Page 65 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
“Hope you like earth tones,” Briar remarked before Tamsyn sent another hand storm his way.
When she’d finished with him, he sported a hooded sack, a thick leather belt shaping it around his narrow hips. A cape like mine mantled his shoulders. His pants fit the same but were now of umber leather instead of black denim. Antiqued, knee-high leather boots replaced his suede sneakers. I assumed most common fae lacked regular access to department shoe stores.
“Armor still be protection beneath,” Tamsyn assured Briar, who analyzed his new duds. “I know important.” Then she offered me the potion. “Ready for drinking.”
Reluctant though I was to ingest a mysterious blue tea made from a spider’s web by a Witch with blood under her fingernails, I took it from her and drank. Sweet and delicate, the potion tasted downright delicious. I drank the whole thing in two gulps as Tamsyn instructed, then burped so loud Aunt Aylie would’ve pinched me.
“That’ll be.” Tamsyn snatched the cup from me, set to cleaning it.
Feeling no different, I chewed my lip. “How long does it take to work?”
She tittered in response.
Briar rose from his seat and strode toward me, assessing. “That should do it.”
I goggled. “Something already happened?”
Chuckling, he grabbed a tarnished plate off Tamsyn’s table and blew off its dust. “Scáil,“ he uttered, waving his hand over the dish, which transformed into a mirror of ice. He held it up for my inspection.
I grabbed a lock of my hair. It was brown! Brown as mud. As were my eyebrows. How funny that I’d always wanted to dye my hair brown—such a common color. Aunt Aylie had forbidden such defacement of nature, of course. Finally seeing myself as a brunette, though, I was underwhelmed. The change had dulled the features I’d always thought too exotic to be pretty. I didn’t just look normal now. I looked—plain.
Satisfied, Briar set down the plate and handed me my bag. “Let’s get on the road, Larkspur. Daylight’s waning.”
Before we departed, I thanked Tamsyn for her help. She didn’t look at me as she puttered, her smirk a nebulous taunt. She just hummed the same trailing tune she’d hummed at mention of my mother. The haunting refrain followed me back into the swamp and wove itself through my head like a weft to its warp.
Not until that night, after collapsing into a meadow of buttercups, did I realize the Witch’s tune was the same one in my night terrors.
Thirteen
BirdstwitteredoverheadasI trudged along the endless dirt road behind Briar, my walking stick holding me up. The suns soared high in the cerulean sky, the noon heat melting me like a candle in my layers. I’d long since removed my cloak and stuffed it in my backpack, but sweat pooled between my breasts, making me wistful for the stinky, damp swamp.
“Aunt Aylie’s title—beyn an ciorcal—does that actually mean lady of the circle?” For the past two days, I’d been playing a game of 200 questions with Briar, distracting myself from my extreme exhaustion and discomfort—and familiarizing myself with my new kingdom. I figured the more I learned, the closer I’d come to deciding if I could rule. “I heard you call the farmer’s wife beyn yesterday when we stopped to buy those weird potatoes.”
Briar stabbed his walking stick into the dirt again, forging our way. “We made up that title when we settled in Pittsburgh. Here, Aylie has another title. But beyn is still an important word to remember. It doesn’t mean lady, though. It means fae female. As woman means human female.”
I stared at him, my stomach lurching. “I—I’m not a woman?”
“Nope.” He didn’t catch my unrest at the notion—at my identity’s capsizing. “And I’m not a man. I’m a feyr. Young males are ryns, young females ryans. Fae children are still called children, although faelets is a more apt term. Teenagers are called striplings, and 20-somethings are youngbloods—but you knew that last one.”
I blew out a breath, knowing my brain would stagger at addressing people properly. “Are pronouns different too?”
“No. He, she, they—all good. Oh, and—I almost forgot—there are many genderfluid fae. They can be either female or male—or both at once. We call them dreys, unless they have another preference.”
“Anything else?”
“Let’s see—” He clicked his tongue. “Spouses call each other ceyla, regardless of gender. There are no husbands and wives.”
I massaged my sweaty forehead. “Ugh, I’m so going to bungle every social interaction because of this shit.”
He chuckled. “You’ll get the hang of it. Your mind will adapt.”
I certainly hoped so.
“Okay—well, now I’m almost afraid to ask but—what does Unseelie mean? You called Tamsyn Unseelie.”
“It’s a kind of class division. Basically, Dananns, Nemedians, and Milesians compose the Seelie class. Fomorians were once Seelie, but since the war they’ve been downgraded.
“The Unseelie—they’re known for being less in control of their powers—less in control of their animal urges.”
