Chapter 34
Floral Intricacies
M y heels sank into the silken sand underfoot as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I unlaced the delicate shoes and slipped my feet out. Even though a waning Fenorryn, the second moon, stood alone, he was still bright enough to cast our shadows on the beach, which was bright with reflection.
Slow waves churned against the shore, and in the distance, the white tops of the cresting water carved lines across the dark expanse—it was the only discernible detail in this dim lighting.
I caught Endymion drinking me in.
“What is it?” I asked, unable to bear the weight of his gaze.
“It’s just…seeing you experience things for the first time fills me with a sense of warmth I’m not sure I’ve felt before. It’s a different kind of happiness to witness someone else’s wonderment, and not something us fae encounter often—if at all.”
“Why not?”
“Simply put, when you’re immortal, there comes a point in time when you’ve experienced almost everything, and unless you’re surrounded by children, you’re with other immortals whose zest for life has dulled over time. Experiencing things, exploring, wondering, searching, finding—it’s rare.”
“It must be sad to live a life without hope.” Nevander had even said as much, and I supposed even immortality had a cost.
“Perhaps that’s how some experience it. But I think it’s more the spark within you, the light of life, the fiery passion, your tenacity… That combination is foreign, possibly forgotten, among us immortals. I think that’s the part of you that unnerves others. Belief, faith, and wonderment could all be seen as forms of magic in their own right, should you be looking close enough.”
My heart skipped a beat— spark . For him to choose that exact word…
“But it doesn’t frighten you ?” I asked.
“No. I don’t fear you, Nyleeria. I believe you’ve intersected with our lives by the stars, the Mother, and perhaps even the gods, to teach us something. To remind us of our own humanity, as you call it.”
I took him in. How he saw things, how he saw me … It was a beautiful way of thinking. Perhaps he had wonderment of his own to share with the world. I stood there, speechless, thinking over what he’d just expressed. How right he was about my spark unnerving others, but how wrong he was as to why. Then again, maybe he was more right than either of us knew.
“I’ve never trained in the dark,” I admitted, changing the subject.
“You’re nervous,” Endymion said with a soft chuckle.
“I don’t understand, how can fae detect such things?”
“You know we have heightened senses, yes?”
I nodded.
“Do you know what they are?”
“No.”
“But you’ve hunted before.”
“Yes.”
“And you understand the predators of your land?”
“Of course. ”
“Well, our senses are like that of a predator. Our ears can detect subtle changes in heartbeats. When you’re nervous, your heartbeat flutters at a faster pace; now, this could also indicate other things, such as fear—but combined with your scent, I can tell it’s nerves.”
“You can smell emotions?”
“Yes.”
“All emotions?”
“Yes.” He chuckled, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Does every emotion have the same scent, even in different people, or does it vary?”
“Everyone has their own distinct fragrance, but emotions in general have a signature as unique as each flower, some sweet and pleasant, others soft and almost nonexistent, and some acrid.” His nose crinkled at the last word. “For example, when we were in the hallway, you went from anger, which is akin to hot, stale summer air, to cold fury, which smells of hoarfrost.”
“You can smell hoarfrost?”
He smiled. “We can smell everything, but our auditory senses are better than our olfactory ones, namely because we can hear something before we can smell it. Being in close proximity to someone always gives us more information.”
“So, Amos could smell my terror, but my heartbeat told him something contrary?”
Endymion gave me a pained look, hesitating before he answered. “Yes and no. The thing is, Nyleeria, your scent can be…confusing.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Okay, pretend your eyes are closed and you’ve been given a bouquet of flowers. Typically, when someone is emoting, it’s a single scent, as if the whole bouquet were roses. One sniff and you can identify them as such, but not what color they are, that’s what your eyes are for—and, in our case, ears. When you combine the two, you’re sure of what’s in front of you or of what emotion someone is experiencing.” He paused, making sure I was following, and I nodded for him to continue .
“Now, pretend your eyes are closed again. You’re given a different bouquet; only this one has too many varietals to discern by scent alone. Yes, some give themselves away, like lilies, but the undertones make you certain that it’s not the only one present. Upon opening your eyes, you’re surprised to find a set of white roses. So, based on scent alone, you know your eyes are deceiving you, or your sense of smell is, or that there’s something wrong with these roses—for they aren’t exhibiting the normal qualities of roses at all.”
I latched onto his every word, fascinated at how beautifully complex it all was.
“Sometimes, like in the hallway, your scent is simple, or one type of flower. Other times, like when you addressed Wymond, it’s a complicated bouquet of emotions that are nearly impossible to disentangle. None of us were with you when Amos held you at the ball; however, I suspect he picked out terror from your complicated bouquet, but couldn’t confirm it with your heartbeat. With you, two of our most powerful senses are at odds, meaning we’re blind to your emotions—particularly when they’re complicated. We’re confident in our senses, which have been honed over centuries. So, when we have to decide if our senses are deceiving us, or if what’s being presented is, we’re prone to assume the latter—because the rose in front of us isn’t acting like a rose at all.”
“Oh,” I breathed, my mind reorienting to this new information. He’d described it in a way that allowed me to truly understand how they felt around me. It would be unnerving to look at a bouquet of roses and know in your bones that they weren’t supposed to be roses at all. This didn’t excuse any of their behavior, but I could appreciate that feeling, even if there was nothing I could do about it. Maybe it was because of the spark, or maybe this was just me.
“Yeah,” he agreed, giving me a soft smile as he let out a small sigh.
“And my companions aren’t like that? This isn’t just a human thing?” I asked.
“No, it’s not. You feel more emotions at once than I think any of your companions have shown in their lives. In fact, you can tell they are trained warriors from how they don’t allow emotion to surface.”
I heaved a deep sigh and shook my head, unwilling to process it all.
“Endymion?”
“Yes, Nyleeria?”
“May we please throw some blades now?”
Delight crossed his features.
Endymion turned me to face the tree line, the waves now at our backs. With a slight movement of his hands, targets made of shimmering light floated in the air. My eyes widened, and I looked toward him. He smirked, and this display of magic wasn’t even a fraction of the power he could wield. My own source rumbled in response, and I willed it back to sleep. She couldn’t come out—not today, anyway.
“Seven-inch blade?” he asked.
“Six-inch, double-edged, blade-heavy.”
He raised his brows, and that smirk appeared again. “Six-inch, double-edged, blade-heavy, it is, then.”
Out of thin air, a bandolier of blades appeared in his hand. He held it out, offering it to me. I hesitated for a moment, remembering I was still wearing a very tight gown, but I’d be damned if I was this close to blades and didn’t throw them. At least the nylon would stretch with my movements, and all the targets were forward facing, meaning I didn’t have to worry about tripping over my skirts.
My hand dipped from the bandolier’s unexpected weight as I accepted it. Holding it up revealed nearly double the number of blades mine could hold. It was far too big for me, but I’d manage. I slipped it over my head and let it fall across my body. I must have looked like a toddler wearing their father’s boots, but damn did the weight feel good.
“This is your bandolier?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I was surprised that the blades faced the proper way for me.
“So, you’re a southpaw, but you throw right? ”
He grinned. “Never know when you need to throw a punch and a blade.”
I rolled my eyes at his answer, so male, then focused on the targets.
Shifting into my throwing stance, I twisted my lower body digging my feet deeper into the sand. I preferred firmer ground, but I would make this work. I blindly felt down the leather with my fingers, getting acquainted with the new setup—how far the blades were from each other, what angle they lay on, how they’d be harder to free toward the bottom. Accounting for the oversized bandolier shifting as I threw, I’d have to take advantage of the double setting, pulling back and forth one layer at a time as opposed to working my way down and then up again. Still, I’d probably have to use a hand to hold it in place as I moved down—meaning I’d have to move faster than usual to rebalance as I went from pulling to throwing.
Feeling ready, I stared down the targets and took in a deep cathartic breath, allowing the world to melt away.
It was just me, the cool metal between my fingers, and the targets.
With a flick of my wrist, I let the first blade fly.
Oxygen. Throwing blades was as easy as breathing. It didn’t matter how long I’d been away from it, every fiber of my being remembered. I was sure, certain, unwavering, confident…full.
Grab. Throw. Thunk. Grab. Throw. Thunk. Again and again and again. The air whined into the silence as the force of the blades cut through in pursuit of their quarry. One after another, the targets were snuffed out until my hand went to pull another blade, only to come up empty.
All the targets were gone, along with the blades.
I took another deep, satisfied breath and stood up tall, tilted my head toward the glittering stars, and thanked the gods for this moment—this grounding, life-giving moment. My heart pounded, and my lungs greedily pulled in air. It had been a while since I’d exerted myself like this. Too long .
“Thank you,” I whispered into the darkness, still staring up at the stars.
“Again?” Endymion asked.
Normally, I would have jumped at the opportunity to continue to throw, but in this moment, I was satisfied, happy. And with that realization, the exhaustion I’d held at bay took over.
“No,” I said, my voice weak. “I want to go back.”
Without a word, the bandolier vanished, and Endymion held out his hand for me, then valenned us to the doors of the villa.
“Endymion,” I said softly, releasing his hand.
“Yes, Nyleeria?” he said, echoing my tone.
“What I said about humanity…” I held his gaze, showing him my truth. “I’m sorry. Thank you for tonight.” My gratitude extended beyond the knife throwing to the kindness he’d shown me at dinner. The way he’d absorbed my anger but hadn’t taken it personally. His graceful patience as he’d explained his kin to me so that I might understand. All of it.
“Until next time, Nyleeria,” he said, then valenned away.