Strings by Ruthanne Reid

Author:Ruthanne Reid
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fey, mythos, magic, science fantasy, urban fantasy
Publisher: Ruthanne Reid
Published: 2017-05-27T16:00:00+00:00

To say the mood was awkward when we returned would be like saying the ocean is wet, or darkness is addicting, or Fey are pretty. All givens.

We walked back into a dining room filled with suspicious, angry stares, created by people who were not okay with this invasion, but far too tired to put up much protest. Their close-knit group had been invaded; and now, I was drunk.

I couldn’t help it. Notte’s love ... intoxicating.

Together, we walked back into the dining room, he grim and I chipper, and I waved at everybody then sat after a series of powerful and possibly gravity-defying steps.

Glory, I felt wonderful. I think I was glowing. No, I was glowing: I could see the shadows of my long, thin ears against the tabletop.

“What’s this? He’s drugged? What did you do?” said Pinstripe, recoiling.

“His system is merely overwhelmed with an influx of power. He will find his balance shortly,” said Notte, and read the room’s mood. “I can see you have all been through so much. I am sorry.”

“No, you’re not. You don’t know us,” said camo-pants Sam.

He was wrong.

Notte bowed slightly, an acknowledgment without agreement, and when he looked up, his eyes held pain. “I have been the victim of gods’ wrath and slivers’ hunger. I have lost family. I am sorry for you, in a way few can be.”

Cue an even more awkward pause.

I suddenly wanted to giggle, but that would be bad. Right?

“It will give you little comfort to know this, but your trial is nearly over. Grey will end the danger,” Notte said.

Pinstripe stood. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you have no business—”

Notte ... looked at him.

Do you remember being very small and faced with real authority? It may not have been your parents; could have been a teacher, or a policeman. It may not even have been someone angry. Authority doesn’t have to be angry to be terrifying. There is that moment of realizing you are so small, and in so much trouble, and in such danger of shame—discolored with humiliation, stained by all the bad feelings you ever feared were possible, and you would do anything to be acceptable to that authority again.

Just my upbringing, then? All right, then. Happy face.

So anyway, Notte looked at him, and the old man stopped as if he’d walked into a wall and the wall had punched him in the stomach.

“I apologize,” said Notte, somehow making it worse, as if those words were spoken on the old man’s behalf. “You do not know your enemy, and what you do not know will kill you. I must insist you sit down.”

Old man sat down. Booyah! (I may have said that out loud. I choose to believe they all looked at me because of my ravishing beauty instead. Glowing, remember.)

“As I have said, your enemy is known as a sliver,” Notte continued.

I pointed at Pinstripe and said, “Ha!” (They all stared again, but I choose to believe—well, you know.)

“It is a piece

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