Thorns of Fae

by S L Mason

  The itch around my head and on my back grows, so I roll my shoulders then my neck to shrugged it off, all the while blinking away the dry burn of humiliation. With one leg behind me and the other slightly pointed in front, I pull Silver from her scabbard. I am ready for a fight.

  I close my eyes as the lingering fog appears in the background and mentally push it away. Now was not the time for a fuzzy brain. Opening my eyes, I focus on Janice. He’s taken his stance a few feet across from me, armed only with a short sword and a small round buckler. His face is bland, eyes sharp. “You should use a shield.” His instructions are meant to help, but I’m not listening. He’s made it clear this is business.

  “Can you rephrase? I don't want to misconstrue your instruction or actions,” I retort, then taunt him with Silver, and shuffle forward only to retreat. His eyes blaze with realization. “We are sparring, nothing more.” His response does nothing to quell my hurt.

  I bite down and grind my teeth. If this is how you want it. “Come get some, then!” I seethe with the rejection.

  Over the course of the last few weeks, I enchanted my equipment and clothes. I need every edge I can get. I’d added enhanced agility and strength, along with increased deflection capabilities. Every item is lighter than air and moving with the speed of light. If magic is about intent, then I intend to win. I wove it into every spell, cloaking myself in what little protections I can conjure. With each day I improve my ability to attack and defend. I’ve never put it all to the test. Janice won’t injure me before the next challenge, and that is my edge.

  I attack.

  The humming starts in my throat, pulling chairs, carts, posts, and loose wooden debris from all corners of the yard. They crowd around us, swirling like a cyclone. I use the low visibility to dance around a few chairs. Then, I jump from one to the next but Janice has the same idea. I leap from a flying plank to slash at his head, missing by an inch, and watch as clumps of long black-tipped hair drift around in the moving tornado. He disappears in the dusty storm.

  My momentary loss of focus cost me. The air in my lungs violently exits my chest, as a foot meets the base of my spine propelling me further into the maelstrom. My shoulder crashes into a wheel. I twist, angling to face the ground, only to meet a new set of blows from a new fighter. Our eyes meet— Titom.

  He throws me a wicked grin and slashes at my mid-drift. I crash to the ground and roll. Raising Silver with one hand, I spring to my feet while lashing out at him, only to meet empty air. Humming a protection bubble around me, I change the hurricane debris and add a burning layer to all objects. Let him walk on that. Titom slashes at my shield. I snicker at his feeble attempts, then I hum the shield to cover my skin.

  Rage wakes from Titom. His rage cuts through all the magic in its path, morphing the very air around him. His eyes roll through the colors of the rainbow, and surrounding him is a thin sheen of magic. The spell wakes inward. The last spell I’d seen do that had been on Brad, but it had emanated from a girth belt. This looked nothing like that.

  My fingers lace into the magic coming at me and pull it apart I watch in fascination as it falls to the ground like party streamers. The magic encasing him is so close to his skin I can't reach it without full contact.

  He raises his sword, and I only have time to cover my head, protecting it with a bracer. His sword collides with my arm, then the blade cracks and shears off. The tip falls to the ground, lodging in the stone next to my head.

  Titom screams in frustration. “I’ll kill you, you will never rule Fae!” His eyes bulge with wild hatred. He continues to hack at me. I defect four out of five blows. He’s tiring me, wearing me down. I pull a chair out of the swirling air and slam it into his arm, knocking the remnants of the blade from his grasp, then scramble to my feet and crouch over while holding my belly.

  Titom picks the chair from the ground with smoking hands and slams it into my side. My bad leg crumples under the abuse and I crash to the flagstones. My head is met with the unforgiving stone, where it bounces off the ground. My sight wavers, and Titom whistles stripping the magic of my shield from me. I tingle with its loss. He grasps a dagger at his waist. The skin on his face pulls tight in a crazed, wicked smile. He grabs the hair, yanking my head back and exposing my neck. “This is how animals should die, in the dirt with their throats cut.”

  I shake my head to clear the ringing and the fog away but to no avail.

  Titom continues for all to hear, “We shouldn’t be training them, or teaching them magic. Fae song for Fae, not servants and slaves. I will never be ruled by anything but Wild.” He raises his arm. I let the rumble in my chest rise, and the daggers on my bodice pull free of their sheaths, turning his torso into a pin cushion. His arm plunges toward me, but I grab it, angling the blade away from my neck. His grip on my hair loosens.

  With all the power I can muster, I pivot, and my foot collides with the side of his knee. He crumples to the ground, pulling me with him. Rolling to my belly, I push up from the ground. A dagger lays at my feet.

  “You can’t kick a dog and expect it not to bite,” I retort, snatching the blade and charge him.

  “Sarah, stop! Let Deston bring him justice.” Janice’s voice cuts through the whirling storm. The feeling floats around in my mind unbidden: Titom is a threat, kill or be killed is the Fae way. I bare my teeth and roar.

  Titom regains his footing but favors a knee. My lips pull back into a smile. Good.

  He expects me to stop and take up a position, fight him face to face. That is what Janice has been teaching me. Instead, I leap through the air as a chair flies around, then faking a step up, I change direction and plow into his side. My body skids over his as we roll, fighting for the dagger. Sweat pours down my face and his. Dirt and grime cake Titom, his breath puffing at me. I end up on top, gripping the hilt. With my other hand on the base, I push down with all my might, grimacing.

  “You can’t beat the Fae, beast,” he huffs his words out.

  “I don’t need to beat the Fae. Just you dip shit,” I growl out. A rumble created from my disdain gives me a burst of energy. The knife slips into his neck, and warm blood bubbles between his lips and sprays from the artery I severed.

  His orange eyes widen, and his lips part as if to speak, only to fall slack. His last words never reach my ears, just as his last breath would never reach his lungs.

  I pull back, releasing the knife. This isn't what I wanted. I didn't want to kill anyone. I sat on Titom’s chest, a chest that would never rise or fall again.

  Then I scramble off, scooting to the side. My tornado of debris spins, reflecting the chaos raging inside me. My hands are coated in blue blood, mushrooms sprout all around Titom’s body and mine. Screaming fills the air and circles me with the storm. His lifeless eyes stare up at me, telling me I did this. The screaming takes over, seeping into my mind. As I cover my ears, my fingers find the scars and a half-melted stump of an ear. My eyes burn for release of the torrent lurking there.

  “Stop! You’ll take the castle down,” Janice says as he encircles me with his warm arms and pulls me to my feet. Hands cupped my face, forcing me to look in his eyes. “Sarah, stop!” he demands and shakes me.

  I look from his lips to his eyes. The deep purple pools implore me to snap out of it. Taking my hand from my stump of an ear, I place it over his heart. The deep purple of his aura lightens to a lilac, moving out from the white of mine. He smiles. “Let the magic rest, let it go,” he whispers. I whistle and the raging chaos inside allows the whirling debris to fall where it may.

  “I killed him,” I mutter. Janice raises my face to meet his, holding my chin in one hand. “Titom killed himself the moment he entered the fight. You defended yourself.” His reply was reasonable but wrong.

  I shake my head. “No, I humiliated him the other day needlessly. He lashed out. I shouldn't have thrown him in the dirt.” The whisper fell from my lips.

  The courtyard is a disaster, the Fae crowd cower against the walls, wide-eyed a
nd filthy. Large blocks lay all around, along with cracks running every direction on the curtain wall.

  The aching itch around my head increases, as does the stabbing pain in my back. I hunch over with the pain.

  Janice steps away from me, his demeanor taking on an all business manner. I spy Deston off in the distance. I guess it's more important to keep up appearances. Deston speaks to a few Fae and heads our way.

  The fog descends thicker than before, along with the itching and pain in my back and shoulders. I want to push it away, but I’m incapable of doing so. No matter what I do my mental malaise lingers.

  "How is Sarah’s training coming along?” Deston addresses Janice as if I wasn't here.

  I itch to verbally stab him, but my lips refuse to move. I’m locked inside my mind.

  Janice replies, “Excellent, but I think we’re done for today.” Janice’s eyes search my face, then move over to the body, only to return to Deston before giving him a bow with crossed fingers.

  Deston surveys the body and the mushrooms growing all around. Then, he turns away to direct his next words at me. “I wish you to come to my rooms.” My head nods, and whatever I wanted to say disappears. He takes my hand in his own. The reverence in his touch doesn’t make sense. Why did he care? Or did he?

  I didn't want to hang out in his rooms alone. The grimy sweat and blood on my skin itches—I want a shower and a good cry.

  My eyes focus on his lips. I register he is speaking, but I can't hear the words, a thrill running through me from his touch electrifies my nerve endings. I swallow, and of its own volition, my tongue runs over my lips. Deston stops yammering and a slow smile curves the side of his face.

  "You’re distracted, Sarah. You seem to have something else on your mind,” Deston remarks as he flashes white teeth under the day-glo Fae light, igniting his markings and further mesmerizing my mind.

  I shake my head dumbly and reach to scratch the healing stump where my ear should be. The memory of the pain from the acid melting my skin rages back to me. My mind sharpens with the memory of the pain loosening my tongue

  My words rush out before the malaise returns. "No, I have this headache that won't go away and I'm tired from training. I didn’t expect to kill anyone, and I’d rather take a shower.” As an afterthought, I add, “If you’ll allow.”

  His smile widens. He likes docile deference. Yuk.

  With a smarmy smile, he replies, “I'm glad to hear that you picked up the Fae habit of bathing. The state you were in when you were brought here was atrocious. But the longer you’ve stayed, the more charming you've become." His pronouncement irritates me.

  Physically I warm to his words, though mentally I’m repulsed—overall, its chaos. I want the fire roaring in my veins to die. I didn't like him. He lied about healing me, as well as the competition, the kids Puca was holding, he skipped right over the death part of these challenge’s. Why I’m acting like this?

  Deston leads me to the door of his elevator. “This is where we part ways, my champion. I must oversee my domain and you must rest.” His words caress me, and my body responds to the attention. He holds my eyes prisoner. I could only watch in horror as his lips close the space between us.

  The tip of my tongue travels over my lips in anticipation of contact. His eyes close, and mine follow suit.

  The contact causes electricity to race through my veins. Inside I’m screaming, desperate to push him away. His lips work over mine before sucking my lower lip into his mouth and slowly pulling away.

  My heart beats through my chest as my breath gets caught in my throat. I’d felt all of this before for real with someone I like. These feelings were nothing more than a pale reflection. Reflection or not, however, I can’t turn them off or push them away. I’m trapped.

  He kisses my hand and steps back into the box. The fog drifts away, freeing me as the doors to the elevator close. A scream rips from my throat and all I can do is rub my leather bracer across my lips. I’m desperate to remove the taste of his kiss, but all I do is spread the coppery flavor of Titom’s blood as its replacement.

  I rush to the stairs and hurry down the passageway to my rooms. I thought I’d felt dirty before he kissed me. The door slams against the wall, I never stop running till I meet the sink. The sound of water splashing over my face fills the room. I gargle until I think my tonsils might come up. None of it can remove the feeling of violation that consumes me.

  At least he didn't stick his tongue down my throat.

  The acid lava climbs my throat, and I have just enough time to reach the toilet before it exits.

  CHAPTER 5

  Fae is never what you expect. If you expect fire, you get water. You expect stone, you’ll get earth. You think someone's your friend, they’ll really end up your foe.

  Something about Deston is not right, but I can't put my finger on it. When I’m around him, whatever ‘it’ is, gets worse. I can’t be distracted whether we live or die—we being humanity. Whatever happens, whether I survive or not humanity will forget. Maybe not this generation, but eventually this will all become another fairytale. A new set of myths, dwarfing the Greek gods, or the catalyst of an alien invasion story, catapulting us into space.

  Or, worst of all, humanity will simply be so few we will forget what really happened. Left to worry only about survival.

  By the time Fae comes around again looking for a new Queen, humanity will have grown again, overtaking the planet and leaving nothing but the stories they tell their children.

  I’d read the stories. The older the story, the more fear of a bump in the night. Only the modern stories carried the pretty, fluffy, winged fairy tales I’d gotten.

  I’m never going to sleep, so I crawl out of bed and whistle up the mirror. Its ornamental outline is unchanged from a few hours ago, along with the image in it. I still can't resolve myself to the face in front of me. I see it, it’s me, but I’m more monster than human. I'm not talking about the scar on the side of my face. No, I hear myself talk, and sometimes it sounds like someone else.

  I whistle the mirror away. What’s the point of looking in the mirror and longing for something I will never have? It isn’t going to solve my problems.

  Beauty is only skin deep anyway; ugly goes to the bone. My foot collides with the side of the vanity. I didn't need a vanity anymore, I had nothing to be vain about.

  I hum, and the wood in the vanity pops and squeaks, morphing into a love-seat, and the chair turns into a coffee table.

  I toyed with Titom. I shouldn’t have toyed with him. It was wrong— it was Fae.

  It is exactly what I accuse Deston of doing. What made it worse is, I’d mocked him; I shouldn't have done that either. Every day I become more like one of them. The only difference is they’re still pretty. On the outside, at least.

  I hum until the cushions take proper form, plump and inviting. Then, plopping down, I throw my feet up on the coffee table. My mother always yelled about putting feet up, but she isn't here.

  She would never be here.

  I snap up and stomp to the wardrobe, yank open the bottom drawer, and pull out Artie's cell phone. Then, I throw myself back on the couch.

  I wait for it to power up and quit complaining about the lack of signal. I didn't turn it on to make a phone call. Scrolling through the video gallery, I thrust the earbuds in my ears and pick a video.

  I watch as Artie records me, switching the camera around and showing his own smiling face. His glasses reflect the shape of his phone, then I listen to the two of us laugh. He’s talking about some concert we were supposed to go to, months ago. It’s another lifetime and another me. Listening to his voice and seeing his face comforts me. The darkness closes in and I let sleep overwhelm me.

  My rinse and repeat day start's again, the only thing different about today from yesterday, yesterday was practice, today is for real. My stomach clenches as whistling from Lavender in the next room reminds me of where I am and what must be done.

  "My lady, I mu
st prepare you," she calls in her sing-song voice.

  The earbuds fell out of my ear sometime during the night. The battery reads 20%. Crap I wasted it. There’s no Fae recharge station down here. I take one last look at Artie's face and turn it off.

  "That man whose picture you look at on your little box. Who is he?" She is still making the bed and plumping pillows, but I could tell she is intruding, being nosy.

  "Just someone I used to know." My reply is dry and emotionless.

  "Well that person you used to know is very handsome for a human," she replies. She’s just being nice—they don't find humans handsome or pretty. They only find themselves handsome and pretty. “My lady, today is the day. I'm sure you will be magnificently triumphant besting all the other humans.” Her declaration is heartfelt.

  "If by besting humans you mean killing, thanks, I'm good. Can we not talk about this?" I mutter.

  She cringes and busies herself with her work.

  I’m thankful, all I want is peace and quiet. There is nothing anyone could say that is going to make me feel better about today.

  Lavender dresses me similar to what I'd worn in the enchanted bubble, then leads me to the stairwell like a lamb to the slaughter. The courtyard goes deathly still with my presence. Everyone is holding their breath in anticipation

  "So glad you could finally join us. We’re off to one of my estates," Deston announces with a little giggle.

  I raise an eyebrow and turn to glare at Deston’s face.

  "Are you the prince in charge of this challenge?" I inquire

  "Yes, I am, and I'm very excited." He claps his hands together with glee.

  The fog that’s been plaguing me surrounds me again, engulfing my mind. The questions I want answered won't come to the surface. I can't get my lips and mind to work in unison. The moment his hand touches my skin, all the pent-up energy I stored for the day drains away, like a bathtub being emptied.

  "Your Grace, your carriage awaits." Janice proffers his arm, indicating Deston’s carriage. The moment Deston’s hand releases me, I feel life and my tongue surge back into my control.