Teoryin leaned back in his throne, the antler shapes rising from his back, white bone melting into dark wood, a streak of silver catching the moon’s glow.
“So. You’ve decided to return,” he said, propping his chin against his hand. “Didn’t the mortal world’s sun offer you what you sought?”
Trisha reminded herself to choose her words carefully. “I’m still seeking, my king.”
Shadows danced around his sharp-boned face, the black horns jutting out through his wheat-colored hair. “You may chase all your life and never find them. I already told you so.”
“I understand, and yet, I must know.”
Teoryin smiled, although it held no warmth. “But here you are.” Flat eyes narrowed to Trisha’s empty hands, his brows arching like wings of a dove. “Though not to play, I see. Brave or foolish, I wonder?”
“Perhaps both.”
“Once past the threshold of the white stones, you’ve returned without my blessing. This I also told you before you left”—his eyes slid to the white-scaled form—“chasing a memory you ought not to remember.”
“High King…” Shi’as’ black tongue forked out. A pluck of a harp, a bone flute whistled, his words merging with the song. “Do I hear a reprimand in your tone?”
Hushed murmurs, the dancers faltering.
“Serpent,” the fae king said. “I wouldn’t do that, not without a cause.” His face lifted toward the constellation of the sleeping gods. “But I shouldn’t need to remind you of our… agreement.”
Shi’as smiled and said with a silky voice soaked in poison. “Even eternity, my king, can die.”
Teoryin’s face went still. The music waned.
Shi’as’ white scales scraped against the rock as he advanced. “Don’t fault me for the chaos you permitted yourself.” His wedged face turned toward Trisha, bent fangs glittering in the night. “You know what I am.”
A tremor beneath Teoryin’s black eyes, anger tightening the king’s mouth before he flicked his hand. The music resumed, and the dancers continued spiraling in the clearing.
“You’ve arrived before me for a reason,” Teoryin said to Trisha. “What is your plea?”
This is it. Drawing a deep breath, she raised her chin. “I have need of answers, High King.”
His chuckle was low and dark. “Answers cost. You know that, Tilia’s daughter.”
“But what if I bring with me something new, something not seen since your kin left the sun?” Trisha fingered her purse, the red flower tucked inside its folds.
Teoryin’s black eyes were a depthless sea. “If a memento is what I need, I’ll walk through the Opening myself.”
“And yet, you would not. Not once in all these years have mortals witnessed anyone from this place.”
“I’m no ‘anyone,’” Shi’as rumbled out a deep laugh. “You would do well to recall that.”
The king shifted, his long cloak leaving a glimmering dew over the dark leaves. “I may,” Teoryin said. “But only if you dance.”
Trisha’s face blanched. The shadowy forms flickered behind her, mixing with the mist. A breath of cold air slid down her neck.
The king stood. “Dance, Trisha an Tilia. Find me among my people. If you can, I’ll answer your question. But you’ll get one.”
“Three,” she challenged, pulling the flower out of her pouch.
The king didn’t move, didn’t accept her offering. His stare didn’t stray from the bloodred shape, its starlike blossoms. A flicker of hunger shone in his onyx eyes. “One for the dance. One for your tribute. And that’sallyou get.” He walked down the stairs, his lake-water cape leaving droplets on the ground, a shimmering path in its wake.
“Oh, I’ll enjoy this,” Shi’as hissed. “Be mindful of your broken heart, Trisha. An iced corpse would allow me to inspect it in more detail, but rob me of my amusement.”
She jerked. “I told you already. You won’t carve me open, Shi’as.”
“We shall see about that,” the serpent rumbled. “Go and find the king. If I’m entertained enough, I, too, might offer you advice.”
