TWENTY
brYNDIS ASHGLO
Once humans taste faerie wine or fruit, they are unable to find enjoyment in anything other than its taste. They would either drink or eat themselves to death when left to themselves, or starve by refusing any other alternatives thereafter.
The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper
“Apparently, you need something to wear,” Eadan hisses from the far side of my bedroom.
The door slams shut with a resounding thud.
The sunlight streaming through the window is near blinding, contrasting the darkness I’d sought when I crawled into bed.
My hand, searching beneath the covers, finds the book within reach, bringing a sense of relief that loosens the tension in my muscles.
Resolutely, I avert my gaze from her and fixate on the scenery beyond the windowpane.
The view before me is reminiscent of the vivid descriptions found in the many books adorning the highest shelves of our personal library.
The tall trees, their tips painted in a radiant orange by the early morning sun, stand like majestic sentinels at the edge of a neatly kept lawn.
Beyond, lies a forest so thick and impenetrable that it seems capable of devouring anyone who dares to trespass its depths.
Navigating through the forest would be like wandering through a labyrinth, but I refuse to submit to being a mere pawn in whatever they’ve planned for me.
“Thank you, Eadan,” she says sarcastically, smirking as she speaks. Irritated by my lack of response, she persists. “How kind of you, Eadan.”
“It is kind of you,” I mutter through gritted teeth, keeping my gaze fixed on the window.
“Oh, how thoughtful of you to finally respond,” she retorts, her tone implying an eye roll as she sits on the edge of the mattress.
I clench my jaw even tighter, fighting the urge to snap back. “I have other things on my mind.”
“Obviously. Like staring out the window,” she replies. “Do you know how fortunate you are to be here and not with the rest of your people? Odhran believes you can help our cause, but I think he’s just afraid to admit why he brought you here.”
“Leave me be,” I snap.
“Please, please, don’t strain yourself with flattery.
It’s not like I’m being told to lend my belongings to you.
A mortal,” she sneers, disgust evident in her voice.
“One who shouldn’t be anywhere near our home.
” The old Bryndis, who once cowered under her father’s roof, would have tried to defuse the tension.
But this version of myself, the one who no longer cares, meets her gaze with burning hatred.
Her piercing stare locks onto mine. Time stretches as we engage in a silent exchange, wordlessly conveying our mutual desire for my absence.
The weight of her unspoken message hangs heavily in the air, as if etched into the very atmosphere.
Unwanted. Disgrace. Liability. She stands abruptly with a huff.
The loaned garments fall onto my bed, their impact resonating with a dull thud. The echo of her departing footsteps reverberates through the room, each step laden with an unyielding heaviness.
“Breakfast is served in the dining room,” she adds, and the door clicks as the lock opens.
“Wait,” I call to her, cursing myself for giving in, but I have so many questions, and she’s added another to my ever-growing list.
“What?” She purses her lips, glaring back at me.
“You called me a mortal.”
“So?” Her brow rises.
“That would imply that you’re—” Faerie. Somehow, I need to hear her admit it. I need something more than what’s written in a book. Something more than a voice echoing in my head. I need to hear her say it. Maybe then it will feel real.
“Stupid spell. Stupid fucking spell. Don’t let them find out. Keep them ignorant.” She groans to herself.
Her gaze focuses on me once more. “Immortal.” She raises a brow. “Yes. I’m part of the faerie court, high fae, to be exact. Does that clear things up for you, my lady?”
My lady. My eyes narrow at her. The way she turns a simple title into an insult has my blood boiling. “Not quite.” A deep breath gives me enough courage to ask, “Why am I here?”
“Fuck if I know,” she huffs. “That’s a question that should be aimed at Odhran himself.
Perhaps you have some mysterious gifting that Odhran can’t pass up or can pass on to Eamon to utilise.
Perhaps he sees something in you that I fail to.
We need a liar and a thief; mortals generally are best suited for the job if they can stomach our courts.
According to him, you’re best suited for the job. ”
I frown, throwing the covers off of me to stand. “Gifting?” More like a curse. A useless curse. What’s worse is that I have all the markers of a witch, but no power. I have no one to teach me what to do or how to claim my heritage. I’m merely a human with a target on her back.
Her laughter echoes through the room. “Out of everything I said, that’s what you’re stuck on?”
I bite down, frustrated. “Forget it.” I march straight to the bathroom and lean over the pristine white basin; the porcelain is smooth and cold under my palms.
“Not all humans have the gift.” She sighs.
“An ability to tap into Nature’s energy and make it your own.
” The faint scent of her perfume lingers in the air, as sweet as jasmine.
“They, we, harvest those who have the gift before they can harness it. The first faeries were fiercely religious, reliant on the gods of old, performing sacrifices and crediting all their fortunes to them. Over generations, we’ve become more self reliant, neglecting the gods that blessed us with health and immortality.
When they turned their backs on us, we were cursed to seek our own immortality, turning our self reliance into a curse.
Of all the gods, Nature is the only one still willing to share her magic with us.
She loved the world they created too much to fully turn her back on it, but even so, she calls for balance.
Over the years, Nature has slowly rejected us, turning us into hideous and magic-starved monsters because of our gluttonous use of her magic.
Ironic that mortal blood, especially a witch’s, was the key to striking weariness from our immortal bones, preventing our deterioration.
Perhaps that’s why mortals are reaped early, before you can learn to fight back.
Before our remedy is taken from us completely.
” Her laugh is humourless and cruel. “But don’t worry, no one is sinking their teeth into you, not while you’re a guest in Odhran’s home. That would be rude.”
I look into the mirror and see her standing behind me. “Get dressed and come down for breakfast,” she instructs. “And hurry. They don’t leave leftovers.” She disappears from the mirror’s reflection, closing my bedroom door as she leaves.
Aed stirs in my mind, his form so large and powerful that I have to brace myself. “Go to breakfast. Keep your strength. I will educate you on the histories later.” His mouth stretches into a smile, his teeth as sharp as razors in the dark depths of my mind. There’s no getting used to him.
The clothing left for me is similar to the outfit Eadan wore when I first saw her in the market square.
Tight black pants hugged her legs while the knee-high leather boots creaked softly as she walked.
A bishop-sleeved black tunic top peeked out from underneath her fitted leather corset, accentuating her figure.
It suits her personality perfectly. Meanwhile, I’ll be a complete imposter wearing her clothes.
Maybe that’s the point, to show me how out of place I am. It’s a feeling I’m accustomed to.
Beneath the pile of clothing, I catch a glimpse of something yellow.
It’s not a vibrant summer yellow, rather an autumn yellow.
Without hesitation, I reach under Eadan’s loaned items and retrieve my cloak, tied into a neat roll.
I bring it to my nose, inhaling the smell of home.
A small smile threatens to surface, but I shove it back down.
Pulling the large white shirt over my head, I’m met with the faint aroma of peppermint and cinnamon lingering on the fabric.
My nose wrinkles, practically seeing Odhran’s face before me.
I waste no time throwing it as far as it can fly.
Carefully, I unwrap the bandages encircling my chest, anticipating, at the very least, a twinge of pain.
Holding my breath, I look into the full-length mirror reflecting my scars, their countless silver and pink stripes across my back.
I’m intimately familiar with each one. They serve as a constant reminder that trust must be earned, not freely given.
A reminder that when love fades it leaves an enormous gaping hole of nothingness in its wake.
What’s missing are the fresh wounds from my governess’s latest lashings, those that bled through the bodice of my dress last night.
There’s no sign that they were ever there to start with.
The only marks are those carved into my memory.
Odhran cleaned them after he brought me here.
He’d insisted on it when I was too tired to fight him.
There was a strange sort of comfort in being cared for by him, even though I remember it like I would a distant dream.
I take pride in my reflection, not hiding behind heavy skirts or long-sleeved shirts.
Eadan’s soft black pants cling to my body, allowing me to move freely.
The corset accentuates my waist, making me appear delicate and fierce all at once, yet it doesn’t constrict me like the ones I wore back home.
Even though my hair is braided as usual, falling over my right shoulder, I look noticeably different. Stronger. I like it.