“How have I never heard of this? It seems it would be hard to miss, Fae dancing on the mortal grass. . . .”
She laughed. “but has not just this come to pass? the world is wide and time is long, but still you say you heard my song before you saw me singing there, brushing moonlight through my hair.”
I frowned. “Still, it seems I should have seen more signs of those who walk between.”
Felurian shrugged. “most fae are sly and subtle folk who step as soft as chimney smoke. some go among your kind enshaedn, glamoured as a pack mule laden, or wearing gowns to fit a queen.” She gave me a frank look. “we know enough to not be seen.”
She took my hand again. “many of the darker sort would love to use you for their sport. what keeps these from moonlit trespass? iron, fire, mirror-glass. elm and ash and copper knives, solid-hearted farmer’s wives who know the rules of games we play and give us bread to keep away. but worst of all, my people dread the portion of our power we shed when we set foot on mortal earth.”
“We
Felurian reached out and touched a finger to my mouth. “while she is full you may still laugh, but know there is a darker half.” She spun away to arm’s length, pulling me through the water in a slow spiral. “a clever mortal fears the night without a hint of sweet moonlight.”
She began to draw my hand to her chest, dragging me through the water toward her as she spun. “on such a night, each step you take might catch you in the dark moon’s wake, and pull you all unwitting into fae.” She stopped and gave me a grim look. “where you will have no choice but stay.”
Felurian took a step backward in the water, tugging at me. “and on such unfamiliar ground, how can a mortal help but drown?”
I took another step toward her and found nothing beneath my feet. Felurian’s hand was suddenly no longer clasping mine, and black water closed over my head. Blind and choking, I began to thrash desperately, trying to find my way back to the surface.
After a long, terrifying moment, Felurian’s hands caught me and dragged me into the air as if I weighed no more than a kitten. She brought me close to her face, her dark eyes hard and glittering.
When she spoke her voice was clear. “I do this so you cannot help but hear. a wise man views a moonless night with fear.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THREE
Close Enough to Touch
Time passed. Felurian took me Dayward to a piece of forest even older and grander than the one that surrounded her twilight glade. There we climbed trees as tall and broad as mountains. In the highest branches, you could feel the vast tree swaying in the wind like a ship on the swelling sea. There, with nothing but the blue sky around us and the slow motion of the tree beneath, Felurian taught me ivy on the oak.
I tried to teach Felurian tak, only to discover she already knew it. She beat me handily, and played a game so lovely Bredon would have wept to look on it.
I learned a bit of the Fae tongue. A small bit. A scattering.
Actually, in the interest of pure honesty, I will admit that I failed miserably in my attempt to learn the Fae language. Felurian was a less than patient teacher, and the language bafflingly complex. My failure went beyond mere incompetence to the point where Felurian actually forbade me from attempting to speak it in her presence.
Overall, I gained a few phrases and a great dollop of humility. Useful things.
Felurian taught me several faen songs. They were harder for me to remember than mortal songs, their melodies slippery and twisting. When I tried to play them on my lute the strings felt strange beneath my fingers, making me fumble and stutter as if I was some country boy who’d never held a lute before. I learned their lyrics by rote, without the least inkling what the words might mean.
Through it all, we continued to work on my shaed. Rather, Felurian worked on it. I asked questions, watched, and tried to avoid feeling like a curious child underfoot in the kitchen. As we grew more comfortable with each other, my questions became more insistent. . . .
“But how?” I asked for the tenth time. “Light hasn’t any weight, any substance. It behaves like a wave. You shouldn’t be able to touch it.”
Felurian had worked her way up from starlight and was wefting moonlight into the shaed. She didn’t look up from her work when she replied, “so many thoughts, my kvothe. you know too much to be happy.”
That sounded uncomfortably like something Elodin would say. I brushed the evasion aside. “You shouldn’t be able—”
She nudged me with her elbow and I saw both her hands were full. “sweet flame,” she said, “bring that to me.” She nodded to a moonbeam that pierced the trees above and touched the ground beside me.
Her voice bore the familiar, subtle tone of command, and without thinking I grabbed the moonbeam as if it were a hanging vine. For a second I felt it against my fingers, cool and ephemeral. Startled, I froze, and suddenly it was an ordinary moonbeam again. I passed my hand through it several times to no effect.
Smiling, Felurian reached out and took hold of it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She touched my cheek with her free hand, then turned her attention to her lap and worked the strand of moonlight into the folds of shadow.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FOUR
The Cthaeh
After Felurian helped me discover what I was capable of, I took a more active hand in the creation of my shaed. Felurian seemed pleased at my progress, but I was frustrated. There were no rules to follow, no facts to remember. Because of this, my quick wit and trouper’s memory were of little use to me, and my progress seemed irritatingly slow.
Eventually, I could touch my shaed without fear of damaging it and change its shape according to my desire. With some practice I could turn it from a short cape to a full hooded mourning cloak or anything in between.
Still, it would be unfair for me to take even a hair of the credit for its creation. Felurian was the one who gathered the shadow, wove it with moon and fire and daylight. My major contribution was the suggestion that it should have numerous little pockets.
After we took the shaed all the way into daylight, I thought our work was done. My suspicions seemed confirmed when we spent a long stretch of time swimming, singing, and otherwise enjoying each other’s company.
But Felurian avoided the topic of the shaed whenever I brought it up. I didn’t mind, as her evasions on the subject were always delightful. Because of this, I had the impression some part of it was left unfinished.
One morning we awoke in an embrace, spent perhaps an hour kissing to arouse our appetites, then fell to our breakfast of fruit and fine white bread with honeycomb and olives.
Then Felurian grew serious and asked me for a piece of iron.
Her request surprised me. Some time ago I had thought to resume a few of my mundane habits. Using the surface of the pool as a mirror, I used my small razor to shave. At first Felurian had seemed pleased by my smooth cheeks and chin, but when I moved to kiss her she pushed me to arm’s length, snorting as if to clear her nose. She told me I reeked of iron and sent me into the forest telling me not to return until I got the bitter stink of it from my face.
So it was with no small amount of curiosity that I dug a piece of broken iron buckle out of my travelsack. I held it out to her nervously. The way you might hand a child a sharp knife. “Why do you need it?” I asked, trying to appear unconcerned.
Felurian said nothing. She held it tightly between her thumb and two forefingers, as if it were a snake
