1
EMBER
There’s a certain music about being alone. One I rarely get to hear outside of a single hour each morning. It’s my peaceful respite before the sun rises, before anyone seeks to fill my day with a cacophony of demands. After dawn, I’ll have to climb down from my rooftop hiding place and return to my chores and obligations. But for now, at least, I hear it. The subtle song of a sleeping city.
The hoot of an owl brings my attention to the adjacent rooftop where a pair of bright yellow eyes in a dark silhouette watch me. The owl hoots again, as if eager for me to acknowledge his contribution to the predawn song. “I hear you,” I whisper, then lean my head against the brick chimney behind me. My legs, shielded from the chill air by thick wool hose, extend along the flat narrow ledge that rests between the two sloping sides of the roof. This, in all its unkempt, soot-dusted glory, is my sanctuary. My seat at the unseen orchestra.
Closing my eyes, I let the music wrap around me—the owl, the soft wind whispering in the black sky, the echo of crickets chirping from the countryside surrounding the city. Then I hear a familiar beat, the pitter-patter of a raccoon approaching the many waste bins that clutter the narrow alley between my apartment building and the next one over. “I hear you too,” I tell the raccoon and wrap my wool coat tighter around my nightdress.
I let the lullaby continue to play around me while I bask beneath the fading moonlight that kisses my closed eyelids. It’s only a matter of time before the sun’s light will conquer the moon’s territory. Not even here in the Lunar Court are we free from daylight’s domain and the bustle of activity it brings. Of the eleven courts on the isle of Faerwyvae, Lunar is the only one that hosts a perpetual twilight quality during daylight hours, diffusing the sun through an eerie haze. Still, the morning hour will bring the chiming of bells, just like any other court. The city of Evanston will wake from slumber.
And I will face another day paying off the stupidest bargain I ever could have made.
At least I have this moment.
Soon, I’ll have more moments like this. Soon, music will fill my days and illuminate my nights. Soon, I’ll be free from my stepfamily, free from my past and everything I’ve had to endure. I’ll be able to become someone new.
Only then will I find a place I belong.
The thought brings a smile to my lips. I open my eyes and reach into the pocket of my coat, retrieving a treasure I always keep at my side—a train fare voucher—my literal ticket to freedom. In two weeks, I’ll be leaving everything I know behind and boarding a train from Evanston Station to the city of Lumenas in the Star Court. As the music capital of Faerwyvae, Lumenas is famous for offering boundless opportunities to aspiring musicians. I have every intention of joining a musical troupe once I’m there. After that, it’s the open road. No attachments. No stifling bonds. Music at my fingertips.
I caress the smooth paper, careful not to smudge the date or proof of fare. After saving for nearly a year, I was finally able to purchase the ticket in secret last week. Now I can hardly believe it’s real. That freedom is truly so close.
So close.
Two more weeks.
The ticket suddenly flickers a shade of blue. With a startle, I look up to find three bright blue wisps bobbing above my head. I’m surprised to see them. While Faerwyvae is both ruled and inhabited by the fae, Evanston is a primarily human city that is seldom frequented by wild fae creatures like the wisps. This close, I can see their tiny faces amidst their bright, round, flame-like bodies, and their stubby arms and legs. They stare down at my ticket with curious expressions.
“Traveling, yes?” one says with an ethereal, feminine voice.
I gently fold the ticket and place it back in my pocket, saying nothing in response.
“Why take a train,” says another, her voice slightly higher than the first, “when we could guide you where you want to go?”
I snort a laugh. Everyone knows wisps are not to be trusted, especially when it comes to journeys or directions.
“Come with us,” says the third. This one has a more masculine tone. “We will take you there now.”
“I’m not ready to go right now,” I say, which is only half true. If it were up to me, I would have left my stepfamily long ago. But the bargain I made deems it impossible until the day I turn nineteen.
“Then perhaps you should play with us instead,” says the first. She floats in a spiral higher overhead. “Come fly.”
I level a stare at her. “I can’t fly.”
“You’re of the wind,” the second one says.
A hollow ache throbs in my chest. How can she tell? “I am. My mother was a sylph.”
“Was,” she echoes.
“She died eleven years ago.”
“Then fly with us,” the male wisp says. “Honor her.”
“I already told you I can’t. Just because I’m half fae doesn’t mean I can fly like my mother could. I’ll not let you use my grief against me.”
The first wisp clasps her hands in an innocent gesture. “But you’ll miss the sunrise. It’s nearly at the horizon. Don’t you want to see it?”
