Chapter 5: Prince of Never: Chapter 4

Ever

As it turned out, the human’s best efforts to hold her tongue were pathetic.

Yesterday, we rode west until the creek crossed Fire River, a favored spot to camp for the night, and she prattled the entire two-hour journey—while I fought the urge to slit her throat. The only reason I didn’t seize my knife and permanently end her babble was for Jinn’s sake. My horse isn’t fond of violence. And stealing the air from her lungs wouldn’t have satisfied my blood-lust. Not even a little.

Instead of committing murder, I raised tempests and squalls and tortured and battered her with them as we traveled. And how did she respond to my harsh punishment? With laughter.

I cannot fathom why she doesn’t fear me. Most mortals cower down before a fae, be he a huntsman or a prince, and beg for their miserable lives. But not the freckled wasp. Despite my warnings, the mortal talks and talks. And then talks some more.

By the time we arrived at the river, it was late afternoon and the sun had nearly disappeared. I hastened to make a fire and a sleeping bower from branches, and the girl queried my every move.

How did you get all those tree bits down so quickly, Never? Was that air magic? And where did all those flowers come from? What are you doing now? Never? Why aren’t you answering?

I ignored her as best I could, but that ridiculous name she calls me whirled on the breeze like sylphs’ whispers.

Never.

Ever.

After.

Gritting my teeth while I worked, I finally remembered I had dried meat and hunks of sourdough bread I could fill her mouth with. As soon as I did so, all that tiresome speaking ceased. Then, with languid limbs, weak as a newborn changeling’s, she lay on the mattress of wild thyme and commenced snoring. The ensuing silence was the closest I’ve come to bliss in years.

I lay down opposite.

But I did not snore.

I didn’t even doze.

Too irritated to sleep, I watched fireflies dance through a black-ink sky, my mind buzzing with the wasp’s words all night long.

Now it’s morning, and my thoughts are fixed on home. Returning to the Court of Five feels like quenching my thirst from a poisoned chalice, blessed relief on arrival, followed by intense nausea, and in the end—a curse.

Instead of going back to court, I should wander the wild lands forever. But of course, I won’t. Like a well-trained mutt, I’ll be reclining in my suffocatingly lavish chambers by tomorrow eve at the latest. It is a sickness, a failing, how I always return. A disease I cannot cure.

A gold sun rises in the east, burning away the mist with a gentle sizzle. On my back, head resting in my linked palms, I risk a glance at the girl, relieved to find her still asleep—and quiet.

Beside me, Balor groans as he shuffles closer, and I give him a lazy pat. Then I expand my senses and drift along currents of air, checking for distortions and disturbances in the patterns, finding none.

The girl sleeps on.

The dog sighs.

The forest waits.

No danger looms, and all is well. I can return to my gloomy thoughts.

With my prisoner in tow, I suppose the court won’t be as boring as usual. And witnessing my mother’s face when she first lays eyes on the human will be a vicious pleasure.

But will it be enough to counter the monotony of the queen’s lectures? Will it balance out the pain of her harassing me to be the son she wishes for—a smug Prince of Air, eternally pleased and amused by the Emerald court? I think not. Her expectations leech all energy, leaving me no will to fight the black poison siphoning through my veins.

Can’t someone else become heir to the throne and leave me to hunt the wild lands with my horse and hound for all eternity?

Smoke twirls through the camp, an interesting scent borne on the morning breeze—unwashed human—earthy and moist, like a rich soil my hands could dig through and plow. What a strange idea. Frowning, my boots scrape over grass as I turn on my side to watch her.

The wasp’s purple gown flutters and flaps like a rag on the wind, snaring my attention. It’s an unbelievably odd garment and warrants closer inspection.

I roll into a crouch and slink toward the bower. She sleeps like the dead, so I’m free to reach out and rub her gritty hem between my fingertips. I sigh. The gown feels disgusting.

Her hair is red. She’s as dirty as a river-maid. Thick as a tree stump. Plain as a sparrow. And yet… and yet…

My vision clouds over. Hands steal. Creep. Crawl. Grip around her neck and squeeze. I imagine the crush of bone. The snap and tear of pipe and sinew. Her final gurgling breath. The idea appeals, intoxicates like cherry wine.

Then Balor barks, waking me from a dark fantasy.

We both watch to see if she stirs. She doesn’t. Then Balor sniffs her body from ill-made shoe to troll-like thigh, drinking her scent deep, satisfying his curiosity.

It’s less sinister than my initial desire to wring her neck, but still, I have to stop myself from copying my dog’s actions. Inhaling a human-troll before breakfast will hardly improve my morning, so I refuse to give in to the urge. Even so, I can look my fill.

And I do.

The faded blue leggings she wears are laughable in style, like something a court jester would choose to adorn themselves with. Her cloak is dark green, ripped and filthy as if it has seen better days. At least it’s made of wool, so must’ve once provided her with warmth.

But what is this lifeless material of her gown? The thread it’s spun from is not made of earth or animal, nor any natural element. The Merits would like it a great deal.

On the whole, the coarse outfit brings to mind the castle’s kitchen workers, and it holds a fading scent of animal fat and sour sauces. Only a servant’s clothes would smell this way.

The smoke snakes around her dirt-smudged face, and I drop my hand from her clothes as she sits up coughing. When her gaze finds mine, she makes an ugly grimace. “Oh, great. It’s not a dream. You’re real then?”

“Of course.”

Her eyes move back and forth, assessing the short distance between our bodies, then she gapes at Balor by my side. Externally, my dog looks calm, but I know he’s readying to spring should I command it.

“Why are you both crouching over me like that?” she asks, eyes dropping to the dagger strapped to my waist. “Are you going to kill me?”

On occasion, I’d prefer to be able to lie outright. Pity I cannot. “Not yet I’m afraid. We were just inspecting your clothing. It is ugly and impractical.”

“And you’re an uncivil monster, Never.”

“You must stop calling me that.”

“Must I?” she asks, shaking her rust-colored head at me. Twigs and flowers spill onto her purple gown. Without thinking, I snap my fingers, and the debris floats like feathers through the air. She snatches a handful of the fragrant blossoms and crushes them to her face, hiding a smile.

Balor nips at the dancing flora, and I let them all drop into the human’s lap.

“Cool trick,” she says.

I try not to look too pleased with myself.

“Why do you wear such an odious garment?” I ask, sitting back on my heels. “You must be very poor. Are you aware of its stench?”

She laughs. “You’re ridiculously sensitive to smells. It’s my work uniform, that’s why it stinks a little like food. I waitress… ah, you might not know what that means. I serve food in a restaurant.”

“Is that a type of banquet hall?”

“Yes. Kind of.”

“You are a servant then—just as I thought.”

“No, waitressing is my job. I get paid money, you know coin, to do it. And almost everyone works in the human world, even the rich people.”

“Why?”

“What else would they do with their time if they didn’t work?”

“Feast and drink and entertain a constant stream of lovers. There are plenty of ways to divert oneself.” Most of them boring.

“But after a while, they’d probably grow tired of those things. A person needs purpose, meaningful work to be truly happy.”

These words stun me. A person needs purpose to be truly happy.

Most of the Folk have no want or need of purpose. But I am different. And this must be why hunting draygonets brings me peace and contentment.

“Don’t you fae have any idea of what happens in my world? I figured you’d be spying on us all the time because there are so many stories about your kind interacting with the human world, tales that go back hundreds of years. Don’t you care anymore?”

“Many fae from other lands do trifle in your world. They care a great deal. But not my kind. We’re Elemental fae, and we only use nature magic. We aren’t interested in your modern ways.”

“What type of fae dabble with the human world?”

“In the south of this land, the Court of Merits dwell. They are different to Elementals and are extremely interested in humans. But it isn’t easy to travel from their lands to yours. And, if you knew the Merits, you would not wish them as frequent visitors to your home. Believe me.”

“They’re worse than you, are they?”

“Much worse.”

While she contemplates that fact, her tiny fingers comb flowers and grass from her locks. Balor snuffles at her ear, making her giggle like a child.

“Hey, pup. You’re not so bad, are you?” she says, taking his giant gray head between her palms and shaking it playfully.

In surprise, I look down at my leg as something solid thumps against it. Balor is wagging his tail like a milk-fed whelp!

“What beautiful red eyes you have, Balor. You’re quite cute, aren’t you?”

In answer to the ridiculous compliment, he sniffs and licks and whines at her neck in ecstasy.

What an embarrassment of a hunting hound. I never imagined he could be so easily won over. And by a human of all creatures.

“Where’s Jinn?” she asks through a yawn. “Galloped off home without you?”

“No doubt he’s taking his breakfast in the forest. When given a choice, he prefers to dine alone.”

Hostile and dark, her forest eyes look me up and down. “I can see why.”

“Your words do not offend me. You’ll be pleased to know I find you as hideous as you find me.”

Ugly things are fascinating. Ugly things are fun to taunt.

“Huh,” she says, rubbing her stomach as it growls like a peat demon.

I must feed her soon or she’ll wither away to naught. Then I’ll have no evidence of my unusual catch to show my court.

“So, tell me, can fae lie even a little bit?” she asks as I saunter to my pack, pull dried meat from it, and then toss it at her. I might have been aiming for her face. Regardless, she catches it with ease, spoiling my childish game.

“I say whatever I like.” Without looking at her, I sweep my hand behind, dismissing her as I would a bothersome insect, and continue rifling through my belongings. Trouble is, I don’t remember what I’m searching for. Ah, yes, hooks and twine. When I find them, I stuff both in my pockets.

I glance back at the wasp’s bland, symmetrical features, twisted with suspicion. What in the world is it thinking?

“Let’s test the lying theory,” she suggests, her eyes narrowing to jade slits.

“What do you mean?”

“About my hideous appearance, do you really think I look like a goblin or a wasp?”

My shoulders stiffen. “There are some similarities.”

“So that’s a no, then?” She laughs, and my black heart gallops like I’m riding at the center of a wild hunt. I cannot believe this one’s boldness.

I turn to face her, slowly, slowly, slowly. “Do not think to taunt a fae to anger, human. Have you no sense at all in your pale-red head? There is a wise phrase you mortals used to chant: ‘be kind to a vagabond for he may be a faery prince in disguise’. What think you of that?”

She laughs harder this time. “As if a prince would be as ill-tempered and badly dressed as you are.”

As I advance, my gray cloak swirls, slicing through the air in front of her. I turn this air into a tightly spinning vortex and lift her a foot off the ground. Then higher. And higher still.

“Stop,” she cries, smothering more giggles as she flails suspended, her hair a red wildfire reaching for the treetops. For some reason, the sight entrances me.

“Never, stop!”

I let the wind fall, and her limbs tumble in a mess over the grass.

“Why are you laughing?” I demand.

“What else can I do? Crying won’t do me any good. You should try smiling sometime, too. A relaxed attitude improves most circumstances.”

“I’d prefer never to smile. It’s an infantile activity.”

“See? As a name, Never suits you well. It’s a great nickname for you.”

“I give up. I’d like to throttle you, but I’m afraid once I start, I shan’t be able to stop. Stay there. I’ll go upstream and catch our breakfast.”

Balor barks his approval. He loves a sentence with the words catch and breakfast strung closely together.

“You’re going fishing? Can’t you just magic us up some tasty faery breakfast?”

“If you think you’ll enjoy glamored weeds and toadstools, certainly, that is easy. Should you wish it, my lady, I’ll prepare your gilded plate now.” I make a show of collecting a pat of animal dung from near the bower, and she stops me with a yelp.

“Wait! Okay, no thank you. I think I’d prefer real food if it’s possible.” As an afterthought, she adds, “Please.”

“River trout it is, then.”

“Sounds perfect. But you haven’t got a rod. Do you shoot them with your bow? Seems like a lot of effort just for breakfast.”

“You have obviously never seen a fae catch fish before.”

“You’re right, I haven’t. Can I come and watch?”

“No. Stay there. This is your chance to prove you can stick to our bargain. And, while I’m away, I shall devise terrible things to turn you into if you’re gone when I return, and I have to waste time catching you.”

“Will you leave Balor with me?”

“No. If I do, he won’t allow you to move, and I’d like to test the strength of your vow. Your will is yours. Don’t do anything stupid with it.”

Before she has the chance to prattle and complain, I pivot and leave.

The morning is swollen to bursting with a deathly silence. Creatures that should long ago have started their days shiver, entombed in nests and burrows, hoping I do not stop as I pass by.

I lash them with tiny whips of wind, to let them know I’m aware. That they are mine.

Mine, pumps my black heart. Mine. All mine.

Running through thick brush to the riverbank, Balor barks and forest-dwellers whimper.

I cut a path through the tangle with my sword, and then slide down a slope to the river’s edge.

The water sparkles darkly. Currents flow smoothly. And the fish begin to leap the moment I turn my mind toward them. With boundless joy, Balor throws himself into the water, jaws snapping, excited yelps ringing out that are likely heard many miles south, as far back as Ithalah forest.

“Quiet, Balor. You’re ruining everything this morning, putting the human at ease, chasing fish. What’s next? Will you want to ride atop Jinn, snuggling in the girl’s lap like a babe?”

He barks loudly and wags his tail.

“You would not like it, anyway. You’d overheat.”

In my arms, the mortal is much warmer than any fae lover. She is more solid, substantial in the way of earth and rocks, real and ripe-smelling like banquet fruit at midsummer. I think of sweet mangoes and berries, the way their insides bleed when crushed between my teeth.

The clouds roil and gather above us, brewing a foul storm to match my mood. Enough thoughts of the freckled wasp. It is time to fish.

I whistle Balor from the water and, crouching low, draw my palms through the air, pulling five of the fattest trout along until they are flapping and gasping near my boots. Pursing my lips, I inhale and steal final breaths from their trembling gills, killing them in an instant. Ending it quickly.

These dead fish are perfect, and my rumbling stomach heartily agrees. The human should be well pleased—but, actually, I do not care what she will think.

As rain spatters my cloak, I thread large hooks through my catch, string them on twine, and depart with a spring in my step and a happy dog at my heel.

My improved mood sweeps the storm clouds from the sky, and a few birds even dare to sing from high in the treetops. Sunshine warms my back, my shoulders flinching at the unfamiliar sensation. What would it feel like to be warm all the time? If I kept the wasp’s furnace close, I would surely know.

What a stupid thought.

As I draw near the clearing, voices drift toward me, the girl’s musical lilt and a deeper rumble. Seems the wasp has company. I let the fish hanging over my shoulder slide softly onto the grass and take a deep breath. The male’s scent is fae.

Creeping through the thicket, I consider which weapon to use—wind or sword—and as I recognize the intruder, my decision is made. A sharp sword it shall be.

There is no mistaking the pale-seaweed-colored hair that courses down the fae’s back in snarled lengths. It belongs to Temnen of the Court of Merits. A first-class troll turd if ever there was one, and a danger to all creatures including himself.

He’ll try to take the human away, and I will have to slay him. Then his father will likely come for my mother and our courts will be at war, an outcome I’d prefer to prevent. So, regrettably, diplomacy is the blade I must wield.

As I secure my sword belt, Temnen’s words ring through the forest. “Why won’t you give me your name?” he asks, in his slithering tenor.

Curious to hear her reply, I remain hidden and wait.

“I’ve already given it,” she says brightly.

Recently, I’ve heard much of her voice—last night, it even invaded my restless dreams—so I recognize the fear present in it. She’s doing well, though. I doubt Temnen is aware of her terror.

He draws his thin body to its full, formidable height and exclaims, “Wasp? What kind of name is that for a young lady?”

“My companion tells me I resemble one.”

He circles her, the fervent glow of his orange eyes visible from where I stand hidden in the silver thicket.

“And where is this companion of yours, and why has he left you to fend for yourself in the wild and hostile woods?”

“My friend is a hunter. He’s gone fishing for our breakfast.”

Temnen stills, the long bristles that sprout from his forehead quivering like anteaters’ tongues.

I rush a few steps back to collect the fish, and then throw them over my shoulder.

Speaking to Temnen might be tricky. I’d prefer the mortal continue to believe me a huntsman, not a prince.

As I swagger into the clearing whistling jauntily, he glances up, his sly smile spreading.

“Ah, what have we here? If my eyes do not deceive me, I believe it is a powerful huntsman called Ever.”

I sling him a dramatic bow. “Indeed. Huntsman Ever at your service, Prince Temnen.”

The wasp’s green eyes widen to an alarming size. He has not told her who he is, then.

“A human, Ever? You’ve captured a human girl! What a prize. I can hardly believe what I see. And, tell me, do you take her back to your court?”

“Yes. That’s the plan.”

“If you don’t mind me saying, it sounds a dreadful bother—an audience with your queen, perhaps a trial. And if she’s from the dark worlds, then you yourself may be blamed for bringing her here. There may be personal consequences. Are you prepared to face them?”

“I am.” I tilt my head, an insincere expression of humble regard, then whistle shrilly. Jinn appears out of nowhere, still munching on white clover, his ears pinning backward when he spots the prince at my side. My horse hates the Merits almost as much as I do.

“Good morrow,” Temnen says to Jinn, and Jinn answers with a snort.

Smoke billows as I dampen the fire with water from a leather pouch, and Temnen’s sharp gaze follows my every step. He is disturbingly silent for a near-constant babbler.

I rustle through my saddle bags, throw the mortal her second strip of meat for the morning, and then wrap and pack the fish. Later, when we’re a safe distance from Temnen, I’ll stop and cook it.

While I restring my bow, he watches to see if I will nock an arrow. I badly want to, but I don’t. As I attach the bow next to the saddle—a brazen warning—he clears his throat, waving a hand toward the wasp who sits with her legs crossed in the dirt.

“I will do you a favor and take her off your hands now, Ever. You may thank me immediately if you wish.”

“May I?”

“Indeed, you may.”

The human gasps. “But, Never, I don’t want—”

“Shh,” I command. “Hold your tongue if you want to keep it.”

The vile prince laughs. “Never? Is this the name you gave her instead of your own? It is too amusing.”

“No, she took it upon herself to gift me with this new one.”

“Well, I must own to liking it a great deal.” Pacing around the girl, he pets the ornate frame of his Merit pendant, the bright screen flashing images and numbers—their data as they like to call it.

“Would you care to view my statistics?” he asks her. “You’ll find they’re very pleasing because I am the most popular member of my court.”

And the most corrupt.

Bending quickly, I shove my hands under her arms, heft her up, and then dump her in the saddle. “Normally, I’m sure she’d enjoy nothing more than witnessing the marvel of your pendant, but today she hasn’t time. The queen awaits. And you know what a stickler that lady is for punctuality.”

“As do you, Ever. As do you. By the way, how is your heart fairing? Tick tock, my friend. Don’t tarry. Better hurry up and find your mate.”

Sheet lightning flashes over the sky, and Temnen laughs, thrilled to have riled me.

The human goggles at us, her jaw hanging wide.

Flicking his gold cape with a flourish, the prince slinks closer as I mount. “I will speak to my father about your human prisoner. He will be most eager to trade for her.”

Ignoring Temnen, I say, “Balor, here.” My dog shakes with restrained fury as he comes and sits at Jinn’s side. He longs to tear the smug Merit’s balls off, and for a moment, I consider letting him.

The human shivers as I take up the reins and pull her close.

Temnen’s tiger-eyes glint greedily at her. “We weren’t certain we would attend your court’s Samhain feast this year. It’s often rather a bore as I’m sure you can appreciate.”

“I can,” I admit.

“But now that I’ve seen your mortal, I find I’m quite excited by the idea, and I’m sure my father will be also.”

Trying not to let my lips compress into a white line of rage, I pull the girl closer and do the stupid head tilt at Temnen again. “Of course,” is all I can manage to say without roaring at him.

I wheel Jinn to face north, and toss bitter words over my shoulder, “Dana be with you.”

“Within a sennight, we have leave to travel past your lands to trade with the sea witches,” he says to our coattails. “We will call on your queen when we pass through and make arrangements to take the human at Samhain.”

Damn. That is bad news indeed.

“Oh, and, Ever? Until then, do give your mother my best regards, won’t you?”

As we take off, the girl whips her hand behind us and, unable to help myself, my gaze follows its trajectory. It’s an odd kind of wave she’s offering him—hand clenched and one lone finger proudly pointing at the Merit prince. I like the rebellious look of it and pitch my own version in his direction.

She laughs. “Do you have any idea what that gesture means?”

“Goodbye, you hateful prick?”

“That’s a very good guess.” Her back stiffens against me, and she grips my forearm tightly. “You left the water bag behind.”

“Don’t worry. I have another.”

“But shouldn’t we—”

“Do you want to be taken by the Unseelie prince? Because that’s what you risk if we turn back.”

“No, absolutely not. I really don’t want that to happen. That guy looks at me like I’m a fattened calf awaiting slaughter. You know what they say about the lesser of two evils? I think I’d rather take my chances with your court.”

Obviously, she hasn’t met my mother yet.

We leave the trees behind and come out into the Lowlands—a silver sky above, mint-green grass below. Jinn’s pace quickens, and he tosses his head with joy. He loves the wildness of the open meadows. I quite like it, too.

I plan to take the quickest route and follow the banks of Fire River through the flat plains, and then travel up to the top of Mount Cúig from where the four rivers of our kingdom spout—each one snaking in a different direction—north, south, east, and west. These mystical waters flow from the Lake of Spirits, a sacred place the technology-loving Unseelie have long ago forgotten. Once there, the human will be safe. At least until we reach the Emerald Keep.

Some time passes with the only noise the rhythmic beat of Jinn’s hooves, the jangle of bells in his braids, our breathing, and the low rumble of the clouds above us. The girl’s close call with the green-haired prince must have frightened her into muteness. She can’t be entirely witless then.

A wedge of black swans appears in the western sky, necks stretched long, and trumpeting calls to each other as they head for Feather Isle. They wake my captive from her trance. And, of course, she immediately begins to speak.

“Never, what was that prince wearing around his neck? It almost looked like a computer screen.”

“I suppose it is something of the sort. The fae of the Court of Merits mostly shun nature magic. Theirs is a strange craft, an adaption of computing technologies from your world mixed with a crude and dark earth magic, two opposites that together make something new and as they would say, shiny. They love it. We hate it. And every one of them wears those stupid pendants that collect the merits, and favors, and data that analyzes their every movement and action. It repulses me.”

“Ah, I see. That explains why they’re called the Merits. If they got part of this technology from humans, then it can’t be that old. We haven’t been using it for very long. What were they called before that?”

“The same. They have always operated on a system of courting favor and popularity votes, so when they encountered humans’ social technologies, they were enthralled and adopted it with haste.”

“What do your people think of it.”

“Most abhor it, and even though it is outlawed, some secretly dabble.”

She yawns and stretches, leaning heavily against my chest. Since meeting Temnen, it’s as though she’s forgotten I’m behind her, and I have become another part of the horse.

“Will we travel all day?”

“We need to get as far as we can from the Merit Prince, in case he changes his mind and decides not to wait until Samhain to try for you. I’d prefer not to kill him today. The queen would be far from pleased if I started a war without consulting her. When we have enough distance, I’ll stop and cook the fish.”

Hopefully, Temnen is wise enough to guess I won’t give the human up without a fight, and since I am the Prince of Air, there is none better with a sword than I. If he wants her today, he will die for indulging his impatience.

Then I realize I was so focused on Temnen’s interest in her back at camp, I forgot to discover why he tarried so far north. This is very bad. The queen will ask why, and I will not have an answer.

Pain sizzles in my veins at the thought of my blunder.

I should have just let Temnen have the wasp. Then I would be rid of her.

On the other hand, it will please Mother no end to have another creature to torment. She may even be too distracted to lecture me to take my duty to the throne more seriously and to hurry up and find my queen.

If only she knew how deadly serious I am. For one day soon, when I find this wifely paragon under the Crystalline Oak, I shall end her. And swiftly, too.

“Never? Can we stop soon? I’m starving.”

Balor immediately sits and barks, and Jinn halts abruptly, both obeying the wasp’s request. What is this mutiny?

Quickly surveying the environment, I notice a willow tree bowing elegantly over the riverbank. It’s a perfect place to take luncheon.

“Certainly,” I say, giving my dog the evil eye as I dismount. I’ll speak with Jinn later.

I have a bone-deep premonition this girl is going to cause me the worst kind of trouble—infinite and unfathomable.

But on the positive side, at least I’m not bored anymore.