11

Offering? Why was I an offering?

Very carefully, I turned to face Apollo. He was, as always, on the edge between nonchalance and flirtation, one brow raised, the corner of his mouth slightly tugged up, and his eyes narrowed into two slits of grey skies. "She's not the offering, Trix, and you know it," he said to the fairy, almost endearingly. He smoothed back his cape and hauled out of his pocket a large, gleaming ruby.

I gasped in simultaneous relief and astonishment.

Who carried uncut jewels in their pockets while traveling across the world?

But then I remembered him saying that he'd crossed Fairyland before, so he'd been anticipating this.

I didn't even want to think about what happened to the people who had nothing of value to offer the fairy. Were they killed, or were they forced to remain in Fairyland forever to be perpetually tormented? I couldn't decide what fate was worse.

Apollo tossed her the ruby, and she caught it in mid-air, her delicate features crinkling with disdain. "I'm so tired of jewelry. Give me the girl, and I'll let you pass."

Apollo sauntered indolently toward her with his hands crossed behind his back. "Come on, Trix," he coaxed, and once he reached her, he took her chin between his fingers and pressed his thumb down on her pouting lower lip. "You know you can't forbid us passage. I brought you a good offering, so you have to let us leave."

"You brought me an offering," Trix crooned with a sardonic little laugh and glanced at me over Apollo's shoulder. Her yellow irises sparkled with something like hunger. "She hasn't."

A butterfly caught in a spider's web—that was how I felt under the weight of her scrutiny. She dashed through the air and emerged right before me, her scent a dizzying fusion of wildflowers and spice.

"I don't have any money," I bit out.

She traced with a sparkly fingertip the side of my face. "It doesn't have to be money," she cooed, and I noticed, with no small amount of horror, that her teeth were pointy and sharp, like a fox's. "It can be the color of your eyes. A year of your life. Your favorite childhood memory." She slipped her cool, soft hand over my clavicle. "Or your true love's kiss."

"Getting a little handsy there, Trix?" Apollo said. His inflection was playful, but there was tension in his jaw and alarm in his eyes.

Trix twirled around me. "Are we feeling a bit possessive, Apollo sweetheart?" she mocked, giggling to herself. "Now that would be a first."

Apollo unsheathed his curvy dagger with the opal handle, the one he'd used to fight the creatures in my Shop.

A gasp of shock escaped me. He wasn't going to kill her, was he?

But Apollo only proffered it to her with a little bow of his head. "My favorite dagger," he said. "Consider it her offering."

Trix tutted as she took a strand of my hair between her fingertips. "It doesn't work like that, and you know it. She has to lose something of value to me," she chirped. "But, I suppose, I would be content with the little Stareater's hair."

Exasperation swarmed in my veins like drunken wasps. "Why does everybody in this wretched kingdom want my hair? I'm so fed up with you people," I snapped and marched over to Apollo to snatch my parasol from his belt. "You can have my parasol, and that's it," I growled as I threw it down at her sandaled feet. "And I did not eat a star, for the love of the sky. It was only some dust."

"Come on, Trix honey," Apollo egged on, taking an infuriatingly seductive tone with her. This horrible man would probably flirt with the very air he breathed if it had the shape of a woman. "I'll bring you a crown next time."

Trix pouted. "Promise?"

Apollo clutched at his empty chest as he drawled, "Honey, of course."

Kaleidoscopic fairydust rose from Trix's skin and flecked the atmosphere with her dizzying magic. "Oh, how can I say no to such a handsome face," she purred.

Apollo winked at her, looking like an enamored idiot.

I cleared my throat. "Are we done here?"

Trix took my parasol and the ruby and crushed them between her dainty hands, leaving only a wisp of rainbow dust to scatter through the air. Then, with a flutter of her wings, an imperceptible layer of magic—a diaphanous wall, almost—lifted off the bridge, allowing us passage at last.

"You should hurry," she chirped. "Dusk awaits. You poor little souls don't want to get caught in the dark."

Dusk? But the sun had been high and hot in the sky when we had first reached the arch.

Apollo gripped my arm and nudged me towards the bridge, exchanging his flirty demeanor for a scowl. One step on the cobbled passage, and everything changed. Trix was gone. The sweet, magic-speckled air turned damp and chilly. The sky transformed into a deep shade of periwinkle, the clouds rolling out blue and melancholic.

"I don't understand," I wheezed, and I couldn't resist checking over my shoulder now that we were safe.

We were back to our original shagbark path, with no sign of the grand arch in the distance.

"Even time gets lost in Fairyland," Apollo said grimly. "Don't worry. We'll make it to Walder's before it gets too dark. The cottage isn't that far from here."

I didn't even bother to ask if Walder was the friend he'd mentioned earlier. I only yanked my arm out of his hold and strode ahead, tamping down the anger that kept rising in my chest like the giant waves of the West.

The fairies' words kept turning in my head, hissing in dark corners of my mind where my most unutterable insecurities had taken refuge.

But the fairies couldn't have been more wrong about me. I had not been abandoned by my parents, and certainly not by Ryker. They had wanted something better and bigger for themselves, and who was I to hold them back from their dreams?

Ryker's soft face sprung out of the bundle of my memories: his warm brown eyes, his slightly crooked nose, his lovely chestnut curls that I used to love messing up by brushing my fingers through them, and that collected, dignified expression of his. He'd wanted me to follow him East. He'd wanted a lot of things from me that, when it'd mattered the most, I'd been unable to give him.

I had no right to feel abandoned. It had been my choice and my choice alone to stay in Elora with the Shop. And I was happy with that choice. Maybe not thousand-pink-butterflies-in-my-stomach happy, but content and comfortable nonetheless.

At least in Elora, I was safe and independent. Here, all I could do was hope for Apollo's mercy, and I hated that. I hated not having control over my fate. I hated that he was the one I had to rely on to survive this beast of a forest. You couldn't throw your safety at the feet of the person who crushed it and expect they wouldn't trample all over it again. That was just plain stupid. And I was a lot of things, but I was not—

"Nepheli!" Apollo called behind me, but I ignored him, strutting determinedly ahead with my fingers balled into fists at my sides. "Nepheli, slow down, damn it!"

His hand gripped me around the elbow and forced me to stop in my tracks. I jerked away. "Don't touch me!"

"Why are you mad?"

"I'm not mad. I'm just tired."

He inched closer.

I staggered backward, facing the other way.

"Look at me," he said.

Something in his tone made me obey. The way he stood there, edged on anger, with a demand on the verge of his lips, he looked no friendlier than a dark forest god with his guise flung off. "Tell me what the fairies said to you."

"Nothing I didn't already know."

Absurd, uncontrollable tears rolled down my cheeks, and I hated that too. I hated that I was so emotional. I hated that I always got so excited about things only to get myself heartbroken and disappointed in the end. For a moment, I truly, deeply hated everything about myself, and that was a whole different kind of despair.

I clenched my jaw and picked up my pace, but Apollo blocked my way again with his massive frame.

A deep line emerged between his brows. "You're crying," he stated with the blatant puzzlement of a man who'd just seen the sun change color.

I sniffled, wiping the tears off my cheeks. "People with hearts do that sometimes, you know."

"Are you hurt?" he demanded, raking his eyes over my body. "Did I hurt you earlier?"

An indignant groan welled up in my throat. "You idiot! I'm heartbroken!"

Apollo blinked, bewildered. "Why?"

"Why?" I squealed. "Oh, I don't know, Apollo, maybe because I've spent my entire life thinking magic is this pure, wonderful thing that transforms people's lives and fills their hearts with curiosity and color and beauty when in reality it's just…" I heaved on a breath, grasping at my bruised heart. "It doesn't feel right. For the first time in my life, I'm surrounded by magic, and all I can feel is frightened and disappointed and painfully overwhelmed."

Apollo, flushed and confused, reached for my face. It startled me, and he hesitated with his hand paused in mid-air between us. I had the dreadful feeling that my eyes were telling him things I didn't want him to know. Because instead of pulling away, he swept his thumb over my cheek to brush away a tear before gliding down to take my jaw between his fingers. He tipped up my head, leaving me with no choice but to look straight into his eyes.

His throat bobbed. "Is it okay that I'm doing this?" he rasped.

"I suppose," I croaked. I couldn't really say much. His touch was a magic spell. It struck me right in the heart. It destroyed logic with emotion. How unfair it was that he could affect people like that while feeling absolutely nothing about them.

"Magic is a double-edged sword, Nepheli," he said on a long exhale, withdrawing his hand from me. "It can be both wonderful and dangerous. Beautiful and cruel. Nothing in this world is perfect, darling. Not even magic."

Reflexively, my hand slipped to the base of my throat, where Apollo had bitten me. "I'm surprised you didn't leave me back there," I murmured.

"I got you into this mess, and I will get you out of it," he said, rubbing the back of his neck a bit awkwardly. "Look, I'm not going to tell you to trust me because, honestly, trusting me has never been proven to be a good idea. But I can at least promise you that you will return to Elora in one piece." He averted his gaze. "I was going back home anyway, so it's not like I'm doing you some great kindness by taking you with me or anything. I'm paying off my debt to you, that's all."

"How gentlemanly of you," I deadpanned.

"Well, I'm not a gentleman," he wryly retorted, bowing before me in mock reverence. "I am a prince."

"You're a heathen."

"Careful, Nepheli," he crooned, a dark smile playing on his lips. "The other side of your neck looks awfully lonely."

My face burned with fury. "Keep your mouth off my neck."

"Would you prefer me to put it somewhere else on your body?"

"Why are you trying to infuriate me?"

"Because it's fun, Little Butterfly. You should try it sometime."

"Infuriate people?"

"Having fun."

"I do have fun. But not at the expense of others. I believe it's called decency."

"Darling," he sighed, "you're so good that I'm afraid you're no good at all."

I sulked at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You'll figure it out, Little Butterfly," he teased, leaning down to flick my nose. "Eventually."

I threw my most scathing look in his direction, but he didn't notice. A band of silver light fell over him, and his eyes drifted skyward. I followed them, curious to know what had captivated him up there. "What are you looking at?"

"The stars," he said, his tone enigmatic. Apollo had such a remarkable way of being in the moment without having to try too hard. He could tell you to look at the stars mid-conversation, and you wouldn't find it mawkish. You felt compelled to see the world through his eyes.

And indeed, a bright constellation glittered between the boughs, a spill of diamonds on a single patch of purple sky.

"But it's not even dark yet," I gasped, wide-eyed in wonder. I could not help but stargaze alongside him, something I didn't do very often in Elora since the night sky there was always murky with gaslights and coal smoke from the factories.

"Maybe they're looking after you," Apollo murmured.

I straightened my neck and frowned at him. "What do you mean they're looking after me?"

He met my eyes. His lips had already parted, but a sudden, reoccurring clip-clop coming from somewhere along the path ruined his answer.

My pulse picked up. Hoofbeats?

In an instant, Apollo slipped in front of me, one hand already at the handle of his sword, the other gripping my wrist behind his back.

"A rider?" I whispered.

Apollo shook his head.

Then I saw him—a centaur taller than any stallion galloping towards us. His equine skin was a fathomless midnight black, and his humanoid upper body was a deep mauve color, bare and flecked with blood. His angular face was strong and valiant, and his long, dark hair danced like silk ribbons in the air behind him.

I would be gushing in awe at his incomparable, outlandish beauty had my breath not caught in my throat from terror for what was dangling from his fist. A giant wolf's head. The dismembered creature looked positively demonic, frozen mid-howl, jaws wide and bone-white, eyes glassy and wild, and its gray-black fur streaked with gore.

The centaur halted, rearing on his hind legs, and stared down between us with a gaze so penetrative that I felt it in the deepest parts of my existence.

But Apollo seemed to relax. He even released me from his grip and tipped his head in greeting.

"A human," was all the centaur said to Apollo, his voice depthless.

"She's mine," Apollo declared.

I had to bite my tongue not to scoff at the sheer outrage of the claim, but the centaur cocked his head in some kind of understanding. "Don't travel too close to the river," he warned. "Boggarts have nested along the bank."

Apollo nodded. "And the wolves?"

The centaur gestured with his free hand towards the other side of the forest. "They won't get in your way as long as you don't get into theirs. But be wary. They have recently appointed a new Alpha, and conflict, as I'm sure you know, makes creatures very unpredictable."

"Thank you, Eiran," Apollo said in a quiet, respectful tone.

Eiran shifted his attention to me, and I felt myself straighten out of instinct.

His expression was harsh, almost reprimanding, as he turned once again to Apollo. "Be careful, Prince," he said, like the solemn bearer of an ominous prophecy. "You've already lost your heart. You do not want to lose your soul too."

Without another word, Eiran reared, his forelegs reaching so high that they ruffled the saggy boughs before he cantered on his way.

A little wheeze escaped me. "What did he mean by that?"

Apollo shrugged and strolled ahead. "Nothing, darling. Centaurs are known for being wildly dramatic. Now, hurry up. It's getting dark."

For a heartless man, Apollo could be a horrendous liar sometimes.

The creatures here knew him. They were on friendly terms with him. But it was clear that the Dragonfly wasn't suited for humans, so why would Apollo go through it so many times when he could just as easily travel to the mainland by sea? Simply for the adventure of it? Or was he looking for something? And what was he looking for?

I narrowed my eyes on him. "Eiran… is he your friend?"

"He's Eiran," he snorted. "You go through the Dragonfly once or twice, and you're bound to meet with him. A lot of the creatures here consider him their King."

"He's truly majestic," I agreed.

"I'll tell him you said that next time I see him," he mocked.

I cast him an exasperated glare. "Why did you tell him that I was yours?"

"As the Guardian of the Dragonfly Eiran is very mistrustful of humans. A lot of criminals cut through the forest to avoid getting caught by the authorities at the port. I claimed you as my responsibility, so he didn't have to… deal with you."

"Oh," I mumbled. "I see." Then, upon some reflection, "You should give me one of your blades."

Apollo raised his brows. "Is that so?"

"I think it's been well established that the Dragonfly is a very dangerous place, and I don't like feeling like a helpless damsel. You can show me a few moves after dinner."

Apollo whistled. "Very assertive, Miss Curiosity. I like it."

"Do not—"

"Flirt with you. Yes. Yes, I know," he drawled as he unbuckled the scabbard that held his favorite dagger. "May I put this on you, or are you going to knee me in the balls again?"

I gritted my teeth. "Gods, you have such a foul mouth."

Apollo smirked. "You don't know the half of it, darling."

The second he stood close enough to secure the belt around my waist, my breath hitched and my skin pebbled. I hated that he affected me like that. My whole body felt soft and wieldy, like I was a wave and he was the moon. I couldn't help but get pulled by him.

I never understood lust. It was so quick and mindless, yet singular. You could see a dozen handsome people walking down the street and feel absolutely nothing about any of them, and then, suddenly, your eyes would meet with one random person, and your entire body would light up for no good reason at all. They were no less of a stranger than the rest to you, yet, inexplicably, that didn't seem to matter.

"There you go," Apollo rasped as he hooked a finger under the leather belt. He tugged at it a few times to make sure it was tight enough before finally stepping away and releasing me from this torment.

"Heavy," I observed, my voice hoarser than usual.

"To remind you that you shouldn't use it lightly," he said before hauling up the dagger to show me the clean, shiny blade. There was an artful engraving trailing along the sleek curve.

Blood is rare when spilled in honor.

I raised my eyes to him, looking for an explanation.

"Have you read about the Vampire Hunters of the West?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Well, my grandfather was one of them. Before humans made peace with the vampires, of course. That's why the blade is curved like that, you see. To penetrate a vampire's hard skin. He gave this blade to my father before he died, and my father gave it to me when I turned eighteen."

"Apollo," I sighed, truly bemused. "I cannot take this."

He shrugged. "Sure you can. You have more honor in your little finger than I have in my entire body. It's a disgrace that I still carry it, really."

He didn't allow me to ponder the words, let alone respond. He veered around and continued down the path, his tall, dark silhouette looking like an unyielding pillar amid the saggy trees.

I sucked in a breath and scrambled after him. "Are there vampires in this forest?'

"No."

"Have you ever seen a vampire?"

"Yes."

"After the treaty?"

He scowled at me. "I'm only twenty-seven."

"Right," I panted, struggling to match his long strides. "Are they as beautiful as the stories say?"

Apollo visibly tensed—lips tight, jaw clenched, eyes dark. "They're bloodsucking, high-handed wankers."

"As opposed to being a heartless, high-handed wanker?"

"You're just desperate for me to gag you, aren't you, darling?" he grunted.

I smiled. "Why are you displeased?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're displeased I think vampires are beautiful," I remarked, and it was a keen observation indeed, for that poor little vein on his forehead was ready to pop.

"And why would I be displeased with your preferences?" he bit out.

"Maybe you want my neck all to yourself," I taunted.

"The only thing I want from your neck is to return it home safely. I made a promise to you, Nepheli. This means something to me, okay? Now, come on. We're late as it is."

I didn't pester him too much for the rest of our journey. But I did catch myself thinking that for a heartless, inconsiderate, conceited delinquent, Apollo Zayra would make a brilliant king one day.