Gold, page 6
She sniffs. “And it was…marginally passable.”
He looks to me with a laugh. “Better. The word she’s looking for is better. She had to hire me on.”
Despite my inner tension, I find myself smiling. It’s impossible not to—their banter and obvious care for one another is contagious.
“Now look at us,” he tells her, wagging his blond brows at her with a grin on his face. “I got into your kitchen and your knickers.”
Her eyes pinch at the sides and she slams a pointed finger his way. “Watch your mouth, Thursil Tern, or I’ll make sure you don’t get into either of those again anytime soon.”
He chuckles good-naturedly, showing off dimples that make him look boyish before he places a kiss on the orange swoop of her cheek. “Sure, love.”
Nenet rolls her eyes and looks at me. “Listen to the pair of them. Ridiculously in love. It’s a bit obnoxious, isn’t it?”
I laugh lightly, but it makes me a little sad too. Makes me miss Slade like a sharp jab to the ribs. “You don’t like love?” I ask.
“I prefer lust,” the old fae replies matter-of-factly.
A snort escapes me.
“Ignore my grandmother,” Thursil says before clapping his hands together. “Now. Let’s get you full. What’s your preference, my lady? There’s a fresh loaf of bread from yesterday, or if you prefer, I can cut up some fruit or scrounge up a tart…”
I shake my head. “I appreciate it, but I really need to get back to the field where I…landed.”
All three of them look at me with wide eyes, with hints of that same fear I saw in fae gathered at the field. An uncomfortable silence cuts between us like jagged strips left to hang.
When no one says anything, I push on. “Can one of you show me the way?”
“Oh, Lady Auren, you don’t understand,” Estelia says as she shakes her head, her expression almost mournful. “That field is the last place you can go.”
A frown creases my brow and worry starts to wrap around me. My body tenses, muscles poised to bolt. I’m unsteady. Unsure. Not certain whether I can trust these people at all.
“Why can’t I go to the field?” I ask warily.
“She doesn’t understand,” Thursil murmurs, darting a glance to Nenet. “She doesn’t know anything…”
My back stiffens. “Know what?”
“You can’t go out,” Estelia tells me. “It’s not safe.”
Can’t go out.
Not safe.
A jarring echo of Midas’s words that rings in my head and instantly has my hackles raising. Has me reaching back to grasp my ribbons and pull them into my lap. Reminding me of who I am now. Of who I am not.
My eyes go hard. “I spent years being told that very same thing. Kept in a cage for my supposed safety, when really, it was about control. So know this—I’ll never allow anyone to keep me trapped again, no matter the reason.”
Estelia’s amber eyes widen with surprise and immediately fill with apology. “I’m sorry, Lady Auren. I didn’t mean…I only want you to be careful. If they find out who you are, they’ll take you.”
My hackles rise. “What are you talking about?”
“Geisel is Saira Turley’s city. This is where she first came and where she lived before becoming a princess. That’s why most of us who live here are still loyalists, why you can trust us—because having you here truly is an answer to our prayers.”
“Okay…”
She tucks a thick black curl behind her pointed ear, looking at me with worry. “But when you fell from the sky, it flared. It sort of…tore open. It looked strange. The truth of your arrival will be protected by most of us, but it’s possible that you were seen by more than just those in the field or that someone will talk in front of someone who isn’t a loyalist, and that wouldn’t be a good thing.”
“Why not?”
Her amber eyes sink into me with a weighty hold. “Because while we are loyal to the Turleys, many more throughout Annwyn are not.”
The way she says that makes stones scrape down the walls of my stomach and bleed out worry.
“Some fae don’t like Turleys?” I ask slowly, trying to grasp what she’s implying.
“Some will hate you. Think of you as an enemy to be snuffed out because they were fed lies about your family. While others have forgotten about you completely. The monarchy has made sure to help erase your family from our histories, painting your line with unimportance. But Annwyn is divided.” She crosses her arms in front of her as she leans against the large kitchen sink, its faucet bracketed with crystal knobs. “It’s been hundreds of years since a Turley sat on the throne, but we loyalists remember. We believe in the way things were back then. All of Annwyn was at peace, our land and magic was prosperous. When Saira came, she ended a war. Brought fae together. Many of us remember the golden age that came when she wore a crown.”
I frown. That sounds good, so I don’t know why some people would be against Turleys. Don’t understand why I might be hated.
“But that succession changed in Annwyn centuries ago, when one Turley didn’t want to rule,” Thursil says, bringing my gaze toward him where he props up his elbows on the countertop across from me. “It was a shock to all of Annwyn when a new successor was coronated in their stead. The Carricks have sat on the throne ever since.”
That name niggles in the back of my mind like a loose thread on a sleeve, tickling my skin.
“And with every new Carrick crowned, Annwyn slips further away from how things should be,” Nenet tells me as she sits down beside me and picks up her cup again, bitterness lacing her tone.
“The worst of it was when Tyminnor Carrick ruled,” Estelia says.
Thursil shakes his head. “I don’t know. His grandson Tyec is a fucking menace.”
“What makes them so bad?” I ask cautiously.
“They tax the hell out of everyone,” Thursil says. “Bleed us dry every year, making it so more and more of us struggle to survive. They force magicked fae into the monarchy’s service. Fill our cities with royal guards.”
“But what Tyminnor did was worse,” Estelia argues. “He was the one who spread the hate for Oreans. Called for all fae to return to Annwyn, tearing families apart in the process. He made some of us hate them and think of them as lesser. But he truly ruined Annwyn when he ordered that bridge to be broken.”
My eyes go wide. “The bridge of Lemuria?”
“The very one,” she says with a nod. “And ever since then, Annwyn has been languishing.”
“How do you mean?”
“The land where the bridge was is now dead.”
I frown. “What do you mean dead?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve never seen it myself, but I’ve heard plenty. They say the ground cracked open and death spilled out. Nothing grows there. It’s covered in ash, no matter how much rain tries to wash it away.”
I knew Seventh Kingdom was wiped out once the bridge was destroyed, but I had no idea that Annwyn’s land suffered too.
“The dead land spreads a little bit more every year,” she says. “And with it so close to our kingdom’s capital, it’s been making the king nervous.”
“It’s Annwyn’s way of punishing us,” Nenet cuts in before taking another sip from her steaming cup. “We were never supposed to break that bridge. Idiots. All of them.”
All of this information spins in my head.
“The Carrick monarchs have always hated the Oreans, but they hated the Turleys even worse,” Nenet goes on. “They think that when Saira had the bridge connect permanently to Orea and allowed our realms to unite, she weakened our land and our blood. Diluted it with non-magicks. Let our world be polluted with their presence. Bah,” she exclaims, waving her hand dismissively. “Like I said, idiots.”
“But really,” Thursil begins. “The Carricks hate Turleys because they’re a threat to their rule. So long as a Turley lives, they’re the true heir to the throne and could overthrow the Carricks’ claim. Meaning you, Lady Auren, are now their biggest threat. Now that you’ve returned, everyone will think that you’ll be vying for the throne. Loyalists everywhere will support you and the promise of change.”
Great Divine.
I stare at him in shock, his words dripping like ice cold rain that plops onto my head and soaks through my skin with startling discomfort. The way they watch me with almost hopeful anticipation makes my gut twist.
“Let’s get one thing clear right away,” I tell them. “I’m not here to overthrow anybody. I’m not here to change Annwyn or sit on a throne. I’m no queen.”
“The gold on your skin says otherwise.”
His words make frustration buckle around my waist, pulling uncomfortably tight. “I’m just here because I fell through the sky. That’s it.”
“So did Saira,” Nenet counters. “And look what she did. You can bring a lot of good too, Lyäri. You’re here for a reason.”
I shake my head, trying to break free from their expectations. Their watchful eyes dim with disappointment. “I’m here because the air ripped open.”
I’m here because Slade saved my life and gave me the courage to take the leap.
Just thinking about him makes my eyes burn. Makes my whole body cave in on itself, as if trying to fill the space where he should be. I press a hand to my chest, right there in the middle where something twinges. It feels stretched, like a too-taut rope, and I want to grip it and pull. I want to tug him back to me.
Desperation knots my veins, makes me lump up my ribbons on my lap. They always reached for him. Touched and danced and played.
Flirted.
Then they were gone, and now he’s gone.
So I’m whole…but I’m not.
I’m yanked out of my dismal thoughts as Estelia sets a cup of tea in front of me. “We’re not trying to pressure you, Lyäri, but to tell you how people will view your return.”
Thursil nods. “It’s true. Annwyn needs changing. The open hatred for Oreans who still live here, the encouragement of division and fighting between fae, of rewarding nobles and punishing the workers, our dying land…it has all systematically ruined what used to be good,” he says. “But we fae who believe in the old monarchy do what we can for the Oreans still here, and we encourage our fellow loyalists. When your parents were killed and you were lost, it was considered a tragedy for us. But the Carricks were happy you were all gone.”
“They facilitated it, more like,” Nenet grumbles under her breath.
My stomach churns, and I squeeze my ribbons tight. “You mean…you think my parents were killed on purpose because of political reasons?”
“It’s what we’ve always believed,” Thursil says. “The Carricks knew damn well where the Turley family lived, no matter how much they tried to pretend your line no longer mattered. So long as a Turley lived, they were threatened. The battle that came to Bryol? Never should’ve happened. The war was long over. It was all too convenient that the city was sacked. That you went missing and your death was announced with your parents’, though your body was never found. Many were convinced that you were taken. Some hoped that you were rescued, but as time went on, more believed that you were truly dead.”
My heart contorts in my chest. After so long of knowing nothing, hearing these things makes my throat fill with bile. Were my parents killed, not as unwitting casualties of a war, but as a purposeful political scheme because some king felt threatened by their existence? By mine?
“Even with the Turley line wiped out, or perhaps because of it, us loyalists have only strengthened over time,” Estelia says. “But so has the hate against the Turleys. If the wrong people find out that you’re alive, that you’re back…”
“You’d go missing all over again,” Thursil finishes. “This time, permanently.”
My stomach drops.
“Thursil,” she admonishes sharply.
He shrugs. “What? She needs to know.” His gray eyes lock onto me. “We are celebrating your return, my lady, more than you can probably fathom. But just being here means you’re in danger.”
I loop a ribbon around my finger again and again. “And you’re sure that I’m actually a Turley? Because—”
“Yes.” All three of them answer vehemently at the same time.
Great Divine.
I blow out a breath, eyes dropped down to the counter as I try to take everything in.
It makes sense now—why I’m up in that attic room. Why all the windows are closed off. Why some of the people in the field seemed both in awe of me…and terrified.
Coming to this town full of secret Turley loyalists means I’m putting them all in danger just by being here, and yet, I’m seen as some kind of ghost come back to life, with the promise of change.
“We remember every Turley, but you were especially beloved for your golden skin. But did you know that every Turley ever born had some part of them that was gold?”
Shock widens my eyes as my gaze snaps back up to Estelia. “Really?”
She nods. “Oh, yes. Your mother had golden eyes, just like yours. Her mother had lips that looked like she kissed liquid gold. And it’s said that Saira Turley herself had flaxen hair with gilt strands that gleamed in the sunlight.”
“And you have the Turley rounded ears,” Nenet says, nodding at me.
My hand immediately lifts to my ear where it pokes through from my hair. “You’re saying all Turleys have rounded ears?”
She bobs her head. “Every single one. Part of your Orean heritage.”
“Rounded ears are dangerous here,” Estelia says. “Not every part-Orean has them like the Turleys, but the ones that do…they have to be careful. Luckily, most know how to hide them. There are a lot of fae with Orean blood who live in Geisel. Some of them were unlucky enough to get that particular stubbed ear gene passed down, but fabricated tips are easy enough to come by if you know who to ask, and I happen to know a source.” She turns to look at Nenet with a smile.
“Not that it matters for you,” Nenet says with a chortle. “Your golden appearance will give you away far faster than your ears. Not everyone in Annwyn will remember the golden one gone, but when word spreads, they’ll figure it out soon enough and everyone will then know you’re a Turley.”
“That’s why you need to stay hidden,” Estelia adds.
I stare at each of them, their gazes earnest and kind. I don’t know what to make of it. I’m so used to seeing eyes filled with suspicion, fear, envy, anger. Yet these fae look at me with hope. It’s both consolatory…and a bit overwhelming.
“I understand what you’re saying, and I appreciate the warning, but I can’t hide forever. I won’t let that be my life again. I’m grateful that you’re letting me stay here, but I need to return to the field. It’s important.”
“But we just explained how dangerous it is!” she exclaims.
“I know, but I’m looking for someone—the person who helped me get here.”
Nenet makes a noise in her throat, and there’s a look of pity in her aged gray eyes. “Saira Turley came here looking for someone too. But she never found him.”
For some reason, that irks me, and my gaze sharpens. “I’m not Saira.”
I will find him. Even if I have to figure out how to slash open the world myself.
“Nenet told us you were in Orea,” Estelia says, expression carrying slight disbelief. “How?”
“I don’t know,” I answer, telling her the same thing I told Nenet. I pull the ribbon away from my finger so I can rub my temples. This flood of information is boiling over and sloshing around my neck in overwhelming waves. “But now I’m suddenly back here, and you’re telling me I’m a Turley heir that the monarchy wants dead, and that Annwyn is a mess I’m supposed to somehow fix, but I’m just trying to find someone. He is my priority. So I need to go back to that field and try to find him.”
“But you could be seen. Caught,” Estelia exclaims with distress, her twisting hands burying into her blue skirt. “They could imprison you or worse.”
I pin her with an unwavering gaze. “I’d love to see them try.”
She rears back, like my fierce words took her by surprise. Even Thursil looks a bit shocked.
Not Nenet. She suddenly slaps a hand across her thigh and cackles. “There’s the fierce Turley I was waiting for! Heart of gold and spoken bold,” she recites in singsong before looking at the others, teeth flashing in her grin. “She’s a true Turley, isn’t she?” Jumping down from her seat, suddenly seeming far more sprightly, she says, “Well. It’s decided then. Lady Auren says she needs to get to the field, so we have to listen to her. This could be part of what the goddesses want. It’s not yet dawn. I’ll sneak her into one of the harvest carts, just like I did when we got her here, and take her to the field myself.”
“It’s too dangerous. She can’t—Thursil,” Estelia exclaims, turning toward him like she’s looking for help. “Say something.”
He comes over and cups her elbow, looking at her tenderly, and just that one look shows me how much they care for one another. “She knows the danger now, love. We’re here to help the Lyäri, not keep her locked up. My grandmother is right. Maybe this is what the goddesses want. If she says she needs to get to the field, then we need to help get her to the field.”
Estelia pinches her lips together, and the orange streaks across her cheeks grow darker, like fall leaves just before they go brown and snap off their branches. “Fine,” she relents with a sigh before she glances at me. “But you need to eat at least. I can’t have an underfed guest staying in the best servette in Geisel, even if you are here in secret.”
I almost protest, but her glare is very convincing, so I nod instead. “Alright. Just something simple. I’ve already been enough trouble for you two.”
Thursil chuckles as Estelia whirls around and starts digging through the cupboards in the kitchen and pulling things down. “Trouble? My Stel’s favorite thing to do is make food that people love, and I love to help her with that.”
“I only wish we could serve you in the dining room properly,” Estelia says over her shoulder as she starts putting together some food. “But there are too many windows, and the servette will be opening soon. We can’t risk you going out there and being seen.”
He looks to me with a laugh. “Better. The word she’s looking for is better. She had to hire me on.”
Despite my inner tension, I find myself smiling. It’s impossible not to—their banter and obvious care for one another is contagious.
“Now look at us,” he tells her, wagging his blond brows at her with a grin on his face. “I got into your kitchen and your knickers.”
Her eyes pinch at the sides and she slams a pointed finger his way. “Watch your mouth, Thursil Tern, or I’ll make sure you don’t get into either of those again anytime soon.”
He chuckles good-naturedly, showing off dimples that make him look boyish before he places a kiss on the orange swoop of her cheek. “Sure, love.”
Nenet rolls her eyes and looks at me. “Listen to the pair of them. Ridiculously in love. It’s a bit obnoxious, isn’t it?”
I laugh lightly, but it makes me a little sad too. Makes me miss Slade like a sharp jab to the ribs. “You don’t like love?” I ask.
“I prefer lust,” the old fae replies matter-of-factly.
A snort escapes me.
“Ignore my grandmother,” Thursil says before clapping his hands together. “Now. Let’s get you full. What’s your preference, my lady? There’s a fresh loaf of bread from yesterday, or if you prefer, I can cut up some fruit or scrounge up a tart…”
I shake my head. “I appreciate it, but I really need to get back to the field where I…landed.”
All three of them look at me with wide eyes, with hints of that same fear I saw in fae gathered at the field. An uncomfortable silence cuts between us like jagged strips left to hang.
When no one says anything, I push on. “Can one of you show me the way?”
“Oh, Lady Auren, you don’t understand,” Estelia says as she shakes her head, her expression almost mournful. “That field is the last place you can go.”
A frown creases my brow and worry starts to wrap around me. My body tenses, muscles poised to bolt. I’m unsteady. Unsure. Not certain whether I can trust these people at all.
“Why can’t I go to the field?” I ask warily.
“She doesn’t understand,” Thursil murmurs, darting a glance to Nenet. “She doesn’t know anything…”
My back stiffens. “Know what?”
“You can’t go out,” Estelia tells me. “It’s not safe.”
Can’t go out.
Not safe.
A jarring echo of Midas’s words that rings in my head and instantly has my hackles raising. Has me reaching back to grasp my ribbons and pull them into my lap. Reminding me of who I am now. Of who I am not.
My eyes go hard. “I spent years being told that very same thing. Kept in a cage for my supposed safety, when really, it was about control. So know this—I’ll never allow anyone to keep me trapped again, no matter the reason.”
Estelia’s amber eyes widen with surprise and immediately fill with apology. “I’m sorry, Lady Auren. I didn’t mean…I only want you to be careful. If they find out who you are, they’ll take you.”
My hackles rise. “What are you talking about?”
“Geisel is Saira Turley’s city. This is where she first came and where she lived before becoming a princess. That’s why most of us who live here are still loyalists, why you can trust us—because having you here truly is an answer to our prayers.”
“Okay…”
She tucks a thick black curl behind her pointed ear, looking at me with worry. “But when you fell from the sky, it flared. It sort of…tore open. It looked strange. The truth of your arrival will be protected by most of us, but it’s possible that you were seen by more than just those in the field or that someone will talk in front of someone who isn’t a loyalist, and that wouldn’t be a good thing.”
“Why not?”
Her amber eyes sink into me with a weighty hold. “Because while we are loyal to the Turleys, many more throughout Annwyn are not.”
The way she says that makes stones scrape down the walls of my stomach and bleed out worry.
“Some fae don’t like Turleys?” I ask slowly, trying to grasp what she’s implying.
“Some will hate you. Think of you as an enemy to be snuffed out because they were fed lies about your family. While others have forgotten about you completely. The monarchy has made sure to help erase your family from our histories, painting your line with unimportance. But Annwyn is divided.” She crosses her arms in front of her as she leans against the large kitchen sink, its faucet bracketed with crystal knobs. “It’s been hundreds of years since a Turley sat on the throne, but we loyalists remember. We believe in the way things were back then. All of Annwyn was at peace, our land and magic was prosperous. When Saira came, she ended a war. Brought fae together. Many of us remember the golden age that came when she wore a crown.”
I frown. That sounds good, so I don’t know why some people would be against Turleys. Don’t understand why I might be hated.
“But that succession changed in Annwyn centuries ago, when one Turley didn’t want to rule,” Thursil says, bringing my gaze toward him where he props up his elbows on the countertop across from me. “It was a shock to all of Annwyn when a new successor was coronated in their stead. The Carricks have sat on the throne ever since.”
That name niggles in the back of my mind like a loose thread on a sleeve, tickling my skin.
“And with every new Carrick crowned, Annwyn slips further away from how things should be,” Nenet tells me as she sits down beside me and picks up her cup again, bitterness lacing her tone.
“The worst of it was when Tyminnor Carrick ruled,” Estelia says.
Thursil shakes his head. “I don’t know. His grandson Tyec is a fucking menace.”
“What makes them so bad?” I ask cautiously.
“They tax the hell out of everyone,” Thursil says. “Bleed us dry every year, making it so more and more of us struggle to survive. They force magicked fae into the monarchy’s service. Fill our cities with royal guards.”
“But what Tyminnor did was worse,” Estelia argues. “He was the one who spread the hate for Oreans. Called for all fae to return to Annwyn, tearing families apart in the process. He made some of us hate them and think of them as lesser. But he truly ruined Annwyn when he ordered that bridge to be broken.”
My eyes go wide. “The bridge of Lemuria?”
“The very one,” she says with a nod. “And ever since then, Annwyn has been languishing.”
“How do you mean?”
“The land where the bridge was is now dead.”
I frown. “What do you mean dead?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve never seen it myself, but I’ve heard plenty. They say the ground cracked open and death spilled out. Nothing grows there. It’s covered in ash, no matter how much rain tries to wash it away.”
I knew Seventh Kingdom was wiped out once the bridge was destroyed, but I had no idea that Annwyn’s land suffered too.
“The dead land spreads a little bit more every year,” she says. “And with it so close to our kingdom’s capital, it’s been making the king nervous.”
“It’s Annwyn’s way of punishing us,” Nenet cuts in before taking another sip from her steaming cup. “We were never supposed to break that bridge. Idiots. All of them.”
All of this information spins in my head.
“The Carrick monarchs have always hated the Oreans, but they hated the Turleys even worse,” Nenet goes on. “They think that when Saira had the bridge connect permanently to Orea and allowed our realms to unite, she weakened our land and our blood. Diluted it with non-magicks. Let our world be polluted with their presence. Bah,” she exclaims, waving her hand dismissively. “Like I said, idiots.”
“But really,” Thursil begins. “The Carricks hate Turleys because they’re a threat to their rule. So long as a Turley lives, they’re the true heir to the throne and could overthrow the Carricks’ claim. Meaning you, Lady Auren, are now their biggest threat. Now that you’ve returned, everyone will think that you’ll be vying for the throne. Loyalists everywhere will support you and the promise of change.”
Great Divine.
I stare at him in shock, his words dripping like ice cold rain that plops onto my head and soaks through my skin with startling discomfort. The way they watch me with almost hopeful anticipation makes my gut twist.
“Let’s get one thing clear right away,” I tell them. “I’m not here to overthrow anybody. I’m not here to change Annwyn or sit on a throne. I’m no queen.”
“The gold on your skin says otherwise.”
His words make frustration buckle around my waist, pulling uncomfortably tight. “I’m just here because I fell through the sky. That’s it.”
“So did Saira,” Nenet counters. “And look what she did. You can bring a lot of good too, Lyäri. You’re here for a reason.”
I shake my head, trying to break free from their expectations. Their watchful eyes dim with disappointment. “I’m here because the air ripped open.”
I’m here because Slade saved my life and gave me the courage to take the leap.
Just thinking about him makes my eyes burn. Makes my whole body cave in on itself, as if trying to fill the space where he should be. I press a hand to my chest, right there in the middle where something twinges. It feels stretched, like a too-taut rope, and I want to grip it and pull. I want to tug him back to me.
Desperation knots my veins, makes me lump up my ribbons on my lap. They always reached for him. Touched and danced and played.
Flirted.
Then they were gone, and now he’s gone.
So I’m whole…but I’m not.
I’m yanked out of my dismal thoughts as Estelia sets a cup of tea in front of me. “We’re not trying to pressure you, Lyäri, but to tell you how people will view your return.”
Thursil nods. “It’s true. Annwyn needs changing. The open hatred for Oreans who still live here, the encouragement of division and fighting between fae, of rewarding nobles and punishing the workers, our dying land…it has all systematically ruined what used to be good,” he says. “But we fae who believe in the old monarchy do what we can for the Oreans still here, and we encourage our fellow loyalists. When your parents were killed and you were lost, it was considered a tragedy for us. But the Carricks were happy you were all gone.”
“They facilitated it, more like,” Nenet grumbles under her breath.
My stomach churns, and I squeeze my ribbons tight. “You mean…you think my parents were killed on purpose because of political reasons?”
“It’s what we’ve always believed,” Thursil says. “The Carricks knew damn well where the Turley family lived, no matter how much they tried to pretend your line no longer mattered. So long as a Turley lived, they were threatened. The battle that came to Bryol? Never should’ve happened. The war was long over. It was all too convenient that the city was sacked. That you went missing and your death was announced with your parents’, though your body was never found. Many were convinced that you were taken. Some hoped that you were rescued, but as time went on, more believed that you were truly dead.”
My heart contorts in my chest. After so long of knowing nothing, hearing these things makes my throat fill with bile. Were my parents killed, not as unwitting casualties of a war, but as a purposeful political scheme because some king felt threatened by their existence? By mine?
“Even with the Turley line wiped out, or perhaps because of it, us loyalists have only strengthened over time,” Estelia says. “But so has the hate against the Turleys. If the wrong people find out that you’re alive, that you’re back…”
“You’d go missing all over again,” Thursil finishes. “This time, permanently.”
My stomach drops.
“Thursil,” she admonishes sharply.
He shrugs. “What? She needs to know.” His gray eyes lock onto me. “We are celebrating your return, my lady, more than you can probably fathom. But just being here means you’re in danger.”
I loop a ribbon around my finger again and again. “And you’re sure that I’m actually a Turley? Because—”
“Yes.” All three of them answer vehemently at the same time.
Great Divine.
I blow out a breath, eyes dropped down to the counter as I try to take everything in.
It makes sense now—why I’m up in that attic room. Why all the windows are closed off. Why some of the people in the field seemed both in awe of me…and terrified.
Coming to this town full of secret Turley loyalists means I’m putting them all in danger just by being here, and yet, I’m seen as some kind of ghost come back to life, with the promise of change.
“We remember every Turley, but you were especially beloved for your golden skin. But did you know that every Turley ever born had some part of them that was gold?”
Shock widens my eyes as my gaze snaps back up to Estelia. “Really?”
She nods. “Oh, yes. Your mother had golden eyes, just like yours. Her mother had lips that looked like she kissed liquid gold. And it’s said that Saira Turley herself had flaxen hair with gilt strands that gleamed in the sunlight.”
“And you have the Turley rounded ears,” Nenet says, nodding at me.
My hand immediately lifts to my ear where it pokes through from my hair. “You’re saying all Turleys have rounded ears?”
She bobs her head. “Every single one. Part of your Orean heritage.”
“Rounded ears are dangerous here,” Estelia says. “Not every part-Orean has them like the Turleys, but the ones that do…they have to be careful. Luckily, most know how to hide them. There are a lot of fae with Orean blood who live in Geisel. Some of them were unlucky enough to get that particular stubbed ear gene passed down, but fabricated tips are easy enough to come by if you know who to ask, and I happen to know a source.” She turns to look at Nenet with a smile.
“Not that it matters for you,” Nenet says with a chortle. “Your golden appearance will give you away far faster than your ears. Not everyone in Annwyn will remember the golden one gone, but when word spreads, they’ll figure it out soon enough and everyone will then know you’re a Turley.”
“That’s why you need to stay hidden,” Estelia adds.
I stare at each of them, their gazes earnest and kind. I don’t know what to make of it. I’m so used to seeing eyes filled with suspicion, fear, envy, anger. Yet these fae look at me with hope. It’s both consolatory…and a bit overwhelming.
“I understand what you’re saying, and I appreciate the warning, but I can’t hide forever. I won’t let that be my life again. I’m grateful that you’re letting me stay here, but I need to return to the field. It’s important.”
“But we just explained how dangerous it is!” she exclaims.
“I know, but I’m looking for someone—the person who helped me get here.”
Nenet makes a noise in her throat, and there’s a look of pity in her aged gray eyes. “Saira Turley came here looking for someone too. But she never found him.”
For some reason, that irks me, and my gaze sharpens. “I’m not Saira.”
I will find him. Even if I have to figure out how to slash open the world myself.
“Nenet told us you were in Orea,” Estelia says, expression carrying slight disbelief. “How?”
“I don’t know,” I answer, telling her the same thing I told Nenet. I pull the ribbon away from my finger so I can rub my temples. This flood of information is boiling over and sloshing around my neck in overwhelming waves. “But now I’m suddenly back here, and you’re telling me I’m a Turley heir that the monarchy wants dead, and that Annwyn is a mess I’m supposed to somehow fix, but I’m just trying to find someone. He is my priority. So I need to go back to that field and try to find him.”
“But you could be seen. Caught,” Estelia exclaims with distress, her twisting hands burying into her blue skirt. “They could imprison you or worse.”
I pin her with an unwavering gaze. “I’d love to see them try.”
She rears back, like my fierce words took her by surprise. Even Thursil looks a bit shocked.
Not Nenet. She suddenly slaps a hand across her thigh and cackles. “There’s the fierce Turley I was waiting for! Heart of gold and spoken bold,” she recites in singsong before looking at the others, teeth flashing in her grin. “She’s a true Turley, isn’t she?” Jumping down from her seat, suddenly seeming far more sprightly, she says, “Well. It’s decided then. Lady Auren says she needs to get to the field, so we have to listen to her. This could be part of what the goddesses want. It’s not yet dawn. I’ll sneak her into one of the harvest carts, just like I did when we got her here, and take her to the field myself.”
“It’s too dangerous. She can’t—Thursil,” Estelia exclaims, turning toward him like she’s looking for help. “Say something.”
He comes over and cups her elbow, looking at her tenderly, and just that one look shows me how much they care for one another. “She knows the danger now, love. We’re here to help the Lyäri, not keep her locked up. My grandmother is right. Maybe this is what the goddesses want. If she says she needs to get to the field, then we need to help get her to the field.”
Estelia pinches her lips together, and the orange streaks across her cheeks grow darker, like fall leaves just before they go brown and snap off their branches. “Fine,” she relents with a sigh before she glances at me. “But you need to eat at least. I can’t have an underfed guest staying in the best servette in Geisel, even if you are here in secret.”
I almost protest, but her glare is very convincing, so I nod instead. “Alright. Just something simple. I’ve already been enough trouble for you two.”
Thursil chuckles as Estelia whirls around and starts digging through the cupboards in the kitchen and pulling things down. “Trouble? My Stel’s favorite thing to do is make food that people love, and I love to help her with that.”
“I only wish we could serve you in the dining room properly,” Estelia says over her shoulder as she starts putting together some food. “But there are too many windows, and the servette will be opening soon. We can’t risk you going out there and being seen.”
