Chapter 10

10

When Molly saw how Allarion intended to walk with her to the market town, she couldn’t help it. A peal of laughter burst out of her at the sight of him, in all his black finery, but with a huge wicker basket strapped to his back. It was big enough for her to fit in and was triple his own width.

Allarion blinked at her, obviously bemused, which only made her giggle more.

It was a fine change from her mood yesterday.

Fates, her outburst had just…burst out of her. Seeing the flowers there that morning, as if nothing had happened or changed, snapped something inside. All her anxiety from the day before and the broken fears she still harbored from her girlhood surged to the fore, uncontrollable and devastating.

Seeing him standing there in the kitchen, casual as could be—casual as he ever was, that is—only infuriated her more.

Part of her still couldn’t believe she wasn’t locked away somewhere dark in punishment. Or at least confined to her chamber. She’d yelled right in his face and thrown his gifted sunflowers at the unicorn . Only someone stupid or with no regard for their own life made so many lethal mistakes, one after the other.

And yet, here she was, trundling down a quaint country lane, a sprawling meadow to one side of her, the forest on the other, and her fae companion with his big basket keeping pace.

Molly snorted every time she saw the ridiculous thing, as if he meant to buy every loaf of bread and celery stalk and bolt of fabric. That bemused look never quite left his face, but he smiled amiably whenever she giggled. Those fangs of his made an appearance, but they weren’t so daunting when the rest of his expression was so…soft.

After her flare of temper, she’d spent most of the day embarrassed. She shouldn’t be, she told herself—she had plenty of reasons to be angry, especially at him, and he was lucky he’d gotten off so easily up till now. While she rationally knew all that, it was hard not to burn with shame at letting herself boil over.

Her temper was her worst feature, everyone told her so, even her beloved parents. She’d worked hard to get it under control, to learn to breathe through her initial spark of anger. Sure, it sometimes helped to rebuke a handsy tavern patron, but let loose too much and she not only lost their business but all tips for the night.

Customers wanted someone jolly, lively. Even a little sassy. But combative? No.

So Molly learned her dance, of not only how to tease men to earn a little more coin but finding her own limits, too. How far could she be pushed until her temper took hold—it was a delicate dance, but one she’d been mastering the past years.

Having such an explosion of emotion rattled her—and she’d certainly shocked Allarion.

Honestly, it wasn’t a bad thing if he was a little scared of her now.

The exhaustion after such an outburst, though, always left her feeling tired and vulnerable. Not something she wanted to be in front of a fae she still hadn’t figured out.

She peeked at him from the corner of her eye, forcing herself not to look at the basket on his back and start giggling again.

He’d been gentle with her, defended her against the unicorn. At every turn, Allarion had done the opposite of what she expected.

Yet, there was plenty more he could do to put her at ease. He insisted that’s what he wanted, for her to feel comfortable and to be happy, so Molly determined to test his resolve. Away from the living house and grumpy unicorn, she felt a little more confident about daring to test him.

She started simply, about the estate and village they walked to.

“I thought Scarborough didn’t have any associated villages.”

Allarion’s head bobbed in assent. “That’s correct. Mullon, where we head now, was once attached to Scarborough, as well as several other townships. However, when the previous line was extinguished and the estate abandoned, they shifted allegiance to the Burgoyne family in Kindley, I believe.”

Mullon, Molly mouthed. What a terrible name for a town.

“You’ve been to Mullon before?”

“Oh yes, many times now. I don’t believe they consider me a friendly face, but a familiar one now at least.”

Molly couldn’t help a snort. “I reckon you’re right. A fae and his unicorn riding into town to buy sugar would be something to see.”

“Indeed, especially since I don’t eat sugar.”

Another surprised snort. “You don’t eat anything.”

“No, I do not. Fae have no need.”

“But still you’d order mead.”

Allarion’s gaze slid to her as they walked. Under the bright autumn sun and wide azure sky, he didn’t seem so terribly otherworldly. Oh, he was still pale and unnerving with his black sclera and veins, but in the bright light of day, he wasn’t so imposing.

The sun glinted off pieces of his starlight hair, glistening like spider silk. His eyes, too, the irises at least, sparkled in the sunshine, as brightly as the gems they resembled. Without all the shadows carving him up into stark lines, he looked like…just a man.

A tall, purple-gray man, yes, but a man.

“I like the smell. The sweetness. It reminds me of you.”

The humor drained from her, and she felt her cheeks heat in a furious blush. Molly looked away, unhappy to seem a coward, but unable to hold that intense amethyst gaze.

Fates, when he says things like that…

She hadn’t determined if he knew what he did when he said things like that, romantic things that would make most women swoon. Sometimes she thought yes, surely he must; the fae were known for their cleverness, and Allarion hadn’t disappointed. Yet, there was another side to him, something almost as guileless as the house.

Part of her wanted to believe he meant what he said.

The other was quick to remind her, He bought you.

Yes, there was that. A thorn in her boot and not something she could forgive.

They lapsed into silence, the green countryside rolling around them.

Molly had never been out this way. In truth, the furthest she’d ever traveled was from her village in the far north of the Darrowlands down south to Dundúran. Since living with Uncle Brom, she’d hardly ever left the city.

It was a much different experience, strolling the packed-earth country lane as opposed to walking the cobblestone streets of Dundúran. This place was so vast yet so quiet. She was used to the hustle and bustle of the city.

When she wanted to escape the noise of the tavern up in her room, she still opened the window to listen to the street performers or chatter of their neighborhood. Many a night Molly spent embroidering, keeping her fingers and mind busy as she listened to snatches of gossip and song. Those quiet moments to herself hadn’t truly been quiet —she hadn’t known the meaning of the word until coming to Scarborough.

There was a stillness to the land, even with the breeze rustling through the leaves and grass. The clouds rolled overhead silently, and the flowers unfurled and followed the sun in quiet.

As she listened, though, she began to hear more. Birdsong, mostly. And the quietness of it wasn’t bad—she actually rather enjoyed it.

Although, not when it gave her mind time to wander—and wonder about the fae walking alongside her.

Finally, she pushed her question past her lips. “What truly brought you here, to the Darrowlands?”

He made a considering noise. “That’s a deceptively simple question. There are many reasons. For protection. To fulfill a promise. To escape the reach of our Queen. And of course, to find a mate.” He looked over his shoulder to grin mildly at her. “Many of the otherly folk who came to the Darrowlands for a new life began talking of finding a human mate, and after seeing their success, I began to consider it for myself.”

Molly cleared her throat and chose to pursue the much less dangerous line of questioning—a potential magical despot. Even humans had stories of enigmatic, all-powerful Fae Queens, but their names had long been lost to history.

“Was your queen very bad?”

His face returned to that grim set she’d become used to, and Molly almost regretted her question.

“She is cruel, yes. A disgrace to her foremothers and her people, who suffer under her rule.”

Molly’s brows rose to hear the vehement, almost vicious way he described Amaranthe, the current Fae Queen. She listened with interest to hundreds of years of fae history. How they were the last magic-wielding folk and took this responsibility with an ingrained sense of duty. How the women of their kind led them, headed by a powerful queen who oversaw the health of the faelands, its people, and its magic.

“But fae are not immortal, even a Queen. Amaranthe should have chosen a successor centuries ago,” Allarion said, and it obviously pained him to speak of how his land began to fall into turmoil as the cycle of queenship was broken. Molly listened with horror to how Amaranthe slew her daughters, sisters, and nieces to prevent any from usurping her.

“She keeps a cadre of loyal courtiers near, so none can get close. That some want to be taken into her harem…” He actually shuddered with disgust. “I had to leave there—I couldn’t bear it any longer.”

It was much to take in, so much history and horror both, yet Molly got the feeling that wasn’t everything. Not knowing how to ask him to explain something she couldn’t articulate, her mind caught on something else he said.

“Her harem? Fae women take multiple husbands?”

“Some do. There are twice the number of men than women of our kind.” He called back to how their women held the most powerful positions, explaining that theirs was a more matriarchal society.

It wasn’t totally unlike how kinship and inheritance used to be decided in Eirea. Children usually took their mother’s family name, and lands often went to eldest daughters. It was a tradition that held all the way until the wars of succession, when part of the royal family married into a branch of the Pyrrossi royal family to help their cause. Pyrros kept much more patrilineal customs, and these had begun to trickle down among the common folk from the royal and noble houses.

Not that Molly had much of a family name and certainly no inheritance, but she liked the old way of doing things, on principle. This fae way didn’t sound so bad, either.

“So your women are heads of the house?”

“Often, yes.”

“Even though they’re smaller?”

“Indeed. Although smaller, fae women possess a stronger control of magic—as well as their wings. But it isn’t about one dominating the other. Our women are the knowledge-bearers and the life-bringers. Without them, our links to magic would wither, and our kind itself would die out.”

They came across a babbling brook that cut through the lane, no doubt left over from the heavy rains they’d had in the region over spring. The crystalline water shimmered in the sunshine, and spindly legged bugs skated across the surface.

Allarion easily stepped over it with his long legs, but he turned to hold out his hand for her.

Swallowing hard, Molly took it and let him help her jump across.

Without dropping her hand nor her gaze, Allarion said, “It is a male’s duty and honor to protect that which is dearest. To be a man is to protect, to serve, and to cherish.”

Throat gone dry, she croaked, “So you, what, came here to have your own lands and lord over a human wife?”

His brows snapped together, and for a moment, Molly was afraid. For a moment, he looked like the terrible fae the stories spoke of, the ones that threw lightning bolts and trampled their enemies to dust.

“Absolutely not,” he said, his voice gone dangerously low. “My greatest hope is to build a home where I and my mate are safe. Where she can be comfortable and protected.” His grip on her hand tightened, pulling her a little closer into the curve of his looming form. “I want a queen of my own, sweetling. One who is generous and kind, strong and willful, who will help lead our house, however small that may be.”

Molly lit up like a paper lantern, glowing with warmth not just from a blush but a throb between her thighs.

Fates, the words he said, the way he spoke, the intensity of his gaze…

There was little else for a human woman like her to do but turn pink under all that fae focus.

Burning up, Molly cleared her throat again and slipped her hand out of his. Unable to keep that intense gaze, she looked out at the rolling hills as she began to walk again.

“That’s quite a lot to hope for,” she said, sounding breathless even to herself.

“I am all and only hopes.”

She couldn’t help it—her gaze cut back to his in surprise, her eyes gone wide. His face had gentled again, that small grin spreading his thin lips a bit wider.

He seemed to take mercy on her, letting her drop her attention back to her footfalls for a while. He filled their walk with more innocuous facts about the fae, such as their journey to the faelands long before his time, sailing from the west to settle in the highlands adjoining what was now Eirea.

He even spoke of his bonding to Bellarand and how fae warriors worked for years, sometimes centuries, to hone their skills enough to earn a place atop a unicorn. Molly didn’t quite understand all the intricacies of it, just that the bond formed through magic, forged when the fae first came to these lands and found themselves in need of allies. Magic-wielders themselves, the unicorns gradually became much-trusted allies and symbiotic partners.

Much like the fae, the unicorns too were ruled by fearsome mares. Female unicorns were often too dangerous to ride, and so it was they who remained wild and raised foals while the stallions joined the fae to patrol and protect the lands. Molly could hardly imagine anything more terrifying than Bellarand, a stallion, so to hear the mares were even fiercer made her shiver with terror.

They walked for hours even if it didn’t feel much like it, Allarion weaving interesting tales to pass the time. When the first thatch roofs came into sight, though, he turned to her, a curiosity in his eyes.

Molly braced herself.

“I wish to tell you all I can and will answer whatever you ask. I want you to feel confident and comfortable with me.” He waited for her to nod before continuing, “But I hope you will permit me a question of my own.”

“Seems only fair,” she allowed.

Allarion nodded gravely. “I’ve wanted to ask before—is Molly your full name?”

She stared at him, waiting for more, and then blinked in surprise at the banality of his question.

“Yes. Well, my family name is Dunne, but Molly is my whole given name, yes.”

He made a noise—almost like he was disappointed.

A surprised laugh escaped her. “Why?”

“I—it’s only…fae have long names. Many humans do as well. I merely wondered if Molly was perhaps short for something longer.”

“Afraid not, it’s just plain Molly.”

“Never plain,” he insisted. “Just…succinct.”

“I’m almost scared to ask, but—what’s your full name?”

He perked up, shoulders straightening, as if he enjoyed this question. “I am Allarion Salingar Undori Bar-sil Meringor, first son and third child of my mother Idrisil, rider of Bellarand the Black, betrothed of…Molly Dunne.”

She snorted with laughter at how ridiculous his names were—and how ridiculous hers were compared to them. Then could only laugh harder to see how her having such a short name truly did seem to vex him.

“That’s the short of it, yes,” she giggled. “If you wanted, since you’re in human lands now, I could shorten your name. Call you…Larry?”

His disgust was potent, his mouth pulling down as if he’d tasted something intensely sour.

“Not Larry? All right, what about—”

“Allarion will do fine.”

“Are you sure? I thought you wanted to integrate with us humans.”

“ Yes, I’m sure.”

“Fine, Allarion, then.” She snapped her fingers. “What would we call Bellarand? Randy?”

An evil grin overtook his fine fae face. “Now that would be amusing.”

For all that Mullon was a terrible name, the town itself was quaint. Orderly rows of stone cottages and multilevel wattle and daub homes spread out from the town center, where a permanent marketplace had been erected on the cobblestone square.

It was a bustling place—of course much smaller than Dundúran but still bigger than the village Molly had first lived in with her parents. Children and dogs scampered about, people gathered at the well to fetch water for washing, merchants haggled over their stall counters, and shopkeepers stood in their doors chatting with passersby. Colorful garlands and flags had been strewn across the square from tall poles, and a few old linden trees offered plenty of shade for those taking their luncheon.

Despite the hubbub, the town itself nearly went still at the sight of the fae.

Molly had hoped that without Bellarand, perhaps they might not make too much of a sight, but she’d been wrong. Most everyone within eyesight stopped what they were doing to gawk at the fae—and her beside him.

For his part, Allarion didn’t miss a step, nodding and greeting people he seemed to know. Molly trotted behind, anxious all of a sudden with so many eyes fastened on her. It was almost like…they were more curious about her.

She stuck close to Allarion, though not so close that she couldn’t make a run for it if the crowd turned.

To her surprise, one of the first shopkeepers they walked past, an older man with a graying beard, smiled cheekily at them, revealing his missing front tooth.

“Good day to you, master fae,” said the shopkeeper.

“To you as well, master soap-maker.”

“What brings you to town today?”

“A bit of everything.”

“Well, now. That’s what every shopkeeper loves to hear!”

After promising to stop by his soap shop on their way out, Allarion led her deeper into the market. Molly watched on, surprised and eventually…delighted, to see that the townsfolk greeted their fae visitor with politeness if not always warmth. He’d clearly been here before, and was a good customer at that, if every shopkeeper trying their mightiest to lure him inside was any indication.

Most of the other townsfolk were shy or cautious, but they couldn’t hide their curiosity. It didn’t take long to attract a curious crowd as they began wandering the stalls of food.

Molly tried to ignore it as she picked out vegetables.

Allarion stayed with her, asking questions about her preferences and how best to choose produce.

“It’s all good!” complained the cabbage vendor.

Molly arched a brow. “You want one that’s heavy in the hand and compact,” she explained, weighing the cabbage before selecting the one she wanted.

The seller harrumphed. “And who’s this, then, master fae?”

“Forgive me. This is Molly Dunne from Dundúran. She is to be my wife.”

This drew a few gasps, and interested murmurs began to buzz behind hands. Molly’s cheeks heated as she scanned the crowd, feeling every set of eyes on her.

“Is she now. Well, congratulations, then!”

“Thank you.”

“What else can I get the happy couple?”

Allarion turned to bestow that unnerving smile upon her. “We’re here for whatever she wants.”

Oh, fates.

Molly barely held in her groan as every vendor and shopkeeper’s eyes lit up and turned toward her. A few even began putting the more expensive things in the back out on their counters and tables, just to make sure she saw.

She tried to be good and sensible, but despite them coming for supplies for her, Molly wasn’t the problem.

It became painfully obvious by the second stall that Allarion had never haggled before. Whatever price the shopkeeper named, he paid. Molly felt sick to her stomach watching so many gold coins disappear.

The further into the market they went, the more there was to buy. Vendors came to them, afraid they’d be passed up. Even though his basket was ridiculously large, they were quickly filling it up with dried meats and beans, flour and sugar, a cheese round, honey, jugs of mead and bottles of wine, bags of cherries and cashews and dates, cloth-wrapped butter, a crate of apples, a sack of potatoes, carrots, onions, garlic, turnips—all of it and more went into the basket.

She didn’t know how he managed to carry all of it—nor how she’d be expected to eat all of it by herself.

“You really don’t eat anything?” she asked again at the bakery. There was a deal on rosemary loaves, and she wanted to make at least a few bargains.

“Magic sustains us fae,” he said. “But don’t worry, the house will help keep and prepare whatever you buy.”

That made her feel a little better—Molly hated wasting food.

She did her best to haggle for better prices, but Allarion only smiled and paid the merchants what they asked. Even for expensive items like oil and berries and wine.

Her head went light with all the top-price purchases, and although it pained a part of her to watch him pay the full prices, something of a thrill began to build. He insisted she get whatever she wanted. When her eye strayed over something pretty—a necklace or bauble—he took notice. Molly wasn’t the type for that, though, and refused to let him buy her needless sparkly bits—much to the chagrin of their vendors.

Still, when they passed the dressmaker’s shop, she couldn’t quite resist.

Allarion peered down at her as she stared up in wonder at all the pretty fabrics and threads displayed in the window, and then back at the shop. With a gentle hand at the small of her back, he ushered her inside.

The shopkeeper, a kindly looking woman with tight, spiraling blonde curls pulled up in a cloth fillet, was of course there to greet them at the door.

“I was hoping you might pay me a visit, master fae,” she said, bobbing her head. “And this is Mistress Molly, I presume?”

Fates, word traveled so fast.

“Indeed. She’s to have whatever she wants. If her eye lingers on anything, wrap it up for us.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Molly croaked.

“We have some fine new gown patterns in from Dundúran, if mistress would care to see.”

Molly had absolutely no need for gown patterns—what was she supposed to do, run around a half-decrepit, moldering manor in three layers of silk?

“No, thank you.”

The dressmaker’s smile went tight, and Molly bit down on her grimace as the woman tried to figure out what she wanted.

“I’d like to look at your threads, please.”

The woman brightened and showed her over to a whole wall of color threads, displayed on wooden spools.

“If you need anything else, my name is Lorna and I’ll be happy to help you find it.”

Content to pick through colors, Molly took no offense when Lorna the dressmaker set her sights on Allarion, guiding him over to some new bolts of velvet and brocade she’d just gotten.

Molly couldn’t help grinning as the dressmaker expertly talked Allarion into several bolts of black velvet. She supposed she too had benefited from the fae’s generosity in the tavern, when he’d lay out many more coins than necessary for his untouched mead. If he single-handedly wanted to make the shopkeepers here rich, well…that was his business.

Although, she had and would continue to make sure he wasn’t robbed blind. There was a good price and there was greediness.

It didn’t take long for her to select a whole handful of threads—sturdy black and workhorse brown and white, but also soft pink and lilac, vibrant emerald and saffron, even elegant blue and violet. She enjoyed embroidering, and at least it’d be something to do with her time as she chatted with the house.

As Allarion cut his bolts of fabric, Molly took her thread to the dressmaker. It didn’t take much for her to be persuaded to look over some more practical cotton and flannel bolts, and Lorna smiled to have figured out Molly was the more reasonable sort than her fae companion.

With the two of them carding through cotton on one side of the shop and the fae on the other, Molly decided to ask. “Does he come into town a lot?”

The dressmaker smiled warmly. “Indeed. Perhaps a little less so the past month, but he’s a regular sight, ordering supplies to repair that great house.”

Molly blinked in surprise. She hadn’t even thought about all the supplies he needed to do his repairs. She just sort of assumed he magicked them into existence.

“So the town has been supplying everything?”

“Yes, he puts in many orders. I hear he keeps the lumberyard quite busy, and the potters haven’t stopped talking about the size of his last order of shingles.”

“The town doesn’t mind having a fae for a neighbor?”

“It’s taken quite a while to get used to him—and that unicorn is something else. But he’s polite and pays all his bills upfront, so few complain.”

Molly nodded, turning back to the fabrics. That was…good to hear. Although Scarborough was no longer a noble seat and the town no longer held any allegiance to it, that the people here would welcome such a strange neighbor was heartening.

“I’m surprised to know he’s taking a wife—a human woman, anyway,” continued Lorna. “To be honest with you, there are more than a few women here purple with envy for you.”

Which begged the ever-important question— why did he choose me? Molly asked herself this many times a day and could never come up with a good answer. Surely there were many poor women he could have bought off their families—and she was sure her uncle hadn’t asked a small sum. He could have easily found one close to home for cheaper.

The fae truly was a poor shopper.

Molly demurred, only smiling politely at the comment. Understanding she wouldn’t get anymore from her, the dressmaker helped her choose and cut several bolts of practical blue cotton for embroidering and a few blouses, as well as Molly’s one concession to vanity—a soft cream muslin. She supposed she may need a dress—one that she hadn’t served patrons in.

When it was all said and done, the price almost made Molly choke, but she tried to cover the sound of horror with a cough.

“Oh,” said Lorna as she wrapped their purchases, “I nearly forgot. This was a canceled order and within the parameters of what you asked for.”

Crossing to a sturdy armoire, the woman pulled out a breathtaking gown of red velvet. Molly’s heart pitter-pattered to see the delicate black lace at the sleeves and the glisten of the expensive fabric.

The gown was far too small for her, though. Much more suitable to someone with a willowy figure—not her soft belly and thick thighs. She’d spill right out of that low, narrow neckline.

Allarion reached out to touch the gown and made a sound of approval. “Yes, very good. I’ll take it.”

Red suffused her cheeks and her brows rose, though Molly quickly looked away when Allarion rejoined her.

The gown wasn’t sized properly for a woman like Molly—and although beautiful, perhaps not her style, either. Inexplicable anger sparked in her chest, and she was horrified to feel tears gathering at her lashes.

Why would he buy her something like that?

All day, he’d at least asked if she wanted something. He’d never presumed or forced the issue if she truly put up resistance.

It wouldn’t fit her, no matter how it was altered. There wasn’t enough fabric.

Confused and embarrassed and disliking both feelings, Molly was quick to flee the shop once everything was safely packed in his ridiculous basket.

The market was still busy, but it seemed the crowd had grown bored with how long they’d spent in the dress shop. Molly was grateful for fewer eyes as she blinked back more frustrated tears and fewer bodies to dodge as she headed back the way they’d come.

Allarion soon caught up to her. “Have you found everything you wanted?”

“Yes,” she said sullenly, not wanting to seem ungrateful but also not wanting to be there any longer.

“We did promise to stop at the soap-maker’s.”

“ You promised,” she reminded him, and pushed on.