Tempered glass, p.1
Tempered Glass, page 1
Beth Overmyer
Tempered Glass
Blade and Bone Book Two
FLAME TREE PRESS
London & New York
‘Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.’
Abraham Lincoln
PART ONE
Chapter One
One week passed and then another since Verve had promised to return to Letorheas, the land of Faerie. The longer she remained with her family, the more convinced she became that she was safe and not a danger to those around her.
There was little time to worry about what was not, she told herself. The bills needed paying, and she was the most fit to work and earn them a living since Father had been murdered. Not that anyone – well, anyone human – besides her younger sister Helena believed him to be dead. Mother and Davinia still held on to the hope that Father would return and things would go back to normal.
They wouldn’t. Father had been killed by Dacre, a fae lord who wanted the Cunning Blade, the only weapon capable of killing high fae. Fortunately, the blade had been destroyed and could no longer benefit anyone evil. Unfortunately, Verve had absorbed all of its powers, which made day-to-day living a challenge, but nothing she couldn’t handle. Not for the first time that day did she touch her face, making certain her mortal appearance was holding. Without it, her ears would be pointed, her face would be pale and glowing, and others would see that her eyes were not quite human. Her hand brushed a sticky barrier, and she was reassured she would appear normal to anyone who might intrude upon her solitude.
Verve sat in the attic in the stifling heat of late summer, sixteen months since she had promised her fae husband, Fenn, she would summon him and they would leave Etterhea – the mortal realm – together. The story she was writing would not co-operate, as her mind was pulled in a million different directions: Fenn, home, her strange powers, and pretending to be normal were chief among them.
“Where is Verve?” asked Dav. Verve could hear her youngest sister all the way down in the kitchen. She imagined Davinia’s fair brow puckering and a golden lock falling across her face. “She said she would walk with me to town.”
Anna, the Springers’ housekeeper, stirred a pot of jam on the stove as she waited for their bread to bake. Verve’s hearing picked up the monotonous clanking of the wooden spoon against the metal sides of the pan. “Leave her be. She’s working on her latest story.”
Dav snorted, and Verve accidentally snapped her pen in two.
“Blast,” she said, for she was now covered in ink. After a quick look around, she put both ends against each other and they joined together with a satisfying click. As a result, the air smelled of hot spun sugar, the smell produced after she had used magic, an odor also known as a residual burst. A quick wave of her hand took care of the ink, though it made her hands tingle with the need to use more of her power.
“She’s always writing these days,” Dav complained. “She might as well run off and be a governess again.”
Mother sighed, and Verve set her pen down before she could do any more damage to it. “I would not complain so loudly, Davinia. She’s helping us out from under all those bills, after all.”
There was a pause and Verve moved away from her desk. This was one reason it was so hard to write: she could hear every blasted noise in the house and the surrounding area. Sometimes, she heard conversations in her neighbors’ respective homes and even as far away as town. Those instances tended to come upon her when she was tired and her guard was down, making sleep nearly impossible. Not that she needed sleep much these days.
“I think there’s a man,” said Dav.
“Oh, do you, now?” said Anna. “You’ve seen one around, I reckon? Perhaps tucked between her books?”
“You can tease all you like, but she’s moody and more unpredictable than ever. Someone’s on her mind.” If only she knew.
On the floor below the attic, Helena stirred. The poor girl had caught another cold and wouldn’t let Verve help make it better. Hel was the only one of the family whose memory couldn’t be tampered with, and thus she knew what Verve was. Being a middling – a middle child – gave her the ability to resist certain magic, such as memory spells. It wasn’t true of every middling, however; Verve herself had had her memories tampered with when she was still mortal. Verve wished she or Fenn could cast that particular spell on Hel, as the girl remembered her short yet horrible captivity in Letorheas. Midras, the fae king, had held Verve’s family hostage, hoping to exchange them for Verve’s power. It had not ended well for him.
Verve shuddered and ran a hand over the gooseflesh on her arms. She’d better go down and check on Helena and then stop her family from gossiping; they might alight upon the truth, and she didn’t trust herself to tamper with their memories without Fenn’s help.
She was on the bottom stair when she thought she scented limes. Her heart’s beating quickened. He can’t be around. I haven’t heard from him in months. Though curious to see what she might find belowstairs, she stopped and rapped on Helena’s door. “I’m going down to the kitchen. Do you need anything?”
Silence.
“Water? Some fresh juice? I think Anna’s cooking with limes again.”
There was a sigh on the other side of the door. “I’m fine, but you need to tone it down. They’ll suspect you’re different.”
Verve pulled a face and checked her reflection in the hallway mirror. Her magic was still muted, as she had felt earlier. Fenn had reluctantly taught her how to disguise herself. “You mean my voice?”
“I can…feel you. Even through the door.”
That made Verve scowl. “I can hardly help how I make people feel.” She paused, knowing she oughtn’t be cross with her favorite sister. “I’ll try to rein it in.” With that said, Verve turned and went downstairs. She’s still getting used to the new you. Be patient with her.
Pasting on a smile, Verve entered the kitchen, where Anna was removing bread from the oven. The old cook looked up from her work and grunted. “Oh, good. You’re done writing. Now you can take Davinia to town and stop her from pestering me.”
Verve sniffed again, having caught another whiff of limes. “It smells wonderful in here. What all did you make?” Without having to look, she saw, in her mind, Dav roll her eyes and set aside her charcoal drawing.
“Blackcurrant preserves, which you can easily see bubbling here on the stovetop,” said Anna, giving the pot a stir. “And brown bread.”
“Did you make anything with limes?”
Anna frowned. “Limes? Dear, there are no limes to be had here, save for what your sister bought pickled from the shop.”
Could that be what I smell?
Dav apparently could wait no longer to be attended to. “Verve, you said you would walk to town with me. You know I ought not go by myself and sully my reputation.” She rubbed her nose, leaving a black smudge where her fingers had been.
“All right.” Verve dipped a finger into the jam and licked it.
“Don’t burn yourself,” warned Anna, eyeing Verve warily. “Are you all right? You…you seem strange today.”
Verve checked a grimace. If Anna noticed as well, Verve hadn’t expended enough of her power. Fenn had warned her if she left too much unused, it would seek other ways to escape. But I used so much last week. “The duke is about to propose, but someone’s beat him to it.”
“Not your stories again.”
“Enough, Davinia,” said Mother, not looking up from her crocheting. “You shouldn’t speak to your sister like that, especially since she’s agreed to do something nice for you.”
Cheeks crimson, Dav rose from the table and would not quite look at Verve. “I thought there might be a real man. And don’t say you’ll never marry, because I know there’s someone you fancy.”
Oh, the things Verve would like to say in response. Instead, she found herself counting backward from twenty, trying to regain control over her temper, which always led to magical mayhem, usually in the form of fire. “I truly don’t aim to marry.” …Because I already am married. They were not to know, however. “Now, do you want to go to town or continue arguing about my lack of a romantic entanglement?” She quirked an eyebrow at her youngest sister and headed for the door, remembering then that she had neglected to put on her gloves. I’ll just be extra careful not to touch anyone.
Before Verve had triumphed over Dacre, the fae lord had managed to curse Verve, making it perilous for anyone to touch her skin if they didn’t share a blood bond with her. Since Verve had already been remade into a fae, her familial blood bonds had been broken, and her kin were in danger of harm should their skin make contact with hers.
“Wait.” Dav hurried after Verve, smoothing out her golden hair as she ran. She caught up with her elder sister and attempted to thread an arm through hers, but Verve managed to sidestep her at the last minute. “All right, Miss Touch-Me-Not.”
Verve cringed and magicked a pair of long gloves onto her hands while Dav wasn’t paying attention. “We’re looking at dresses and not buying anything.” As convenient as it would be to make money out of feathers as she had seen done, Verve didn’t trust herself with the details. That and it was a morally questionable thing to do.
“Yes, I know. But just because we’re too poor to afford the latest fashions, it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy looking at them.” She stepped aroun d horse droppings and picked up her pace to match Verve’s. “What are you really writing about?” It wasn’t like Dav to be so perceptive…or so interested in Verve’s fiction writing.
“What makes you say I’m not writing about the duke and his conquests?” In truth, she had given up writing romance and mysteries and was trying her hand at fables. Her family knew about her quitting mysteries; she had sworn off the genre when no one believed her about Father. But romance? She should not even think about it.
Dav shrugged. “What you write tends to reflect what mood you’re in, and lately, you’ve been nothing like your old self.”
At the words, Verve’s pace slowed. “Helena said as much.”
“You’re not leaving again so suddenly, are you?” Dav pursed her lips and looked up at Verve. “I know we don’t get along as well as sisters ought, but it wasn’t the same without you around.”
A lump formed in Verve’s throat and she swallowed around it. “That’s not part of the plan. You know I love—”
“Oh, I forgot my hat,” said Dav suddenly, turning on her heels and running. “Go on without me. I’ll see you later.”
Frowning, Verve watched her sister run back home. What’s gotten into her? Verve turned and began the short trek after her, but she caught a whiff of citrus borne on a breeze and froze. “Using magic on my sister isn’t fair,” she said below her breath, loud enough for the fae she sensed behind her to hear. She felt his gaze boring into her back, but she didn’t turn, didn’t want to see the disappointment and anger in those dark eyes that haunted her dreams.
“How else was I to get you alone?” asked Fenn.
Verve rolled her eyes. She sensed him moving nearer and knew she should leave. There was nothing to be said, nothing he could do to convince her to abandon her family, no matter how much he insisted it was for the greater good. But her feet didn’t seem to want to co-operate.
Before she could blink, his arm ensnared her waist and he pulled her off the road and into the woods surrounding. “You’re doing a poor job of hiding,” he said, gently pushing her up against a rather wide oak.
Now she did dare to meet his gaze and was surprised by the lack of judgement she found. There was a hint of anger, though she could be mistaking it. “What brings you here?” Verve meant to keep her tone light, casual, but Fenn seemed to have different plans for their reunion.
His eyes darkened to the edges, and his skin began to glow golden. “You know what brings me here, Verve.”
“No.”
Fenn licked his lips. “Come with me.”
“I don’t want to.” She dropped her gaze.
He leaned in and rested his forehead against hers, bending over quite a-ways in order to do so. She’d forgotten how impossibly tall he was. “I could make you want to.”
A pleasant chill went down her spine, and she stopped a shiver just in time. “My family needs me.” Verve jutted out her chin, hoping to end the discussion.
Fenn sighed but didn’t pull back. “I need you, wife.” He twirled a strand of her reddish blonde hair around one of his fingers and kissed her eyes closed. “Letorheas needs you.”
That made Verve snort. She opened her eyes and glared at Fenn, whose hands had found their way to her waist. “What could that realm possibly need from me?”
“You killed its king.”
Verve squirmed, not wishing to think about Midras, but Fenn held her fast. “I had no choice,” she said.
“There is a balance to things, Verve.” He kissed her cheek. “You left us leaderless and lacking in power. First the blade—”
“Stop.”
“Then the king. Then Dacre.”
Her stomach churned at the mention of the fae who had imprisoned her the previous year after killing Father. The horrible man had fallen in love with her, in some twisted sense of the word, and had attempted a painful ritual to turn her into something he could use as a weapon. He’d succeeded in part, changing her into a half-fae. But most of her abilities now came from the Cunning Blade.
Fenn was relentless in his lecturing. “You can’t take so much power out of Letorheas and expect it to run like it ought. It needs you, Verve.” His grip on her waist tightened. “Come home.”
But Verve was already shaking her head. “I can’t. Don’t ask me to.”
“Middlings are going missing.”
That made Verve pause. “Why middlings? And what has that got to do with me?”
Fenn gave her a searching look. “They’re going missing from Etterhea.” Fenn pulled his face away from hers. “Everywhere I go, I hear murmurings of strangers, talk of young men and women gone missing. When I look into the matter, it’s always a middle child who’s been taken.”
“Fenn—”
“They’re connected, Verve. And they’re a fae’s doing.” His brow furrowed, and it took all of Verve’s self-control not to reach up and smooth out the lines of worry. “You could be next. Or your sister.”
Verve flinched at the mention of Helena. “I can protect her.” Her hands moved to Fenn’s and she attempted to remove them from her waist, but didn’t know how to do so without breaking his fingers.
“You’re practically a beacon, you know,” he said. “My wards can only keep out so much. One of these days, someone is going to find or create a hole, and I can only hope I’m there before….”
She wanted to tell him to stop worrying, to keep to a topic and stop hopping from one subject to the next; it was making her dizzy. There was no opportunity to say anything else as he pressed his lips against hers.
This kiss was needy, desperate, not the tender one she last remembered receiving. Verve responded with the same urgency, having not touched another living soul since the last time their paths had crossed.
His hands slid up her front, over her neck, and moved into her hair, tangling in her locks and loosening them from the knot at the base of her skull.
It would be prudent to stop him, she knew. Already she could feel the damper she put on her powers lifting. Magic pulsed in her veins, begging to be released. But she couldn’t allow herself to let it free, not here, so close to civilization. Frightened of herself now, Verve pushed Fenn back, and he went flying away from her, righting himself at the last minute ere he could hit the ground.
His eyes were fire. “You need to let it out.”
She chewed on her lower lip, drawing a bead of silver blood, which she at once licked away. “How exactly do you propose I do that?”
He approached her cautiously, as one might a feral cat. “Do you trust me?”
Her stomach flipped. “I’m not going back to Letorheas.”
“Just for an hour.” He must have known she was on the edge of declining, because he quickly added, “If you don’t, your power will find a way to escape. You could hurt someone.”
“Promise you won’t try to stop me from returning.”
Fenn cocked his head to the side and frowned. “I won’t promise that.” Before she could protest, he added, “Perhaps I wouldn’t be able to keep you there, but who knows? Maybe you’re too weak-willed to resist.” It had obviously been meant as a taunt, and Verve bristled, the reaction she knew he wanted.
Her temper enflamed, Verve knew at once she had better leave Etterhea for the suggested hour, and quickly; she didn’t want to accidentally set the wood ablaze. The thought of returning to Letorheas was not one she relished, and on instinct she looked back toward the road her home sat on. Would they be safe while she was away?
Taking advantage of her distraction, Fenn grabbed her hand and tugged her at a dizzying speed toward the nearest hawthorn tree. It didn’t take long to create a gateway. Fenn had only just pressed his hand against the silver bark when the trunk split into two parts, forming an entry to the world of fae. He nudged Verve ahead of him and ran in after.
Verve had hardly a chance to take in her surroundings – it was early evening and stifling hot – when Fenn pulled her against him. She gasped and he captured the sound with his mouth. He hadn’t brought her back to Letorheas to release pent-up magic, after all.
Fenn tumbled to the ground with her, but Verve stayed him with a touch of her hand on his chest. He froze.
