Hey all! Thought I'd surprise you and give you an update. Finally sewed all the pieces together, sorry if it's a bit choppy here and there. I've finally left the notebook of rough drafting, and now I just type. I'll probably go back to paper once the school year kicks up again, though. Hope you enjoy! Not much POV-switching in this one.
~
Looking back on it now, I knew I should've paid attention to my aunt's insistence on teaching me how to classically dance. However, now was not the time to focus on that particular regret.
Trying to act natural, I took Meila's hand in my own. Struggling to keep my face composed, I laid my other hand on her narrow waist.
"You have no idea what you're doing, do you?" she asked, laughing lightly.
I sighed, shaking my head sheepishly.
"You caught me," I replied, smiling ruefully.
"I'll lead, then."
Meila tightened her hold on my hand, stepping forward. I stepped backward, and soon adjusted to mirroring her moves. When it came time to twirl her, she winked before spinning elegantly and returning to my arms.
She looked so happy then, carefree and open. Her smile was no longer guarded, but genuine and natural.
We danced a few songs, caught up in the crowd of other couples. The songs were unfamiliar, but the beat was festive and quick. A live band played in the corner, bearing strange instruments.
The tune changed then, to one slower and more somber. A slow dance. Every teenage boy's worst nightmare. Okay, maybe not worst, but definitely awkward.
Meila spared me the embarrassment though, and rested her head against my chest without a word. I held her hand lightly, her cool fingers resting between my warmer ones. I lead, turning us in an easy circle. The song was both sad and sweet, sung in a language I didn't recognize.
I would've been content to stay with Meila like this the rest of the night, but as all good things do, the song ended.
She pulled away, searching my eyes for a moment.
"Thanks," she murmured quietly, before slipping away through the crowd.
I was left standing dazed and confused in the midst of the dancing fey, wondering why she'd looked at me that way.
"She's a piece of work, that's for sure, brother," Cyr said mildly, clapping me on the shoulder.
"What do you mean?"
"You'll see," he replied, smiling wryly and downing his wineglass.
"You're fifteen," I reminded him, taking the glass from him.
"Yeah, yeah," he laughed, before taking off to find another waiter. I left in the opposite direction, returning to my seat at the table, I caught the attention of a servant, and kindly asked them if they could return me to my room.
"Oh, and no more drinks for Cyr," I added hastily.
~
Falling to the ground for what felt like the tenth time that day, I gritted my teeth. With a slight grunt, I stood again. I would not give up.
"Had enough, half-ling?" Ashalyn taunted, circling me confidently. Her long arms were bare, white tattoos painting her mocha skin. Coal-black eyes stared at me challengingly, assessing my every move.
"Never," I muttered under my breath, before lunging at her again.
Twisting deftly out of my reach, she caught the back of my right knee with her training sword. Instead of falling though, I stumbled and swung at her again.
For the first time all morning, I had made contact. My wooden training sword thwacked her in the hip, and she shimmered out of sight.
She reappeared seconds later, on the other side of the stables.
"Impressive," Ashalyn said slowly, smiling in satisfaction. It didn't last long though.
"Again!" she yelled, sliding back into her fighter's stance.
Sweat blurred my vision, and I wiped it away, breathing hard. I bent my knees to mimic her position, determined to improve. They were all counting on me. I couldn't let them down.
~
Life on the Grounds was tiring, but routine. Each day I woke up at dawn, eating quickly before being whisked off to training with Ashalyn.
Some days I worked on swordsmanship, others on hand to hand combat and archery. I'm not going to lie, it was tough. I ached all over from strenuous activities, and I cherished the time given to rest. But I couldn't deny that I did feel stronger.
The tasks were repetitive, and soon I got the hang of things. Fighting didn't seem as impossible, and I began to look forward to learning more.
On my nights off, I would spend my time working on the books Cyr had given me. He said that they'd help me learn the native tongue, and also teach me some history of my true home.
By lamplight I would devour the old volumes of Fey History, eager to know more. I read about fallen empires and tyrannical villains, hidden fortresses and age-old enemies.
The weathered pages described the age-old feud between the Summer and Winter courts. It was only natural, seeing as they were complete opposites. They had been in conflict for centuries upon centuries, wars sparking from misunderstandings to brutal killings of peasants and royalty alike.
A newer book I had opened one night explained the Grym, and how they differed from both Summer and Winter fey.
According to the text, they were born out of the essence of human nightmares. Brought to life by irrational fear, and feeding on the emotional turmoil of trauma and death.
They took all shapes and sizes, and organized in small niches within the Fey realm itself.
The book described their unnatural cruelty, and their brutality in war. The Grym weren't the smartest, but their leaders were cunning and vicious. They were also very vindictive, more so than the average fairy.
Of these leaders, only one stood out as the most wicked and fearsome. Their King of the last hundred years, King Drae'yr Li, was known to torture the hundreds of unfortunate species that fell into his grasp. Most times it wasn't even about knowledge, or revenge. It was for his own amusement.
Throughout the book, pictures of important people were placed accordingly. Where Drae'yr Li's was supposed to be, stood only a note of apology. No one had ever seen the King of Darkness. I shivered at the thought.
For decades, the Courts had sent their own assassins and armies to kill him. None ever returned.
Whereas Summer and Winter fey held grudges for decades, the Grym kept captives and often massacred innocents.
As I read on, my anger grew.
They had my mom.
That little truth echoed over and over, growing in power. I refused to lose her again, and I'd be damned if I let anyone-fey or not- get in my way.
~
I sat with my legs crossed, the damp chill of the colorful grass seeping into my clothing. How was I supposed to do this? It was natural, they all said. Like a muscle, I just needed to find it and flex it. Sounds easy enough, right?
Wrong.
"Find and flex, find and flex," I muttered underneath my breath.
"You just need to focus," Ashalyn insisted, placing her hands on my forearms. My hands were splayed in the grass, and I stared hard at the patch of ground between them.
"Imagine a flower, then help it grow. You can do this," she coaxed.
Sweat beaded on my forehead as I tried to access my magic. This was supposed to be easy.
I closed my eyes, searching within myself for anything, anything that would make the damn flower grow.
The seconds ticked by, but I didn't stop. I could do this. Letting go of my self-consciousness, I blocked out everyone around me.
And then I felt it. A strangle tingling, in the middle of my mind. I concentrated, praying it wasn't just my imagination. The tingling grew, from just a pinprick at first, to an effervescent bubbling of energy.
I opened my eyes excitedly, focusing on the spot of grass. Beneath my hand it shifted, and up shot a young maple tree.
I stumbled backwards in surprise, remembering that Meila, Ashalyn, and Cyr were watching. Not just watching, but yelling excitedly.
"--A little too much, Seth!" Meila exclaimed.
"--She asks for a flower; he gives her a tree," Cyr joked.
"--Not exactly what I was looking for, but I'll take it," Ashalyn remarked, smiling thinly.
I didn't know what to say, so I just shrugged sheepishly. Even though it wasn't a flower, it was something. I had done it.
The tingling sensation faded a bit, but never left my head.
"I can feel it now," I mused aloud, standing up and brushing myself off.
"This is only the beginning, trust me," Cyr said grinning. "One time I accidentally conjured a thunderstorm in my--"
"Alright, that's enough idle chatter!" Ashalyn interrupted loudly.
"Agreed," Meila added coolly. "He needs to know more than just growing flowers, Ash. "
"He needs to know the basics Em, we've been over this," Ashalyn replied heatedly.
The two dissolved into another argument, their tones growing dangerously venomous. They fought often on how to prepare me; Ashalyn preferring to work from the ground up, whereas Meila seemed to only want me to learn what I needed most.
"Is this normal?" I whispered to Cyr, concerned.
"Relax, I'd love to have two girls fight over me, man," he chuckled.
I was about to protest when Meila hurled a dagger-sized icicle just over Ash's shoulder.
"I will not have him thrown into battle defenseless! He needs to know!" she yelled angrily, her eyes shining.
The three of us stared, confused by her sudden outburst. In the blink of an eye, she disappeared.
~Meila~
I paced the barn, frustrated. It just wasn't fair. He was supposed to be our savior, our hero. But he's too innocent, too good, not a warrior. What were we thinking? I flung another dagger at the wall, and it buried itself in the rugged wood. The temperature dropped, as I grew more upset.
Of course I wanted to win the war as much as anyone else, but not like this. Not with our only hope being prepped for slaughter. Even if...
Even if he were to improve, he would die.
Lana Del Rey's lyrics floated hauntingly through my head. I laughed humorlessly at their irony.
Cause you and I, we were born to die...
Why should I care, then? I don't.
I can't.
~
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PS: How did you like the ending, eh?