by A C Wilds
“Excuse me? 100 years? How is that even possible?” I question.
“Fae are immortal unless killed. We do not sicken or age in appearance at anywhere near the rate that humans do. We are perfect forever.” And there it is. The arrogant male is back. I am intrigued though.
“Well, that is unexpected and awesome. Is it ok if I ask how old you are?”
“I’m 583 years old, give or take a year. After a while, you stop counting.”
“Holy cannoli! You're like an ancient being! You were alive during Leonardo Da Vinci’s life, the birth of America, and the Wild West! That must mean your parents are even older than that!”
“Yes, my father is ageless. He was created with the first Fae. My mother came later, but I don’t even think they remember how long they’ve been alive.
“That’s sad. Who doesn’t love a good birthday party? With presents and cake.”
“That’s a human custom, something the Fae don’t practice,” he says, with the arrogance he can’t let go of for more than five minutes. He is indeed making it hard to like him.
I don’t get a chance to respond. A tall skinny stick of a man comes stalking out of one of the main arteries dressed in breeches, a polo, and some costly riding boots. He is spotless. Not a smudge of dirt or speck of horse hair. I can’t believe this could be the stable manager. He’s too clean, too perfect. But then he opens his mouth, and it tells me all I need to know.
“Your Highness, always a pleasure. Sorry about the mess. The plebeians have been slacking off again.” he drawls out, with a sneer on his lips. He gives me the creeps. His hair is oily, and it looks like he must night wash it.
“It’s alright, Bartholomew. I know you’ll get them into shape in no time. You’ve been through this before — training new plebeians to conform to our rules and procedures,” says Cass. He is agreeing with the stable manager, but the prince also has a look of disgust in his eyes.
I have two thoughts at this moment looking between the two of these males. One, Bartholomew is a fucking moron, and two, what the hell is a plebeian? “What is a plebeian?” I ask Cass, because I’d die of curiosity if I don’t.
“A plebeian is a servant — a human with no Fae heritage. They work for the palace and my father. They are assigned different tasks depending upon their skills or education. Think of them as background noise. Nothing you need to worry about,” Cass says to me.
“So, basically you have slaves?” I ask in disbelief. I’m in utter shock. This is just proving how much I don’t belong here.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Cass says a little less sure of himself.
“Do they get paid? Have medical benefits? Are they able to leave the palace grounds when they choose?” I can’t believe I am having this conversation right now. To think that there are beings, who find themselves better than us, that would have the audacity to keep slaves, and then almost joke about it. My stomach is starting to get sick. The same powerful vibration starts to creep down my arms, and my face is feeling flushed. I might use my powers again. Which one, I have no idea, but it seems to be coming to a powerful point, and then it suddenly stops.
“Azra, you need to calm down,” Cass says, while lowering his hands. So, he stopped me from using my powers. “Even though you think these humans are slaves, they aren’t. They get room and board in exchange for their services. No one is mistreated. They do get medical attention when needed, and we even sometimes let them ride the horses.”
“That’s disgusting. You are trying to justify human slavery! I don’t want to see this barn or speak to you any longer. Take me back to my cage now!” I scream, not only for myself but for these people. I have been here a little over 24 hours, and I can’t stand the thought of staying around any longer. Yeah, the magic part is cool, and I probably will fuck something up with my powers, but I can’t stick around and be associated with these people.
I am seething. If smoke could come out of my ears, it would. My anger is palpable — a living thing. There is a fire in my eyes and warmth in my hands. This feels different than before when using my powers. I feel if I don’t cool down, I will burst into flames. I take a step back, and then another, and another until I am turned around and walking away. Fuck them! I need to get my shit together before I hurt someone. I have zero control over my newly found powers, and I’m pissed that I need these assholes to learn to control it.
I am half way back to the house when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around and see the person to blame for this entire fucking situation – Greyson. “What the fuck do you want?” I spit out. No sense in pretending to be nice. He must realize how much I want to dick-kick him right now.
“I am supposed to walk you back to your room,” he says, with just as much enthusiasm as I have.
“No, thank you. I can find my way.”
“It wasn’t a request. Either I do it, or there are going to be consequences. Trust me, neither of us wants that option.” He says this sternly but also with a bit of regret. He knows this is all his fault. He knows that it’s because of him that I am trapped here.
“Everyone talks about all these consequences, but I don’t see anyone taking action. Do they torture you if you don’t behave? Take away your food? What is it that everyone is so afraid of?” I yell at him.
Greyson looks into my eyes and says, “Yes.” It’s one simple word, but the impact is heavy. The Court of Light does all the things that I imagine and likely more. They hurt people for their own gain. These people are stuck here because of them. They have to endure atrocities because of these self-righteous Fae.
“Fine, you can walk me, but don’t try to talk to me. I don’t want to socialize with you. You're the reason I am stuck in this nightmare.” I tell him, because I don’t want to talk about the consequences anymore.
“Listen, Azra; I had no choice. I know you are new to all of this, but you’ll quickly realize that us humans have no rights and no say in anything we do.”
“Yeah, I got a taste of that just now, but that doesn’t give you a free pass to kidnap people. You had a million chances to run away. You were alone in a town where no one knew you.”
“It’s not that simple. Certain things are keeping me here.”
“Whatever. If all of the Fae are as fantastic as Barty, I am not going to get too many invites to the secret Fae parties.”
“Barty?” Greyson laughs a great big belly laugh. He hugs his sides and doubles over. I don’t see how this is so funny, but it was refreshing to look at his beautiful face and see a smile there. A genuine smile that I imagine he used all the time before he came to the Light. Besides, everyone gets a nickname. I don’t do full names — too formal, too restricting, and not enough fun. I hated my full name Azrael. I got it legally changed to Azra when I was 18. It always made me feel like I could never live up to it. Especially when my piece of shit mom would say it to me like a curse. Like it was a dirty word. Yeah, everyone gets nicknames.
“Yeah, Barty. He’s an asshole, and I am not taking the time to say his full name every time I have to talk to the wanker.”
“He isn’t going to like that one bit you know. He is very traditional, and like you say, a total wanker.” He seems different after that laugh. There is a sparkle in his eye that wasn’t there before. It makes me want to ask him a million questions, but then I remember who he is and I snap out of it.
“Well, that’s not my problem.” I shrug my shoulders. “Just ‘cause I’m stuck here doesn’t mean I have to change the way I act.”
“Yeah, I can see that’s not going to happen, so I will leave you to it,” he says. as he nods his head and turns to leave. We are at the door to the palace, and by the time I look his way to ask where we are, he is gone.
Chapter 7
Death and Tarot
Death and Tarot
Azra
I open the door and step into the kitchen. It’s warm and smells fantastic in here. There are people all around going about their daily tasks. It’s li
ke a bustling city down here. I look for someone to tell me how to get back to my room, and a woman runs into me. She is no older than I am and seems to be in a rush.
“Hi,” I say, with a small smile. “Can you tell me how to get to the suites? I’m staying in the Pearl Room and have no idea how to get back.”
“You’re Azrael the Changer?” she says, with a raised eyebrow. “I can see it, although you aren’t what I expected.” How does this woman know who I am? Apparently, I am the talk of the palace. I wonder how many other people know about me?
“I don’t know what that means, and the name’s Azra. I changed it a long time ago.” Hearing that name again so many times in the short time I have been here is bringing up so many bad memories. I shiver at the mention of it.
She smiles at me and says, “I’ll walk you back to your rooms under one condition,”
“What would that be?” I give her the hip-pop because I need her to know I’m not a pushover captive. I won’t be doing any favors for the Fae, and I’m betting she is one of them. Her face is too perfect not to be. She has rosebud lips and long blond hair. Her eyes are a deep grey, and her energy screams at mine. Something about her seems different than Michael and Cass though, even if I don’t know what it is yet.
“Let me read you,” she whispers, and then looks around to see if others are nearby. The coast is clear. Everyone must have moved on from their tasks here.
“You mean a tarot reading?” I ask her.
“Yes. I am a seer, and I would like to know what the future has in store for you and all of us here.”
“You mean the King wants to know,” I tell her.
“You're smarter than you look.” she grins at me. “But, no, I do not want to know for the King. I have dreamt of the Great Change for years, and I would like to know if you’re the one that is going to make it happen. Follow me.” She turns from me and starts walking down the hall. I quicken my pace to keep up with her. She is a lot taller and has longer legs. Just before we get to the junction where I know we have to turn, she slips into a small room.
I follow in after her and take in my surroundings. It’s like a mystic shopping mall in here. There are glass jars and vials all along the walls, dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, and a huge bookshelf filled with tomes that look older than Cass. It smells like rosemary and lavender and something else a little smokey. My eyes are drawn to a table with a purple silk cloth draped over it. On top is a crystal the size of my palm that looks a lot like a diamond.
“Yes, it’s real. It was a gift from the King. Diamonds are conduits for being more aligned with the Spirit. It helps to open up energies and lets me read people better,” she says with a shrug, like it’s no big deal to have a diamond that size just lying around on a table.
“How many carats is it?” I ask. My curiosity is getting the best of me right now. I need to know everything about it.
“It’s about 1,000 carats. It’s not polished, but it was cut from its other half. Before you ask, I have no idea how much the King bought it for, or how he obtained it. I know its sister is in the Dark Court.”
“Well, that’s amazing. I didn’t even know diamonds could be this big,” I tell her, with a bit of awe in my voice. I go over to it and pick it up. She doesn’t stop me as I gaze into the rock. I put it down reluctantly. It’s beyond beautiful.
“There are a lot of things you don’t know. Now sit, we don’t have much time before someone comes looking for you, and I’d rather not spell a human today.”
I look at her quizzically but sit in the chair she gestures to. In front of me are a deck of tarot cards and the massive diamond. They look very different from Noli’s deck. These have a type of symbol on the back, and the pictures are so lifelike. The drawings are so detailed and colorful that it requires my admiration.
She fans out the card in an arch movement, except she doesn’t do it with her hands. She waves her fingers over the cards, and they move without her ever touching them. “Pick three,” she tells me.
I’m too stunned to object. I select three and place them in front of me in order. I know this spread. It’s the one Noli does all the time. It tells your past, present, and future.
She flips over the first card. It’s Death, my old friend. Her eye widens a bit, and she looks up at me. “You don’t seem surprised,” she says.
“I’m not. My best friend reads tarot, and this card has come up every time she reads me.”
“What are the other cards?” she asks me.
“There are no others. This is the card that comes up all three times. Over and over, no matter how many times she does a spread. I don’t know what it means, and she says she’s not using a trick deck, but I have my doubts. How could the same card appear three times when there is only one type of that card per deck?” I ask her, shaking my head. It sounds just as stupid saying it out loud as it does in my mind.
“The same card? All three times? No others?”
“None. I’m sure this spread will be different. She was probably fucking with me.”
“Is your friend a witch?” she questions with an earnest face.
“A what?…no she isn’t a witch. There is no such thing as real witches. I know there is the Wiccan religion, but she isn’t that either.”
“How can you say that when you are in the Court of Light? Magic is around you, it’s in you, and you still have yet to admit that to yourself. If you are the Changer like I believe these two other cards will show, then you need to get over this human way of thinking quickly.”
I stare at her because I know it’s true, but at the same time, I want to cling to what is safe. “You’re right, I do have to start believing in this world. It’s just I haven’t had a chance to let everything sink in. I have been thrown from one impossible situation to the next. It doesn’t feel like my life,” I confide in her. I have no idea why, but she reminds me of Noli’s kind spirit, so I don’t hold back.
She flips over the next two cards in quick succession, and they are both Death cards. These don’t look the same though. Noli’s has a skeleton on a horse with a banner of some sort. People are laying on the ground, and one is a king. These cards are different. Each card has the warhorse, but sitting on top is not a skeleton, but a woman with jet black hair falling in soft waves to her waist. She has armor on, but it’s more form fitting to her body. She is turned away from the viewer, but her body type looks a lot like mine. The horse is blood red, and the flag has a Celtic triskele on it. There is both a King and Queen on the ground under her horse’s hooves. The king is in light grey robes and the queen in a stunning black dress which drapes over her bloody body. Both monarchs are dead, and the king has a hole in his chest. The details on these cards are so amazing. There are other people on the ground as well, but they seem to be standing beside her and not under hoofs like the king and queen. There are four men in the distance also on horses. They are dressed in armor, and each is dressed in a different color; red, white, green, and blue. They all look ready to kill for her.
These images are stirring something up inside me. It seems like a calling of some sort, but I can’t decipher why. How do these cards apply to me? “How can this be?” I ask the witch.
“You are the Changer. The cards know it, and now it is time for you to believe it. Let the cards guide you, Azra; they don’t lie,” she tells me, looking at me through thick lashes. She indeed is a beautiful woman. She has on a long grey flowy dress, and her blond hair is hung over one shoulder.
“What is your name?” I ask her, because I haven’t up ‘till now.
“Evanora. You can call me Nora if you wish. It’s a bit more modern than my full name.”
“Nora, how do I fix this whole mess? What does it mean to be the Changer, and why are you saying it like it’s some special thing? I was thrust into this world, not by choice, and no one has taken the time to explain anything to me,” I confess to her. I am starting to spiral at this point with my frustrations.
“The reason why
no one has explained anything to you is that we were told not to. The King has very…specific rules here, and if he is not obeyed, both people and Fae will get hurt.”
“This is a dictatorship and not a free loving fairyland like I envisioned the Fae to be,” I say, with no question in my voice.
“It is worse,” she says, and stares into my eyes. I can feel a pull to this woman. Not in a sexual way, but a kindred spirit. I don’t think she is here by her own accord either.
“I think you should go back to your room now. If you make two lefts when you get out of the door, you will find yourself in the suite’s hall. Don’t mention our meeting to anyone. If I have a chance to get away and find you, I will. There is much to discuss now that you are here.”
“You're confusing me even more, Nora. When will I get some answers?” I plead with her.
“He will come for you soon enough. Try not to worry so much. You have supporters here that are willing to guide you through. You just have to have a little faith,” she says, as she rises from her chair. I get up as well and start to walk toward the door. There is so much that has gone on in these last couple of days that I am overwhelmed and scared. Who am I kidding? I am terrified.
Just as I open the door, I turn around to her and say, “Thank you, Nora, for the reading. Even though I’m more confused than when I walked in here, I am glad we met.”
