Or so she’d thought.
The House of Mirrors, also known as the House Rowan, was aptly named for their illusionist abilities. Today, the manor house was draped in a shroud of cascading shadows so that no visible light fell on the surface of the structure, from its masonry foundation to the peaks of its soaring parapets.
In stark contrast, an effigy of Tesse stood double life-size next to the fountain area in front of the residence. The illusionists had recreated Tesse with a perfectionist’s eye to detail. Clad in what Becka could only assume was her engagement gown based on the description Tesse had confided in her weeks ago, the resplendent garment was covered in mirrors, glinting shades of amber in the light of the setting sun. Jets of water streamed around her form, a play of liquid light intensifying and magnifying the mirrored gown.
Examining features identical to her own on a funerary display induced a cold shiver of foreboding down Becka’s spine.
“If I’d been gifted, I would have been here,” she said softly, a sudden pain in her chest radiating outwards. “I keep wondering how Tesse died. Maybe things would have been different if I’d been here?”
“You can never know what might have been. And your powers, or lack of them, were not within your control.” Quinn drove the car past the front, heading towards the rear of the house.
“You’re not supposed to draw attention to my arrival?” Becka asked.
“Actually, I had assumed you would want to avoid the pomp of a formal welcoming. If you would prefer, I can take you--”
“No! On second thought, this is much better.” The last thing she needed was to risk breaking down in front of a crowd. “I’m only here to satisfy tradition, and then I’ll be sent back to the city. The less contact I have with everyone, the better.”
At least that’s what she’d keep telling herself. Her heart already ached at the bittersweet homecoming and she hadn’t even talked with her family yet.
When they rounded the turn to the back of the house, there was a small crowd present who, all at once, turned to observe their approaching car. It was the largest group of fae she’d seen since leaving the Territories, and for a moment Becka marveled at the sight. Had the fae been expecting her arrival? But no, surely no one cared about the outcast Becka.
“I bet Vott and Maura asked them to stay on for Tesse’s funeral,” she muttered.
Quinn cast her a sideways look. “No doubt. I heard all twelve houses are represented.”
As most things fae, the higher ones status, the more fae gathered to observe and gossip.
He pulled into a spacious garage, which existed just to hide human-style vehicles from sight. The fae-touched preferred to distance themselves from all things human, despite, or perhaps because of, their shared ancestry.
In Becka’s research, she’d endeavored to discover how far back the behavior tracked. Much of their origin story had been lost, living on through myth and folklore alone. It was widely regarded as truth that the fae-touched had been the result of ancient fae ‘bestowing their lineage’ upon select, devout villages before they’d departed human lands for all time, never to be heard from again. There had been a period of prosperity that followed, with the children of the fae intermingling with humans, despite their differences in appearance and the varied talents imparted to them by their progenitors.
As generations passed, and the venerated fae legends had faded into memory, their fae-touched children became ever more foreign and otherworldly to their human neighbors. The humans viewed themselves as the purer race, while the fae-touched regarded themselves as being a gift from the ancients. The eventual separation of fae-touched and humankind came then as a series of steps further and further apart, with ongoing skirmishes over territory. The most recent of these had become known as the Great War.
Keeping human things apart from fae territories had, therefore, become a matter of fae policy and human law.
Becka sighed and then exited the car, shaking off her reminiscing as she fetched her suitcase and backpack. Quinn caught up, matching her stride this time as they crossed to the back entrance.
“Would you like help with your bags?”
Becka rolled her eyes at him. “Thanks, but I can manage my things just fine.”
“Suit yourself.”
Becka headed straight for the manor’s back door. Her appearance hushed the fae as she passed. Conversations stalled out. Ambles were brought to a halt. Stares were rife.
“Just keep walking,” Quinn whispered.
Becka didn’t need his encouragement. She strode towards the open arch of the rear entrance while ignoring the shocked and scandalized looks of those she passed. She’d expected her arrival would cause a strong reaction. Why hadn’t they delayed a little and arrived after dark?
And why was Quinn walking so close to her or staring down every fae in their path until they moved aside? His movements were fluid yet poised, seeming every inch the proud House of Staves warrior. Becka enjoyed the protective attention of her attractive escort, but his behavior was so much over the top that a twinge of embarrassment was building.
Just then, her father, Elder Vott of House Alder and Duke of House Rowan, appeared at the entrance glowering at their approach. His eyes were a paler sheen than normal, which Becka attributed to his heartache over Tesse’s death. He wore gray, colorless robes as was the tradition, and yet their tailored perfection was anything but plain. His sudden arrival sent a hushed awe through the crowd of onlookers, followed by a smattering of whispers.
As they approached the rear entrance, the funerary shroud covering the manor appeared to shudder, part, and then open, almost as if it were a door. Becka’s headache intensified as she and Quinn
