Page 44 of Foundling

Attalus nodded, as if he had any clue what it meant to connect with the magic of the land.

This was all…

Fantastical. Beyond belief.

It really did smack of divine meddling. What were the odds if not? He didn’t like gambling, but on this, he’d take that bet.

When she next looked at him, it was with shy consideration. She didn’t move closer for a kiss, instead waiting for him to say something.

She waited so long, she eventually said, “Say something.”

The air rushed out of Attalus’s lungs.

“This is excellent,” he decided, his grin uncontainable. “It solves so much.”

Leita frowned. “I don’t see how.”

The vision was still hazy for him, too, but an idea was forming. Excitement heated his blood, and he sat up on his knees, trying to explain.

“The situation can be handled diplomatically. Send envoys to Highhome, tell Araxos I’m your azai, and that the matter must be dropped. Savrakae respect the mate bond. Even Araxos must bend to it, especially if the bond is with another powerful monarch.”

He might’ve said more, but her expression curdled anything else on his tongue. He didn’t think she’d necessarily be thrilled by his suggestion, but the utter distaste pulling at her lips made his hearts skip out of sync.

“I’ll do no such thing.” She stood up, stepping out of his reach, to emphasize her point.

She left Attalus reeling. “Why? It’d surely solve the issue.”

“Telling an angry dragon where to find his quarry will solve the issue? I think not.” Rounding angrily on him, Leita said, “What it’ll do is bring an army to my border, which is already weakened. I can’t ask the faelands and my people to fight a war right now.”

“So you…won’t defend me? Our future?”

“I didn’t say that.” Leita threw her hands in the air, her frustration palpable. “And I didn’t ask for any of this. Not the Queenship, not the faelands, and not a fugitive dragon prince for a mate.”

She was in danger of truly offending him now. “No one asks for tragedy or hardship,” he argued, standing to be equal with her. “All we can do is deal with it.”

“Well, I’m still dealing with the last hardship thrust upon me.”

Oh, her little fangs were indeed sharp. “Forgive the inconvenient timing, my Queen,” Attalus sneered. “If I’d known, I would’ve tried to wait a year or two before being framed.”

Leita’s expression soured further. Good. It wasn’t loving or good of him, but he wanted her to feel the sting of his words as he did hers.

“You’re impossible,” she growled, “totally unserious.”

Her accusation hit home, striking between his hearts.

When she turned to storm away, he let her go. He’d no stomach for more. There was apparently such a thing as too much truth, and he’d sorely found it.

11

Leita stared at the border, and the border stared back. Weak and distrustful as it was, it had little to say to her, a stranger.

The border itself was an odd bit of magic and only grew more so the longer Leita considered it. She could feel the ancient rites that had created it and the spells and enchantments used to give it form.

While magic was inherent to all fae, to use it in unnatural or artificial ways required what were known as spells. They could be a command or a request, usually words to bind that magic to whatever it was being manipulated. So inherent magic could make plants grow quicker, while a spell could make a plow harvest the fields.

Meanwhile, an enchantment was used to keep magic in a certain form. Magic was kinetic, a dynamic force that always wanted to be moving and changing. To keep it static, say, in the form of a wall, or even as a glamoured disguise over the face, an enchantment was used.

As Leita walked along the border, she could feel the layers upon layers of spells and enchantments. Like a hedge manicured into various shapes, the border was made of magic that’d been shaped and set by fae hands. Although the border couldn’t be seen other than a sort of purplish aurora in the corner of the eye, it still took on a physical manifestation after millennia.