Capton is somewhat of a between, at least that’s how I’ve come to think of it. It’s on the “human side,” the “not magic side,” of the Fade. But our proximity to the Fade, and the river that flows through it, gives our island diverse wildlife and the people here extremely long lifespans. The cost of these benefits is the Human Queen. We give up one of our own every hundred years to honor the treaty. That is Capton’s burden for humanity’s sake.
I wonder, not for the first time, what the Fade looks like. If I were to stand before it, would I know I’m at the border of mankind and wild magic? Is the air electric, like right before a summer storm? Would it shake me like the howling wind high on the mountain ledges? Or could I stumble across the line without even knowing, like the folktales say, and get lost forever?
Those thoughts are dangerous and I shake them from my head. There’s no shortage of mystery surrounding the Fade. But we know one thing for certain: the queen is the only human who can go beyond the Fade and make it back alive.
“What is it?” Luke asks.
“Nothing.”
“Were you even listening to me?”
“Of course I was.”
“What did I say?”
“Uh…”
He chuckles and leans forward. The pad of his finger brushes against my temple as he gently tucks a strand of wayward hair behind my ear. I’ve kissed him, I’ve said I loved him, I’m somehow engaged to him, and yet I still blush.
“You should grow it long again.” His eyes focus on where he hooks my hair by my ear. I fight a shiver at his fingers pausing there. “I liked it better long.”
“It gets caught in brambles when I’m collecting herbs,” I explain apologetically. Though I don’t know what I’m apologizing for. He knows why I cut it during my years at the academy.
“Maybe for our wedding.”
“Right…”
“What were you thinking of, really?” he asks as we arrive at the forest’s edge. I begin collecting small flowers that grow at the foot of the redwoods—morning stars, I call them, because they bloom at dawn. They’re good for strengthening body and mind and I use them for Emma and Mister Abbot.
When I was a child, I imagined that they grew only for me. But the whole forest seemed more alive back then. It’s still alive now, but in a dulled and quiet way. With age and time, I lost an imaginary friend.
“Luella? What were you thinking of?” he repeats with a note of agitation seeping into his tone.
I wish I could tell him outright that the idea of engagement makes me want to throw up on his shoes. That I care about him—I love him—but I made a vow to the people of Capton to always be there to serve and that will always come first. Maybe I just want him to explain what’s really gotten into him.
“I was thinking of that time when we were children and we wandered too far into the woods and saw the wolf.”
It had been a hulking beast of darkness and shadow, bright yellow eyes cutting through the unnatural thickness that lingered in the air of the deep forest.
I stare off between the trees, imagining those eyes now. Oddly, I hadn’t felt afraid that day—though I later told Luke I was more terrified than he had been. He wouldn’t have handled it well to know he was more afraid than I.
There was knowledge in that beast’s eyes. Knowledge and secrets. Secrets that I’ve always felt like I’m on the cusp of knowing and yet are just out of my grasp.
“Nothing, no beast or man, will ever harm you as long as I’m around.” Luke crouches next to me, resting his hand on the back of my neck. He rolls the dark, glassy beads of the necklace he gave me over my flesh. “And as long as you wear this.”
“I’ve never taken it off.” I touch the pendant suspended by the beads. It is a stone that looks like a rainbow was caught in a fisher’s net. Luke wears a similar stone on his wrist. It’s a special stone usually reserved for the Keepers.
Yet another reason why I’ve always kept his gift to me hidden beneath my clothes.
“Good. Wear this and never go into the forest without me.”
“I never do.” I chuckle and shake my head. “You’re always so afraid of me going into the forest.”
“I don’t like you alone in the woods,” he murmurs. Luke stands, turning eastward. The horizon is hidden behind the mountain. But we can see its first rays outlining the summit in orange. “We can still leave, you know,” he whispers.
“I can’t,” I repeat myself from earlier.
“We’ll be husband and wife. It’s normal to leave home.”