《Playing with Fire》


 Chapter 1

    The first rule was to never look them in the eyes. Catching the attention of a Fae was always bad, but to lock eyes with one probably meant that you could say goodbye to any chance of being in control of your body for the rest of your life.


    ... or your mind.


    Just like Rowan who was now on his hands and knees serving as the Master''s footrest as if there were nowhere he''d rather be. I don''t know exactly how it happened. Maybe he''d been curious. After all, we humans never got to have a good look at our superiors - only hurried glances when it felt like there was an opportunity to get away with it. Or was it an accident? Had his eyes been passing from one point to the next when it just so happened to catch the gaze of the Master?


    I suppose it didn''t really matter. What happened was this: he''d caught the eyes of beings that treated us as nothing more than either the help or the entertainment and he was now paying the price.


    I stared at his arms and legs from where I knelt in the corner of the room although, it was not out of choice. There was simply nothing else to stare at. They were trembling. Hardly at first - but that was hours ago. I wondered if he knew? If he knew that he was no longer himself and was screaming in a mental prison of the Master''s making.


    His arm gave into the strain.


    My heart skipped a beat.


    I ducked my head lower as I saw a brief flash of legs, linen, and feet drop to the floor.


    "Oh?"


    The voice was silken, tinged with amusement.


    "Was that all?"


    I heard the scraping of a chair and I braved a glance. Rowan was back on his hands and knees, leaning heavily on one side, his right arm unable to hold his weight though it didn''t keep him from trying. The Master was crouched at his side, head cocked, and I thanked all the stars in the sky that his back was turned to me.


    "I''ve just lost a bargain because of you." He hummed and even that simple sound was melodic to my ears. I bit my cheek, forcing myself to stay alert. I refused to succumb to something as small as a sigh.


    The Master stood and I lowered my eyes but not before I saw his face. There was no registration that the Master had spoken at all. Just a simple smile, a euphoric glee that blanketed his face even as his body trembled with failure. Did he know that his body was begging to be relieved of this torture?


    "Little Ashling?"


    That was the second rule. When they called you - and even when they didn''t - you were expected to be there and fulfill their every whim and folly.


    I stood softly in one smooth stroke, ignoring the ache of kneeling for so long. I couldn''t hesitate. I had to be next to the Master.


    If I''d been younger, I would''ve scrambled to my feet but that had been swiftly beaten out of me. The Master had no fondness forscrambling.


    "Get the wine that was gifted to me by Elouan."


    I turned immediately, using the ornate engravings on the glass floor to guide me out of the bedroom. My eyes wandered up just a fraction every turn to confirm that I was headed towards the cellar.


    I didn''t recognize the name but I knew who it was for. Auberon - the two were as thick as thieves. The closest thing to family a Fae could have. As I understood it, all Fae were born of the Elder Tree however, the Elder Tree was so big that the Fae were separated by different castes. There were four royal families, each head of their own respective elements followed by the Si, Fae nobility separated into different groups known as Septs. The common folk were made up of pixies, sprites, and imps depending on the manner by which they were born.


    I had little to no information on the Imps though I''d overheard that they were a particularly devious sort that held little regard for rules, even ones enforced by their own.


    I opened the door to the wine cellar and welcomed the earthy scent that enveloped me as I descended into the dark. The Master hated coming here though that was hardly surprising. All Fae had an affinity towards the warmth and light which meant the cellar would never find a Fae visitor in its bowels.


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    I took this moment to lift my head, feeling a small liberation at being able to do so. It was dark but my eyes were slowly adjusting to the shapes in front of me. I walked past the wine at the front - meant for gaiety and guests - and slowed to a halt at the back wall. It was lined with a fair selection of wine that was gifted to him by those of the same Sept and those that weren''t.


    I might not know who Elouan was but I knew who he wasn''t so I narrowed the choices down to seven wine bottles that I didn''t know the origin of. I swallowed nervously. Seven to choose from and any one of them could spell my death or worse. My doom.


    There were no labels to differentiate them, nothing to suggest that they were different at all save for their shape. My heart hammered loudly in my chest and picked one.


    The Master could not be kept waiting.


    My hurried steps echoed around me as I tried not to grip the bottle too tightly.


    Was it wrong?


    There were six bottles that would spell trouble but only one that would be my redemption.


    I should''ve known who Elouan was.


    Yet, it was impossible for me to have known who Elouan was or even when he''d gifted this wine. It could''ve been a hundred years ago. It could''ve been yesterday.


    I had no time to further ponder my fate - over a bottle of wine, no less - as I''d found myself proffering the bottle to the Master, above my head, on bended knees.


    I could almost feel delight bubble out of me as he laughed. "Little Ashling, this: the wine from Elouan? Hardly. He would never send me such a paltry thing. Again."


    I accepted the dismissal readily. I used the short walk towards the cellar to look at the wine that he called paltry.


    Even by human standards, paltry was an apt term for this bottle. It was glass - all the wine bottles were - but that was about the extent of its value. It was a small thing, shaped like a cube, that fit comfortably in one hand. There were scratches here and there that may have been the result of mishandling or simply the result of being too low in status.


    I stood once again, facing the back wall. I carefully shelved the wine bottle in its original place and considered the remaining six options. Did sending me back mean he was offering a second chance to correct my mistake?


    I thought about his remarks and scrutinized one that looked remarkably splendid. When I emerged into the halls, it was even more so.


    The glass winked in the light, shaped into a magnificent bird perched within the confines of a birdcage. The wine was a deep burgundy that promised a mouth watering complexity that could not be given by another. It was about the size of my chest and I made sure to keep it upright and tightly held as I presented it, once again, to the Master.


    A chuckle now. "He hates me far too much to gift me such a beauty." I heard the clink of his nail on the wine as he murmured. "Again."


    My stomach dropped at the command.


    Then, it dropped further as he repeated it.


    "Again."


    "Again."


    "Again."


    At this point, my heart had started to thunder so loudly in my chest that it was drowning out my thoughts. The Master hardly tolerated mistakes, much less a series of five of them. I had bruises, new and old, to prove just how little patience he had for imperfection.


    And a lot of memories, too.


    I turned the thought away as I offered the sixth bottle of wine. "Honestly, were you planning on presenting the whole cellar to me?"


    The fear was instant. It was the wrong one.


    Then, the weight on my hands lifted and he took a seat at his desk again. His feet lifted to rest on Rowan''s back again but Rowan was now lying face-down on the floor. For a heart-stopping, terrifying moment, I thought that he''d been killed.


    But searching his face, I could see the same soft smile with the same blank eyes and the terror that I felt just a second ago morphed into pity.


    I bit the inside of my cheek. Hard.


    I didn''t have room in my heart to pity others when I wasn''t even sure how long I''d be able to keep my head as my own. I felt the pity drain into nothingness as I tasted blood.


    I felt a hand grab my wrist as I was yanked up. The chair had been knocked backwards and I was now staring at the Master''s chest.


    "Little Ashling, you''re bleeding," he crooned and I flinched. My hand was still held high above my head, my body stretched as tall as it could go without my toes leaving the floor. His other hand came up, his thumb brushing my teeth.


    "Don''t you understand just how drunkenly devastating the smell of your blood can be?"


    I nodded. He dropped my hand but cupped my face immediately.


    "Answer me," he whispered, tapping his forehead to mine.


    The third rule:don''tanswer them. To hear humans speak fascinated them to no end - that a lesser being thought to address them at all seemed to spark an endless carousel of tricks and pranks and a constant stream of attention that usually ended in gouged eyes, a butchered tongue, or a combination of mutilation that kept me awake at night.


    "Yes, Alvar," I whispered, unable to avert my eyes.


    His eyes, usually the color of a deep and settled maroon, flared a bright scarlet. I could see the barest presence of bloodlust edging into the intensity of his eyes.


    My breath caught at the beauty of it.


    Then, it was gone.


    I fell to my knees, barely registering the pain that bloomed from the sudden drop. He had resumed scratching out his note, presumably to send to Auberon. "You are not allowed to make yourself bleed."


    It was never a request.


    It wasalwaysan order.


    "Answer me, Little Ashling."


    I closed my eyes. There were three unspoken rules that kept humankind safe, silent, and invisible.


    "Yes, Alvar."


    I wish it had applied to me, too.

 Chapter 2

    The first time I''d been beaten, it''d been at the hands of the Master.


    It was a small act, a simple thing - a backhanded slap. It was a sharp crack that rang throughout the room. Who knew hitting a seven year old could be so loud?


    It turned my head so forcefully that I''d landed on my stomach. My vision had darkened around the edges and before I knew it, I was dry heaving onto the floor.


    I could never quite remember why I''d been slapped so suddenly. It had come without warning, without a reasonable enough time to help me brace myself for impact. Had I made an offhand remark? Did he notice a mistake in the way I''d poured his wine? Maybe he''d been bored and felt the need to lash at the creature that tainted the air around him.


    I did remember quite clearly that I''d started bleeding. His knuckles had split my cheekbone. If humans had backhanded someone with that much force, it probably would''ve fractured their hand but the Master showed no outward signs that it had hurt him.


    I''d glared at that hand - the hand that was now reaching for his goblet like there was nothing amiss and I''d had the vivid desire to cut that hand off.


    "Are you going to cry?" His back was still towards me, silver hair long and loose. The Master rarely let his hair loose. He deemed it an unworthy portrayal of the Si that commanded the full might of the Aeds forces.


    I swallowed my anger and turned away. My eyes had started to blur and I tried desperately to shred the mounting frustration that threatened to boil out of me.


    "Answer me, Little Ashling."


    "No," I forced out. I''d meant it to come out neutral and soft but even I could hear the strain of resentment that colored that one response.


    Fae were fast. I only heard the snap of a closing book before I felt the barest brush of a finger against my cheek.


    Startled, I scrambled back looking straight into the Master''s crimson orbs. I couldn''t read the emotions that flitted across his face.


    Surprise?


    Curiosity?


    Elation?


    He was sitting cross-legged, his forefinger raised as an elegant prop. It was too dark to make out but I knew what he was showing, the point he was trying to make.


    "I detest liars." He smiled. It was beautiful. It was serene. It was a promise that if I ever did so again, I''d find myself plucking my eyes out of my head and wrapping it neatly as a gift to him.


    "You mean, humans." A wave of dizzying fear crashed through my body. Correcting the Master? It was the kind of thing that earned your tongue a knife against the cutting board - for the day if you were lucky, otherwise, you would have to rip your tongue from the cutting board yourself and hope you survived the shock.


    "Aren''t they one and the same?" he asked. "Humans," he trailed off, inspecting the tear that winked in the moonlight. "So fickle."


    "Just because you can''t lie, doesn''t mean your kind are any better." I should''ve spat that with muster. Instead, what was meant to be a bold defense for my brethren came out as a weak stutter.


    The Master was unnaturally still and for a moment, he painted the most striking picture. His linen robes were splayed about him elegantly, his hair a radiant halo. His face - pale, sharp, and delicate - concentrated deceptively on the lone tear that had started to trail down his finger.


    "I never said we were better," he laughed. Then his eyes captivated mine and my fear magnified tenfold. "But we are better at it."


    "At what?"


    "What a dull question. At being fickle, of course."


    I broke eye contact and hurriedly wiped at my tears, wincing as the pain screamed at me to stop. My left eye was starting to swell shut and my face throbbed even more. I wanted to leave but I hadn''t been dismissed.


    So I remained on that glass floor, staring at him staring at me.


    Neither of us spoke.


    Neither of us cared to.


    ~


    There weren''t many humans that were allowed in the Master''s house.


    Correction: There weren''t many humans that lasted.


    The Elder Tree was the life force of the Fae - not surprising as it was located at the center of the continent, it''s roots holding fast and strong in the depths of the Ocean where the Selkies lived, its trunk spanning thousands of leagues above and across. Its canopy, inhabited by the Enyels, yawned from one coast to the next, the foliage barely visible so far up in the sky.


    The Aeds in the east shared a tentative peace - and a tentative border - with the Jords on the west.


    I don''t know where humans lived in the other territories but I do know that here, where the Aeds lived, there were small human colonies that dotted the East. I used to wonder why we were allowed our own area to live and grow, why the Fae was never overwhelmingly oppressive to our kind.


    Then the answer came to me in the form of a human woman, hunched and small . I don''t know what her name was - I don''t think I asked. She was stationed in the kitchen, to be used as an extra pair of hands.


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    I frowned as the memory came into focus. One hand. She''d come to the kitchens with only one hand. I didn''t ask how it happened. I didn''t want to know.


    What little small talk we made had been about her home - a colony just outside the city.


    I''d asked her why she''d come to the house of a Fae.


    She''d said she''d been hungry.


    I''d looked at her incredulously.


    She''d looked back with despair.


    And I realized it didn''t matter if humans had colonies or lives or a home because it didn''t matter to the Fae. We imposed as much of a presence as an ant so why would a god bother to concern themselves with the doings of such inferiority?


    The woman hadn''t lasted long. The pixies had cut off her other hand. Their contract usually ended like that one way or another.


    But death was kinder.


    I examined the new help. There were three of them - all at varying stages of hunger, all at varying stages of desperation.


    Was that what that smell was? Desperation?


    The first was a man. At one point, he may have been a burly mass but without proper care, the only thing that was impressive was that he was still standing. His shoulders were caved in, his chin was tucked against his chest. I couldn''t make out much of his features because it was hidden under a thicket of a beard. He was tall and gangly but he was used to staying small.


    The second was a woman. Her face was young but severely gaunt, her hair matted in some places and shorn in others. She stared straight ahead but her eyes were dimmed to a hush. If it weren''t for the face that she was standing in front of me, contracted with the Master, I would''ve thought she was dead.


    The last was- I gently bit the inside of my cheek. He was a boy, around the age of three, four if his malnourished state was anything to go by. His tiny fingers were clenched, his wide eyes were startled and... I stared at his feet. They were bare, calloused, and bruised.


    This was life, I reminded myself.


    This was reality.


    "The baths are behind you." The man flinched. The little boy grasped the woman''s dress. She didn''t seem to register it.


    I gestured to the left. "There are two closets in the wall over there, boys on the left, girls on the right. You should find garments that suit your size but if you don''t, you''ll have to make do with the closest thing."


    I pointed to the small table on the right, topped with three domes. "It''s not much but there''s water, fruit, cheese." I looked down at the boy, not sure if he understood. "Don''t rush. It won''t keep in your stomach if you haven''t been eating regularly and this is all you''ll receive today until you start fulfilling your end of the bargain."


    I turned to leave.


    "Wait." The voice was gruff, hoarse, panicked.


    I paused, pivoting slowly. The man had looked away, seeming unsure of himself.


    "I mean, are we- Is this okay?" he asked.


    I could see the doubt in his eyes. A bath for the likes of humans? Clean clothes? Fresh food? It was too good to be true.


    It was too good to be true.


    "This isn''t for you. This is for the Master." He despised an unkept appearance.


    I finally left them to it. After all, they were likely going to savor that bath for awhile.


    My thoughts drifted towards the little boy. It was the first time I''d seen a child enter a contract with the Master. Even the Master knew that human children were practically useless. The last time a child had entered the grounds on a bargain, it''d been me.


    I was jolted from my thoughts by the appearance of Rowan. I scanned his face for any sign of life but all he gave me was a tranquil smile.


    "The Master requires your presence."


    I glanced at his palms. Though they were turned inwards, I saw the edges of sores and blisters. I didn''t bother to respond. He was simply there to relay a message and make sure I followed.


    I folded my hands and kept my eyes down, letting his feet guide my own. He made a series of turns that led me outside. I didn''t have to look up to recognize that we were heading towards the gazebos. Rowan suddenly stopped and my head tapped his shoulder blade.


    I immediately stepped back and waited but he didn''t move. I peered up, curious. He smiled and said, "The Master requires your presence."


    I looked down. It meant that the Master didn''t require his.


    I continued past him, keeping to the familiar stone path that led to the gazebo. Three voices suddenly rang with laughter and I halted. A reckless desire to dance had suddenly overwhelmed my senses and I gnashed my teeth, reminding myself that this was not me. Usually, the Master''s laugher had a minimal effect on me but the fact that it was this strong meant that he was accompanied by other Si.


    I took a small step forward. Then another. Then another.


    Until before long, I''d knelt at the Master''s side.


    From what little I could see, the gazebo was a beautiful place. As the sun set, it remained lit with a warm glow. The floor was covered in a patchwork of pillows on a plum colored overlay. I could only assume it provided a grand view of Ceres Lake.


    "Credit should be given where credit is due," someone joyously shouted. Auberon. I didn''t know what he looked like but I could nail the light tenor of his voice in a heartbeat. "I''d expected the human to last half my initial estimate. Two days is more than impressive, don''t you think, Alvar?"


    "I always give credit where credit is due and it was not due here. How could you call it impressive when he couldn''t even last the full three days? Almost is as good as nothing."


    Auberon scoffed. "This is why your subordinates think you''re a stuffy old man that''s withered away any sense of humor that may have existed. Ever."


    "Don''t change the subject." I could hear the Master grinning. "You bet one day and one night. The human lasted double that. You think you deserve to claim Elouan''s wine when your mark was so far off?"


    I stiffened. They were talking about Rowan.


    Auberon sat up. "Your estimate was three and he didn''t make that either. You can''t expect to weasel your way out of this one."


    "My guess was far closer than yours."


    "I knew you''d try to loophole your way around the bet which is why I brought dear Aeon with me."


    There was a soft chuckle as the other two fell silent. I didn''t recognize him. Neither the name nor the voice.


    "Weren''t your exact words, ''I bet he doesn''t last longer than one day and one night.''?" It was a deep rumble, the sound silken and rich.


    I saw the wave of a hand as Auberon responded, "The trifle of meaningless words."


    "Meaningless? On the contrary, our words are what defines us. Don''t you agree, Little Ashling?"


    I almost looked up, surprised at the casual invitation to converse.


    Auberon saved me from having to answer. "Of course she''s going to agree with you, Alvar. They''re all so dreary that I can feel an excruciating death-"


    "I didn''t ask if you thought she would agree," the Master interrupted.


    "Then, do you want to make another bet?" Auberon countered excitedly.


    I squeezed my folded hands together. Fear simmered gently under my mask of nonchalance.


    "Are you trying to lose a bet twice in a row?"


    "Ha!" Auberon stood abruptly, swiping at a bottle from the center. "Let''s say we settle the matter of Elouan''s wine with the outcome of this one. Aeon?"


    There was a pause. Then, "I''m simply curious. I''ll mediate."


    I internally sighed with relief.


    "Fine. I swear, you could pass for a human with how unwittingly dull you are."


    The fear no longer simmered but was now bubbling to the brim.


    "Our words are what defines us," the Master repeated. "Auberon?"


    "She will agree with her Master. What silly idiot wouldn''t?"


    My heart started to beat a thunderous rhythm.


    "You''d be surprised," the Master huffed, amused. "I think she''s quite the silly idiot. Well, Little Ashling? Do you agree?"


    I could hardly hear him. My blood roared like a raging river in my ears and the fear finally boiled over. Except it wasn''t fear.


    It was anger.


    Before I could even wonder if this was a smart decision - making him lose this bet - I gave a small smile and answered, "Yes. Absolutely."

 Chapter 3

    To disagree with the Master would''ve won him the wine and a victory. It would''ve meant that I dared to think that I was intelligent enough to offer a thought worthy of their consideration.


    To agree with the Master meant that I said what was expected of me, that I deferred to his wisdom in all things. Even a bet.


    To agree made him lose such a bet.


    I lived my entire life with fear at the forefront of my emotions. I was forced to control myself because it was the very thing I lacked. I had to mind my dread. I had to check my temper.


    I had to lose myself little by little to survive day by day and I was determined to see the Master lose a little of himself too.


    Even if it was only a bottle of wine.


    "Will wonders never cease?" Auberon asked. "I guess it''s possible to win a bet against you after all, Commander."


    "You haven''t won." I felt my insides constrict. I had a keen ear but not enough to know how the Master had felt about this small act of rebellion.


    Anybody that witnessed this interaction never would''ve thought it to be but the Master was smart. I had no doubt in my mind that he saw it for what it was.


    Suddenly, my rage disappeared. The void it left behind flooded with a horror that threatened to suffocate me.


    I suppose the beatings that I suffered were well-deserved since it was clear that my instinct for self-preservation all but vanished in the face of my anger.


    I started at the sudden yank on my hair.


    The Master''s hand was held tightly against my neck, a handful of my braid grasped firmly in his grip. Out of instinct, I pulled against him, trying to lower my head but I was reminded with a hard tug that I was not in control here.


    I was met with an unfamiliar scene. Three Fae languished lazily among pretty cushions, their forms glowing warmly under several floating lights. Not courtesy of the Master - he had a different skill set that had nothing to do with conjuring pretty tricks.


    He and Auberon lingered at the edge of my vision. They were a smear of silk and linen.


    The only one I could see clearly was directly in front of me and he was a vision of beauty and grace. His legs were pointed at me, crossed at the ankles. He was leaning back comfortably, his head propped against an open palm. His hair, a red so dark that one could mistake it as black, curled gently at the ends. It framed his eyes, black as the night was long.


    "You weren''t listening." The Master''s voice was soft.


    "How could you possibly tell?" Auberon asked.


    My eyes darted to his and he looked adoringly at me. "I know more about her than she does. Of course I can tell."


    My blood chilled at that statement. It was a well-known fact that Fae can''t lie - not that it stopped them from being crafty little bastards. I couldn''t tell if he said it because it was true or if he only believed it to be true.


    "Well?" he asked, brow arched, eyes sharp. "I asked why."


    I glared. It was all I was allowed to do at this angle. "Why what?"


    His eyes flitted up as he suppressed a laugh. "See? She wasn''t listening."


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    "What does it matter why she agreed with you? You still lost," Auberon jeered.


    I replayed their conversation in my head, my eyes never leaving the Master''s face. It had been a one-sided bet. He hadn''t meant to win - he simply prevented a loss.


    I narrowed my eyes accusingly at him.


    His grin widened imperceptibly.


    I curled my lip, unable to help the disapproval.


    He arched a brow as if to say he didn''t care.


    It was a wordless conversation, over as fast as it''d begun.


    "He didn''t lose," Aeon said. I glanced at him. He looked back at me, amused, then at the Master, even more so. As if he''d been privy to the silent exchange between us. "He just didn''t win."


    I couldn''t see Auberon, but I did see him throw a cushion at his face. "Sometimes I wonder if you like taking Alvar''s side just to rob me of a victory."


    Aeon caught the pillow effortlessly, tossing it gently over his shoulder. "You lose as often as an Aed uses magic. Let''s be honest - the Elder Tree left you severely lacking if you''re as stupid now as you were when you were Made."


    A fiery heat engulfed the gazebo in an instant. To my left, Auberon''s entire body had turned into a furnace, flames springing excitedly all over his skin as if he couldn''t quite contain himself. Aeon responded in kind. An eager rush of fire licked a number of scorching paths across his body in unpredictable patterns.


    It was clear that the nature of their magic was different. One was brash, brutish, and unforgiving, like a hammer that forced a path to open where once there was none.


    The other was quiet, languid, and seductive, like the touch of a lover that dragged their fingertips torturously over your skin as they whispered promises of carnal delight.


    Neither had moved but everything had changed.


    "You push your luck every day, you little troll," Auberon growled.


    "By the grace of the Elder Tree, it looks like I''m one lucky bastard then, doesn''t it?" Aeon quipped.


    "When I kill you with my own two hands, that''ll be the day your luck runs out."


    "Come at me, Auberon, and we''ll see whose luck runs out faster."


    I flinched as sparks leapt from Auberon. I tried to pull away but the Master''s hand - that infernal hand - held me still.


    "Isn''t it thrilling?" I felt his lips brush the shell of my ear. His words drowned out the heated words that were volleyed between the other two. "The smallest spark of conflict gives way to a wildfire of passion whether it''s an argument between friends or a war between nations. Can you say any vision compares to the beauty of such discord?"


    The two Fae were now standing, face to face. Their eyes were lit the same shade of scarlet, their magic amplified so much that it burned to breathe. They were clearly enraged, each agitating the other, both on the verge of exploding.


    Then-


    It was barely there, hidden under the distraction of their anger - a fervor that thrived from the danger, a hunger that called for blood.


    I felt him hum, the vibration tickling my ear. "I suppose it''s hardly fair that this is likely the closest you will ever come to seeing true beauty but I have high hopes that one day, you''ll see what I mean- what I truly mean."


    He released me, walking up to Aeon and Auberon. He placed a hand on each shoulder and their flames slowly stifled. The lights that had lit the gazebo faded from existence and a the moonlight bathed the Master in an eerie glow.


    Suddenly, a dense wave pulsed out from the center, stealing my breath. Where the air had been scalding just a moment ago, it was now frigid. I shivered violently, my breath forming a thick cloud, my lips turning a deathly blue.


    His fingers were covered in little blue flames, wispy like the smoke from a raging fire. It hovered here and there, winking in and out of existence as his magic strained to wreak havoc. Only by his control was it forced to be reined in.


    In the Master''s place, stood the Commander. It was the aura of someone who expected to be obeyed without question, to be a threat, to be an authority. This was the Commander whose magic flared so hot, it burned cold.


    "Enough." Even his voice, though low, was firm - an order. "Aren''t we all friends here?" A light hearted question asked with a menacing undertone.


    For a moment, I thought I would die. From tension? From shock? From the mind-numbing chill that was stealing my life with every breath I failed to take?


    Auberon and Aeon beamed at nearly the exact same time and just like that the tension was gone. There was laughter. There was jokes. The only evidence of anything having happened at all were the random char marks and the dwindling smoke that rose from them.


    His back was still to me. I didn''t need a knife. If I could grab Elouan''s wine bottle and smash it to form a jagged edge, I could plunge it straight through his neck. My knuckles would brush the junction of his shoulders, the glass driven to the hilt. His blood would splatter a charming mess surely, but it would be the drip, drip, drip that would mesmerize me as rivulets ran down my arm.


    He turned his head, eyeing me deviously.


    I swallowed.


    The bottled remained untouched.

 Chapter 4

    I came to find out that the man''s name was Joshua but he was known as Mouse. He was a quiet man - a nervous man - jittery and paranoid as if there was someone just shy of tying a noose around his neck.


    I''d led him to the gazebo where he was meant to gather the pillows and rug that''d been too unrestorable to keep and haul them to the fire pit.


    "Do you-" His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "Do you know why they''re so..." he trailed off, waving his hand to gesture vaguely around us. "Twittery?"


    I turned to stare at the main house. It was a looming tower of glass, the branches of three oak trees interweaving meticulously in, out, and around the structure. I imagined the pixies in the kitchens gossiping excitedly at the news as they kneaded the dough or the sprites that sped here and there to spread the headlines. In fact, I couldn''t imagine any Fae in Poppy Grove that wouldn''t have the topic of the Elder Tree''s messenger on their mouths.


    I''d been there when the Master had received the letter from a newly inducted sprite. I''d seen the quirk of a smile out of the corner of my eye as he ignored the sprite that chattered on and on about the honor of delivering to the Commander and how it was his first job as a messenger and how, ''Have you heard the news? The whole city is buzzing about the golem-''


    I''d wondered, briefly, what the Master had found amusing until I felt the splatter of warm blood on my face.


    The sprite had been decapitated.


    "The Elder Tree has chosen the final participant to undergo the Trials of Fire," I said. Mouse looked at me questioningly and I shook my head. "It has nothing to do with us." With humans. It was a Fae matter that required no excitement from mediocrity.


    He didn''t inquire further and instead, eyed the numerous scorch marks that littered the area.


    "When you''re done, make your way to the kitchens. There''ll be things there that you''ll have to take to the fire pit as well. It''ll be just inside the doorway. Don''t talk to the pixies - they will kill you for it."


    He nodded, kneeling next to a particularly scorched section and gathering the pillows in his arms.


    I opened my mouth to warn him of something else - the memory of the headless sprite flashing through my head - but I hesitated.


    If he had a contract with the Master then it was useless. A warning was wasted on a man whose days were numbered.


    ~


    The woman was waiting for me in the library. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her. Her hair was combed into a low ponytail. She looked cleaner, warmer, livelier save for her eyes. They still stared through me as if I weren''t really there.


    My explanation was short - do as she was told. There was only one pixie that managed the library and he''d taken up residence in the makeshift loft above the history section in the far corner for as long as I''d known him. Pixies were generally short-tempered, cut-throat heathens. Limiting your interactions with any of them gave you the best chance at keeping your life.


    Fraxis was different. He was cold and aloof, a Fae of little words. In all my years, I could count the number of times he''d spoken to me on just one hand. I had a distinct feeling that this wouldn''t be a problem for her.


    A small movement caught my eye and from behind the woman''s legs, peeked out curious blue eyes.


    "Your son?" I asked haltingly.


    She shook her head but didn''t elaborate.


    I kneeled, tucking the length of my dress under me and offered a tentative smile. "I''m Ash," I whispered.


    The little boy barely came up to her hip, clutching tightly to the woman''s skirts. Was he old enough to speak? Maybe he was shy.


    "The Master gave me that name," I continued softly. "He said my eyes were like the ashen remains of a fire that''d gone cold." It was half-true. My eyes were indeed the color of ash but he''d given me that name because of how I''d come to bargain with him.


    The little boy''s face was guarded but his hands had slowly loosened.


    "Your eyes are so pretty," I said. "You know what it looks like to me?"


    He blinked and shook his head, interest replacing his fear.


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    "It reminds me of the sky, when the sun has reached its peak on a cloudless day." My smile widened at the look of delight on his face. "Is that what your name means?"


    His eyes immediately shuttered and he buried his face into the woman''s skirts. I frowned.


    "He doesn''t have a name," she clarified. I looked up at her, slowly moving to stand. Something flashed in her eyes but it was gone in an instant. "There was no one to give him one."


    "So what do you call him?" I asked.


    "I don''t. He was simply there when your master had come to collect me." I pursed my lips. The Fae Commander might own me but I would never acknowledge him as my master.


    I didn''t bother to correct her as my gaze shifted to those baby blues. "Can I call you Sky?"


    Hope sparked his eyes, small and fragile - just like him - and he burrowed his face deeper into the linen. He gave the tiniest nod and I exhaled. I couldn''t tell if I was happy or relieved.


    Or was it regret?


    I smiled again, if only to ignore the flicker of attachment that had already started to formed.


    ~


    The days blurred into weeks and Mouse, Sky, and the nameless woman had managed to survive thus far.


    Sky seemed to stick closely to the nameless woman, spending his days wandering aisle after aisle in silent exploration and I was secretly grateful.


    I didn''t know the details of his bargain - of any of their bargains - and it was likely that I never would. To begin with, nobody spoke about their dealings with a Fae. No human wanted to admit the shame. No human wanted to endure the judgement. After all, who would want to admit that they groveled and kissed the very feet that trampled them? It was an endless lesson in humiliation and mockery that followed you to the grave.


    Yet, the Master - whose mind I couldn''t even begin to comprehend - had struck a bargain with a child who barely spoke, if ever. I had wracked my head over the last few weeks with different motives and each one seemed more ridiculous than the last.


    I felt a tug on my pinky and I looked down. Sky pointed at my hand and gazed inquiringly.


    I crouched, turning my hand palm side up so that he could see the scar properly. It ran across my palm, a clean line about two inches long.


    "I''d been careless," I said as he traced my palm. It tickled. "I did something that I wasn''t supposed to."


    He frowned. His fingers clumsily flipped my hand, his finger brushing the accompanying scar.


    "It didn''t hurt," I assured. He stared at me in disbelief and I smiled encouragingly. "You know why?"


    He shook his head.


    "It''s because I have a secret power," I whispered conspiratorially. "Whenever bad things happen to me, I just close my eyes and think of my happy place."


    A lie - one of many. I had no happy place to think of and it most certainly had hurt.


    I had advocated for the mercy of a friend. ''All for naught,'' the Master had said, anchoring a blade through my hand into a wooden post, forcing me to watch her burn until long after her screams had died.


    I pushed the guilt aside, tucking the memory away.


    "Do you have a happy place?" I asked Sky.


    He cocked his head, deep in thought. I smiled, tousling his hair as I returned to the task at hand. The Master required a book on the Fae that had undergone the previous trials and I ran my fingers lightly over the spines until I found it. I pulled the tome from its place and grunted under the weight.


    I admired the embossed cover. The lettering was gold and meticulous: A Historical Account of the Trials of Fire: An Accurate Observation of the Trials and the Fae Graced by the Elder Tree.


    I clutched it to my chest and left for the Master''s study. I glanced behind me to say goodbye but Sky seemed deep in his heavy contemplation.


    While I struggled to carry the tome with both arms, the Master merely needed a hand to grab it from mine.


    I stood quietly at his side as he opened it delicately, the pages fluttering from left to right until he settled on a page. It depicted a Fae, arms out, walking through a roaring fire.


    "It''s never known how the Elder Tree is able to differentiate the potential of the Fae but it is known how they are nominated. A messenger is sent in the form of a golem by which the Elder Tree graces the chosen Fae with its blessing. It is believed that any Fae that attempts to undergo its trials without such a blessing will have their magic turned on them - an agonizing death by fire, ensuring that they are unable to return to the embrace of the Elder Tree although, this has largely been accepted as mere supposition."


    "It''s quite an interesting read, isn''t it?"


    I flinched, averting my gaze.


    The Master turned the page as he skimmed the contents. "Do you know why the Aeds must undergo the Trials of Fire when no other kingdom is required to do the same?"


    I didn''t answer. I was sure he''d tell me anyway.


    "The Elder Tree saw fit to take the last Aedic King and his consort from us- oh," he trailed off, "some three thousand years ago. Quite the number for a human like you but for me, it was a mere blink in time."


    I widened my eyes but was otherwise, still. I knew Fae - the Si in particular - lived centuries, no, eons longer than my kind did but to have the Master admit that he, himself, had lived the span of at least 300 lifetimes made me feel like a child.


    "I was barely grown then, just coming into my magic - eager, impulsive," he paused. His finger pressed lightly against the corner of a page, "ambitious. I still remember the exact moment the King realized he was going to die. To this day, I hadn''t quite seen anything like it."


    He turned the page and lifted another.


    "You see, the Aeds are a wild sort," he explained, pressing his finger against the edge. "A feverous, fervorous, fanatical sort. It''s why our elemental magic, at its core, is fire."


    In one swift motion, he pushed up. I inhaled sharply, watching as blood rose to the surface, three red beads lined one after the other on his forefinger.


    "However, the King had an all-consuming, voracious appetite and for that, he was punished. Any Fae may take as much as the Elder Tree gives but not a single crumb more."


    The smallest bit of blue flared, flitting over his finger so fast that I almost missed it.


    "Do you understand the answer to the question now?" he asked.


    I didn''t. This small bit of history had only served to confuse me further.


    "Answer me, Little Ashling."


    My response was immediate. "Yes, Alvar."


    He chuckled. "No, you don''t but I have every faith that you will."

 Chapter 5

    I avoided the kitchens if I could help it but the gnawing in my stomach reminded me that if I was hungry, then the others probably were too.


    It always felt like the kitchen itself was a furnace blasted at full heat though, it didn''t seem to bother the pixies. In fact, I think they loved the near scorching temperatures as they whisked, rolled, and baked all manner of food and treats. Unfortunately for me, it was near unbearable. If I stayed long enough, I was sure I''d end up roasted well done. I could already feel my robes sticking to my back, beads of sweat forming at my hairline.


    Pixies were classed as common folk - fair skin, pointed ears, and a flawless complexion all around just like any Fae however, the key difference between the pixies and the Si that were ranked above them was the difference in magic.


    Si had combative magic, the type particular to the Sept that they belonged to. I knew Auberon belonged to the Malleare Sept. They were raucous brawlers, front-liners that exerted their will on the enemy in a fantastic show of brute force. The Master belonged to the Sicarius Sept. He''d remarked off-handedly once that it, quite literally, meant assassin. They were a quiet and secretive bunch, their intelligence unmatched, their magic unparalleled. It certainly suited the Master who seemed to think of schemes within his schemes, puzzles within his plots.


    By contrast, the common folk had utility magic. Pixies had an affinity for the hearth and house while Sprites put their magic to good use as either messengers or spies, the former a badge of honor, the latter a mark of prey. After all, knowledge was power and death was swift to any Sprite that was caught brokering information to the enemy.


    Eyes of onyx flashed through my mind and I paused. If I had to guess from the nature of Aeon''s magic, he was likely in the Sicarius Sept as well.


    I reached for a small basket, filled to the brim with various types of bread, imperfect and oddly-shaped. A hand grabbed my wrist and I winced, recognizing the red-tinged hand.


    "Back again, human?"


    I stilled before lowering my head further. "Hello, Mara."


    I had only glimpsed her face once, years ago. She''d been distracted and I''d just so happened to see her as I passed the entrance. Her skin always seemed to take on the hues of a striking sunset - likely the result of her magic as she worked the large brick oven. Her head was clean-shaven, the glow of the roaring fire cast shadows on her sharp and angled features. She was quite the beauty.


    She was quite the menace.


    "You frequent my kitchens so often that I wonder if I should make a pet of you," she cooed, her grip tightening. I was sure it would break if she increased the pressure any more.


    I stayed silent, hoping that was the limit of our interaction.


    "Do you really need so much food?"


    If I said nothing, she would go away.


    "How boring," she sighed.


    If I said nothing, she would-


    I cried out as a loud snap resounded in the kitchens. My knees buckled but she did not let go.


    "Squeak goes the mouse," she said, earning a bout of laughter from the other pixies. "Take the basket, human. This is as much fun as I''m allowed to have with you anyways."


    She released my hand, returning to her station near the oven and I collapsed, cradling my broken wrist. I gasped, shuddering at the blinding agony as I forced myself up. I blinked the tears away as I grabbed the basket. If I was going to suffer a broken wrist for food then I''d be damned if I left it behind.


    I staggered forward, leaning against the wall as I pushed through the pain. I needed to bind it first. I slid to the floor, arm tucked against my chest as I bit the hem of my skirt and tore a long strip. It had already started to swell, blisters clustered in a band where Mara had made contact. I grunted, using my teeth as an anchor for one end while I wrapped the injury. I hissed as I tied the ends together.


    My vision swam and I attempted to regulate my breathing. I was no stranger to pain but even I had my limits. I could think just fine through bruises. I could work quite well through lacerations. It was difficult to do either with broken bones.


    I couldn''t tell how much time had passed but I knew I had to move. The Master would never accept a broken wrist as an appropriate excuse to wile the time away.


    I inhaled, using the wall to haul myself upright. It was just another day, I reminded myself.


    Sky greeted me first as I entered the library. He seemed to be nearby these days anytime I had a reason to come. He opened his arms and I crouched down, placing the basket on the ground as I handed him a misshapen loaf.


    He frowned, shaking his head before giving it back. He stooped low and wrapped his arms around the base, heaving the mound of food with an effort that I couldn''t help but admire.


    I laughed despite the pain, hiding my bandaged wrist behind me. I used my other hand to stop him, placing it on his shoulder as I shook my head. "I can carry it. It must be heavy."


    He skewed his face in determination and pivoted, shrugging my hand away. I followed a step behind. We walked through the aisles towards a corner opposite of Fraxus''s loft. Mouse and the nameless woman sat at a rickety table. He looked expectantly at the food. She looked pointedly at my wrist.


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    I helped Sky push the basket onto the surface, ignoring her stare.


    "You''re late." It was not an accusation. Merely a statement of fact.


    I handed her a roll. One side had been charred but it was mostly edible. "This was all they had." I felt a tug on my skirt as I handed Mouse the misshapen loaf. I looked down as Sky held up a sourdough.


    I shook my head. "I''m not hungry." Whatever hunger that had gnawed at my stomach had been replaced with the nausea of excruciating pain.


    Mouse finally noticed the makeshift wrap that peeked out of my skirts. He looked away, fidgeting with what remained of his food.


    Sky contemplated the bread that I''d refused. I''d meant to reassure him, to tell him that he was free to eat as much as he wanted but the world shifted, my vision tunneled, and I managed to mutter an excuse before I stumbled hurriedly away.


    I couldn''t quite see where I was going as I made my way gingerly through the labyrinth of books but it didn''t matter. I just needed to be alone.


    A sob wracked my body as I stopped, collapsing into one of the shelves. I clutched my forearm just above the knot I''d tied and I finally released the tears I''d been holding back.


    Because more than the brutal agony, I felt suffocated, trapped in a world that required me to swallow the screams that clamored to be released in the face of the injustice I was expected to tolerate. I gnashed my teeth. I silenced my cries. I endured my anger.


    I was drowning...


    ... and drowning...


    ... and drowning...


    ... and all I could do was smile as I floated deeper into the depths of my resentment.


    ~


    I woke up to a whimper.


    Sky had been shaking me - gently, delicately - his eyes panicked, his face stricken.


    Another whimper.


    "I''m sorry," I croaked, reaching out with one arm to wipe his tears as I hid the other. He clutched my hand, running his thumbs over the scar.


    "Happy," he murmured and I froze. This was the first time I''d heard him speak. His voice was a soft tremor that barely reached my ears.


    "What?" I felt breathless. A brief exchange of the simplest words.


    "Happy," he asserted, pressing into my hand meaningfully.


    I thought back to the conversation we''d had. "Your happy place?" I asked, confused.


    He nodded.


    I furrowed my brows.


    He pressed again.


    It suddenly dawned- "Me?" I choked out. "You mean, me?"


    His lip quivered as he nodded his confirmation.


    We sat there, a quiet moment filled with a dangerous revelation and my wrist - an inflamed reminder of my helplessness - no longer hurt.


    ~


    The days that lead up to the Harvest Festival teemed with excitement. It was one of the biggest celebrations that rivaled the Spring Equinox. It was an excuse to indulge in your deepest desires to gluttonous heights.


    I considered it a day of absolute freedom. The Master was required to make an appearance at the gathering that would, this year, be hosted by the Praetorian Sept.


    The Master had once remarked that they were an obsolete faction, their purpose aimless as those who were chosen from their ranks had once served as the Aedic King''s royal guard. They boasted a broad range of defenses including shields that could not be breached by magic nor might. Once at the peak of power, they were now the lowest of the Septs, scrounging for the smallest bit of political capitol they could get their hands on.


    The Aedic Commander aside, the grounds would be empty of any Fae. It was eagerly anticipated by all.


    It was a chaotic morning when the day of the Harvest Festival dawned but I much preferred it that way. Too many things needed doing before fun could be had and it brought less attention to my comings and goings.


    The Master had already departed the day prior. He hadn''t given a reason. I hadn''t dared to ask.


    As the day progressed, it grew quieter and quieter. The sun''s steady descent towards the horizon brought with it a welcome silence that slowly blanketed the grounds.


    Mouse and I were at the fire pits, a sandy enclosure located just north of the gazebo where it provided a stellar view of the sunset. There were four stone pits, each one large enough to fit several men up to their waist. With so many things being discarded or trashed, it had taken both of us nearly all day to incinerate the piles of waste that had been hoisted upon us. Even more so since my wrist still couldn''t bear weight even though it had regained a limited range of motion.


    I flexed my fingers at the thought, grimacing as my wrist protested the movement.


    "It looks better," Mouse said.


    "It is," I responded.


    There was a moment of silence, awkward as we never really had much reason - or opportunity - to speak.


    Mouse cleared his throat. "I''d been meaning to give you my earnest thanks but it never seemed to be the right time." He looked at me sheepishly. "Well, I guess there''s really no ''right time'' to give thanks. My mama used to tell me that the right time to mind my manners was yesterday and she was right- My mama, I mean."


    I waited, eyeing him curiously.


    He scratched his head. "I wanted to thank you because Fraxus - that big fella in the library. He said you take care of us. The food, the clothes, the... everything. Everything. You''re nicer than you look is all I''m saying and I''m thanking you for it. And for everything."


    Barring the shock of Fraxus stooping to converse with humans, I felt a touch of discomfort. It was true that easing the transition of humans into whatever life they bargained for wasn''t part of my job but I hardly did it because I was nice.


    I only did it to reduce the weight they added to my conscience when something went wrong and it always went wrong. It just hadn''t happened yet.


    "You''re welcome," I said, despite myself.


    Mouse beamed. "I can breathe a bit easier knowing those fair folk won''t be here for the night. What do you do when they''re gone?"


    The sun had long set. The fading light marked the canopy of the Elder Tree beautifully, an endless web of leaves and branches interwoven in the sky.


    "I stare at the sky," I responded. "At the world above. The Enyels are said to have wings, did you know?" The sky grew darker as we both took in the territory of the Fae that lived in the heavens. "I wonder sometimes, what it would be like," I paused and shook my head, tearing my gaze away to dump the last of the trash into the fire. "Anyway, I can finish up here. You can go."


    Mouse nodded but didn''t move, eyes still fixed on the sky. It was only when the moon had started its trek above that he''d nodded his farewell and left me to my own thoughts.


    I sat down, enjoying the warmth of the dying embers that emanated from the stone pit when I heard a rumble. I splayed my hand on the ground, unease making me turn to see where it was coming from.


    Movement caught my eyes as the coal started to roll counterclockwise, sparks flying as they slammed aggressively against each other. The sand shifted beneath me as it gathered in the pit, providing the mortar for the coal as it stacked, one atop the other, to form some semblance of a large, stocky man.


    Except it wasn''t a man. It was a golem. And the unease that had built itself to my heart had plummeted into the pits of my stomach, a pool of dread now settled like lead.


    It took a hulking step forward, scattering the walls of the stone pit it had come out of. It crackled as it moved, like the sound of a hundred snapping branches. It glowed ominously as it lumbered clumsily down to one knee in front of me and I screamed. It did nothing to indicate that it had heard my alarm. It opened its mouth, reached in, and extracted an intricate copper key before bowing its head, offering the key in its open palm.


    I couldn''t move. I couldn''t breathe.


    Damn the Fae, damn their games, and damn the Elder Tree.


    I cursed so much that a part of me hoped that the golem would sink into the earth and take with it that key - that wretched key that sealed my fate as a competitor in the Trials of Fire.

 Chapter 6

    It happened too fast for me to react. A keen war cry that echoed into the night, a speedy shadow that leapt past me, the sounds of thwacks and thuds that followed in rapid succession, jolting me from my stupor.


    I wrapped an arm around the little boy and hauled him behind me. If it hadn''t been for the fact that there was a golem kneeling before me, I would''ve laughed. Sky - bless the sweet soul - was heaving, wide-eyed, a look of aggression that was strange to see on a face that was usually so gentle. He was gripping a wooden stick with both hands, a brittle weapon that was already splintering to pieces.


    "Sky," I scolded in a hushed whisper. I grabbed both wrists in one hand and held them down.


    I looked back at the golem. It hadn''t moved from its position, the key sparkling innocently in the moonlight.


    This was impossible. There were six - only six - who were approached by the golems and not a single one in history had ever been a human. Si, mostly. A handful of pixies and sprites. Maybe an imp here and there.


    Sky wriggled a hand free and threw his stick at the golem. It rebounded off of its head, clattering to the ground. I snatched his arm back and forced him to sit.


    For all the life it had just a moment ago, it now lay still, as if it had been robbed of its newfound existence. The coals that made up the bulk of its body had started to cool and I watched. I waited.


    Was it sentient? Was it aware?


    I turned to Sky and grabbed his arms to keep him still. I winced at the sharp pain that shot up to my shoulder but this was important. I needed him to know how important this was.


    "You can''t tell anybody about this," I said. He had started to open his mouth. To protest, to wonder, to disagree? I cupped his face, making sure his eyes could see mine - the panic that brewed, the alarm that ran rampant. "Sky. You can not tell anybody about this."


    His mouth shut with an audible click and he nodded.


    "And no hitting the golem," I added sternly. I didn''t know much about them but I was not going to risk Sky calling down the wrath of the Elder Tree for no other reason than his child-like ignorance.


    He glared at it, scowling.


    I exhaled sharply before turning my attention to the overbearing mass, now black, now cold. I stood, brushing the sand from my skirts as I approached. I circled the figure, Sky trailing close behind me.


    I bent down to study the key. It didn''t look important. It was a small thing about the size of my thumb, dented in some places and smudged in others. In fact, if I hadn''t seen the golem pluck it out of its own mouth, I would have never known it was the signifier of the Elder Tree''s candidate.


    I reached out, hovering but just shy of touching. Whatever this meant, it could only spell trouble for the likes of me. I hurriedly withdrew my hand and backed away.


    Let someone else take the key. Let them revel in that honor. Let them shoulder that burden.


    I ushered Sky ahead of me, glancing back one more. It was a mere shadow surrounded by broken stone and ash, unyielding, unmoving, and yet, I could''ve sworn I felt the ghost of its gaze boring into me.


    As if to say there was no one else.


    As if to say there was only me.


    ~


    The Master was... broody.


    Which was strange because the Master was never broody. Contemplative sometimes. Cruel at others. Manipulative, mercurial, jovial.


    Broody was new and it was because of me.


    He''d been staring at the golem since dawn, arms clasped behind his back, hair intricately braided into a high bun. He was still wearing his long, silken robes - a remarkable display of gold and various whites marked with a complex embroidery of intertwining leaves and branches that spanned the length of his back. He was still. The only part of his body that moved were his eyes, switching between the copper key, the haphazard display of the fire pits, and the messenger of the Elder Tree.


    I''d been standing behind him for just as long, distracted by the turn of events last night. I turned the memory in my head over and over again, each run-through churning out more questions than answers.


    "Where were you?"


    My heartbeat stuttered at the sudden question. "I don''t know."


    He cocked his head, the smallest movement to the left.


    "I don''t know where I was because I don''t know when this happened," I clarified. I measured the pace of my answer, the pitch of my voice.


    Silence.


    Then, "Your heart is beating so fast. If I didn''t know any better, I would think you were lying." He turned to face me but my eyes were downcast. I schooled my features into a blank expression as he bent at the waist, touching his temple to mine. "But you''re not, are you? You know how I feel about dishonesty."


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    The memory of being backhanded flitted through my mind.


    I detest liars.


    He''d said that, hadn''t he?


    "I''m human." It was a short and simple answer. A truth to mask the lie.


    I yelped as he plucked my wrist from my side. I contorted awkwardly at the pain as he stood to his full height, bringing it up for scrutinization. "As you''re so prone to remind me," he murmured. "I suppose it''s too much to hope that you might know who the recipient of this key is?"


    "Maybe it''s for you," I grit out.


    He released me, resuming his initial position in front of the golem. "I assume you know why it''s important that the final candidate accept this key." He touched the palm of the golem lightly, trailing a neat circle around it. "Or rather, why no one other than the candidate is allowed to accept this key."


    Too fast for my eyes to follow, he snatched the key into his fist. I wasn''t sure what to make of this as he stood there, one arm behind his back, the other suspended.


    Then, I saw the smoke. Small wisps at first that seeped out from the cracks between his fingers. I could hear a faint sizzling that grew louder as the gray fumes wrapped his hand in a thick cloud.


    He let out a sharp exhale, dropping the key back to its place. His open palm displayed a gruesome picture of blistering skin and burnt flesh. He flashed me a radiant smile, at odds with the wound he''d just sustained. "I suppose the key isn''t for me after all."


    I''d hoped that I could be replaced. That some other Fae - of all Fae''s, perhaps the Commander himself - could take my place. I''d prayed that I''d been mistaken. That the Elder Tree would appropriate someone else who was not weak, fragile, and oh so obviously human as the outlier that shouldn''t have even been chosen in the first place.


    No one had ever heard of a seventh candidate, much less a human one, and I''ll be damned if I let it be me.


    He held out his hand - a silent command - and I stepped forward, unwrapping the cotton from my wrist, careful not to jostle the joint. With one end anchored between my teeth, I wrapped the Master''s injury with care, knotting it with a series of loops and holes and for the briefest of moments, I had the urge to bite his finger off.


    It''d be quick, dirty, bloody, but it would be worth the satisfaction of seeing his shock.


    He grabbed my throat, his thumb digging into the spot where my pulse beat. "Your heart is singing. What I''d give," he sighed, eyes still fixed on the key, "to have just the smallest peek into your mind. What I''d do," he laughed, releasing my neck before shaking his head. He waved me away dismissively. "Aeon will be in my study. Fetch him."


    I left, holding my wrist in a poor attempt to stabilize it.


    Not his finger. His hand. I''d tear it off like a rabid dog and bask in the euphoria of inflicting his pain.


    ~


    The study was neat and ordered, reflective of the Master''s preference for all things in his life. On one side of the room was a bookshelf, spanning the entire wall from floor to ceiling. Sunlight streamed through the balcony on one end of the study, giving it the illusion of a warm and inviting glow.


    The centerpiece was a long table, thick and sturdy, as if the trunk of a great beech tree had fallen right there and the room had been built around it. There were several empty chairs that surrounded it save for one. It was a high back on the far end closest to the balcony and in it sat Aeon, the perfect picture of peace.


    His legs were crossed and his eyes were closed. He was slouched against the seat, head held up by his fist, arm propped up by the armrest. I advanced - softly, delicately. It wasn''t often that I could study a Fae with the kind of scrutiny that would usually get me in trouble.


    The breeze tickled his bangs. In the sunlight, it took on the colors of autumn, streaks of bronze and auburn and rust that I hadn''t been able to catch that night at the gazebo. He had a face similar to the Master''s - high-born, blue-blooded - with one glaring exception. Maybe it was how he looked when he relaxed or it could have been the way the light fell on his face. He looked light- no. He looked carefree. Like he was exactly where he needed to be with not a worry marring his brow or regret lingering in his forehead.


    The envy was overwhelming. So much so that it made my breath catch at the weight of it. Would there ever be a moment when I''d know what that was like?


    Perhaps, in death.


    Something caught my eye - the twine. It was strange to see the necklace. It looked out of place on him, non-descript and rough. It was tucked into his shirt though, at this angle, it was impossible not to see what it hung.


    A copper key.


    I instinctually reached out but was caught by a hand that was definitely not my own. I moved back but was tugged forward so that I was face to face with dark eyes of an endless midnight.


    "Careful," he warned. "It''s hot."


    "Alvar needs you at the fire pits," I blurted.


    Aeon''s grip was firm, though not as harsh as I expected. He was silent, all traces of sleep gone. He released me and I stumbled away, hitting the corner of the table. I grunted, wincing more at the bruise that would form tomorrow than the pain.


    His eyes followed my movements, a slow smile spreading onto his face. "Do you always call him by his name?"


    "I''m not allowed to call him anything else," I answered.


    He leaned forward, curious. "Oh? Why is that?"


    Flashes of a scattered memory whipped through my mind - ash that fluttered like snow, the acrid smell of burnt flesh, an outstretched hand, his reassuring smile. I blinked. "Isn''t he your friend?"


    If I hadn''t been looking closely, I would''ve missed it. The smallest twitch of his nose - the slightest indication of his displeasure. "He''s more of a," he trailed off, moving to stand. He snapped his fingers in enlightenment. "Ah! An idol. I wouldn''t say Alvar has any friends. More like an inner circle."


    Aren''t we all friends here?


    I suppose a friend wouldn''t be able to coerce peace the way he had that night.


    "He''s near the golem," I said by way of farewell. After all, I wasn''t needed for whatever conversation he was summoned for.


    I turned and bumped into his chest. I felt irritation fizzle in my chest at the powers of the Fae. If it wasn''t something completely detrimental to my health then it was something utterly inconvenient.


    Their strength, their speed, their overall primacy. My body bore the brunt of many reminders.


    "Won''t you guide me?"


    I could hear the laughter in his voice.


    "Is that a request or is that a command?" I asked. I stared at his chest - the copper key. It looked different from mine. The teeth were different, three instead of two, ascending as if it were a staircase to its head. It was just as complex, though unique in its pattern.


    "Is there a difference? Aren''t you going to take me no matter how I answer?"


    I looked up then, immediately drawn into those yawning chasms. It was more than the questions that made me look. It was the way he''d said it - a genuine interest, an unveiled curiosity. It lacked any impatience, or threat, or falsity.


    "It matters."


    He pondered the question, his eyes tuning out of focus and I saw his thoughts flutter like birds through those windows, the windows to his soul.


    "A request," he finally answered, watching me closely.


    And my frustration disappeared, replaced with something that felt like the strangled cry of a newborn when it takes its first breath - a gasp of life, a lungful of relief.


    Windows of starless night, but not as bottomless a pit as I believed them to be.