Chapter 32: The Fairy’s Art

Note: Thanks to B0b and WRC 264 for beta reading this!

Kora Falk – The Forest of Lhes, Princedom of Kivoneth, The Strifelands of Zeutch

I led my horse through the woods while trudging beside Ealaín. Exhaustion leaden my limbs, but I kept forging ahead. I felt so rundown even after falling asleep early during yesterday’s celebratory orgy. I must have slept for nearly a day, rising after dawn with the others. And I still felt like I needed more sleep.

I needed a real bed.

I needed a week of not traveling.

Az would be perfect for that. We could search for the clues on how to destroy the amulet weighing about my neck and recover from the last two weeks of hard travel and stress. I fought back a yawn, heartened by that as we kept heading southeast, marching through the forest to reach its southern edge and meet up with Princess Ava.

Ealaín marched with a stoic indifference that I envied. The horse the aoi si led was stolen by Aingeal and her trickery. The faerie flitted through the woods with such joy, reveling in the restoration of her wings. I kept catching glimpses of her as she darted through the canopies, a growing pile of sticks and twigs clutched to her breasts while her mirth sang out through the woods.

“What do you want, Radiant?” Ealaín asked.

I blinked at the abruptness of her question. “What?”

“What do you want?” she asked again. “With your life?”

I gave my muse a furrowed look, struggling to think through the leaden exhaustion pressing down on my thoughts. “Well, to kill Prince Meinard, and to get rid of this Las cursed amulet.” I felt the ruby between my breasts. I had grown used to it hanging there, but sometimes I remembered what was in it and my skin crawled. “And to get to a bed.”

A smile cracked Ealaín’s thick lips. “A bed would be a wondrous thing. But that’s not what you want.”

I blinked weary eyes. “A bed?”

“Killing Prince Meinard. That’s what your brother wants.”

I glanced up to Sven leading his mount with Zanyia scampering at his heels and Nathalie striding beside him like she was out on a berry picking trip to the woods, her blonde pigtails swaying about her head as she giggled at something he said.

I furrowed my brow. I wanted to kill prince Meinard. He murdered my parents and my little sister. He set our house on fire to kill Sven, only my brother and I were not home and escaped the flames. The fire burned in my dreams, lighting up Prince Meinard’s soldiers standing outside.

“If you were free, what would you do?” Ealaín asked.

Irritation flared through me, fed by my weariness. “Well, I’m not free. He killed my sister! My parents! And I have this dumb amulet, too.” I glared at her. “That’s why you’re here, right? To help me destroy this amulet? Why are you asking these questions?”

“I’m not here to help you destroy the amulet. I’m here to help you find yourself.”

I frowned at that. What did that mean?

“What do you truly wish you were doing? What is your true goal?”

“I...” The fingers of my left hand, not holding my horse’s bridle, clenched. They itched. “I ... I haven’t truly painted in so long. Not with a real brush.” My tongue moistened my lips as I thought, the exhaustion spilling off mind, letting me think. “Illusions aren’t the same. They’re...” I searched for the right word. “They’re too real. Does that makes sense?”

Ealaín nodded, her pure-white hair sliding about her ebony features. “They lack any style.”

“Yes!” I said, enthusiasm rising me. “There’s no subjectivity. I can’t paint my expression in them. Not when I have to mimic the real world. I don’t get to pour any of my truths into them. Instead, I have to paint other’s truths. Reality’s boring truths. I miss it so much. It was nice dancing before the faerie, and I do get to create such wondrous art while making love to my brother and his women, but ... but ... I truly find joy in painting. It’s been over a year since I held a brush, Ealaín.

“A year!”

“Yes, it’s hard to pursue your passion when you’re following your brother around on his adventure.”

“It won’t be forever,” I said, my frustration dying down. “We’re getting closer to being done.”

“Will it be over, though?” Her citrine eyes bored into me. “Won’t there always be another adventure for Sven to throw himself into? Another dangerous task? Another perilous quest?”

I blinked and looked ahead at my brother. The exhaustion settled on my thoughts again as her words stirred through my brain. My brother did enjoy excitement. He always sought out danger in Az. He would perform stunts. Once, he climbed to the pinnacle of the Bardic Tower and stood atop it. He would sneak into maidens beds and claim their virginities without their fathers learning of his presence. He would fight duels. He would brawl in taverns. And...

He enjoyed playing the rogue—disrupting Prince Meinard’s plans, regaling busty barmaids with his exploits, narrowly escaping capture—for the last year. But I always assumed when this was over, he’d marry Princess Ava and settle down as her consort. He’d rule her father’s princedom with her, bringing peace to the Strifelands.

Could he endure that? Could my brother settle down?

Aingeal

I plopped down by the fire, spreading out all the materials I had collected during the day. I hadn’t planned on making a new feyhound to replace Cú Mheá. I missed my construct, but that wasn’t why I was building a new one. A concern itched in my mind when I woke up this morning, showing me the necessity of having a new feyhound.

I set to work weaving his body out of the wicker-like twigs, the spirits which abandoned through the world responding to me. They shaped the wood, polishing it up for me as I stroked it. Purple light flared around me as my wings twitched. I hummed to myself while Nathalie and Zanyia made a meal of the rabbits Sven had killed with throwing knives while they walked through the woods. (I flew). They planned on making a delicious stew. Kora dozed on the other side of the fire, her head resting on Sven’s lap. He watched me across the flames as I worked, a naughty glint in his eyes.