Bounty Hunter (The Black Tulip Chronicles #1)

39. Vera

Chapter 39

Vera

J ust before the suns set, signaling the end of the day, we reach one of the entrances to the fae. This one’s more commonly used by only fae, but there are other more easily found and recognizable entrances for visitors. This one is a tiny door that sits between two enormous boulders, and since I’m half fae and lived there for a time, I can use it.

“Here it is.” I hope the charm word is the same and speak it quietly. Immediately, either the door grows larger or we shrink, I’ve never figured out which, and we easily walk through. It slams shut behind us, and we are left standing before a circular set of stairs that winds up and around the inside wall of the tree as far above as we can see.

I regretfully pull my hand from his and begin to lead the way up the stairs. Rupi flies ahead almost eagerly, disappearing above us around the circular staircase. I assume we’ll find her at Mama Tina’s.

The burn in my thighs is forgotten in my eagerness to experience the beauty of the fae again. Their attention to detail, even on these hidden-away stairs, is easily the most beautiful artwork I’ve seen in my lifetime. Each stair is engraved with small pictures that cover the surface, probably charmed, since they look no more worn now than they were ten years ago. I hate to step on them, they are so beautiful. I pause for a moment, my eyes begging to linger on some of the engravings, but I continue up.

When we reach the top, we step out onto a balcony, a wall of greenery the height of my hips surrounding the edge, a protective barrier, of sorts. We are so high in the trees that the ground is no longer visible when I look over the edge. Before us, a single path leads off the balcony and into the city. From that one path, several paths join and spread, connecting tree to tree in a seeming maze of fae-crafted walkways, similar to the first one we crossed to get over the canyon. Small multi-faceted crystal orbs sit in ornate wooden posts standing at calculated intervals, lighting the paths before us with warm, golden light. Greenery grows artfully between the crevices of the paths and around the waist-high rails on either side, vining leaves drip off the edges and down toward the ground below, so long they disappear into the black below us. We step onto the first path, and I breathe in the scent of pine, fresh earth, and a light flowery scent with a hint of honey.

I lead Ikar over one path, then another, and more until we reach a set of stairs that winds around an enormous tree, this time around the outside of the trunk. The stairs stop at a small, but ornate door built into the trunk. I knock softly, and a moment later, it swings open.

“Mama Tina!” I greet the aged woman before me with a grin.

A broad smile lifts the deep wrinkles of her face. “Come here, my girl.” She opens her arms wide and wraps them tightly around me when I step forward. Tears prick my eyes. I’ve missed her more than I thought. I’m glad all over again that I’m not stuck with Silas. After a moment, I push myself back, deciding it’s time I introduce Ikar.

I gesture toward him. “This is Ikar, a Class A criminal I’m taking back to Moneyre.”

Mama Tina’s eyebrows rise high as she looks him up and down, sizing him up with pursed lips. His armor and coat are the worse for wear, torn up at the back and sleeves, add to that the dried blood on his shirt in various places. His beard is no longer a shadow, but a full week’s growth, his hair mussed, and anywhere you look on his person, there’s a weapon sheathed. Mama Tina for sure won’t like him—he’s delightfully dangerous looking. I stuff a laugh back down my throat at his expression. That dark and broody look, the one he always wears that makes my breath a little tight, adds to our cover—and his intrigue—though I know he’s not trying.

I tried to warn him that Mama Tina wouldn’t like him, so he shouldn’t appear so grumpy about it. But after eyeing him closely, Mama Tina leans in close to my ear, speaking loud and clear. “I’ll take him.”

I choke on my spit a little. “Mama Tina.” I only half-jokingly scold her with my voice, but my eyes are bright with censure. She ignores me and slips her hand around Ikar’s bicep and proceeds to pull him into her house. Rupi chirps with approval from her perch in the sitting room to the left, and I frown. What is happening?

Mama Tina is so old no one ever gets upset at her often highly inappropriate comments, or her clothing for that matter. My cheeks are hot, and I can’t look at Ikar. Instead, I eye her dress as I follow along behind them. It looks like a repurposed drape. Most fae wear beautiful clothing, I know from experience. When I turned sixteen, Mama Tina gifted me a spider-silk dress that was so delicate I’d been afraid it would fall off me if I sneezed. I’d only worn it once, but I knew it had cost a fortune. I know her tastes are nice, even elegant and expensive, but she persists in wearing bold colors and awkward fabrics. Even with all that, she’s the most elegant and beautiful woman I’ve met.

She shifts her attention to my dress over her shoulder, arm still tightly wrapped around Ikar’s. “I like the high-low design of the cut, but the animal heads are a bit much, my dear.”

If even Mama Tina thinks that’s the case, this dress is even worse than I thought. An exasperated sigh escapes, which is promptly ignored as Mama Tina smiles up at Ikar, who returns it with one of his dangerous half smiles.

She has eyes only for Ikar as she says, “I’ll show you to your rooms. Come along, Vera.”

I’m left to trail behind the two of them, who continue arm in arm. I quickly swing by Rupi’s perch to urge her on to my finger. She knows there’s another one in my room, but she side-eyes my dress with disdain before reluctantly hopping onto my finger. We start up the stairs, and I catch sight of Mama Tina laughing with Ikar, almost to the second floor. I purse my lips. Mama Tina is entirely too approving of the criminal I brought home. This is unacceptable. I march up the stairs behind them, not able to hear what Mama Tina is whispering to him as they lead the way. It’s not that I thought she’d be concerned about his criminal status, but concerned that I was alone with a criminal of his caliber. Apparently, she doesn’t care who I spend my time with as long as they look like Ikar. Good to know. I huff out a breath as we reach the landing at the top of the stairs. It’s circular with plush carpet and five doors evenly spaced around the wall in a semi-circle.

The fae look like the most delicate of creatures, but they are strong. So strong that, if they aren’t careful, their grip can shatter human bones. Along with that, they are magically-gifted with the ability to glamour their looks. Only enough that they can mask the color of their hair, eyes, clothing, and other surface layer things. I didn’t inherit those gifts, being only half fae. I also didn’t inherit the tendency toward criminal activities like the rest of them. I should have figured that Mama Tina wouldn’t mind me bringing a bounty home. He’ll fit right in.

I don’t need her to show me to my room. I know exactly which one it is, so I squeeze around them and hurry to the door as she leads Ikar to the next room over to the right.

“There is food in the kitchen, if you’re hungry.” She eyes both our overall appearances with a raised brow, “And I’ll send up a bit of healing potion.” She turns then, and the light catches her dangling peridot earings—her fae artifact. While she often glamours them to match whatever peculiar outfit she’s chosen to wear out, at home she rarely does so.

Mama Tina says over her shoulder, “Oh, and Renna arrived three days ago. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you in the morning.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief. Renna is safe. One worry down, innumerable more to go.

After a quick glance at Ikar, I quickly slip into my room and close the door behind me. Rupi immediately distances herself, flying to the gold perch complete with a small rope, a bell, small mirror, and a fancy birdseed tray. She lands on the rope that stretches from one side of the perch to the other and promptly begins to drag her small beak through her feathers, cleaning them in small motions.

I step a little further in. My room looks much the same as it did the last time I was here six months ago, but mostly, it’s how it feels. Like home. I embrace the familiarity, especially after the week I’ve had. After my parents died and Mama Tina took me in, I felt like too much of an outsider to fit in with the exclusive fae. But with Mama Tina heading the way for me, I soon became comfortable here. Along with introducing me to fae society and helping me build a life as a teen here, she’d helped me design my room, and I’ll never change it. The wood of my bed and dresser are light and elegant, all straight lines with beautiful, natural texture. Two large, floor length windows let in warm light in the mornings, and both are framed by floor length drapes that puddle on the ground elegantly. My bedspread is soft as spider silk and piled artfully with an assortment of pillows and a deep green, thick rug lies beneath my bed. I’d leap onto that tempting pile of pillows, but being within Mama Tina’s clean home, I find I can now smell my dress. I wrinkle my nose and rush into the bathroom.

Somehow, a hot bath has already been drawn. I wince as I unwind the bloodied bandage around my arm, the injury a puffy hot mess. Hopefully, with a bath and a few healing potions, it’ll be healed in no time. I strip the dress off next, making sure to arrange it in such a way that I can bathe without the animal heads staring at me and spend the next hour soaking in perfectly lovely steamy water with my favorite scented soap to wash my hair. As I dip my shoulders beneath the water, I think how tempting it is to just stay here. I never really had to leave. Mama Tina actually encouraged me to stay with her. But from the moment she learned I paid dues to the Tulips, she never seemed to approve, no matter how I tried to explain it, and I never felt right about using her generosity to pay them. Instead, I made my own way, and I paid my own dues, as it should be. She still sends my payments, though it’s with pursed lips and disapproving eyes, but I don’t complain. Admittedly, it wasn’t just my independence I was seeking when I left. There was also Drade.

I still remember when he’d returned triumphant from the challenge to be low king. The fae are the only ones who determine their low king based on pure strength and intelligence. The other kingdoms’ kings are born to their positions. We’d been courting for over a year, and he’d never told me he planned to do it. It should have been a time we celebrated together, but it was the opposite. Because he’d become a low king, he unknowingly made himself unavailable to me. I had to leave the people I’d tried so hard to become part of.

A piece of my heart still feels cracked. That was the moment I realized I didn’t truly belong anywhere. I’m not full fae, and I’m not full human. I’m a Tulip who doesn’t even quite fit in with her own magical kind, and my parents had died. I broke up with Drade on the spot, and ever since, I’ve been on the run. I’m not friends with kings. I don’t date them, and I don’t marry them. I’m a Tulip, and that would never be okay. I donned men’s clothing for protection and gave up on romance. That was years ago now, but I still wish I’d handled the situation better. I know I’d hurt both him and Mama Tina in my rush to leave. While I’ve made things right with Mama Tina, I don’t plan to have that chat with Drade.

When the water cools, I step out and wrap myself in a fluffy robe. It appears that during my bath, a silver tray with three bottles of healing potion was delivered and sits, waiting, on my dresser. I rush toward it, prying open the cork of the first one with my teeth, holding out my arm, and carefully dousing the injury with it. It sizzles and pops, but there’s no pain, merely a fuzzy, warm feeling. It smells like vanilla and warm berries. I sigh in relief as Ikar’s careful stitches are closed and the thread loosened by the liquid until I can pull it away painlessly. I use up the other two bottles to get it completely healed, but when I’m finished, only the smallest hint of a thin scar remains. I press my lips together, not sure how I feel about a permanent reminder of that night. My cheeks warm at the thought of it.

I pull the robe sleeve down my arm to cover it and head to a tall wardrobe that sits in the corner of the room, opening the long doors which swing out to either side and revealing several evening gowns. Along the bottom, beneath the dresses, is a large drawer. I pull it open, and my eyes track across the unique assortment of items I’ve gathered to stock the shelves of the shop I hope to open. This is only a portion, the rest stored in a room here in Mama Tina’s house. I frown, thinking of the beautiful comb nestled safely inside my pack. The pack that is currently lost somewhere in the shift forest, along with my only weapons. I sigh. No clothes, no pack, and no weapons. My stomach turns, thinking of asking Mama Tina for a loan. I groan, almost shoving the drawer shut, but my eyes catch on my mother’s journal and the book that she used to read to me set inside a couple of nested fancy painted bowls at the bottom of the drawer. I grab the books, then close the drawer and turn to sit on the wood floor with the wardrobe against my back.

Rupi flutters from her perch by the window and hops into the folds of my robe as I open the journal to a page in the middle where a bookmark of pressed flowers is still where my mother left it and smile. She was known for her green thumb. Around our home, the plants grew lush and abundant, the trees wide and tall, nearly engulfing our small house. I wonder what she would tell me about Ikar. Would I find advice about how to manage wayward feelings in these pages? I read small parts here and there, some about plants, some about healing. Most of which she had already taught me. It’s all very practical, nothing about feelings or dating or what to do when you find yourself crushing on a criminal. I sigh and flip to the beginning where she’d written the stories that she’d told me at night.

One was a powerful story of Lucentia, the goddess of lucent magic. It was the kind of story that every young girl loves to hear. Lucentia was a revered woman, said to be the embodiment of magic. The image on the left side of the page catches my eye. Lucentia, the woman the Black Tulips are named for. At least, that’s the way my mother portrayed her in an intricate sketch, using the description that was passed down through the ages. A woman in a beautiful black dress faces the side of the page, her golden hair tumbling down a shoulder to reveal the black tulip mark at the base of her neck. Black tulips and the whitest of small, fluffy birds fill the rest of the page around her, a woven crown of black tulips around her head and a white lucent orb in her hand.

Rupi hops onto the page and attempts to gently peck at the woman. She’s always loved this story. I trace a finger over one of the birds. They look so similar to Rupi, but I’ve never seen another one like her with my own eyes. My gaze then moves to the woman’s profile. I tilt my head in thought. It seems I have nothing in common with this legend. The woman in this picture appears elegant, the set of her shoulders sure and confident. I practically feel her power emanate from the page. I twist my lips to the side, feeling small. Definitely not how I’d describe myself.

Lucentia made a deal with the kings, but no details were ever written in this book, and I wonder what they could have been. Nothing good, I assume, since Tulips are now a hated bunch. We are the pigeons among doves. Whatever she’d done must have been horrible.

I wait until Rupi hops away from the page and shut the journal, then pick up the bound book that I’d been given as a Black Tulip. I open to the middle of the book, and my chest tightens at the black and white picture. A terrifyingly beautiful woman with a black tulip proudly displayed on her neck is depicted with her foot atop her king’s head as a numberless crowd of his people bow to her. At her side is a tall figure cloaked in black and smoky wisps and clouds of magic waft around their forms. It really is creepy. Rupi pecks aggressively at the page, ripping a corner away.

“We don’t peck books, Rupi,” I scold. She knows better, so I frown at her for good measure.

I scoop her up and set her on the floor. I’d read the story before and chose not to revisit it. That’s the story the Originators used to turn the kings against us. The vision the supposed seer saw. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but it’s generally accepted as such. I flip to another page. This one has a picture of a frail looking Black Tulip engulfed in a plant prison, her face gaunt and hollow, a symbolic bridge of flowers connecting her and the king, who turns a key in a lock, sucking the life from her. Rupi chirps angrily and flaps her wings until she’s back on my lap and pecks again at the page, making small indentations even with her stubby beak, then her feathers burst into sharp quills, sticking into the page. When she won’t stop, I finally lift it away and slam it shut.

“Fine. I won’t read it.”

Her feathers return to normal, and she takes a moment to fluff them indignantly, then she flies back to her perch to shuffle across the gold bar and stare at herself in the mirror. I shake my head at her antics. Moody, like I said.

I move to my knees and place the books back in the trunk and close the latch. But though I shut the books and put them away, the reminder is still there. I climb into bed and pull the covers up to my chin. This is why we don’t trust kings and why I can’t wait until I don’t call myself an Originator any longer.