The exception to that was a faery whose body seemed to be cut of the night sky. Each day she’d paused to offer to share her studio supplies if he ran out.
“You could come to my studio. You could create,” she said.
“That’s kind,” or “I appreciate it,” he would say, carefully avoiding any form of “thank you” each time. He’d learned enough of their rules to know to avoid empty words.
“No speaking past the threshold,” she repeated each day. And then she’d left without pause. Knowing she was an artist made her seem almost comforting, almost familiar—but for the flickers of distant starlight radiating out as she moved. She cast white shadows on the walls. It made no sense, not logically, but Seth had given up on expecting faeries to adhere to the rules of mortal logic or physics.
Today, when they exchanged their daily comments again, he decided to follow her, but he’d only gone a few paces when he ran into Devlin. The emotionless faery hadn’t been around since the night he’d choked Seth. Now he stood like a physical barrier in the hall. “Olivia walks where you cannot.”
Seth watched the starlit faery round a corner and vanish from sight. “You going to strangle me again?”
Devlin didn’t smile. His posture and movements bespoke strict military training, steel-straight spine and every muscle ready. “If my queen requires it, or if it’s in my court’s best interests, or—”
“Following Olivia on that list?”
“If you follow Olivia into the sky, you’ll freeze to death or suffocate. It would be unpleasant either way.” Devlin maintained his military-straight posture. “Mortals aren’t designed for sky walking.”
Sky walking? Suffocate? Freeze?
Seth stared down the hall where Olivia had long since disappeared. “‘Into the sky’ literally?”
“She works with a different medium than you do. It’s a rarity born of her mixed heritage.” Devlin relaxed briefly; his expression was one of awe. “She weaves starlight. Tapestries of filaments so transient they melt each day. The sky isn’t a place for fragile mortals. Your body requires breath and warmth. Neither is possible there.”
“Oh.”
“She would’ve woven a portrait of you, but the consequence would not be one most mortals like.”
“It would kill me,” Seth confirmed.
“Yes, her por
traits are sometimes anchored longer with mortal breath. Breath for art. Balance.” Devlin’s voice had a fervor Seth recognized: it was madness perhaps, but it was madness over Art.
Somehow that revelatory moment of passion made Seth feel more at peace.
“Sorcha requests you attend her,” Devlin said.
Seth quirked a brow. “Attend her?”
The taciturn faery paused. He stared at where Olivia had vanished several moments past. “You might be better off following Olivia. My queen is—like your queen and like Niall—required to consider the well-being of her court first. You are an aberration and thus in a rather untenable situation.”
Seth glanced at Boomer in his immense terrarium, assuring again that the boa was contained, and then closed the door to his room. “I’ve been in an untenable situation for months. This is about fixing that.”
“Bartering with faeries is not a wise plan,” Devlin said.
“Art isn’t the only thing worth being consumed for.”
“So I’ve heard.” Devlin paused and gave Seth a look of blatant assessment. “Niall cares for you, so I will hope you’re as clever as you think you are, Seth Morgan. My sisters are neither kind nor gentle.”
“I have no desire to fight them.”
“I didn’t mean in a fight. Their taking notice of a mortal has rarely been a good thing for the mortal, and you are very much drawing their attention.” Devlin spoke the words in an extremely low voice. “Come.”
The weight of the faeries’ gazes felt different as Seth followed Devlin through the hallways. It was unsettling to see them stop mid-sentence, mid-step, mid-breath as Seth passed. Like walking with Bananach, following Devlin involved a series of twists and turns through the building. They went up and down stairwells, in and out of rooms that appeared to be the same ones. Finally Devlin paused in the middle of a nondescript room that Seth was sure they’d just left. It has a strange doorway. Seth looked behind him for the door, and the room was suddenly filled beyond capacity with faeries.
All staring.
“Turn and face me, Seth Morgan,” Sorcha said.