Chapter Seven Yeeran
Chapter Seven
Yeeran
It had been a whole year since the last Flare Feast but for Yeeran it felt like a lifetime. So much had changed.
Back then it had been Vyce and Chall on the throne, though their reign was fated to end after they had sipped from the poisoned chalice.
Mosima had never really recovered from losing the queens.
With Rayan, an unknown half-fae, being proclaimed king, trust in the crown had begun to fracture.
It wasn’t surprising that the Lightless had rebelled.
Golan was still healing the rift that had developed there.
Yeeran watched him as he twirled across the dance floor.
He was dressed in a blue linen shift lined with gold beading.
His long hair was braided in plaits down his back, the tails of which were tied off with bright red bows.
The make-up on his face was extravagant, swirling an intricate pattern of vines from the corner of his eyes down to where he’d drawn on his beard.
Politics suits him, Pila said as she too watched Golan from the periphery of the dance floor.
Yes, he has done much good. Look how many Lightless are here, Yeeran replied.
Pila hummed deep in her throat. Politics does not suit you, though. As ever, Pila’s honesty was as subtle as a blunt knife to the heart.
Yeeran looked sidelong at Motogo and Malak next to her. Four hours it had taken to convince them to come along. Four long hours of back and forth until Yeeran had wanted to pull her hair out and tear at the skin on her scalp.
‘Are you enjoying the evening?’ Yeeran asked, as pleasantly as she could. The two elves had said very little since arriving in Mosima.
‘You should have let me bring a guard. Or at least a weapon,’ Motogo growled. ‘I feel outnumbered.’
‘That’s because you are,’ Yeeran said dryly. ‘But luckily for you this is not a war zone, this is a party.’
‘And instead of combat, there is dancing,’ Malak said. His eyes were glazed with a film of wonderment as he watched the fae writhe and twirl in their near-to-nothing clothing.
Just wait until the fire is doused… Yeeran’s gaze flickered straight to Furi.
The queen wore a dress made of glowing fraedia crystal, each gem strung together with lace.
A cloak spun in gold thread was tied at her neck, the train billowing behind her when she walked.
The outfit was ostentatious, gaudy, and a flagrant display of their resources. But most of all, it was beautiful.
‘The tailor called this weave “a kiss to crush”,’ Furi had whispered as she walked past Yeeran earlier. It was almost as though the queen was toying with Yeeran. Though Furi had made her feelings clear–their relationship had inflicted more pain than pleasure.
But Yeeran couldn’t help gazing along the seams of Furi’s dress. The lace revealed an overwhelming amount of her copper skin, and Yeeran’s eyes followed the curve of her breast to the cluster of fraedia that covered her nipple. Yeeran’s fingers twitched as she recalled circling them, tasting them—
‘All this time we thought they were imprisoned–threatened–by our siege. But it is a paradise down here,’ Motogo said.
Yeeran sighed from the rude interruption of her musings. ‘Everyone says that. But Mosima is still a prison, no matter how beautiful the bars of the cell. Remember this entire festival is to celebrate the sun touching the Tree of Souls.’
Malak tilted his head to the side. ‘Explain the Tree of Souls again?’
‘It ties the king and queen to Mosima.’
‘Like a binding? Similar to the obeah?’
‘I suppose,’ Yeeran said, considering. ‘Yes, you could say that.’
‘This binding–it unlocks access to their magic, and the fae language? Right?’
‘Yes.’
‘And if an obeah dies, so too does the fae?’
‘Indeed.’ There was something about Malak’s line of questioning that made Yeeran feel uncomfortable.
He is asking questions very thoughtfully so that you answer a question he is yet to speak, Pila said, pinpointing Yeeran’s exact feelings.
‘But not all fae are bound to an obeah?’ he pressed on.
‘No. A few hundred years ago some of the fae stopped binding to obeah. The theory is that the elves…we…killed their potential soul partners in our quest to make weapons. The fae call those unbound the Lightless,’ Yeeran said.
‘What do they call you?’ he said softly as he looked at Pila. ‘An elf who defied their natural laws and bound to one of theirs?’
Yeeran folded her arms. ‘They call me Ambassador Yeeran.’
Malak noticed Yeeran’s change in tone. He bobbed his head in apology and gave her a wide smile.
‘Sorry, my curiosity has always been unmatched. And I must admit, I am a little jealous of your bond with the creature.’
‘Pila,’ Yeeran said. ‘Not creature.’
‘A second apology then.’ This time he looked directly at Pila as he said it, ‘I’m sorry, Pila.’
The obeah considered him for a moment before yawning and looking away. Malak laughed, taking no offence.
‘She knows her mind,’ he said.
‘That she does,’ Yeeran confirmed.
How would I not know my mind? This man is very odd, Pila said.
He is.
‘The fray is larger than I imagined,’ Motogo said. They had been silently listening to Malak’s questioning, letting him take the lead. It was another indication to Yeeran that Motogo deferred to Malak much more than they realised.
‘Yes, it is large, but do you see now why you cannot mine it? Mosima would perish.’
Yeeran could see Motogo’s eyes gleaming with greed.
‘It would be a genocide,’ she added.
‘It would,’ Motogo said carefully.
They would do it, Yeeran realised with horror. They would truly commit to the mass murder of all fae. Have I misjudged this? Are they only here to plot their invasion?
The boundary–do not forget it protects us, Pila said.
For now. What if Lettle discovers how to remove it?
That is a problem for tomorrow. Right now, the queen is coming–be the ambassador you have claimed to be.
Yeeran smoothed her brow lines and smiled as Furi came towards them.
‘Queen Furi,’ Yeeran said. ‘We were just discussing how important the fray is to the fae’s way of life.’
Furi stood so close to Yeeran that she could smell her. Her golden hair had taken on some of the smoke from the fire, adding a mellowness to her usual sweet perfume. Yeeran had to hold herself back from pressing her nose into the soft skin of Furi’s neck.
‘Way of life? The fray is our life,’ Furi said, her eyes flashing.
‘Of course. It is essential, we can see that now,’ Malak answered before Motogo could.
Yeeran shot him a grateful glance. Her hopes rested firmly with him now–if Motogo was intent on mining the fray, then Malak would be the only one who could convince them otherwise.
Furi addressed the chieftain. ‘Are you enjoying the banquet?’
Yeeran had encouraged Furi to keep her engagements with the elves to a minimum. Not because she didn’t trust her, but because she didn’t trust them. Furi was a unique personality, and her fiery temperament could often be misconstrued as a threat.
Because it often is, Pila said. The obeah had gone to join Amnan in the Tree of Souls. Their tails curled and intertwined with each other’s as they lounged among the tree’s branches.
True.
‘It is hard to enjoy anything while my people starve,’ Motogo said.
Malak’s eyes twitched as though he were going to roll them but stopped just in time. Yeeran understood the feeling.
‘Why would you bring your people to the Wasted Marshes then?’ Furi said lightly. ‘There is even less to forage here than in your Elven Lands.’
Furi caught Yeeran’s eye as if to say, Look how well I’m doing at diplomacy.
‘You killed one of our own, and we will always retaliate,’ Motogo said.
Yeeran watched Furi carefully. They were crossing a very rickety bridge, and if she swung the rope, they’d all plunge down.
But the comment seemed to trickle off her like water on feathers. She even smiled.
Oh no.
The queen turned her fingers through the fraedia necklace she wore and said to Motogo, ‘Which one are you again? The chieftain of Crescent or…?’
Motogo reached for an invisible drum, and Yeeran had to step between them before all her months of working on the peace treaty turned to dust.
‘You say you want peace but you insult me!’ Motogo shouted. Malak held onto the chieftain’s shoulders. He nodded grimly to Yeeran as he steered Motogo away.
I am a glorified shepherd, Yeeran thought as she too pulled Furi in the opposite direction.
The queen was laughing.
‘Furi…that was not smart.’
‘No, but it was funny.’ She was still smiling, attempting to draw Yeeran into her amusement.
Yeeran was not amused, and when Furi realised it, her smile dropped into a scowl.
‘It’ll be fine, Motogo wanted to see the fray and they have. All they have to do is report it back to the other chieftains. Motogo is not the one in control, I’m sure it’s Malak.’
She looked back at the general who had seemingly calmed Motogo down.
‘Anyway, they’re about to forget all about their worries. It’s time to douse the flame, and let’s just say I’ve made arrangements for an unforgettable end to the evening…’ Furi’s hips swayed as she sauntered off, leaving Yeeran’s mouth agape.
‘Did you warn the elves what happens when the flame is doused?’ a voice said behind her.
Yeeran turned to Golan with a heavy sigh. ‘No, I did not. And Furi’s arrangements make me even less inclined to warn them.’
She remembered the first time she had experienced the fae sate their desires under the cover of darkness. ‘The true party’, as Furi called it. Banquets were the ultimate indulgence, and what was more satiating than pleasure?
Yeeran had been fascinated by the tradition, and a little shocked.
But most of all she had been aroused. The Royal Woodland came alive with the sounds of passion.
Bioluminescent star gliders lit up the forest as they flew by, revealing flashes of glistening skin and hungry mouths.
The flying lizards gathered most where Jani blood flowed, and so Furi was illuminated most of all.
Yeeran felt her face flush at the thought.