Chapter Fifteen
Reaching into a nest box where a very floofy hen sits, my hand slips under her in an attempt to collect any eggs she’s hiding. A guttural growling sound comes from her, clearly expressing her displeasure at my audacity. She pulls her head in tight, her feathers expanding.
It’s supposed to be a warning or perhaps a threat. But in reality, she succeeds in turning herself into a ball of feathers.
Trust me, chicken, this isn’t ideal for either of us.
Instead of reaping souls, I’m collecting eggs.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
I can hear the words in Vaelyn’s voice.
Any other demon would feel insulted considering the prestige of my recently vacated role as a Death Bringer. But the truth is, I’m happy to be collecting eggs. No one dies collecting eggs.
I’d found Cora first thing after leaving my room; she was on her way to tend to the hens. And I essentially begged her to let me meet the chickens.
Surprised by my enthusiasm, she agreed.
While I wouldn’t be able to see them running about the garden due to the rain, which is what I had hoped for, I could at least help her collect eggs. She’d introduced me to the hens, pointing them out and listing their names, along with any other little quirks in their personalities.
I don’t remember them all yet, but I will, come time.
Cora laughs from across the small coop as she watches me.
“Ignore her warnings, she won’t peck you,” she says with a dismissing wave of her hand. “Button is all beak, no brain.”
She reaches with seasoned ease under the hen she stands closest to, withdraws two brown-shelled eggs, and places them into the basket hooked over her arm. She makes it look so simple, and the hen seems undisturbed by her invasion.
Searching with my fingers as the hen sits on my hand, I brush against a single egg. Button, the hen, continues to make growling sounds as I carefully remove the egg from the box.
“These hens can’t produce enough eggs for the temple, can they?” I ask as I stretch toward Cora, setting the egg into her basket.
“Oh no,” she laughs with a shake of her head.
“These girls aren’t kept for their egg production.
That’s just a bonus. No, I asked Artemise if I could keep a small flock the day I became a Priestess.
Typically, pets aren’t permitted here at the temple, but I made my argument regarding the benefits of chicken keeping and Artemise granted it.
With the stipulation that I care for them, of course. ”
I nod as I listen along while she continues.
“I’d always had chickens growing up. When I moved to Ollora, it was my first time living somewhere without them, and I didn’t like it. I missed having them around.”
“Where are you from?” I ask, genuinely curious as I step toward the next hen in the line of nest boxes. The gray feathered creature stares at me with a challenging glint in her red-orange eye.
“A small farming town south of here. Brilire,” she answers, shifting to the next on her left.
I wouldn’t know the town if it smacked me in the face.
After centuries of reaping, I’d visited nearly every town or city Eldoterra has to offer, which unfortunately, caused many of the smaller towns to blend together into an amorphous memory.
Reaching toward the gray hen, her head streaks out faster than lightning and she pecks the back of my hand.
Hard.
I yank my hand away, rubbing the sore on my pant leg, a string of Malbolge curses flying from my lips.
Cora begins laughing.
“Darla, unlike Button, will peck.” She turns back to the hen before her, again demonstrating how easy the task is.
How easy this task should be.
“What made you leave Brilire?” I’m more than curious now.
If I’m going to be spending time with these mortals, I should know things about them.
That means asking questions.
Right?
I’d never been the greatest at socialization in the hells. I lack the charismatic presence of my father. I tend to observe from afar and engage in conversation only when required.
New realm, new life, new Vestaris.
A soft smile spreads over Cora’s face as she answers, “My father arranged a marriage to a man. I came to the Moon Temple because if accepted into service, I wouldn’t be forced to leave. You cannot take from Celesta without repercussions.”
My brows raise. She joined for protection, to escape an arranged marriage. Not unlike myself.
“I know what that’s like,” I say, my voice quiet.
Cora’s eyes widen, understanding my unspoken words. “Is that why you left?” she asks.
I nod. “Had I known leaving the hells was possible, I would have left sooner.”
“You didn’t know until Celesta showed you,” she says with a small half smile.
I nod again.
Wanting to move past the topic of arranged marriages, Celesta, and the reason for my escape, I ask, “How long ago did you come to Ollora?”
“It will be six years this autumn solstice. I’ll be twenty-five a few days before.” There’s a sadness in her voice that resonates within me. “If I had stayed, I would be married to a merchant’s son and have gods know how many children by now.”
The look on her face tells me that she fully understands both the joy and mourning that comes with finding freedom in a new place.
“You’re so young.” My brows shoot high.
Staking out alone at nineteen is mind-boggling to me. I can’t recall my first century, honestly—at least, not clearly. And the fact that she’s not yet a quarter century? She’s barely more than a child, even within the context of a human’s expected lifespan.
“Still a babe and expected to bear children?” My lip pulls back at the thought. “Your father had best hope we never cross paths.”
Cora’s laughter is golden as she places three more eggs into her basket. “Eve says the same thing. She’s always teasing me about our age difference. She says I make her feel like a cradle robber at times. But, for a human, I am a fully grown adult. I promise.”
“How old is Eve?” My brows crease with the question.
Grinning, her eyes meet mine. “Eve is older by a few hundred years. She’s barely an adult by your fae standards, so really, I’m the older one.”
What in the nine hells kind of logic is this?
Shaking my head, I decide not to argue the fallacies in her thinking.
I laugh, “You forget I’m not fae.”
“Maybe…” she trails off, her head tilting as she mulls over the point. “But you don’t act like a demon. Referring to you as ‘hybrid’ feels insulting, and you don’t look like a demi-fae. You’re fae to me.” She shrugs.
I’ve never been called anything but demon by mortals.
Dumbfounded, I stare at her in silence.
She returns the stare with a confused and concerned look.
“What is it?” she asks.
I stammer, and my cheeks begin to burn.
Why am I feeling embarrassed about this?
The concern on her face deepens and she approaches me.
“My whole existence, I’ve been reminded that I’m a demon. That I belong to the hells,” I finally admit, sighing to mask the tremble in my voice. “And you calling me fae…” I let loose a long, long breath, “has me feeling a way I don’t quite understand.”
Her face softens, and a small smile forms.
“Vestaris, your father may be the king of demons, but you are no demon,” she says in a reassuring tone. “I’d dare say you’re like the rest of us—just trying to find your own happiness in the world.”
Cora flashes me a bright smile that pierces straight through my feeling little heart. It’s so bright and pure, I’m forced to look away.
She is innocence and goodness.
Everything I’m not.
I want to transition seamlessly into the living realm. But how can I do that if I’m persistently slapped in the face with reminders of how much darkness and death I carry?
It isn’t Cora’s fault.
She’d spoken without malice. Intending kindness. Showing me it’s possible for mortals to look past what I truly am. But it’s a kindness borne of ignorance, and her outlook will change when she sees the truth of the matter, of my demonic blood.
“I may not appear demonic, but I assure you, I am demon. I’ve only ever existed amongst demons for centuries. It’s all I’ve known,” my voice is quiet with revelation. “Perhaps I’m not the most notorious demon, as I don’t often embrace my urges, but they’re still there.”
“Twelve centuries is a long time,” she grins, “but, even so, that makes you like what… mid-thirties in human years?”
“What?” The look I give her is one of sheer confusion.
She bursts into laughter. “Humans have such a short lifespan, we reach adulthood around our early twenties. Fae, on the other hand, aren’t considered adults until about three hundred years.
To help our brains manage the fact that we’re walking around interacting with a species that can potentially live forever, we’ve attributed that roughly every two and a half centuries is the equivalent of around five human years. ”
Blinking, I continue to stare.
“It helps us relate to and understand fae behavior,” she says with a half grin.
I think I understand.
Or perhaps I don’t.
Being concerned with age must be a purely mortal thing.
Which, considering Cora’s involvement with Eve, sheds some light on the dynamics between humans and fae in the context of a romantic entanglement.
Breathing deep, my attention turns back to the hen sitting protectively in the next box before me. She is the last hen that needs to be checked for eggs. She eyes me with one wide, rust-colored eyeball, coiling to strike me again. Shoving my hand under Darla, she growls but remains coiled.
My hand falls upon three eggs. Reaching blindly, I collect them and withdraw my hand slowly. Darla rears back and pecks at the fleshy part of my hand between my forefinger and my thumb.
Shocked by the pain, my hand loosens and flexes instinctively, successfully dropping one egg while crushing the remaining two.
More colorful Malbolge language leaves me cursing the creature and all her ancestors.
My hand drips with broken yolk and egg shell as I stare at the busted egg on the floor.