She looks exactly like her mother. Her mother always appeared regal and cat-like with a normal-sized nose that was flat atop the bridge and reached up to curve delicately into her smooth eyebrows. Nefari’s mother’s lips were always bunched when her mother concentrated on a task, but they would thin into a flat pressed line when she thought about something harrowing.
Nefari’s favorite part of her human form is her ears, though. She likes the way their points stick out from her tangled, long, and rebellious hair.
The bedroom door bursts open, and before she can think, she grabs a small knife from her hip and flings it at the door. It embeds into the wood inches from the familiar face staring at her in shock.
“Divines, Fari,” Dao breathes. “You could have killed me.”
Dao Pyreswift is one of the shadow children the centaurs had saved. Her friend’s short hair is cut so each lock is uneven. It’s longer in the back than the front and frames his face the way delicately plucked feathers curl. His pointed ears poke through his white hair the way Nefari’s does, but his are twitching with agitation.
Some might think he’s attractive with his pronounced jaw. It angles toward a sturdy chin and seemingly props up high cheekbones. His full lips are like half-opened rosebuds, but the other shadow people in the city who find themselves lusting after him will be disappointed when they finally understand that Dao doesn’t return their feelings. One shadow woman, in particular, comes to mind.
Nefari grimaces, strides to her knife, and yanks it roughly from the wood. The wood is already marred from impromptu target practices on past days such as this when restless urges grip her. “Try knocking next time?”
Shrewdly, Dao peers down his nose at Nefari. He’s only a foot taller than her, but somehow, he manages to appear so much bigger when he looks at her that way.
She tosses her knife onto the bed. Immediately, it’s lost in the fur blankets heaped and tangled at the edge. “Next time, I won’t miss on purpose.”
She knows her words won’t hurt Dao. He’s the only friend of Nefari’s that she trusts, which is something that doesn’t come easy for Nefari. The last time her mother had trusted someone, she died. The traitor, a longtime family friend and confidant, was Vale Riversdale’s mother, Gen.
It had only proven to Nefari that anyone can be bought to do the most despicable deeds, but she’s never seen Dao fold to such pressure. Not even when pushed to do so. He’s always remained on Nefari’s side.
Though Dao has admirers, by the near-constant intensity of his eyes, Nefari knows he only has feelings for her. Feelings she cannot return. Her ‘feelings’ were meant to belong to the man she was intended to marry this year. A man dead.
Vale’s features pop into her mind’s eye. Although his intense eyes, sharp nose, and thick lips are distorted by time, she can still fill in the blanks. Every year that passes brings another thing she forgets about him, but she refuses to forget his face.
She shies away from Dao’s gaze. “What are you doing here? Did Bastian ask you to talk some sense into me?”
Dao crosses his arms and leans against the door frame. “He mentioned something. The whole city is talking about it, and not necessarily in a good way.”
She has never understood why they call it a city. Salix’s capital is far more populated and, from what she’s heard, more extravagant and civilized. Truly, the centaurs aren’t a prospering species, and they’re certainly heathens. As warriors, there are some years when more die than are given life. Besides, the valley within the mountains isn’t large enough to host more than a hundred more than it already has. Not unless they sacrifice the trees that keep a majority of the city hidden.
Amused with his response, Nefari snorts. She strides to her trunk for a change of clothes. “I’m assuming you’re talking about the magic. I don’t know why he cares so much. It was only a little bit, and as I told him, the wraiths never came.”
“The magic, the arguing with Bastian, the fact that you didn’t wait for the others . . .” Dao trails off. “You shouldn’t undermine Bastian’s authority, Fari. The others don’t like it, and eventually, they will see him unfit to lead because of his soft spot for you. The Rebel Legion doesn’t need a war between its own people.”
Digging around a bit in the cluttered trunk, Nefari pulls out a tunic and a pair of leather pants. She tries hard not to let his word sink in, wishing he would give her some slack instead of trying to shape her into someone she doesn’t want to be.
Patrix is right on that score.
Without being asked, Dao turns his back to her, and Nefari strips from yesterday’s grimy clothes. She hadn’t bothered to change when they returned home. After she stabled her mare, she had flopped in her bed and immediately fell asleep.
Nefari dips her hand into the water bucket Bastian had gotten for her last night and rings out the cloth. The frigid water loudly plops back inside.
None of the huts have bathing chambers – the one thing she misses most about the Shadow Castle – so unless she wants to make the trek to the communal hot springs . . .
She quickly wipes herself down with the cloth, careful to avoid the stitches, and scrubs at her raw face. Her cheeks are still wind burnt and chapped from the blustering wind.
Water splashes out of the bucket when she drops the cloth back inside. Nefari rises to his disapproving mood, which seeps into the room like a rotting stench while he waits for her to finish. “Everything worked out the way it was supposed to. No one died, Dao.”
“Only because you were lucky,” he grunts. His words echo down the wide and tall hall which stretches to the rest of Bastian’s hut.
“Would you have done anything differently?” The words are muffled by her tunic as she shoves her head through the hole.
“Yes. It isn’t my job to question those wiser than I.”
She huffs. It’s the main reason she’s not attracted to him. He’s too comfortable with authority that he doesn’t question it when it collides with morals and common sense.
“You weren’t there. No one in their right mind – Look, you didn’t see –”
“Were you, Fari?” His voice is soft but petulant. “You were there, yes. But were you in your right mind?”
Fully dressed, she grinds her teeth while shutting the lid of her trunk. Dao turns around and leans against the doorframe. He continues, “Can you blame him for trying to keep you safe? Besides, if he did treat you like everyone else, he would have dragged you before the council as soon as you returned. You would have been destined for the shame post.”
Nefari bristles, knowing he’s right. The wooden pole outside of the Council Hut is where those who’ve broken meager laws get tethered for everyone to witness their crimes. Nefari has never been subjected to the shame of it, and she never wants to. There are some things she proudly avoids.
She ignores his mights and maybes and answers his question. “He doesn’t need to try. I don’t know how much clearer I can make it. I don’t need his guidance. I never asked for it, and frankly, I don’t want it.” Nefari puts her hands on her hips and breathes deeply. She can feel her magic stirring as her agitation grows.
“You need to find a way to get over the blood vow.”