#captain and command

It was late afternoon. The sun hung low in the sky, baking the pavement and making ripples of heat dance across the streets and up into the eaves of the old barracks. Recruits lounged in the shadows of old guardian oaks, their tunics off and draped across their heads as if to protect them from the unrelenting rays of the sun. There would be relief no relief at dusk, when the sun lolled toward the horizon. Its haphazard attempts to set had yet to succeed in all the years Ma’Stald spent on this halfworld called the Ever Sanctum.

Even in the officers’ hall, the heat wrapped sticky fingers around unlucky fey and elf alike. Though all the windows were propped open, there was little movement to the air. It was still, hot, and unrelenting.

More unrelenting still was the oppressive smell of sorcery that lay across the kingdom. Its gossamer threads could barely be seen, a tapestry of silver and gold that covered the Elven Fields. It stretched from the northernmost shores of Uscia to the edge of the Findian deserts in the south, from heart of Falias all the way to the western shores of Murias. And Esras, capitol of the Elven Fields and seat of its power, lay at the heart of those strands of sorcery.

This sorcery was dangerous. It was powerful, rooted in the very foundations of the halfworld. A spell of this magnitude should have died with its creator. If it survived the death of its creator, then surely it ought to have collapsed under the weight of not one or two, but three separate wars. But the Elven Fields are not a place for should haves. Given both will and strength, one could cast any spell, create any weirding, they liked. After all, the halfworld itself was borne of a desperate queen’s deepest, most irrational hopes.

But that is not what this story is about. She is gone now, after all. She has been gone for a long, long while now.

They always stop talking whenever I walk into the room.

It doesn’t matter how loudly or how raucously they’re talking. As soon as I appear, it’s as if I summon a djinn of wind, and they can’t catch their breath, much less continue their chatter. They are all my age, somewhere between twelve and fifteen. Surely one would think they would have something to say to me. I am the heir to their throne, crown princess of a dying land annexed by forces outside our control. If nothing else, they should want to curry favor with me.

But they don’t. They never do.

Today it was before class began. I had already gotten up and done my morning chores, a practice my mother did not discourage despite my sudden elevation from exile to heir. She thought it was a good exercise in discipline and hard work. I thought it was a good excuse to escape the oppressive stares of my classmates. My cohort. My… Friends. What a worthless word here in this hostile and unfamiliar land.

I missed my desert homeland, the southern fortress of Findias where I had spent the first ten years of my life. Those first years had been good, peaceful ones that I'd spent with my parents and brother living in the sandstone fortress that guarded the pass into Findias. Perhaps we had been exiles but we had been together and we had been happy.

Then the war had come, sweeping away our happy times with fire and death and the smell of burning flesh. Findias fortress had fallen, our family ripped apart. Those last few years in the desert were a jumble of memories filled with fighting and screams. Sometimes I still woke up at night from nightmares of our burning fortress, trying to escape some terrible menace. We escaped and now Mother and I lived here, in this beautiful, elegant, and oppressive palace. And Father… and my brother…

I try not to think about them too often.

After morning chores I washed up and changed into an oversized tunic that came down past my knees. I had a good row with my nanny, a fussy woman who tried to make me wear some frilly gown and refused to let me do my own hair. After shouting at her that I would do as I pleased, I had snatched up my bookbag and slammed the door to my room, stomping to class and arriving much earlier than usual. So early in fact, that my sudden arrival had silenced the raucous conversation in the halls until our teacher arrived to open the door and usher us into class.

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” Lorelei doesn’t seem to notice the other youths’ sullen silence. He rarely does. I nodded to him and took my seat in the front row. There was an empty seat on my left and right. There was also an empty seat behind me. One would think that as Crown Princess, I’d at least have lackeys, or toadies, or at least a bootlicker. But despite my sudden elevation, I was a stranger here. My family had lived in exile from the central court my entire life, and while I did not remember everything that brought me to this place, I knew my cohort thought I didn’t belong. I didn’t disagree with them, and would have done much to be able to leave this awful place.

“Good morning, Lorelei,” I said politely as the teacher set a large tome on his desk at the front of the classroom. Class was held in one of the large solars that littered the palace, a room made entirely of crystal windows and elegant stone arches. Our desks are low tables and we sit on plush, brightly colored pillows. I actually enjoyed the subjects we learned about, though I had no doubt I would have enjoyed them better with my brother beside me and my father at the lectern.

While Lorelei started his lecture, I let my mind wander. Mum and I had arrived at the palace barely a week ago, returning from an extended stay at the Empyreal court of the angels. It had been a largely diplomatic visit, during which Mum had secured an alliance against the Despot from Pandemonium. Like most of the past year, I remembered little of our stay. I knew only that part of the visit had been because of me, and a faint sort of guilty itch spread its way down my spine whenever I thought back to it and the last few months in Findias. Something bad had happened. That much I knew for certain; why else would the most prominent Healer in all of Empyrean take such an interest in me?

It had been after the welcoming ceremony that Mum had taken me aside and explained that I was to be the next Queen of the elven courts. I still remembered the moment she had told me, remembered how my head hurt. The moment she had spoken, a sharp pain had lanced through my head, followed by a queasy feeling in my stomach. Mum had explained that with the old Queen dead, the throne should have passed to her. The elves passed their titles through the same sex sibling line, then to their descendants. Our longevity coupled with a low birthrate practically requires this.

But Mum was not going to be Queen. Instead when I came of age, I was to ascend the throne. I was still confused about that. Why couldn’t Mum take the throne? She had said it was because of something she had done. Something terrible and unforgivable, and if she held the throne the angels would not give us their support. And without them, she said, our kingdom would have already fallen to the demons. I’d thought our visit to the central palace had been just that- a visit. It wasn’t until she explained I was to be the next Queen that I’d realized we were staying. That didn’t mean I had to like it.

She had warned me that the court would be like this, with the uncomfortable silences and glares that followed me from place to place. The court had been very loyal to my predecessor Titania, and there were some who said that naming me heir apparent went against everything the old Queen had stood for. Bad enough I was an outsider from Findias. Worse, I was an exiled noble. But Mum said we were exiled nobles returning to take our rightful place at court. It was important, she said. It was right.

I still didn’t like it.

And I was still waiting for Father and Anibal to join us. Why hadn’t they? Briefly I felt a stabbing pain in my chest. I’d forgotten again. Forgotten they were dead, killed in the tumultuous battle that had destroyed Findias and was the prime reason I could never go home.

“Your Majesty? Princess Ter’Angres?”

My head jerked up at my name and I blinked, returning to the brightly lit classroom. A few girls were giggling behind their fans, their eyes on me as I stared at Lorelei stupidly. “Uh, what?”

Lorelei’s sharp features were patient. He was the kindest person I’d met at the palace and so far, the only one who didn’t treat me like a leper. “I asked, would you explain to the class what the Accord is and why it was necessary?”

Oh. Yeah. My feet had gone numb as I tried to stand, and I tripped over the folds of my long tunic. There was a smattering of laughter from my usually silent cohort as I straightened my tunic. I resisted the urge to glare at them. My cohort. Oh yes, and Mum thought I’d find friends among them.

I turned to face the class and straightened my shoulders, ignoring the familiar itch that crawled down my spine as I did so. There were only thirteen of us. Thirteen elven children in all the central territory, in all of Esras. Such a small class, I thought. What had happened to all the children in Esras? Were they all gone, killed in the war that had taken my brother and father?

Esras was the central territory, with Findias to the south, Murias to the west, and Falias to the east. The angels, being a more pragmatic sort, called these the southern, western, and eastern territories, all falling under the rule of the Central court, which they called the Elven Fields. My court. Or soon to be my court, anyway.

Each territory had a capitol, where the children went for school, training, and eventually, apprentice work. The capitols were also named for the territory, which was why the angels preferred to call our territories by their directional counterpart. The Healer had explained it to me briefly when I’d asked, and said it was too confusing to have both a city called and a territory both called Esras. I'd tried to explain to him that the city was Esras Proper, not Esras, but he'd insisted it was simpler just to call it the Central land. I'd tried to argue but he had told me to get rest and stop picking at technicalities.

The memories were clouding my mind, drawing my attention away from the subject I was supposed to be presenting on. I shook my head and my black hair flared around my face, still damp from my bath since I hadn't let my maid finish preparing it for court. It was damp and I tucked it behind my ears as I approached the lectern then turned to face the twelve other children. They all faced me, their expressions ranging from mild interest to outright dislike. I was surprised at that. It was the most emotion I had ever seen at a time.

"The Accord. Yes. Um." I stopped to gather my thoughts and saw a few of the others smirk at my discomfort. My fingers curled under my palms and I straightened my shoulders. Suddenly I knew what to say.

"The last five years have been hard. Our Elven Fields were torn apart by a civil war that only recently ended, and that ending is where the Accord began. Twenty years ago, the old Queen Titania exiled my mother and her family, sending us to the desert where we lived in relative obscurity until now. Fifteen years ago, the Lians ceded their land from the kingdom, declaring they would not swear allegiance to Queen Titania. In her desperation to keep the elven fields from falling apart, the Old Queen turned to the demons for help. This was her mistake and her downfall." 

My voice rang through the room, stifling those snickers that had accompanied the smirks from before. I leaned forward, resting my arms on the lectern as my voice rose. "Once, the demons might have helped us. After all, their alliance with the elves goes back to our First Queen, who set aside her differences to create the Grand Alliance. This was, of course, five hundred thousand years ago. Before the Fall of Assiah. Now, there has been no King in Hell since Assiah's fall, but my predecessor the Old Queen thought we could perhaps trust the Despot who rules in the King's place. This was a mistake, of course. The Despot agreed to help the Old Queen. In exchange for soldiers, she gave him permission to hunt for slaves among the Uscians in the north and the Findians of the south."

"That's not what happened," contradicted a boy with hair the color of spring daisies. His eyes were a bright emerald green and he wore an ermine tunic.

"That is what happened," I contradicted him. "And Lorelei asked me to tell the story so shut up and listen."

It was rude but it worked. THe boy crossed his arms and frowned at me, a furrow appearing in his brow. I returned to the story, ignoring the itch that worked its way up and down my spine. "The Old Queen thought the Despot would be happy hunting in two of our five territories. He was to leave Murias, Falias, and Esras untouched. She was wrong.

"When the Despot turned his attention to taking the people in all territories regardless of their allegiance to the Old Queen, she knew we would need help. But negotiations with the Empyreans had just broken down. They wanted our sacred clay and she would not give it to them. The Empyreans removed their reinforcements from the fields, leaving us vulnerable to the demons that Despot sent against us. For two years we lived in what amounted to open warfare between our people and at least two enemies." I took a deep breath. Here was where things got murky.

"After two years, the Old Queen called for a cease fire with the Empyreans and with Findias in the south. She asked for a congress, a meeting with her exiled sister, my Mother, and what remained of our allies in Empyrean. From that congress the Accord would be born." 

The Congress was supposed to have happened the year before my lost memories. I recalled Mum's cautious excitement about it. Recalled her hopes that her marriage to Phenex, an Empyrean himself, would be seen once more as an alliance of blood and kin, not as the abomination the Old Queen called it. I recalled meeting my half brother and his people for the first time. Then I recalled blood and fire and screams…and nothing m ore.

"But the Congress never happened," another boy called. This one's dark hair and eyes were nearly lost against his onyx skin. Against that dusky flesh his pewter tunic seemed to glow. 

I shook off my faulty memories again. "No, it did not. Instead, Findias fell and war returned to the Elven Fields. The Old Queen was killed by our enemies and we thought we would lose our kingdoms once and for all. We signed a revised Accord with Empyrean to stop the despot from taking our lands-"

“Who’s ‘we’?” one of the girls interrupted. I was startled. It was the first time one of the others had bothered to speak to me, even in a formal setting such as a classroom. She was a dainty brunette with wide eyes the color of good honey and a triangular face. Her tunic hugged her narrow frame and when she moved, it didn’t snag around her legs like mine did. She stood, smoothing the tunic around herself as she did so. "There was no 'we'. It was just your Mum, isn’t that right? The Exiled Lady Myssira, who has not been at court in over ten years and knew nothing about our current state of affairs, and who didn’t even see it fit to bring this Accord before the council, is that right?”

“Saysha-” Lorelei’s voice was low but I shook my head. 

“Oh, no, it’s alright, Lorelei.” I took a step forward and raised my voice. My temper was short at the best of times. Uncomfortable as I was and as awkward as the last week had been, I needed little goading. “That’s right, Saysha. She signed the Accord so she could save our kingdoms. Is that a problem?"

Saysha leaned forward, her amber eyes gleaming in the early morning light. "Yes, it's a problem. Your mother has no idea how things should be done. She's been away from her people for twenty years and she thinks she can just sign anything into law-"

I laughed, a brittle and mocking sound as all my anger and frustration spilled out onto the hapless girl. "Oh yes. However could Mother not know what has been happening in Esras for twenty years? How ignorant she must be, when Findias had been taking in countless refugees fleeing the Queen's wrath when they dared speak out against her. How dare my mother not hand over half her people to the demon slavers! My Mother, who defended Esras even though it meant the fall of Findias Fort, who never opened her gates to let in an army to slaughter the elven citizens. My Mother, knows more about how to be right and proper than any of you inbred morons, and she secured the only alliance that keeps the rest of us out of the Despot’s slave pens!"

"That's not true!" Now the boy with daisy-colored hair was on his feet. "Your mother signed us into slavery with the Empyreans, and she did it so she could save your filthy nephilim blood from their executioners' axe!"

“That is ENOUGH!” Lorelei’s hand was on my arm. Temper boiling, I glared at it and it fell away. "Thank you for your… concise retelling of events, your majesty. If you could be seated-"

"NO!" I shouted. "The Accord saved our people! It did not enslave anybody!"

"Prove it!" the boy yelled back. "Your mother killed the queen so she could put you on the throne! You're just an Empyrean puppet and not a proper elven lady at all! The Accord is trash, worthless-"

I opened my mouth to shout at him but Lorelei's hand gripped my arm again, fingers pinching. The pain cut through my anger and I saw his cerulean eyes were inches from mine. "Sit down, majesty. I will put this to rights."

His calm voice cut through my anger but it was in no way abated. I jerked away and sneered at the boy, then stalked away from the lectern and returned to my seat, ignoring the feel of her gaze on me. The skin on my back was trying to crawl off my spine as the others glared at me. I kept my chin raised and stared at Lorelei, waiting for him to speak.

The Murian remained at the lectern for several long minutes while mutters ran through the others around me. I ignored them and kept my hands clenched in my lap.

"Clearly, there are strong feelings left from the wars," Lorelei said quietly, his deep voice dry. This was such a rich understatement that I had to cough to hide my laugh. "While there are many finer points that can be debated, we are all in agreement on these things. We needed allies against the Despot's soldiers. The Accord gave us those allies. WIthout it, we likely would no longer have a single kingdom, much less the five we know today. Now, I would like you all to take out your pencils and write this down."

Still angry, I fumbled in my bag to snatch up a pencil but it crisped to ash almost as soon as my finger closed around it. Surprised, I realized small curls of smoke were rising from the leather of my bookbag where I gripped it. Quickly dropping the bag I folded my hands under the table and listened while Lorelei gave us homework- to research and write an essay on how and why the Accord came into existence. And though it hardly surprised me, I realized Lorelei had no intention of correcting the boy's erroneous assumption that the Accord was a document enslaving the elven people to the Empyreans. At first I wondered why and then I realized..

Like me, Lorelei was a newcomer in Esras. He was from Murias, and Mum had invited him here to serve as the teacher to the children of the court. Unlike me, Lorelei dressed for court. His long hair was a pale shade of blue, his skin a deeper turquoise that was accented by the rich amber velvet tunic he wore. There were gills along his neck, black gashes against his dark skin that rippled sinuously. They were like little mouths in his flesh, gasping for air they couldn't breathe. I knew the Morfessans could not breathe air, and Lorelei wore an amulet that kept him alive when he was outside the water. He was a naiad, and I recalled from my father's lessons that naiads could only walk on land so long as they had magical help. The Morfessan family was one that had remained loyal to the Old Queen in troubled times. They were Murian and though the demons targeted their people eventually, they had been no allies of ours in the early years.

That was what Mum had done, too, though her clan was from the noble elven stock. Findians came from every clan and fey tribe, often driven out of Esras, Murias, or Falias when they refused to secede their land and titles to the elves who wanted them so badly. That infighting was what led to the old Queen giving the Despot permission to hunt for slaves in her kingdom. So long as he never took so-called pureblooded elves, he was free to take whomever he desired.

Of course, the Despot wouldn’t have been content with that. Which was why Mum had gone to Empyrean, and why Mum had to sign the Accord. With the entire might of the demons behind him, the Despot would have easily crushed our much smaller kingdom. No matter how much Saysha or her ilk harped, Mum had done us a world of good.

Then again, did she even see the fey clans as equals? I glanced at Saysha, taking in her perfect profile. The sloping forehead, triangular chin, and elegantly pointed ears all marked her as elven. So did her narrow shoulders and lanky build, but the dryads, naiads…Hells, every fey clan had those features. It was only the fact that her father toadied up to the Queen that kept her from being called a “dryad.”

I wondered how she would take me asking her what sort of tree she turned into and smothered a smirk. Saysha glowered at me suspiciously but Lorelei was clearing his throat. He turned around to regard us with his odd, slit-pupiled eyes.

“Miss Saysha, your comments were improper, especially considering your family’s standing,” Lorelei said to Saysha. According to our custom, her breach of etiquette had been greater than mind, and had to be addressed first.

Saysha glared at me. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

“That is a matter that can be debated. Later. Out of my classroom. Here, we use respect and we do not denigrate anyone based on their bloodline.” Lorelei pressed his fingertips together, spreading the webbing between them. “We are all fey, Saysha. Some of us are simply more…exotic than others.”

She snorted but didn’t argue. Lorelei waited a moment, then continued, “I will have a full report on the Accord, including the history of our relations with Empyrean going back to the fall of Assiah.”

Saysha’s jaw dropped. “But- that’s-”

“It will take time, yes. A rough draft will be on my desk by sundown by the dark of the moon, and a final draft by the first quarter.” She had about two weeks to finish the project. I smothered my glee and tried to look serious as Lorelei turned to me.

“Your Majesty,you must learn to control your temper. I’ll have a five page essay on the importance of emotional control in magic, due sundown on the Day of Contemplation.”

That gave me about three days to write the paper. The elven court worked four days, then had three days of rest. The first day of rest was called Contemplation, followed by Restoration and Recreation. I bowed stiffly and turned to go when Lorelei called me back.

“Princess Ter’Angres, if you’ve a moment?”

I didn’t really have anything to do after class, except wash up and prepare for our afternoon training so I turned around and walked back up to Lorelei’s desk. Saysha flounced out past me, smacking me with her bag as she did so. I ignored her. “What is it?”

“I know you’ve been at court only a short time, but… Are you well? Settling in?” Lorelei’s gravelly voice was gentle, like he thought I’d snap at him for being so personal but I was too busy being surprised to be offended by his prying.

“Well it’s…” I tried to think of an unoffensive way to to say “Horrible and I want to go home.”

“Difficult?” Lorelei offered and I laughed, surprised at his directness.

“Yes. I miss Findias and the others… Well, Saysha might be the one saying it, but they’re all thinking it.” I shrugged one shoulder. “I wish Papa was here. He’d know what to do.”

His odd eyes softened in understanding and sympathy and realizing what I’d said I backpedaled quickly. I didn’t want his pity, I’d only wanted to say Father had good advice. “I’d better get going. Mum wants me to meet with one of the local healers before she releases me for training.”

“Your Majesty-” Lorelei tried but I was already trotting out the door.

“See you tomorrow, Lorelei!” I yelled over my shoulder. My bookbag thumped against my itching spine, momentarily easing the crawling skin as I increased my pace. There was one good thing about the central palace, I thought. The halls were so wide and so long that it was easy to get up a good run. Ani and I would have-

I cut off the thought as my chest constricted painfully. Ani was dead. Papa was dead. All that was left was Mum and me, and I had to survive long enough to become Queen and have babies of my own. It didn’t matter if Ani and I would have had great races down these halls, or how we could have ridden our coomlean through the huge fields that surrounded the palace. It didn’t matter that he’d have stood up and told Saysha to shut her fat prejudiced mouth. It didn’t matter because he was gone.

My eyes burned and I rubbed them fiercely, hating that I wanted to cry. The pain was strange. I hadn’t ever seen the bodies. There had been a memorial but a memorial with no bodies is just an uncomfortable party where everyone wears black and pretends to be sad. I kept expecting to see them both, in our new wing at the palace or out and about in the gardens. Ani would have joined the squires this year, and after training for the next five years, he would have joined the elite Grey guardians. Now he wouldn’t do anything. He was just… Dead.

Slipping and sliding on the marble tiles I took the corner at a full run, nearly trampling a group of slow-moving courtiers. One glared after me and I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out, instead racing past a pair of guards in ceremonial armor. The click of my boots faded between one step and the next as I entered the administrative wing of the palace, where the floors were covered in plush carpets. Two more twists and a stairwell later, I was in front of the door that led to my Mum’s office. She was always here, working on some project or the other. I raised my hand to knock but the door was already ajar and I heard raised voices.

“…Cannot work miracles, milady! I need your support to make any headway with that girl!”

It was my maid. Her name slipped my mind but I knew I disliked her. What else did I need to know? I crept closer and listened at the door. Through the crack I could see Mum’s large desk gleaming in the sunlight that poured through the window.

“She’s a child, not a pet or a houseplant.” Even just hearing her voice I knew Mum was irritated. I heard shuffling papers and a loud click. 

“And she’ll never be ready to rule if she doesn’t learn proper court etiquette!” the maid was protesting. “She’s all uncombed hair and skinned knees and she looks like she hasn’t had a proper fitting since before the Accord!”

“That’s because she. Is. A. Child. If you cannot manage her, I’ll find someone who can.” I grinned broadly, pleased that I still had my Mum. I might miss Ani and Papa but at least Mum was still here.

“Good luck finding someone else. You’ve hired and fired all the maids in the palace,” the woman said with a sneer that I could hear even if I couldn’t see it.

“All the elven maids, perhaps. Perhaps I’ll find a scullion who is willing to let children be children, and you can have her job.” Mum didn’t promote or demote people based on their bloodline. She cared more about results.

“You wouldn’t dare!” the maid gasped, apparently horrified at the thought of scrubbing pans. I’d heard enough and knocked loudly, then threw open the door. It banged against the wall and bounced back toward me but I caught it, swinging my bookbag off my shoulder and onto the couch in Mum’s informal waiting room. 

“Good afternoon!” I sang, skipping into the room to give Mum a kiss on her cheek. The maid, an elven girl wearing a frilly pink dress, sat with her lips pursed in disapproval. Under her gaze I was acutely aware of every scuff, wrinkle, and smear of ash on my tunic.

“Good afternoon, darling. How was class?” At my grimace, Mum laughed and brushed some hair out of my eyes. “That bad, huh?”

“You spoil her, milady,” the maid grumbled.

“Of course I spoil her. She’s the only child I’ve left to me.” Mum’s voice was crisp as I sat on her desk facing her. “Now, get out.”

The maid left, grumbling all the way and as soon as she was gone, Mum relaxed. She sighed and put her head down on the desk. “She’s right, isn’t she?” I asked, picking at a hangnail. “No one else wants to work with me.”

“Your attitude could use an adjustment,” Mum replied, grinning up at me. I grinned back, liking her humor. We got to see so little of each other these days. Mum was kept busy by the old Queen’s council and cleaning up the political mess the old Queen had left behind. We normally saw one another briefly during meals, then again right before I went to bed. The rest of the time I was shuttled between classes, fittings, trainings, and other events that were supposed to prepare me for Queendom.

“I’ll have you know I haven’t bitten anyone recently,” I informed Mum primly and she laughed.

“Well thank the gods for that. Who knows what the council would do if you bit one of them.”

“Probably declare I have rabies or something,” I suggested cynically. Mum sighed and straightened.

“Probably. Are you ready for your appointment?” she asked.

“Yes, but why do I need to go again?” I asked. Okay, whined. I didn’t like healers much and after spending weeks in the Healer’s infirmary in Empyrean, it felt like torture to go back. 

“Lord Raphael asked that we check up on you… Your health.” Mum had been about to say something else, but had caught it. I frowned at her.

“You weren’t going to say health,” I accused.

Mum sighed. “No I wasn’t, but I’m not going to tell you what I was going to say. Now come on. They haven’t got a proper healer here, so we’ll be seeing a medic. His name is Kieren and he is their Chief Healer.”

Healers were able to use magic to stitch wounds and diagnose illnesses. It was a rare talent, and after the war there were fewer than a handful left in all of the elven fields. Medics were much more common, using herbs, salves, and catgut to treat their patients. Mum stood and gestured for me to join her. “Are you going to appoint a Chief Healer?” I asked as we left her office. I left my bookbag in her office, where I could retrieve it after we finished with the infirmary.

“Of course,” Mum replied, startled at my question. “I just hope we can find a decent healer. We lost a lot of people during the war.”

The war. For me, it was an invisible war that I never witnessed but had only the aftermath and others’ stories to tell me of it. After the Queen had declared it allowable for the demons to start hunting our people, Mum had called for a congress with the angels. At the time it had just been us at Findias and a small entourage of angels. But then a decree came down banning all angelic relations between our people and theirs. The war happened because part of that decree included hunting and executing nephilim, or half-angels like me.

Part of the Accord rescinded that order but the damage was already done. Zealots who feared the intermingling of the races had set about going through the countryside and slaughtering any nephilim and those who sheltered them. That was how Ani and Papa had died. They would have killed me and Mum as well but our angelic friends had gotten us to safety. Mum had been badly hurt during the fighting…and something else had happened… But I didn’t remember any of it.

“Maybe they have healers in Uscia,” I suggested. “They didn’t get involved in the fighting, right?”

“I’m sure the Despot’s people were hunting in Uscia, but no, they had little to do with the Accord or the fighting that happened before it. That is actually a wonderful idea. I’ll send a message through the mirrors after your appointment.” Mum turned a corner and I hurried to keep up, smiling smugly. Saysha didn’t know it, but I was good at this stuff. Mum usually had me act as her scribe, writing messages while she worked on official court documents. She said it was good practice for when I’d be Queen, plus she hated how her handwriting looked.

“In the meantime, you must respect Medic Kieren,” Mum continued sternly, stopping in the middle of the hallway to glare at me. “No mouthing off.”

I wrinkled my nose and scowled back at her. “Only if he doesn’t mouth off first.”

Mum tried to keep her face stern but a smile tugged the corners of her mouth. “Alright,” she relented. “If he mouths off, you can mouth back at him. Just…try to keep your temper. We don’t want another incident like the one this morning.”

Oh, so she’d seen the charcoal streaks on my tunic. I cringed and tried to brush them away again. Mum laughed and tugged my arm gently. “Stop. It’s a lost cause by now.”

“Fine,” I grumbled and we started walking again. The healers’ wing was across the palace from the administrative wing, a long walk even if we cut through the main palace halls. Which we didn’t. The weather was nice outside, and Mum had been indoors far too long working with the elven council .

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Mum asked while we walked down the winding path through a rose garden that had been left to grow wild. A quarter mile in the distance I saw a spiraling tower with much of its roof caved in. Workers swarmed around the building’s foundation, digging it up or reinforcing it, I don’t know. But they were as numerous as ants crawling a log, and just as industrious. I wondered if they thought the weather was nice today or if the sun made their work sweaty and tedious.

“It wasn’t anything important,” I reassured Mum, but she didn’t look convinced.

“You lost your temper,” she pointed out.

I shrugged a shoulder and settled for a grunt in reply, which of course wasn’t satisfactory to Mum. “Did someone say anything to you, or…?”

“It was just Saysha again,” I said quickly. I knew how testy Mum got about the girl and her family, all old country and all steadfastly loyal to my predecessor. Sure enough, Mum’s face darkened and she gritted her teeth.

“What did she say this time?” 

“It wasn’t-”

“Ter’Angres.”

I knew that tone. Mum wasn’t going to take any more dodging or avoiding of the question. “She just said the Accord was bad,” I mumbled.

Mum pursed her lips, crossing her arms. “You wouldn’t have gotten angry if that’s all it was.”

“Well and she… Called me a half-breed,” I admitted grudgingly.

“Oh, that little brat! She thinks her father’s seat on the council will keep her out of trouble, does she? What did your teacher do?” If she could have, I think Mum would have been breathing fire then.

“He gave her a paper to write, about the Accord and the history between angels and elves,” I said. “A full dissertation, he called it.”

That seemed to please Mum. Her shoulders went back down and she stopped gritting her teeth at least. “I knew Lorelei would be a good choice as a teacher here. But you tell me if anyone else says anything like that. I won’t have any talk about dirty blood or such nonsense. Not in my daughter’s court.”

Her support was reassuring. I knew it had to be hard for Mum, but she was all I had and I was all she had. It didn’t matter how bad the courts were or how much I was teased. My mum was on my side, and she was worth a thousand Sayshas.

We reached the healers’ wing and entered the dim hall. The sharp scent of nettle and willow bark met my nose, and I sneezed. Rubbing my nose I said hoarsely, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Mum was looking around the wing, searching for directions to the Chief Healer’s office.

“That way, I think,” I said, spotting a tidily dressed apprentice healer step out of a nearby room.

“Ah, yes.” Mum crossed the hall and knocked, then waited for a moment. Her slippered foot tapped the tile impatiently while she waited for a reply. When the door didn’t open she put her hand on the knob and pushed the door open.

The sharp scent of medicine and herbs tickled my nose and I sneezed again, rubbing it as I followed Mum into the spacious room. A large sandalwood screen separated the front area from the back, and I assumed the front was a sort of waiting space while the back was where healers and medics actually performed their work. There was a large fountain taking up most of the space against the wall closest to me, and I stepped closer, examining the shining stones the water poured over. Its music was soothing.

Footsteps slapped against the tile and I straightened, unconsciously scooting closer to Mum as a tall man appeared around the screen. He wasn’t wearing the tidy uniform of a medic, to my surprise, but a richly detailed tunic with heavy gold embroidery on the sleeves and collar. Those sleeves were long but tightly gathered at his wrists, to keep the silken fabric out of whatever work he might have done. Likewise, his pants were tucked into calf-high boots, which were made of very shiny leather.

I couldn’t help but compare his appearance to the Lord Healer I’d briefly met in Empyrean. Though much younger, Raphael had worn his sleeves long enough to cover his hands, but tied the sleeves out of the way when he worked. HIs healer’s robes had been made of sturdy cotton, not silk, and hadn’t any embroidery. There had been plenty of old stains, though. Whether they were from blood or from acid or some other thing, he would never tell me. Splashes of liquid had also covered his plain cloth shoes. His fingers were long and gentle, but the tips were cracked and dry. This medic’s hands were as soft and supple as any noble’s.

Finally I forced myself to look up into his face, expecting to see the neutral-hostile expression I’d come to expect in Esras. Instead, his angular face was bright and he wore a welcoming smile. “Right on time as usual, I see,” he said to Mum and to my surprise she laughed.

“You know I wouldn’t miss this if the world was ending, Kieren.” Placing a hand on my shoulder she said, “This is the princess, Ter’Angres. My daughter.”

“And what a lovely daughter she is.” Kieren bowed low, meeting my gaze with his own. Under arched brows his eyes were a deep dark green. I searched for some sign of antagonism, of dislike, but his compliment had caught me off guard. I blushed and bowed, not sure what to say.

“So, we are here to be sure that the Lord Healer’s procedure hasn’t had any lasting effects, is that correct?” Kieren straightened, finally releasing me from his gaze and turning it to Mum.

“Yes. Raphael was concerned, since they rarely use such… a drastic procedure on children,” Mum replied, her own gaze steady as she conversed with Kieren. Her hand was still on my shoulder and I ducked away, slipping behind the adults and into the actual infirmary.

It was as bright, clean, and antiseptic as I expected, with half a dozen or so beds lining one wall to my right. Across from them was a long counter and examining table and at the other end of the room were three closed doors. Each led to an isolation room, I assumed. It was rare for elves to catch diseases but even we had to be prepared. Maybe one was a storage cabinet, since I didn’t see any other doors except for one to my left, right where the table ended.

Curious, I reached out for its knob but suddenly a soft hand with clean, smooth nails stopped me. “There is nothing in there for you, milady, simply my office,” Kieren said with another bright smile. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you up on the examining table.”

Awkward, I let go of the office door and turned to hop onto the table with the aid of a small stool. It was a tall table and I swung my legs, waiting for the medic to begin his examination. I wondered what it would be like. The healers in Empyrean had only to wave their hands at me and they knew exactly what was wrong. But medics had no healing touch and no magic to assist them. How would Medic Kieren know if I was well or not?

Apparently he needed to do lots of poking and prodding. More than once he asked me to get down and walk across the room, then sprint. Then he had me open my mouth, say “ahh” a few times, and leaned back, frowning. “Is something wrong?” Mum asked. She had been watching the whole exchange with more than a little anxiety.

“She’s a bit underweight, but her color is good.” None of that explained Kieren’s frown, however.

“But..?”

Kieren turned to me. Unlike other adults, he met my eyes when he spoke to me. He didn’t look away or over my head, instead meeting my gaze directly. It was unsettling, but I liked it. So few people wanted to admit I was their new princess, that a new regime was beginning. Kieren didn’t seem to mind, though.

“Milady, may I speak to your mother privately?” he asked.

I looked up at Mum, who smiled at me reassuringly. But I saw a hint of anxiety on her face. She wanted to speak to him alone, and she was worried about what he was going to say. I could have argued or fussed about being talked over, but Kieren’s behavior was so refreshingly different all I could do was nod.

“There is a small courtyard through that door,” Kieren said, nodding to one of the doors I had thought led to an isolation ward. “Please wait out there until we come get you.”

“Alright,” I said reluctantly. I crossed the room and opened the door, then went outside. It did indeed lead to a small enclosed courtyard, with another large fountain dominating the space. There were benches scattered throughout the courtyard. I assumed they were for patients and walked over to one to sit down. A second later I stood up again and walked around the fountain, examining the worn marble closely. Soft moss was growing out of the cracks in the marble and bees buzzed around in the spray of the water. Unafraid, I let one land on my finger and watched its rapidly buzzing wings stir the air.

A soft chuff came from behind me and I whirled, startled. A large feline was on top of the roof of the infirmary, staring down at me with intelligent-seeming blue eyes. It was heavily muscled and covered in rich golden fur, but it looked as if it had seen better days. There were scars in that fur, and it was favoring its front leg. I examined it critically as it examined me, taking in the rough mane around its face. What was a lion doing in Esras?

Lions were native to Findias, in the south. I’d never seen one this far up north. I guess it hadn’t seen elves before either, because it was staring at me, completely unafraid. Then it hopped down from the roof, moving like liquid gold. I stayed still as it walked up to me on paws that were larger than my head. If it…no, he… If he flexed those claws and swung at me, he could take off my head in a single swipe. He was huge and he slunk over, still favoring that right front leg as he did so.

Standing, he was almost as tall as me, making him incredibly big for a lion. I could have easily ridden on his back, though I knew better than to try and mount a strange lion. His eyes were an odd blue I’d never seen before, at least not for a lion. He came within a few feet of me and shoved his head forward, sniffing the hem of my long tunic. I let him, wondering where he had come from. Nobody had warned us a wild lion was loose. Perhaps he was a coomlean for someone, a familiar that had gone out for a walkabout?

The lion lifted his head and brushed his nose along my tunic, sniffing the charcoal streaks, then he circled me and I felt him snuffling along my back. His tail was missing fur, I noticed, and the tuft that should have been at the end of it was gone. Had he gotten into a fight?

His nose bumped my fingers suddenly and I felt more than heard a deep rumbling purr. He rubbed his head against my hand and I giggled. I obliged the strange lion and scratched his nose as he leaned against me. It was like leaning against a beam of sunlight made solid: warm, comforting, and bright. Clearly he was friendly, too. Emboldened by his apparent friendliness, I ran my fingers along his short muzzle and around his eyes, to his ears. Though he looked well-fed, his wounds worried me. “What happened to you?” I asked quietly. His ears flicked forward, then back and he stepped away from me suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” I asked as his tail started lashing. But he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at the door to the infirmary, which was opening. I turned to see Mum and Kieren exiting. When I turned around, all I saw of the lion was his tail as he disappeared over the wall.

Disappointed that I couldn’t introduce my strange friend to Mum, I walked over to the two adults. Now Mum’s face wore the same solemn, worried look Kieren’s had had earlier. “What’s wrong?” I asked again.

“T…” Mum crouched down so we were face to face. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to cancel your training with the knights for now.”

Of all the things I expected, that was not one of them! “What? How come?” I demanded.

“Kieren’s worried that the exertion is having a negative effect on your… health,” Mum replied reluctantly. “It’ll only be for a few weeks. He has a medicine he wants you to take and then we’ll come back and he’ll do another examination.”

“But Mum, I feel fine!” I protested. “Really fine! I haven’t had any symptoms for over a week, that’s why the Healer— healer boy said I could come home in the first place!”

“I’m not sure Lord Raphael was aware just how difficult palace life would be for you,” Kieren explained gently. “You were sneezing earlier in the hall-”

“That’s cuz your herbs stink!” I interrupted. Unperturbed, he continued.

“And your back has been bothering you, hasn’t it? Been sore, aching?”

My jaw dropped and I couldn’t think of a response. How had he been able to tell that just from having me walk around? Maybe being a medic wasn’t such a bad thing after all. “You’ve been moving stiffly,” Mum admitted to me, her jade green eyes soft as she pleaded for me to be reasonable.

I didn’t want to be reasonable. Of all the things that had been getting me through the day, going out and hitting something had been one of the biggest motivators. Mum had taught me long ago how to channel my frustration into physical activity, usually of the martial arts. And all elves had some knight training! I’d be the only one sitting out those classes. I was already different enough. I didn’t need this to make it worse.

But if it was only for a few weeks… Mum’s day was hard enough without me throwing a temper tantrum. I crossed my arms sullenly. “Fine.”

It wasn’t anything like fine, but her expression cleared and she smiled brightly. “It’s just for a little while. You’re probably just getting used to palace life, like Kieren said. We’ve pretty much thrown you to the wolves around here, and a little rest is hardly a bad thing.”

That’s what she said. But I forced myself to smile stiffly and say, “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Come in and I’ll give you your first dose,” Kieren said, gesturing for us to follow him back inside. After being out in the sunshine, the infirmary felt dim and claustrophobic. Kieren disappeared into his office and came out with a bottle of small pellets. He offered it to me and I took it with a puzzled frown.

“These are tinctures, distilled into a pellet that you swallow,” he explained. “Take one with every meal for the next week, alright?”

I didn’t like this. Healers had never given me pellets, like I was some sort of rabbit that needed feeding. They’d simply handed me an infused tincture or tea, or salve. But I obediently swallowed one under the adults’ watchful eyes, grimacing as the dry thing went down. “Are you sure it’ll work?” I asked.

“Positive.” I met Kieren’s eyes and saw a glitter of triumph in those dark depths. He smiled and bowed again, clearly relieved I hadn’t put up more of a fight when he handed me the medication. I didn’t smile back at him.

This place sucked.

“That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Mum asked as we left Kieren’s office and headed back to the administrative wing.

I didn’t reply, still angry that I wasn’t going to be able to go to the training grounds with my cohort of so-called peers. This was just one more thing Saysha and her cronies would hold over me, and I resented being forced into it, even if it was for my own good. Besides, what else was I supposed to do with my day, now? Training took place until just before suppertime, when the children were released to assist the servants with preparing the meal and serving the adults. I couldn’t help with the serving work, but now I had nothing to do until it was time for supper.

My silence didn’t go unnoticed. “T… You know this is for your own good,” Mum pointed out.

“Yeah, that’s what the Medic says. How come we can’t get a second opinion? What about Lord Raphael?” I asked. “He’d know best.”

“Lord Raphael is busy with his own people, T. He can’t come running whenever you have a fever or a sore back,” Mum replied sternly. “He’s not your personal servant.”

“I know that. It’s just…” I sighed and realized my arms were still crossed over my chest. We were getting close to her office, where I could get my bookbag and then… Go where?

“What’m I supposed to do if I can’t go train with the others?” I demanded.

“Just go to your room and rest,” Mum advised me as she opened the door to her office. There were two men waiting for her. Both wore a dark grey uniform. One was slightly shorter than the other but they were oddly similar, with the same triangular face, lanky limbs, and icy eyes.

“Staldy!” I exclaimed in surprise and pleasure. My eldest cousin, Ma’Stald, was also a captain in the Grey Guard. I rarely saw him since his duties usually took him far from Esras, and it was rare that he came to the palace itself. “What are you doing here?”

Ma’Stald smiled at me tightly, but his entire stance was stiff, unhappy. I looked between him and the heavily scarred, older version of him. That must be Commander Brandeis, then. The Commander was holding a tightly sealed parchment envelope out to Mum. She took it with a frown. 

“What’s this?” she asked, breaking the seal and pulling out a thinner piece of parchment. “Another missive from the Empyreal council? We’ve only returned a week and… A summons?”

“They’ve captured the rebel angels and want us to send a witness to the judging,” Commander Brandeis said.

Mum frowned, rubbing her thumb along the parchment. “Us?” she repeated. The Grey did not consider themselves a part of the elven nation. It was rare to hear Brandeis speak of himself and his guard as part of court proceedings.

“Yes. A Grey Guardian and an emissary from the palace. The Lady of the Throne to be precise.” Clearly the Commander was unhappy about sending one of his people to this judging.

But Mum seemed distracted, her gaze distant and thoughtful. “So it’s over, then?” she asked.

“It seems to be,” Brandeis replied.

“And they took him alive?”

I didn’t know who “he” was. “What are you talking about?” I asked but to my surprise, Mum shushed me.

“I’m afraid this is something I must handle myself, my sweet,” she said, trying to smile and soften the blow. But the expression on her face was one of sadness and pain, and I didn’t know why this letter was making her feel that way. 

“Mum…”

“No, Princess. You cannot attend this Judgement.” It was the first time I’d ever had Brandeis address me directly. His entire manner was distant, uninterested, yet slightly irritated at the proceedings, and I bristled at it. To my mother he said, “The Blood Dealer doesn’t care for what the Accord says and will mete out the judgement he sees fit.”

“They released the Dealer?” Mum asked, sounding horrified.

Ma’Stald spoke for the first time then. “It appears it wasn’t planned, but now that the Dealer is here, he will be handing out the judgement. It’s an angelic affair and I don’t see why we are being dragged into it.”

Unlike his commander, Ma’Stald sounded indignant. Clearly he thought this all a waste of time and resources. “Luckily for you, you don’t have to see why we are being dragged into this,” Mum told him. She sighed and folded the letter into quarters, then slipped it into a voluminous pocket of her tunic. “I suppose if I refuse to attend, the next summons will be as a witness?” she asked Brandeis.

“Or as one of the accused,” he replied indifferently. I looked between the three elders and saw Mum frown at him.

“You used to care about what happened to this family,” she said accusingly.

“I did,” he agreed. “Times change, milady. Being in  your sister’s care… Well, I’m sending the boy in my stead.”

“You’re sending Ma’Stald?” Mum repeated him like she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. “What about Nurid?”

I didn’t know who Nurid was, but from Mum’s tone I could tell she thought he’d be better suited than Ma’Stald. That meant he was probably a more senior officer, someone who knew more about the proceedings that were about to take place.

“Yes. Nurid is indisposed, and he needs to learn how to take command as it is. My time is short.” Brandeis’ matter of fact voice didn’t hide the thread of impatience woven through his words. It tangled them together, making what should have been a simple statement into something more.

“I know,” Mum said softly, and she sounded regretful. Suddenly, she remembered I was there. “T, get your bookbag and show Ma’Stald to the room he may use until we go. I assume we must leave immediately?” she asked Brandeis.

“The judgment starts at dawn. I believe the proceedings will take three days or so. Do you have a caretaker for the Princess?” Now he was carefully not looking at me. I frowned at the Commander, now sure that I disliked him. He only addressed me once and now he refused to look at me? It was rude beyond all belief.

“I don’t need a caretaker,” I said loudly. “I’m not a child.”

“Yes you are,” Mum replied firmly. She rubbed her nose and stared at me for a long time, frowning. At last she said, “Do you remember Naia?”

“Yes, she’s one of your shield maidens,” I replied, puzzled as to why she would ask. Naia had stayed behind in Findias to help with rebuilding.

Mum didn’t explain and only looked at Brandeis silently. He sighed and scowled at her. “We Grey are not here to be your servants.”

“You know why this is important,” Mum replied.

Brandeis scowled harder, and if I hadn’t known better I would have been afraid he’d hit Mum. But why? What was she asking him to do that he disliked so badly?

The Elven Fields were not a world in the traditional sense. It was a halfworld, suspended in the shadows cast by the four realms of Heaven, Hell, the fallen Assiah, and the human world usher Gaia. Its existence was a constant state of entropy, close to falling into the void but never quite making it. Some want the halfword to collapse at last. Others want it to survive for as long as it possibly can.

The Fields were supported by five Pillars, which pinned the halfworld to the shadows of the true worlds it existed within. And those Pillars were supposed to be guarded by the royal family, lest they collapse, throwing the elves’ precarious existence into oblivion. Each of the Four Blessed Sisters were supposed to guard the Pillars but that was a bit difficult considering the eldest, the queen, never escaped Assiah. With only three sisters remaining, only three Pillars have ever been secured.

Then there was the war. And after the war, only one sister remained. Once disgraced and exiled, the youngest of the four sisters, lady Myssira was called home.

Elves are nothing if not literal, and the center of their trade and commerce was founded in the center of the Fields. They call their capitol Esras. Outsiders call it the Central territory. Many roads lead to Esras from the outer territories. Those roads were winding and long, and all ended at Esras proper.

“Hey boss!”

One of those cobblestone-lined roads led past a blocky structure just in sight of Esras proper. It was a brick building with windows like sightless eyes peering out and watching the citygoers as they passed. Sometimes those windows were blank and lifeless. Sometimes those windows blazed like the sun itself had come home to rest. A rickety stone stairwell led to the underground entrance. Nobody quite knew who was in charge of the place but one thing was for sure.

The door was open today.

A young man was in the door. Boy, really. He stood less than five feet tall, with short black hair in tight curls that framed his triangular face. A cigarette dangled from his lips and he was swinging the door back and forth. “Boss!” he repeated, raising his voice. “The door’s broken. Again!”

He slammed the door shut and reopened it, glaring up at the mossy gutters lining slate rooftops. This street led up to Esras proper, the crystal palace glittering in the early afternoon light. Irritated, he took a long drag of the cigarette and blew out the smoke through his nose. There was a clattering from deeper within the dilapidated building, then another man appeared in the shadowed doorway. “What are you hollering about, Myrreck?” he shouted back.

Myrreck rolled his eyes and repeated himself. “The door, Louie. It’s stuck. It won’t take us back to Sheol and there’s a delivery in ten minutes!”

Louie strode over and wiggled the door on its hinges, slamming it shut and opening it again. He was much taller than Myrreck, with blond hair instead of black, and wore a faded white shirt over equally faded khakis. He frowned up at the sky, too. “Well…Fix it.”

With that, he spun on heel and disappeared back into the shadows of the building. “And how am I supposed to do that!” Myrreck yelled after him, taking the cigarette and dying it out on the brick doorframe. “It’s your stinking bar! It only listens to you!”

No answer came from within the bar, though Myrreck could hear Louie moving back in the shadows. Muttering under his breath, Myrreck kicked the door in a show of anger. “Stupid, temperamental liminal spaces, doing what they’re not supposed to do…”

“Come on Myr,” Louie called, amusement clear in his gravelly voice. “It’s just a stupid door. How hard can it be to fix?”

Myr would have shot back at him with a smart mouthed retort but the clopping of hooves cut him off. Sunlight glimmered off highly polished gauntlets and greaves of an honor guard and Myr heard their Esran neighbors gathering for a good look. Curious, Myr stuck his head out the door and watched the procession as it came closer. Shading his eyes, he chose to ignore Louie’s gibes in favor of watching the approaching party.

When no smart retort was forthcoming, Louie grew curious and approached the door to see what had gotten his employee’s attention. He stepped out, past the threshold that Myr hovered over but would not pass. Like Myr, he too looked up the street. His brows rose at the procession but he said nothing.

“Must be Myssy’s honor guard,” Myr remarked, leaning against the doorframe and watching the party grow closer. It looked like they would pass along the main thoroughfare, about a quarter mile from the bar’s entryway. Myr pointed at the central figures surrounded by the plated guards. They were both female, both diminutive though one was certainly much younger than the other. Both held their heads high, though the young elf occasionally looked around them with wide eyes. Her hair had a shock of pale blue and red amongst the black, obvious even from hundreds of yards away.

Louie still didn’t say anything, so Myr continued to talk if only to hear his own voice. “God damn I don’t envy them the next coupla years, eh Louie? The throne is empty for the first time in four thousand years. It should have passed to Lyra but…well, you were there, too. I don’t have to tell you what happened, do I? Myssy made short work of her when she tried to bring her army to flank the Findian fort. And that would make Myssy Queen, except the throne can’t be held by a kin killer. And of course there’s the council and all its bullshit… Aren’t you glad we’re out of the political business for good, eh Louie? …Louie?”

Myr looked around but the blond bartender was already gone. Heaving a sigh, Myr shook his head and went back to berating the door, which didn’t give a damn about politics, history, or the laws of reality. It was a lost cause, really, but that had never stopped Myr before.

Miles from the dilapidated bar the heavy gates of Esras proper rattled open, revealing the approaching procession. Kalicar stood with his fellow counselors, all wearing their finest robes in preparation for meeting the only living heir of the royal family. His hands were folded in the deep sleeves of his robes, his expression impassive as he watched the guards flanking the diminutive elven girls. Despite his apparent indifference, Kalicar was tense. It had been six hundred years since Myssira came home. How different she was from his memories.

He let his gaze linger on her, taking in her somber attire. She was swathed in russet and auburn silk, with a delicate beaded shawl over her fiery red hair. From this distance all he could make out was her shoulders, back and spine ramrod straight. There was no doubt when she got closer, he would see her holding her head high. None would see the lady Myssira cowed.

She also wore four bands around her upper arm on the right side. Three were black, for the family she lost. One was red, a public pronouncement of the life she had taken, the life that made her kin killer. Kalicar was sure that the girl beside her also wore four bands on her right arm, though all four were black. He could not bring himself to look at the black-haired child, though. No, he was not quite ready to deal with the abomination just yet.

Half a mile from the gates a small party of warriors wearing battered mail split off from the honor guard surrounding the royal elves. They turned their horses toward the garrison that butted up against the castle’s walls, a long low building covered in carved ivy and the insignia of the order that was within. Kalicar spared a glance for them. Surely the four Grey guardians had been unnecessary for keeping the royals safe. That they had traveled the long journey with the royals was a testament to the overarching paranoia of the Grey, who saw enemies of the kingdom no matter where they went.

Kalicar watched the figures dwindle in the distance until he could no longer see them well. And then, only then, did he turn his gaze reluctantly to the black-haired girl. The abomination.

She hardly looked like an abomination, true. Like her mother, the girl was dressed in russet and gold, though where Myssira was stunning in her silks the girl was gawky and uncomfortable. Her black hair was streaked liberally with pale blue and red, looking for all the world like fiery embers glowing among coal. An elaborate braid barely contained that thick hair, and some had come loose, seeming to wreath her face in firelight. The girl had a long, straight nose set over full lips that were so dark a red they seemed black.

They were not the lips of a little girl, he thought. They were the lips of a monster, just waiting to part and devour the world whole.

Like her mother, the abomination sat straight and tall on her mount, but unlike lady Myssira, she turned her head this way and that, staring at the grand buildings with a sort of slack jawed wonder he would have found charming had he not known what she was. Kaliar watched as the creature leaned over to tug on her mother’s sleeve, pointing at some nearby shop and saying something. Though Kalicar could not hear her, he saw her mother’s response in the way Myssira’s almond-shaped eyes brightened and her mouth spread in a grin at her daughter’s earnest questions.

Soon they would be close enough for greetings. Kalicar had memorized what he planned to say, how to say it, and what inflections he planned to use to make it clear that while he welcomed Myssira’s arrival, her daughter’s presence was not welcome at all. It wasn’t personal, not really. It was simply that his court had no place for creatures like the girl.

His thoughts were interrupted when one of the other counselors leaned close. “I see no members of the Findian household, only the guard we sent. Do they travel alone?”

Without taking his eyes from the approaching guard, Kalicar replied. “Our reports say that Findias Fort was evacuated before Lady Lyra led the final assault, but the Order of the Shield refused to abandon their mistress and many perished in battle. I see Knight-Captain Oriah still accompanies Lady Myssira and there are ten Shield Maidens in the ranks.”

“Shield Maidens?” the other counselor repeated, a faint wrinkle in her brow. “I see only one knight, who must be this Oriah, and several ladies-in-waiting.”

Kalicar bit back a sigh of impatience, reminding himself that Lady Cryan wasn’t familiar with the heathen traditions of the southern territories. “Those ladies-in-waiting are Myssira’s Shield-Sisters, Cryan. In the south the ladies in waiting are required to be trained in both courtly etiquette and the art of battle. They must be able to keep up with their lady both in court and on the battlefield.”

“How…barbaric.” Lady Cryan flicked open her fan and held it across her face so it hid her moue of distaste. “Do they not have any guards, then? Is this Knight-Captain Oriah just a stallion, for show?”

“The order of the Shield is sworn solely to Lady Myssira, is it not?” asked another of the counselors. Kalicar turned to the Chief Medic Kieren, whose robes were a deep royal blue that matched the sapphires glinting along the curve of his ears. “Or was, rather. One can hardly call fewer than a dozen girls an order of anything, much less warriors.”

“They are not yet eliminated,” Kalicar replied absently as the procession came closer. “Those ‘girls’ are seasoned warriors who survived the fall of Findias and are rumored to have defeated at least a dozen foes each. Knight-Captain Oriah would have headed the garrison that defended the territory, while the Shield Maidens saw to the personal safety of their lady.”

There was one last counselor out there to greet the royal procession. He was the newest of them, and the one Kalicar was most wary of. Lord Counselor Lathos had come from the northern territory Uscia, to represent the uncivilized clans of nymphs, dryads, and satyrs that refused to cede their independence to their betters. Though elfin, the blond counselor was a vocal supporter of the rights of the wild clans in the north. Like Kalicar, Lathos’ hands were folded primly in the sleeves of his robe. Unlike Kalicar, a large white-and-gold striped tiger lay wrapped around Lathos’ feet, tail flicking lazily as it watched the proceedings with interest. “What do you think, Lord Lathos?” Kalicar inquired of the relative newcomer.

Lathos was quiet for a moment, weighing his words carefully as he so often did on the council floor. “I think it will be good for the royal ladies to have familiar faces about,” he said at last in that damnably diplomatic way of his.

Kalicar suppressed a snort while the procession finally crossed the last of the distance toward them. He took a step forward, intending to greet the Lady Myssira, his carefully prepared words at the tip of his tongue…And the lady was riding past him without a look toward the council obviously awaiting their arrival, following the dusty train of the knights toward the stables without a single glance back.

Shocked, Kalicar could only stare at the retreating backs of the royals as they turned a corner. Then shock gave way to outrage and he stalked after the procession, completely missing the tiniest smirk that crossed Lathos’ lips as the others followed close behind.

Sure enough he found the royal ladies in the wide circle before the stable, dismounting from their horses and gathering reins in hand. Their Shield Maidens were already dismounted and unloading luggage for the servants to take up to the keep.They worked under the watchful eye of Myssira, who had also dismounted and was gathering her mount’s reins in her hands. “My lady, surely our servants can manage that,” he called as Lady Myssira made her way toward the stable.

Lady Myssira paused but did not release her horse’s reins and merely brushed off the stablehand who tried to take them from her. “No one tends my mount but me.”

Her voice was the same low, throaty contralto that Kalicar remembered from centuries ago. He repressed the instinctive shudder as the other counselors watched him, awaiting his move.

“The council awaits - “ Kalicar tried but was interrupted by a heavy sigh. Lady Myssira did not drop her mount’s reins but did turn the full weight of her amber gaze onto Kalicar. He took a step back instinctively before realizing what he had done, and stepped forward again, bowing low.

“The council has awaited your arrival with bated breath since your scouts announced you would be here today,” Kalicar said formally, recalling his prepared speech.

“Ah. Yes.” Lady Myssira raised one brow, bisected as it was by a thin scar. It was still raw and red, a raised weal that showed just how recently injured she had been. “And have you awaited my daughter’s arrival with the same enthusiasm?”

“Your -“ Kalicar’s words stuttered to a halt. He had meant to say that of course Lady Myssira’s daughter was welcome there, but lying was anathema to the elves and he was sure she would be able to tell the lie for what it was. Sure enough his brief hesitation spoke for itself and she nodded minutely, turning back toward the stable.

“None may handle my mount but me,” Lady Myssira called back over her shoulder. “The council may continue to await my presence…and that of my daughter. I am sure there are many thrilling topics for us to discuss.”

With that, she vanished into the stable, leaving an extremely nonplussed council in the dust and dirt while stablehands managed the packhorses and servants carried luggage past. Kalicar tried wiping away his slack-jawed stare but wasn’t quite sure he managed.

Alright alright alright.

Back in the saddle boys and girls. Onward, to the Command!

the Grey Guard

Who doesn’t love a good secret order of guardians charge with protecting the world? From BioWare’s Grey Wardens (no relation to my Grey Guard) to secret identity superheroes, we love hearing stories about those who are selflessly dedicated to keeping us safe from some unstoppable foe. Many adventure stories revolve around some character or characters who are charged with saving or protecting us from certain doom. Even George RR Martin has his version of this in his Game of Thrones: the Night’s Watch.

But what is with all these groups insisting on people giving up their everything “for the greater good"? I guess I get it in theory: it’s hard to be dedicated to keeping your country/world/fief safe if you’re also worried about your family. And yet in reality we know that’s often not the case. Forcing humans to live without ties to their community is almost impossible. If people can’t have ties to their old community, they often build a new one. Made of their…comrades, I guess?

Annnyway, these guys have a quick n dirty way of getting rid of their elderly and disabled guardians. They usually get killed off. Whether it’s by darkspawn or white walkers, none of the guardians in these inimical series make it past the age of forty. If they do it’s seen as a minor miracle (and then they usually wind up killed off for plot purposes). So what happens to an elf or demon who’s too old and weak to fight, but too alive to be dead?

Well, they go to Esras Proper, of course.

the Esran Compound

When the Captain’s rank is confirmed by his commanding officer, he’s immediately put in charge of the Esran Compound. This location plays a fairly central role in the series, particularly as Princess Ter’Angres and her friends wind up spending a lot of time there. The idea behind the barracks was that there’d be this centralized place that the Grey sent their wounded, sick, and traumatized soldiers. It was a safe place where they could recover and, once sufficiently recovered, be thrown back into the war machine that is the Grey Guard.

It’s basically a shit command post with no opportunity for glory or battle, and it’s a punishment for the Captain to be placed there at all. He’s being set up to fail and he knows it. That’s not going to stop him, however. He’ll make the best of this role because that’s his duty. And if it gets too boring, he’ll find things to do that will be helpful and productive.

(This is how he gets into trouble half the time. He’s trying to help, he’s just not very good at it.)

The compound consists of five major features:

the Barracks, where the wounded go to recover;

the Recruits’ Hall, where the youngest recruits live and train;

the Esran Compound Underhill (usually called the Grey’s Underhill), where the permanent residents live;

the Administrative Offices;

and the Gates

I feel like the Barracks, Recruits’ Hall, and the Grey’s Underhill are pretty easy to understand conceptually. The barracks is, after all, just what it sounds like. Guardians live in dormitory-style halls with two to six per room, depending on how close to capacity the compound is. There’s a mess hall, supply closets, and a commissary for guardians to obtain their necessities from. As for the Grey’s Underhill, if you’ve ever been on a decommissioned Air Force base, you’ll have a general idea of the feeling I’m going for here. If you haven’t, I can try to explain:

In the 90’s, several Air Force Bases were closed down by the administration. This included Mather AFB and McClellan AFB, both in the Central Valley. As the daughter of a daughter of an air force sergeant, I spent a lot of time on the bases when I was a child. Getting onto the base was a pain in the ass, but my grandfather only ever shopped at the commissary for groceries and had regular checkup visits at the VA offices. I learned how to swim in the officer’s pool at McClellan, and I often toted around whatever my granddad purchased from Base Exchange.

I simultaneously loved and hated going to the base and I had mixed feelings about the closure of the bases. Not because I thought we needed to have 3+ AFBs in a hundred mile radius but because there was a something in the air. Camaraderie? Understanding? It was something and as an outsider all I could do was respect its existence and accept that I would never really understand what bound these people together. Now that the bases are decommissioned, you can get onto what was once Air Force property without having an escort. Many of the homes that were part of McClellan were torn down to make way for shopping centers, but some of the old duplexes still remain. They have an odd uniformity to them, even as we civilians do our level best to individualize and customize them.

That is what the Grey’s Underhill is like. It used to be an active post but it’s been decommissioned. The only difference is that the Grey didn’t privatize the land and instead started shunting their retired, traumatized, and mentally ill guardians there. Sort of like being a retired Air Force officer and definitely having a house waiting for you, that you don’t have to pay for or even maintain, but you have zero say in what it looks like or where it is. There are shopping centers, eating houses, parks, and recreational areas but despite the attempts to individualize the space, there is a uniformity to the layout. It’s very obvious soldiers designed this space.

Administrative Offices are also pretty obvious, I think. This is where the captain has his office. It’s also where the infirmary is located (although there is a clinic Underhill for retired guardians). The Captain spends as little time here as physically possible, because every time he’s in his office for more than two minutes, the paperwork starts piling up.

So that just leaves the Gates. There are two; a public Gateway as well as a secret one. The public Gateway is used to bridge the space between the elven fields and the other worlds. Think Teleport Stones from Final Fantasy XII or teleportation circles from D&D. Anyone can use the Gateway so long as they know how to attune it, but use is heavily regulated by the Grey. The only people who are really allowed through are high-ranking officials or younger guardians who don’t have good control over their abilities just yet. But the primary Gate is well known and regularly used. The Secondary Gate? … Not so much.

Heart of the Command

In the end, the secondary Gate is considered the heart of the Esran command. It is the captain’s primary (really, only) duty to protect the secondary Gate as well as keep it secret. This, according to Commander Bran, is the only thing the Captain should focus on.

(Will he? Well, no, but he should)

This Gate doesn’t link to any other worlds. In fact, the heart of the command doesn’t play a huge role in Captain & Command. Bran thinks it’s important, but as far as the captain is concerned, it’s just another weird Gateway in his world. That will change, but not for a while. So don’t focus on it too deeply or you’ll miss the…ah, important bits.

In the depths of a dark wood the sun beat down on thick foliage, filtered through heavy green leaves that smelled musky and damp.  A lithe figure slipped through the trees, a maroon cap pulled low over his eyes as he crept down to an open meadow.  There he hoped to find a deer, unaware or perhaps uncaring that he was making his way through the woods.  They had little enough to fear of dryads, after all.  Like their brethren the trees, dryads did not eat meat or if they did, they ate little enough to not bother such large game.

You know, that’s a really good question. And I should have a good answer, shouldn’t I? Tab’s supposed to be writing her book you know, and blogging about the process. Maybe throw in a few anecdotes about cute doggies, or her personal life, but overall, this is supposed to be about Captain & Command. Not about these…Fractured Whosits… And who is Errin Forester anyway? What’s a love-talker? Are you writing… **gasp** romance? Erotica? Smut???

Hold yer horses there. Let’s answer these questions in order.

Captain & Command

The Captain’s story is still in the works. But have I mentioned lately how much I hate editing? Like, royally, truly, and completely detest it. There is nothing more frustrating to me than sitting in front of the computer staring at a sentence and saying to myself, “Yup. That sure says something” and then working to make that something more legible. I have an unholy love of adjectives, unfortunately. Everything is being said quietly, loudly, explicitly… lots of -ly running around. Sentences are approximately three lines longer than absolutely necessary, and wander off topic half-way through them.

In short, editing is hard.

And the problem with being a writer is that there are lots of stories running around in ye ole headspace. Lots and lots and lots. So when I get to the point of “bugger this, I don’t wanna,” there are at least a half dozen other concepts clamoring for my attention. Some of them are relevant to the story, like Childhood Heroes. Which, if you read it, you know is a bit more about the character of the Captain.

Sometimes a break is nice. Sometimes your breaks have an unfortunate side effect of spawning entirely new worlds. Which is how we got the Fractured States.

The Fractured States

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I got distracted. During one of my longer commutes for work I dreamed up the idea that I could do a series of short stories and slap ‘em up on Amazon. I think the thinking was something along the lines of “Well you gotta figure out how to use the software ANYWAY and you can’t exactly afford to hire a cover designer and you need a break so… why not?”

Three weeks later I know the answer to that question. Oh well. Let this be a warning to you writers out there. Even if you see a plot bunny, do not give chase. I don’t care how cute and fuzzy their widdle paws are, or how interesting their shape is when you hold em up to the sun. Do not chase the bunny. If you insist on chasing the bunny, do not catch them. You will wind up with fifty plot bunnies and they will all be going in different directions.

Also, you’ll probably get pooped on. But this brings me to…

Errin Forester

Obviously, this is a pen name. The thought of posting anything even remotely racy to Kindle while using my real name had me way too flustered to follow through on. And what’s the point of a distraction if it can’t be fun to write? I mean, I love my captain and all but he’s rather single minded about things.

So I guess what I’m saying is, yeah I’m writing smut. Adventurous smut starring a queer protag but definitely smut. (This is where the plot bunnies really come in) Unfortunately TamLyn wasn’t satisfied with only half a plot loosely bundled together with lots of steamy scenes. They wanted a different sort of action too! Murder! Mystery! Mayhem!

And there you have it. This is what happens when you chase plot bunnies. You wind up not just with a whole new series but an entire identity to concoct to explain why the series is even up in the first place. This may or may not involve pretending ignorance when people ask you about the Captain. “What?” you (I) might say, feigning ignorance. “Of course I’m working…very…very…hard on my edits. I got five chapters out of thirty-eight edited!”

Childhood Heroes

I wish Pi was here.

The adults were arguing again.  Ever since the fall of Assiah that was all they did.  Argue, argue, argue.  Sometimes there was even fighting among the ranks of displaced fairy folk.  Many refused to accept Titania and Lyra’s leadership over the broken kingdom, especially after their abrupt dismissal of the youngest sister, Myssira.  Over time the kingdom’s people began to splinter off into smaller groups.  Old tribal patterns began to emerge, as the dryads refused to partner with elves, nymphs with pixies or merfolk.  

Titania could not keep the people together, not the way his mum could.  Ma’Stald watched silently as more and more fairy folk defected, raising flags of independence and claiming their own territories in the new land they had found.  And as her lack of leadership became more and more apparent Titania’s temper flared more often, causing her sister’s children to hide from their adoptive mother.

“Ma’Stald.  Ma’Stald, where are you!”

He scurried farther up the tree, climbing like a squirrel until he was safely hidden among the leafy branches.  Myrreth was a light weight on his back, barely noticeable after weeks of carrying the babe during the journey.  Ma’Stald didn’t like his aunt Titania.  He really didn’t like his other aunt, Lyra.  She insisted on singing him to sleep every night, but her songs were frightening and made his memories of Assiah cloudy and faded.  It was bedtime, but Ma’Stald had decided he’d had enough of Lyra’s music.  Instead, he was going to hide until they gave up looking for him and Myr.  Then Ma’Stald was going to join one of the groups that was preparing to leave.  He knew his mum wouldn’t approve of his plan, but what else could he do?  Titania’s temper was downright scary.  Maybe if he was lucky, he could find Auntie Myssy and stay with her.

Besides it wasn’t like anybody else was going to take care of Myr.  Though less than a year old and adorable as only babies can be, the other elves avoided Myr as if they thought his demon blood was contagious.  Titania refused to even feed the boy, leaving Ma’Stald with the thankless task of finding a goat and milking it every day.  Still, Myr didn’t seem too unhappy.  He was quiet, spending most of the days asleep.  He seemed to have inherited his father’s internal clock, waking in the late afternoon and falling asleep in the wee hours of morning.  

It made carrying him during their long journey easy enough, but it could make hiding from Titania and Lyra chancy.  Ma’Stald reached back to pat his little brother’s head, making sure he stayed asleep.  Clinging to the branch he was on, Ma’Stald parted the leaves carefully.  Nobody was in sight and he let out a soft sigh of relief.

If only Pi were here, Ma’Stald thought as he cautiously slipped down the tree until he was on solid ground once more.  Myr rustled a bit when Ma’Stald’s feet thumped heavily, making him wince.  Pi was the quietest person Ma’Stald knew, able to sneak past any of the guards or nursemaids who might be watching the boys.  She was also fearless and would never have let Titania hurt him.

The memories were cloudy but Ma’Stald knew for certain that Pi was his hero.  She had run back into the shadows as they overwhelmed the palace, trying to save his papa and the others from the rebels.  And no doubt Pi had died with her king, protecting him.  Ma’Stald dashed the tears from his eyes, scrubbing his dirty face with a hand.  It hurt to remember the rebellion, almost as much as it hurt to watch the elven palace burn. 

Quickly Ma’Stald scurried to the outskirts of camp, where he hoped to hide until his aunts stopped looking for him and went to sleep.  There were lots of trees around the edge of the clearing, smelling strongly of pine sap and thick green leaves.  It was quiet enough that he had to be very careful not to make noise.  The shadows were deepening, darkening as the sun set over the new land.  He was nearly to freedom when he heard that dreaded voice.  

“Ma’Stald, what are you doing out here at this time?” Titania still wore the tattered remnants of the gown she’d been wearing during the last, disastrous battle.  Her hair had long ago escaped its coil, draping over her shoulders in careless snarls that did nothing to help her look regal or collected.  She put her arms around him, lifting him up.  Ma’Stald struggled a bit but it was no use.  Titania might have been insane and a terrible leader, but she was also quite strong.

“You know better than to go wandering alone,” Titania scolded him, burying her face in his hair.  “Leaving your poor mummy worried about you when you should be in bed.”

“You’re not my mum,” Ma’Stald muttered rebelliously but Titania didn’t seem to hear.  She turned with the boys still in her arms and walked back to her small party’s encampment.  Lyra was already there, a harpsichord in her slender hands.  Ma’Stald had no idea why she’d bothered saving the instrument when there were so many people to save but when he’d asked, Lyra had slapped him and told him to mind his elders.  Titania hadn’t stopped her, but his mum would have.  So would Pi.

Titania plunked him down on a ragged bed of blankets they had managed to scrounge up, right next to Lyra.  Myr rustled a bit in his sleep, making baby sounds as Ma’Stald tried to recover from his ignominious drop.  “Here you go,” Titania sang cheerily.  “Lyra’s ready to sing you a lullaby to help you sleep.”

“It’s not a lullaby,” Ma’Stald protested as Lyra began to strum her harpsichord.  “It’s a spell.  I’m not stupid Titania, I know what spells are!”

For a moment her serene expression faltered, showing the depths of raw fury and madness that lurked just beneath the surface.  Titania recovered quickly however, going from madwoman to serene queen in seconds but it was enough to warn Ma’Stald that he shouldn’t say anything else.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ma’Stald.  Your auntie just wants to sing you to sleep.”

He ground his teeth together but the women ignored it.  Lyra’s enchantment was already weaving into place, making his eyes heavy and thoughts cloudy.  Titania carefully lifted Myrreth from his cradle on Ma’Stald’s back.  The boy tried to protest but he was sleepy…so sleepy…

* * *

Something was wrong.  Ma’Stald struggled against the bonds of sleep, pushing his way back to consciousness against the enchanted slumber he had been forced into.  Where was his little brother?  Where had Myr gone?  With mum and papa dead, there was nobody else who would look after Myr.  Nobody but Ma’Stald.  Titania hated the baby for his impure blood and the memories he represented.  If Myr was gone that meant something terrible had happened.

The blankets were wrapped around him, pinning his arms and legs.  Ma’Stald thrashed until he was free, rubbing his eyes.  The tent was dark, all the fires banked.  Everyone was asleep or otherwise occupied in the night.  There were few guards alert enough to notice a child of the shadows slipping past, and Ma’Stald moved as quietly as he knew how, looking around to see where everyone was and where Myr might have gone off to.

Lyra was asleep across from him, her head pillowed on a cloak that had been bundled up and stuffed under her head.  With her was an elven lord he didn’t know, somebody whose white hair glowed in the dark.  Ma’Stald let his eyes drift over the rest of the tent, searching for his mother before remembering that she was gone, lost in Assiah.  Shaking his head he tried to chase away the cobwebs that were clouding his thoughts.  He had to find Titania, his aunt, not his mother.  If Myr was missing, she was behind it.  Ma’Stald just knew it.

And Titania wasn’t there.

Ma’Stald bolted out of the tent and into the clearing.  The elven woman’s trail was easy to find, clear in the darkness to his eyes.  Following it, Ma’Stald left the camp and headed toward the nearby river.  Recent storms or snowmelt had risen the river’s level far above its normal level, making it treacherous but a good supply of water for the camp.  Ma’Stald burst through the underbrush to the shore of the river.  A hundred feet away he could see the shining figure of Titania, her gown glowing in the dim moonlight.  In her arms was a dark bundle.  As he watched she lifted her arms, preparing to heave the bundle into the river.

“NO!”

He had never run so fast in his life, faster than even when he’d run away from Wrath’s terrible demons as they hunted down the children of the dukes and he’d hidden with Pi.  Titania only had time to turn around, her eyes widening and mouth shaped in an “O” of surprise before he tackled her.  

Ma’Stald had been training with the demon dukes’ children before the uprising and his subsequent flight from Pandemonium.  Though small compared to the demons, he was scrappy and strong enough to have gained their respect.  Titania had never been a fighter much less someone who willingly wrestled people larger than herself, and Ma’Stald knocked her to the ground.  Myr, still wrapped up in his blanket but wide awake and squalling, tumbled from her grasp and rolled to the river’s edge.  Terrified Ma’Stald watched the baby slide through the mud, his blanket coming undone.  Don’t fall, please don’t fall, he thought frantically but the gods were cruel and even as he lurched up, the baby tumbled over the edge.

There was no hesitation, no reason to stop and think about what he was doing.  Ma’Stald ran to the edge in time to see Myr slipping below water, the current carrying him away.  The boy leaped into the river, hands together so that he cut cleanly through the surface of the water.  It was cold, shockingly so to the child, and the riptide dragged at him, trying to pull him below the surface of the water.  If the current was so strong he was struggling, what was it like for the baby, helpless and adrift?  

Kicking his legs, Ma’Stald knifed through the water.  He rapidly gained on the baby, grabbing Myr before his head could vanish below the surface.  Myr was silent, his dark lashes closed over grey-green eyes.  “You’re ok,” Ma’Stald said to his little brother, shaking his hair out of his own eyes.  “I’ve got you, Myr.  Come on, let’s get to shore.”

Getting to shore was easier said than done, however.  With one arm around Myr, Ma’Stald could only use his other to steer while kicking with his legs.  Taking a deep breath, he aimed for the closest shore, unsure which that was since diving in and being carried downriver.  Was this the shore where he’d knocked down Titania, or the far shore?  It didn’t matter, really.  He had to get Myr out of the water before the baby caught a fever…or worse.  Either way, Ma’Stald aimed for the shore that looked closest, using his legs to try and break free of the current.  It was no use, the water too strong and icy cold.  Ma’Stald felt himself slipping below the water.  No, he thought stubbornly, I’m not going to die here.  I’m not going to let Myr die here!

As if in response to his thoughts there was a sudden sucking sound and a powerful pull.  Ma’Stald yelped, riverwater rushing into his mouth as he was yanked downward.  He fought the sensation but it was too strong.  Then abruptly his feet touched the ground beneath the water.  Blinking to clear his eyes, Ma’Stald looked around.  He was in the shallows.  Behind him he could see the water still rushing away, the powerful current carrying debris crashing over the side of a cliff.  Panting, Ma’Stald tried to gather his thoughts.  What had happened?  How had he gotten free of the current?

In his arms Myr stirred a bit, coughing up muddy seawater and wailing.  Quickly Ma’Stald scrambled up the shore, surprised to see that this part of the riverbank wasn’t so steep as the part they had tumbled down.  The river must have carried them miles away.  Was this attempt at infanticide actually a gift in disguise?  Perhaps he could make a run for it now.

Except his legs were rubbery and arms felt like lead.  It took all of Ma’Stald’s strength just to clamber to safety with Myr in his arms.  He lay there in the mud and dark, panting, trying to tell his body to get up and keep going.  They had to get away from Titania, the madwoman. She’d tried to kill Myr.  Surely their mum would understand why they had to run from her.  If only Pi were here to help him.  They could take turns carrying Myr and she’d chide Ma’Stald, chivvying him to keep up even when he wanted nothing more than to rest.  But Pi was gone, probably dead.  He had to keep going alone.

Myr was still wailing, loud enough that Ma’Stald had little doubt that the search parties would hear him.  He rolled over and put a hand over the baby’s mouth.  “Shh,” Ma’Stald hissed to his brother.  “I know you’re scared and wet and hungry.  I am too, but we have to be quiet.”

A harsh voice cut through the cold night air, shrill and sharp against his ears.  “And just where do you think you are going, son of mine?”

Titania stalked down the riverbank, her eyes black with rage and madness.  A long scratch marred her face, blood covering her cheek like a macabre mask.  Her hands were clenched into fists, the veins in her arms standing out like blue wire against her milky skin.  Ma’Stald scrambled upright just in time for her fist to lash out, hitting his cheek.  He tumbled back down as pain flared, cradling his jaw.  “I am trying to save you from this ugly burden.  Why won’t you let me save you, son of mine?”

“I’m not your son!” Ma’Stald flinched when she hit him again, turning away from the blow so that most of the impact and pain missed him.  But when she went for Myr again, he threw himself over the baby, shielding Myr with his own body.  

“You are my son!” Titania insisted, lost in the mad world she had created in her mind.  “Lilah stole you from me and pretended like you were that monster’s child so I wouldn’t realize it!  And then she gave birth to that…deformity…and made you think it’s your brother!”

“You’re wrong!” Ma’Stald protested, wincing at the blows that rained down on him.  “Myrreth is my brother and I’m Lilah’s son!  You can’t change that!  Leave us alone!”  He closed his eyes, tensing, waiting for another blow that never came.  Still he knew better than to move, even to look to see what the madwoman was doing.  He had to stay still and quiet, and keep Myr protected.  Myr was all he had left of his family, his real family not this crazy family Titania had dreamt up for him.  

“Why won’t you let me save you?” Titania asked.  Ma’Stald peeked up at her, seeing puzzlement in her gaze.  Her hands were streaked with red where she’d clawed at her own arms, needing something to hold, to cling, to strangle.  “Why can’t you just believe?”

“Because I don’t believe in lies,” Ma’Stald said stubbornly, watching her eyes go black once more.  

“Then I’ll have to make you believe.”  This time when she hit him she didn’t stop.  He bowed his head, curled his body around Myr’s and waited for the assault to end.  Agony lanced through his abused body, made worse by his exhaustion and tumble into the river.  When his body finally refused to accept the continued abuse and struggled to escape, Titania kicked him until he stopped moving.  As his vision went dark all Ma’Stald could think was that childhood heroes weren’t all they were made out to be.  They weren’t perfect and they couldn’t save him, not now.  Not anymore.

That was all he remembered of the night, and of the weeks that passed.  He drifted in and out of consciousness, so badly beaten and bruised that he had no clue what story Titania told her followers.  Whenever he was awake enough he searched for Myr, reassured to find the babe nearby and slumbering peacefully.  Then the healers would see him awake and make him drink horrid concoctions, which put him back into a dark sleep, where nightmares of burning palaces and slaughtered friends tormented him.  

Those visions were made worse when they mixed with his memories, making him unsure of what was real and what was fantasy.  He dreamed of running after Pi, carrying Myr out of the palace and away from the terrible demons that had come for his mum and papa, but he also dreamed of Pi stumbling, falling behind and being carried away by the demons.  He screamed for her to run, hurry, get away and sometimes she did, but sometimes she didn’t.  And even when Pi did get away she always turned around and dove back into the battle.  

When he wasn’t dreaming of the demon uprising, Ma’Stald dreamt of the night the legion overwhelmed the palace guards.  Blood drenched the carpets as the chaos creatures tore apart noble and peasant alike, their jaws slavering and eyes red with bloodlust.  He saw his auntie Myssy, her own eyes glowing gold and amber, summoning the elemental Ifrit to protect them.  And he saw Lilah, her own hands drenched in black blood, eyes narrowed and blades in hand.  Ma’Stald watched as gentle cooks, frisky naiads, and playful pixies were all ripped apart.  Then he was swept up by his mum.  “Watch over Myr,” she told him, putting the babe back in his arms.  “Watch him, and listen to your auntie.  She’ll take care of you.”

But she won’t, Ma’Stald tried to tell her but now the Grey captain was dragging him away, to the golden ships that were setting sail with what remained of the capitol’s people.  He was pushed into Titania’s arms and then the ships were launched into the void, sailing through sky and sea alike to escape the monsters that were tearing apart their land.  

Ma’Stald groaned in his sleep, thrashing about until cool hands rested on his brow.  Dimly he heard arguing.  “I can’t do what you want, Titania.”  That was Lyra, her voice pleading.  “I can’t take memories away.  I can only wall them off and make him terrified of remembering.  But I can’t make the memories vanish and replace them with false ones.  If he’s strong enough, those memories will eventually burn through the false ones and-“

“I don’t care,” Titania interrupted.  “Do what you can.  This is my son and I’ll not have him disrespecting me by insisting he’s related to…that woman who brought all this upon us.”

“But-“

Ma’Stald struggled to waken more fully, realizing they were talking about him.  Titania wanted to do…something to his memories?  He couldn’t let her do that.  She was not going to take away what little he had left of mum and papa, and the dukes, and his friends.  He wouldn’t let her.

Titania saw him awakening and put her hand over his eyes.  “Go to sleep,” she commanded and unable to resist the compulsion in her words Ma’Stald felt his eyes droop once more.  Struggling against her compulsion he heard only one last thing before falling back into his nightmares.

“Do it, Lyra!”