tamlin startle slightly at the noise, half-turning to face me. That's when I realized he wasn't battling the creature - he'd destroyed it. Its bloodied body lay at his feet, its ribcage ripped open like the spine of a book and its horns ripped from its unnatural head. Tamlin's broad back was heaving with exertion, and I saw the shadow of his talons recede back in the flesh between his knuckles as he stepped away from the corpse at his feet.
Still operating on instinct, I took a step towards him before faltering and collapsing. I felt the skin of my hand rip on the bark of the tree and another strangled groan slip from my lips.
Just before I fell back to the ground entirely, I was caught by sure, strong arms. Tamlin didn't say anything, just picked me, careful not to move my body too much. I wasn't sure when I lost consciousness, but I didn't miss the way his green eyes ran over my face, concern and terror etched into the golden flecks of his irises just as he called out my name...