Adjusting her grip on her sword, Vera charged. Dirt swirled around her boots, scraping the soles to create the familiar melodious sound of battle. Her brother, Wyn, adjusted his stance, ready to block her strike. He was firm and unmoving, and confidence dripped from his gray eyes as they followed her. She feigned right and swung left. The blunt wooden blade slammed into his side and he stumbled, wheezing at the impact. A fanged grin split his lips, followed by his soft chuckle as he raised his own training sword to retaliate. In a swift arc, he swung it at her neck.
Vera pivoted and leapt back; the tip of the blade passed a mere breath from her neck, and the whoosh of air as it passed kissed her skin with ice. Her skin prickled with the familiar crackle of power. It spiderwebbed through the air like electricity and her hair stood on end. She lost her footing and her shoulder slammed into the wall of the training area.
"No magic," she chided. "That's unfair."
"A battle is rarely fair." His other hand traced a runic symbol in the air between them, glowing a white-blue for his favored element. In the next instant, an ice spear struck her coattail, pinning her to the wall.
She gasped, shooting a glance at the thick icicle, sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight. It was only for a moment, but when she raised her head again, Wyn's sword was against her neck. Shame warmed her face as she glared up at him. His eyes glowed, his tan fingers blue with flecks of magic. It stung worse than his triumphant smile. Scowling, she shoved his sword away and tore herself free. A sizable rip split her coattail; she gritted her teeth and thrust her sword at his chest before storming out of the arena as he fumbled to catch it.
"Oh come on, Ve." His footsteps followed and he quickly appeared at her side, his frigid hands on her arm. "Don't be a poor sport. You never said I couldn't use magic." A hint of his fae mischief glittered in his smug face at the mention of a common mistake. Words were a fae's most powerful weapon, even more so than magic or appearance. He was right in saying it was her fault for forgetting that when arranging the rules for their mock battle.
Fixing him with her sharpest glare, she jerked free and continued toward the gate. It creaked as she swung through it. She slammed it shut before he could get through and spun to face him, holding it closed. The metal was as cold against her bare hands as the ice he wielded against her, only it didn't prick her with the electric zap of magic that slithered beneath her skin—always just out of reach, taunting her with what she could never have.
"It's cruel," she spat. "You know that. It gives you an unfair advantage over me."
He leaned against the bars, his unkempt black hair hanging in his face and accentuating that lazy, handsome look that all the upper class fae girls squealed over. His tan skin was flushed, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He was lucky the arena was a secluded place or he would never have been able to find her through the endless sea of his fangirls. Vera bit the inside of her cheek to keep from rolling her eyes or revealing too much of her repulsion on her face. He wasn't as attractive as they thought; having spent the greater portion of her life with him, she knew every one of his outrageous flaws. Right now, she was particularly disenchanted.
"What do you think you'll be fighting, Ve? Your chance of meeting another fae—older than a young child—without magic is extremely low, much less engaging one in a fight. You'll always be fighting magic. You have to learn how." He laughed but his gaze sharpened suddenly. "Until you can do that, you'll never amount to anything. Why are you so dead-set on learning to fight anyway?"
His question was almost as piercing as his stare, heavy with an undertone of accusation as if he could read what was on her heart, her true motivation for pushing herself. She felt her throat constrict as her mind fluttered for a response. She couldn't tell him the truth. Not yet, not when he still preached her uselessness to her and the rest of the fae. He would only laugh, as he always did.
Instead, she balled her coat in her fist. "And ripping my coat teaches me how to fight?" She lifted her coattail and shook its saddened state in his face. The patterned midnight fabric, once displaying fanciful embroidery of flowers that bloomed in moonlight, was ripped straight down the middle. Even the silver needlework lining the edge had been destroyed beyond repair. Unless, of course, she found some sort of magic seamstress, but she had nothing to offer them in exchange for their work. Magic was currency as much as it was a skill in battle, and fae would accept nothing else in trade.
He merely shrugged, unbothered as ever. "It was a common tactic. Act faster next time and maybe your coat won't have to suffer so. Be thankful I didn't impale you."
"Yeah? Well..." Vera set her jaw as the gears in her mind turned. When she couldn't come up with a good enough retort, she let out a breath and locked the gate. Sticking her tongue out at her brother, she left the arena. "Stay there and think about what you've done—and don't unlock the gate, magically or otherwise."
"How cold, sister." He sighed dramatically. The gate rattled as he flung himself against it in defeat.
She didn't look back. That would risk giving him the satisfaction that she cared. Instead, she waved over her shoulder. Another sigh from behind told her he had accepted his fate, confined to the training grounds until she or someone else took pity on him. It certainly wouldn't be her, not when her cheeks still burned with frustration and shame. But relief made her shoulders sag. At least he had been easily diverted from his question.
A gravel path connected the outdoor arena, positioned on a cliff overlooking the cities of the Moon Court, to the stables and finally to the courtyard. All of the property belonged to her family, an ever-growing expanse of wealth for her oldest brothers' service on the High Council. They had ascended to what once was their father's place and Vera knew the whole Moon Court relished the new age of councilmen Wyn and Silas, even if she thought one was a pompous jerk and the other an absolute bonehead. They presided over the academics of magic and were supposed to manage the creation and assimilation of new spells, yet they hardly created anything new themselves. In fact, nothing new had been created in nearly over a century. Magic had reached a stalemate as whispers of conspiracy slowly took over the Court. Whispers that sent a tingle down her spine.
Vera shed her coat and folded it over her arms, skimming a finger over the destroyed needlework. She sighed. The coat had been a gift from her eldest sister, Ferne, who had left to marry a fae of the Sun Court on the opposite side of the world. She had stitched it by hand in an effort to show that magic was not everything. Yet it was magic that so easily destroyed such a fragile gift, and only magic that could restore it to what it once was.
"If only I was a proper fae," Vera muttered. She folded the ripped coattail under the soft blue fabric of the coat to hide the damage. "Maybe then Wyn's cheating and teasing wouldn't matter." Though some part of her couldn't blame him for his reasoning. Searching for ways to cut corners was the fae way, her father said. It was why they treasured the shifting nature of words, why they loved magic and lies. Wyn in particular was the most vicious about exploiting loopholes in her speech.
Before she knew it, she had entered the gardens surrounding the Reite family manor. Neatly trimmed hedges outlined the flowerbeds of blossoming moonflowers, all aglow with a pale silver light that mimicked that of the moon. As the sun sank lower in the sky, their glow brightened. Evening birdsong echoed through the still air, and the world was at peace despite the turmoil in Vera's chest. She released a heavy breath and stopped by a familiar bed of lilies. Their soft blue petals hummed with electricity. Magic coursed through their roots and blessed them with their unnatural coloring. Her fingers brushed against them; they were warm beneath her touch.
"Another fight with Wyn?"
Vera startled and leapt back from the flowers. She swiveled to face the white gazebo, set off in a corner of the garden square. Seated on one of the white marble benches, draped in a graceful gown of sky blue, sat one of her younger sisters, Eileen. Her waist-length black hair was tied back in an intricate braid, woven with beads of silver and other sparkling trinkets. Her slender fingers were busy embroidering a swirling lunar pattern into a flattened stretch of black cloth. Like Wyn's, her hands were blue from use of magic as she pushed the needle through the fabric with excessive precision and speed, weaving a spell into her work to give it a shine that no mortal means could ever create. When she looked up, her blue eyes were piercing, her brow raised in question.
Vera hugged her coat close to her chest. In her dirty trousers and loose fitting tunic, she suddenly felt underdressed compared to Eileen's sparkling gown. But, if she played her cards right, maybe she could have her coattail repaired without breaking her back for a seamstress in town. Pinching her lips, she glanced down at Eileen's embroidery and stepped toward the gazebo. "Say, you're getting quite good at that."
Eileen sniffed, pride flushing her cheeks a shade darker. "You think so?"
"Yes." Vera smiled and settled onto the bench beside her, careful not to let her dirty clothes touch her sister's spotless dress. "Ferne will be proud of how far you've come."
"Mother says I have her gift for needle and thread," Eileen said, beaming. The magic needle stopped as she held up her work for both to see. Fading sunlight passed through the black fabric and caught on the silvery thread. It danced in the light, bringing the image of the moon and stars to life. Like a flame, they flickered with a life of their own, dancing to their own rhythm as her magic flowed through them.
One of the embroidered stars broke away from the cloth and drifted toward Vera. Lost in a chance, she reached out to touch it. It burst into a shower of sparks as it touched her palm, tickling her skin with warmth. A wry smile twitched the corners of her mouth as a pang of jealousy stabbed through her heart. Eileen's work put Ferne's argument to shame—no work done without magic could ever outshine that which was imbued with its power.
Swallowing hard, Vera looked away. "Impressive."
However, the spell suddenly weakened and broke, destroying the dancing shower of silver sparks as the image returned to nothing more than stitches on fabric. Eileen set the embroidery hoop in her lap, her brow furrowed. "I didn't release the spell."
Vera said nothing. It wasn't her place to speak on issues of magic, not even to her younger sister, but she had heard from their father that complaints of a similar volume had reached the Council and the magic scholars. It started with the little things like Eileen's needlework. It was only a matter of time before spells of greater magnitude, such as healing or defense around the city, ceased to work.
Eileen was quick to move away from the subject. Her gaze flicked between Vera's face and the coat in her arms before she let out a sigh, rolling her eyes as a slight smile settled over her rose-red lips. "Hand it over, Vera. I can fix it for you."
"I can't ask you to do that. I have nothing to give you." Vera hugged the coat tighter. She still had nothing to give Ferne in exchange for the gift, and now she hardly ever had the chance. Her older sister rarely had a chance to visit the Moon Court anymore, busy with her new family and her new life. She probably doesn't even remember making it for you.
Eileen snatched the coat and unfolded it with a quick snap. The destroyed coattail landed over her gown, the rip painfully evident as the two halves of a once-whole piece of fabric naturally settled apart from each other. She clicked her tongue against her teeth. "Wyn was in one of those no mercy moods today, wasn't he?"
"You know how he is." Vera straightened her back and hardened her expression into one that mimicked the sharp lines of his face. Clearing her throat, she dropped her voice into a low mockery of his. "A battle is rarely fair. You'll always be fighting magic. You have to learn how. I'm better than you because ice shoots out of my hands, blah blah blah."
Eileen snorted. "He is right though."
"I know he is." Vera looked at her hands in her lap. Tiny calluses were just beginning to form where blisters had once marred her palms. "I need to master the sword before I start adding magic defense to my list of skills. My grip is still sloppy and he's always correcting my form. However!" Grinning, Vera shoved off the bench and rolled back her sleeve, flexing her muscles which were beginning to grow stronger as she trained.
"Lovely. You're shedding your noodle arms?"
"Mastery of the sword demands a little strength. Did you know Silas doesn't actually have much physical strength at all? He lifts everything with magic." Vera made a face as she fixed her sleeve and plopped back onto the bench. "Father letting him take over his seat on the High Council was such a mistake."
"He's invested in the recent studies of the moon. Might be why Wyn has so much time to teach you the sword, though he should be teaching you to master a modern weapon."
"You mean like his prized shotgun?" Vera snorted as an image of the rune-painted weapon crawled to the front of her mind. It hung above the mantle in Wyn's room, more for decoration than defense, yet he cleaned and maintained it regularly as if he were preparing for his moment to unleash the weapon upon some unlucky beast. "He probably thinks I'd steal it if I knew how to use it reliably."
Eileen shrugged as she examined the split in Vera's coat. Her fingers skimmed the edge of the tear and she frowned. "Ferne did all this by hand?"
"Yeah." Vera shook her head and fixed her sister with a puzzled look. "Can we go back to the moon thing, actually? I thought it was just rumors. There's studies now—like... actual research?"
"I suppose you can't feel it." Eileen gestured to the moon, which was just beginning to rise over the midnight eaves of the manor. "The moon is constantly waning. It's been stuck as a crescent for ages. Fae magic is weakening; of course the High Council's scholars are invested in understanding how to fix it."
Vera shook her head, unsure what to make of Eileen's subtle jab at her disconnect with magic. Other fae of the Moon Court said they resonated with the moon, able to sense how weak it had become in recent months. It was innate, they said, connected to the primal source of magic deep within their very beings. She felt nothing—just the cold breeze on her tan skin and the growing unease simmering beneath the surface. She had observed the waning moon, but...
As the moon slowly crested the manor, Vera stood and prowled to the edge of the gazebo to get a better look at it. A thin sliver of a crescent moon hung in the sky, just as it had been for almost as long as she could remember. Like the tip of a fingernail, its silvery glow barely stood out against the deep blue of the coming night. Dread settled heavily in the pit of her stomach as she took in the sight along with Eileen's words. She had heard whispers drifting through the house, through the city streets, through the grand library as scholars gathered to talk of conspiracies in hushed tones. They said an ancient monster was killing the fae of the Moon Court. In doing so, it was killing the moon and weakening fae magic.
A monster capable of stealing fae magic was one Vera had taken a selfish interest in. It was why she pressured Wyn into teaching her to fight.
"Oh, don't worry. I'm sure the High Council and the scholars will figure something out. They still have their magic, after all." Eileen's skirts rustled as she stood. "I'll fix your coat so there's no need for you to worry. I'm sure it will all be taken care of soon."
Vera kept her gaze locked on the crescent moon, her jaw set. There was no avoiding the condescension in Eileen's words. Even in a time of crisis, Vera was always going to be less than other fae.
"You're right," Vera said, eyeing her sister's back as she trailed down the gazebo steps. "It concerns magic so it has nothing to do with me." But even as she said it, her heart was not in the words. She already knew what she had to do.
Perhaps killing a magic-devouring beast was the perfect task for a fae with no magic.
I said I was going to start posting in January but December 30th is basically January, right? Right???
Anyway, I'd like to officially welcome you to the first draft of my new project, Crescent! I'm thrilled to be getting into it so thanks for coming along for the ride! See you in the next chapter :D