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“One of these days, I’ll get you to give me more details about them, you know,” I tease. Once again, it snuffs out my budding idea of being saved by the fae. It’s a sobering reminder that there is no other life for us outside the lord’s estate. “Less stories and more truth.”
“All stories stem from some truths.”
I twist my hands in my skirts, dropping my gaze to the floor. Perhaps Char has told me all she knows. Or perhaps she tells me tales to placate me.
Char places a coarse hand on my shoulder and gives me a knowing look. Her sleeve rises to reveal a secondary marking on her wrist, a large black ‘X’ that signifies her discharge from the mines due to injury, along with textured skin—scars older than I am. The wounds from her time in Illynor.
“Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise that the lord bought us,” I say.
She was a broken woman, and I was young; we were both discounted for being unworkable. But much to the lord’s pleasure, Char healed and I grew, and we were no longer unworkable. Char’s aching joints, stiff walk, and scarred hands are a constant reminder of what she’s survived. It could always be worse.
“Make no mistake, it is no blessing to be sold into the trade, my girl.”
“No. Not the sale itself. I’m grateful to have you as my family, Char.”
“Yes, I understand, but this”—she points at herself then at me—“is not what family is.”
I shake my head. “You’re wrong. We are family, Char.”
“If I was family, I could protect you better,” Char mutters, her voice cracking along with my heart. “One day you will be freed of this circumstance to build your own life. You will experience what a true family is. This here is not a life anyone should live. Do not be blinded.”
After cleaning up and changing into our nightgowns, we get comfortable in our cots, both of us lying down and drawing the threadbare blankets over our bodies. I close my eyes and inhale her comforting scent.
“Char?” I ask. “Why do humans and fae hate each other so much if they’re so alike?”
“The story changes depending on which side of the Gleam you stand,” she says. “Here in Dovenak, human lore says the fae were created to destroy humans, but on the other side, in Avylon, lore says fae were created by the gods. They were gifted magic to protect the earth—caretakers, if you will.”
I hang on to her every word, desperate for more. “Well, which lore is true?”
She chuckles. “Truth is nothing more than a perception. Some stories say the humans and fae lived together peacefully, until one day the humans grew jealous and fearful of their magic, causing the two groups to clash. Those sentiments intensified, turning to hatred and bigotry. The humans began slaughtering any magical beings unprovoked. In turn, those with magic did not sit idle. They protected themselves, as one would expect.
“The feud grew remarkably bad, resulting in the War of Chaos. Neither side won nor lost, and the devastation was catastrophic for all. The fae feared for the earth, and in an attempt to keep the peace, they requested a truce with the human rulers at the time. The treaty came at a high price—a price of which I do not know.”
“The Treaty of Wessex-Iorworth,” I say. Named after the two families who established it. Queen Wyetta Wessex’s ancestors, and whoever the Iorworths were in Avylon. It’s one of the few things about the fae mentioned in the history books in the lord’s office—the ones I snuck peeks at after Char taught me to read. It also says the Iorworths are the most treacherous family of all, so it was a surprise to many when they initiated the treaty. At first, the Wessexes were afraid it was a trap. But it’s been hundreds of years, and nothing bad has happened… yet.
Char nods. “Yes. Put simply, fae are forbidden from entering Dovenak, and humans are not to enter Avylon.”
“What happens if we disobey those terms?”
“Then we are are on our own—at the mercy of their magic.”
My mind flits to what Sir Dougrey and his companions spoke of at the party. Trees eating people, men mutilated, Felix being a communication line.
Tomorrow, if the lady is still out, I will pay Felix a visit and ask him directly.
“If the fae are so powerful, why didn’t they win the war by simply wiping the humans out?” I ask.
“If the Dovenak lore is true, they would have. If the Avylon lore is true, they would want to protect the lands from devastation out of respect for the god who created them. Power is not always about exerting force, sometimes it is about knowing when to quit for the greater good. Standing down does not make one weak. In fact, it may make one the strongest of all.”
Her words are heavy, as if they are an additional burden to carry.
“But, my words are nothing more than fairytales,” Char says as she rustles around on her cot, getting comfortable.
I yawn, my mind foggy.
“All stories stem from some truths,” I mumble, repeating her words from earlier.
My fingers mindlessly trail up to the ink on the side of my face—the mark that mirrors Char’s. The one damning us. Even if there was a way out of this life, there’s nowhere for us to go.
