What exactly is going on here? Pappa’s silent voice would probably raise the roof if he asked the question out loud.
I cringe and close the front door, hurrying to join him in the immaculate kitchen. Sliding onto a barstool at the granite-topped center island, I watch him pace and begin to sweat.
“Nothing,” I answer, preferring to use human speech. Unlike the Light Elves, who don’t interact with humans at all, Dark Elves do, and I’ve spent nearly my whole life around them, going to school with them since kindergarten. Sometimes I forget I’m not one of them. “Just school work. Carter’s my partner, and we have a senior project due in a few days. We’ve been working on the visual art element at school, but there’s no way to get the written part done during the school day. We have to work on it after.”
Why are you speaking aloud? Are you trying to deceive me?
A fair question. When we communicate in the Elven way, mind-to-mind, it’s impossible to lie, but I’m insulted anyway.
No. Why don’t you trust me? I never disobey you. And there’s nothing going on. Just school work. Happy now?
He gives me a long, searching look. Why is your partner so attractive? Did you influence your teacher to be paired with him?
No. She drew names from a jar. At his narrowed eyes, I add, I know the rules, Pappa. Don’t worry.
He visibly relaxes. Good. Glad to hear it.
He goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a glass pitcher of saol water. When he turns back around, his forehead is wrinkled and his brows are furrowed. I know this expression—it’s his I’m-the-single-father-of-a-baffling-teenaged-girl look. His eyes come up to meet mine.
You know I’m only concerned about what’s best for you. I don’t want you to be stuck with someone who’s... so far beneath you.
I flinch at his snobby remark, but I shouldn’t be surprised. He and his buddies from The Council are always saying things like that, though I doubt they’ve taken the time to get to know any humans very well. They’re too busy courting their votes and making laws to govern them, influencing them to hand over their money... and their sons and daughters to be members of the fan pods.
Unable to help myself, I come to my friend’s defense. “Carter’s very smart, and he’s really nice. Everyone at school likes him.”
Mistake.
“You do have feelings for that boy!” Pappa roars, letting the pitcher hit the countertop with a bang.
He must really be mad, slipping into human speech at home like that. Real smart, Vancia. Way to go.
“It is absolutely out of the question—for all the reasons you so well know,” he continues. There’s a long pause, and something new enters his eyes. “And there’s another reason. Perhaps I should have told you before, but you were only a child and not even thinking of such things... and I didn’t want to scare you.”
I sit up straighter. The granite under my forearms feels suddenly colder. “Scare me about what?”
Pappa gives me the same wide smile I’ve seen him wear at high-dollar fundraising events, the one he uses when he’s trying to convince donors of what a great guy he is. “It’s good news, actually.” He reaches across the countertop and takes my hand. “You are promised to someone. You have been for a long time.”
I blink several times, trying to remember how to inhale and exhale. “Promised?”
“Yes. Betrothed. Engaged. Promised in marriage. A very important marriage, actually. One that will ensure your future as well as that of all our people.”
“Marriage?” I repeat, my thoughts and feelings twirling together in a sinking whirlpool. All his words after that one sounded hollow and unintelligible, like the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher on one of those holiday specials I used to watch on TV.
Now Pappa’s wide smile turns into something resembling irritation. He withdraws his hand. “Yes, Vancia, marriage. You can’t be completely shocked by this. You’re nearly eighteen. You know that’s the age of bonding.”
“Yes, but...” I’m already engaged? I haven’t even... dated, or whatever. “Who is he? Do I know him?”
Now the see-what-a-great-thing-this-is smile is back. “No, you’ve never met. But I have no doubt you’ll approve when you meet him. He’s an excellent match for you. His father is the leader of another clan. So, you’re marrying, in essence, a prince. I thought you might like that, as much as you enjoy reading those fairy tales of yours. We’ll be travelling to Mississippi as soon as school is out for the summer. You’ll be married during the Assemblage. It will be quite the grand occasion.”
“I’m getting married in Altum? This summer?” All I can seem to manage at the moment are dumb questions.
I travelled to Altum, the traditional home of the Light Elves, ten years ago with my parents for the last Assemblage. Elven people from all over the continent had come together to trade, hammer out policy, and in general, have a hell of a party, as we do once every ten years.
I loved the opportunity to play with children from all the different clans, especially the Light Elves, who don’t use spoken language at all. They reminded me of characters from my favorite books and fairy tales—so mysterious, hidden from human eyes, so close to nature and the ways of the First Ones.
Pappa and the other members of The Council don’t hold them in such high regard, calling them the Lightweights behind their backs and laughing. They think the Light Elves are stubborn and rather backward to ignore and avoid the human world and accuse them of trying to prevent the inevitable—the day when the Fae will rule the earth again as they did in ancient times.
“So, which clan is he from?”
“Actually he lives in Altum. His father is the leader of the Light Elves.”
Again, I’m struggling to find enough breath to answer. “I’m betrothed to a Light Elf? But... you don’t even like them.”
He laughs out loud. “Of course I do. I think they’re... quaint. A bit naïve perhaps. But they’re fine people—especially your betrothed. And with some convincing, they’ll see the light eventually. You will have a role to play in that. Once you’ve acclimated to your new husband, you’ll persuade him to see reason, and we’ll be able to share The Plan with them and get them on board. All our peoples will be united. It’s a perfect arrangement, trust me.”
Arrangement. Arranged marriage. The words spin through my head like Irish step-dancers. I’m going to be bonded to a boy I’ve never even met. Or perhaps we did meet as seven or eight year old children, but I don’t even have a clear memory of the Light King, much less his son.
Arranged marriages are quite common among our people. With the age of bonding being so young and the bond being a forever one, it makes sense. You don’t want to spend eternity with someone based on a hasty decision or changeable things like feelings and attraction.
But having spent my entire life around humans, reading their books and watching their movies and listening to their music, I’m finding the idea of a marriage without love rather... repellant. I never quite realized it before this moment, but I want that racing heart, that head-in-the-clouds, dreamy feeling I’ve read about and hear the girls at school describing.
The closest thing to it I’ve ever felt is for my book boyfriends, and before that, for my childhood best friend Nox. His parents were musicians, like mine, and we grew up together in Los Angeles, running around at rehearsals, entertaining ourselves as the grown-ups made music and shared the peculiar lifestyle of the music industry.
Around the time we turned twelve, my feelings for him changed from goofy, bickering, teasing friendship to a massive crush. He changed, too, becoming a tall, lanky, handsome pre-teen whose beautiful eyes and budding musical talent made my heart fluttery.
“I’m not sure,” I whisper, the quiet statement seeming to echo off of every shiny surface in the kitchen. They’re the first words of defiance I’ve ever dared to speak toward Pappa.
He gives me a disbelieving look. “What do you mean you’re not sure? What is there to be sure about? It’s been arranged.”
My chin lifts, my eyes meeting his straight on. “I’m not sure I can... marry someone I don’t know, someone I don’t love.”
He grunts and turns to pull two glasses from the cabinet behind him. “Love. What does all their love get for these humans? They divorce almost as soon as they get married. They bond with anyone and everyone who catches their eye. All they get is pain for their efforts. What we have is far superior to love.” Setting the glasses on the counter between us, he fills them and pushes one to me. “You can marry him, Vancia. And you will.”
His tone leaves no room for argument, and I drop my gaze, nodding weakly, though everything inside of me is thrashing like a two year old having a meltdown at the grocery store. Taking a sip of the sweet and slightly bubbly liquid does nothing to cool the angry lump burning in my throat.
“What’s his name?”
Pappa studies me a long moment before answering. “It doesn’t matter—you don’t know him. But soon all will be revealed, and I promise you my daughter—you will enjoy living the life of a queen. You will see that I’ve done very well by you indeed. Now, dress for dinner. Our guests will be here within the hour.”