I flex my fingers, almost feeling the imprint of that hand clasp I should have accepted, but it would have changed nothing.
We both want the same thing, something that only one of us will be able to walk away with.
We aren’t friends, never have been, and now we can never be. It would be a lie to say otherwise.
And there are terrible consequences for fae who lie.
I stride forward, trying to ignore the muttered, “Women,” from behind me. I raise my head higher as I pass Marvin and Istaria. I’ve spent enough time tramping through woods growing up. They were where I sought sanctuary when I needed some time to myself in the past. It’s now almost instinctual to know which way is north, even though the sun is blocked out by the branches overhead.
At least, I certainly hope that I’ve not allowed myself to become turned around, otherwise I will probably find some ditch and die of embarrassment. After the vine pit, I only have so much dignity left, and I’d like to hold on to it in front of the future Lady Menavillion.
Behind me, I can hear my companions begin to start talking as time passes and some of the tension eases as it becomes less and less likely that the cultists will catch up to us.
We will make it to our destination soon enough and after that, we will be safe. But I’ll still have to face the task of convincing Lord Menavillion to choose me as his knight over Byron, a man who already has his magic running through his veins. Fae are partial like that. I’m connected to my magic, little enough that I have. If I granted a portion of it to someone, I would sure as blazes want to keep it close.
I’m sure that even high fae like Menavillion, who have more than enough magic, feel the same way even if they’re more than happy enough to bargain away bits of their magic in return for favors. It’s a small enough price to pay, but it’s still a price to be paid. A shrewd fae like Menavillion will probably leap at the opportunity to reclaim that magic back even if it is in the form of Byron’s knighthood.
I need to convince him that I’m the better option. Somehow…
“Have you met your betrothed?” I hear Byron ask behind me.
“Have you met him?” Istaria asks although her voice lacks the bitter edge I have heard her use when speaking to Marvin or me.
“No, but I’ve certainly heard many things about him.” Byron sighs, and I dare a glance over my shoulder, but he simply shrugs. “Will you answer my question now?”
“Of course, I have met Lord Menavillion. As a fellow high fae, we walk in many of the same circles. I am used to the company of my peers not whatever ragtag group this might be.” I start to look over my shoulder to glower at her, but then my foot slips on the bark of a root, and I decide to keep my focus up front.
“And do you know Menavillion’s guards? I assume he keeps them near him.”
“What do mere knights matter to the likes of me?” she asks.
“Just… trying to make conversation.” There is something in Byron’s voice, a tightness that makes me ponder if he is speaking truthfully. If he was actually trying to make conversation, then why would he press so hard about a vague subject?
Is he trying to figure out what life as a knight champion will hold in store for him? I hope he doesn’t expect to rub elbows with the high fae, even find one to be his bride and elevate his status in the world.
He might be something back at Woodsbury Grove, but here he is just a blacksmith’s son with slightly higher than par magic. In Skyshire, he would simply be a knight sworn in service of a high fae, his worth relying on the patron he serves.
I start to feel a smile come across my face. If he is entering this academy with delusions of grandeur, then it will be my utmost honor to pop those delusions and send him crashing right back down to Commonweald where he belongs.
Perhaps it is not Menavillion that I need to convince of my worth, but Byron I need to remind of his own self-importance. After all, the life of servitude that comes as a knight—even an esteemed knight champion— is no life for a blacksmith’s grandson who was born with too much magic, too pretty of a face, and too much ego.
I turn the idea through my mind, trying to figure out how to go about my plan, but ahead the trees clear and as I get my first glimpse of the world beyond my mind clears of all thoughts save for awe.
Woodsbury Grove is a beautiful little town, the cottages are quant and for the most part well-tended. The people are friendly. Trees are scattered throughout the village, growing between houses and behind the smithy. During Autumn, they are brilliantly arrayed in colors and during spring they harbor the fragile blooms of new life.
Any walls we have are short, carved out of stone with moss growing out of it. Their purpose is to guard turnips and keep cows out of our gardens.
Most people in Woodsbury Grove have spent their whole lives there. They were born there, and they fully intend to die there.
It’s a beautiful little town, and it’s an isolated town. Most people living there see no need for life outside of the grove. It’s as if it is a world all its own and for my whole life it wasmyworld.
And so, while I have heard of cities and castles suspended in the sky, of knights and monsters I never actually experienced any of it. It was like a fairytale to me. One that I knew was real, but I’m not entirely sure if I believed it until now.
Past the tree line, there’s a beautiful lake, mist rises off it. Its waters are dark, cast into shadow by the massive island floating above it.
My mouth drops open as I tilt my head back trying to take in the structure. It hangs suspended in the air as if it doesn’t way tons. The sky is barely visible past the rocks, and underneath it is so dark that it looks almost as if it is night on the lake.
An anchor runs from the floating island, disappearing into the ground near a clustering of shacks. A human village that is built on the anchor line of the fae city is visible to the right along the lake. Likely, they are there to make a profit from everyone trying to enter Skyshire and to thrive off the fae’s prosperity.
