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“Couldn’t help but spy a letter on his desk,” the man continues, “and it would seem the queen is not happy with our dear friend.”
My brows raise imperceptibly; it’s a challenge to keep my expression neutral. I keep my eyes locked on the floor, to downplay my presence as I lurk by the nearest wall.
“He is woefully incompetent at his job.”
“Stop the riddles, Timothee. Get to the point.”
“The point is—”
“Concern about the Gleam, it seems,” Sir Dougrey says with a scoff. “I told you imbeciles at dinner. The trees have a penchant for feasting on human flesh. They sent Jeremiah’s body back over with flesh wounds that would make a grown man lose his lunch. His eyeballs were missing, his blood drained—"
Someone scoffs. “That is a mere rumor, Doug.”
“No. No way. He’s right. The village is slowly perishing because of the feckin’ fae,” another man says, slamming a fist on the table and rattling the glasses. “We pay the same damn taxes as the south, for a lesser quality of life here. It’s time we do something about the damn Gleam. About those damn faeries.”
Timothee clears his throat, leaning forward conspiratorially. “The letter said little about the Gleam or the fae.” He narrows his eyes at Sir Dougrey. “For all we know, there are no damned fae. The stories are made up to keep us in line. Have you ever seen one yourself? Have you ever crossed the Gleam? Hell, did anyone truly see Jeremiah’s—”
“They are not myth,” Sir Dougrey growls. “Just ask the boy. He’s the lord’s—hell, the queen’s—communication line with them, from what I hear.” He lifts a glass up, tilting it toward someone in the room. All eyes follow, including mine.
And I spot Felix, who’s now alone, and watching me with a concerned expression.
“Looks a bit gangly to be dealing with the fae. Can’t be that tough after all.”
“Looks can fool ya, Tim.”
Communication line? Felix? He’s a stablehand. A groundskeeper. He tends the horses and maintains the yards. There’s no way he’s seen the fae. He would’ve told me. He knows how intrigued I am by them and their stories. Anytime I repeat what Char’s told me, he brushes me off like I’m an annoying child.
And the lord works as the queen’s liaison here in Lyson, rounding up the villager’s taxes and corresponding with locals on behalf of the royal palace. He runs the village. The amount of time the lord has spent away lately is an indicator things are not going well, but I thought it was due to high taxes and civil unrest. Boring political factors that affect me little. I never realized he has so much involvement in the Gleam.
“Do they really feast on human blood and kidnap babies?” one of the men asks. “Are they covered in scales with fangs and—”
I jump when Felix appears at my side. “Char could use your assistance, Alessia.”
His hand gently presses into my low back as he steers me away from the men and toward the other side of the room. I turn to him, intending to ask about what the men said, but his lips tighten and he shakes his head, walking away without sparing me another glance.
Once everyone filters out of the house around the crack of dawn—including Felix and his new woman—Char and I clean the parlor.
Exhaustion clings to my eyelids, weighing them down. I yawn, stretching my arms overhead. Despite the tiredness, my mind flits to Sir Dougrey’s conversation.
Curiosity has always brewed where the fae are involved. Most people tend to refer to the creatures in Avylon as ‘the fae’ when speaking of them—as if they’re one single entity of being—but as Char has told me time again, there are many different beings that live across the Gleam.
I repeat the question I overheard tonight. “Char, are the fae truly as cruel as everyone thinks?”
“Some are as hideous and cruel as you have heard, but some are also more beautiful and kinder than you could possibly imagine. Just like humans, fae are diverse. You should know this by now, my Alessia.”
A flicker of hope lights in my heart. “Maybe we could—”
“We are not crossing the Gleam.“ I flinch at Char’s scolding tone. She’s often stern, but her voice takes on an unusually sharp edge. “How many times must we have this conversation?”
“But—”
“I do not need you to go on romanticizing them now, do you hear?” My eyes widen as I nod my agreement.
“I simply said that not all fae are as cruel as the stories say, but it does not mean there is no truth to the darker tales either. You do not belong with the fae. They are not fond of our kind.”
“To be fair, I’m not fond of most humans either,“ I mumble, lightening the mood.
This brings the smile back to her face. “I know.”
