Present, Farlenfell, Kingdom of Jorthus



I hid in a small village for as long as I can remember. The villagers told me I was a creation of old gods and mankind, an abomination. Then the King found and fashioned me into a weapon.

There were many other paths I long for, but this would be the only life for me.

A black tunic and cowl shield me from the commoner’s gaze. My hands are covered with pliable and worn ebony gloves, and my legs in tightly fitted trousers with knee-high hunting boots hooking upward with a silver tip. It was designed by my master so I could travel long distances and ensure no one looked upon me twice.

I am lucky, or so I’m told. I am the only one of my kind allowed to even be in Jorthus. The king loathed magik and ethereal beings such as the fae. Titus the Lion stole me away from my village when I was sixteen suns and trained me to fight in King Fyfe’s army.

When I was older I was relocated to the capital where the king met me for the first time. He decided that I would be a useful apprentice to Cicero the Liar, his personal master of shadows. He was only several suns my elder but held the knowledge of a thousand spymasters.

Now at twenty-five, I have become the kingdom of Jorthus’ most skilled assassin and second most skilled spymaster with the training of a warrior. Many humans train longer than I have and achieve little, but my one advantage over them is that I am not entirely human.

The king ordered that I always remain concealed and form no attachments. This meant I was the secret weapon of King Fyfe, who told me I could never have a family. That those he fought against would kill me given the chance because they were less forgiving of my existence than he was.

People walked around me in a hurry, jolting my mind to the present.

Today was the day we travel to the village of Lorlan in the northwestern corner of Jorthus. The king and his family would meet with the princes of the faerie country, Daeyed, there, as it was a mutually agreed-upon area without strongholds.

Cicero was busy planning and learning more about what the princes were like. It was a difficult task because they only met with a king of Jorthus over a hundred years ago. My duty was to linger in the shadows of their lodgings to steal information. There would be warding to prevent humans from entering, which meant I could be useful.

I step from the edge of the foyer into the sunlight. Dozens of people pause with their mouths dropping. They knew who I was but not what I was and they shiver with wide eyes.

If I lower my cowl, if I took off my gloves, they would see a grotesque person before them. A woman with gold skin and thick dark green hair, large eyes, and pointed web-like ears. They would see that my teeth are not flat but sharp.

Everyone would be afraid and run in panic.

That is what Fyfe’s family told the world of the fae. That they are the personification of humankind’s worst nightmares. And I agree with him. Faeries are dangerous and wild creatures, longing to trick and kill weary travellers. When I was a babe, I was found in the very village we are travelling to, and the woman who found me, Lucia, the village huntress, told me that my faerie mother murdered and cooked my human father.

She raised me and called me her woodland sister, for many of the people of Lorlan believed the fair folk to balance the goodness. They saw me as a blessing while the world saw me as a curse. When Titus the Lion came, he stole me away by order of King Fyfe.

“Aurelia.” Titus strolls over, his once hearty beard shaved and his hair flecked with grey. “Why are you waiting here? You should be with Cicero.”

“I am waiting because Cicero told me to,” I say simply.

“There is much to prepare for, you could make better use of your time,” he counters.

I smile under the shadows of my hood. “I am afraid I only obey Cicero the Liar, and if you think I am not making use of my time you are mistaken.”

“Do you think Cicero outranks me?” He crossed his arms.

“And do you outrank him? I do not follow a tired General’s order.”

“You are a half-breed who would be dead if I didn’t vouch for you when King Fyfe called for your death,” he responds. “I deserve more respect from you.”

“You were only doing your duty, besides those like me are not welcome to live as you do,” I say as Prince Lorkus walks towards us.

We bow immediately, our right arms crossing our chests.

When I saw him last, he had long, fair hair and now it was cropped rather short. His face is clean-shaven and his eyes even more piercing. He will succeed King Fyfe in the near future if the king continues to be gluttonous.

“Shadow Master and General, how strange to see you two together,” he smiles, “considering the last time you both were in quite the argument.”

“Our factions in your father’s service do not often get along,” I say with a hint of a smile.

Prince Lorkus was charged with overseeing the shadow masters working closely with Cicero the Liar, and by default me. I was told never to speak unless spoken to while Cicero handled the prince.

“Aurelia,” Lorkus says carefully, “I believe that is the first time you’ve spoken directly to me.”

I take a breath, realizing my mistake. “I apologize, your highness.”

“Have I even seen you underneath all those clothes?” he asks. “I don’t even know what your face looks like.”

“Few people have.” I feel a pit in my stomach.

Lorkus touched the edge of my cowl, “I have never seen a faerie before, yet I spent many years in Skuflan at the great library learning as much as I could about them.”

“I am human as well,” I respond.

“Not enough to make a difference,” Titus cuts in.

“General, perhaps you should join my father. I will be riding with the shadow masters,” Prince Lorkus says before walking away.

I lift my head enough so Titus could see my shiny eyes mocking him before I walk away, cloak fluttering behind me.

I wish I knew who birthed me, what kind of creature would kill my human sire to keep me secret. Faeries speak truthfully but still manage to twist their words as smooth as rippling water. Humans hate them because they fear them. That is something I can respect, but I would still rather be a human pauper than an immortal queen of the fae.

Delete Created with Sketch.

The only time my hood was lowered was whenever Cicero and I were alone, which allowed my thick hair to spill around my face and down my back. He is the only one allowed to see me for who I was; even the king preferred I keep my cowl and scarf on.

“Aurelia, when we go there, I want you to know that the princes may question why you are covered—if they notice you.” Cicero pulls down his own hooded cloak, revealing freshly trimmed pale hair and a narrow, defined ivory face.

“So I don’t give them a reason to notice me. I stay in the middle of whatever crowd will gather and keep my gaze lowered. Cicero, I know what I’m doing.”

He walks over without making a sound, our riding boots are designed to quiet footsteps. I can see the caution in his crystalline eyes.

“I know you loathe them, but I don’t want the intended purpose of this meeting to become corrupt,” he says. “King Fyfe still sees you as a threat, prove him wrong.”

I nod as he removed my gloves to examine the cuts on my hands; they were from an iron blade Titus used on me during training. While I did not get poisoned like the fae, they were never able to heal properly and reopened little by little. Since Jorthus was a land that resented magik, I went without faerie potions, salves, and remedies. Cicero had a special cream that helped the healing but never had any lasting impact.

“It’s getting worse,” he says, taking a cloth to them. “Perhaps I should assign you on a mission in Flokael, where you could trade something for a cure.”

“You and I both know the king will never allow me to leave the country,” I say.

Cicero smiles. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“My, my, Cicero. You never go against what the king commands,”

“Well, I don’t want you to bleed out now. You’re the best I have.”

I smile after he applies the cold, bluish jelly to my hands. I’ve always wanted to travel to other countries where magik isn’t banned. Only Jorthus and Lomel outlawed it completely, both exclusively populated by humans. Flokael is where faerie outcasts live and are ruled by two arch kings, human and faerie.

King Fyfe refused to speak directly to the faerie-born arch king. Instead, he would send his own wife to deal with him. This went on for years until one day, he caught the former queen warming the arch king’s bed. She had been banished from Jorthus and now resides in Flokael with her faerie lover as his consort. His hatred for the fae only grew larger. As one final act of power over her, Fyfe married her younger sister, who birthed Lorkus one year later.

Cicero told me all of this in confidence—that I wasn’t alone in the world even if I thought I was an abomination. He told me that some faeries are stronger than others and all the faeries in Flokael are stripped of their illusionary glamour before being exiled.

“What if they find me?” I ask, referring to the princes.

“They won’t,” he says. “But if they do, they will either kill you or take you to Daeyed…”

“Then I won’t get caught. I have a great master.”

“A master can only teach you so much, then you must grow into your own skin.” His voice was distant. “Some things are out of our control.”

I look at him through his snowy hair. He was a spy sent from the moon, owning the night and hiding in the shadows.

“We should be going soon,” he says and turns around to gather his riding gear.

I braid my loose earthy hair, clearing my face from any obstructions. I felt the air dance on the nape of my long neck as though a spirit caressed me.

I open my silver tin to reveal talc-based powder to lighten my skin and remove the golden shimmer to it.

“Are you ready?” a voice at my ear asked.

I only nod once, sliding iron-tipped daggers up my sleeves.