by Lynette Noni
All eyes were on Alex as she followed the graceful strides of her escort. In comparison to Kyia’s effortless movement, Alex was certain her own steps were reminiscent of a drunken giraffe on rollerskates. Beautiful dress or not, there were undeniable differences between her mortal self and the perfection of the Meyarin race.
Not usually one to care about such things, Alex still felt her face heat up at the eyes gliding over her. She had to remind herself that it had been thousands of years since most Meyarins had set eyes on a human; they were merely curious. But she still couldn’t help feeling as if she didn’t quite live up to their expectations. Regardless, she held her head high and returned the stares directed her way.
Alex was grateful to see Roka and Zain had saved two empty seats between them, and as Kyia ushered her towards them, she noticed another familiar face.
“Your Majesties,” Alex greeted respectfully when she and Kyia neared the two Meyarins seated at the head of the group—one male, one female—wearing intricately jewelled Myrox circlets across their foreheads. She offered her most graceful curtsey to the royal couple, silently thanking D.C. for all the practice she had enforced upon her in their spare time back at the academy last year.
“Alexandra Jennings,” King Astophe said, rising to his feet and offering a kind smile. The rest of the table stood as well, and Alex felt even more heat flood her face. “It is good to see you again. I trust you are well?”
“I am, thank you,” Alex answered, before tacking on a quick, “Your Majesty.” Curtseying lessons aside, D.C. had taught Alex very little about the correct manner in which to address royals. Roka had always been an anomaly, being so friendly that Alex had felt completely at ease around him since the first day they’d met.
“Alex,” Roka said, reading her anxiety and moving to her side, “you already know my father, King Astophe. But allow me to introduce my mother, Queen Niida.”
The queen was the only Meyarin who had remained seated when the king rose, but at Roka’s introduction, she slowly moved to her feet and eyed Alex shrewdly. While lovely to behold, the darkly beautiful Queen Niida displayed no outward affection or kindness. Her ruby lips were pinched tight and her golden eyes blazed with repressed emotion, reminding Alex all too well of the way Aven often glared at her. It was remarkable that both sons had inherited the queen’s eye colour, yet only Roka’s gaze managed to hold any kind of warmth when he looked upon Alex. In fact, the queen’s piercing stare was so cold that Alex had to resist taking a step back.
“It is an honour to meet you, young mortal,” the queen said, her lyrical voice like a song. The gentle tone she used was at odds with her harsh body language, causing Alex no small amount of confusion.
“And you as well, Queen Niida,” Alex said, carefully pronouncing her name just as Roka had. Nye-duh. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to curtsey again since she’d already done so once, so she looked away from the queen’s frosty gaze and back to Roka for guidance. His lips quirked in response and he gave an amused shake of his head, swivelling her around until she faced the others standing at the table.
“My father’s council,” Roka said, gesturing towards the three other Meyarins. “Or at least, part of it. Lasa Riza, Loro Gaiel and Loro Roathus.”
Alex nodded at them each in turn, first the willowy female, Riza, and then the two males: the strangely feline Gaiel and the wizened old Roathus. The latter was the oldest Meyarin Alex had ever seen, causing her to wonder just how long he must have lived in order for his hair to turn grey and the wrinkles to start lining his skin. The Meyarin race was immortal, Alex knew, but it surely had to have its limits. Roka and Aven were both thousands of years old, yet they only appeared to be in their late twenties—or early thirties at most. Astophe and Niida looked perhaps in their late thirties or early forties, and they were obviously considerably older than their children. Roathus, however, was pushing what would equate to the appearance of a seventy-year-old man. Alex felt overwhelmed just being in the same room as him, fully aware that he likely owned the wisdom of the ages.
“Please be at rest,” the king said to the table, prompting them to take their seats again.
Roka led Alex to her place between Zain and Kyia, with the prince taking the chair on the other side of his betrothed.
“You endured that well, little human, especially knowing the council wanted to lock you up not so long ago,” Zain said into her ear. “Well done.”
He sounded genuine in his praise, so she sent him a smile of gratitude while hiding her shaking hands under the table. She’d actually forgotten that the council had wanted to hold her captive in a desperate attempt to keep her from opening a doorway for Aven to reach Meya. If it hadn’t been for the king and Roka’s support, she probably would have been imprisoned, just as Zain had said. But given that Aven had made his way through a doorway she’d opened—unintentionally or not— Alex wondered if perhaps she should have been incarcerated until the threat had passed. And judging by the looks of both Gaiel and Riza, not to mention the queen, she was not alone in such thinking.
Unable to hold their hostile gazes, she looked to the table, noting absentmindedly that it was made of dark wood, but it also had intermittent splashes and whirls of both Myrox and gold along its design. It was almost too fancy to eat off—or so she thought, until a grumble from her stomach offered an audible sound of disagreement.
As if sensing her hunger, a group of Meyarins dressed in pristine white tunics and tights entered the room, each holding an assortment of platters which they placed carefully around the table. When they were done, they bowed to the royal family and promptly left again.
“Aegis de garsa. Tenorae sana graifos. Les vael tor,” Astophe said, and Alex jumped slightly when everyone around the table repeated the words after him. It must have been some kind of prayer or blessing, she realised. Though, who exactly an immortal race would pray to, she had no idea.
“It’s an offering of gratitude,” Kyia whispered, sensing her confusion. “We give thanks to those who provided the meal, those who prepared the meal, and those in whose company we enjoy the meal.”
Alex nodded her understanding and looked surreptitiously around the table, watching as the Meyarins reached for various platters and began dishing food onto their plates. As the servings were passed around to her, Alex followed their lead. When she had a sizeable collection in front of her—all of it unrecognisable to her eyes—she turned to Zain.
“Is this like fairy food?” she asked, as quietly as she could. “If I eat it, am I going to be stuck here dancing naked on the table tops for all eternity?”
Zain, having just taken a bite of something that looked like mashed potato except that it was bright green, instantly began choking. He coughed loudly, trying to clear his throat, drawing the attention of the table. After a few hacking breaths, his airways cleared and he held up his hands to communicate he was okay, and the others slowly returned to their food and quiet conversations.
“Would you like to ask that question again in a way that makes even the slightest amount of sense?” he wheezed out, his voice raspy from coughing so hard.
“You know, fairy food,” Alex said. “Food of the Fae.”
Seeing his blank look, she glanced shiftily around the table, aware that she had to be careful with her next words. “Where I... come from... there are legends warning that if you enter the land of the Fae—the Fair Folk—or elves, depending on which story you hear, you’ll remain there forever if you let any food or drink touch your lips. They usually say you’ll be dancing until your feet bleed because you literally can’t stop, since the Fae are supposedly not very nice and will laugh at you forever.” Alex shrugged. “Of course, there are different tales too, but that one stuck in my head as a child. And let’s face it, you guys are as close to elves or Fae as I can imagine.”
For some reason, Zain, who had been amused throughout her explanation, scowled at her ending.
“The Fae here are an annoying race of hair-p
ulling, stone-throwing, insult-hurling critters who are no larger than the size of your hand,” he said. “Everything else you’ve heard is an urban myth circulated by the mortals of this world so their children don’t wander off alone. They say that if a youngling enters a mushroom circle, the Fae will shrink them down and take them into their tree hollows, never letting them leave. But I can assure you, they have no such power.”
Alex felt a pang in her chest at the memory of Skyla’s terror when they encountered the mushroom circle surrounding Raelia. In fact, the last words she’d said to Alex before Aven had ordered her death had been, ‘Don’t let the Fae take me.’ Even though she’d been shape-shifted into Jordan’s body at the time, the panic in her words had resulted in Alex awakening from many a nightmare in the last fortnight. Mostly because Skyla’s fears had at least somewhat come true, just not at the hand of the beings Zain described.
“We are not related to those troublesome pests in any way, shape or form,” Zain said. His offended look remained in place, but he nodded to her plate. “So eat up, little human, and enjoy the delicacies of Meya—and for the love of the stars, keep your clothes on.”
He pointedly turned back to his food, clearly done with their conversation. It was then that Alex felt Kyia’s shoulders shaking with laughter beside her, and when she glanced over, Roka was also looking down at his plate and fighting a grin.
Well, at least they were amused.
Trusting Zain’s answer, Alex picked up her cutlery—which was, like most things in the Meyarin palace, made of Myrox— and cut into what looked like a steaming golden pear. When in Rome, she told herself, taking a small bite. As soon as the taste hit her, her eyes lit up with pleasure, and she automatically reached for more of the strange fruit.
Trying one thing after another, Alex steadily made her way through her meal, with each dish bringing more and more delight to her senses.
“You guys sure know how to impress a girl,” Alex said to Zain, wondering if it would be against royal etiquette to lick her plate clean once she was finished. “This is incredible.”
“This is nothing,” he replied, gesturing to the table. “You should see the banquets we hold at the turning of each season. Nothing can compare to the food and merriment of those celebrations.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Alex said. “I’ll have to come along and see for myself one day.”
A loud clatter diverted her eyes to the head of the table where she was instantly seared by the burning gaze of the queen. Niida looked irate. In fact, Alex half expected the monarch to leap bodily across the table and attack her with a fork.
“Or, um…” Alex cleared her throat. “Not.”
She lowered her eyes and ate the rest of her meal in silence, acutely aware of the queen’s hateful glare locked onto her the whole time.
“So, Alexandra,” Astophe said, drawing Alex’s startled gaze from where she was idly playing with what remained of her food, hoping dinner would soon be over so she could finally leave the tense atmosphere. “I hear you’ll be undertaking the varrungard tomorrow. How do you believe you’ll fare?”
Alex flicked her eyes to Roka, wondering what the king was talking about.
“I haven’t had a chance to tell Alex about the trial yet, Father,” Roka said. “I was planning on doing so after our meal.”
The king raised an eyebrow, letting out a hearty chuckle. “Well, she’s certainly in for a surprise, isn’t she?”
“I give her an hour,” Gaiel said in a snide tone, his face set in a sneer. “Two at most.”
“I don’t know,” Riza said, her voice contemplative. “She seems rather durable for a mortal, and she does continue to surprise us. I say half a day.”
Alarmed by their words, Alex looked to Roathus, expecting him to offer his own opinion. But all he did was crinkle his eyes and send her an encouraging wink, something she found unexpectedly reassuring.
“I have the utmost faith in Alex’s ability to complete the varrungard,” Roka said, his words strong and confident. “And without any assistance at all.”
Gaiel scoffed. “You expect us to believe you won’t be monitoring her progress?”
“Monitoring, yes,” Zain answered for Roka. “Interfering, no.”
“We’ll maintain the same restrictions as we would for any who wish to become Zeltora,” Kyia said. “Meyarin or otherwise.”
“No mortal has done what will be required of her if she is to return within the allocated time,” Gaiel said.
“Then she will be the first,” Roka said, his assertive tone ending the matter.
Alex, meanwhile, wanted to throw her hands up and demand someone explain what they were all talking about.
Gaiel locked eyes with Roka for a tense moment but then he looked back at Alex, his mouth stretching into an unpleasant smirk. “Let the mortal have her fun. Sendasa fraes del la norae. Selth gratus fin morna.”
Roka’s jaw clenched in response, and Zain half rose out of his seat, his face livid. But before either of them could retaliate, the king spoke.
“Gaiel, enough,” Astophe said firmly, his eyes narrowed. “I think it’s time we all retire for the evening.” His features relaxed again when he looked at Alex. “May the blessings of the stars be with you tomorrow, young mortal. I look forward to hearing of your success upon your return.”
Alex sent him a small smile of gratitude and nodded her head in feigned understanding.
The king rose to his feet and those around the table stood with him, Alex included. Together with the queen, Astophe left the room, followed closely by the council members—with Roathus offering Alex a twinkled smile but Gaiel and Riza ignoring her entirely. Alex rolled the tension from her neck, relieved to be in the sole company of her Meyarin friends again.
“You did well, Alex,” Roka told her, with Kyia nodding her agreement beside him. “I’m sorry about my mother. She can be… difficult at times.”
‘Difficult’ wasn’t quite the word Alex would have used.
Reading the look on her face, he winced with apology and said, “She hasn’t always been so trying. In fact, she used to adore mortals. But things… changed. Try not to take it personally.”
“Don’t worry, Roka. It’s all good.” And it was. Because it wasn’t as if Alex planned on spending quality time with the queen. She was in Meya for one reason—to train with Roka and learn how to fight Aven.
“Does anyone want to tell me about this thing I’m supposed to be doing tomorrow?” she asked, looking between the three of them.
Zain slung a heavy arm across her shoulders and said, “Let’s retire to Roka’s suite. We’ll explain there.”
Six
“Let me get this straight,” Alex said, attempting to calm her skyrocketing nerves while staring at the three Meyarins lounging in Roka’s quarters. “You plan on leaving me out in the forest without any supplies or any… anything… and expect me to find my way back here on my own? And I have to do this overnight?”
At their nods, she shrieked, “Are you mad? It’s the middle of winter out there! I’m going to get lost and end up freezing to death!”
“We won’t let that happen, Alex,” Kyia said soothingly.
“You said you won’t be interfering,” Alex returned. “Saving my life is interfering.”
“I said we’ll abide by the rules given to those monitoring any who wish to become Zeltora,” Kyia corrected. “Rules which state that, while we cannot help you reach your goal, if something were to threaten your life, we would step in. You won’t see us, but we’ll be closely watching your progress.”
That at least gave Alex an illusion of safety, even if she still wasn’t keen on being dropped off in the middle of a snow-covered forest and left to fend for herself. The last time she found herself stranded in the woods, she’d ended up with her back torn open by a Hyroa and had to watch Aven kill the beast and steal its blood—blood that later almost killed Zain.
“What’s this Zeltora thing you keep mentioning
?” Alex asked, shrugging off images of the snarling beast.
“It’s what we call Meya’s elite guard,” Roka answered. “Zain here is the… what’s the word you would use? Captain? General?” The prince nodded to himself. “Yes, Zain is General of the Zeltora. He holds the highest rank of all his fellow guards.”
Impressed but not surprised, Alex turned to look at Zain. “No wonder you didn’t want to be put on babysitting duty. Talk about a demotion.”
He didn’t deign to respond, but his silence spoke volumes.
“Those who wish to enter into training as Zeltora must undergo the trial—the varrungard—for testing,” Roka explained. “But it isn’t as challenging as it sounds, Alex. We wouldn’t send our younglings out on their own if we were concerned for their lives. Try not to worry.”
“But I don’t want to be a part of your Zeltora,” Alex said. She then turned to Zain and quickly added, “No offence. I’m sure it’s a barrel of laughs having you as a general.”
Zain pursed his lips, and Alex realised belatedly that she probably shouldn’t antagonise one of only three Meyarins who actually liked her—four including the king, but she wasn’t exactly buddy-buddy with him, so he didn’t count.
“We’re not using the varrungard for your recruitment into the guard, Alex,” Roka said patiently. “Above all else, it’s an aptitude test. It will allow us to assess your character and observe what skills you naturally exhibit, such as strength, endurance, agility, critical reasoning, and the ability to think quickly under pressure. It gives us an indication of what we need to work on most with your training, and how best to teach you.”
“You have to remember, we’ve never trained a mortal like you before,” Zain said.
At that moment, Alex thought she saw Roka’s eyes flicker with unfocused confusion, as if she’d caught him in a daydream, but then she blinked and he was back to looking steadily at her again.