And there are a lot. Not compared to most packs, from what the men of the keep have indicated, but to me, when I haven’t been around more than four other people at a time in nearly a decade… My gaze darts across them too nervously for me to do a proper count, but I’d guess there are about thirty. And this isn’t the full pack. There are others off on sentry duty or fighting in that conflict with the Unseelie too.
I couldn’t say all of them are exactly attractive, but there’s an eye-catching, unearthly quality to their faces and forms, as difficult to look away from as Sylas and his cadre’s stunning features. They range from twig-thin to barrel-chested, dressed in simple shirts and slacks or dresses of a thin but tightly woven flowy material. Most of them have favored the earthy tones Sylas and August generally wear, but some, a few of which I recognize as regulars at Whitt’s revels, are decked out in vibrant jewel tones closer to his preferences.
They’re eyeing me with open curiosity, but that makes sense. Sylas told me he hasn’t taken human servants since Kellan joined his cadre because of the other man’s intense hostility toward mortal beings, so these fae haven’t seen someone like me in their domain in quite a while. Whether they’ve ever seen a human with starkly pink hair is debatable. I’m just glad that I don’t pick up any obvious animosity or disdain in their expressions.
“It’s good to see you all looking well,” Sylas says in his authoritative tone. “I’d like you to meet a newcomer to our pack. This is Talia. She’s come from beyond the Mists. My cadre-chosen August has brought her here as a companion—not a servant—and she’s still becoming accustomed to our ways. I expect you all to help ease that transition and to offer every reasonable kindness.”
Heads bob in acknowledgment all through the crowd. I smile at them, hoping my mouth doesn’t look as stiff as it feels. How much kindness will the fae consider “reasonable”?
Sylas scans his pack with a smile of his own. “Excellent. Why don’t you take leave of your work for a short while and tell me how you find yourself these days? And if you wish to get to know Talia a little better, I’m sure she’d be more than happy to make your acquaintance.”
No pressure at all. I shift my weight on my feet, a faint tingle reminding me of the illusion that’s hiding my brace and any unevenness to my gait from our spectators. Since bodily magic is one of August’s specialities, he contributed to the glamour, instructing me to focus on steadiness over speed. If I lurch around too much, the glamour won’t be enough to disguise my old injury.
Sylas glances at me, probably appraising how well I’m coping. Even if my nerves are jittering all through me, I have to show him I can handle this. He’s taking on my enemies for me; I’d better at least be able to take care of myself among my allies.
I raise my chin a little higher and take a step forward to meet the fae heading our way. Apparently reassured, Sylas ambles on into the crowd, pausing here and there to speak with his people.
Many of the pack-kin gather around him to wait for his attention, but several drift closer to me. They look me up and down tentatively as if I might prove unexpectedly dangerous, but one woman who doesn’t appear to be much older than I am plants herself right in front of me.
Her long, smooth hair gleams such a pale but warm blond you could believe it was made out of sunbeams. She peers at me with close-set blue-grey eyes that are just a tad overlarge, giving her an unsettling insect-like appearance. But her grin is broad and as far as I can tell genuine when she thrusts out her arm at an awkward angle, as if she’s been told shaking hands is how humans greet each other but has never actually done so to know what it should look like.
I clasp her hand in return, finding her grip warm and firm, and give it a quick shake, even though I feel a bit silly. “Talia,” she says in a silvery voice, lingering over each syllable as if tasting it. “You’ve come a long way. I’m Harper of Oakmeet—I mean, obviously. I hope you like it here.”
“I like what I’ve seen so far,” I say, which is true if we don’t count anything outside this domain or Kellan or the fae from other packs who’ve intruded here.
More fae have drawn up around her. “What part of the human world are you from?” a burly young man asks, his voice gruff but his eyes gleaming with curiosity.
“Um, America.” I’m not sure if I should get more specific than that when I can’t answer any specific questions about what’s been happening there recently.
He hums as if that’s good enough anyway, and a knobby middle-aged woman pushes between him and Harper to inspect me. “You’re taken with our August, are you?” she asks in a possessive tone, as if evaluating whether I’m worthy.
I guess it’s not much surprise that August with his cheerful, kind demeanor and innate protectiveness would have a lot of fans in the pack. A blush tingles across my cheeks at the thought of what they might already assume about our relationship, but with luck that only makes my answer sound more honest. “It’s hard not to be.”
“You wanted to come, then?” Harper says eagerly. “Did you know where he was bringing you?”
“I—I knew a little, but it’s hard to be prepared before you’ve actually seen the place.”
She hums to herself, her gaze going distant. “It must be so exciting.”
A pleased exclamation pulls the attention away from me for a moment. Sylas is brushing his hand to the forehead of a willowy woman in what looks like a gesture of benediction, his face glowing with happiness.
“A new member of the pack,” he booms with such blatant delight a smile catches my lips that I don’t have to force at all. “What a blessing. We’ll make his or her arrival a safe and joyful one.”
My gaze skims down the woman’s body and catches on the slight swell of her belly. Fae are nearly immortal, but the trade-off is that they struggle to have children. How long has it been since this pack last had a child in its midst?
The woman and the man at her side who I assume is her husband—mate?—duck their heads with pleased smiles of their own, but all at once something clenches in my chest. Sylas has so much to defend here, so many people who are depending on him, who couldn’t easily fight for themselves if Aerik or some other lord launched an attack. It isn’t just the men of the keep I’m putting in danger but all of the pack as well.
He’s risked their security for me. He’s put it all on the line to give me some kind of freedom. I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay him for that.
I don’t know how I’ll live with myself if Aerik hurts any one of them.
Before those gnawing worries can grip too much of my mind, one of the fae women near me leans in and twists a lock of my hair around her finger. “How is your hair this shade? It can’t be natural.”
“August dyed it,” I say quickly. “He thought it looked nice like that.”
She makes a slightly disgruntled sound. From what I understand, only the truest of true-blooded fae with barely any human heritage in the mix would generally have coloring this unusual. Even Sylas only has a purple-ish tint to his coffee-brown hair. Maybe she thinks I’m attempting to rise above my proper place.
A stout man at my other side jabs at my thigh. “What are these pants? It’s an unusual material.”