Thorns of Fae

by S L Mason

The irony of his words isn’t lost on me. “Fae don't have a problem turning humans into a plaything—don't like it when the tables are turned, do you?” I laugh under my breath and cross my arms.

  He hisses. Now that just makes me want to smash his face in the dirt again. But now isn't the time for a lesson in manners.

  “Titom, get up and stop whining! Sarah, try to keep the grime to a minimum.” Janice’s attempt at diplomacy only spurs me on.

  “Funny, I thought Fae didn't mind a fight. I’m only here as Deston’s plaything, so why should you be any better? Suck it up, buttercup, let’s dance!” My leg itches as the muscle flexes around my wound. I change my stance, dancing on the balls of my feet.

  Titom eyes light up to a glowing ember of fiery yellow-orange. His aura wakes change from a glowing orange, to burning fire to match, with muscles coiled he charges me. I pirouette to the side, spinning on my good leg. As he passes, I hum, creating a bubble of jelly, which makes him bounce across the yard. I bend in half, laughing at his body as it topples over with each impact on the ground.

  “Sarah, remove the charm. We are working on hand to hand and magic.” Janice’s voice was laced with amusement. I humpf, then, hum a counter-charm. The bubble pops, splattering jelly-like goo in a puddle of Titom. I hold my belly laughing as Titom squeezes the clear jelly out of his hair.

  “You will pay for making a fool of me.” His words barely leave his lips before the song starts. The wakes began in his chest, radiating out from there, in a rosie-orange color. The magic wakes race toward me at lightning speed. I brace my good leg behind me and raise my hand.

  Calmly I ordered, “Stop!” the magic wake blasts around me. The force pushes my hair back. The wakes had moved around me like water around a stone. I grab the wakes with my hand crushing them like tinfoil. The force of the magic pulls my arm back, so I turn the momentum back on him and watch in fascination as the magic returns to its caster.

  The wake smashes into Titom’s chest, hurling him back into the stone wall of the castle. His body slumps to the ground.

  “Sarah,” Janice’s voice is laced with horror and concern. “How did you do that?” Janice runs to Titom side, where he checks Titom’s vitals while he studies me through his brows. “We’re done for today,” Janice orders.

  Then, he turns his back on me. I’m dismissed. Faltering for a moment, I quickly whirl around and storm out of the courtyard, only to linger in the arched opening of the stairwell.

  Lavender appeared and remarks, “My Lady, Titom will be fine, come away. You will give the wrong impression,” while pulling gently at my arm.

  I turn at Lavender’s words and raise an eyebrow. “Wrong impression? What impression is that?” I demand.

  “Concern over the injury of a house servant is beneath you.” Her reply is quick and to the point.

  “You Fae and your class bullshit. I just slammed him into a wall and, yet I’m not supposed to be concerned? How should I act?” I retort, with no interest in hearing the reply. I whistle the enchantment on the rope and disappear to the seventh floor and the sanctuary of my rooms.

  I didn’t intend to hurt Titom, I didn’t even know I could throw magic back as a weapon. Janice said magic was dangerous and could rebound —is that what I’d done?

  Concern is a human emotion, but my actions resemble Fae more than human. I don’t want to become like the Fae. But maybe Deston had been right: over time my human sensibilities will fade away like the Queens of Fae. Will I become one of them? I already look like one.

  CHAPTER 3

  What would Nick or Arty say? I know what Jake and Tom would say: “Good job! Why didn't you kill him?” But Arty… our friendship seemed so long ago. I saw him only a few days ago, and already the encounter is receding from my mind like an unreal enchantment.

  My chest tightens. Nick would have asked how I did it and if I could do it again. He wouldn't have judged. I still see his smile as the life desiccated from his body down to his last remaining green eye.

  My fist collides with the side of the wardrobe before me, the sweet sound of wood cracking meets my ears.

  The noise doesn’t lessen my anger. I slam my foot into the cabinet, again and again, using repetitive motion to stay upright. I plant both feet on the floor, treating the cabinet like a punching bag made of wood. Muscles flexing in my arms and legs don’t change the vise grip on my chest squeezing all my air out. My eyes burn to cry but come up dry. I scream at the rhythmic words in my mind, as my right fist pummels the cabinet.

  My belly demands food, food I can't keep down. I hum Silver into my hand, her pommel melds for a perfect fit. I swing the sword wide, colliding with the corner, only to slice into the cabinet and cut the door in half while pushing the other door open with the force. I kick the lower fragment of the door until it falls from its frame and clatters to the floor.

  “Is this how you treat all your furniture?” Janice inquires as the door clicks closed behind him. Janice stands with both arms crossed and legs wide.

  I ignore his question, instead asking one of my own. “So, what's the next one?" I demand.

  "What do you mean?" He quirks a brow.

  I reply without a glance, "The next challenge. There are four princes, you said there were four challenges, what's the next one?” I hate it when he plays dumb.

  Janice slowly supplies. "There are four princes, and there are four challenges. You missed one, and only participated in two." Janice is skirting the question, which irritates me.

  "And who's in charge of this one? Jacques went first, Bonn second, so that leaves either Deston or the other guy. Who is in charge of the next challenge?" I demand and wave my arms around, flinging blood from the ripped skin on one hand. It lands on the far wall and sprouts a small blue button-mushroom.

  Talking to Janice is like talking to a child. I know he is avoiding the question because it's a simple question.

  He interjects, "Jacques was first, Wot second, Bonn third. Deston is in charge of the next and last challenge." Janice’s need to be correct did nothing to ease my frustration.

  I slam my fist into the wardrobe again and the impact rattles up the length of my arm, causing my shoulder to ache. "Okay, and what will it be?” I exclaim, then wipe the sweat from my forehead.

  He responds, "There are parameters, in case you haven't been paying attention. Each challenge follows an element. Earth, fire, and air have all been completed, leaving only water."

  I slash at the hanging cabinet door, knocking it from its pathetic hardware. It crashes to the floor with a satisfying bang. Janice shakes his head.

  “Water?” I inquire over my shoulder.

  “Yes, earth then fire and the last was air.” He crouches down and picks up the debris. “Are you finished working out?” he remarks.

  I kicked the drawers for good measure. Then, I take out a throwing dagger and begin scraping a bullseye in the remaining door, only to falter at the center. "Wait, the last was air? It didn't seem air like to me. Is that why you’ve been training me not to use my voice?" I lower the dagger midair and turn to face him.

  He responds. "It's not just about not using your voice, Sarah. It's about thinking fast and not relying on what cannot be relied upon. Nothing in Fae is reliable.” He hums, and his dagger flies past my face to finish etching the target on the door, only to lodged itself in the center of the bulls-eye, then he continues. “If you rely on Fae to stay the same, you will fail. The one truth is, Fae is always changing, so it will never be what you expect. You expect it to be water, I expect it to be water, but what if it ends up being something else?” His exasperation colors everything—even his aura—orange.

  "Well, what else could it be?" I demand. My eyebrows cinch together, pulling on the melted skin on the right side of my face. I don't care what the apothecary said, I could rub all the salve in the world on that scar, it’s never going to be soft and supple again. It’s always going to be a wrinkled, melted mess.

  "Perhaps they’ll save water for
the final challenge. The challenge no one can control, and instead they'll give you some kind of conglomeration of all the elements," he remarks, then scratches the back of his head.

  "Are you sure the third was air?" I cock my eyebrow at him. I can't hear a lie in his words.

  He heaves a sigh. "I didn't see the dictate." He shakes his head and crosses his arms while clasping his own chin, as if he was going to stroke facial hair he didn't have.

  "The four nymphs said they were looking for the aether to see if I had it," I supply.

  “The Elemental Nymphs tested you for the aether in the bubble?" He turns and paces away.

  "Yes, isn’t that what the challenge was all about?" I ask. Now he really has my attention.

  "No. As far as I know, the challenge was not about that at all. I don't think." He shakes his head in frustration.

  "Truthfully you have no idea," I snigger with a half-smile.

  He paces away from me again, wheels turning in his mind. "And the four nymphs tested you for aether?" he inquires again, which is strange — it’s not like Janice to repeat himself.

  I retort, "Yeah, I really don't care what happened in the past. The point is I passed. I busted their asses and I made it out. Now I need to figure out what the next test is and win that one too.” Alive. “Can we focus on the next one?" Please… I don't understand why the aether is so important. I kick the wardrobe again, using my heel this time.

  "The only way to know what’s to come is to understand the past. The first was earth— everyone knows the maze garden represented earth, soil, the forest. The second was fire, held in a magma cavern.” He stops pacing. “People burned to death, you should be thankful you missed that one." He throws his droll, humorless reply over his shoulder then resumes pacing again.

  I scoff at him. "You’re joking, right? I should be thankful that other people burned to death and not me? That sounds a little self-serving—very Fae, don’t you think?" I declare, then scrunch up my lips and shake my head.

  Janice cringes away from my retort. He knew what I meant. Surviving, not have participated, means the others, died and the rest hate me. They’d be gunning for me— I need to watch my back. Girls are catty bitches, especially when they all have a common goal: get Sarah. I didn't have to go through the hell they did, and he’s telling me I should count my blessings.

  I made it out of the forest only because I ran, but Nikki followed, or was it Arty? I shook my head, don’t chase that rabbit down the hole.

  Janice remarks, "My opinion is unchanged. I still believe only water is left and the finale.” He runs his fingers through his hair, the black almost reaches his skull now.

  “Has Deston asked about your hair?” My query stops Janice in his tracks.

  He straightens, but doesn't turn, and his aura takes on the deep amethyst I’d grown to associate with me. Janice replies, “He did. I told him it was to lure out our enemies.”

  I run the words over in my mind. They weren't a lie, but they lacked truth. Clever. He turns, and I meet his intense stare with one of my own. My heart picks up, and he whirls around to face the window.

  “So, it's water or bust?" I announce.

  “I'm not sure what bust you’re referring to; a bust is a statue of someone's head. Why would it be associated with water?" His questioning response makes me laugh.

  I shake my head and walk to the far side of the room, giving myself the space I need to get my emotions under control. He'll either understand and figure it out or not. I don’t have time to explain it—after all, I'm sure to him it's considered modern nomenclature. Even though it's a term that’s probably hundreds of years old.

  To cover the pounding in my chest, I start kicking the cabinet again.

  “If you think it's water, then why don't we go for a swim?" I query in an attempt to draw him back to the conversation at hand.

  "Human thinking again?" he replies.

  I huff at him. How else was I supposed to think? I roll my eyes and cross my arms, but then it strikes me: he's right, I am thinking about it like a human. A human would need to practice swimming. What would a Fae need underwater to survive?

  "What would a Fae do if you got trapped underwater?” I stop kicking the cabinet and blow my bangs out of my eyes, then turn to face him full on.

  "A better question is, what else is under the water with me?" His reply rang eerie.

  Ugh. I stamp my foot. Why does Fae have to be filled with a bunch of bloodthirsty creatures? Hey, while you’re stuck under the water, watch out for the creature from the Black Lagoon? “What do I need to watch out for in the water?” I huff.

  “What do your fairy tales tell you lurks in the ocean depths?” he replies.

  Question with a question, touché.

  "Well, you could get scary and talk about giant squid. Or we could discuss mermaids, which aren't real, are they?" I shake my head and turn away. I don't want to hear the answer. "We could discuss all range of electric eels and bloodthirsty sharks. There’s the Kraken, but that’s Greek. What about Nessie the Loch Ness Monster? You're looking for something here, so why don't you give me a clue." I wave my hands around. I hate it when one question turns into twenty.

  "Mermaids are real, just not what you think they are, and being as they’re Fae, they are exactly what you think, and yes, they do lure men to their deaths. They don't save them," he informs me.

  "Great, man-eating mermaids, anything else down there I should know about?” I reply. Check, stay away from the hungry part-human-part-piranha women.

  “More than time to list," he remarks.

  I gulp. There’s more?

  CHAPTER 4

  The list of things that lurk in the dark water was long. I’m sure Janice missed some. Sleep eludes me, and my dreams are filled with bloody water and the sharp teeth of fish. No matter how many times I think I’d awakened to the safety of my room, I realize it’s just another dream. By the time my window lightens, my eyes are still heavy with desperately needed sleep.

  Lavender prattles around the room in her eternally happy world. It grates on me, and I’m desperate for silence or Nick, Arty, Zoe, a laugh, a friend anyone but a Fae.

  Lavender stops insisting on bathing me, and I allow the water from my shower to pour over my face. It’s the only way to mask the tears, but the walls tattle and the room ends up being as wet as the tub.

  The courtyard holds more Fae than the day before. They set up chairs to watch. I am continually on display, a freak sideshow here for Fae entertainment. My time to heal and train is quickly coming to an end. I’m not ready, though with any luck neither is anyone else. Nikki would be ready. She is a force to be reckoned with— she wants blood even if no one else does.

  I brought my sword Silver with me, and the weight of her hanging at my side feels good. I need practice. I missed the burning cave of lava. The other girls will be out for my blood, won't they? Would I? Maybe?

  “Are you ready to fight?” Janice cuts through the circular conversation in my head, dragging me back to the real world.

  I snort. The real world, right. “As ready as I will ever be,” I reply.

  He moves into the fighting stance he’d been drilling into my head. I take the same pose opposite him. He raises his sword for the fight, then takes a luring step toward me.

  I remain still, it’s bait. Then he paces to the side. I mirror his moves, crossing my feet one in front of the other. He shadow dances with me.

  This is boring. He wants me to attack. I allow the rumble in my chest to raise the dust on the ground, forcing it to rise higher with every step. It engulfs our bodies with a waist-high dust cloud. It masks my moves, and his. His aura flames bright yellow and orange. Then, it turns red. I raise my sword to block as the two blades collide. The clang of metal fills the courtyard and rebounds off the walls. I whistle up a bucket from across the yard and fling it at him. He, in turn, sings four rocks to hit me.

  I’ve already played this game, so I hum a bubble around me and listen to
the rocks rebound one by one. His eyes grow dark with satisfaction. I hear the whistle and jump, floating to meet him. He leaps up to meet me. I sweep Silver in an arc to rebuff him, but he deflects my blow. I pull a dagger from my bodice and fling it at him. He sings up a magic shield, and the small knives rebound with a loud metallic ring then fall.

  The rumble in my chest rises up again, and a dagger lodges itself in his leg.

  He yells, “You drew blood, let’s break for a moment.” Janice pulls the blade from his thigh, and blue blood oozes from the wound. He wipes it on his shirt and hands it back.

  “You did well, the dust was a good idea. But lack of visibility works both ways. Don't forget that.” Janice’s reply is always instructional.

  I smile wanly at him. “It was a calculated risk.” For once, I didn't lose. I’ll take the draw. I turn to survey the crowd—they hadn't clapped or cheered. One woman yawned. Fucking Fae.

  “Go practice with the others. I’ll have this bandaged.”

  My brows pull together. “I can heal you,” I offer.

  He freezes, eyes darting around. In a low tone, he replies, “You don't know about Fae healing, remember? I’ll see the apothecary.” He turns and disappears through an arch on the far side of the courtyard. I stare after him for a minute. Then, I join the other trainees for hand-to-hand sparring.

  The motions are relaxing, reminding me of a karate movie. I fight the other trainees and best two out of three, bringing a smile to my face.

  “Shall we pick up where we left off?” Janice inquires. He always catches me off guard.

  “Sure, wait until I’m tired then show up for the rematch,” I reply, smiling.

  He looks around the courtyard. “Your playful banter will be misconstrued in this setting,” he whispers.

  I step back at his rebuff. The fluttering in my belly stills. I was flirting and he shut me down. Burning with shame, I retreat a few steps. The blood that had pooled in my face drains down to my chest and a painful ache. Pulling in air only reinforces the ache. My first instinct is to run away— or scream, I don’t know. I thought he liked me.