Taken by Fae
Charlotte Royalin
Copyright © 2018 by Charlotte Royalin
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictiously.
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Cover designed by Duong Covers
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
About the Author
Mailing List
1
The novel within my palms almost fell to the floor as I jumped in surprise.
I peered upwards from the storybook I was reading to my mother. She was lying on the oversized bed before me where she had now spent most her middle-aged life. She brought her withered hands to her mouth, hacking and wheezing to catch her breath. I winced at the sound.
"Are you all right?" I examined once the coughing died down. She nodded and leaned back so she now could lie propped up against large goose feather down pillows that padded her frail bones.
Even in her ill condition, she still held a regal essence. Her dry lips smacked together as her grey eyes shifted to me. Eyes that matched my own. She allowed a smile to creep across her face.
I returned her smile with a small one of my own before I reached for the handkerchief that had been placed on the side table to my right. I snatched it up and leaned forward over her cushioned form, dabbing the corners of her mouth. After making sure her face was clear from lingering saliva, she spoke.
"Thank you, Penelope." Her voice shook, but she managed to get her words out.
"Of course, Mother."
I moved to sit back in my chair, placing the now soiled handkerchief to the side. It was hard seeing my mother like that. Despite her only barely approaching her fortieth year, she was unnaturally sick. Nobody knew what caused her illness, only that it was aggressive in how it affected her. Her skin looked translucent, displaying so many veins all over her hands and neck. Her strength diminishing with each passing month.
She sighed, nestling back into the comfort of her pillows. She was always tired, often to where it tired her to even speak.
"Would you like me to read more to you?" I asked, lifting up the book once more but her eyes only closed. I stopped my progression, observing her for a time. The only instance when she appeared peaceful was when she rested. The priests in town said she would need plenty of it if she were to stand any chance of recovering.
I stood from the short stool I had been settled upon, getting a better look at her. Her breathing slowed and evened out within minutes. She was quick to fall asleep.
I pulled the hems of her comforter that only covered her lap, bringing it up closer to her shoulders and tucking it around them to keep her warm. As I turned to leave the room, she mumbled something. I glanced over my shoulder in confusion, thinking she was already sleeping.
"What was that, Mother?"
With a soft sigh, she muttered again before turning her head, her cheek nuzzling into the satin of her pillowcase.
"I miss your father."
I grimaced but did not reply.
She'd always recant about my father as if he had disappeared. Yes, it was true he was a very busy man. Though to his defense, it came with the territory of his work. She reminisced on him as though she hadn't seen him in years when he did make some attempt to stop by to check on her every few days.
I shut the door behind me as I thought about my papa. He was ruthless when it came to business, and to war against the fae. The same fae I read about in storybooks every day to my mother.
Mother loved everything about these faeries. The books told of them being mystical and beautiful creatures. Beings that were Godlike to us lesser beings, us humans. They threw wondrous parties that those who lived in higher society could only dream of. They granted wishes and could make you young for the remainder of your life.
Such stories had been banned decades ago by the priesthood of our city. The church believed them capable of brainwashing us citizens into believing the fae were anything more than savages.
I shuffled to my room down the hallway from my mother's. After walking in, I stopped to admire the new vanity father had bought me last week. Made from Hartwood, with white pallicus legs that held it up. I walked over towards it and sat down in front of the boudoir mirror, placing the book I was holding onto it.
It was early in the afternoon, and I had yet to stop and fix my hair before heading out to run errands. Such errands being looking for new flowers to decorate my mother's room. Maybe find a new brush for her hair. Yes, life for me was rather stale.
I stared at my mirrored image with a huff, spotting everything I did not like. My unusual and high cheeks, the blunted thick scars at the tops of my ears, the matted hair. With a sigh, I took to the task of brushing my hair out to free it of knots. My lips pursed at the tangled strands near my scalp. Those knots always seemed to hurt the most when I forced the bristles through the blue-black tangles.
Usually after a while of brushing, I zoned out. Now was no exception. My eyes wandered around the room as I continued to brush before they settled back onto the book in front of me. The golden trim with intricately designed cherub-like entities with butterfly wings. Frogs with violins playing as they danced upon mushroom tops.
Between those leather-bound pages, they were almost angelic. But no, the church said they were evil.
Vile.
They stole babies and replaced them with logs glamoured in their place. They soured the milk of a new mother so she can never feed her babe. They fought to overthrow our society and had become increasingly aggressive in the past several months. Or so we'd been told.
But mother's eyes, how they brightened at the many tales of dashing and dastardly faerie princes did my heart good. It was the few times she was happy and would express any emotion in her exhausted physical state.
I was jolted from my thoughts, only now noticing that there was a continued thumping of a knock towards the entrance of my room. I sat the brush down and turned to spy the source of the intrusion.
There stood my father, in his usual finery of the day. He smiled at me as he walked further into the room, past the door frame. I could never tell whether that smile was genuine or forced with how hidden he kept his feelings. In an attempt to be polite, I rose to my feet once he entered and gave him a small curtsy. Lifting the corners of my gown with a bow.
"Father, it's good to see you."
He gave me a short bow in response, "Penelope, won't you join me for a walk around the Temple District? I'd like to spend some time with my lovely daughter this fine day." His intonation was almost too joyful, a large hand grazed across his stomach that protruded underneath his silk shirt in mirth.
Despite once being a high-ranking official of the town's militia, he had since gained quite an exuberant amount of weight after an injury.
Now instead of defending the town from the ravenous fae, he fed the ravenous hunger of his gullet with exotic meat pies and rare wines. Luxuries that this new station afforded to him. A high merchant of Orléa, working side by side with his dear friend, and leader of the Alabaster Temple.
Father Acaba.
I held in the need to emit a rather loud sigh and followed him. I began to tie my hair into a long braid that would fall down my back, nearly to my waist. It was improper for women that held any sort of status to cut their hair beyond a trim unless necessary.
"Did you say hello to mother yet?" I asked as my fingers went to work on my dark tresses. He cleared his throat as he turned to make his way down the large winding stairwell that would bring us right into the foyer.
"I had the maidservant buy her those plums she does so enjoy this season." I rolled my eyes behind his back at his haphazard attempt at avoiding my question.
He seemed almost totally uncaring about anything that was in regard to his wife. I understood it was a bit of a chore for him to care for her personally, and rumors from the servants said they were unable to be romantic for a long time. But at least he still cared for her as well as he could.
She was still his wife, and he was to love and tend to her. Especially with how sick she has been.
A thick hand came up to stroke his greying beard once we descended to the bottom floor, "One moment, I need to speak with Maria before we head out."
Of course he did.
Whether he had any slightest perception that everyone in the manor had their suspicions, I knew something was going on between those two. I pursed my lips as he stepped from my side to find the maid.
I didn't believe it was anything romantic, not yet. But I did know that there was nothing proper with how close they were. She was paid specifically to care for my mother, and yet whenever I saw her she was always lazing about at her own leisure.
Maria barely gave any care to anyone besides herself and my father. Yet she somehow managed to keep her place without having her contract terminated.
I could feel my brows furrowing once I saw the servant woman step out from the dining area with father in tow, arm lightly placed upon his raised forearm. A bright, horrid smile curled upon her thin rosy lips.
Her eyes turned to me, flashing with something I knew to be less than kindness and more than malice. She parted from father's presence, and instead of giving him a peasant's curtsy sashayed up the winding staircase. Hopefully to finally do her job.
Once her back was turned, I gave her the dirtiest look I could manage.
Father clicked his tongue against his cheek as he saw me squinting in disgust at the servant woman. He placed a large hand on my shoulder and ushered me back towards the main entrance to our home.
"Now, now, Penelope. That is no face for a woman to make. Imagine if it were to become stuck as such, then for what reason would Alphonse marry you?" He chuckled at his question.
I only bit my tongue at his remark as we headed outside.
2
We exited the towering doors that opened our abode to the front garden. The entirety of our home's structure constructed of Hartwood, with small rivets of iron studded throughout.
After stepping out, one wouldn't even be able to tell that it was autumn with the sheer volume of lush and bright greenery. I took in the crisp scent released from the flowers and hedged bushes. The exhale released all the pent-up annoyance towards my father and his ever-faithful maid, Maria.
The ample amount of gardenias growing outside our manor were the only thing that remained of my mother's own hand. Anything that allowed the outside world to know she still existed. She planted them back when she was still youthful enough to be active.
Only a few paces out, my father pushed open the solid iron gate that created a perimeter around our homestead. It was not the grandest estate by any means, but it was still quite the envy when contrasted to others’ homes in Orléa. My heeled shoes tapped across the cobblestone in pace with the thud of my father's leather boots.
Even though the day had already started some odd hours ago, people were still racing to and fro in schedule with their lives as if they too only just left their homes. A woman tugged along a whining child. An acolyte walked around singing praises of Awul, keeper of the EverAfter. Further down the streets, hawkers and food carts marched about in search of customers.
It was quite the city. Orléa was one of the grandest in the ever-expanding territory of the church. Most human capitals and townships were upon the west side of the continent. It was a slow creep eastward as we conquered more of the wild landscapes and the monsters that lied within.
Though of all the landscapes humanity won and settled within, ours brought about the most commerce for many trading goods. Specific to pallicus and Hartwood. My father dealt with these specifically.
I nodded as my father went on about his business life, and other aspects I had little interest in. Trying to force small talk. How much they collected, the difficulties they had in supplying enough for the high demand of both materials. I made a face as we passed underneath the shadows from the tall buildings around us that allowed the sun to strike us in the eyes.
Pallicus and Hartwood, pallicus and Hartwood, he droned on and on and on.
Pallicus is a white, iridescent stone that had iron residuum within. It wasn't enough to harm the fae creatures, but sufficient in keeping them dissuaded from thinking about coming too close to the city.
Hartwood was made from a deep purple-tinted tree and was often turned into incense for inhaling. Medicinal uses, for the most part. Also, exquisite to behold and turn into furniture and the likes.
Over the tops of the buildings, you could see the pallicus at work. The gigantic wall that surrounded us within Orléa was made of it. Many other cities were intending to copy our protective use of the stone, which meant even more business for father.
Continuing on in informal conversation, our route was already mapped in our steps that had been committed to memory. At least once a week we walked to the temple from our home. We both could make the trek blindfolded by now.
The closer we got towards the Temple District, the more clergy members we saw walking around the streets. They harped to all and any passerby, singing different disharmonious hymns. Some stood upon the carved ivory benches scattered about the thoroughfare. The sleeves of their grey robes swinging around as they shouted and called all forth to denounce the fae.
I focused to not stare at them in the eyes, keeping my gaze forward. If you slipped up and made eye contact, they would call you out and you were forced to come and listen to them.
But we heard it all during our prayers, the same overall message we are to obey. Denounce the fae, do not fall for their trickery. Stand aligned with the church and cast out any blasphemers. Speaking anything but woe upon the mystical creatures that, well, none of us normal citizens had ever seen.
I stared downward, observing each of my footfalls as we walked passed the many cries of the monks and friars as I paced next to my father. I gave a mindless nod now and then as I fell into deeper thought.
None of us. Not one of us but a portion of the militia and the church had ever seen faeries. Were they as monstrous as we were told? It was possible we were all being deceived, or misinformed. At least based on what I had seen from the books my mother kept.
I snuck a glance over at my father, noting the slight limp of his left leg. It wasn't very notable, not unless you were to take in his gait for several long moments.
Father had said that if it weren't for a fellow soldier, he'd be dead. He was lucky to only get an injury. Or so his stories go. But why? Why were the fae so vicious? I've only ever read of benevolence, of magic and healing that had become foreign and lost to the majority of mankind.
These thoughts had been plaguing me for some time now, though of course I wasn't one to vocalize such things. There was always a special place within the cells underneath the Alabaster Temple for those w
ho were deemed traitors to mankind.
I nearly tripped at the sudden halt in our stride as father stopped, pulling me out of my head. "Penelope, are you listening to me? The Bordeaux men are waving you down."
With a quick glance upwards, I spotted Alphonse Bordeaux with a bright grin across his face. He was several yards ahead of us, standing upon the pearly white steps of the temple that was our destination.
My meandering thoughts of fae dissipated at once, a smile spreading to my lips to match my dear friend's own.
"Ah, Lieutenant Bordaeux! It has been quite some time, has it not?" My father chuckled in a jolly manner, leading us forward and extending a plump hand out to Alphonse's own father once we had come closer.
The lieutenant's handlebar moustache seemed to wriggle as he kept a knowing smile suppressed, extending out his hand as well to clasp it around my father's forearm.
"Indeed, m'lord. More than a fortnight if I'm not to be mistaken."
"You old arse," father replied, clapping his free hand on his friend's armored shoulder, and giving him a firm pat.
"Always out about the woods patrolling. When will you have time to ever join me for a drink?"
While our elders were occupied with one another, I made my way up to Alphonse. I didn't hesitate to wrap my arms around his broad shoulders as his hands found themselves against my upper back, pulling me against him.
"I was so worried about you! I haven't gotten any letters this last week!" I feigned a sniffle, looking into his green eyes. One of his hands crept upwards before completely disheveling my hair as he mussed up my lazy braid.
Taken by Fae (Humans vs Fae Book 1) Page 1
