by D. N. Hoxa
Then, I took the food, sat down on the floor, and ate.
Music was playing somewhere outside the door. People were talking. They were laughing. My body was still warm from the snake’s touch, even after I ate and lay down on the floor, my arms wrapped around myself. The noises were my company. They took my thoughts hostage and kept me entranced until I didn’t remember where I was anymore.
It was hours before the fae came back, bringing with him all his pain, the second he looked at me. I didn’t understand him nor did I want to. He came close to me, his booted feet inches away from my face now. He kneeled in front of me and watched me. For a long time.
I pretended to be asleep. If I didn’t have my eyes open at all, maybe that would convince him to free me, the same way I’d freed Hiss—if he had even been real.
But he didn’t.
He picked up the cup and the empty leather and put them on the desk next to the lamp. Then, he took his clothes off and went to his bed.
Chapter 6
He was a liar. The morning before hadn’t been my last sunrise at all.
I was looking at the new one now, and it was more beautiful than the last. The rays felt warmer on my skin, the light brighter. Even the clouds looked cleaner, and the sky had gained a little more color than the day before.
But the pain remained the same.
My teeth gritted as a new wave hit me in the chest. I turned my head and looked at the fae, half naked, sleeping, his breathing even. He slept and he suffered—in silence to the rest of the world, just not to me. Did I not have enough of my own? Why did I have to endure his pain, too?
Eyes closed, I focused on the cold air that slipped down my throat. I hadn’t gotten used to the cold like I thought I would. My lips were dry, my tongue drier, and most of the dirt on my skin had fallen off while I’d slept. The magic in me would never let the cold do any permanent damage, but this was enough. More weakness than I had ever felt in twenty-four years of life.
It was still nothing compared to the call of the fae’s pain.
In my mind, I begged him to wake up. Wake up, get dressed and leave, go far away from here, just so I could breathe easily and drown in my own sorrow. Looking at the view outside the windows wasn’t helping as it did the day before. Now, it was only reminding me of better days, and I didn’t want those memories.
I didn’t want to remember the time when I’d been free, when the entire world had been for me to explore, when I’d had a family, my people. I’d had clothes and food, as much as my heart desired.
I didn’t even want to remember my parents, when they lived. Such a long time ago. Those memories always brought out the best in me. Not today. I was tired. I was weak. I was angry at the pain that wouldn’t leave me be.
But the memories kept coming, and every time I tried to steer clear from them, I slammed headfirst into the fae’s pain. I was a prisoner of them, too. Of my own mind, my own magic. The world moved on around me, but I was stuck. I couldn’t remember how to want anything other than death.
Eventually, it became too much. The fae wasn’t waking up. Like in a dream, I saw my hand wrap around the lock of the chain on my ankle, and I felt the magic leave me, searching, altering, setting me free. It was not the freedom I wanted, but the only one I had for now.
I walked to the bed, not even caring if the fae woke up. If he did, maybe he’d kill me.
But he didn’t.
My hands were over his body, my eyes on his face. His brows were narrowed, his teeth gritted even while he slept. Every muscle in his naked torso was tightened as if his heart was being carved out of his chest. The Winter magic that hung onto the air around him leaked from his pores unconsciously. It was so powerful, and it was angry—almost like the fae wanted to hurt himself.
For what?
I couldn’t stand it. I needed it so much, not even life meant as much to me as it did in those moments. It felt me and connected itself to my magic like they’d known each other for a lifetime. Then, I took it, pulled it inside me, and let it fill me with new energy.
I never looked away from the fae. Every line of his face, his body, was exactly right. Now, without the pain tormenting him, his magic no longer infused the air. It no longer behaved like it wanted to attack him and his body loosened up. His facial lines smoothed, and it was such a big difference, I could have sworn he was smiling now.
And it was as beautiful a smile as the rising sun outside the windows.
How could a man so beautiful be so cruel? How many lives had he taken? How many wives had he doomed? How many children were orphans because of those hands that looked like they could break the world apart if he wanted to?
My stomach rolled. I was hungry again but dizzy with the strength of his pain that filled me now. So much more powerful than it had been the night before. It cleared my head, even if I hated it for that, and once more, I looked at the fae’s weapons. Why couldn’t I gather courage the way I gathered pain? Why couldn’t I take heart from someone else to set myself free?
Why are our lives so valuable to us, even when they aren’t lives at all?
Nobody gave me answers.
When the fae started moving, I remembered myself and went back to my place. I locked the chain around my ankle and turned to the sun again, hoping to find peace.
Eventually, the fae woke up. I heard him moving, and in my mind, I could see him, too. I’d seen him naked. I’d watched him sleep two times in a row now and knew his shape perfectly. His presence was so imposing, but it no longer spread magic like it had minutes ago. I was perfectly aware of him when he stopped behind me, maybe a few feet away, and just looked at the sun—or me—for a minute.
Then, he bathed in the tub on the other side of the room.
I never moved from my place.
Would he kill me today?
The anticipation was going to, if he didn’t. How much longer would I have to wait?
The smell of spring filled the room as he bathed—rich, imposing, alluring, just like the rest of him. My father’s garden had smelled like that when the snow melted.
I pushed away the memories as hard as I could. All they did was to remind me of everything I had lost. Everything I would never have again.
“Why won’t you tell me your name?”
The voice of the fae caught me off guard. I was so focused on the fight in my head that I had forgotten to listen to him. Now, he was right behind me again.
I kept my lips sealed and my eyes forward.
A moment later, he was right beside me, in front of the window, looking out at Gaena. A long breath left him, and it sounded like relief.
“Only eleven more days until the winter is over,” he whispered.
Then he remembered himself. He looked at me once, and even through the corner of my eye, I recognized the confusion in his face. He asked himself the same question I asked him in my mind: why was he talking to me?
“You’re from House Moneir,” he continued, his voice loud and strong again. “What’s it like over there?”
My head turned on its own accord. I didn’t bother to mask my curiosity as I watched him. Why would he want to know what it was like in an elf House?
Who are you? Why do you have so much pain? I wanted to ask, but the words died on my tongue. Instead, I asked myself another: why did it matter?
“You know you’re going to have to speak to me eventually, don’t you? I’m a patient man, elf,” he said, and leaned to the side, watching me like a predator. Trying to intimidate me.
I felt no fear when I should have. Only curiosity.
He held my eyes for an eternity, jaw locked, brows close together, eyes as dark as my mind. His magic slipped from him, too, and wrapped around my shoulders, like two large hands made of ice. I shuddered involuntarily from the icy touch, but still, there was no fear in me.
I welcomed the cold. I welcomed his anger—it was going to make him finish me sooner, I hoped.
But it didn’t. The fae smiled. His face trans
formed completely, and for a moment, he looked like a boy rather than a man. It was the only thing about him that caused me to feel fear. His magic let go of me at once, and the air that had once seemed cold was now warm against my skin. Too bad it wouldn’t last.
His hand reached up, and he wanted to touch me, I think. I reacted before I realized it. I slapped his hand away with mine before his fingers grazed my hair.
It only made him smile wider. I looked away, toward the sun again.
He was still smiling to himself when he moved to the other side of the room. My eyes closed as my heart raced. Whatever was happening to me here was beyond anything I could have ever imagined. I heard the sound of something being dragged on the stone floor. I almost put my hands on my ears before it stopped, and I saw the fae to the side of the windows, the tub right next to the wall now. Perfectly within my reach with the chain around my ankle. He disappeared from my view again, and the sound of water pouring down reminded me just how thirsty I was. When he came back, a wooden bucket full of water was in his hand, and he put it inside the tub.
“Take a bath, elf. You stink,” he said and stormed for the door.
By the gods, I didn’t want to sniff myself, but I did. And I did smell—of dirt. I felt like such a fool, I wanted to kill myself for real this time, but I never got the chance.
Because the fae came back.
I wasn’t expecting it, so when the door opened, I jumped around, more surprised than afraid.
But it was only him, with a brown cup in one hand and a leather bag in the other. He left them on the floor in front of me and straightened up, never meeting my eyes. I noticed he wasn’t wearing his armor today, either.
“Eat. You’re going to need your energy.” He left the room again.
I didn’t move from my place, expecting him to be back, but he didn’t return. Eventually, hunger got the best of me, and I slid down to the floor. He’d brought me two hardboiled eggs and a tomato. I dove into them like I hadn’t eaten last night at all.
And as I ate, I laughed.
I don’t know who was more damaged in the head—the fae or me. But I had a feeling I would soon find out.
Chapter 7
The silence toyed with my sanity all day. At one point, as I looked out the window, I wondered if I’d gone deaf, but no. I could still hear the sound of my voice, speaking to myself, just fine.
I whispered stories into the cold air—stories I’d read a thousand times at home. Since I was a girl, I’d always been interested in war. I always wanted to know what drove the men who marched into battle and felt so entitled to take lives like they mattered less than theirs. I’d studied military strategies, chains of command, resources, equipment—but at no point had I been able to understand the motive.
“It’s the way of the world,” my father used to tell me, when I’d asked him why we fought the fae. Why did the fae fight us?
It was the way of the world—and the world suffered because of it. Scorched lands that had once been fertile, town upon town, both fae and elven—burned to the ground as if they had never existed. So many lives lost on a daily basis. It was insanity—yet everybody else I had ever known saw perfect sense in it.
Land. Goods. Praise.
The elves are the greatest fighters Gaena ever made.
No, the fae were meant to win this war. It’s why nature blessed them with active magic.
But then why are elves resistant to it?
And if magic has such weight, why is the war not over yet?
Questions, more questions.
Silly answers. So many silly answers, yet nobody saw the wrong in it.
Which was how I knew that I was the problem. And now, I was glad that it was going to be over soon. I was tired of feeling so detached from the rest of the world. So alone in my thoughts. So different from everybody else.
But I did hope I didn’t lose my mind first, before death took me.
For now, I focused on the music that had started an hour ago outside the door. What were those people doing? Laughing, talking, having a good time. I could see the lights of the gas lamps through the small windows at the sides of the door.
And I was curious. So curious, so afraid I was going to lose my mind if I didn’t give it something else to think about. That was how I convinced myself that it was a smart idea to unlock the chain that kept me close to the wall, and to make my way, slowly, toward the door. My teeth chattered—they had all day, and my fingers shook, too. But the wood of the door was warm. A lot warmer than the stone floor. A sigh escaped me when I pressed my hands on its surface, then touched my cheek to it. Warmth. A tiny bit, but it was enough. A reward to myself for enduring the day. For talking to myself, telling myself stories until my jaw had begun to hurt.
And now I could see out the windows.
I chose the lowest one of three on the left side of the door. That’s where most of the light fell. I don’t know what I expected to see there, but it wasn’t this.
The fae were celebrating, too, just like my people back home. A square landing was in front of the door to the room I was in, and a few stairs led down to the ground floor—and to a wide hall full of fae. There was a bar at the other end of it and benches and long tables, men and women dancing, drinking, eating. There was no anger, just laughter. There were no clashing swords, just slamming cups on tables. There was no blood—just spilled ale and vomit on one of the fae, who seemed to have passed out on one of the benches.
And at the top of it all was the fae. My captor.
He sat a step higher than everyone else, with three men and two women by his sides. One of the women sat on his lap, his arm secured around her waist, her lips close to his ear. I expected to find him smiling, laughing like everyone else, but he wasn’t. A cup was in his other hand, and he stared at it as he spun it around, lost in thought. The woman on his lap kissed his cheek. He didn’t react—like his mind wasn’t in his body at all.
So where was it?
The fae sitting next to him hit him in the chest. He looked up, confused for a second, but gathered himself too fast for anyone to see. Anyone who wasn’t watching him like I was.
He said something, then shook his head. In my mind, I tried to come up with about a hundred things he was saying no to. He was so far away from the man of this morning who had tried to intimidate me with his stare and had found my slapping his hand away amusing. He made no sense to me whatsoever, and that was probably the reason why I couldn’t look away.
There were at least thirty fae in that hall. They behaved just like men at home did when they were drinking. Exactly the same way. If their ears suddenly turned pointy at the tip and their eyes turned grey, you could never tell the difference between my kind and theirs.
Except for my captor.
In the sea of fae before my eyes, he stood out like a piece of dry land. He was the only one not lost to the haze of alcohol and music. The only one out there who seemed to be thinking. He was different from the rest of them. He didn’t move like they did. He wasn’t as carefree as they all were, and for all the time I spent watching him through the window, he only brought that cup to his lips once—very quickly.
Why? It was obvious that he was in command here. Even if he feared an attack from elves, he was surrounded by his men, whose duty was to protect his life. So why wasn’t he enjoying himself like everyone else?
The thought hadn’t yet formed completely in my mind when his head moved. It turned to the side, and his eyes stopped on mine faster than a heartbeat.
I froze.
My captor was looking right at me. He could see half my face. He knew my chain didn’t extend all the way to the door.
He knew…but he didn’t react.
He was as paralyzed as I was, never blinking his eyes as he stared at me. The woman on his lap put her hand on his cheek and tried to turn his head, but he refused. He wouldn’t break eye contact.
But I did.
Pushing myself to the side, I pressed my back against
the door and breathed deeply, like I hadn’t tasted air for an eternity. On my hands and knees, I dragged myself to my place and locked the chain around me with shaking hands. I lay down on the floor and closed my eyes, waiting. Half of me was terrified of what was coming. How would a sword feel when it cut me open? Would I feel the pain?
But the other half was excited. I’d gotten what I wanted. Because no matter how different the fae was, he now knew I could get out of my chain. He would never allow himself to sleep on that bed with me in the room again. He was going to come back and finish me.
Exactly what I wanted.
So, I kept on waiting.
He never came running through the door.
“Why so ssstill?”
The voice came from behind me, but my muscles were still locked tightly, so I managed to stand still. My eyes closed as I smiled because I knew that voice. It was Hiss—the winged snake, the one I’d convinced myself had been nothing but an imaginary creature.
The joy I felt to realize that he was back was overwhelming. I didn’t care if he was imaginary. All I cared about was that he was there.
“Hello, Pain Seeker,” he said when I pushed myself to sit up and watched him slithering his way down the wall below the windows.
“Hello, Hiss,” I said in a half a voice. His smooth scales turned all shades of green as he moved. He was fascinating, even though his hood was not visible at the moment, and neither were his wings. His eyes, though, took my breath away all over again. All ten of them, like molten gold, were focused on me when he stopped in front of my knees and rose up.
“Do you want to go on an adventure with me, Pain Seeker?”
The words caught me off guard, but the response was automatic. “No.”
The snake’s jaw opened, and he smiled, his tongue coming out to taste the air. “Why ever not?”
“Because I’m a prisoner. I don’t have my freedom.” I didn’t have my life at all.
