3. Orphium
Chapter 3
Orphium
I dropped through the hatch, slipping back into the cabin as my caravan approached the town square. By the light of day I might have considered making a grander entrance, standing on the roof while loudly announcing my arrival. But the dazzling glow of my cabin’s collection was nuisance enough. Sometimes it did well to approach humans with humility, especially when one was burdened by a hungry belly.
“Soon, my sweet,” I muttered, clutching my stomach with one hand, sweeping my hair back with the other.
My tongue stuck out of the corner of my mouth in concentration as I made myself presentable in a mirrored disc of polished silver. Silver didn’t harm me — I’d heard that sort of thing was deadlier to vampires, or was it werewolves? Imagine being vulnerable to something so precious.
Iron didn’t frighten the fae, either. Silly rumor that we nevertheless allowed to spread to our advantage. The metals that could harm the fae were the same kinds that could harm any other living creature — that is, metals that were forged into sharp and pointy tips.
For there was no hiding my fae nature, no matter how hard I tried. Even the biggest, floppiest hats couldn’t conceal my pointed ears — and besides, I looked ridiculous in hats. Ears and piercing green eyes aside, we didn’t really look so different from humans at all.
It was only when you stared too hard that you might find all the tiny clues. Features that seemed a little too pronounced. The sharpness of my face, the angularity of my cheekbones, the glimmer in my smile. Everything just a little too heightened, but wasn’t that appropriate enough? We were better than humans. Cleverer. Lovelier. Deadlier.
Still, Orphium of the Dawning Court was not a dangerous man. I did not harm, lie, cheat, or steal. Everything I acquired, I acquired fairly through games of chance. If anyone was at fault, it was Lord and Lady Luck. I tugged on the collar of my shirt, plucking an errant leaf out of the feathered tendrils of my hair as I practiced my very handsomest smile. I winked. The mirror winked back.
If Orphium of the Dawning Court was guilty of one thing, it was the crime of being far too pretty.
Voices outside the caravan, a few more than I’d expected. This late at night? No matter. I’d hoped for a sleepy innkeeper, someone I could charm into making me a hot meal, something more substantial than the mushrooms and berries I’d been foraging on the road. I gave my hair a final rake with my fingers, arranging it into a dramatic swoop.
Time to put on a show.
I slid back the bolt on the little door in the rear of the caravan, the regular way out. I sprang out and landed lightly on both feet, kicking up a clod of earth as I made my graceful landing. “Friends! Everyone, please, please! There’s plenty for everybody, but it’s quite late at night and I — oh.”
I glanced about, the wind completely leaving my sails as I noticed that there were only three people standing around me. A shriveled old man in a hodgepodge suit of armor, what appeared to be a younger, ganglier version of him in a similarly mismatched suit, and a stout woman wearing an apron, her hair up in rollers.
Barrowdeep’s pitiful excuse for a town guard, then, and what appeared to be the local innkeeper, based on the stains on her apron. I gave the three of them my best smile, but made sure to shine brightest upon the innkeeper. Here she stood with the little town’s ragtag security squad, and yet it was she who wore the expression of sternest authority.
Hands on my hips, I stuck my chest out and tutted. “And here I was expecting a larger crowd to greet me.”
“It’s late,” the woman said gruffly, her thick arms folded across her bosom, thick brows meeting in the center of her forehead. “Everyone is fast asleep, or soon to be. State your business, traveler.”
“Only an entertainer passing through, kind madam.” I did my best to hold my smile, never flinching. I made a flourish with my hand as I gestured at my caravan. “A traveling magician. An illusionist. A prestidigitator. I was hoping for somewhere to lay my head, and perhaps to enjoy a hearty meal?”
Old rusty metal clanked as the two guards craned their necks for a better look inside my wagon. The woman’s eyes narrowed, the corners of her lips crinkling as she regarded the caravan, and then my face with deep suspicion. Still I held my smile, teeth gritted together.
Never falter. Never flinch. Never give a single inch.
“Magician, eh?” said the innkeeper. “You one of those kinds who can read the future? Because I don’t see magic. I see temptations and foolish decisions in Barrowdeep’s future. We’re not too keen on gambling around here.”
And I nearly did flinch, impressed by how quickly she’d deduced the contents of the caravan with such a casual glance.
“I see that my reputation precedes me. But as I’ve explained, it is quite late. Orphium’s Emporium is closed for the evening. I assure you, madam, that my business involves far more than just — ”
“More than just gambling?” she interrupted, pointing through my caravan’s windows. “A pair of dice over on that shelf. All those decks of cards are worn around the edges. And don’t think I don’t see that stack of wooden cups over yonder. I’m familiar with all these tricks that you fae like to play.”
I’d promised not to flinch, but this woman was wearing away at my armor. Surely she didn’t mean to discriminate against me just because I was one of the fae. But studying her eyes, sure enough, I could sense that she was far more concerned with the possibility that I was a grifter, a shyster, a charlatan.
“My good woman,” I said, lightly resting my hand against my chest, as natural a show of honesty as I could muster. “I only intend to provide amusement and laughter wherever I go. And one way I can offer that is by playing my games. Orphium of the Dawning Court only wishes to bring a little light and laughter to Barrowdeep.”
The younger of the two guards chuckled to himself. “I like games.” The older, gruffer of the pair elbowed this younger one, mumbling something indistinct behind his huge gray mustachios.
The innkeeper rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Whatever you say, sir. As long as your coin’s good, I’m happy to provide room and board.” She didn’t look all that happy, in my opinion, but at least it was one foot in the door.
“And the hot meal?” I asked, smiling again as I raised my finger in interjection.
“And a hot meal. Name’s Jeromah,” she said, thumbing over her shoulder at one of the larger buildings, which wasn’t saying much considering the humble atmosphere and squat skyline of Barrowdeep. “Not much left in the larder, but it should do for the night. Riggs and Redginald here will make sure your caravan is safe in the town square for the evening.”
Riggs, the younger guard, pressed his nose up against my wagon’s window. Something inside me shivered as his cheek left a greasy imprint against the glass .
“No fire in there, surely,” he said. “How does it all stay so bright?”
I tapped the end of my nose and winked. “Just a touch of benevolent fae magic, my good man.”
The older guard, Redginald, cleared his throat noisily, clanking and rattling in his armor as he did. “We’ve never had one of the fae passing through these parts. Begging your pardon, but as captain of the local guard, it is my duty to inform you that we expect civility for the extent of your stay in Barrowdeep. Our facilities are modest, but we offer what we can to travelers, and we expect to be treated respectfully in kind.”
A straight line formed in his back as he clicked his heels smartly together, clanking again. I held back my laughter and instead offered him a low bow of my head.
“I have not come to do harm to your people, Sir Redginald.”
The old man’s back straightened even further at the sound of the honorific, something he clearly had never been called in his lifetime. His hollow cheeks reddened as he coughed softly into his hand.
“Well, I wouldn’t presume to pretend that I am anything approaching a knight,” he said, embarrassed and a little flattered.
“But you and your son are appreciated as our sentries and defenders all the same,” said a fourth voice.
I nearly shrank away when this fourth person approached. A handsome man, no doubt, his chin dark with stubble, his temples streaked with graying hair. But what had almost frightened me was the thing he carried at the end of a chain. An ember glowed from within the cage dangling at its end, emanating sweet smoke. A censer, one that marked him as a cleric. A priest, as humans liked to call them.
My eyes flickered up to the clouds, an odd sensation gripping my chest. These humans and their gods — I did not trust things that I could not see, that I did not understand. At least with fae magic, you knew what you were getting. You could see the results. Magic crafted by your own hand. These invisible gods were a different matter.
Never falter. Never flinch. Never give a single inch.
“Welcome to Barrowdeep, friend,” the priest said, his twinkling eyes and bright white teeth gleaming against the dark of his beard.
These creatures were charismatic, these servants of the human gods. Growing up among the fae, I’d known the stars to be beautiful things. Holes in the sky, little openings into the heavens, perhaps even distant gateways to worlds beyond. Learning of human priests and their faith, their unseen gods? It tarnished their beauty. Now, the stars felt as a thousand eyes, constantly watching me, judging from above.
“I thank you for your kind welcome,” I said sweepingly, never letting my guard down, never relinquishing the mask of confidence and charm. Of all the humans I’d met in Barrowdeep, this could well be the most dangerous of all. “I’ve been given a warm welcome. It’s been a long, hard journey on the road these past days. I look forward to a full belly and a good night’s rest. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Whiston,” he offered by way of introduction. “Father Whiston. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I take it that you are one of the fae? I hope it isn’t inappropriate of me to inquire.”
He showed me another one of his entrancing smiles, gesturing at his ear as if to indicate the odd pointedness of my own. Since leaving the Fae Wilds, I’d never really found cause for offense in my encounters with humans. In truth, I relished the attention, basking in the curiosity of those who’d never met my kind.
But somehow, coming from a priest, it nearly sounded like an insult.
“Not inappropriate at all,” I said, remembering to keep my jaw loose and relaxed, never gritting my teeth. “I’ve come a very long way indeed. Orphium of the Dawning Court. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“How is it that you’ve arrived unharmed?” asked yet another voice, this one the coldest of all. Who were all these bloody people, and why were they still awake?
I craned my neck over to the source of the voice. He, too, held a light source in one hand. The lantern’s flame flickered from within the glass, lifted just high enough to illuminate the face of this uncouth interloper. I held my breath.
Oh, dear.
Father Whiston, the human priest? He was clearly an attractive sort of human, if a little older for my taste. This other man, on the other hand, was arresting.
Dark eyes smoldered at me from beneath his locks of dark hair, strands fallen loose from the bun gathered at the back of his head. His beard was full, unkempt in the way that it seemed to have been forgotten and neglected, where once it had perhaps been manicured and neat .
Even fully clothed, I could trace the outline of his body — the broadness of his shoulders, the slenderness of his hips. The thick, corded arms of someone who was not unused to hard labor. Was this a farmer? A woodcutter, perhaps, or maybe the slowest-moving member of the local guard.
But he wore no armor and carried no weapon, unless one counted the shovel at his side. He certainly wore the haunted look of someone who’d seen battle. I was sure I recognized the look from others I’d met on the road — deserters who’d fled from conflict, wounded soldiers too broken and bloodied to continue fighting, traveling to return to their little homes and hamlets.
This man had seen darkness. That was how he could recognize my own. That was why he knew to be suspicious of me.
Suddenly I regretted telling all these people that I hailed from the Dawning Court. But what did these peasant folk know of the courts and the Fae Wilds? This brooding man with his dark eyes, his questioning glare — what could he possibly know? I took a slow, silent breath through my nostrils, sipping in the cool air of the night, stilling my nerves before I answered.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, kind sir,” I said, my voice light, feigning innocence. The man’s expression darkened further. He knew that I was playing coy. He knew that I was teasing.
He stalked forward three, four steps, his lantern illuminating more of his face, coming close enough that I could smell his scent on the evening breeze. Sweat. Fresh earth. Woodsmoke. Here was a man who worked with his hands. Honest. Good. Tantalizing. The lamplight highlighted the glint of sweat along his skin, coating his throat, the carelessly exposed planes of his chest. I licked my lips, recognizing that a different sort of hunger was now stirring within me.
“You know what I mean,” he said, even rougher than before. “How is it that you’ve passed through all these lands unmolested, on your own, with a horseless cart? There’s turmoil still, fighting in these lands as far as Il-venesse and Whiteport. There’s threats on the road, danger from both the living and the dead.”
His lips tightened as his eyes flitted toward the priest, as if realizing he’d said something wrong. I knew well enough of these dangers and had been warned over and over about the wakened dead. It made sense, did it not? That all this killing, all this corruption would finally pollute the land, choke the soil of Aidun.
So much so that the dead themselves would sooner leave the blood-soaked earth, finding it unfit to serve as their final resting place. These humans had watered the earth with carnage, and the earth was responding in turn with the undead blight.
But to the handsome man with the handsome body, I turned my hands up, shrugged, and smiled, knowing it would anger him even more.
“Why, it is just as your friends have so astutely observed. I am a fae man of the Dawning Court, skilled in the wild magics of my people. Hence the horseless carriage, and hence my unharmed state.”
I gestured at myself, sweeping both hands from shoulder to hips, demonstrating the pristine and unblemished condition of my body. Perhaps it was also an attempt to show the man what he would be missing if he continued being rude to me.
“Your concern, however, is extremely flattering,” I said with a smile. I couldn’t resist firing one last arrow. His cheeks reddened, but whether from anger or embarrassment, I couldn’t say. His lips parted as if he meant to argue again, but a sudden sharp look from Jeromah was all it took to shut his mouth tight.
“Now, if all that’s settled. Madam Jeromah? I believe we discussed the matter of nourishment.”
The woman scoffed, motioning for me to follow her. “Jeromah is fine. Call me ‘madam’ again and I’ll box your ears.”
I feigned a gasp, reaching for one of my pointed ears. I wondered if this was another accidental affront, a thinly veiled insult, but Father Whiston only laughed, as if to show that Jeromah’s surliness was only part of her nature.
He walked abreast of me as I followed the woman to her tavern — the Ugly Mug. How quaint. I realized with a sharp stab of discomfort that the priest intended to accompany me at my meal. The thought turned even the promise of dinner to ashes in my mouth.
Yet half an hour later, my stomach full with half of a roast chicken and some day-old bread, Father Whiston and I were laughing at the table as if we were old friends. The man wasn’t all that bad after all, not as preachy as I would have expected from a man of faith.
I sat with him and Jeromah, holding court at our own private little corner in the tavern, regaling them with stories of my life on the road — some of it embellished, all of it amusing. I even managed to get Jeromah to crack a smile. Excellent. Worming my way into these humans’ hearts wouldn’t be as difficult as I thought.
Except for that one.
I’d noticed him slinking into the Ugly Mug after the three of us. The man with the shovel sat alone at the far end of the tavern, nursing his own mug of ale, every swig of his drink leaving a white strip of foam across his mustache. He swiped at it angrily each and every time, something that made me smirk.
Perhaps I could have a little more fun than usual while I was in town. It was endearing, his anger, this dark disgruntled man with his rugged earthy demeanor.
“Don’t look now,” I whispered to Jeromah and Father Whiston, lowering my voice. “The man with the shovel is still here, watching us.”
They both turned to look despite my warning. I rolled my eyes and thumped my open hand against the table, meaning it as a jovial, inviting gesture.
“Shovel man,” I called out across the room. “Would you care to join us?”
He didn’t answer, only lifting his mug to his mouth yet again, giving himself another foamy mustache. He glowered as he swiped it away with the back of his hand. I bit my lip to hold in my laughter.
“Oh, don’t mind him,” Whiston said, cradling his own ale in two hands. “That’s just Leoric, the gravekeeper. He doesn’t take too kindly to new people. But give him a little time. He may warm to you yet.”
I lifted my mug to my lips, but not before offering it across the room in a polite toast. Still no response from this Leoric and his smoldering eyes. Those lips, the pink tongue that swept between them to lick away his foamy ale. I took a sip of my drink, warm and bitter and sweet.
We fae were known far and wide for our love of favors and contracts and deals. But above all else, we liked playing games.
I would especially enjoy playing this one.