15

Mor Trisencor and the Present

Mor stared at his bedsheets. He sighed, then suppressed a shallow grunt as he realized all he could smell now was the human’s overpowering perfume. The entire cathedral was ruined by it. There wasn’t a room Mor could go in to get away from the potent vanilla smell. But it wasn’t just the artificial scent of her that had attacked his walls and his pillows and his sanity, it was the real ones too, painting the air in shallow, fragrant waves of flowers. Many flowers. All kinds, as though Violet Miller had rolled around in a fresh garden in bloom.

It was obnoxious to have it seem like she was standing around every corner when she wasn’t.

Freida’s words played through his mind as he turned and left his bedroom: “She stenches like she’s wearing your faeborn clothes—flowers, dirt, Shadow blood, and… dandelions.” Mor huffed. So, she smelled like him then, and his whole house smelled of her. He ought to scrub every surface and linen with enchanted soap. Though, it would just be a waste of soap. Not even fairy magic could fix this problem.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Violet Miller. It was just that he didn’t like others thinking he cared for his secretary that way. Their relationship was purely professional—fairy and human, Fairy Post supervisor and secretary.

Gifted secretary. Who could write her way into the hearts of the sky deities if she wanted. Who could probably write her way into other places as well.

Mor headed down the stairs, glancing at his dandelion-smeared coat as he passed it and feeling the hot season heat rushing in from the wide-open cathedral doors, unlocked for the first time. He headed for the kitchen to make coffee, and as it brewed, he prepared the beverage fixings. He was sure his invitation wouldn’t go unnoticed.

When the coffee was made and hot, Mor pulled two mugs from the cupboard and poured them full. He added lots of sugar and a dollop of beast milk, and he carried them out to the table he’d set just inside the cathedral entrance. He placed a coffee on either side and sat in one of the chairs. A moment later, the warm air began to shiver, and the wind streaked with colour. A soft patter sounded on the front step outside.

Mor sipped his coffee.

The presence outdoors hesitated, likely studying the open entrance. The table. Mor.

“Your drink is getting cold,” Mor said. He shoved a coaster across the table. “Make sure you don’t spill on my carpet,” he added. “It’s vintage.”

The fairy appeared across from him, his black coat shuffling in the wind. After a few cold seconds, he slowly sank into the open chair, and only then did Mor lift his gaze. Two sets of brown and silver eyes met.

It was impossible to see if the fairy was smiling or frowning with the mask covering the lower half of his face.

“Take that off, Luc,” Mor demanded. “It’s useless. Unless you have the human sniffles and don’t wish to get me sick.”

The Shadow Fairy stared. He took his time raising a gloved hand to pull down his mask.

He was frowning.

Mor fought to keep his faeborn heart steady as he looked at a face he had not seen in full for a long time. Since the day Mor had burned bridges and destroyed many sacred fairy things. Since the day Mor had been decreed a traitor to the Shadow Army for all of eternity.

“You’re black-marked, Trisencor,” Luc said.

Mor felt as though he was back in a time he wished to forget. He’d once tried to steal his own memories of the time and dispose of them, but it had only led to the years becoming a misty recollection of life events that always rushed back. It was his blessing and his curse—that his memories could not be erased.

“You’re marked as well,” Mor said, and Luc raised a brow. “By me. I will kill you. Long before you can destroy me.”

“I won’t aim my arrows at you, Trisencor.” Luc leaned forward a little. “You know how I operate. Everything you care about with those feelings of yours is going to scream and beg for mercy when I’m through. Starting with the pretty human and ending with the gruesome deaths of your new High Court when I find them.”

“And here I was hoping for a nice afternoon of sharing civil fairy gossip over coffee.” Mor nodded to Luc’s mug. “Drink,” he invited.

Luc held Mor’s gaze for a few moments longer. Then he lifted the coffee and took a sip. He made a strange face. “It’s bitter,” he mumbled and set it back down.

“It’s loaded with sugar,” Mor stated evenly.

“I expected it to be loaded with poison.” Luc’s silvery gaze flashed up again.

“I will strike you down fairly while looking right into your eyes,” Mor promised. “Not to worry.” He took a long drink of his own coffee, keeping his level stare on Luc. His tongue grew warm.

Luc leaned back in his chair and draped an arm over the backrest. “All right, let’s gossip then. Gossip claims you’re part of a High Court here. But you seem very alone in this establishment,” the ruby-haired fairy mused as he twirled a finger toward the echoey cathedral. “Have they abandoned you? Perhaps they discovered you’re a traitor? Or that you’re terrible at picking seeds out of the grass at your master’s feet? Or perhaps they simply can’t stand leeches.”

Mor cast him a fake smile. “They like me too much, actually. Also, I hope you enjoyed your coffee.” He stood, dragging his empty mug up with him. “It was poisoned.”

Luc’s face fell. Mor swung the coffee mug at him like a rock. The ruby-haired fairy spun off his chair, barely missing the punch, but it was clear his limbs were sluggish. Mor marched after him, drawing the handle of his fairsaber from his pocket. The blade was out in a flash beneath the afternoon sun, and he struck.

Metal hit metal. Luc’s blade was sharper, and as he pressed, a dent melted into Mor’s weapon. Mor slid the blade away and threw the mug. To his delight, it smacked Luc in the face and sent the fairy teetering out the front cathedral doors.

“Now we’ll make a bargain,” Mor stated as he followed the fairy and stood over him on the stairs. “I know you rarely make bargains, Luc. But I watched you ruin a few fairies’ faeborn lives with them, so I know you’ll do it if pressed. And don’t try to airslip, you’re far too weak.”

But Luc rolled onto his side. “You fool. You should have made the beverage sweeter so I would have drunk it all,” he said.

Mor flinched as the fox heaved and spat up the contents of his stomach down Mor’s front stairs. In the same instant, Luc vanished, always one step ahead. Mor released an ancient curse and charged into the wind after him.