Birthright

by E.J. Stevens

  “Then make me ready,” I said.

  “It is not that easy,” he said. “Offensive magic will take time.”

  “I’m done waiting,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ve scoured every inch of the palace for clues. I’ve searched every tunnel, and questioned every member of your staff. I need to expand my search.”

  “Please do not do this,” he said. His shoulders drooped, and the powerful, majestic wisp lord evaporated, leaving a grief stricken old man. “I cannot lose you, not when I’ve only just found you again.”

  I wasn’t sure if he meant me—his niece—or the woman that he sometimes confused me with. Either way, I was going.

  “I’ll come back,” I said. “But first, I need to do this.”

  I had no leads, no idea of where to start searching. We both knew this, but he nodded.

  “Will you promise to return to me?” he asked.

  His eyes had gone watery, and I looked away.

  “I promise,” I said.

  “You’ll come back and continue your training?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Then go,” he said.

  “Thank you, uncle,” I said.

  “Safe travels, my dearest one,” he said.

  “Don’t worry, uncle,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’ll be home for dinner.”

  Chapter 40

  I kept my promise. I made it home for dinner, just not that day. Or the day after that.

  Searching the bog lands was arduous work. I trudged through mud that threatened to swallow me whole, fought mosquitoes the size of pterodactyls, and escaped a horde of hobgoblins by the edge of my teeth.

  And that was just a perimeter search. I couldn’t push any deeper into the bog due to the low lying fog of poisonous gasses, and I still had no idea which route my friends’ assailants had taken.

  I came back covered in mud and sweat. I staggered into the Great Hall, unwrapped the fabric I’d wound around my face, and shed mud onto the gleaming floor beneath my uncle’s throne.

  He was sitting there, eyes wide, mouth moving, but making no sound. He’d been watching the wisps set the banquet table beside the pool of water where we ate our meals when I’d so rudely interrupted. I guess I looked as bad as I felt.

  “Teach me how to use my wings,” I said without preamble.

  No sense letting my uncle regain his balance. I needed him to teach me to fly, and I wouldn’t take no for an answer. It took Kade a minute to pull himself together, but eventually his untouchable mask slid into place.

  “Then you are ready to accept who you are?” he asked.

  “No, not really, but I need to widen my search,” I said.

  “You wish to fly,” he said.

  “Yes, and I want you to teach me,” I said.

  “I will teach you,” he said with a nod. “But first you must learn to control fire. It is the elemental power that all wisps must conquer.”

  “Why do I have to learn to control fire?” I asked. “I want to learn to fly.”

  “And what will be the first thing you do when you’ve mastered that ability?” he asked.

  “I’ll go looking for Ceff and Torn,” I said. “I’ll be able to fly above the poisonous fog.”

  It would also give me a strategic view of the land. That might help me unravel the secret of where the kidnappers had taken my friends. Oberon’s eyes, I wanted to fly so bad I could taste it.

  “Exactly,” he said, looking satisfied. “You will take wing over Nithsdale, a dangerous place whether in the air or on the ground.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “That is why I insist on teaching you the magic you will need to survive flying through the skies of Faerie,” he said. “You will learn to control fire, an element that can be molded to our will as either offensive or defensive magic.”

  “Fine,” I said. “When do we start?”

  “Tomorrow,” he said. “Now go eat your dinner.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him, causing even more mud to flake off and fall to the floor.

  “Come,” he said, stepping down from his throne, and walking toward the banquet table. “Cook made your favorite; pancakes with berry jam.”

  I shook my head, but followed my uncle to the table. For days, I’d been trudging through muck, living on rations of dried fruit and jerky. Who was I to argue with pancakes?

  Chapter 41

  Fire is a surprisingly diverse element. I tried to remind Skillywidden of that fact while he scowled at me and slapped embers from his pants.

  “Ye nearly set me on fire!” he yelled.

  “I was practicing using glamour,” I said. “I guess I got distracted.”

  “Distracted?” he asked. “Do ye know how hard it is to set fire to a hearth brownie?”

  Come to think of it, I’d never seen Hob with a burn, no matter how many times he flit in and out of the fire laden hearth in Kaye’s spell kitchen. My chest tightened at the thought of my friends back home, but I shook it off. I needed to focus. Daydreaming is what got me into this mess in the first place.

  “I’m sorry, Skilly,” I said. “My mind wasn’t on practicing.”

  “Ye were thinkin’ of them again, weren’t ye?” he said, face softening.

  “Yeah,” I said, slouching on the bench where I sat. “Sometimes I get so frustrated. I know they’re out there, but I can’t find them. I just feel so helpless.”

  “Well, next time ye feelin’ frustrated, don’t practice on ol’ Skillywidden,” he said.

  “Deal,” I said.

  “So what ye plannin’ to do now?” he asked.

  “Want to see my glamour?” I asked.

  “Aye, if ye can do it without settin’ yer hair on fire,” he said.

  “That was last week,” I said. “I’ve been practicing.”

  “I can see that,” he said sarcastically, casting a pointed look at his smoldering trousers.

  “I’m better at fireballs,” I said with a shrug.

  “That ye are, lass,” he said.

  Not surprisingly, I was better at fireballs and blasts of heat than the more subtle use of my wisp magic. I’d taken to the larger offensive spells right away, but they tended to leave me weak and defenseless. That was why my uncle had insisted on also teaching me the more defensive side of fire magic.

  Fireballs and glamour were all part of the same skill, at least that’s what Kade said. I tried to recall my uncle’s words as I prepared to work my glamour.

  You know how the area above an open flame shimmers, distorting what you see beyond it? Take that and fold it around you. Use it to change what the world outside sees.

  That was easy for him to say. My uncle had been using his wisp magic for centuries.

  I breathed in through my nose, and exhaled slowly. I pulled my magic from deep inside of me, reaching for the fire that could burn or conceal. Today, I wanted it to conceal, which made the magic slippery. The fire slid through my fingers twice before I managed to grasp hold and bend it around my body.

  “Sweet Maeve,” Skillywidden said, sucking air through his teeth. “Why did ye pick that form?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “It’s human isn’t it?”

  The upside of learning to create a concealing glamour was that I’d be able to safely walk the streets when I returned to Harborsmouth—at least once I’d proven the skill to the Unseelie Court. But in Faerie a human wasn’t a good defensive glamour. Most of the fae in the Nithsdale bog would see a human and think I was dinner, so my uncle had insisted I learn to conceal myself as a frog.

  That meant that I had to practice my human concealment on the side. Judging from Skilly’s face, I hadn’t done a good job of it.

  “Did I confuse them again?” I asked. “Am I a frog?”

  “No, lass,” he said, face pale. “Not a frog.”

  “Then what do I look like?” I asked.

  “Like the Queen of Air and Darkness herself,” he said.

  “I look like Mab?” I squeaked,
eyes darting around the room.

  I knew she couldn’t hear me. The faerie kings and queens had fled Faerie centuries ago. But Mab was the bogeyman in the closet, the monster hiding under your bed. She didn’t exactly instill rational thought.

  I dropped the glamour, and bit my lip.

  “I guess I need to keep trying,” I said.

  “Aye,” Skillywidden said, nodding slowly.

  Heck, maybe I should stick with amphibians. A frog glamour was less likely to get me executed for impersonating the Unseelie queen.

  Leave it to me to find a way to make safe, defensive magic potentially life threatening.

  Chapter 42

  Learning to fly wasn’t as fun as I thought. Considering that I was expecting long hours of agonizing pain—that was saying something.

  Kade made me run drills of unfurling and retracting my wings for hours. When I was slick with cold, sickly sweat, he had me slowly draw enough energy inside my body to fry my brain, one synapse at a time. When I thought I’d burst like a flaming piñata, spilling charred organs and scorched bones, he told me to pour that power into my wings and take flight.

  Power zipped into my wings, out through their tips, leaving me empty and weightless, until my face hit the stone floor. I woke up in a puddle of vomit, and I could taste blood. I’d managed to break my nose, again.

  It was one of many breaks. I should have given up, thrown in the proverbial towel, but there was still no sign of Ceff or Torn. I badgered my uncle, and he continued my training.

  After a week of practice, I’d broken six bones and bruised all of my ribs. My half fae body was more resilient than a human’s, but even I couldn’t push through that much pain. I dragged myself into the Great Hall, the one room of the underground palace large enough to practice flight, and sat on one of the steps leading up to my uncle’s throne.

  “What am I doing wrong?” I asked.

  “You still believe that you are human,” he said, eyes sad as they traced my injuries.

  The black eyes from my broken nose were a spectacularly gruesome shade of purple today. I smiled, reopening a recently split lip.

  “I am human, uncle,” I said.

  “And that way of thinking is why you fail,” he said.

  I licked my split lip, and spat blood onto the floor.

  “Was there any chance I’d ever fly, or was this all a game to you?” I asked.

  “I did not say it was impossible,” he said. “I said that you have limitations because you believe that you have limitations, that you are human, that you cannot defy gravity, that you cannot fly.”

  “So what do I need to do?” I asked again, gloved hands fisting in my lap.

  “Believe,” he said.

  “You make it sound simple,” I said.

  “It is simple,” he said. “You have already done the hard part. Now all you must do is believe. Believe in your true self. Believe that you are fae, that you are magic, that you can fly.”

  I climbed up onto the dais, the room spinning as I stumbled up the steps. Concussion, I thought absently. Probably should stop falling on my head.

  A giggle escaped my lips, and my uncle frowned.

  “Do you think this is amusing?” he asked.

  “Nope,” I said.

  I shrugged off my leather jacket, folded it, and laid it on the smaller throne that sat beside my uncle’s. I never sat there, but it made a safe place to leave my belongings. None of the staff would dare touch it.

  Torso stripped down to my sports bra, I unfurled my wings, letting them stretch to the moonlit cavern ceiling. A buzzing began to roar in my skull, the result of my mind touching the other wisps floating in and out of the Great Hall. It was evidence of what my uncle was saying. Kade was right—I am fae.

  “You are a wisp, my dear,” he said. “The gift of flight is yours if you are willing to believe. It is your birthright.”

  I cast aside my emotions, distancing myself from my humanity. I imagined my wings lifting me through the cavern. I believed that it was possible. I reminded myself that in Faerie anything was possible.

  I reached for the magic that ran through Tearlach, through Nithsdale above, through all of Faerie. It burned through my veins, joined the roaring in my skull, making my bones vibrate and my wings hum.

  I lifted my face to the moonlit ceiling, and smiled. Blood ran down my face, and I could feel a similar trail of warmth pour from my ear, but I lifted my arms and embraced Faerie. I am wisp. I am fae.

  I can fly.

  My body lifted, and I flew upward, raking the tips of my gloves against the glowing, crystalline ceiling. I rolled, spun, and shot through one of the alcoves. With a twist of my body, I returned to the cavern, spreading my wings wide, and glorying in the knowledge that I was free.

  Wind rushed across my body, but I focused on one thing, a single thought that burned through the buzzing in my skull.

  Hold on, Ceff. I’m coming for you, baby.

  Chapter 43

  I stood in front of the mirror and ran a hand over my wings, checking for damage. I’d flown further today than ever, but I had nothing to show for it except sore wings and a bruised knee. I suppose it was better than the broken bones I got when I’d started going out on these excursions.

  My stomach growled, and Skillwidden snorted.

  “I told ye to bring more food,” he said.

  He was perched on the side of the tub, swinging his stubby legs back and forth. No matter how long I left for, he was always here waiting for me—just like my uncle.

  “I ate plenty,” I said. “If I ate as much food as you shoved at me, I’d never be able to fly.”

  That probably wasn’t true, but Skilly nodded and went back to swinging his feet. I’d learned that my ability to fly was only partially due to the strength of my wings. It was also fueled by magic. Magic that was having an effect on more than my ability to fly.

  I stared at the woman in the mirror, and frowned. Aside from eyes the color of amber, there’d been nothing remarkable about my appearance before my wisp powers emerged. While in Harborsmouth, my eyes and skin had begun to show the truth of my fae blood by glowing brightly when my emotions ran hot. My inability to keep those signs of my inhuman nature hidden was why the Unseelie Court had ordered my assassination.

  Oh if they could see me now.

  I stared into the mirror, shocked by how much I’d changed since my arrival in Faerie. My cheekbones were higher, hands more slender, and there were now flecks of silver in those amber eyes that flashed like shards of ice beneath the moon.

  My uncle was right. Using magic had changed me. My father had done something to me as a child, not only to block my memories, but to bind my power. But with Kade’s help, I’d torn down those bindings piece by bloody piece.

  I turned to the side, careful to keep my wings from brushing the wall behind me. They’d grown since my first transformation, now stretching over five feet from tip to glistening tip.

  I was certainly remarkable now. Lips the color of frozen blackberries curved in a self deprecating smile, and I shook my head. The woman who stared back at me was a creature of terrible, otherworldly beauty.

  I may have a human mother, and been raised in the human world, but my fears had finally been realized. Glowing skin had been a hint, but I’d tried to brush that off as little more than a vestigial side effect of my father’s blood. But entering Faerie and coming to my father’s domain had triggered an awakening of that blood, an awakening that I’d kindled further with the use of magic. I could no longer hide from the truth.

  I was fae. I was inhuman. I was other.

  How could I return to my human life in Harborsmouth?

  “Perhaps my uncle is right,” I said. “This is where I belong.”

  “Yer uncle is a man obsessed with the memory of a woman long gone,” Skillywidden said, shaking his head.

  I couldn’t argue with that.

  “Have ye checked near the wall of vines?” Skillywidden asked. “Perhap
s Ceff and Torn be waitin’ for ye there. I could help ye find me hearth, if ye take me with ye. Let me help, lass.”

  “No,” I said, fighting tears. Moisture leaked down my cheeks as I lost that battle, and I drew on my power, lashing at my face with a whip of fire to rip the tears away. “I’ve searched there, Skilly. I’ve searched our entire path over and over again. On foot, by air…there’s no sign of them. If Torn and C-C-Ceff were there to be found, they would be.”

  Saying Ceff’s name and knowing that I would never see him again was torture. I’d survived the pain of healing my own bones one by one. I’d flown until I tore the fibers of the muscles and ligaments in my wings. But nothing was as painful as hearing his name.

  “I forbid you from speaking of them again, Skilly,” I said, pushing power into my voice.

  “But, lass!” he exclaimed.

  “No!” I yelled.

  I spun to face the brownie, my skin glowing as I pointed a finger at his chest. When had I stopped wearing gloves? I shook my head. It didn’t matter. What was important now was moving on.

  “Ye no right to forbid me,” he said, hands on his hips. “Ceff and Torn were ye friends. Ye do not give up on ye friends, and neither does Skilly.”

  “I forbid you to say their names to me,” I said.

  “Do not do this,” he said, eyes going wide. “Ye do not know what ye be sayin’. Calm down and we can talk this through.”

  I’d talked this through so many times, it was tearing me apart. I was a P.I. and I knew the hard truth. The first twenty four hours were the most crucial in any missing person case. Within the realm of Faerie, Ceff and Torn had been missing for twenty four months. It was time to let go.

  “I’m done talking, Skilly,” I said. “I just…I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Come now, lass,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, Skilly,” I whispered. “I forbid you to say their names to me.”

  The geis hit me like an orc’s fist to the gut. I’d given my order, the bidding of the wisp princess within the walls of her court, thrice. I couldn’t breathe, and my head felt like it’d been stomped on by an angry troll, but nothing could compare to the pain in my heart.