Story is the lifeblood of our people. Story teaches. Story cautions. But sometimes stories are just stories, and life takes another, unexpected path. The wily Fae may have honor, the fearsome dragon a tender heart, the dainty princess the bravery of a King, and an unfaithful lover might love most of all…
Stories teach us, but they also mislead us. Not all heroes carry swords, and not all villains have evil intentions.
Story is, after all, just words. And words do not have the weight of action.
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“Concentrate,” I whispered the words. “Concentration and focus are key.”
On the walkways around the walls, King Akyran’s dark elf guards did their rounds, their footfalls armour-heavy, and the plumes of their helmets casting dramatic shadows over the courtyard. The sky overhead was greying with cloud, and the heady perfume of the petrichor released by the earth in promise of rain was sweeter than the other scents of the courtyard – the sweat of the knights in training, the leather, the horse excrement, and the blacksmith’s fire.
“Daethie, move!” Tarragon cupped her hands around her mouth and bellowed the order. “Don’t just stand there waiting for the gauntlet to stop for you!” The knights around her laughed and exchanged bets as they joked and vied for her attention.
With her golden hair and violet eyes, even clad in armour, Tarragon was an arresting beauty, the delicacy of her features and soft fullness of her lips belying the steely determination that she displayed as a knight, and the merciless skill with which she wielded her sword, the legendary Intuin Desparen, gifted to our mother by the Prince Rivyn of the Fae Court of Light.
Tarragon cared not for any of the handsome young knights. Unlike myself, Tarragon was intensely focused on achieving her goal, her purpose in life. She was the child of prophecy, after all. Destined to save us all from the monsters that plagued our world.
“Concentrate, Daethie,” Rue met my eyes shaking his head slightly, his golden hair catching the last rays of sun to pierce the cloud cover. In every way he was the mirror image of our father, and only grew more so with every year that passed, though his braid had a long way to go until it reached the length of our father’s.
Concentrate. I turned my attention to the gauntlet.
The gauntlet was a torture device that could only have come from the darkest minds of the darkest of Fae Courts. It was a wooden structure raised as high from the ground as Rue and Tarragon were tall, which, considering they had inherited our father’s height, was HIGH. Especially for me, who had somehow missed every drop of dragon blood, and therefore also lacked the dragon height.
Supported by an A frame structure, various devices designed to bruise, impale, slice and, generally, cause pain, swung, rotated, and scissored. The pathway through this nightmare was not one straight and level, but rather requiring a person to leap or step between platforms, some no wider than a man’s foot was long. What was more, when she was feeling particularly mean, Ecaeris was known to remove the supports beneath the platforms, so choosing to place your weight too long upon the wrong platform would result in its collapse.
There were many things about King Akyran and Queen Ecaeris Monster Hunting academy that I hated – the food, the draughty rooms, the haughty dark elves, the mockery of the knights being amongst them – but the gauntlet easily topped that list.
“You can do it, Daethie,” Valerian called out whilst exchanging a coin purse with Caraway. “She’s not going to do it,” he added to his twin. “Not even halfway.”
“It’s beginning to rain,” Caraway tipped his golden head back and caught a raindrop on his tongue. His violet eyes had concave pupils like our father, something which Tarragon, Rue and Valerian hadn’t inherited in their human forms. “Makes things slippery. Two obstacles.”
“You’re on.”
Rain drops splashed onto the wood around me, washing away the dirt that had dusted the slats.
Through the castle gates, a company of horsemen were arriving, Prince Akyran and Princess Ecaeris at the lead, and a young man in a hooded cloak following petulantly behind.
“Wonderful,” I looked away from them to the many moving parts of the gauntlet ahead of me. An extended audience was precisely not what I needed to witness my humiliation. “Concentrate Daethie.”
I drew in a deep breath and tried, as always, to guess the timing. I could never quite get it right. By luck, perhaps I might get past the first few obstacles, but the further in I got, the faster they moved, and the less chance I had to watch for the next obstacle in my path.
In the end, there was no other option, truly, I decided, other than to close my eyes and jump and keep jumping. I made it past halfway and had just begun to feel the excitement that this time, perhaps, was my time, when something struck me across the top of the head, and the world went black.
I woke with Ecaeris applying smelling salts. “There you go Daethie,” she said as I opened my eyes.
“Oh, my head,” I groaned in pain. It felt as if my head had been cracked in two.
“Yes, I’ll mix you something that will take the edge off of that,” she said with empathy. She leaned back. “Take it easy in the meantime, and don’t try to sit up too quickly or you will - ” She broke off as I sat up, and danced backwards as the world swayed on me, and I turned to vomit up the contents of my stomach onto the dirt. “Be sick,” she finished on a sigh. “I will go mix you that potion.”
I groaned in misery, and sat, my back against the wall, whilst the servants cleaned away my mess and a maid brought me water and a cloth to put against my aching head. Around me, the activity of the courtyard had resumed, with knights practising the various skills of their trade both against the straw and burlap dummies and against each other.
“Oh Daethie,” Tarragon sighed as she squatted before me. “You are meant to duck, you know?”
“Thank you, Tarra,” I did not open my eyes. “Like I didn’t know that.”
She sighed heavily. “I’ll speak to mother and father again,” she promised me, reaching out to put her hand on my knee. “And try to make them see sense. This just isn’t the place for you at all. We’ll all be happier with you back home in Uyan Taesil, and out of harm’s way. We all have our own destinies, Daethie, and yours is not to be a knight fighting monsters.”
“What is it then?” I wondered.
“Well…” She trailed off, stumped as to what the destiny could be for one such as me. “You could get married?”
“Oh. No.” I opened an eye. “No thank you.”
Even being the second daughter of Queen Diandreliera and King Valsaurienkachelial taradrakyn and their only child born without a hint of dragon, without the ability to shift, no magical power, I attracted plenty of knights aspiring for my hand in marriage. Usually knight errants, younger sons, or Lords whose fortunes had waned, and occasionally a prince under a curse looking for someone to break it, but they were not interested in Princess Daethie, but rather my dowry and family connections.
I did not want to marry someone who wanted me only for such things, I wanted the love I saw between my parents. I wanted someone to look at me the way my father looked at my mother.
“I want to marry for love,” I told her. “And only for that reason.”
“Here we are,” Ecaeris had returned with her potion. “Drink this down, Daethie, and then to your chambers with you for the remainder of the day.”
I didn’t sniff at the potion, rather held my breath, and drank it down in one mouthful, trying not to examine its consistency on my tongue. Experience had taught me that the less I thought, smelt, looked at, or tasted of potions, the better it was, as they rarely held up to close scrutiny without turning the stomach.
“Who was your prisoner?” Tarragon asked Ecaeris.
“Aien Verstarjen. His father is Derien Verstarjen, the warlock who owns the castle that straddles the mountain path you wish to take on your crusade to find the source of these monsters. He is somewhat notorious for his ill-temper and his garden of statues.”
“Statues,” Tarragon lifted an eyebrow.
“They were once servants of the castle, disgruntled villagers, or the occasional knight come to challenge him,” Ecaeris clarified.
“Ah,” Tarragon nodded in understanding. “So, what’s with the prisoner?”
“Surety,” Ecaeris replied. “Akyran and I persuaded Derien to temper his ways, and to ally with us, with Aien as guarantee that the alliance holds. Aien is, after all, Derien’s only child, and a son. He’s pretty, hmm?” She added mischievously.
“He’s not hard on the eye,” Tarragon replied with a slight smile and a shake of her head.
My head felt less likely to throb off my neck, so I carefully used the wall to rise to my feet and both women looked at me assessing whether or not I was likely to vomit or fall over at their feet. “I’ll just…” I put one hand to my forehead and gestured to the door. “Be on my way.”
They didn’t stop me from leaving, and resumed their conversation as I neared the doorway. I slowly made my way through the castle and up the stairs to the level where my room was, discovering as I walked that my injuries were not limited to my head. My hip was sore, a knee ached with every step, and my shoulder on that side – drawing a picture in bruised flesh as to how, precisely, I had landed in the courtyard.
As I limped along the hallway towards my door, I passed a chamber where the door was open, and heard Akyran’s voice from within.
“You are not a prisoner, Aien,” the King was saying. “But there will be restrictions as to how far from the castle you can go. And you are expected to attend the training in the courtyard every day.”
“Training for what precisely?” Aien sneered.
“To help people. This a training school for heroes. We seek to provide this land with the heroes required to fight against the influx of monsters. You can turn your abilities to the betterment of others here, Aien. You can learn to be a hero, and not a villain.”
“A villain,” Aien repeated. “But isn’t that what I am? The son of a villain destined to follow in my father’s footsteps?”
“It doesn’t need to be that way. Think about it,” Akyran turned and raised his eyebrows as he saw me through the doorway. “Daethie?”
My eyes flicked beyond him to the young man. Ecaeris and Tarragon were right. He was very pretty, with strong cheek bones and jaw line, full lips, and a pleasant brow line. His eyes were a green tinged hazel and clever. His hair was overgrown and as dark as night, the strands erratic as if he had wrung his fingers through it many times during the conversation with Akyran – something I could sympathize with, as any conversation with the prince had me doing the same.
“I…” I stammered my eyes flitting between the young man and Akyran. “I was just heading to my room,” I finished, flustered at being caught eavesdropping so blatantly, something I’d never usually do, except my mind was still scattered from the blow to my head. “I’m in the next room,” I finished, and braced a hand against my hip as I continued that way.
“She fell hard and is disorientated,” I heard Akyran explain to Aien as I reached my chamber.
“Yes. I saw.”
I sighed heavily as I opened my bedchamber door. “Who didn’t?”
I slept late into the morning, waking to a bath gone cold and my maidservant, Hen, napping by the fire with the mending on her lap. My head no longer hurt, but I possessed an impressive array of bruises from where I had landed, falling from the gauntlet, and bathing was a painful affair. Hen woke just as I was struggling to dress myself and tsked over the bruises as she finished lacing me.“It’s not right for a princess,” she told me in disapproval. “Jumping and fighting and running around. It’s one thing for a hero like Princess Tarragon, but surely there is no need to put you through this my lady. The prophecy is not about you, after all.”“To end the slaughter,Not dragon son, but daughter,In the right hand,Rivyn’s sword will save the land,If the lamb chosen is wrong,Love’s sacrifice will not be strong,” I quoted. “It’s the second to last line that’s responsible for me being here,” I grimaced as she braided my hair. “Just in case it’s not Tarragon all of her sisters get to suff
All the newer students lined up in the courtyard for drills. As I took my place, I saw Aien in the row ahead of me. He glanced around, looking for someone or something, perhaps a friendly face amongst the crowd, and his eyes fell on me. He stepped backwards, to stand at my side.“What is this?” He asked me. “Is this meant to be a sword?” He looked at the wooden practise sword that he held in one hand.“Drills,” I told him. “As training goes, this one isn’t so bad, as long as you stick to the middle and try not to stand out. The sword master will lead us through the poses and postures,” I nodded up to the raised platform. “We just copy her.”“Why do I suspect that it’s not as easy as you make it sound?” He wondered.“Because…” I lifted my chin to the wall where the dark elf guards had gathered to watch. “And…” I inclined my head to the base of the wall, where the senior knights were gathering. “They’re meant to be practicing hand to hand combat, but… They mostly watch. And mock us.”“G
“Reckless foolishness,” Hen grumbled under her breath as she helped me dress. “In a tourney maze is no place for a princess.”“Val and Cara will watch out today,” I told her. “And my father is in the audience.”“Should not be required,” she cinched my ties tighter than necessary in her irritation. “Princesses should not be put in such danger.”“It is good training for the real world, Akyran says,” I replied. “And keeps the knight’s keen and sharp.”Nerith castle cupped the inner courtyards, and during the tourney, Akyran and Ecaeris transformed the neat gardens and lower balconies into a maze of obstacles. The courtyards were large, but in an impressive feat of magic, Akyran and Ecaeris multiplied the dimensions to an impossible scale, creating a true labyrinth for the competition, and once you stepped into it, the maze seemed to spread for miles in every direction.As I joined the line up of competitors between Rue and Val, I saw a couple of knight errants spot me, and laugh, wonderi
“My father wasn’t always this way,” Aien said as we walked through the maze following the trail of debris, blood, and broken weaponry. “A villain I mean. Things were different when my mother was alive. She was…” He paused where someone had smashed a statue, the stone rubble scattered across the path and offered me his hand. “Be careful where you step. My mother was beautiful,” he did not immediately release my hand when I had picked my way through the debris and stood looking down at me thoughtfully.“She was kind,” he said softly. My eyes fell to the softness of his lips and wondered what they would feel against my own. “And she looked after others. She would have liked you. You remind me of her.” He released my hand and continued along the walkway. “An illness came to the village, and my mother went to help the sick. She caught it from them, and… I was eleven,” he swallowed hard. “Old enough that I remember very well what it was like before she died.”“I’m sorry,” I said reaching ou
The hallways immediately around the main hall were busy as servants scurried in and out with wine and platters and in the shadows, knights from the academy flirted drunkenly with maids and minor noble ladies who had managed to escape their protective families. Aien put his arm around my shoulders, draping me in the folds of his cloak, and walked with me nearest the wall. From behind, tucked tightly against Aien’s body, I would have been all but invisible.It was cosily warm within Aien’s cloak and very pleasant to feel his body move against mine. Boldly, I slid my arm around his waist, and was relieved when he did not object. In fact, he tightened his hold on me, encouraging me closer to him.I was almost entirely sure that I was not mistaken and that Aien… Well, that Aien felt about me the same as I felt about him. I felt the flush heating my skin. I had seen the knights and the maids kissing in any semi-private place they could find so many times, breathless, moaning exchanges frant
I woke into the greyness of dawn as Aien eased out of my arms, leaving a cold patch across my skin as he slid out of the bedclothes. He tucked the blankets back around me considerately seeking to shelter me from the changing temperature caused by his body withdrawing from mine.He dressed in the shirt that he had cast off and crept across the room to the door, slipping out and closing it behind him.For a moment I lay in the hollow left in his departure, trying to deny its meaning, and then it caught me in the ribs, and I curled onto my side, the heels of my hands pressed to my mouth as I pressed it back, but the feeling undeniable.Aien had left my bed before dawn. He had left before discovery was a possibility. He was hiding that he had been there at all.Very well, I told myself shaking my head and trying to cast away the burn of shame and pain. That was understandable. We were in a difficult situation. I was the second daughter of a dragon, after all, and the fifth in line for the
At the top of the stairs a central corridor was framed on either side by pretty bedrooms, each still holding elaborately carved beds, the curtains and bedding covered in a layer of dust, but otherwise untouched by time, protected from the elements by the window glass and solid roof. The chest at the end of the bed still held clothing, no more than two decades out of fashion and of rich appointment. The dressing table held hair pins, hairbrush, jewellery, and cosmetics.“What happened to these people?” I wondered.Aien shook his head.The third bedroom was a nursery, and from the scattering of wooden toys on the ground, and the half open drawers, the rumpled blanket in the cot, was evidence that the room had been in use when the house had been abandoned.“Oh,” I said softly. “That is…”Aien closed the door to the room. “They left,” he told me firmly. “The family here left the house together. Perhaps they left due to the monsters?”“There was…” I swallowed hard. “Well, a lot of things h
Rapunzel emerged from the curtained bed slowly, sliding until she sat on the end of the mattress, her elegant gown rumpled and gathered around her, showing that her feet were bare. “I am a prisoner here,” she told us with wide eyed earnestness. “And have been since the first year of my life.“This is my family home. My father was a landed gentleman with a small farm. Nothing extraordinary, but enough to support his family in comfort. However, my mother became sick, and in desperation, he sought out a renowned witch who lived within Nerith, by the name of Gerveine, who was known to have a magic potion that could cure all ills made of a rare flower.“Gerveine granted his wish, and made him a potion, but in exchange for me,” Rapunzel touched her fingertips to her hair. “As, when I was born, my fairy godmother blessed me with magical hair capable of sewing any wound closed as if it never existed. Gerveine takes a few strands every time she visits, which she sells to kings and heroes headi