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Authors: Sandy Williams
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a son or daughter of. Are we hiding our ancestry, perhaps?
“Is that premthyste in your hair?” I’m sure I recognize the stone now. Only a few prominent bloodlines wear name-cords these days. She has to be a daughter of Cyneayen. If I remember Lord Raen, elder of Cyneayen, correctly, he’s notoriously antihuman. He doesn’t speak a word of English and every time I’ve run into him he’s scowled as if I’ve put a bad taste in his mouth. This girl—Kelia—has impeccable English. She’s perfected an American accent and could blend in with a crowd of humans so long as no one around her has the ability to see edarratae .
Her lips narrow into a thin line. “Aren wants me to teach you our language.”
I might have called her out for avoiding my question if her statement didn’t give me pause. Teach me to speak Fae? Why the hell would Aren want that? He speaks English. So do Sethan and Lena and anyone else who might need to work with humans. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the rebellion has mastered my language. Plus, won’t I be more of a liability if I can eavesdrop on their conversations? As it is now, they could detail their entire war strategy and I wouldn’t have a clue what they were saying.
“The king’s forbidden that.” It’s not that I don’t want to learn to speak Fae—I’d love to—but I’m used to not knowing it. I’m used to keeping our cultures as separate as possible.
“He’s also forbidden us from learning the languages of your world,” Kelia says without missing a beat. “That hasn’t stopped us. It shouldn’t stop you, not unless you’re afraid of the Court.”
Afraid of the . . . Oh, I see his angle now. “Aren starts big, doesn’t he?”
Kelia’s eyebrows rise. “What?”
“Never mind.” This is a devilishly clever move on his part. He’s making a statement with this offer: the Court might not trust me enough to learn their language, but he does, or so he wants me to believe. Nice try, but I’m not stupid. The only way I might— might —have believed his intentions were pure is if I learned their language, then he let me go. Unfortunately for him, he and Sethan both made it clear that’s not an option, not until this war’s over. I won’t fall for Aren’s manipulations.
But I will take advantage of them.
“Okay. I’m game,” I say, standing too quickly. My muscles protest the movement and my vision blackens around the edges.
She stares a moment. “After breakfast.” She starts to turn, then suddenly she grabs my hand.
I ball my other hand into a fist, ready to defend myself.
“Is that a watch?” she asks.
I hesitate. “Um, yeah.” It’s a cheap digital watch, $14.99 at Wal-Mart.
Kelia’s silver eyes widen. “Can I wear it?”
I pull my hand free from hers, rubbing it against my jeans to chase out the tingle of her edarratae . “It’s tech.”
“Small tech,” she says dismissively. “Please? I’ll give it back.”
What the hell is wrong with her? Kyol hates it when I wear my watch, and I’m honestly surprised Aren didn’t demand I take it off so he could send it to whatever tech graveyard my cell phone ended up in.
“Please?” she says again.
Well, it’s her magic. I unstrap the watch and hold it out. Chaos lusters spring up her arm when she takes it. Not bothered by their increased activity, she tries to fasten the band around her wrist. It’s obvious she’s never done this before—why would she have?—so I help her insert the metal hook into a hole in the rubber. Beneath the strap, her skin glows a faint blue.
She rotates her wrist, staring mesmerized at the digital face. The light coming in through the door wasn’t quite enough for me to make out the time, but she’s fae. She can probably see the numbers.
“Thank you,” she says without looking at me.
“There’s a . . . You see that little button on the right? If you press it, the face will light up.”
“Really?” She presses it and a trio of needle-thin
“Is that premthyste in your hair?” I’m sure I recognize the stone now. Only a few prominent bloodlines wear name-cords these days. She has to be a daughter of Cyneayen. If I remember Lord Raen, elder of Cyneayen, correctly, he’s notoriously antihuman. He doesn’t speak a word of English and every time I’ve run into him he’s scowled as if I’ve put a bad taste in his mouth. This girl—Kelia—has impeccable English. She’s perfected an American accent and could blend in with a crowd of humans so long as no one around her has the ability to see edarratae .
Her lips narrow into a thin line. “Aren wants me to teach you our language.”
I might have called her out for avoiding my question if her statement didn’t give me pause. Teach me to speak Fae? Why the hell would Aren want that? He speaks English. So do Sethan and Lena and anyone else who might need to work with humans. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the rebellion has mastered my language. Plus, won’t I be more of a liability if I can eavesdrop on their conversations? As it is now, they could detail their entire war strategy and I wouldn’t have a clue what they were saying.
“The king’s forbidden that.” It’s not that I don’t want to learn to speak Fae—I’d love to—but I’m used to not knowing it. I’m used to keeping our cultures as separate as possible.
“He’s also forbidden us from learning the languages of your world,” Kelia says without missing a beat. “That hasn’t stopped us. It shouldn’t stop you, not unless you’re afraid of the Court.”
Afraid of the . . . Oh, I see his angle now. “Aren starts big, doesn’t he?”
Kelia’s eyebrows rise. “What?”
“Never mind.” This is a devilishly clever move on his part. He’s making a statement with this offer: the Court might not trust me enough to learn their language, but he does, or so he wants me to believe. Nice try, but I’m not stupid. The only way I might— might —have believed his intentions were pure is if I learned their language, then he let me go. Unfortunately for him, he and Sethan both made it clear that’s not an option, not until this war’s over. I won’t fall for Aren’s manipulations.
But I will take advantage of them.
“Okay. I’m game,” I say, standing too quickly. My muscles protest the movement and my vision blackens around the edges.
She stares a moment. “After breakfast.” She starts to turn, then suddenly she grabs my hand.
I ball my other hand into a fist, ready to defend myself.
“Is that a watch?” she asks.
I hesitate. “Um, yeah.” It’s a cheap digital watch, $14.99 at Wal-Mart.
Kelia’s silver eyes widen. “Can I wear it?”
I pull my hand free from hers, rubbing it against my jeans to chase out the tingle of her edarratae . “It’s tech.”
“Small tech,” she says dismissively. “Please? I’ll give it back.”
What the hell is wrong with her? Kyol hates it when I wear my watch, and I’m honestly surprised Aren didn’t demand I take it off so he could send it to whatever tech graveyard my cell phone ended up in.
“Please?” she says again.
Well, it’s her magic. I unstrap the watch and hold it out. Chaos lusters spring up her arm when she takes it. Not bothered by their increased activity, she tries to fasten the band around her wrist. It’s obvious she’s never done this before—why would she have?—so I help her insert the metal hook into a hole in the rubber. Beneath the strap, her skin glows a faint blue.
She rotates her wrist, staring mesmerized at the digital face. The light coming in through the door wasn’t quite enough for me to make out the time, but she’s fae. She can probably see the numbers.
“Thank you,” she says without looking at me.
“There’s a . . . You see that little button on the right? If you press it, the face will light up.”
“Really?” She presses it and a trio of needle-thin
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