Emlyn’s had to reapply the glamour every day, and each time it seems to take longer and longer. It’s uncomfortable having someone else decide what I look like—I still haven’t seen it myself.
It’s the third morning since I left Ellie with Taran, and I’m still kicking myself about it. I can’t help feeling like I let Caeo down. As Emlyn and I clamber up and down the rocky hills, my imagination conjures images of Taran offering Ellie his hand. When Emlyn pulls me close as we hide from potential enemies, I’m swarmed by visions of Taran doing the same to her. And when we settle down to camp in the cold, dark wilderness, my stomach threatens to empty itself into my throat.
On the first day, Emlyn repeated platitudes about how I should stop worrying, that it wasn’t my responsibility, how Taran was smart enough to know it was a terrible idea, and so on. But he eventually gave up, and now most of our conversations devolve into bickering. Not that we didn’t do that before, but these arguments are different. Strained.
Outside of that, everything’s gone smoothly. We’ve met with a few supposed allies of Taran’s, with Emlyn passing along his message. The last one mentioned they’ll be attending the prince’s wedding in six days, which at least got my mind off Ellie for a while as I fretted over Caeo instead—he’d never willingly go through with that. Emlyn decided we needed more information, so today we’re off to a village near the capital, hoping to uncover more. We’ll have to hurry if we want to make it to White Spring in time.
After walking for half the day, past hills full of goats and sheep bleating like their lives depend on it, Emlyn calls for a break. We’ve abandoned the sunny meadows for a shadowy, overgrown forest that makes all the trees I’ve seen at home seem like babies. Pale, half-dead babies.
“We’re almost there.” Emlyn hands me his waterskin as I lean against a tree trunk; the water here has a sweet, refreshing flavor, like it’s infused with bliss. “There’s a market, so we can get some better food.”
“Thank Arandur. I’ve eaten more nuts and dried fruit in the last three days than in my entire life.”
Emlyn cringes. “You really need to stop idolizing that man.”
“Shit, I didn’t mean to.” I give him back the waterskin before scratching behind my head. “I’ll work on something else.”
“Trythe Ancients,” Emlyn suggests, then takes a swig.
“Who are they?”
“The oldest of the trees. They’re much more worthy of your adoration.”
“Right, the Ancients,” I grumble. “Thank the Ancients.” It has a nice ring to it.
Emlyn nods in approval. “Now then—time to fix your ears.”
I sigh and pull down my hood, trying to stay relaxed as he rests his hand on my face. Several seconds pass as he stares at my left ear.
“I’m a little concerned people will see through it,” he mutters, tilting his head as he steps back to look at me. “Maybe if I got you to smell like me…”
My throat constricts. “H-how would you do that?”
Emlyn’s eyes glimmer with mischief. “How do you think?”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I force a swallow. “I don’t think there’s time for that,” I say weakly.
He shrugs as he pulls his pack onto his shoulders. “Your choice. You could always try telling yourself you’re fae.”
The absurdity of the suggestion snaps me out of my discomfort. “Are you serious?”
“It couldn’t hurt.”
I let out a heavy sigh as he leads the way to the village.
I’m fae. I’m fae. I’m fae.
* * *
Emlyn leans close to my ear. “You need to relax—you’re drawing attention.”
“I’m trying to,” I mumble.
The path through the village is full of fae buying food and other wares from merchants shouting their prices, and my body jerks every time someone glances my way or bumps into me.
Emlyn rolls his eyes, then wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me close.
“What are you doing?” I snap, tugging myself free, but his grip tightens.
