Heir of Stardust and Secrets (Mythic Spark #1)

23. The Secrets of a Heartbeat

Chapter 23

The Secrets of a Heartbeat

T he king caught my eye from across the way as I reentered. He exchanged a nod with Tarrin before giving me a questioning look.

Are you okay? it asked.

Yes , I nodded to him. I could tell he wanted to disengage from the group huddled around him and come to me, but he seemed bound to the conversation.

I was making my way through the crowd to join him when a large figure stepped in my path, halting me. Tarrin tensed beside me.

“I will have this dance,” the stranger said and held out a hand to me. It wasn’t a request. I stopped myself from turning to Tarrin—or cringing away. Something about the fae’s command let me know I had no other option. Reluctantly, I placed my palm in his, and we made our way to the dance floor.

His hand was freezing, and I wasn’t sure if I was flushed from the evening activities or if he was somehow that cold. Maybe it was a combination. The fae parted for the male who led me away from Tarrin, and as we reached the center of the room, the music halted. Within heartbeats, the dancers’ steps faltered as their eyes locked on the two of us before they made for the sides, leaving me alone with the stranger in the middle of the dance floor.

At his first step, the music began as if on some silent cue. It was a beautiful number, to be sure, but moodier, somehow darker than the melodies that’d filled the evening.

The fae’s grip was firm, possibly more than was necessary, and he held me close enough that I smelled crisp morning air and pine—two of my favorite things. I filled my lungs with the refreshing scent, which was at odds with the unfriendly male it came from.

“You smell beautiful,” I found myself saying.

His piercing eyes narrowed. “And what is it you think I smell of?” he demanded.

“Crisp morning air with a deep, woody undertone only found in the heart of the forest.” I held his gaze, unfazed by his tone and stare.

“And how do you know such things, Ny-leer-ia?” The way he said my name, dragging out all three syllables, left a vile taste in my mouth that put me on edge. I needed to find my footing, and fast.

“How do I know what you smell like?” I asked, pretending every part of me wasn’t prickling in warning. He just stared, waiting for an answer. “I supposed the same as anyone else; I used my nose.” His question was ridiculous, but then again, I wasn’t sure how these things worked—maybe I shouldn’t be able to scent him.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

I took in the biting cold of his hand, his icy demeanor, his eyes, and took a half-second to compose myself.

“The High Lord of Winter,” I said. “Although you’ll forgive me for not knowing your name, High Lord.” I inclined my head slightly as we continued dancing.

“Names are powerful things among the fae. We rarely share our full names; some even forget their family name over time.” He spun me away from him, then pulled me back in a fluid, if not demanding, motion. “My name is Amos, and yes, little human, I am the high lord of the Winter Court.” His proclamation had an edge to it that sent a whispered warning through me from that primordial power: tread lightly .

“Did you know, Nyleeria, that your heartbeat doesn’t increase when you’re afraid? In fact, it drops quite substantially.” I was at a loss. Was such a thing even possible? I’d have to add his observation to the long list of things I needed to reconcile.

“You can tell how fast my heart is beating?”

He nodded.

“How?”

“We can hear such things.” His tone was clipped, impatient.

“Truly?”

He didn’t respond, clearly uninterested in my questions. Fine, I’d dance this precarious line with him. “And what theories do you have on the matter, Lord Amos?” I asked, willing calm into my voice.

“It has me wondering why, instead of fearing one of the most powerful beings on Lumnara—one who could easily end your life—you breath in my scent, and it soothes you. It has me wondering why when you felt the biting cold of my hand, you didn’t immediately pull away. It has me wondering why in a land so strange to you, with so much magic in the room, so many predators, your heartbeat does not falter for a moment. But most importantly, Ny-leer-ia,” he whispered in my ear, “it makes me wonder why you are similar to your companions and yet wholly different.” He sent me back out and spun me around before locking his eyes on me again, expectantly.

Unsure of the answers myself, I stayed mute, and not entirely out of choice.

“What do you have to say to me?” the high lord demanded, and I could feel the prickling again. I understood then what I’d missed; it wasn’t my fear that rippled that sensation through me earlier—it was him rallying his powers.

This wasn’t working. Changing tact, I looked him directly in the eyes, letting him know that I was not some simpering human who would crumble at the unspoken accusations he flung my way.

“I’d say that none of those are theories,” I challenged.

Anger flared in his eyes and his magic pounced.

In an instant, silence enveloped me, like the profound hush of snow-covered mountains that turn trees into mere skeletons adorned in glittering white. Whatever he’d done, it sucked the music into its depths, leaving me in that cold, deafening silence.

Releasing his grip, I surveyed my surroundings for an exit. Yet, as a cocoon of biting cold encased us, forcing me to pop my ears, a thick fog swallowed the festivities beyond, as if winter herself had wiped it out of existence.

Mist bounced harmlessly off the exterior of the dome, which meant two things: the high lord wanted to see me clearly, and he didn’t want any witnesses.

The biting cold stung against my exposed skin, and my breaths slowly rose in billows of white mist. Still, I stood tall, holding my ground as that inner purr of mine rumbled. I soothed it back to sleep—awakening it would do me no favors, especially knowing that I wouldn’t survive should I reveal myself to a high lord.

I yearned to rub warmth back into my arms, but revealing any weakness was out of the question. If my heartbeat couldn’t betray my emotions, then I wasn’t inclined to offer him any information he could use against me, including my fear.

“What, exactly, is it that you want from me, High Lord?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“You know, I never did like it when humans were considered one of us, sharing our food and our celebrations. Do you know why the humans don’t know about our kind, Nyleeria?” he sneered. “There was a great spell that wiped us—or shall I say, magic—from your weak minds.”

I didn’t so much as breathe.

“That spell is the only reason you humans were allowed to continue your pathetic existence.” He said the word humans with so much vitriol that I had to fight the compulsion to step back.

Taking a step forward, Amos’ eyes narrowed as he stared me down. “Tell me why you’re here, Nyleeria,” he demanded, and it almost sounded as if his voice were inside my head. “Tell me now!” The ground rumbled, and wisps of fog came into the bubble, surrounding me. I would have moved, but there was no escaping what he had planned for me.

“Answer me, human,” he said, and as if he’d given a silent order, the mist banded around me and changed form.

I bit back a scream as searing pain ripped through me from a band tightened around my neck, emitting a sinister hiss as it connected with my flesh. Another ensnared my body, echoing the same chilling sound, pinning my arms to my sides. Before I could react to the onslaught, more wisps slid from the ground, winding tightly around my bare legs. It was everything I could do to deny him the pleasure of hearing my torment.

With every inch the high lord closed between us, the bands grew tighter and, if possible, colder until a wet, choking sound left me as I tried to take a breath. The side of his mouth quirked up in response and a tear rolled down my cheek.

“Now, now, Nyleeria,” he crooned. “None of that.” Amos gently blew on the rogue tear, freezing it in place.

I panicked, but the second I did, the power inside me screamed to be unleashed. I couldn’t give it what it wanted. There was no other choice but to yield fully to his power and allow myself to accept it. If I were to push, to fight, I would surely die and possibly doom my companions to the same fate. No, I had to stay strong—I couldn’t have more lives on my conscience.

Reaching for the part of me that was connected to Amos and relished Caius’ unbridled power, I allowed myself to caress, and love, and embrace winter’s beauty and every majestically wonderful thing she offered.

Glittering snow accentuated by a cloudless sky.

Quietude.

The joy of that first snowfall.

Awe at a single snowflake’s intricacies.

Cozying up by the fire.

The tear thawed and continued to slide down my face until it hissed in protest when it reached the icy band around my neck.

Amos’ eyes widened, and the bonds tightened in response. Its grip hurt, but without the cold holding power over me, they were tolerable—for now.

In the same instant, we noticed my strained breaths no longer billowed, somehow becoming as invisible as the high lord’s.

Rage filled his piercing eyes, and he constricted the bands again, silently repeating, Tell me, human .

It was good, though…the tightening. Any further, and I would surely pass out. At least that way, this would stop, and I wouldn’t be forced to betray the truth. No doubt the high lord had forgotten over the centuries that human bodies were frail, that darkness would fall over me soon enough.

Amos did as expected, punishing me for my silence, and as blackness encroached on my vision, I saw a blinding light—then nothing.

My laborious attempts to gasp air into my lungs rang out in the silent celebration hall. Dark speckles danced in my vision as I pried myself off the ground, only making it to my elbows before collapsing again.

I felt the presence of someone close to me and flinched away as their shadow extended toward me.

“Don’t touch her.” The king’s order filled the room, and the shadow halted.

Within seconds, Thaddeus was at my side. “Nyleeria,” he said, his gentle, questioning voice filled with concern and horror. He placed a hand on my back, and a relieved sob escaped me—alive, I was alive.

In a swift movement, I was in his warm, steady arms, head resting against his chest, faintly aware of my surroundings and who stared at us.

“What did he do to her?” the king asked the high lord of the Summer Court in a cool, steady tone .

“Let’s go somewhere private,” Caius said, and without a second thought we were valenned away.

Now sitting on a healer’s bed, I looked down at the purple lines that marred my arms where the bonds had held me, then noticed my stomach bore similar markings where the fabric of my dress had been burned away.

“Are you okay?” the king asked as he slid a gentle hand across my cheek.

“Huuaaaa.” The breathed-in rasp was all I could manage, and I instinctively touched my throat, wincing in pain. I’d expected to feel dampness, given I’d been ensnared by ice magic, but as I drew my hand back, I couldn’t help but stare at the sticky crimson staining my fingers. I rested my hand on my chest and felt the diamond pendant. I looked down, registering the bloody handprint across my chest, and rested it on the clean, crisp linens.

“O…rry,” I scratched out, trying to apologize for getting the necklace dirty.

“King Thaddeus,” Myron said with great tenderness.

The king stood up from his kneeling position next to me and met the high lord head-on.

“One of my gifts as the high lord of the Spring Court is healing,” he said, looking down at me and then back up at Thaddeus, the implication clear. “If you’ll allow it, I can mend her wounds.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

I reached up to grab the king’s attention.

“No,” he said again.

“E…ase,” I begged.

I held his gaze in a silent plea, and a flicker of pain crossed his features. He knelt next to me again and held my hand.

“Okay,” he relented.

“Aaa…lone,” I said, straining as much as I could to make sure they understood the broken word. The king held my gaze, then squeezed my hand before standing up and ushering everyone out of the room .

He glanced back at me before crossing the threshold to the hallway, and his look seemed to ask, Are you sure?

I nodded, and heard the door click behind him.

Myron stepped forward, hands raised as if to begin.

I don’t know how, but some small part of me knew what would happen if I allowed him to do as he wished. Weakly, I fumbled for his wrist, the contact making a small smacking sound. He looked down, then met my gaze, questioning.

Releasing my grip, I gestured to my throat, wanting him to heal it enough so I could speak. He understood, and the soft caress of his magic obliged.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice weak but free of the stilted, acidic gurgle that had choked my words moments before. Then, more firmly, I said, “Go no deeper than the injuries dictate.”

Surprise flashed across his features, but to his credit, he didn’t question me; he merely nodded and readied himself.

I found the complexity of Myron’s healing magic unexpected. Initially, it bathed me in a comforting warmth reminiscent of a fast-acting tonic, but as his powers delved deeper, seeking out my wounds, the sensation shifted. It felt akin to someone rubbing hot coals into an open, festering wound. The sharpness drew tears from my eyes, but just as quickly, the sensation was replaced by a gentle, itchy tingling before settling into soothing relief.

His powers went deeper then, as if to probe my mind.

“Stop,” I ordered.

His eyes flared with shock before he schooled his features. “Sorry,” he said, having the good sense to sound abashed. “I was curious about what happened… I’m sorry.”

With a curt nod, I said, “If you’re done, let the others in and I’ll explain.”

My gratitude for his healing was oiled with agitation, and a splintered fragment of my heart was angry that he’d tainted my first true experience with magic by weaving in a thread of mistrust.

He nodded, and with a flick of the wrist, the door opened.

Chivalry well intact, Fiora entered the room first. She stole a quick glance in my direction, and a look of distaste crinkled her soft features.

“Myron,” she said, shifting that distaste toward the high lord before sweeping a hand in my direction.

Her magic, as soft and gentle as her, settled on me. The bloodstains faded, and the dress mended itself until it was as good as new.

Myron gave her an apologetic look, and then all eyes turned to me.

“What happened, Nyleeria?” Caius’ voice was that of the high lord once more, all traces of the familiarity we’d shared during our dance now gone. I could tell from his eyes that rage was burning deep within him, not directed at me but at what had happened.

I sat up and took a moment before answering, trying to collect myself. “I was on my way back to the king with Tarrin, and then he stopped me. Ordered me onto the dance floor. Amos, I mean,” I clarified, trying to rein in my racing thoughts. “While we danced, he spoke about my heartbeat, how there’s something wrong with it, then pelted me with questions that I just…I couldn’t answer, even if I wanted to. He made his hatred for humans clear, telling me it stemmed from before some spell that wiped magic from our memories. Then, when he wasn’t satisfied with what I had to say, he encased us in some sort of…bubble. It felt like we’d been transported to a wholly different place. He demanded to know who I was and why I was here, and when I had nothing to offer him, he tortured me. The next thing I remember is lying on the dance floor.”

My voice had remained steady, if not stilted, but as I finished, a tear betrayed me and slid down my cheek. The king reached to wipe it away, but I flinched, knowing instantly what I’d revealed. The energy of the room went taut in understanding.

Fiora stepped closer to me. “Nyleeria, hon, what exactly did Amos do to you?”

“I think it was abundantly clear,” I said, raising my healed wrists in demonstration .

Caius went to open his mouth, but the king interrupted him. “That’s enough.”

The message was clear—we were done talking about it. Which I was grateful for. I couldn’t handle them staring down at me with their pitying looks.

Without a second thought, I stood up, smoothing out my magically mended dress. Slackened faces stared back at me. With the healing, I felt good enough, and I wanted to busy my mind—perfectly content to pretend like it had never happened and lock it away in the same vault that held my grief and hope.

“What are you doing?” Tarrin asked after a moment, the only one brave enough to voice what everyone else was thinking.

“Well, I’m fine, and this is about celebrating Lord Caius and the Summer Court. So”—I sighed—“I’m going back to do just that, celebrate. It’s been over five hundred years, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let a few scrapes and bruises get in the way of this momentous occasion.”

I didn’t give them a chance to object, or for me to change my mind, and strode toward the door.