Chapter 22 - Confrontation

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I run until the hills drop into the valley pasture. Skye's indigo coat shimmers against the shifting grass. She's only a small figure in the distance but as I watch her she lifts her head in my direction, her dark tail flicking the air.

I start toward her again, but my pace is nothing compared to Skye's wild gallop. Her hooves sink into the ground when she stops in front of me, chest swelling and eyes trained on me steadily.

"Hey girl." My smile is immediate.

She whinnies softy and nudges her muzzle into my shoulder. I was right to guess that she would be in this pasture, but I am a little surprised she's not fenced in or anything. Maybe horses here don't run off. 

"I missed you too." I say, wrapping my arms around her neck. "You're the only creature around here without a hidden agenda."

The mare bends her knee and extends her long neck, allowing me to jump on her back without the help of a saddle. I grab a handful of mane and swing onto her back, glad for once that I'm tall. Without any motivation from me, she lunges into a run. I lean into her, mesmerized by the billowing waves of green below us.

According to Orla's schedule, I'm supposed to be reviewing my dance routine before eating dinner alone in my room. She should know better than to expect a high school senior to show up anywhere without an incentive. And right now, the only thing I'd get from going to my dance class is harsh judgements and damaged pride.

So far my horse has been the only tutor to earn her keep. No one else is helping me to improve my faery skills, or whatever they call them. No one has taught me a thing I didn't already know.

The only reason the voice lessons this afternoon went surprisingly well is because I guess I have a hidden talent for singing. Other than messing around with car jams, or an occasional sing along in the shower, I don't ever sing.

Maybe I used to.

The memory I had while singing is now only a sweet aftertaste in my mind. But someone was definitely singing with me.  Ever since I stepped onto Cináed's ship, the sudden increase of childhood memories has left me befuddled and feeling more lost than ever. In the moment when the memory appears, my entire being is overwhelmed with a sense of belonging. It's a sensation I thought I'd never known before, but according to these memories, I used to feel that way all the time.

The orange globe of light, that acts just like a perfect sun in this world, is settling comfortably into the hills. My gaze lifts from the scene and finds a lone figure standing on a hill, watching us gallop below. The air in my lungs settles like a heavy weight as I try to breath.

So the King came to fetch me like a stray pet.

Against the internal pleas that I send to her mind, Skye nears him as if silently beckoned by him. I doubt either of us could have continued our ride anyway, not with his presence casting such a depressing gloom over everything.

As Skye stops in front of him, his sharp eyes glint at me like pools of ice water. I feel stuck in them. No more significant than a bug in a web.

"The mortal wanders alone." His voice slithers down my spine, and I feel my body slide off the horse.

"I—I'm not alone." I rest my hand on Skye's neck, forcing my words to reflect how much I hate him. "And we were having a great time before you showed up."

His eyebrow twitches, but otherwise, his marble features remain still.

"I wonder what displeases my mortal so. Why she would spend an evening in isolation when she could pleasure herself in anything her simple mind desired." He closes the distance between us in an instant, and his hand brushes my cheek. "Perhaps she feels she is better than what my kingdom can offer her."

My eyelids close and my cheek rests against his strong hand.

Lena's words resound like a warning call in my head. "Only the darkest of Fae can manipulate hearts like he can."

I snap out of it and step back, my previous fury reigniting. 

Not these mind games again.

"I'm not your mortal." I say, my hands clenching. Skye shifts beside me, and I know she wants to bolt. But despite the growing tension around her, she stays with me. The King's eyes tighten, and his jaw flexes beneath his beard. But I ignore the signs and keep talking, using my anger to fuel my words.

"Don't you get it, Naoise? I know your secret. You belong here as much as I do. I'll bet your stupid challenge is just a pathetic attempt to distract from your own insecurities."

I step forward, my face inches from his as my voice lowers to a biting whisper. "But your power games don't change the fact that you are a stranger in your own kingdom."

As I speak I can see the setting sun shifting into a shade of blood red. When the last word falls from my lips, the sun drops like a ball from the sky, leaving us standing in complete darkness. A sliver of moon castes a terrible and captivating glow over the King, and my stomach clenches when I realize the control he holds over something as unalterable as a sunset.

"It would be in your best interest to return with me to the castle." He says, his breath cold against my cheeks. "There are demons who revel in the darkness. Demons who would love nothing better than to come across a helpless mortal."

He turns and walks up the hill just as a dark chariot crests our view. Before climbing inside he looks back at me.

"I wonder how long you could run if I allowed said beasts to come out and play. Surely you would last no more than a few moments. Even the fastest of horses cannot outrun a night chase."

A manic cry echoes over the valley in response to his threat. The moon glints off of the King's teeth as his lips pull back into a charming smile, and I follow his gaze to the distant tree line. I swear I can see the leaves shaking, as if they're holding something back.

My throat closes and I almost run to the chariot. The King takes my hand and helps me up, and I watch as Skye disappears into the misty blackness of the night. I hate leaving her there almost as much as I hate that King Naoise holds my hand the entire trip back to the castle—his fingers acting like iron bars that trap me in his cage.

<<——————>>

"You are supposed to be dancing, Roisín. Not marching like a soldier." Genevieve scolds. 

She told me earlier that she grew up in Germany before moving to Ireland as a student. Her last memory is reading in the morning paper that the Titanic sank, and crying about it on a park bench. That's when a handsome man showed up and she agreed to walk around the park with him. She realized the monster he really was only after being led through a portal and "left abandoned when he had his way with me." Genevieve explained.

After hearing her tragic story, I don't have the heart to tell her that her entire family is dead by now. She still dreams of returning home to them someday, and I won't be the one to tell her there isn't a home left for her anymore.

Her and Lena are trying to help me improve my dancing skills. We cleared the chairs away and created a small dance floor in the cellar, with several Will-o'-the-Wisps floating around the walls like decorative lights.

Lena takes my hands and starts swaying back and forth. "We will begin with the basics then. The people of my homeland dance as partners. Perhaps this will help you to learn to dance on your own."

My feet move back and forth with hers, and the choir of girls continues to sing for us as simple but pretty music. Genevieve is twirling around the floor, her braided hair now falling in loose, blond waves down her back.

"You must feel the music, Roisín." She says as she twists and bends her body like an interpretive dancer gone mad. In a way, it's beautiful. But it's also pretty bizarre.

"I won't ever be able to do that." I say, barely keeping up with Lena's more simple side to side sway. The only reason I haven't given up and gone back to bed is because I'm waiting for milkmaid to show up and explain herself.

When I mentioned how the strawberry shortcake appeared out of nowhere, Lena explained she used to live in the castle as a mortal bride to the old King long ago. But she's eaten too much faery food and lived here too long, so any mortality in her blood is long gone now.

"Genevieve is right." Lena is saying. "You are too much in your head to dance like the Fae."

"Leave the poor thing alone." Markie says, tossing a knife in the air and letting it sink into the table top. "Didn't you say something about failing your first sparring lesson?"

Lena finally lets go of my hands and I nod, glad to be moving on to something else. Even if it's another one of my failures, at least doesn't involve dancing.

"Let's just say that my tutor used me as a punching bag." I say, my hand moving to the significant lump on my forehead. I touch it and wince.

"I'll give you some pointers for next time." Markie says, standing up and reaching for two mops leaning against the wall. She cracks the sticks from the lumped pieces of dirty cloth at the bottom, and tosses one of the sticks to me. "I'd pay a pretty bag of gold to see you leave this tutor on his backside the next time around." She adds with a grin.

I catch the stick in both hands and plant my feet the way the tutor showed me. Markie paces around me, tapping her stick on the ground.

"Your posture is decent. But I can already tell that you focus too much on the small details." She stops and takes her stance in front of me. "To fight is to combine the movement of breath and energy into one solid motion. Let your instincts take control."

I want to tell her that her fighting lesson is sounding a lot like Lena and Genevieve's dancing lesson, but I nod and try to incorporate her advice into my stance. I'm distracted from watching her, however, when I hear footsteps coming down the tunnel. Markie moves forward, and just like before I'm left sprawled on my sore backside, staring up at Markie's face.

"You weren't lying about the punching bag part." She says, the previous humor in her eyes replaced with concern.

I'm still catching my stolen breath, knowing there's going to be a permanent bruise on my butt for the rest of my life, when another face appears above me.

"I see I have missed out on some enjoyable entertainment this evening." Milkmaid says, her strawberry hair falling around her face like a halo. "I hope I am not too late in saying you did that wrong."


<<----------->>

It's November 1st! Do you know what that means?? 

SAMHAIN (SOW-in) IS FINALLY HERE. 

I hope your Halloween festivities last night prepared you for the amazements of today. I'll be posting again later on so stay tuned and be ready for more wild adventures <3

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