Sarsha walked through the empty hall, led by this… woman. Because only that she could tell about Leira. Other slaves were saying to beware her. She was not one of them anymore, and her horns and tail indicated very well that now, she is something otherworldly, not connected with the fate that awaited for humans in Dal’coler.
Some said that she is more than a fairy even – created from human flesh by the fae king, to serve him, his plans and his sexual needs.
Sarsha never had time to truly think of Leira and the despise other humans felt for her. Maybe she was a traitor, but from human blood and human bone. Now, when she walked next to her, supple steps on the stone floor, no magic enveloped her – humans couldn’t sense that, but Sarsha was a Saru and she felt only mundane nothingness.
She couldn’t be a magical being – yet they all were saying that she lived much more than a human should, without losing youth.
Leira… was an riddle, dark, and difficult.
“Where do you lead me?” she dared to ask. Leira turned to her, only slightly, her deep blue eyes holding no emotion.
Like them.
Like fae.
“For an audience in a throne room” was the reply and Sarsha felt a pang of worry. Did she do something, which displeased their king? She doubted. He never ventured to laundry or servants quarters. And she… was never leaving her work place, bound to take care of other slave’s clothes, eash them and fix, when they are broken.
Sarsha, the more they delved into the guts of the palace, the more fear she was feeling. Leira… determined, strong… but also misplaced. Something was off and it was not only her long life. She didn’t have magic, but Sarsha caught up a borrowed aura. Something that shouldn’t be possible. She was seeing a glimpse of shadows, around her head, delving with tentacles under her skin. So thin, that almost invisble, undetectable. This was her magic – she was seeing auras even if hidden, even if camouflaged by their owners. All hidden auras, even those who she shouldn’t see. A gift not many Saru possessed, almost no one, and it was considered vile skill, ravishing the privacy of other fey.
Sarsha didn’t know what to think of and even didn’t want – her own life and her own fate was much more important for her now.
They approached the large, carved door and Leira opened them, standing in the entrance in a low bow.
*
The night was taking Ain’asel into possession, crawling with shadows into the corners, alight only with candles and rare lamplight. And fairy lights. They very often amassed around Lorian, sometimes around Nymre too. Now, they illuminated the two with the ghastly shine. The throne room always was making Leira feel the power of Dal’coler’s magic. Not as much as the tree chambers, filled with blood and rot… but being the place where fae gathered daily, spreading enhancement, it was drenched in it. Leira was aware that it can’t harm her, more even kill her.
Leira passed the guards’ standings in respectful distance from the couple, their wings gleaming in faint light, their eyes… no emotions. She always wondered how fey’s eyes can reflect nothingness, while their souls are raging with the inner fire. Barghests were dutiful warriors… bound with the ruling family by the law of promise. Their ancestors promised Ain’Dals to always serve them, no matter what king rules on the throne, no matter what season takes over the land. They could change form into large canines and were almost unbeatable on the battlefields. Killers without compassion, Leira never knew what they thought of, what they could think of. They couldn’t harm her, not if Lorian didn’t order them, but she felt exposed before those whitish, pale eyes.
Lorian talked with Nymre, sitting casually on the black stone seat, adorned with marble raven heads. He took his most relaxed pose; when Nymre laughed silently from something he said, he leaned back, to immediately meet Leira’s gaze.
The raven consort followed the path of her lover’s gaze and her expression gained darker tones. Her lips formed a displeased half-grin, which quickly was replaced with a beautiful smile, her white teeth shining in the light like flowers of autumn fern, her big eyes gleaming with joy.
“Lorian… It looks like the pet brought the toy.”
Leira met her eyes… pallid, almost as white as the Barghest ones, with a hint of worn put blue. She saw scorn in them… and despise. Well hidden, under a mask of elegance and grace.
“My lord…” she bowed slightly. The Saru girl looked confused, but not scared. She knew that after so long in High Fae’s palace, fear is replaced by indifference. Blank eyes, reconciliation with fate… sometimes even a suicidal will to provoke any of the fey and die – that never ended well.
Nymre scoffed.
“Such a poor, weak creature. But her father traveled here through two realms to see her. Oblivious to the dangers Ain’asel holds.”
Lorian’s eyes held only cold darkness, when he embraced her, leaning on the back of the throne, his fingers playing with her tightly braided hair.
“Maybe we both underestimate parental love. Maybe we should look at it from much closer… and use it much better.”
Nymre’s smile was still present, but Leira was observant enough to see that something was moved in her by these words. Something dark… and raw. She knew Nymre was infertile… the price she paid for her power. As well, Lorian uses protection with all his human slaves. None of them wanted an heir and judging by laws imposed by the forest gods, they have a reason not to. Even if Lorian is chosen, year by year, in the majesty of the forest’s patronage… this could change so easily. Gods are capricious. Gods are crueler than any fairy.
Gods can inflict more pain than their grace is worth.
Something in his words though, hit Nymre just in a hurting place. Was she regretting the laws of nature? Or was it something rooted much deeper?
Nymre bit her lower lip, Leira could see her displeasure.
“Would you want to see your family again”? Lorian’s black eyes pinned Saru to the floor. His presence seemed to loom with shadows over her tiny posture. Leira was sure the fear had to eat her now. Exposed. Defenseless. “To breathe with the damp air of your riverlands? To bathe again in the lakes among the green woods by the mountains?”
The girl didn’t know how to react, but Lorian couldn’t care less. She was here to be freed. To join her father on the quest through the frozen planes of Ain’asel, to reach Nor’learl, where Kosel will bloom with death.
“This is at the reach of your hand” he mused casually, and waved with his finger at the Barghest guard. “Your father got so far, even ready to sacrifice his life, if he was able to save you. He should be executed. But… my grace can be boundless. It’s good to reward a bold soul.”
And he pointed at Kosel, who was led by the Barghest guard, firmly held by the arm, but without violence.
*
Sarsha felt as air started to choke her, invisible stones shattering in her chest.
Father…
He was here, after those long two years. Last time she saw him when they took her, when he stood bathed in blue blood – of his enemies, but mostly his own, looking as they carried her as a captive – complete desperation in his gaze, while he knew he couldn’t do anything to save her.
Kosel…
Her lips formed his name, a silent plea, like saying it would make him more real.
Sarsha made a step… then second… and she fell into his arms, not caring about Leira, the king or his lover. She wanted to squeeze as much from this moment, in case it was only a cruel game and her father would be just a mirage or also a captive, soon sentenced to death… or worse.
Kosel’s arms enveloped her and he was real, real, like water in his body, filling him, giving life.
“I thought… “
“I know” his voice was coming like from the deep well. “I know, Sarsha.”
His scent was like the smell of home, of the ocean and shore, of rivers and familiar, nostalgic marshes. Home, which she thought she lost forever. She felt as Kosel reached her face…
But she didn’t feel the raging waves in him, as she would suspect, confronting mistreatment and dark deeds of the court.
Maybe he was too shocked.
But…
… she saw the same, yet less visible tendrils of shadows, rooted in his head. Like a string of thin, ethereal gossamer, ready to be blown by the stronger gust of the wind.
Or… the sea thoisasa, predators leeching on ocean creatures’s flesh.
Whatever it was…
… they will be free. Or…
*
The Saru’s girl eyes widened, when she saw Kosel, entering by the door. Leira almost felt her agitation, and her strong belief that it’s a cruel trick, fairies playing with her feelings. She possibly saw enough of Unseelie grace – especially boundless one – during her time here.
Leira couldn’t blame her. She was like her before. She was like this beaten fairy, mistreated by Dal’coler, chewed by it and spat out, to be formed again, into something so different.
How much time would this child need to die… or become another version of herself?
She was still young, younger than Leira, even in her human years. When she realized it’s real, that her father is not wounded, not harmed in any way, and stood there with a gaze filled with relief, she slowly passed the few steps that divided her from him, and with a sigh, loud, and heart wrenching, she fell into his arms.
Leira heard Kosel’s voice, mute, deepl. And felt a wave of utter joy coming from Lorian. His aura, his shadows, trembling around him, like eager creatures. ready to sink teeth into the flesh of their unsuspecting victim.
Lorian stood from the throne, the fairy lights dispersing around him, like blown by the wind. He stepped from the elevation leading to the royal seat and approached the father and his child. Nymre sat on the arm of the throne, her eyes still showing inner indignation. The scent of ocean breeze became more potent, when she embraced the back of the throne and casually crossed legs. Her displeasure hidden under her raven mask.
Kosel bowed low before Lorian, with his hands on his chest. Something he would never do, if he was himself.
“Am I really free, my lord?” his voice not selling his nature, which was moulded anew, to form a willing lover of Ain’asel. A broken person could be very believable, mostly not knowing they are broken. But Kosel from days before would act differently. Though, the girl didn’t catch it.
Lorian’s smile reminded Leira of setting sun – bright, but hiding the promise of crimson behind the clouds that surrounded it.
“As free as you ever wanted to be.”
These poor prisoners will go… but at what cost?
Leira didn’t feel pity for them.
Pity was a cruel, deceitful feeling. And she was deprived of it already.
Nymre’s gaze was drilling in her head a hole dripping with blood. Leira knew that Lorian loves Nymre, but he also seemed to be oblivious to her inner struggles. Playing with her just like he played with the whole court.
Maybe he wasn’t even aware of that. It was in his nature, just like breaking a hare’s neck was in the nature of a wolf.
Her eyes followed the shocked Saru girl, how Kosel led her through the empty chamber, followed by pale eyes of Barghests, with dark interest observing their king’s uncommon act of grace. She possibly still didn’t believe it, in her freedom. But her father was already Lorian’s pawn. And will soothe her, give her more courage, offer her the false truth, in which he solemnly believed.