Chapter 4

Year 1, 552 of the Human Era

Fifteen years passed

Malaya smiled as she watched her youngest daughter swim before her, her small face alight with a beauty she had not yet grown into. She was laughing and waving to her pod-mates – it was a joyous day for all. The day that the young myrmaids completed their training with their pod-mates, having completed learning the basics of rune-casting and the art of fighting.

As her daughter moved towards her, she idly wondered what Craft Aelarra would choose. She'd not given either of her parents any clue as to what she would do. Unlike Varenya, who had Chosen rune-casting straight out of the pods – she had always known what she was going to do, and she had apprenticed under one of the most powerful Master Rune-casters in the Kingdom, with Malaya teaching her extra when she could. Aelarra would not Choose the Warrior's path, Malaya knew that much. She had little aptitude for weapons, not as Chanda had. She had not the stunning sirens song that Mykaela had; nor had she the sharp diplomatic mind that Kairavi had.

No, Malaya's carefree youngest child would be a puzzle who could only figure herself out.

For she was filled with a burning curiosity, a sense of adventure that shone as brightly as her raw, untapped power. Malaya knew that the young myrmaid could be even more powerful than herself given the training.

She was the youngest daughter of the powerful Myrfolk king and his rune-casting wife, and there was no limits to what she would be able to do.

She was destined for great things.

….

Year 1, 567 of the Human Era

Present

Malaya did not stop the smile that curled the corners of her full lips, let those that watched her think it was pleasure that caused such an expression. And though it had been hundreds of moons since she had walked upon the Drylands she knew that the humans had spared no expense. She knew that the spun-crystal glasses were from the far east Empire of Kiish, each one was worth perhaps 100 pieces of gold. Hundreds of those torches lined the walls, leaving nothing in the vast halls to the imagination, from the fine stitching on the ladies' gowns and their tightly coiled hair dripping with gemstones to the intricate carvings on the tall pillars.

Myrfolk carvings.

A myrfolk building.

Did the humans know the true history of their great Floating City? Or had they rewritten that history as well? As she cast her gaze around the room, her eyes rested upon the raised dais – upon which four thrones stood, made of oak wood and lined with gold. The musicians played a light tune, the flutes and string instruments winding a pretty melody that floated around the room.

Her eyes flickered to Aryan, her devoted husband, by her side. She could feel female eyes following him, and there was no doubt as to why. There was no singular feature that made him so handsome, though perhaps it could have been his eyes. She had always heard the ladies of the Myr Court and the Apprentice Rune-casters sighing about the colour of his eyes – the shining colour betwixt blue and green. He was a beautiful man, his chocolate and aqua hair pushed back neatly by the golden shell crown, his dark brows accentuated by the diamond that sat between them. His jaw was finely chiselled, his nose perfectly straight, his skin the most perfect honey-gold that his daughters had inherited.

His eyes held her own, so she smiled for him; a habit.

The air was heavy with magik; she could feel it pressing gently upon her, sending a thrill through her entire body. It was almost as if the air itself was alive with the crackling energy of so much potential. Her magik-feeling was humming in response to the rune-spells carved into the walls, responding to the fae in the room.

They drifted silently to one of the unoccupied tables in the shadow of the large pillars. She glanced at him sidelong as they walked – he cut an imposing and powerful figure in his gold-scale armour and sea-green cloak.

Her periwinkle gown pooled about her as she sat, her deep blue eyes that were so like Varenya's watched everything carefully.

So many different races in the one room.

She cast her gaze once more about the room and saw a few fae drifting to the centre of the room, swaying gently to the soft harmonious music. She watched their unearthly grace almost enviously, their movements fluid and calm like water – there was nothing primal about them, nothing animal – nothing to hint that for the past century they had ran wild without their King. But still the humans skirted the area that they danced – even those humans too young to truly remember the bloodshed that came before the Fae King's time.

The dance was simple to her eyes, nothing compared to the endless twirls and handwheels that Mykaela liked to perform while she was on land. The fae twirled slowly about each other in slow circles before flicking their legs outwards, rising up on their toes and touching hands briefly and spinning in towards each other. Malaya watched, mesmerised. It was in the simplicity of the dance that lay its beauty, she realised. The fae moved as if they were simply dancing upon air, though their gossamer wings lay still.

She sighed and looked around the room once more – the human palace did not compare with the beauty of the World Below, but she could see the laughter and joy in the faces of the ladies' present. And she could feel the humans' runes in the room; runes for protection, for unveiling. Runes that could not be activated by any fae; and if they were strong enough, could kill any fae who tried to undo them. And she did not blame the human king for arming his guards with silver-tipped weapons.

"What do you think of, my dear?" Aryan's voice was a deep rumble that reverberated through her body. Powerful.

….

She did not want to be there, he knew.

Aryan's gaze followed his wife's to where the Fae King and Queen stood with their knights. He was curious about the Fae Queen, an unknown woman who had ruled by Adamyr's side for the six years passed – before that it was as if she had not existed. But he could see why the king had been drawn to her so; she was a beauty, with her masses of wild auburn curls and her creamy skin. All soft curves and smiles, he could see there was a fire deep within her. Perhaps it was why her wings were like flames, a burning blue near her bare shoulder blades, purple and red towards the tips.

Her hands were curled protectively around the child who slept in her arms.

They were fortunate that they had an Heir already – for unlike the humans, sometimes it took centuries for the fae to conceive.

King Adamyr was as striking as his wife, with his sun-kissed skin and golden-chestnut hair; his gold wings like sails behind him. And his golden eyes, like those of a lion, watching everything. He looked almost the image of his father, save for his eyes. They were from his mother, Queen Haviira.

He was not at all how Mykaela had described him – after she had attended a ball after the Fae had first re-opened his Court she had reported everything to him. Not physically at least – his golden wings were not tattered, his feet and hands not gold-taloned. But he could feel the power that she described; not power in a magikal sense, not entirely. No, it was more than that; it was a presence, a sense of being and surety.

Gone was the arrogant, shallow prince he had once been.

Gone was the Fae King who had disappeared for a century and let his Kingdom fall to the humans.

He was a true king, in every sense of the word.

Perhaps that was what had Malaya's deep blue eyes narrowed in consternation – watching the Fae Queen who radiated magik.

"She is dangerous."

….

Aelarra stared in wide-eyed wonder about her. She was loathe to leave the ball inside, but she had glimpsed the beautiful gardens just beyond the ring of candlelight from the open windows – she had heard the soft lapping of the waves upon the steps.

And she'd not expected the Fae Queen to take her arm with a soft smile; as if they'd known each other for years. They wove through the revelries, walking through the wide-open doors that lead to the balcony and the sweeping stairs that descended into the picturesque gardens.

Aelarra let Lavanya lead her through the tranquil paths, with the blossoming flowers that turned their silvery petals towards the Fae Queen as they walked past. A fountain bubbled somewhere to their right as they passed a series of low benches, where the members of the Human Court would lounge around during the day, soaking up the gentle sunlight.

Flames flickered along the bath, in tall torches that cast small patches of warm colour over the moon-bleached flowers. She looked up to the sky, where the moon hung like an ever-watchful eye.

"Careful," Lavanya said softly, pulling her backwards softly. She opened her mouth to protest at the mistreatment, but two women stumbled through the bushes onto the path, in the very spot where she had been standing the moment before. The women laughed softly.

"We did not mean to interrupt, ladies," the fae said with a small bow and a grin, her flame-like wings fluttering behind her. At another time Aelarra would have admired the woman's quick thoughts, but she could do nothing but stare at the sight before her.

The fae before her grinned, her lips of molten silver turning upwards to reveal her sharp canine teeth. Her hair was like starlight, a messy tumble that fell past her waist, her hands gripping the slender waist of the woman whose eyes blinked in an almost-haze. She did not blink at the chocolate-and-aqua curls that fell to the small of the woman's waist, but the soft kisses that she was pressing against the neck of the other woman.

Oh my…

A vampyre and a myrmaid.

Her eyes darted to Lavanya, unsure of where to place her eyes when the hands of the myrmaid had slipped down over the smooth flesh of the other's thigh. There was a sharp intake of breath and a low growl.

The vampyre with locks like woven starlight tugged on the hand of the other with a wink at Aelarra, pulling her lover further into the gardens, towards the trees – a pretty patch of contained wilderness. She understood the emotions that had shone in the eyes of the two fae, raw and powerful.

"Well that was strange," Lavanya commented, her tone casual whilst Aelarra stared at the spot that had been vacated, a single slipper left on the ground. Forgotten.

"I'll say," the young myrmaid spluttered out, her face scarlet. In her mind's eye she could still see the way the gown had slipped off the shoulder of one of the women, revealing the succulent flesh beneath and the slight scratch marks over her shoulder blade.

"Vampyre's aren't normally favoured as bed partners by your folk," the fae laughed.

Her tinkling laughter drifted around Aelarra as she moved onwards, out of the light cast by the flickering torch. It didn't take long for the young myrmaid to recover, shaking her head with a laugh.

Lavanya's path through the gardens was seemingly aimless, their footsteps light as the music from the open windows that drifted over them, laughter and voices part of the beautiful sound. Whispered conversations tickled her ears, lovers hidden from sight by the sweeping roots of the great oak trees that surrounded the gardens. She wondered idly if Mykaela was amongst them; if it was her sisters drawn out sigh that she heard, or perhaps the delighted giggle of the human she had enraptured. The image of the two women locked in a passionate embrace surged through her mind.

Her cheeks flared.

Pausing under the sweeping branches of an oak tree, she looked upwards at the Great Wall. The dark, looming walls which were always patrolled. A cage within a cage. She glanced sidelong at the fae who seemed lost in her own thoughts. A beautiful gilded cage, but a cage nonetheless.

"This is a beautiful city," Lavanya said softly as she took a seat on a long marble bench, the plush cushions moulding themselves to her body. It was as if the Fae Queen could read her mind. Or perhaps she was trying to tell her something. "The Floating City of Albaa is one of the most beautiful in the Land."

Aelarra nodded idly, the fresh woody scents of the forest interspersing with the warm and docile scents of the garden, enveloping her in their calming embrace. She sank onto the bench, trying not to wince as she rolled her ankles, her feet burning. But her senses felt like they were alight – every sensation magnified, and she wondered if it was how the fae saw all the time; it was so different from the World Below. In that moment, watching a single leaf as it fell from a tree, it was easy to forget. She watched as it spun, making its way through the air as light as a feather, the veins that ran through it almost white in the light cast by the moon. It was easy to forget that her beloved sister had been married off to a King far South; easy to forget that she'd yet to pick a Craft, easy to forget her duties and simply drift like the leaf. "I have never seen anything of its ilk before."

Aelarra felt humbled by the presence of the Fae Queen, so ethereal and stunning. Looking sidelong at her face, she could understand why the once-reclusive king had chosen her for his wife. There was a warrior's grace in her movements; it was the same surety that Chanda moved with – a predator.

"I'm not going to bite, you know," her voice was like music – she could have been a siren.

"What are you doing out here?" the question burst forth before she could stop it.

But Lavanya did not take offense, the beautiful Fae Queen laughed.

"I apologise for accosting you; but these humans feel it's unseemly for a female to wander anywhere alone, so I decided it was mutually beneficial for us to take a turn together. And you needed to sit down, I've heard how painful a first shift is," she grinned, her chocolate eyes twinkling. "I must admit, I'm not quite one for Court functions. I'd much rather be in breeches than a dress – it was a nightmare for my poor attendant to create something I would like. What of you, Aelarra of the Myrfolk, do you wish you had your tail still, flitting beneath the waves?"

Aelarra laughed, unable to help herself; the joy bubbled up within her like a fountain.

"Oh no," Aelarra gushed; and she realised with sudden clarity that she was comfortable with the fae, she feared no retribution. "I do not seek solace in the gardens; I came simply to see the flowers, I might not get another chance to. They are so different to ours. So beautiful, the colours are so different."

….

Gawayn was cursing inwardly as he approached his King and oldest friend. "Our Queen?" Gawayn's silver eyes watched the mingling of the fae, humans and myrfolk – scarce and scattered about the room, but it was a start.

A start of Lavanya's vision.

"The gardens, I think," Adamyr's voice was none too concerned and Gawayn wanted to hit his head against the marble pillar. He looked up at his friend who was trying and failing to hide the smile that automatically danced on his lips at the thought of his wife, as he rocked their child, her eyes closed in blissful slumber.

"If only she would stop doing things of her own accord, we had a plan!"

Adamyr snorted, his golden eyes alight with laughter. "Gawayn, my friend. When has she ever done anything you expected?"

The fae knight almost cringed, his silver wings fluttering nervously as he recalled the abhorrent way he had first treated his Queen when she had arrived in the Marble City of the Fae. But he was not the King's Champion for nothing, for those thoughts did not echo on his face.

Adamyr grinned. "She went to the gardens with one of the myrfolk princesses."

"Oh?" He knew his displeasure was evident in his voice – he did not want one of those conniving sirens to get her claws into the Queen.

Adamyr shifted, making sure that his daughter was comfortable in her slumber; his dark gold hair tumbling loose over his shoulders – his coronet of gold and citrine holding the curls off his proud forehead.

Internally, the fae knight knew that Lavanya would not be swayed by sweet words, but he worried.

"Have you been enjoying the festivities?"

Adamyr snorted, unseemly for a King, but Gawayn grinned. "I have thoroughly enjoyed watching the Crown Prince make an ass out of himself. I'm almost certain I've seen him touch the backside of three different women."

Gawayn's eyebrows shot up and joined his King in watching the revelries before them.

Lost in the music as he was, he did not miss the moment that his King's attention shifted. He glanced up, following the golden gaze, to see that his Queen had once more entered the ballroom. An unerring ability of the King's, to know exactly where she was, a mind-bond the knight suspected. And he examined her companion closely – the youngest daughter of the Myr King he believed, as hers was a face he'd never seen, her joyous face trying to mask the pain of her first full-moon. If he did not know to look, he would not have known, for happiness was shining in her aquamarine eyes – a happiness that even the pain could not diminish. And Lavanya was laughing at something the girl had said.

They were the same age, he realised belatedly.

Both barely out of childhood.

For Lavanya showed a wisdom far beyond her age – it was easy to forget that she had once been human.

….

Aelarra smiled softly, watching as Lavanya, or Anya as she insisted on being called, took her daughter from the arms of the Fae King as they returned to the ball room. She watched the little bundle curiously, the sleeping child who would once rule over all the Fae.

The small face was peaceful, rose-tinted lips curled into a secret smile.

So preoccupied with the child she was, she did not see the figure before her until she had collided with his chest. Off balance and stumbling backwards, her breath left her when his arm curled around her waist, keeping her from toppling to the ground.

Her sight was greeted first with the intricate embroidery of the silk vest that covered his broad chest. Raising her ocean-blue eyes she felt her breath leave her once more. For not even the sky-blue of his doublet could outmatch the stunning sapphire that was his eyes.

His outfit she recognised immediately – he was the figure who had been standing beside King Alexandyr – he was Prince Laric, Heir to the throne of Albaa.

Her heart skipped a beat, thudding against her chest. Her eyes wide with disbelief.

"I apologise, my Lady," his voice was a warm rumble, sending chills through her body and straight to her heart.

And she knew down to the depths of her heart that it was him – her prince.

"Are you well?"

The one who she had saved all those years ago, more handsome than ever before; gone was the boyish roguish charm – in its place was the surety of a man who knew who he was and what he wanted.

He must think me a simpleton. "Yes, I thank you," she said with a soft smile as she righted herself on her feet.

"Dance with me, my Lady?"

She could not wipe the smile from her face as the prince – her prince – led her amongst the dancing couples.

"How do you like our palace?"

She beamed up at him, for he was perhaps a full foot taller than her. "Oh, very much so. Everything is so different."

And those hands, those supple warrior's hands that so long ago had played that flute so nimbly, held her waist gently. As if she were precious.

….

It was easy for Mykaela to steal the arm of the man that Aelarra had caught – he could not deny a visiting princess.

But as she suspected, he was immune to the sirens song she tried to weave around him – the air shimmered with rune-spells. Subtle, but present.

And strong.

She knew Aelarra's face would be betrayed – her younger sister had not felt the burning pull to a human's flame before. They burned so much brighter than fae – land and sea alike. It came from their short lives, she suspected.

But she watched the silk-covered back of the prince as he walked away from her and her sister who stood not a few feet from them.

He disappeared between the pillars shadows and a chill crept through her.

Her eyes had caught the simmer of embroidery in his jewel-encrusted belt; and she knew that the shimmering thread was not simply the curlicue designs that humans were so fond of.

No, the delicate silver thread wove runes into that belt that the prince wore.

Her brows narrowed in consternation.

The Crown Prince of the humans was no friend of the fae.