Thorns of Fae

by S L Mason

  “George, don’t shoot us, please,” Arty asks with both hands up.

  I hum a protection bubble around Arty and turn to face my father, ignoring the ache pressing the back of my throat. “The war between humans and Fae is over, you have nothing to fear from me or any other Fae. Arthur requested we bring him home, to you.” The ache in my chest grows. I’d rehearsed what I’d say over and over, hoping to sound aloof and emotionless. My voice comes out cold and uninterested. My insides chill with the certainty I will never see my father again. I want to run to him and cry in his arms, but Queens don’t get the luxury of tears or hugs.

  He can no longer see the daughter hidden by the Fae I’ve become. It’s how humanity protects itself: by denying the painful truth.

  “George, open your eyes; can’t you see the forest for the trees? It’s Arty. Now be thankful for what you have, don’t pine away for what you’ve lost,” my mother’s sweet, sing-song words wake her love for me.

  I smile down at her, pressing my lips together to hide the trembling. Her own blue eyes beam back at me.

  My father’s head whips back to Arty and rakes over him, only to raise his brows in surprise.

  “Where is Sarah?” he demands. “She went back for you and you come back with that?” He pokes the gun barrel my way. “Where’s my daughter, Arthur?” He lowers the barrel a fraction of an inch.

  My throat tightens as my mother continues ignoring my father’s cutting remarks. “Is Puca here? Did he come with you?” she directs her question at me while bobbing her head back and forth in an effort to see around mine and Arty’s forms.

  “No, I don’t need him to travel,” I give her my quavering reply, clearing my throat.

  “George, take Arty downstairs while I talk to our guest.” For once, my mother stands tall and strong. I’ve never seen her order my father around. But she did, and he lowers the shotgun, moving deeper into the gaping shadows of the stairwell with Arty trailing behind.

  The shock of my father’s aged appearance is nothing compared to my mother’s, she’s only aged a day. Her hair is still blond and glossy without a single strand of gray, while not one-line creeps around her eyes. She still carries the tone of youth in her muscles.

  Her arms swing wide to encircle me. “It was the same for me when first I returned,” she confides.

  “You know me?” I whisper.

  She waves my inquiry away. How very Fae. “Everyone I'd ever known was long dead and food for worms. Not even a cross or stone left to mark their passing when I returned. I cried and raged at Puca. He never explained the price of Fae or about the passing of time.”

  I push back, eyes wide. “When were you born?”

  “The Year of Our Lord, 1306, May Day. I was thought to be a changeling. But my mother kept me anyway. They didn’t in those days—changelings were left out in the open for God to take. Damelza, my mother, had a mind of her own. Always demanding her own way and finding a way to get it.” She gave me a one-eyed wink, the way only someone with Fae blood could, never moving any other muscles.

  My mother had never spoken of her family or her mother. She’d always said they died long ago. When she stares off into the distance I never dreamed of the truth in her words. I always thought my mother was the weak one. How wrong I was.

  “You won,” she states. “I always hoped you would. And Cernunnos?” She falters, her hand covering her mouth.

  “He lives, I found another way. All of Fae needs to find another way to exist. I’ll show them. Don’t worry, I got this.” She turns back to me as the smile dances across her face.

  She nervously clasps both hands together. “Your crown suits you… can I see your wings?” my mother inquires.

  I gasp.

  “You think you’re the first Queen of Fae I’ve ever met? I know what a fairy queen looks like, so show me.” She keeps her hands locked together.

  Stepping back, I open my wings enough to fill the room without taking out the overhead light fixture. The gossamer flesh reflects the moonlight as it trails from the windows. My wings give off their own green glow, matching the marking on my skin.

  “You’re beautiful, Sarinah! You can’t stay, though. The sun will rise and you will burn with it, I know. Is Arty staying?” she inquires while biting her lip.

  I lay my wings flat onto my back swallow and reply, “Yes, Arty said he’d stay and take care of you. I’ll visit when I can.” I gulp. The words stick in my throat, not wanting to leave my tongue. By the time I’m able to return they may all be dead. Pushing the fear away, I press my lips together and hold the anguish in check.

  My mother slowly enunciates every word, saying, “I will still be here. I’m touched by Fae and don’t age like humans. If you can’t come, send Puca, he’ll come for me. Don’t be sad. This is how it was always going to be for me and you. We are Fae.” She shrugs.

  “What about Dad and Arty? They just die like every other human?” I retort.

  “Yes, I’m sorry, sweetheart. That is the way of life. Your father would never survive in the Hallowed Hills, and I won’t leave him. Arthur is welcome to return with you if he wishes. We can survive without him. I do have some magic and can protect us.” My mother’s admission isn’t a shock. Her face twists in hurt. The lie she’s lived has cost her. Her guilt from it wakes off of her, coloring her aura.

  “I offered to stay.” The deep timber reverberates around the room. “I need a break from Fae.” Arty’s matter-of-fact answer masks the truth of his broken heart.

  His aura is colored deep brown with sadness. From the moment I’d found him in Deston’s castle, he’s been a joyless lovesick fool. His incessant inquiries into Pil only cement the truth.

  My mother’s eyes linger on Arty, assessing him in the all-too-familiar Fae fashion. I don't know why I hadn't noticed all the little similarities. It had been right in front of me the whole time.

  “Why do you hate Fae so much?” my inquiry jumps out before I can check my tongue.

  Her smile spreads across her unblemished face. “I don’t hate Fae, I hate what they do. You think I hate them just because I wouldn't let you dress up as one or watch one of those ridiculous movies? They aren’t the real Fae. As you can see, only pixies and Queen’s have wings. Those stories would only have filled your head with lies and I couldn’t tell you the truth.” She fiddles with one of the broken teacups in the cabinet. “You wouldn’t have believed me until you presented. I tried to teach you the magic when you were little, but you didn’t take.” The guilt reeks from her, battering the walls.

  “You could have told her when they landed,” Arty brakes in to defend me.

  “Puca was supposed to come and take you and train you to keep you safe. We weren’t supposed to leave the house. Your father had other ideas. I knew about the tunnel, but I didn’t know it was finished. I never got a moment long enough to explain.” She sounds weak and frightened.

  “You were hiding from Jacques, weren’t you?” I see it all so clear.

  She nods her head—her eyes had grown to the size of the saucer she kept toying with.

  Everyone has secrets. Even parents. My mom had been terrified Jacques or Deston would find me. All her cleaning had been her spreading as much magic as possible to hide us.

  “Every time I read the papers telling of a changeling girl going missing nearby, I quaked. Jacques is more dangerous than a pit filled with vipers,” she breathes out the whisper.

  “All the challengers were part Fae?” Arty demands.

  My mother turns her back on us, running her fingers across the wall as she walks to the far window. “Only a Fae could have won the challenge.” She tentatively chances a glance over her shoulder. She turns with purposeful steps and stops short in front of me. “It is the past, let it go.” She reaches for my hands. “Your father will be up in a moment to make sure I’m still breathing, so kiss me and say good-bye.” She gives me a tight-lipped smile.

  As I lean in to hug her, a myriad of questions storm through my min
d. But breathing in the scent of honeysuckle and laundry soap quiets them. She rocks back and forth and thrust me away, then quietly skips down the stairs.

  Arty moves between me and my mother’s retreating steps. “Will you keep looking for Pil?” he pleads.

  “Yes, I will, and I’ll come and tell you if I find her. Are you sure you want to stay? I’m totally selfish and want you with me.” I grab his hand with both of mine.

  “I’d only be a third wheel—Janice doesn’t want me hanging around all the time. In my heart I can’t stand to look at the guy. I can’t defend you, and Fae only respects its own. I would be nothing more than a pet in their eyes. I can’t live like that. There’s a laundry list of reasons I won’t stay. The only reason to make me stay is missing.” Arty replies. It’s clearly killing him as much as me. He cups my cheek and kisses my forehead. “Take care of yourself, Dee.”

  I cough a laugh. “You too, Dumb.” Then, I pull him into a hug and cling to him for a minute.

  “I’ll be back,” I whisper.

  “Of course, you will. Hopefully, I won’t be too old by then.” He cuffs me on the chin.

  My eyes blur as I picture my chambers and thrust my hand out, creating the portal. My wings flutter, moving the dust around the room. Then, I step through the opening and watch as it slams shut. The magic wakes, moving away from its location.

  My heart burns hot and cold as every door slams closed and the walls weep for me. Pulling in a deep breath, I turn and fling the doors to the throne room open, banging them against the walls. Janice stands on the other side. I go up on my tiptoe’s and kiss him lingering for just a moment. Then turn to face the room.

  There, on either side of the throne standing still as a statue, are Deston and Jacques waiting for me to free them from wild. But that will never happen. The power of the princes is broken.

  Janice extends his hand and leads me to the stone throne. Flaring my wings to their full size, I lowered myself onto the cold, unforgiving seat.

  The sea of Fae faces all curtsy and bow in obedience. Not a single human in sight.

  No amount of magic can erase the carnage this room has held. I still see the bloody floor and dead bodies littered haphazardly in my mind’s eye. Nikki’s had lain just outside the door where she fell.

  Nikki was part human and Fae. She used magic too, just not as well as I did. I could never think of Nikki without bringing Nick to mind.

  Since the eruption of my wings and thorny crown, the pain has receded, but the memory remains. In order for a butterfly to take flight, it must fight its way from the chrysalis holding its wings hostage. I struggled to be freed from the bonds of my cocoon. I don’t know if my humanity was my chrysalis or not, but my wings can take flight and so will I.

  Janice leans over and whispers, “My queen, what is your bidding?” The scent of vetiver and spice moves with him.

  “Present the first petitioner,” I reply, heaving a sigh.

  The female Fae bows low, and her long legs crossed as if she should’ve worn a dress and not the leather leggings. Her black and white hair trails down over the floor. She raises her head to reveal her bright orange eyes, and a body surrounded by the muddy brown aura of heartbreak.

  “Your Majesty, I am Pil and I’ve come to beg a boon.”

  The end

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  TWIST OF FAE

  CHAPTER 1

  Humans think fairies are born from from a human child's first laugh. Ridiculous we are born like everything else, from magic.

  Only a boon from our Queen, is capable of creation. The boon requires a favor, a task, or a quest and you must succeed.

  I was created for a war.

  Our Queen wanted a war so my father made one. She didn't want just any war, she wanted a great war that would dwarf all others. She wanted the humans to truly suffer. She wanted to see exactly how far they would go destroying each other.

  So my father he tricked everyone into war. Not because they hated one another, although I'm sure they thought they did. Not for a perceived wrong, no. They went to war for no other reason than the simplest, they went to war for envy. It is a fae’s favorite downfall. Because at our core we are all envious in our own way. We always desire what we cannot have. Many times we take what does not belong to us, we are Fae it is our way.

  My father named me Pil after some ridiculous human idea, he said it amused him.

  Then our Queen died she left us alone with only one mandate go to the human world and find another. Sounds like the simplest of tasks, I figured I would pop up and be done in a night. All we had to do was go and find a human with just a touch of fae blood. You coax the magic out of her, who wouldn't want to be a fairy.

  Humans tell ridiculous stories, with their movies and drawings. Little teeny creatures flittering around on wings. Only a Queen has wings.

  My mother Queen faded and finding a replacement was more difficult than we had anticipated. All the candidates had no idea what they were. Their human side clings to that world, to that ridiculous death and diseased world with no magic.

  I stole a few girls for myself turned them over to my Lord and he in turn rewarded me. None of my choices survived I was not punished, none of us were. We trick and play, to control ‘her’.

  But that Queen too faded, so the cycle began again.

  Questioning a Liege Lord is not forbidden, it's just not wise. To question is to challenge its an assumption that you know better or you’re wiser somehow. I had no desire to challenge our Lord. I'm not capable of that kind of fight. I know what I am, a hunter nothing more nothing less. My whole existence is to serve my master. I can choose as much as any fae. But I was not born to rule, I was born to hunt and kill.

  CHAPTER 2

  The cold of the stone floor is nothing compared to the chill of my heart. I stare into the Queen’s golden eyes knowing her answer - no.

  My father stands as still as a statue by her throne his wild eyes stare off into the Hallowed Hills blind to me and my pain. His last orders ring in my mind ‘kill the Queen if I fail.’

  But I cannot, not ever. My fate rests in her hands along with my heart.

  “Your majesty, My name is Pil and I’ve come to ask a boon.” My voice reverberates around the room.

  All Fae cease to murmur, and the silence is defining. They know who and what I am.

  I raise my eyes to meet hers. Her consort leans in and whispers in her ear. As the changeling Nick murmurs between the two of them, and my eyes narrow.

  She never looks away, but stares me down with her canary gold eyes. The green gossamer wings at her back flutter and she raises her hand to silence the two men. Both step back.

  “Say your peace.” She instructs.

  “Arthur, and I,” I stop and swallow. “I wish to join him. Where ever he is.” I finish.

  “No” she didn’t flinch, or take a breath.

  Nick interjects, “But,”

  She raises her hand and he ceases to speak. “The human realm is closed to all Fae. I cannot make an exception.” Then she presses her lips closed in a tight line, as her nostrils flare.

  I jump to my feet, “I will preform any feat you ask of me, kill any fae, hunt any
creature.” I offer.

  She takes to her feet, “Do you think I am in need of your services?” She demands. “I can accomplish all those with out your help.”

  Her words slam me back into the stone floor, forcing my supplication. Then she continues. “You are Jacques assassin, his hunter, you hunted my mother her whole life. To kill her, did you hunt me?” she demands.

  “Yes, my Queen, I did hunt you. My father bay me to do so. But your kindness to the Unicorn stayed my hand.” I reply, panting under the pressure of her anger. It was not a lie, just not the complete truth.

  “How many changeling's did you kill before that? How many?” she shouts. The room quakes with her power.

  “Hundreds, thousands, I don't recall. I was born to hunt, it is my purpose. It is what I was created for, it’s my way.” I plead. My chest is tight with fear, an emotion I’ve never felt before.

  “It was your way,” she said, “now you will hunt no more, all Fae must find another way and so shall you.” Her words wake into me beating at my form. “Give me your fealty.” She orders.

  My insides quake, with my reply. “I cannot, I swore fealty to another for all time. I cannot give it to you. I cannot break my word, even for you.” I allow her compulsion to press me into the floor embracing the pain of it. It eases the pain in my heart a little.

  “Yet you ask a boon of me? You ask me to honor you with a gift? Why should I, what have you done to earn this boon?” Her magic cuts into me, drawing lines of blood across my skin.

  I swallow back my desire to retort all the times I stayed my hand. Telling myself letting Arthur live was the wise and prudent course. Not that I hadn’t allowed him to live for my own selfish reasons.