The Faerie Blade

Chapter 5

To call this place a room would be an understatement.

When I stepped in, the room was dark. But all of a sudden, the room was drenched in light as the numerous wax candles in the candlestick holders attached to the walls blazed to life, blinding me momentarily.

Blinking away the bright spots that left glowing green streaks behind my closed eyelids, I studied the room. The floor was made of soft white marble, veined with black. The accents gave the whole area a very expensive and elegant look, the flickering flames dancing across the reflective polished ground. Rich planked walls that seemed to have been dyed black held the silver and gold brackets that gleamed in the light of the candles they contained. In front of me, blood-red carpeted steps with polished wood bannisters lining them stretched up into the gloom.

Dear God, was my first thought. It's Hades' Hall.

Black and white, the extremes of colour? Precious metals, and that gaudy blood-red carpet that rolled down the stairs to the door behind me? Definitely something the god of the Underworld would employ in his decor. It could have very well been the dark god's ballroom, and it was certainly large enough to be one, but calling it hall gave it some kind of alliteration. What can I say? Alliteration, one of the best tools of the English language. Or any language, for that matter.

Boom. The sound was eerily loud in the silence of this great hall. Casting a nervous glance over my shoulder, I realised that some unseen source had closed the door again.

My friends, let me tell you that I was really getting some Beauty and the Beast vibes there. You know, enchanted house and enchanted household items, with a hideous man-beast capturing a beautiful French belle. Except that I was not a French belle, nor did I believe I was beautiful. And I had not yet seen the owner of this old-fashioned accommodation, so I could not declare him a beast. Yet, that is.

"Ti diawol bach," an annoyed voice growled behind me. For some reason, it sounded deeply musical, even with the roughness of his frustration. "That took you long enough, female. Turn around. Let me see your face."

Feeling like a deer in the headlights, I looked back towards the top of the stairs, where a tall and slender man, with long white hair that was almost silvery, stood.

Funny. I could have sworn that there was no one there when I was studying the room earlier.

He was dressed in a deep blue robe, and clutched a gnarled staff in his right hand, much like what Gandalf the Grey had. Perhaps he went by the moniker Bernard the Blue.

I cleared my throat in an effort not to laugh. In my opinion, if laughter was the best medicine, sarcasm was definitely the best cure for a case of nerves.

Judging by how the man's narrowed, I was not entirely successful. Slowly, with the stateliness of what I would imagine an uptight aristocrat would have, he descended the stairs. As he drew closer, I could see that his eyes were an electric blue that were rimmed with gold in a perfect circle. Unblinking, they stared at me with intense ferocity. A predator's gaze.

I swallowed nervously. And of course, since sass was not just a cure, but a weapon against nerves, I opened my mouth and spoke the first sentence I could think of.

"My, my. What big blue eyes you have, Mr Wolf. Are you going to eat me?"

The man's nostrils flared. He looked surprisingly youthful despite his white hair. Some kind of weird genetics, maybe?

That being said, the man still looked pissed. Really pissed. And if he was La Fée Dauphin, the artist I have been looking for, we were definitely not off to a great start.

I slid my hands into my pockets so I would not give in to the urge to fidget in front of this somewhat menacing man. "Sorry," I apologised, glancing away from his unnerving eyes. If he was playing some kind of alpha game where the first one to break eye contact was the more submissive, I totally concede. What was pride when you wanted answers? Anything to get the guy to chill out, you know?

He stopped in front of me, less than an arms length away. And oh my, was he tall. He was at least a head taller than me, and at 1.7 metres, I was already quite a respectable height.

"Umm..." I muttered. Honestly, where did my previous eloquence go? "Are you the artist known as La Fée Dauphin? I'm looking for him to ask him about a lark in one of his artworks, the Solar – "

"Look at me." His voice was soft, but it cut through my rambling like a hot knife through butter. He interrupted me! I knew I was being a little long-winded, but that was still no excuse to interrupt me. My eyes snapped angrily back to his as I glared at him for all I was worth.

A staring contest ensued. This time, he was the one who broke the silence.

"So," he said, his lips curved into a slight frown. "You are the one the magic found me."

I matched his displeased expression. "Magic? Absolutely no magic. Like I mentioned, I've come looking for – "

"La Fée Dauphin," he finished for me, and my irritation spiked at his rudeness. "The Fae Prince. I chose that name because I am Fae."

"So you're the artist that made that painting?" I questioned carefully. I so did not understand his claim to Fae-ity, but if it floats his boat, then sure.

The man leaned on his staff. "Artist? If you consider magic an art, then yes. It was created by magic, and through magic. It was a simple thing to ask the museum to put it up for display where you would naturally see it, as they would never refuse their biggest donor. For all intents and purposes, I own them, but it is a fact well hidden as long as they agree to some of my...requests."

He was crazy. He had to be. "Magic doesn't exist," I carefully pointed out. "I mean your work can be said to be magical, because it is so well painted, but only in the figurative sense. Perhaps you can tell me about the lark – "

"How can you say magic does not exist?" He demanded, his expression flat. "After my spell first found – "

"Will you stop interrupting me!" I yelled. "For goodness sake! I'm trying to ask you about the lark in your painting, so stop harping on about magic mumbo jumbo!"

"It is not mumbo jumbo, as you so crassly term it," he indignantly stated, his expression still flat. "It is real, and my spell has finally brought you here after five long years. The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can get to my...request."

That sealed it. He was a lunatic. He held out his left hand, his thin and long fingers spread as if he wanted to take my hand. I began to shake my head, rejecting him, but the lark who had disappeared to who knows where made a sudden appearance by swooping out from the darkness to land on his palm.

That traitor. Leaving me for someone evidently off his rockers.

"I'm sorry I cannot help you. I think you will need help because magic does not..."

The lark burst into a small ball of white light, pulsing in midair before it broke apart into tendrils that were sucked through the guy's fingers.

"...exist," I finished weakly. "What...what was that?"

"That," the man replied, shaking his left hand as if the light had burned a little, "is your magic that does not exist."

I could feel my eyes widening. I mean, shock and all, you know? It was not every day that you get told magic exists and have a real life demonstration played out in front of you.

Casually, his hand went up and hooked his flowing silver hair behind his ear. I dumbly noticed that his ear ended in a narrow sharp point. Most definitely not human ears, my mind told me past the roaring rush of blood in my ears.

"I am Fae. And here is the bargain I am offering you: serve me for five years, and I will teach you how to unlock and use your own magic. Choose wisely, because only one choice is the right choice."