Feigned Fae: Freed Fae, #1 2wzf

Feigned Fae

Freed Fae, Volume 1

Beck Beetle

Published by Beck Beetle, 2021.

While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

FEIGNED FAE

First edition. July 17, 2021.

Copyright © 2021 Beck Beetle.

Written by Beck Beetle.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Chapter One | Sassa

Chapter Two | Lux

Chapter Three | Elsu

Chapter Four | Sassa

Chapter Five | Lux

Chapter Six | Elsu

Chapter Seven | Sassa

Chapter Eight | Lux

Chapter Nine | Elsu

Chapter Ten | Sassa

Chapter Eleven | Lux

Chapter Twelve | Elsu

Chapter Thirteen | Sassa

Chapter Fourteen | Lux

Chapter Fifteen | Elsu

Chapter Sixteen | Lux

Chapter Seventeen | Elsu

Chapter Eighteen | Sassa

Chapter Nineteen | Lux

Chapter Twenty | Sassa

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Chapter One

Sassa

Sassa’s head whipped right and left, navy tendrils escaping the long braids that ran down her back. Beneath her, the furious elk bucked, thrusting her into its antlered crown, nearly impaling her on the tines. Her knees dug into its sides, fighting to maintain a grip. The struggle had been their dance for the last half hour as Sassa maneuvered them farther from the elk’s bedding area. Safety was behind them, tucked in the denser outland forest that climbed the rocky slopes. They were venturing into the inlands, and the beast knew it. Like her, it stayed away from the human village, Vădăstriya, where danger lurked. From their elevated vantage point and through the thinning trees, she saw the sparse lights of Vădăstriya casting a soft glow into the darkness. The everexpanding border wall was a monstrous, patchy stretch of yellowing stone that signaled not only the growing populace but spreading purity stances. Blood red flags flew from the gateposts. Their meaning was the town’s motto, “One Blood, One People.” Yet Sassa, an Impure, was drawing nearer to those who hunted her. The elk whined and slowed, exhausted, as was Sassa. Hunting was tiring even with a full belly, but for the past week, her only sustenance had been berries. Her grasp was weakening, the beast becoming less responsive to her nudges as she prompted it forward. A few feet in and it refused to continue, having spotted their destination, a campsite with a purple tent at its center. It was time. Sassa despised this moment, hated herself for her desperation as she reached for the hilt of her dagger. The elk was growing desperate too, its hind legs shuffling, its cry attracting too much attention, too much pity from her core.

Schwing! She unsheathed the knife in time to the elk’s rear raising. It bucked twice, dislodging her, but not before she’d sunk the blade. She plummeted over its antlers, striking the ground just behind her shoulders, before tumbling over gnarled roots and rock. Air rushed from her lungs as she plowed into a pine tree, the loud crash in tune to the giant elk hitting the ground. Blood gushed from the slash wound at its neck, a scarlet puddle forming beneath its massive head. Its large, black iris seemed to focus on her, watching her with an emptiness that she felt. “It’s about time,” a gruff voice called behind her. She turned, spotting Bagard’s ruddy face as he popped out the tent, puffs of lavender smoke streaming around his balding head. Bare-chested and barefoot, he emerged, pulling breeches over his pale arse that by now Sassa had become accustomed to seeing. “I’ve been here a fortnight waiting for you to show.” “You ordered an outland elk for the feast day,” Sassa croaked. It was always odd to speak again after weeks of silence. Wincing, she got to her feet, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. She’d bitten her tongue hard. “No one would believe you caught it before then. No Human ever has.” Twice the weight and worth triple the price than inland animals, outland game was a delicacy in Vădăstriya. Size aside, they were almost impossible to catch, at least for the Human huntsmen. It was their incompetence that drew Sassa’s services to Bagard. With the severe prejudices that surrounded the western lands, being of mixed lineage was only beneficial for hunting. For Sassa, the keen senses and strength she’d inherited from the Fae and the litheness from the Lele were her only saving graces. Her skills kept her away from the occasional hunter who braved the outlands’ perimeter. They were eager to hunt Lele for a bounty if they couldn’t capture a beast. No matter the nation, the charges brought against the Lele were identical: black magic and sorcery. If Sassa or any Lele were real sorceresses, they wouldn’t be in hiding. They would have homes and countries to travel to and from freely. A home, Sassa thought. A proper home with a roof, bed and door to shut out the outside world, not a tree or campsite.

She gazed at the tent. The Humans rarely used dyes besides brown and olive, save for their flags. The purple affair was no doubt that of roaming Lele in search of rest and wealth. They would risk their lives to grab a hunter’s attention for a quick coin. It was a delicate balance, providing works delectable enough to keep the men peaceful and their time valued above what a bounty could fetch. It was fleeting, though. Four romps later and the prize money was too good to . They’d turn the girls in for their coins back and then some. If these Lele cared for their lives, they’d move by dawn. Where they should travel to next, Sassa hadn’t an idea. All provinces, territories and settlements banned the Lele, unless one had the gold to bribe a crooked gatekeeper. Still, there were no savory jobs for their kind. Bagard ignored her, walking to the slain animal, his dark eyes shining not with appreciation, but glee. “I’ve never seen a brute this big, even for an outlander.” He grinned, rubbing at his graying stubble. “Our Lord Valerius Rauche himself will have to acknowledge my victory, a monster able to feed all three clans. They won’t believe it.” “They shouldn’t,” Sassa mumbled before she could stop herself. His head snapped toward her. “That right? You want them suspicious of me? The source of your continuance in this fucking forest? The hand that feeds you?” “Of course not,” she said, struggling to keep the sarcasm from her tone as he stood tall before her. If he thought his positioning was threatening, he deceived himself. The top of his shiny skull barely met her below the chin. No wonder his clan was questioning his kills, he no longer looked the part of a huntsman; his belly had grown soft, his skin paler. Sassa kept her lips sealed. She could dive from the cliffs, climb the tallest pines and slaughter the biggest beast, but speaking crippled her. As she swallowed another bloody mouthful and peered into Bagard’s full face, she realized why she dealt with him at all. Fear. Not the fear of Bagard, but the dread of losing his familiarity. She knew him and what he would and wouldn’t do, and he would not betray her. Not because he cared for her or the sustenance her kills brought him, but because his popularity and coin purse couldn’t grow without her. It was that same fame that gave him the gall to display his sexual pursuits so openly, as having relations with Lele was just as punishable as being one.

“As I thought.” He spat a hair shy of her boot, rubbing the dribble from his lips. Flicking a finger, he motioned her to follow him into the tent. Inside reeked of sweat and stale perfumes. There were two nude girls, both with mauve-colored manes and magenta irises, oddities that marked them as Lele. It was a lineage that couldn’t hide, dominating the traits of every race the Lele bred with besides the Fae. Whether the child was half Dwarf, Human, or Nymph, it was always female with full Lele features, taking nothing from the father. They were taller than Humans but shorter than Fae, with vivid eye and hair colors not found in any other people. But Fae blood was strong, and Sassa looked different. She didn’t have the traditional roundness to her cheeks and jaw, as did the women before her. Like the Fae, her face was more angular, although less severe with prominent eyebrows. Excessively long, they stopped short of her hairline, tilting upwards and emphasizing the largeness of her orange eyes. Then there was her height, lingering midway between the races that created her. The twins stared, mouth agape, confusion merging into understanding, then shock. Sassa practically heard the question already forming on their lips. What kind of Fae would mate with a Lele? But it was Bagard who spoke. “Did I tell you to move?” he roared, striding to the girls and grabbing fistfuls of their hair. He wrenched them to their knees before shoving them forward onto all fours. They didn’t make a sound. They were used to it, Sassa knew. Beside them was a narrow table filled with massage oils, incense and a bubbling hookah pipe. Bagard gripped the mouthpiece and drew on it, exhaling lavender smoke through his nose. It was pyrrola, a hallucinogenic plant smoked by Lele seers, that only worked on true Lele seers and did nothing for everyone else. It was a sacred practice becoming popularized by prostitutes with their clients. Sassa bit her cheek, swallowing her chastising words. Her skin grew hot, her blood boiling as she watched Bagard settle onto the blankets behind the girls. He was blowing a steady stream of O’s straight into their splayed orifices. How could they waste something as precious as pyrrola on such a worthless cause? Was anything sacred anymore? Bagard reached over the bedding and grabbed two lumpy sacks. He tossed one at her absently before digging in the other and pulling out an apple. He held it in his mouth like a roasted swine before flinging the half-empty sack at her head.

“Where’s the rest of it?” she asked, searching the contents. There were a few beets, turnips, a handful of small potatoes and black beans, things that didn’t grow easily in the shady forest. The abundant figs, berries, and nuts that covered the trees and bushes were only satiating for so long. She depended heavily on the starchy vegetables and fleshy fruits Bagard would bring her. It wasn’t enough food to last a week, far less than what an outland elk was worth. She palmed the single bread loaf. It was stale. “Where are the apricots and cherries? The honey?” Her stomach clenched in hunger as her eyes flashed furiously to his. “The apples?” Bagard crawled to the edge of the blankets, still munching the apple. There was a glint in his beady irises, a slimy smile curling his thin lips. He stopped chewing and spat a soggy heap onto the floor, then another. “Didn’t you complain about being hungry earlier?” he cooed. “Eat.” Sassa retched, but Bagard was too busy laughing and swaying with mirth. He fisted his hands in the girls’ hair again, smashing their faces into the mush. “I said eat! Go on, it’s more than you’ll get in a month.” When they didn’t obey, he snatched the pipe and dropped the still smoldering coal on a twin’s back. She shrieked, shimmying it from her welting skin, but Bagard’s grip on her neck was relentless. “Eat!” And they ate. Sassa’s talons dug into her palms, piercing the flesh, her fists shaking. “Where’s the rest?” she hissed. “Cherries weren’t ready for harvest when I left, and the apricots caught the fungus. Flynn’s bringing up more potatoes and a few honey jars,” he said, easing back onto the blankets, and tilting his head for a better view. “We were running low on supplies after waiting so long.” “Six sacks full then?” “What?” Bagard’s dark eyes turned to her in annoyance.

“Three rabbits, for two sacks. A deer, four sacks. An elk, eight. You’re short, again.” “I said that’s all I could bloody get!” “And it’s not enough. I want the rest stuffed full or I’m taking the beast.” “You can’t even eat the blasted thing.” “I know,” she said, setting her chin, her resolve hardening. He stood, tripping over the pipe’s cord and snapping it in half. “You’re not taking anything back. You’re lucky I brought you something at all instead of turning you in.” “And yourself too?” she asked, calling his bluff. “It’ll be hard to explain why you can’t make a kill after I’m gone.” “You aren’t the only Lele in this forest.” He motioned to the girls, but Sassa couldn’t bear to look at them. “You aren’t the only hunter.” “You said yourself I can’t eat that elk. That’s an intolerance from the Lele, not the Fae. They can’t eat meat, and so they can’t hunt worth a damn. If they could, would they be here with you or bringing game to other huntsmen for far more than a half copper?” “Yet here you are once again, not down the path to another huntsman,” he scoffed. “So shut your trap and take whatever Flynn brings, or don’t, but you’re not taking that elk.” The twins glanced at her sheepishly, their pitiful positions emboldening her further. “Watch me.” She was stronger than him, faster, her talons alone able to reach through his flesh and pierce his heart. Yet she had let him control their narrative for what? Less and less food? Pivoting to leave, she spotted Flynn at the entrance, a single sack slung across his shoulders.

Not enough. Bagard grabbed her wrist, but Sassa flung her arm, sending him crashing into the little table. Oil bottles scattered, one tipping over onto the bedding where the smoldering coal still glittered in the growing darkness. It ignited immediately, as did Bagard’s oil-soaked tro leg that erupted in an orange blaze. His screams pierced the air, the flames climbing higher. Sassa stood frozen beside the screeching twins, her newfound courage gone as Bagard staggered and collapsed to the blanketed floor. In seconds, his hair was aflame, his face obscured, his wails dying as the fire crawled toward them. Behind them, honey jars shattered as Flynn took off as a longhorn sounded in the near distance. The watchmen on the wall. Perfect. “Run!” the sisters cried as they darted through the smokey entrance. Flynn wasn’t at the firepit where water buckets always sat, neither was Bagard’s horse. They’d taken off, perhaps to the nearest hunters. They needed to move now, but Sassa froze again. The flames had engulfed the tent’s sagging roof, their tips tickling the branches of a pine. The forest wasn’t large, not compared to Avundruill’s vast forests over the cliffs and across the lake. If the fire spread, it’d devour the woods and anything within in no time. “What are you doing?” shouted a twin. They’d bolted for the outlands, stopping a few paces into the thickening trees. Sassa had run to the horse’s water trough, pushing it mere inches toward the fire. It was too heavy even for her. The horn sounded again, a low moan that rang through the night. “Help me!” she ground out between clenched teeth, shoving the trough and barely shifting it a meter. Her hands were raw, still aching where she’d cut herself. “When the fire spreads, where will you hide? If the smoke doesn’t smother you first, you’ll burn from the flames.” They hesitated, petrified eyes finding Vădăstriya, then the sloping trees behind them. Then, to her surprise, they were at her side. Together, they hefted the

trough closer until Sassa could kick it over. The water gushed, collapsing parts of the tent that still stood, extinguishing half the blaze. Sassa stamped the remaining flames as the girls tossed dirt over the embers. Somewhere inside, Bagard remained unmoving. The horn blared, followed by the pounding of a dozen galloping horses. It wasn’t the stallions that alarmed Sassa. Those she could outrun. It was the softer footfalls and the howls that followed that broke her brow into a cold sweat, each intenser than the last. The Humans had brought cŵn annwn, hounds trained to sniff out Lele. In unison, they burst into a sprint, Sassa slowing for them to keep up. She knew the land better, and without her, they didn’t stand a chance. Deep in the outlands held an underground tunnel. They needn’t worry about the dogs locating their scent, for the rocky terrain near the cliff-side would not allow them to dig without Human aid. The Humans wouldn’t journey so far, too terrified of legendary beasts that inhabited the heart of the forest. The most infamous was Adar Rhiannon, giant birds capable of singing live men to sleep while raising dead ones. Sassa had never seen one, but she thanked the beast for the sheer terror it inspired regardless of its existence. The trees thickened as they bounded eastward, berry bushes blocking the pathways between most. The twins were slowing considerably. Lele were faster than Humans, but they were no match for Fae. “I can’t,” a twin huffed, doubling over as they reached the meadows that halved the forest. It was the burned twin, the raised welt visible on her protruding spine. “We have to hide. I can’t run anymore.” “There’s no place to hide here,” Sassa whispered, already past the clearing and sheltered in the darkness of the forest. “The hounds can’t climb,” the other twin panted, midway between her sister and Sassa, where the moonlight beamed on her nude form. “We can take shelter in the treetops.” Wrong, Sassa thought, but she didn’t get the chance to speak. A cŵn annwn burst into the clearing, stopping short of the light. It was twice the size of a gray wolf, with a sleek pelt the color of ink. Its bloody irises focused on the twins, then it

lifted its head, opened its long, narrow snout and howled, calling to the others. Sassa didn’t stay to hear it taper off, darting the last few yards toward the tunnel. A twin ran a few feet behind her, abandoning her sister who was beyond their help. The creature’s jaws were a vice grip, and even Sassa’s strength was no match. If they stopped, they were all doomed. In the distance, a scream ripped through the night, a blood-curdling shriek of agony that didn’t ease. The beast would not kill the girl, though she’d wish it did. “Almost,” Sassa wheezed. She could see the elevated redwood that encircled the tunnel’s entrance. They would have to scale the two-hundred-foot trunk faster than the beasts, sealing the age behind them. She bolted through the fallen leaves, reaching the steep incline first, only to halt a second later. The force sent her toppling, bruising her knees on the rocky ground. A hound was dashing between the trees, overtaking her. It looped the trunk and barreled down toward them. The remaining twin, unseeing of the beast, offered a helping hand. “Run!” Sassa screamed a second too late, the sound of crushing bone drowning her warning. The girl’s arm, clamped in the jaws of a different hound, ripped away in a blur of black and white. She thrashed, pounding her free fist atop the beast’s skull to no avail. It charged west, dragging her by the mangled limb. Sassa didn’t have time to react before the first cŵn annwn lunged for her. She ducked, and it missed by mere inches. Flying over her head, it impacted on a nearby trunk. In seconds, it was on its feet, a howl tearing from its throat. Poisoned saliva gleamed on its jagged teeth, ready to paralyze the flesh it sunk into. She wouldn’t give it the chance. Cramps formed in her calves and ribs as she sprinted parallel to the forest’s edge. She couldn’t make it to the top of the redwood now. She was quicker on land, but the beast was a better climber. Ahead, the earth curved into a giant crescent, giving her quick glimpses of the cliff side. There, she spotted her last hope: a small alcove right below the lip. She’d have to suspend herself over the three-thousand-foot drop, then propel into the dugout. A matter of a second that

could go terribly wrong. The beat she’d taken to slow, to contemplate the possibility, gave the cŵn annwn the opportunity to pounce. Its teeth sank through her thigh, releasing a gush of red-hot blood. A starburst of agony exploded before her eyes as she fell—hard. Her free hand, already gripping her dagger’s handle, jabbed at the beast. Missing twice, she sunk the blade with another surge of pain into her own calf. When she’d wrenched the blade free, the fourth attempt made , gouging a red eye, and the fifth buried itself to the hilt in the hound’s neck. Its jaw slackened, blood gurgling from its throat along with a chunk of her flesh. As she shook it loose, another beast was at her elbow, its fangs crunching through bone to the marrow. Immediately, her leg fell limp, as had her arm, the blade escaping her grip and clattering over the cliff’s edge. The cliff. Numbness was spreading, eating away the little strength she had left to fling herself into the alcove. In the distance, the fading cries of the last twin tapered off. The hounds would take them to the Human prison for experimentation, a place where death never came soon enough. Without further thought, she used her unaffected leg to squirm closer to the ledge. The beast didn’t notice, not until they were free falling, dislodging from her arm with a babe-like yelp, so different from its ominous howls. Strong wind rushed past as they plunged toward the great lake. Sassa braced herself for impact, not knowing if her Fae blood would save her. If it did, she’d have to swim to shore, a feat she couldn’t accomplish on a normal day. Reason fell to the wayside as she broke the water’s surface with a force that seemed to shatter her skeleton entirely. The current rolled her onto her back, and her lungs sucked the cool air greedily. Beneath the surface, the beasts that swirled within the amethyst depths could have her if the predatory birds that weaved through the sky didn’t devour her first. But not the Humans, not ever. Her eyelids drifted shut, the lapping water jostling her into an eternal sleep.

Chapter Two

Lux

The painted red apple did not come to life beside the easel. It stayed put on the cotton canvas; ordinary, flat, and ill-shaped, more reminiscent of a scarlet toad than not. Lux Marmor found the act of painting itself far more beautiful to observe than any portrait he’d created. He held the paintbrush now, concentrating on his wrist as it slogged across the canvas, weakly imitating the graceful bows and dips of his twelfth tutor, Tutor, who painted beside him. Lux had carved the movements into his brain, following them like a choreographed dance, albeit sloppily. He’d hoped this alternative method would produce a better result, a live one. It did not. “The boy is an invalid,” drawled his grandfather, Count Os, cold, clear, and unsurprised. “And to think you named him Lux! There isn’t a drop of light in him.” At the rear of the parlor, Os sat recessed on a loveseat, a figure all in white, as was everything around them. Alabaster, porcelain, and bone coated the coffered ceiling, marble floor and gilded walls that once shone gold. The only color source besides the paints that Lux used now, was the red apple that modeled on the windowsill. “Father,” Lux’s mother, Nix, tried to still his tongue, an ever-present tiredness in her tone. She teetered on the loveseat beside Os, shoulders sagged. Her white robes were so puddled around her, it looked as if the couch and floor alike were swallowing her whole. Her clothing grew steadily nowadays, with no hint of stopping. Her silver eyes flitted from Lux’s canvas to the void space beside him, futile

desperation gleaming within the pale orbs. Nothing would appear, not like the air near Tutor that was filling with the apple he painted. Faded at first, it became solid as Tutor flecked the peel with orange. With dabs of brown, he dimpled the surface with imperfection. For dew drops that clung to the single leaf, white and dark greens created highlights and depth. Finishing, he polished the apple with white lines that glossed the skin, making it as real as any apple one could eat. Solidified, it fell, rolling across the stone floor and stopping at Lux’s boot for added insult. “How can he represent our House at The Academy when he cannot manifest?” Os asked, his cane banging against the marble floor as he stood. “No Marmor has failed the entrance exams since this Manor’s creation when the Fae King bestowed the land of Albens upon our ancestors. Illustration is our privilege, our right to rule.” Offspring of Counts and Countesses only inherited the title if they were Illustrators. Fae Illustrators manifested items in real-time, while Hallowed Fae possessed abilities related to the craft. Lux was the latter. He could portal walk and color change titania—the pure pigment needed for illustrations to come to life—but manifest he could not. Illustrating was more than producing real-life artistic creations; it was a source of food, landscapes and creatures. A source of power. Every century, The Academy held mandatory examinations for all Fae who reached maturity, nineteen hundred years. issions were only granted to Illustrators. The records went to the courts marking every adult Fae as an Illustrator, Hallowed or non-gifted. When unsanctioned creations of beasts, terrain or portals arose, the courts consulted those records. For Lux, failing before his aristocratic peerage, Masters and Ministers showed more than mere inability; it called into question his lineage, or lack thereof. His grandfather echoed the sentiment. “How can two Illustrators create a child that isn’t?” The question reverberated around the large chamber, more of a statement than anything else. Nix flinched, her pale lips becoming thinner, her robes somehow swallowing her

further. Lux knew nothing about his father, but his mother’s silence always echoed a lot of answers. Stiffly, Lux dipped his brush in the orange, unconvinced a few speckles would help. He continued with Tutor’s encouragement, who was trying to hide the pity in his eyes. The orange splattered against the red in thicker blobs than he’d intended, landing like giant pustules that, if nothing else, made his apple, or rather toad now, seem sick with the plague. It stared back at him with mutual contempt. “Albens’ Illustrators can only create impermanent manifestations. The Fae world views us as bottom feeders of creationism, and you couldn’t even produce that.” Os walked over to Lux, the steady tap of his cane unnecessarily amplifying his presence. Os was a commanding enough figure already. He was thin and extraordinarily tall, even for a Fae. His skin was not the fairest of fair but an impossible white, the uneven color of bleached bone. Lux followed the patchy expanse of skin that disappeared into the high collar of Os’ robes and to his shoulders where a halo of cropped white hair fell. Fae hair was alive, filled with thousands of nerve endings. To cut it was equivocal to removing an appendage with perhaps triple the pain. Os stabbed the apple with his cane, lifting it to eye level to further prove his point. It was already deteriorating, a spreading brown spot sagging the once firm middle. Impermanence Illustrators could not create lasting images, especially on cotton canvas that was used for practice. If Tutor, an Impermanence Illustrator, had painted on wysteria canvas instead, it would have lasted a century. If a Permanence Illustrator had painted the apple on wysteria though, it could last forever. “Forgoing the examinations is worse than Lux failing. The Academy knows of his birth, they’ll get the courts involved and seek him out. You know how they are,” Nix whispered, as if afraid the courts could hear her now. “Besides, others will fail by the thousands, from the Permanence Houses in particular. Impermanence Illustrators outnumber them three to one.” “The common Fae populace is irrelevant.” Os turned to glare at her. “Their notice and value are that of the lesser races. Mere fillers.”

“Count Avundrui’s younger son will be in attendance this year. Like his brother, Illustration may have skipped him. If it has, it’ll lessen the attention on Lux seeing as the boy’s the last potential Avundrian heir. It’ll be a far greater distraction.” Os shook his cane once, and the apple flew across the parlor, splitting open as it landed with a thud. Clear juices should have splattered along with yellow flesh, but it was hollow, a husk. “I am not concerned with House Avundrui or the unpredictability of permanence breeding,” Os hissed with enough venom to imply the opposite. “It’s a fluke. Just look at you. Your mother’s permanence blood was like a raindrop in the river during your creation, an utter waste of time. I tried making you better by infusing your bloodline only for you to destroy it, creating not one invalid but two.” “Niveii is three centuries from maturity, she could still Illustrate,” Nix said. “There’s a reason they don’t test earlier.” Lux paused at the mention of his sister, ears perked. Their harsh words rolled off him, but he wasn’t so blasé about Niveii. “The girl hasn’t produced a speck! I told you when this boy was twelve hundred, he would not manifest. It doesn’t take nineteen centuries to find out, but you never listen, and I grow tired.” Os’ colorless eyes found Lux’s now, he’d made sure of it. In one swift motion, he’d swept his cane’s handle under Lux’s chin and along his jaw, whipping his head toward him. “An accident then would have avoided this pain now.” Lux held Os’ gaze steady, unblinking. Blindly, he brought his paintbrush to the canvas and began again on his toad. He would not feed the beast. “Fae are immortal,” Nix snapped, agency in her tone, though it would fade. Her words were strongest when she didn’t speak. “Yet there are ways.” “Lux holds a gift no one in Albens has.” Nix lifted her chin. “His value is immeasurable.”

“Yes,” Os said, lowering his stick. “Erasure, in impermanent territory where manifestations fading on their own is inevitable.” He looked pointedly at the apple, or rather where it had been. “Let him show The Academy who’ll alert the courts. The judges will be so impressed by a threat to permanent creations, they’ll fly him by griffon to the northern mountains for high tea, I’m sure. I’m more inclined to believe Erasure isn’t so rare but rarely revealed.” The room grew silent, Tutor more uncomfortable, and Lux more bothered. He grasped the paintbrush tighter, his brushstrokes growing less uniformed, the memorized dance forgotten. Don’t feed the beast. Don’t feed the beast. Os always degraded his gift, the source responsible for Albens’ continuance. Most plants didn’t grow in the country without illustrations and paintings that manifested needed titania, a rare ore only supplied through The Academy who’d stopped distribution almost altogether. In Albens, a lack of titania not only meant few colors and new creations, it also meant old ones disappeared. Lux had become the answer, draining pigments from one source for reuse on others, like illustrations of food fields. Lux could feel Os’ translucent irises boring into the back of his head, could imagine a smirk curling his lips. He enjoyed Lux’s frustration, and so Lux remained flat, withholding the satisfaction. Don’t feed the beast. “Why don’t we hire an Anatomist instead of an Illustrator as a tutor?” Nix asked, a touch of fear in her tone. “There are layers to Illustration. If Lux cannot produce an entire image, maybe he can manifest smaller, simpler portions with fewer lines and depth.” She turned to Lux for the first time, her expression pleading. “What do you think, Lux?” There was one Anatomist in Albens. Hiems. Lux would rather have high tea at the courts, but Nix was already on her feet, not waiting for his response. Questions here were rhetorical. “I’ll summon Hiems now and arrange the lessons for tomorrow morning. He and

Lux can work from dawn till dusk.” The loud caw of a crow interrupted them. It was foreign to Albens, for it was ebony, the sheen of its feathers shining blue. It cocked its head at Lux, who stood nearest to the floor-to-ceiling windows, and then at the model apple on the sill. Os was to the window faster than Lux could think to move, throwing open the diamond-paned glass and taking the wooden cylinder attached to the bird’s leg. Ravens had come before, but a crow only once, a reminder from The Academy of Lux’s expected attendance. Lux stopped painting immediately. The bird hopped onto the sill, stabbing the apple while Os unfurled the parchment. Nix was beside him in seconds, reading over his shoulder. When Os finished, he dropped the letter. For once, he appeared speechless. Nix scurried to retrieve it, rereading it three times over. “The Academy will no longer give titania ores to every noble House participant, only to those that the highest Illustration level,” said Nix. Her eyes drifted to the parchment again, as if she’d misread it. “We’ve waited nineteen hundred years for an ore. H-how can they take it away from us?” “Ores are scarce. They cannot waste what remains on the undeserving,” Os said, his eyes never leaving Lux. “Who’s more deserving than us? Albens is,” Nix choked, her pearl bracelets rattling as she shook the letter, “dying, and they know it. Everyone does. When our borders were still open, the scornful looks and whispers swirled. Guests arrived in their carriages and boats decked in mocking wardrobes that matched the rainbow. The audacity of the Northerners was the worst, as if Ísvaldar Manor isn’t an Impermanence House too. Of all people, they should understand our plight.” Os ignored her, grabbing the model apple and tossing it clear across the garden, where the crow followed. He shut the pane with a click. “You will not fail that exam a Marmor,” he said. His expression was blank, his tone free of malice. Lux found it worse than his mirth. “You will manifest or have your title stripped, sitting the exams as the rightful bastard you are. You are

not my son, and I owe you nothing, much less the prestige of my name.” Nix gasped, grabbing the nearest drape for as Lux pondered his grandfather’s words. He couldn’t learn manifestation, only improve the talent if he possessed it. It was clear he did not, and yet they expected to extract it from his bones, convinced that impregnated deep inside the marrow was a trickle of magic. All that was there was acid. Os was wrong, though. He’d earned the Marmor name. Thanks to him, Albens was still alive, if only by a thread. “That’s ludicrous,” Nix breathed, a hand at her throat. “He has three weeks to manifest, and I want proof. He’ll see the Anatomist, but don’t bother summoning Hiems here. Did not his niece give birth three centuries ago? It’s time Lux paid the babe a visit.” Lux’s stomach sank. He hadn’t used Erasure on a child in five years, and he dreaded the thought. The townspeople called it bleeding, as pigments of the eyes, hair and skin would seep out like blood from a wound. “Yes, seclusion in the woods should do you good,” Os said, the tap of his cane fading the farther he moved. “I’ll send a raven to Hiems with explicit instructions.” He left through the double doors, Nix at his heels. She threw Lux an apologetic glance before disappearing into the whiteness of the grand hall. “Lord Lux?” said Tutor, his tone annoyingly soft. He wasn’t accustomed to hearing Os’ harsh words, and he never would be after Nix’s dismissal. Lux turned to him, their pale eyes meeting. Everyone in Albens had pale eyes, varying shades of gray, but there was a question swirling within Tutor’s silvery gaze. “Why didn’t you correct me?” He’d said Lux’s name right for the first time in three months, pronouncing it like Lukes, and not Luxe. It was clear the Fae came from the countryside as no one in the city ever mispronounced it. “It wasn’t important,” Lux answered. He hadn’t bothered to learn the Fae’s name

either. He was a simple tutor, one of many. “You can leave.” Tutor paused, more words bubbling beneath the surface, but he swallowed them with a polite nod. Stepping away from the easel, he strode toward the doorway and stopped, his eyes full of emotion Lux didn’t want to see. He blinked, gazing around the parlor once before disappearing into the hall, taking his concern with him. Finally alone, Lux released a breath. Talons burning black, he watched as acid oozed from the tips, filling the air with a pungent scent reminiscent of vinegar. Ruby, butterscotch, lime and carob melted off the canvases as he touched them, leaving the fabrics unmarred as they pooled onto the edges of the holders. From his inner pocket, he pulled two glass vials and bent to fill them, his skin already itching in anticipation as the colors streamed unblended one atop the other. Corking the vials, he bounded into the hall. The grand hall was another age of mother-of-pearl and porcelain, save for the staggered portraits of deceased family . They sat frozen, dressed in robes they never wore while alive, colorful shades of blush, azure and emerald. Races of people differed from plants and beasts as they couldn’t be manifested from the canvas. Instead, they existed within the portraits’ confines, granted a skilled Illustrator captured their essences accurately. Lux flew past his great grandmother now, a silver-framed painting of a bony Fae female. The last time he’d visited her was during the winter solstice, and the next would be in several months for the summer. She would complain when he finally showed, but for now, she remained unable to curse him. Essences only became animated when one stepped into a portrait. Once at his chambers, he locked the doors, barely turning the key before tugging at the clasps that secured his robes. Discarding the garment at his feet, he strutted toward the mirror propped behind his vanity, rolling the vials between his fingers. It was all worth it for this moment, the grueling tedious lesson, the slew of insults, even his promised visit with Hiems. In the mirror’s reflection, he ired the litany of tattoos covering his alabaster skin, large, bright bursts of watery imagery. The midnight sky spread across his ribs and over one arm. Bloody roses bloomed at his neck where collars could hide them. Forest trees descended the mountain ridges on his hipbones,

disappearing down his troed legs. Beneath the fabric, expanses of sea and wildlife swirled around his knees and dove for his toes. He needn’t worry about proportions or realism so long as it looked reminiscent. It mattered not if the trees were navy instead of pine, the ocean waves of amethyst or the sun’s position and shadows off-kilter. The only rule was that it ought to be beautiful to himself. Besides a few dull cosmetics, Os forbade pigments for personal use, even for nobles. The colors shone in his palms now, more luxurious than precious gems, and he was about to adorn himself with them. He was a walking secret only Niveii knew about. Opening the vials, he pulled brushes from the vanity drawers. He supposed he was an Impermanence Illustrator as the images would fade, lasting a mere season, although nothing would manifest from flesh. Yet the act gave him purpose, rebellion as he replenished the rose petals. He lavished in the acid’s sting as it seeped into his skin, embedding the colors. He was almost immune to its effects, far more so than if it touched another. Still, it burned before drying down and cooling. Dipping into the orange, he began repainting the sun on his right shoulder, expanding the fading halo when a noise near the window startled him. His hand slipped, sending a beam of light halfway down his chest. His eyes fluttered shut in annoyance; he’d be stuck with that stripe until it faded on its own. Bleeding himself was too painful. He moved to the pane, peeping between a split in the drapes. A beast peeked back at him, its eye a pool of pure moonlight.

Chapter Three

Elsu

Elsu Avundrui wasn’t eager to greet his guest, the aristocratic Fae who’d traveled overseas for his nineteenth-century birth month, which coincided with The Academy’s testing. Those sitting the exam would stay within Avundrui Manor until then, about thirteen days. His celebration should be a welcome period of relaxation before the stress of the exams. For Elsu, it was anything but. The expectation to succeed placed upon him by his parents, peers, and their parents too was unbearable. In less than a fortnight, everyone would know that the last hope of a Permanence Illustrator from Avundrui Manor would be lost. “Your Grace.” Elsu heard his mother’s voice before he saw her. Mitena was standing, head bowed, before a procession of Dwarves from the purple mountains. Dwarves that lived within Avundrui Manor wore robes and bore branded X’s atop their hands, a symbol of excommunication. These Dwarves wore simple tunics, their unmarked hands holding silver bowls loaded with gems. “I thought you’d be the first to arrive given the short distance,” Mitena said. “There was a delay, Countess Avundrui,” said the Dwarf King Guzuriim, a thick crown of twisted gold and pewter resting low on his prominent brow. “When we awoke, we realized the Humans had stolen stone from our mountains, no doubt for that accursed wall of theirs.” The Dwarves would notice a missing pebble from a heap of rubble. Their life’s purpose was hoarding, forging, mining, and their concentration never swayed from their collections. “Amazing they could lift such things,” Mitena said absently. Her bejeweled

talons tapped with impatience against her upper arms. She’d been waiting on Elsu, nervous to hear the news of his journey to the Somerset Isles for Illustration lessons. “Did the Fae guards not see?” King Guzuriim raised a brow, his crown lifting with it. The question was insincere, bordering on accusatory. “They must have,” Mitena itted. “But they only report on what concerns the Fae. You must confront the Humans themselves.” “What about being neighborly?” King Guzuriim’s voice boomed around the hall. “I wouldn’t let them destroy Avundriull’s walls, forests or cliffs and shrug my shoulders because it’s not my territory.” “We wouldn’t need your intervention. Guards protect our walls at all times. Perhaps you should change your hibernation patterns and station some Dwarves along the mountain’s perimeters. It will solve the problem of tresers.” “I shouldn’t have to waste my forgers as guardsmen,” the king snarled. “Shall I remind you of your own beasts? The near-extinct creatures manifested by Avundrian Illustrators for that exact purpose as part of our treaty?“ Mitena remained stone-faced, silent. “Gryphons are not immortal like Fae. I’ve requested more beasts for the past decade only to be met with silence. I allow my Dwarves to work in Avundruill as forgers for your own beautification, and in return, I’m given nothing.” His spitefilled eyes drifted to the headpiece perched on Mitena’s head. It was a half-ring of rose gold, large gryphon wings encircling the back of her inky black hair. Elsu snorted. Guzuriim dumped off forgers out of convenience. Dwarves were meticulous in their craft, and Guzuriim only sent his rejects. Not that the Fae minded, what the Dwarves considered imperfections were invisible even to Fae eyes. “You care not for us, but what of the forest? You deny me permission to dig outward, saying it’ll compromise the trees’ stability, yet you allow the Humans to shift closer to the western perimeter, nearer to Nymph territory.” Mitena froze as Nymphs carrying silver platters filled with flutes of golden tonic

filed past them. Each gave a deep, sweeping bow before disappearing into the dining hall where the guests mingled. Unfolding her arms, Mitena’s expression hardened further as she said, “the Humans are nowhere near the outland forest. Until that time comes, it’s none of the Fae’s concern, much less yours. I will not stand here and listen to your greed —” “My greed?” “Dwarf mining is confined to the mountains as per the treaty set thousands of years before.” “So, now you the treaty,” he scoffed. “It’s okay for the Fae to break it —“ “The Fae have broken nothing,” Mitena said through clenched teeth, her rigid composure cracking. “The Humans being near the forest line and you digging beneath it is not comparable.” “It’s not just the Humans.” He shook his head. “You allow the accursed Lele to nest there.” “The Lele are not damaging or killing the ash trees where Nymph spirits reside. They’re merely using shed branches for firewood.” “For now. You’re showing favor through excuses and creating enemies, Mitena.” “You’ve gone mad,” she spat, her eyes growing wide. It was more emotion than Elsu had seen her display in a century. “How dare you come into my manor and speak to me this way?” “And what of you? You address me like a child, scolding me over rules you yourself do not uphold. You are a countess, I am a king!” “Of the Dwarves!” Mitena bent to the king’s level, her long hair spilling onto the stone floor. “I speak to you out of respect, Guzuriim, not obligation. The Fae will not meddle. Take your anger to the Humans. As for the gryphons, you will have them before the century’s end. My word.”

King Guzuriim looked affronted, as she rose to her normal height, hurt streaking across his amber irises. “A parting gift for young Lord Elsu.” His gaze flickered past Mitena and straight to Elsu, who stood a few feet behind her. He lifted one of his many ringed fingers, turning it midway. The tinkle of a million crystals falling sounded around the hall as the Dwarves overturned their bowls. They pivoted, following behind their king and disappearing into the darkness, the dinner party forgotten. “The lesser races are becoming far too presumptuous,” Mitena said, stepping gracefully over the litany of jewels. But Elsu saw the worry in her copper face as she approached him. “And petty.” Nymphs appeared from nowhere, ready to clean the mess. “It’s not just the Dwarves,” she said, lowering her voice as she gazed over her shoulder at the servants. Taking Elsu’s hand, she pulled him in the opposite direction, closer to the dining hall. “The Nymphs have been complaining too. The Lele are infesting the forest, trapped between Vădăstriya and unable to through the mountains or Avundriull.” The purple peaks were imible. Acidic miasma covered the rock, a byproduct of the beasts that inhabited them. It was excruciating to inhale, even for Fae. For Lele, who proved far sturdier than Humans, impossible. The mountains’ thick rock shielded the Dwarves from its effects. “What do they expect you to do? Grant the Lele age through Avundruill to the ports?” It was a rhetorical question. The Lele were travelling caravans of terror, using dark magic to rob cities blind. The Humans were weakest to their charms and Vădăstriya had almost collapsed after the last Lele attack a half-century ago. When Vădăstriya finally cast them out, the Lele left with their coin purses and wombs filled. “And have the country behead me?” Mitena scoffed. “I cannot risk Avundriull’s sacredness for tainted beings. Even if I allowed it, how would they board a ship with no coins? They’ll only settle at the ports and loiter.” She sighed, fingers massaging her temple as she leaned against the wall for . “Guzuriim’s right, the beasts’ miasma is thinning. The Humans shouldn’t be able to get near it. The air aside, their fear of the forests dwindles with each generation. Decades

past, they didn’t dare travel through it. If we don’t intervene soon, anyone could wander around the mountains, past our border, and invade Avundruill by land. I cannot allow it.” Fae were the fastest race, but not the strongest, nor the most populated. An influx of foreigners was a fear they held but didn’t vocalize. Like the Humans of Vădăstriya, Fae were purist. “It’s imperative your manifestation skills improve, Elsu,” she whispered, eyes darting to the dining hall where Fae ears were far too keen. “I cannot meet Guzuriim’s request now because there are no other Anatomists. Simi’s getting worse. He can no longer hold a brush.” Elsu’s stomach sank at the mention of his father. He wanted to Simi as he’d been, feared and revered throughout the Fae realm. Not as he was now. Months before Elsu’s departure to The Isles, Simi had transitioned, turning from flesh and bone to a wispy, smoke-like state Humans would call a ghost. It was a random, unexplainable process. His father was only fifty-five hundred years, yet the dining hall held Fae far older. Sometimes, the soul longs to return to the heart of the heavens whence it came, the Fae would reason. Mitena grasped his hands and squeezed, drawing his attention. Her dark eyes were pleading. “I need you to , Elsu, for our people and our Manor’s continuance. Your ittance into The Academy will surely get us a contract with a Zzarlziqan Anatomist.” Elsu’s stomach clenched at her desperation, and he shared in her pain. He’d spent the winter months learning, practicing with a world-renowned Illustrator, yet he’d little to show for it. “Mother—” he began, but Mitena squeezed him harder. “It’s starting, the death. First go our treaties, then everything else, just like the dying white lands of Albens. It’s become too blatant to ignore, and the vultures wish the same misfortune upon us. You already know the Marmors aren’t in attendance tonight, not that I blame them.”

House Marmor never showed. Elsu knew nothing of Albens other than what he could see from the manor’s highest tower. Across the sea, the country sat higher than Avundruill, a vast fortress of whiteness, though it rarely snowed. Count Os had sealed the borders a thousand years ago, denying access to even noble Fae. “You know what happens when we cannot produce an Illustrator.” Elsu swallowed, his mouth dry as he recited the answer. “The Fae king would dissolve our House, like House Nyall.” It was the forgotten Manor in the far east, a land diversified by thousands of failed breeding attempts to restore Illustration. House Nyall was the major reason the remaining noble Houses preferred not to mix bloodlines for fear of diluting their abilities. Though, they would if it meant claiming new territories. “Not before an alliance through marriage. There’s no word on any common Avundrian Illustrators, which means the marriage would be to a foreigner, preferably from the Permanence House of Zzarlziqa. An Illustrator child from the union would be our last hope.” She shook her head. “I can’t bear an outsider infiltrating our lands, changing our customs, culture and Manor into their own.” Elsu had no desire for marriage, nor would he allow a takeover of Avundrui Manor. His mind searched for a temporary solution, a distraction. “Why aren’t the gryphons breeding? With no predators, their numbers should be in the thousands.” “They don’t seem keen on mating.” She sighed. “Please tell me your lessons in the Somerset Isles went well?” Elsu had never manifested a complete image, but his parents had hoped with the right instruction he’d improve his skill. Half Illustrators were unheard of, yet here Elsu was. He couldn’t look Mitena in the eye as he said, “They have.” Fae couldn’t lie, but he was a master at skirting the truth. “Oh!” She wrapped her arms around him, relief flooding her features. “I knew it! You always manifested when you were younger. Your brother never managed, but you, the gift was there, it just needed to be drawn out.” Elsu embraced her with less enthusiasm, grateful as a soft drumbeat pattered from the dining chamber, the signal for their grand entrance. “Shall we?”

The dining hall was breathtaking. Moonlight flooded the room, casting it in a serene silver. Vines wove around the columns, covered in magenta and azure blooming bells that closed whenever a guest blocked an arched window. Through the glass panes, the treetops swayed with the beat. Over the tips of pines and down in the valley, the violet lake glistened. At the long oak table, Fae decked in robes of their respective house colors stood. The northerners of Ísvaldar were pale, from hair to eyes to skin. Their garments never strayed from the icy palette of silvers, blues and whites. Between them were the of the Somerset Isles, varying in skin tones that went far deeper and lighter than the copper-skinned people of Avundruill. Elsu marveled at the intricate ways they wove their coily hair with pearls and threads of pewter. His loose braid tied with feathers was enough to give him a headache. Like the Albenians, the southerners of Zzarlziqa weren’t present. The Academy was closer to their lands than Avundruill. Elsu deflated; he enjoyed the southerners company the most. The drumming eased into silence. At the table’s head Simi stood, focused on the natural world tonight. Elsu’s eyes burned at the sight of his father. Before he’d left, Simi still held wisps of color; now he was a dull gray and transparent. Beside him, Elsu’s brother Nodin stood stiffly, avoiding eye with everyone, even him. “Crea, one of the seven essences of the Omnipotent One, has blessed the Fae with the ability of manifestation,” Simi said, startling Mitena who’d opened her mouth to begin the speech. “Whether it be the impermanent Illustration of House Ísvaldar and House Marmor, or permanence Illustration of House Zzarlziqa and House Avundrui, we all hope to continue the gift of manifestation through our children. This century not only marks the age of maturity for Elsu but for many others in attendance tonight. “For Fae, the nineteenth century starts an eternity of adulthood, of decisionmaking, careers, alliances, matrimony, conception or lack thereof. The actions you take thus forth are not entirely your own and must be taken with care. Regardless of Illustrative abilities, you are all noble-born, carrying the burden of responsibility for your territories and people. Ensure that you contribute your talents wisely.”

Gazes darted around the table, some filled with pride, others uncertainty. “I would like to thank everyone for coming tonight, not only to celebrate my son’s birth month but to fellowship with one another, a rarity given the distance of our countries. I cherish your attendance as time is fleeting even for some of us Fae.” The guests stared at Simi knowingly. Far more had shown up than Elsu expected. He’d anticipated the examinees, perhaps their parents, but the presence of their aunts, uncles and cousins alike made Elsu realize their trip was about more than his birth or the examinations. It was a farewell, one last goodbye. “To Elsu.” Simi turned to him. “You are one of the two best gifts to come into my world, sent from the core of the heavens themselves. In your eyes that mirror my own, I saw the light within you, the soul swimming in those onyx depths, and I realized your potential immediately. Here you stand at the beginning of adulthood already exceeding the expectations placed upon you, and I have no doubt that you will far sur them. To my son, my blood, my heart, Elsu.” Glass flutes rose into the air, a sea of molten gold extending toward him, dozens of smiles playing on the guest’s lips. Elsu tried to control his shaking as he picked up his own glass, giving a shallow bow which they returned. Then they were drinking, formalities lowered. Simi’s eyes seemed to glaze over for good, as if he’d mustered his last drop of energy for that very moment. The guests noticed too, but no one appeared overly concerned. It was a part of Fae life, and they would see Simi again, eventually. The thought wasn’t comforting to Elsu. His face overheated as the chatter grew louder. Familiar faces rose from their seats to greet him, their words incoherent to his ears. He couldn’t speak, responding with nods and tight smiles instead. It felt as if he were drowning beneath his collar. He needed air. Not caring how he must look, Elsu slipped through the patrons and out of the dining room. Down a corridor that led to the Nymph’s quarters, he stuck his head over the balcony. The guests wouldn’t linger here, and the servants would ignore him unless he summoned them. How could he return to Avundruill a failure like his brother? He gripped the

stone railing tighter. Would his mother force marriage upon him and Nodin, hoping one of them produced a manifesting heir? He didn’t want a mate, much less an infant, yet the alternative was worse. What would it be like to lose Avundrui Manor? He shut his eyes. If only he could manifest with consistency, he could hold off on mating indefinitely. His lifespan allowed for it, given he didn’t transition early like his father. By then, Nodin may have an heir of his own. The night air rustled through his locks and robes, enveloping him like an embrace—a frigid one. Opening his eyes, he peered over the trees that descended the cliff side and gasped. On the lakeshore was a body, the crumpled frame washed against the pebbly shore, unmoving.

Chapter Four

Sassa

Sassa had awoken in short bursts, catching glimpses of differing scenery, whiffs of aromas, and the feel of various textures and temperatures. First was the hardness of the pebbly shore, the scent of salt, the tightness of her face in the glaring sun as her skin dried. Next came the tickle of grass, the odor of pine, balsam and soil. Now, something soft and warm enveloped her, the smell of paint high in the air. Paint? Pain wracked her as she struggled to sit, a strangled gasp escaping her throat. Her arms lay feebly at her sides, her legs heavy and uncooperative, tucked beneath a gray duvet. A duvet! “Don’t force it,” called the deep voice of a male Fae. Fae voices were unmistakable, like gentle stream waters, smooth and clear, a grace to their intonation Humans and Lele could not mimic. Sassa froze as he appeared over her a second later, his footsteps noiseless. All Fae were beautiful, and he was no exception. His long black hair fell over his shoulders, framing his copper face, his dark almond-shaped eyes sparkling like pieces of onyx. “Avundruill,” she whispered hoarsely, answering her own question as to her whereabouts. Avundrians were unmistakable, having features similar to the male beside her. She’d never seen a Fae up close, and the encounter should have made her nervous, terrified of the unknown. Humans hunted Impures. What did Fae do to

them besides deny them entry at their gates? “Why did you bring me here?” she asked, her tone not laced with fear but disbelief and exasperation as memories of the attack resurfaced. If she was near Avundruill’s borders, that meant she’d crossed the great lake. There were no villages here, no other people she’d encounter besides the Fae. There were just the beasts and the purple mountains whose miasma she saw from the tallest redwoods whenever she climbed them. She thought of Bagard, the putrid smell of his burning flesh filling her nostrils. She held no sorrow for the man, but he was a father, a husband and her supplier. With him gone, so was her work. The Lele twins were headed for a similar fate, and she blinked away the mental image of how it would happen. The Humans had an affinity for boiling. Then there was the matter of her home, or a lack thereof. Her heart sank, tears she hadn’t shed in decades burning her eyes and threatening to fall. She couldn’t survive here, nor could she return to Human territory. They’d never leave her alone, not a Fae-and-Lele mix, as she was sure Flynn had told the guardsmen. Humans aside, the cŵn annwn would soon take permanent residence in the forest, on the hunt for Impures, for her. “I didn’t bring you anywhere,” he said, eyes narrowed. “You beached yourself on my shores, and I sheltered you from the elements. You’re welcome. Gratefulness isn’t an attribute of the Lele; I take it the same attitude applies for a halfling.” She didn’t have the strength to feel insulted. Her head swam, hunger pains pulling at her stomach, aching pains yanking at everything else. Exhaustion consumed her to the point of brokenness. She was tired of running, hiding, being. “Thank you,” she said after a pregnant pause. “I thought I’d die in the lake. I didn’t expect to wake up to even greater problems. Where am I to go? What am I to do?” The pitiful questions were more to herself, but he answered. “How am I to know?” How would he indeed? Fae traveled freely to all lands, yet Sassa couldn’t think of one place that allowed Lele. Lukewarm anger rose at his bluntness, but she

stifled it. “Why did you help me?” she asked, looking past him and noting that there was a stretch of teal fabric above them. A tent? “I’ve never seen a halfling,” he said, his eyes roving over her features with enough intensity to light her skin afire. “I doubt any Fae ever has. It’s an abomination to breed such a thing.” Ice water doused her. “Thing?” People taunted and gawked at her like an oddity and never a person her entire life. The forest had sheltered her from the scrutiny for centuries, but as he peered down upon her, feelings of inadequacy resurfaced. “A blasphemous creation if you prefer.” He shrugged. “For Fae, mating with a Lele is like breeding a beast, forbidden and repulsive.” “Then why did you save this beast?” she asked, hating the way her voice trembled. “I told you, I was curious. What Fae would be so degenerative to create you?” “Who would be so interested about bestiality?” He had the nerve to look insulted, his lips pressing into an angry line. “I wanted to see the beastie’s temperament. Would it be more like the Lele or the Fae? I see now it’s as I expected. Feral instincts usually conquer. After all, I never received a thank you. Thanks to me, you still have an arm.” “I thanked you.” “I didn’t hear it,” he said, tilting his head, silky strands tumbling over his shoulder as he did so. Sassa shut her eyes at his childishness. She would not praise him. She thought of the hounds, of the bites of flesh they’d taken from her. Although Fae blood was far more regenerative than Lele, she couldn’t imagine that her body would fully recover. It was all she had, all she needed. Panicked, she attempted to shake off the duvet to examine the damage, but her arms remained frozen. Her eyes found

him questioningly. “I gave you a tonic, a mix of brilacece and gesium. The first pulls you into a deep slumber, the other paralyzes your limbs. Fae use it after battles,” he answered, irritated. “But your arm needed tears to replenish the muscle. It’s still raw and underdeveloped, the skin far from meeting.” “Tears?” she asked, perplexed. “What sort of tears?” “Fae,” he said, as if it were common knowledge. “Blessed by high priestesses. It’s the top seller at the piers, three crowns a vial.” The piers nestled behind Avundriull’s cliffs were the major trading center of the continent. The guards didn’t allow foreigners into the city, but they could enter the ports. Hope bloomed in her chest. “Three crowns is more money than I’ve ever seen.” “It’s well worth it. It’ll cure almost anything, dark magic withholding.” He gave her a pointed look. “Would a sorceress be here?” she snapped, eyes wide, exasperated with the whole “Lele were witches” nonsense. “Chased across the forest, mauled by cŵn annwn and nearly drowned in the great lake? Wouldn’t I have used my black magic to escape unscathed?” “There are awful witches.” She bit her lip, drawing blood in frustration. “You mentioned the ports. If I can get there, I can board a ship.” “On what coin?” he asked, lifting a brow. “If you baulk at three crowns, I doubt you’ve got one. It’s the price to sail almost anywhere.” “But it’s an option,” she said. “If I can get there—” “How? By scaling the cliffs?” The cliffside where she’d fallen was a joke compared to the ones that bordered Avundruill. They were unscalable, a straight vertical incline that spanned up to

the heavens by thousands of feet. Its base was the inky depths of the Nigran Sea. If Sassa feared the beats of the lake, then she was downright petrified of the sea’s inhabitants. “I know I cannot stay within the country, but I only need age to the ports. If a guard escorted me to the gates—“ “No.” “—they won’t have to worry about me hiding in town.” “They won’t allow it, armed escort or not,” he interrupted. “Tainted beings cannot enter the city.” “How will my mere presence sully the city?” “Your essence may linger.” She eyed him, mouth agape. That was ludicrous. “If they heard my story—” “They won’t care.”

“Why do you keep interrupting me?”

“Because unlike you, I know them,” he snapped. “My mother is the Countess of Avundruill. She, the council, guards and people are all in agreement. Leles are not allowed within the city under any circumstance.” “You’re the son of a Countess?” Her eyes moved to his robes, noticing the intricacy of its silver embroidery. “You’re a Lord, then?” “I’m Lord Elsu, and you are?” Her heart sank into her heels. A Lord would know his country’s rulings far better than she would. Still, she wanted to approach the gates, hoping he was wrong...Deep down, she knew he wasn’t.

For all the Humans hated her, there was something they loved more: money. If it weren’t for the cŵn annwn and Flynn undoubtedly reporting her existence, it wouldn’t be too hard to find another greedy huntsmen who required her services. Fae were different. They were stronger, faster, richer, there was no need for them to barter with her, a repulsive creation. Why had she thought they’d be empathetic? When had anyone shown her comion before? Her eyes found Elsu. Right now. Despite his attitude, the Fae had helped her. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she mumbled. “Well then, Beastie, I can give you the death you crave, if only temporarily.” She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but he stuck a dropper onto her tongue, squeezing two fat drops down her throat. It was bittersweet and oily. Immediately, her vision grew foggy, her tongue heavy and unable to protest. “It was time for another dose anyway.” Lord Elsu smirked, his dark face fading into the blackness.

* * *

When Sassa awoke next, she could move her limbs, even though they felt like logs. She sat up, the duvet falling as she did, exposing her nudity. Flushing, she grabbed the fabric, wrapping it around her torso and wincing at the effort. “It’s awake,” drawled Lord Elsu. He was sitting behind an easel and a narrow table filled with art supplies, painting a plant, a tiny seedling that sat on a bench. She shimmied deeper into the blanket. “Where are my clothes?” “In the branches outside,” he said nonchalantly, not bothering to turn around. She watched as he painted, emphasizing the pine needles with a thinner brush.

Each meticulous stroke looked as if he were trying to duplicate it, needle for needle. With a metal spatula, he scooped a small portion of white powder onto a wooden pallet and hovered a hand above it. His fingers remained steady, suspended for a few seconds, then out of nowhere, the powder turned from white to brown. “H-how did you do that?” Sassa gasped, eyes darting from his fingers to the powder, searching for the dye he must have dropped onto it. “I’ve altered it.” “I can see that, but how?” she asked, her voice growing high with excitement. “Once it’s changed, can you change it again?” “No.” He faced her. “You know nothing about Fae, do you?” “The lessons of the forest are rather limited,” she snarked. He put down his brush and stood, studying her again. His eyes, gleaming with curiosity, moved from her navy mane to her dark skin to her fiery eyes. They drifted over the curves of her nose and mouth, the sharpness of her eyebrows and jaw, the dip of her neck and bare shoulders. She resisted the urge to squirm. “Who could have sired you?” Sassa avoided his gaze. His guess was as good as hers. “Why does it matter?” “Because it was purposeful. Fae cannot have offspring unless we mate.” “All beings are created through mating,” she said, puzzled. “Unless you are a plant or—” “You don’t understand me. We aren’t like Humans and Lele who procreate for sport and by accident. Fae births are never unintentional.” Her brows furrowed, and he sighed. “All Lele are female, so your father must be Fae. He was not having a simple affair with your mother. He committed to her by fusing their souls, siring you on

purpose.” “Is a mate bond like marriage?” Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. She’d always assumed her birth was an unwanted consequence, a terrible mistake. “No,” he said firmly. “Marriages can break. You cannot break a mate bond once it’s formed. It’s a tether that stretches but won’t yield.” “Sounds smothering.” She couldn’t imagine being attached to someone forever. “If Bloodlines cannot continue without it, births must be rare.” “Amongst the common populace, but not the elite.” “Why is that?” Were noble Fae somehow more inclined toward romantic relations? “To mate does not necessarily mean to love. Nobles need heirs, commoners do not, so many remain unbonded unless they find a fated mate.” “Fated mate?” Sassa asked, mind racing. “A love bond?” Were her parents in love? Why else would they plan to create her when she wasn’t a desirable heir? Her whole life, she was unwanted by everyone. The possibility that perhaps her parents had not only wanted her but truly loved her ignited a hope she’d long thought dead. “One in a trillion.” Elsu nodded. Sassa deflated as a realization washed over her. If her parents had been soul-tied, then what went wrong? “Fae are immortal, but they can die, can’t they?” “Of course, we can. Wasn’t that your wish?” She shifted beneath the blanket, suddenly uncomfortable. “We? I’m a halfling, ?” “How can I forget?” He cocked his head, eyes trailing the contours of her face again. “Would that break a mate bond? Death?”

“No, only a fated mate bond can break it,” he said, his eyes glazing over in...sadness? Was he thinking of someone? “Tell me about that.” She nodded toward his easel, changing the subject. “What’s that powder?” He sighed for a second time before returning to his stool. “I take it you don’t know about manifestation either?” He took her silence for an answer. “It’s titania,” he gestured to the white powder with the metal spatula, “Hallowed or Illustrator Fae can turn it into pigments.” He stretched his fingers over another portion, turning it to amethyst. “My arm emits invisible rays of light. Longer, slower waves create reds and oranges and take the least amount of energy. Turned titania is impure and cannot be changed again.” Sassa struggled to stand, pulling the duvet with her as she wobbled toward him, her thigh muscles screaming in protest. She watched entranced as he produced a mossy green next. “It’s the only pigment Illustrators can use to bring their paintings to life. Without it, the painting is just that.” “Manifestation?” Sassa whispered in disbelief, shaking her head. “How can paintings possibly come alive?” “You really know nothing,” Elsu said, dipping his brush into the green. Her heart thundered painfully against her sore ribs in anticipation as he dabbed at the leaves, her eyes flickering to the air beside him. “Are you an Illustrator then? Will the tree appear?” That was the wrong thing to ask. Elsu’s head whipped toward her, eyes narrowed and suddenly furious. “Shouldn’t you be leaving now?” he asked, his voice deeper, darker. “If you can stand, you can walk. If you can walk, you can leave.” Her mouth dropped in indignation.

“What? Did you think I would give you shelter and drink forever?” Her voice was dying in her throat, and she struggled to pull it out again. “Y-you were the one that brought me to your tent.” “I said I was curious, now my curiosity is dead.” “I cannot get through Avundruill’s border nor scale the cliffs. If I journey across the lake, the Humans will capture me.” “How is that my concern? I don’t owe you anything. I don’t even know you.” “It’s not, but you helped me by giving me shelter and medicine.” Her voice was pleading, pitiful. “If you could just help me get past the borders, I’ll be on my way.” “Impossible.” “There must be another option.” He threw down his brush and stood, his stool toppling over. “I’m getting your clothes. Get dressed and get out.” He left before she could protest. She stared at the painting. Why had her question upset him? Not that it mattered now. I don’t owe you anything. His words rang true. You have your life, she thought. He helped keep it, even if you cannot see the value in it at the moment. Be grateful, not entitled. She only had herself to depend on, it’d been that way for centuries. Turning to the easel, she picked up a brush and examined it. She knew nothing about painting, never imagining she’d ever try. Her eye wandered over the supplies, rows and rows of brushes, tapered, flat, round and angled. She rolled the handle between her fingers, trying to hold it as Elsu had. Then she studied the bark he’d stippled halfway up the trunk with gray. When would she have another chance to paint? Never. Peeking over her shoulder and finding herself still alone, she placed the brush on

the canvas, ignoring the way her bandaged arm pulsed with pain. She created a little vertical squiggle that added texture, nearly identical to Elsu’s strokes. “What are you doing!” His voice was a loud, panicked boom. She jumped, dropping the brush, the gray paint staining the teal fabric beneath her feet. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to make a portrait worth manifesting?” His crazed eyes grew wider, wider than she imagined possible. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he threw her clothes to the floor, trampling them and charging toward her. He grabbed her wrist, hard, crushing. “Of course, you don’t! You know nothing!” Crooking her elbow, she balled her free hand into a fist without thinking, instinct sending a punch straight to his jaw. Too slow, he’d caught it faster than she could blink, faster than the blanket could plummet to the ground. As she made to kick him, she realized he was not staring at her nudity but past it, his grip easing, his mouth slackening in shock. Turning, she followed his gaze to a little gray squiggle suspended in midair.

Chapter Five

Lux

The forests of Albens were a latticework of lush greens and ash grays. Maples and beeches intersected chestnuts and oaks, most in varying stages of being bled. Lux kept his pattern organized, a necessity for the growth of rare seedlings. Most trees weren’t anatomically correct for reproduction, faults of Illustrators who’d tried their hand at anatomy. Worse, the mature plants were vanishing before Lux could touch them, many being original creations. The initial Impermanence Illustrators had not known about the pigments’ fading timelines. They didn’t sufficiently stagger their manifestations to offset bulk disappearances, nor could they have foreseen that titania, once in excessive supply, would dwindle. The Illustrators now relied on reused pigments, the watery extracts Lux bled. He thickened them with titania residue that sufficed for retouches but not new creations. Nature could recover, Lux argued, if Os allowed him to cease the extractions, something his grandfather was staunchly against. Sustenance was running low, and portraits of the food fields needed retouching before the harvest. He stood beside an old maple, iring the bark’s deep umber hue, the sap’s golden amber that oozed into buckets around its girth. Eyes closed, he spread his palms against the rough rind, curling his talons to penetrate the bumpy surface. Everything that lived held a voice, an incantation waiting to be ired. Its song was lulling, gentle strokes that synced his breath to the melodious tune, each note growing fainter than the last. His hands grew wet, thick rivulets running along the curves of his fingers. Before the song ended, he pulled away, leaving it at a whisper. His eyes sprang open as frightened woodland creatures fell from the maple’s branches. A sharp contrast to the lullaby, they hit the forest floor with a chorus of grating squeals. Like the maple, they’d faded, a white film covering their fur like

an ever-present frost. Os was convinced that with enough sustenance from the soil and rain, the trees would heal themselves. Lux had yet to see it. “You went too far,” came a quiet onishment. “It’s almost dead.” He peered down at the Nymph Cleo, squatting by the roots. The other Nymphs had removed the buckets of sap, pouring the now clear liquid into glass jars for consumption later. Cleo looked over the metal skirt wrapped around the trunk to catch the color bleed. Spouts at the lowest points flooded the jars beneath it, the dark green excess from the leaves coating Cleo’s white boots. “Good,” he muttered, watching the ashen rivulets congeal like ropes of cooling wax. Nymphs were sentimental about trees, ill or not. She pressed her lips into a thin line and stood, hefting a jar with ease and heading toward a wagon. Ombres of onyx, graphite, pewter, rust and ginger filled the wagon bed, common colors extracted from the rock and dirt, given the Nymphs dug deep below the blanched topsoil. But it was bright amethyst Lux was after, plum and boysenberry for Niveii’s birth month, hues that no longer existed in Albens. Still, he searched, hoping a combination of red and blue would suffice. Niveii always made a big show of her birthdays as no one else, besides Lux, ever did. This birthday was extra special as she was turning fifteen hundred, the year of a female Fae’s debut. Nobles marked the occasion with a ball, inviting Fae aristocrats worldwide. Niveii had talked his ear off about her future debut for centuries, but she’d grown quiet on the matter for several years now. Lux took it that reality had sunken in. Os would never allow it unless, by some miracle, he procured an ore to return Albens to its former state. Still, he wished to make Niveii happy by surprising her with her favorite colors. If only he could bleed the cerulean sky that taunted him, the abundant color just out of his reach. The navy sea that spanned to Albens’ rocky cliffs and the smooth shores of the purple mountains were equally cruel. More mocking illusions. “One day, you’ll manage it, my Lord,” Cleo said earnestly. There was hope in her pale eyes, once flecked with gold. Her skin, once olive, was now pallid, her face free of any natural rosiness. It hadn’t stopped her from emulating a flush, albeit poorly, a light dusting of clay covering her nose and cheeks. It looked

dirty. “I can feel your ambition, your hunger to infuse our world and make it extraordinary, better than Avundruill and its forests.” Her gaze journeyed over the cliffside and across the dark sea that forked the continent. The eastern point where Avundruill sat was a smear of green on the landscape, a stark comparison to the white west. “You truly believe that?” The Nymphs looked to him as the answer to their troubles, unable to see that he was a temporary . He bled their vacant neighbors to keep their race alive and their mothering tree’s portrait vibrant. Forest Nymphs were spirits, taking on physical bodies when they left their authentic forms, ash trees, which were offlimits to Lux. “I know it.” She smiled. “Isn’t it time for your appointment, my Lord? With the Anatomist Hiems and his grand nephew?” Suddenly, he understood, revulsion rearing within him. “I heard the child has blue irises,” said a male Nymph carrying a jar of amber. “Do you think Count Os will finally use it on Mater?” Lux’s eyes narrowed at their giddiness. They were vultures perched and waiting for him to carry out the grim task so they could seek the reward. He hadn’t deluded himself into thinking the Nymphs that served his race cared for them. It was a symbiotic relationship, yet their disregard of the Fae child’s pain incensed him to no end. “Use Fae extractions on a flowering tree?” he asked, knowing the anger it would incite and not caring. Cleo looked affronted. “Mater is not a mere tree. She is our Queen, our common ancestor, our God.” “The Fae painted your God,” Lux said matter-of-factly. Mater may exist as their mother, but she was not a deity. If they had a God at all, it was Crea. When the Fae acquired the gift of Illustration, the Omnipotent One’s fifth face, Crea, created one of everything meant to be replicated. The Fae based Mater on the

original creation that stood meters away from where their manifestation grew. The trees bred, creating ash trees, plants infused with Nymph spirits, yet the Nymphs worshipped only Mater. “If Albens wants to maintain a continuous stream of servants, then Mater should be a priority. Her blue blossoms fade and are sparse. Our souls descend from them. Without blossoms, we do not exist,” said Cleo, her voice tight with constraint. “We will not use Fae extracts on plants,” he said icily. He was far too protective of Fae pigments, as was Os, the one thing they agreed upon. The Nymphs could never understand the torment bleeding caused, for he bled their false forms. If they could feel pain, perhaps they would find some empathy. “The Fae have ensured for millennia that Mater’s blossoms remain intact, although now they may take on different colorings.” “Tampering with the color would yield different Nymphs, like the Nereids of the Somerset Isles or the Oreads of the North,” Cleo spat. “We’re Meliae, forest Nymphs. It would change our essence.” “As long as that essence remains able to serve, the Fae can endure it.” Their silence was deafening, angry faces of wispy men and women condoning him. He touched a finger to Cleo’s scaly cheek. In seconds, the clay dusting turned to tiny rivulets of rust, his acid leaving raw pink streaks behind. Streaks she could not feel. “The Count forbids personal colors for non-Fae,” he said, watching as her dull eyes hardened, her fingers curling into fists. “Return to the Manor and rest. We resume next week on the forest’s western end.” He stormed between the wagons, ignoring the angry glares that followed him deeper into the foliage. He was eager to get away from them yet anxious to meet the Anatomist and child he was heading toward. Everyone in Albens was fair regardless of their lineages, thanks to Lux. Northerners had been olive-skinned and green-eyed, while southerners had been darker. Now, Lux could only differentiate origins if he paid close attention. In

the south, hair grew wavy, eyes larger, lips fuller, and that’s where he was headed, south. Still, he hoped the child was pale to avoid a second extraction session later. Three centuries was the ideal age. The babes were large enough to retrieve sufficient pigment while being too young to . On the third hour, sunset light flooded him in a bath of orangey bliss, another tease he couldn’t touch or procure. He’d hoped the journey would take him far longer, but Hiems’ house crept into view in no time. Nestled east of the cobblestone road, it sat recessed between the trees, all white and made of polished stone. When Albens still allowed visitors, they’d comment on the architecture resembling mausoleums. Hiems’ home was no exception, and Lux felt dead before he’d entered. He dawdled on the small porch, watching as the last ray of orange light turned to navy, cloaking him in darkness. Hiems should understand, shouldn’t he? He was a professional, using Lux’s extractions to retouch their world. Perhaps he and the child’s parents were relieved to know of Lux’s scheduled visit, as opposed to his typical surprise appearances. The thought didn’t reassure him as he approached the tall white doors, reaching out an even whiter hand to knock twice on the wood. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the soft cry of an animal. A beastly whine. Birds erupted from the trees’ canopies, blasting eastward over the sea and into the thick cloud cover. Lux stepped off the porch, listening. In seconds, the beast cried again, his beast. Without thinking, he left Hiems’ porch. An ominous feeling that the third cry would be the last settled into the pit of his stomach. He headed toward the area the birds had abandoned, drifting closer to the coastline. Salt was in the air, the crashing waves licking at the cliff side, but otherwise, the forest had grown unnaturally quiet. It was as if every creature and plant were holding its breath with him, listening with him. Lux slowed his footsteps, making them imperceptible. For once, he was thankful to blend into the bleached woods, his white robes and hair disappearing into the pale backdrop. Still, he kept to the shadows, gripping the hilt of his rapier as he eased closer. The ground shook. Once, then twice, like the massive beast was pouncing. Lux ran, darting between the trees and crashing into one when the shaking grew too violent. A deep cry was starting, building up in the creature’s massive throat like

rolling thunder getting ready to—BOOM! The cry exploded through the forest, sending a rippling wave of wind that tore through the branches, causing a downpour of leaves. Through the trees, Lux spotted a flicker of russet, one of the beast’s tails swatting back and forth in agitation. Nine wasn’t afraid; he was furious. The giant fox with the wingspan of a gryphon and nine striped tails charged forward, its black jaws opened wide, another growl forming deep in its throat. Lux bolted into the clearing, blade drawn behind Nine, ready to charge, but the beast was already pouncing. Lux froze, his sword hand faltering as he searched the trees, the skies, the ground. There was no one there besides the girl mounted on the beast’s back, her silver strands whipping about her head and obscuring her face. Her giddy laugh rang through the air, so unlike Nine’s anguished cry. The beast reared, the girl yelped, digging her shiny silver boots deeper into Nine’s side. It wasn’t the rider the fox fought, for Nine knew her well. Lux’s didn’t need to gaze into Niveii’s sterling eyes to know it was his sister. She should be in lessons. Then again, so should he. He hadn’t time to scold her as Nine dodged left, almost dislodging Niveii, who squealed with excitement, her robes billowing over her head. “NIVE-” Lux didn’t get the word out. Nine was blasting through the trees, splintering the trunks as he dove between them, sliding several feet and taking massive amounts of soil with him. “Nine?” Lux called baffled. “NINE!” The beast wasn’t listening, thrashing and bucking, attacked by something Lux couldn’t see. “NIVEII!” Lux sprinted after them, ready to calm the creature down before it destroyed more of the forest, but it was too late. A cry tore from Nine’s throat, another bang of thunder that shot into the dark sky a second before Nine did. His wings expanded, two giant beats that sent him soaring westward, Niveii dangling from his neck. A mile later and they plunged headlong into a canopy, disappearing from view. What was that about? Lux’s mind raced as he followed, but a scream, a Fae one,

stopped him dead. He hesitated, looking west toward Nine, then right toward the screaming babe. Niveii could handle Nine on her own, couldn’t she? The pit in his stomach grew twofold. His sister seemed blindly unaware that Nine wasn’t playing a game. The Fae screamed again, the squeal of a babe. Darting right, he ducked under the broken trunks, thankful none of them were ash trees. Nine had done him a favor by destroying the saplings. Their sickness wouldn’t spread now. As Lux drew nearer, the babe’s cries grew louder, mingling with adult voices that whispered harshly. “I won’t let that monster drain my son,” rasped a feminine voice. “He’s my baby, my only child.” A deep male voice followed, his tone anguished. “What am I to say on your behalf?” “Say nothing. Pretend you didn’t see,” she pleaded. “I can’t do that.” “Why not?” “Os.” Lux paled, recognizing the male’s voice as Hiems. “If you keep quiet—” “You don’t understand,” said Hiems, voice cracking. “He will know. He will extract it from me.” “We cannot stay here,” another male voice said, and Lux suspected him to be the female’s mate. His accent was like Dei’s, a northerner. “It’s not only about vanity, the Erasurist changes people. He doesn’t just drain complexions, he drains souls.”

Lux eased closer, peering between the foliage. There were three adult Fae and a disgruntled child nestled in the female’s arms, perhaps bothered by the chill of the night air. It was the child he’d come to bleed. “You know it’s true,” said the female who could only be Hiems’ niece. “No one’s the same after he’s touched them. It’s like he takes a piece of you with him.” “Or he kills it,” the northerner said. “Everyone in Albens is a husk, a shell, including him.” Lux’s heart slowed, the beating fading away, as did his breath. Soul keeper. Soul killer. The words coiled around his mind. Where had he heard them before? “If only I hadn’t seen,” Hiems said weakly. “I cannot confess nor show what I have not seen.” “Uncle, please,” the woman gasped, her face pained. Lux inched closer, ducking beneath a low branch, and stepping on another, the soft crunch freezing him in place. Hiems stiffened, his eyes cutting to where Lux stood hidden. “Uncle, you must—” the girl went on, but Hiems threw up a finger silencing her. “Lord Lux,” Hiems drawled. “We were just headed home. I hope you weren’t waiting long.” Lux released a breath, stepping into the clearing, his gaze flickering from the babe to the horrified faces of the parents. He’d heard what they said and they knew he knew, yet they played this game where they pretended otherwise. He wasn’t in the mood for pretense. They were wrong; he had a soul, and he felt it now as he watched the distressed child squirm. “If he has his northern pin, the guards won’t stop him from leaving with his son, but she’s Albenian. She must stay.” Lux said, his heart beating back to life. “She’d have to go to court,” the northerner sputtered. “If Os finds out her involvement, he’ll torture her.”

“Then she must say you stole the child.” “How can I? Fae can’t lie,” her voice quavered. “Skirt the truth. Let him rip the babe from your arms and run for the border. It’ll be true then. Os despises foreigners. He will not have a hard time believing your mate abandoned you.” “I’d never do that.” She shook her head. “We can’t split apart,” the northerner agreed. “If I go, she goes with us, through the forest that borders the Academy.” “There’s a reason the guards do not patrol that quarter mile region,” said Lux. “It’s infested with legendary beasts. They will suck your bones dry and feed your offspring to theirs.” Their faces grew paler, if it were possible, their expressions grim. “Take the babe safely over the border and leave her behind or stay together and give me the child.” “We stay together,” the northerner said with finality. Lux swallowed, feeling the apple that bobbed in his throat. Bad choice. He extended his fingers, waiting for the mother to hand over the infant. His skin was a light golden brown, his hair the color of soot, his irises a bright azure. Os would be displeased. For Lux it was ideal, he wouldn’t have to bleed the boy again if he drained him properly now. It was a delicate balance, leaving sufficient pigment to not kill but not enough that it was visible. Os wanted every drop. The child gazed up at him unknowingly, a shy smile curling his lips, his eyes still wet with tears. Innocent unawareness would never cross his features when he saw Lux again. If he was like the other children that ed Lux, he’d scream at the sight of him. Lux reached into the inner pocket of his cloak, extracting a vile of clear oil, brilacece and gesium. “It will pull him into a deep sleep until tomorrow. He’ll

feel no pain.” In the earlier years of his extractions, Lux had to perform without medicinals. The child would flail and scream, dislodging him and making the process doubly as long and painful for them both. Now, only he’d have to endure the torture. “Shall we?” he asked, but neither parent answered. The mother reached for the vile, placing two fat drops on the boy’s tongue. They watched as he spat at the bitterness, powerless to resist the immediate effects. His expression drooped, his limbs becoming limp as each parent gripped him, turning their heads and staring into the still darkening sky. Lux unsheathed his blade, already washed in alcohol, and reached for the boy’s feet. He pricked the soles quicker than the child could it, distracted by the glass jars Lux slid beneath each foot. Then, when his eyelids fluttered shut, Lux clutched his head, entangling his fingers in the fine strands. The pungent scent of acid filled the air before the dark liquid bubbled from his talons. A high-pitched wail would’ve pierced the silence by now, so loud Lux’s delicate ears would be near bursting despite the cotton shoved in them. But the boy was quiet, his parents’ grip tightening. Lux held steady, resisting the urge to let go. Slowly the strands blanched, turning from soot to carob, rust to gold, then pewter. Fae hair was the most painful part of the extraction, and while the child slumbered blissfully unaware, Lux felt faint. His trembling legs buckled beneath him, and the parents gasped as he pulled them all to the forest floor. Bleeding plants was mesmeric, igniting calmness within him. Its effect was like mazska but tenfold, invigorating him with the plant’s energy that seeped out with its coloring. Unlike trees, though, people weren’t euphoric. He wanted to scream in agony as he struggled to remain focused, as his desperation for relief grew. But he trailed his fingers to the boy’s eyelids next, never breaking . The eyes were complex, too much pull and the Fae could go blind, not enough and he would have to begin again. Gently he raised the eyelids, watching as the deep blue turned as bright and clear as the morning sky on a sunny day. Then,

the blue vanished, changing to a pale silver that mimicked a rainy sky instead. Lux moved his fingers before the irises grew translucent. Next, he shifted his palms to the boy’s rosy cheeks, blanching them from olive to fair to alabaster. When Lux could draw no more for fear of killing, he stopped, sweaty and winded. “If he does not wake by tomorrow evening, call the medic,” Lux said, sealing the jars. He tried to steady himself as he stood, his vision swimming. If he hadn’t bled so many plants beforehand, he too would drift into a deep slumber. The father looked on the verge of tears, the mother already sobbing, but it was Hiems Lux fixated on. Something was amiss. In his eyes floated sadness, hate, indecision. His fingers trembled, then curled. Then, he was reaching for his collar, fishing out a thin pewter whistle. “NO!” Lux cried, but Hiems blew a shrill squeal that sliced through the silence. In seconds, another whistle sounded, followed by another until a chain of squeals rang out continuously. “Uncle!” the female shrieked as wagon wheels creaked over gnarled roots, barreling toward them in every which direction, pulled by dozens of thundering beasts. “Don’t ‘Uncle’ me, traitor!” Hiems bellowed, his voice cracked, his eyes wet. The word traitor seemed to carry on the wind, echoing around them for miles. In moments, the wagons and mounted guards were visible through the trees, surrounding them in a tight-knit circle. The head guard, cloaked in ivory with a silver pin of a crane on his sleeve, was the first to dismount. “What’s going on here, Hiems?” His pale orbs drifted from the bawling parents to the milk white babe to Lux, whom he gave a small bow. “Lord Lux.” “These traitors,” Hiems pointed toward the huddled family, “are trying to commit mutiny by fleeing with the child through the forest border. I had to put a stop to it.” The head guard turned to the weeping female, anguished wails escaping her

throat every few trembles. “Your own niece, Hiems?” He grinned. “Your loyalty is tremendous. You know what happens to turncoats.” “Traitors?” the northerner spat at Hiems as the guardsmen descended upon him and his mate. “You’re the real traitor! How dare you pretend to care about family only to turn your back on us?” Hiems didn’t respond, sucking in his bottom lip and stiffening his shoulders as if to keep them from trembling. “What of the child?” asked the head guard. “He’s innocent. For now.” “Leave him with me,” said Hiems. “NO!” she gasped as her mate embraced her and the child protectively in his arms. “I’d rather give him to the soul eater than leave him with you.” Lux stood frozen as a scuffle ensued. In slow motion, he watched a guard take the hilt of his sword and crack it against the northerner’s temple. Immediately, he crumpled to the ground, unconscious. “No!” she shrieked again, her swollen eyes drifting from her mate to her child. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice,” the head guard said, motioning to the guardsmen to hand the boy over to Hiems. “Get the foreigner.” “Monster! You filthy—” she hurled at Hiems, but the slam of the carriage door shutting behind her drowned out her words. The guards shoved her mate into a separate carriage, banging his head against the doorframe as they did so. With a nod, the head guardsmen mounted his steed and the carriages steered south to the border, to the Albenian prison. “Why?” Lux asked in disbelief. “Why would you do that?” “Because of you,” he hissed, his watery gaze turning to glare at Lux. “How stupid do you think I am?” “What—”

”You’re a Lord! You live beneath Os’ thumb. Am I to believe you wouldn’t tell him his right hand betrayed him? Maybe I could have withstood an interrogation, altered the truth, but you—” “I wouldn’t have said anything!” Lux roared. “I was trying to help them!” “If you wanted to help, you shouldn’t have intervened. You cannot help anyone, not even yourself. Is that not why you’re here?” he spat, the disgust in his tone taking Lux aback. He watched, stunned, as Hiems stalked toward him, shoving the sleeping babe into his arms. From his pocket, he produced a vial of black powder. Uncorking the glass, he threw the deadly fungus native to Albens onto an ash tree. It strangled the tree, the Nymph, in seconds, stilling the waving branches. The rustle of the lush green leaves faded as they whittled, falling to the forest floor. The leaves were the Nymph’s voice, and Hiems had killed it before it travelled on the wind, telling the others what it’d witnessed. When it was nothing more than a heap of rot, Hiems turned to him. His expression hardened, the conversation over. “Get in the house. Your lesson begins now.” In the dimness of Hiems’ home, a voice as smooth as glass spoke from nowhere and everywhere at once. “I charge for wait time too.” From behind a tapestry in the small parlor, a female with hair and eyes the color of indigo emerged. A Lele. In the distance, Nine’s whine sounded again, carrying on a gust of wind and ringing in Lux’s ears like a warning bell.

Chapter Six

Elsu

Elsu’s mind was reeling. Thoughts of the girl still perched along the cliffside consumed his every waking second. He’d had a change of heart, allowing her to stay in the comforting confines of his tent’s warmth as the rain pounded the coast. He could hear it now, drumming on the manor’s pitched roofs as he strolled through the servants’ quarters and down to the kitchens. The halfling needed sustenance, so he’d oblige her, his kindness overflowing tonight. Thunder boomed, rattling the windowpanes, lightning streaking across the dark sky. Her heart must be swelling with gratitude by now, ready to reciprocate his generosity with servitude. He was putting himself at risk by harboring an Impure, after all. A thin strip of moonlight filtered through the single window of the kitchen, illuminating a decanter of mazska on the worktable’s center. Tiny air bubbles rose and fell within the golden liquid, enticing Elsu to drink. But he wasn’t here for his own stomach. He moved to the wooden pantry, pulling the double doors open with a loud creak. His eyes flew to the doorway, his body tensing. The last thing he needed was an interruption by a nosey Nymph. Seconds ticked by. Nothing. Scanning the shelves, he found fruits that the Nymph’s oven-dried or fermented for mazska. There were apricots and pears, imported grapes and native ones from the vineyard ranging from light greens to deep bluish purples. He picked an assortment of each, almost emptying the cabinet. He crossed the kitchen to the upper cupboards in search of pickled vegetables but found each shelf barer than the last. He pondered the point of having so

many. In the seventh cabinet, he discovered strange twigs in glass jars. Long, fat, short and thin, they were toasted and sprinkled with sea salt or coated in sticky honey. He reached for one, wanting to examine its interior when a voice from the doorway startled him. “Why are you in the kitchens?” Nodin asked, eyebrows knitted as Elsu whipped around, stabbing his side into the counter’s edge. It was near impossible to sneak up on a Fae. They could hear for miles and smell even farther, but Elsu was so preoccupied with thoughts of Sassa, he hadn’t noticed. Nodin lifted a brow in surprise, mouth agape. “I’m parched,” Elsu blurted, looking toward the mazska. “I meant why did you come yourself? A servant would’ve brought it to you.” “They deserve a break. It’s late, and they need far more sleep than we Fae do.” Nodin’s face twisted with disbelief. “Since when do you care about servants?” Elsu crossed his arms, shifting his back to conceal the twigs and fruits behind him. “I’ve always cared for the peasants.” Nodin didn’t seem convinced. “What type of Nymphs are they?” “What?” “There are different Nymphs. What kind are our servants?” “The cleaning kind,” Elsu said. “Do you know they eat twigs? Crude cannibalism, if you ask me.” “Forget it.” He shook his head. “I’ve been searching for you for days and so have the guests. I’ve had to entertain them with archery games, fencing matches and musical serenades. Dei and Seren are your peers, not mine.” “They’re three centuries below your birth. They are your peers too.” “They came for your birth month and will attend the day’s long journey to The

Academy with you, not me.” There was a slight bitterness to his tone as he mentioned The Academy. The townspeople had showered Nodin in adoration and encouragement in his earlier years, lovingly nicknaming him The Prince, even though the Avundrui’s weren’t royalty. When Nodin turned fourteen hundred years, their words soured as rumors swirled at his suspected incompetence. After the testing confirmed their suspicions, the blame shifted to Mitena’s bloodline, noting that manifestation had skipped her and her aunt. Then came the worst of it a year later, whispers of Nodin’s paternity. Now that Elsu was of age, the talk surrounding Nodin had wilted. Mothers no longer clamored to match their daughters with him. No one whispered his name in the corridors, at court or festivals. Guilt shot through Elsu. He understood Nodin’s feelings well. He’d spent the first half of his life as the backup brother. If he’d had enough attention to garner a nickname, it would’ve been The Spare. Now, their roles were reversed. Elsu wasn’t sure which was worse, the attention or lack thereof. He too was guilty of ignoring Nodin. No matter how his brother tried not to add to the stress bearing down on him, Elsu felt it tenfold. “I’m sorry,” Elsu said, and Nodin met his gaze for a long while, finding the deeper meaning in his words. “Mother finally told me you’ve been in the forest. She asked me not to interrupt or tell anyone else and I won’t, but you still have other obligations. An hour or two with your guests won’t hurt,” he said, his tone softening. “How are the sessions coming along?” There it was, the hope to restore the family’s honor shining in his eyes. Did he think it would help revive his honor? Did he care? Elsu hadn’t asked. Asking felt like it would intensify the tension. “Better.” He swallowed. “Solitude helps.” “Then I won’t keep you long. Come upstairs with me.” Elsu’s gaze flickered to the fruit bowl behind him. “Now?”

“Now,” he said, his tone so full of authority Elsu didn’t dare question it. As he stepped through the threshold, something caught his eye. Encased in a golden frame was a painting of mazska-filled flutes on a round silver tray. Where had he seen that portrait before? “Come,” Nodin called, and begrudgingly he followed. “Where are we going?” he asked as they journeyed through the great hall. Nodin remained silent, pressing his lips together as if to keep them from trembling. When they’d banked a corner and ed the glass enclosure of Simi’s ice blue anatomy robes, Elsu figured it out. They were headed toward the eastern tower, their parents’ quarters. Panic arose within him. “Is Father ok?” he asked, speeding up beside Nodin, trying to find the answer in his unreadable expression. “Father is as fine as can be expected given his condition.” But his tone suggested something else was amiss as they approached the circular staircase. They ascended in silence, Elsu’s heartbeat pounding in his ears as they ed three landings before reaching the last. A small foyer stretched before them, frosted glass doors obscuring the interior of their parents’ chambers. He could hear servants scrambling inside, far more than usual. “What’s happened?” Elsu demanded, quickening his steps and tugging on Nodin’s sleeve. Nodin pushed open the doors without knocking. Something that was forbidden. Inside was dark, the heavy teal curtains shut, blocking out the moonlight. On the night table, a candle’s flame flickered, illuminating the backs of three servants bent over the bed. When Nodin cleared his throat, they turned, their expressions troubled. One held Mitena’s pewter robe, the other two feathers that often decorated her hair and the third a dark cloth dripping with water. They bowed their heads and scuttled to the side, revealing Mitena.

She lay still on the four-poster bed, dressed in a white nightgown and tucked beneath a thick duvet. Her skin had changed from copper to gray, her soot hair now pewter, her frame far thinner than it’d been mere nights ago. The beginning stages of transition. The pounding in Elsu’s ears stopped, as did the world around him. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked as he asked, “When?” Nodin wouldn’t look at him. “This morning. When we couldn’t rouse her this afternoon, I ignored her commands and headed to the border. The guards said you’d already returned, and the Nymphs saw you heading for the kitchen.” “Why is she gray? She shouldn’t be this drained,” Elsu said, taking her hand. Unshed tears welled in his eyes as he felt the limpness in her fingers. “Father didn’t go into the sleep for three months when he started.” “It’s accelerated. Father’s pulling her.” “W-what?” “He’s taking her to the heavens with him. True mates are soul-tied, you know that.” “They aren’t soul-tied. Their marriage was an alliance for permanence breeding, not love.” “Originally, but it seems to have changed.” “How’s that possible?” Elsu asked. Their parents didn’t seem to be in love. Nodin didn’t have an answer. “I wish he could sever the connection. He’s already abandoning us, now he’s yanking her away too.” The words escaped his lips before he could stop himself, more anger in his tone than he’d meant to let on. Nodin stared at him, his expression shocked then sympathetic, something that made Elsu even angrier. “Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, laying Mitena’s hand on the duvet. “He

chose an awful time to leave us. He knew what was happening with the forest, the beasts, the Dwarves months ago. He could’ve at least done a few Illustrations first.” “Father isn’t willfully leaving, nor is he dragging mother against her will,” Nodin said, turning to their father. Elsu hadn’t seen him. He sat on the chaise, staring at the drawn curtains as if they were open. He was barely a smokescreen. Elsu looked away, an ache setting squarely in his chest. “He won’t leave without her, and she won’t stay without him.” “What ?” Elsu asked, his voice climbing higher with every word. “What about Avundruill?” “Elsu,” Nodin said, his tone serious, “we’re no longer children.” The words hit him hard. He knew they weren’t children anymore, but he didn’t feel like an adult either. “It’s probably your birth month into adulthood that’s triggered her change, her willingness to let go. I suspect after the examinations they’ll disappear entirely.” Guilt washed over Elsu for a second time. Had her spirit felt at ease to their father when he’d told her his lessons in the Isles went well? Elsu’s eyes found his brother’s. Did Nodin resent him for the revelation? He sagged against the bed frame, throat dry, eyes wet. It seemed unfair for them to shoulder the responsibility of the Manor and country alone, yet their parents owed them nothing now. Transitioning wasn’t a willful act, but in that moment, it felt spiteful. Halfway down the stairwell, Nodin departed for the music room. He had a penchant for string instruments, filling the manor with haunting music when stressed. Music always filled the halls nowadays. As Nodin entered the third door on the right, Elsu noticed a portrait on the left. A tray of glass flutes, filled to the rims with mazska and swirling with the answer to his dilemma.

Chapter Seven

Sassa

“Identical portraits work like hallways?” Sassa asked, trying to convince herself of the revelation. Elsu had brought a rolled canvas to the tent, a painting of mazska, which he’d also brought for her to drink. According to him, there were several of the same portraits within Avundrui Manor’s halls. “It’s a portal?” Elsu’s earlier words sounded in her mind. You know nothing! And she didn’t. The past few days had been a bombardment of new information. She’d learned of manifestation, Impermanence and Permanence Illustrators, pigments, titania and wysteria. He’d explained that his people created the forests, the beasts. Now, he was showing her portals and, though intrigued, Sassa didn’t understand why he was explaining anything to her. A few days ago, Elsu had ordered her to leave, then he was bringing her drinks, pillows and books. He’d given her a comb and a change of clothing while taking every other hour to complain about her scent, a mixture of salt, blood and cŵn annwn. She was still too weak for a proper bath in the lake, and the brush he’d brought for her teeth she could barely grasp. Nor could she hold the paintbrush Elsu had been encouraging her to use, giving her free range of his paint. Squiggly lines were easy, but the dexterity needed to draw anything else made her arm ache to the elbow where the beast had bitten her. The wound was nearly healed, the skin finally meeting, but inside, the muscle throbbed with the slightest movement. Elsu nodded, pulling the goblet away as she reached for it. Sassa winced at the pain that radiated up her arm from the motion. She was wobbling, not from too much drink but hunger. The fruits were sugary and made her feel worse the more she ate. What she needed was something heavy, bread or rice, potatoes or beans.

Her vision swayed, and she swayed with it, toppling off the stool. Elsu grabbed her by the shoulders and she shimmied from his grasp, knocking over the decanter of mazska. He caught it gingerly as she collapsed; her legs giving out beneath her. “This is too strong for you,” Elsu said, replacing the drink on the table. “It’s making you tipsy.” “I’m not drunk, I’m starving. I told you I needed food, proper food.” “The entitlement,” he scoffed. “Do you know how hard it is to find radishes in Fae territory?” Sassa shook her head, the room shaking twice as fast with it. “You’re a liar,” she hissed, the words rolling off her tongue with ease. “What?” he asked perplexed, dark brows knitting. “Radishes are a rarity, it’s not like you asked me for silk robes and satin slippers.” “You said there wasn’t a way into Avundruill, now you say there are portals,” she pointed a shaky finger to the portrait. “You lied.” “Fae cannot lie, another thing I’ve already told you ten times over. I knew there were portals, but I didn’t know you.” He sat taller. “I didn’t owe you anything.” “And you do now? I don’t understand. You help me from the shore only to demand that I leave. Then you turn around and let me stay, bringing me drinks and paintings.” “I helped you from the lakeshore because I’m a decent person.” “Decent?” She almost laughed. “No, you were curious.” “Does the original motivation matter if I helped?” he asked, crossing his arms. “Your ungratefulness astounds me. Here you are alive, clothed, fed, sheltered, and somehow you seem displeased.” He had a point, but she pressed on. “If travel is so simple, why can’t Impures enter a portal at the border wall and exit at the piers? We could by Avundruill without sullying it with our dark essences.”

“Only Hallowed Fae can portal walk,” he said. “If you’d listened to me, you would’ve known.” “I can’t half of what you say because I don’t understand why you’re saying it,” she snapped. “The Fae will never accept me as one of their own, so what does it matter my knowing the intricacies?” “You’d rather be ignorant?” “I’d rather have information that helps me. Like that portal.” “I didn’t think portal-walking was a possibility for a halfling. Besides, what purpose would a portal serve you? You don’t have money to board a ship. Should I have given you coins out of pity? That sures my decency scale and ventures into a friendship that doesn’t exist. Not yet, anyway.” Not ever, Sassa thought, eyes narrowing. “Then why are you showing me now?” “Because you can offer me something in return, a business exchange.” She frowned. What could she possibly offer him? Hunting was her only skill, and Avundruill forbade it in their forests. Her eyes roved over the hundreds of brushstrokes that hung in the air. Was it creations he wanted? He’d need someone with far better skill. “What sort of business?” “I’ll tell you, but first I want to show you,” he nodded toward the portrait, “in there.” “Show me what?” From his satchel, he pulled a teal hooded robe. Sassa couldn’t help but ire its beauty after centuries of wearing patched cotton and braided plant fiber. She wondered at what the Ladies of Avundruill must wear, the intricacies of their hair pieces, the elaborateness of their robes. What brief glimpses of the Fae she’d seen, she’d always ired. Her hard life in the forest didn’t take away a burning desire for such impractical garments. Elsu twirled the cloak over her shoulders faster than she could blink, knotting the silk ribbon into a bow at her throat and pulling the large hood over her head. She touched the hem, feeling the softness of the fabric.

“The most beautiful place there is,” he said seriously. “Don’t you want to see what Avundruill is like?” The world stilled, her heart skipping a beat. “Y-you’re taking me into the city?” Her eyebrows flew to her hairline. “Right now?” “Do you have someplace else to be?” he quipped. “I’ll answer all of your questions after we get there. I promise.” She wanted to argue, but he was offering her a glimpse of a realm she’d dreamt about. Fae society was shrouded in secrets and even higher border walls than Vădăstriya’s. “Come with me?” There was none of the usual arrogance in his tone. It sounded almost like a plea. What did he want from her? She nodded slowly, tugging the hood farther down her face. “Ready?” he asked, not waiting for a response. His fingers closed around her wrist, a smile lifting the corners of his lips. Why was he so excited, giddy even? She hadn’t a second to ponder it as he stepped into the portrait and dragged her with him. It felt as if they’d ed through a thin veil of velvet. One moment, they were in the tent, the other in cosmic darkness, a void. Her stomach sank as the floor fell away beneath them, yet Elsu was running, pulling her through the blackness flecked with tiny... stars? Faster and faster he ran, as if they were being chased. From nothing, a light emerged, a small pinprick of white that grew larger as they neared it. It stretched to the size of a narrow doorway, and through it was a bedroom, the four-poster bed visible in the corner. Elsu bolted through without pause, heaving Sassa with him. Suddenly, the stone floor was beneath her bare feet, and she tripped as they landed, nearly plowing head-first into what she presumed was Elsu’s bed. The room swam before her, her legs shaking. How did Fae survive on just mazska? Behind her, Elsu grabbed the framed mazska portrait propped against the wall.

On a nearby table, he reached for a of glass and placed it over the painting, sliding it under the bed. “Glass acts as a sealant, in case anyone finds its twin at the lake and tries to enter,” he said, answering her unasked question. “It’s forbidden to remove portals from the manor, and only an Avundrui can. My ancestors infused the portraits with old magic to protect against invaders.” Magic, the word struck her hard. All this time, the Fae held magic. She held magic. There was no one in the forest except beasts, never mind invaders, but Sassa remained quiet, mesmerized as her eyes scanned the room larger than most Human homes. The ceilings gilded in rose gold arched for the heavens, the sculpted beams wrapped in blooming bell vines. Large windows allowed moonlight to hit the petals, which bloomed a luminescent white, casting a silvery haze on the domed ceiling. Shades of teal, rose gold, and pewter covered everything from the airy drapes to the ornate furniture and plush duvet. Sassa realized the hues must be Avundrui’s House colors for Elsu too wore them. She spotted his wardrobe, its doors ajar and displaying hundreds of robes from silk to velvet and everything in between. He owned more clothing than she’d had in an entire lifetime. Curling her fingers, she resisted the urge to touch the bedspread. She wondered what it would feel like to lay her head upon one of the twenty-something pillows. “Come,” Elsu called. He’d crossed to the doorway, peeking his head into the hall. Throwing his hand back blindly, he shook it, feeling for her wrist when she came to stand behind him. “Keep your hood up.” “I can run myself, you know,” she whispered, but her wobbling legs said something different. “Not as fast as I can. Keep your head down.” He dragged her again, and this time she was grateful that their feet remained grounded. Sassa peaked up from the hood, taking in the beauty as they darted through the manor, or rather, castle. The hallways were endless and several feet wide, the

ceilings tall enough to accommodate giants. The sprawling polished stone walls gleamed a glossy ivory, as did the floors beneath them. From nowhere and everywhere came a beautiful, haunting tune, so quiet at times Sassa thought she was imagining it. It followed them as they crept down the winding staircase and toward the ground floor. She stuck to Elsu’s shadow as he peaked around corners, pausing when he spotted an occasional servant but no guests. Perhaps they were all slumbering, if Fae slept, that was. In the grand hall, portraits of who Sassa presumed were deceased family lined the walls. Overhead, a massive chandelier that held over one hundred candles casted a warm glow on their stoic expressions. As they breezed past the dozens of dark painted eyes, Elsu sheltered her, keeping himself between her and the golden frames, as if afraid they would see her. Could they? Elsu quickened his steps, and she struggled to keep up with his longer strides as they turned down a smaller corridor. Her thigh still ached and her ankle throbbed from the strain, but she remained quiet, biting her lip to stifle moans of pain as they skirted to the right. She could hear her own footsteps, but Elsu’s were silent, as if he were gliding. The walls opened into large stone archways that showed the glowing gardens below. Clusters of blooming bells shone violet, fuchsia and azure, spreading in neat crescent formations along the curved railings. The cool night air rushed past as they descended into the yard and through a thick maze of hedges, where Elsu released her. She almost wished he hadn’t as she hobbled along, drained. In the distance, a glass domed ceiling was visible over the shrubbery, and they headed toward it in silence, Elsu throwing paranoid glances over his shoulder at every turn. Inside was a pool of steaming teal water. A hot spring, the smallest Sassa had ever seen. “This is my personal bathhouse,” he said, shutting the door behind them. “Well, not entirely, but I’m the only one that uses it. There are larger ones the guests prefer, as bathing is typically a communal affair.” Sassa wasn’t listening. She should feel insulted that a bath was what he had in mind, but her mouth was too busy watering to retort. Opposite the spring was a table loaded with food, actual food. Platters of steaming potatoes, boiled

radishes, and baked beans filled the room with a savory aroma. There was a mug packed with crushed rose petals beside a gleaming silver kettle and a honey jar. Her stomach growled and Elsu grinned at her wickedly, guiding her toward the table and pulling out a chair. “What’s this?” she asked. Elsu pointed to the potatoes. “Radishes. Didn’t you say you liked them?” “I mean, why are you doing this? You don’t owe me anything, ?” “I told you, we can help each other.” “You want me to manifest for you?” By his expression, she’d guessed right. “Why me? I can’t draw—” “Here I am offering you an opportunity to live in comfort, and you try to talk me out of it.” “I’m just trying to understand,” she said, baffled. “If Avundruill is known for Permanence Illustrators, why do you need me?” “Because no one knows you exist. The courts have no records of your birth, and so you won’t be expected at The Academy.” “The Academy?” He sighed. “It’s where all Fae must go for testing at nineteen Human years. The courts record who can manifest, who’s Hallowed and who’s not. It’s mandatory. I need you to the Illustration examination for me.” Immediately, she understood why he’d gotten angry when she’d asked if his painting would appear in the tent. He couldn’t manifest even though he was of noble blood. She didn’t need to ask. His expression told it all, a mixture of shame and anxiousness, his normally proud eyes downcast. Was it shameful not to be an Illustrator? “I can barely draw a flower,” she said, shaking her head. “How could I an entire exam?”

“I’ll teach you.” Teach me? Sassa studied his features. “Why is this test so important? What happens if you don’t it?” The questions hung in the air, time stretching between them. Elsu chose his words carefully. “It’s crucial for noble Fae. If I fail, it’ll tarnish my reputation and my family’s name. It’ll weaken alliances and stop new ones from forming.” Sassa didn’t believe that was the only reason. The way he’d looked at her, like she was the answers to his prayers when she’d made that first squiggly line, replayed in her mind. This wasn’t a mere exam, but he wouldn’t elaborate. “Wouldn’t they notice that I’m not male, or full Fae?” she asked sarcastically. “I’ll present myself at the examinations.” His eyes snapped to hers, a spark of hope igniting in them. “Don’t worry about the logistics. That’ll be my duty, you just need to manifest for me.” What was he going to do, conceal her beneath his robes? “And in return, I hide here?” “You would stay in my chambers. No one has permission to enter, not even the Nymphs.” His chambers were beautiful, comfortable, or so she assumed, yet one word came to mind, hidden. “If I’m confined to your rooms, I won’t be able to enjoy much of this.” She motioned around them. “How often could I venture out?” “As often as I could risk it, but we’d have to be careful. Fae rarely sleep. If they spot you, I cannot take responsibility.” “What if I told them you let me in?” “They won’t believe you,” he said, but his confidence faltered. “So what, I just stay here?” she asked. “Stuck in your rooms until you’re tired of

me?” “I’d never tire of your power.” “But I’d tire of being here.” He looked at her incredulously, mouth agape. “I’m used to my freedom in the forest.” “Freedom? You said dogs hunted you. You were blubbering over what to do, ready to die.” “I know what I want to do now.” She swallowed. “Go overseas.” “Every nation has banished and shunned the Lele. A different country would be an unfamiliar landscape with the same ramifications.” “I need to see for myself. There’s so much I don’t know. This past week alone, I’ve learned about things that I didn’t even think were possible. This world is vast, there has to be space for me, a place where I can live freely as you do.” “No such territory exists for a Lele.” She swallowed again. “Then I’ll create my own.” He laughed, his lips splitting into a wide grin as he tossed his dark hair back. Sassa wasn’t laughing, and when he realized it, he bit his lip and quieted. “Gold,” she said. “If I Illustrate and your exams, I want gold. Two coin purses full.” “What happens when your money runs out? Here you’ll have as much food and drink as you desire. A warm bed, hot water.” He dipped a finger into the boiling bath. “No one will hunt you here.” “No, because they won’t know I’m here.” “You lived your life in hiding,” he reminded her. “What’s so different from doing it in luxury? You can have anything your heart desires, and if you need

additional space, we can create your own room within a portrait.” “Can you make companions? In the forest, I had Bagard and his son Flynn to talk to,” she mumbled. “The conversations weren’t pleasant, but still.” “We cannot create beings unless they are essences of deceased Fae.” “Why?” “Because we cannot Illustrate souls. Crea, the Fae God creates them. For Nymphs, I suppose it’s given by their flowering tree, Mater, and for Dwarves, perhaps the mountains themselves. Whatever way they’re created, Fae cannot manifest spirits.” “I don’t want to hide anymore,” she said with finality. “I wish to live, and I want that gold.” He remained quiet, watching her for a long while. Then he reached for a bushel of flowers, dipping them into the spring. Immediately, the petals turned translucent, much to her awe. Streams of pale yellow oil seeped out, turning to froth. “The best and only cleansers that won’t harm the spring,” he said, spinning around. “Are you going to get in?” Her ankle throbbed, and the longer she watched the steam rise the more she couldn’t resist. Disrobing, she slid into the shallow water, ducking beneath the surface and soaking her hair. She’d barely waded to the other side when her leg bumped into something. Elsu. “What are you doing?” she snapped, sinking lower. He was standing in the spring, still clothed in his now soaked white under robe. He had the gall to look perplexed. “For Fae, communal baths are normal. Besides, your hand barely works. How will you cleanse yourself?”

Sassa felt her face flame. “That’s your culture. You could be considerate of mine.” “I am unfamiliar with the customs of your country. What is it called? The Outside?” he snarked back, crushing the flower petals between his fists. “However, I would not fault you if your feelings toward me differed from my own. I’m told we Fae attract other races like bears to honey. You cannot help what is natural.” “Are you serious?” she asked incredulously. “Do not be embarrassed,” he assured her, making a motion for her to turn around. When she didn’t, he walked behind her, opening his palms above her head and pouring the oil onto her tangled blue mane. “I have already seen all of you, ? Although, I can leave if you’d like.” She made to lift her hand to take the flowers from him but froze. Pain ripped through her left shoulder blade, up her elbow and to her fingers, which seized. “Do you?” Biting her lip in agony and frustration, she shook her head despite herself and allowed him to continue. With slow gentle circles, he massaged the oil into her scalp, lathering the strands. An involuntary purr escaped her throat as she relaxed into his palms. Detangling her hair with a comb, he worked his way from the ends to the roots patiently. He must be desperate, she thought, unable to deny his comion despite the motive. When he’d finished, he eased her backwards, dipping her head into the water. Strands splayed like an enormous halo around her face as her body floated to the ceiling beneath the layer of froth. Her muscles were beginning to relax. “Think about our arrangement a little longer. Stay the night in the manor. Sleep in the cradling softness of an actual bed, in the warmth that roars from the fireplace beside it.” “You’re laying it on thick, aren’t you?” she said, but he ignored her.

“Allow Avundrui to comfort you while you recover, while I teach you to paint. If you decide that you want to leave later, fine. I will give you your gold. One bag before the exams and the other after I .” She looked around the hot spring, at the translucent flowers, at the stars that twinkled through the glass ceiling and finally at Avundrui Manor’s pointed roofs that loomed in the distance. Her eyes met his. “What about more food?” “How are you not full?” he asked, cocking his head, then he shook it. “That’s a yes, then?” “Yes.” “Then I’ll fill you until you are near bursting.” Her cheeks heated again. “I’ll give you whatever you want, Sassa, so long as you do the same.” Sassa didn’t need to think twice. It wasn’t as if she had a better option, yet he’d been nervous she would decline him. This gift she had seemed priceless. She dipped her head back into the water, ignoring his five-minute warning as he exited the spring. She’d finish the cleansing herself.

Chapter Eight

Lux

“Who are you?” Lux asked, staring at the Lele. She was medium in height and build, her indigo hair woven with a golden scarf, her arms covered to the elbows in bangles. If she felt the chill of the early spring night air, she didn’t show it. Her body was visible through a sheer black dress, her fair skin void of goosebumps. A pipe hung from her mouth, longer and skinnier than any he’d ever seen. From its tip streamed a plume of lavender smoke. “Everyone calls me Madam,’” she said, releasing purple smoke through her nostrils, her red lips curling with apparent amusement. “Who are you?” “That’s not relevant, Madam,” Hiems hissed. “Hmm, in that case, he must be more important than I thought.” Her eyes glittered as they traveled over Lux’s frame, her head cocking to the side as if she were trying to place him from somewhere. “When the Fae requested my humble services, I had to present your order myself. Never dreamed I’d see the day.” “Where is it then?” Hiems asked impatiently. “The order? Time is dwindling.” Madam smiled, her white teeth gleaming in the moonlight as she reached into the sheer fold of her sleeve. Impossibly, she pulled out a decanter filled with black liquid. She shook the glass teasingly, the contents hissing as it lapped at the bottle’s sides. Lux froze. The Lele had a long reputation of malevolent magic, but he’d never seen it performed and believed it even less. The last Fae recording of Lele witchcraft was several millennia ago. Whatever sorcery they held now seemed dead or dormant. It was the superstitious Humans that still believed in the Leles’

abilities to cast charms and spells, but Humans were fragile creatures, falling victim to supple flesh and sweet tongues. Lux assumed the rumors stemmed from mere seduction and a refusal of the Humans to take responsibility for their own participation. Now, as the liquid’s hisses morphed into serpentine voices, he realized he was wrong. Very wrong. Warmth, called a voice, weak and longing. Warmth. Time slowed, as did Lux’s breathing. Suddenly, he was freezing, his flesh peppering with goosebumps. Bodies. Hiems seemed transfixed by the tonic as he moved to retrieve it. Madam gripped the bottle tighter, her purple talons longer and sharper than the Fae’s. Hiems narrowed his eyes. “You’ve already been handsomely compensated. I’m sure it’s enough to cover the wait.” She continued swirling the contents, exhaling another plume of smoke. “You can’t get rid of me just yet. First, we need to discuss the dosage. I’ve never used Nigcatus maiorum on a Fae, but I suppose the serving must be double that of a Lele. Perhaps a quarter goblet.” The decanter was half full. “That’s barely enough for two doses,” Hiems said. “Where’s the rest?”

She lifted the potion an inch. “Right here.”

“How can that last even a day?” Hiems arched a brow. “Simple, it does not empty until the task is complete,” Madam said, plucking the oval head stopper with a pop. Its tip was open like a tiny drinking glass. Smoke

wafted as she poured, but it didn’t dissipate, circling her fingers and wrists. When she righted the container, its level hadn’t changed. “Hence why it’s a loan. I shall return for the decanter.” The potion’s hisses had turned from animalistic to near-Human, no Fae. Lux froze, his eyes darting between Hiems and Madam. Her mouth was moving, but he didn’t hear her words, only those that drifted from the cup. Lux strained to hear them. As Madam strolled toward him, the words became clearer. Bodies. A body. This body. The words slithered across his skin and up his spine, causing an involuntary shudder. She stopped before him, the fuming cup in her outstretched hand, the pipe hanging precariously from her lips. This body. This Fae. Lux took a stumbling step backward, slamming into a tree trunk. “What is that?” he gasped, watching the liquid move of its own accord. Black finger-like projections curled over the rim. There was something in it. Someone. “Help.” Madam stepped closer, her indigo eyes hungry, impatient. Like a streak of lightning, Hiems intercepted her, taking the cup and decanter from her grasp, much to her indignation. “If that’s all.” A flash of anger distorted Madam’s features, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. “You’ve never been much fun, Hiems,” she tsked but backed away, her eyes glued to Lux. “Your time starts now. See you soon.” She spun on her heel, her body growing more transparent with each step until she disappeared entirely.

If you need me, just call. I always answer, cooed Madam’s disembodied voice. Had Hiems heard it? Stunned, Lux searched the treetops, the spaces between the trunks, the sky, but she’d vanished. A revelation overcame him. Lele were banned in all territories. If the guards granted Madam entry, then Os not only knew of her arrival, he’d invited her. “Count Os tells me you cannot Illustrate a simple circle,” Hiems said after a pregnant pause. He did not look the least bit surprised at Madam’s disappearance. How well did they know each other? “No,” Lux mumbled, watching how steadily Hiems held the cup. Could he hear the voices that still spoke? “Lady Nix thinks I can assist you,” Hiems snorted. “Anatomy is intricate, requiring far more realism and detail than an Illustrator can teach. To paint an edible apple, you must start with the seed, the core, the flesh, then the peel. If you cannot draw a shell with no underlayers, how will you manage the complexities that are within? It’s the biggest misconception of anatomy that because something is smaller, it’s simpler.” He moved to the white table in the corner, resting down the decanter and cup. The latter stood despite its rounded bottom. “Os knows I can’t help you manifest. It’s about time he stopped wasting coins on instructors.” Lux said nothing, too busy gawking at the protrusions rising from the goblet. He blinked, a cold sweat breaking across his flesh. This couldn’t be real... “Albens needs a titania ore, and with aid, it may be possible for you to obtain it.” Hiems’ gaze drifted from the decanter to the easels. “I want to see your drawing abilities first. We will start with one of the simplest items imaginable, an inanimate one.” From his pocket, he drew a stone and placed it on the table. It was gray and smooth, a simple oval. “A rock is solid throughout. Its innards are unimportant, unlike a seed, branch or leaf, which requires details to function and specialty equipment like magnifying glasses and needle-sized brushes. Rocks, however, require a certain kind of imbecile to mess up.” And Lux would. “Turn the titania to charcoal.”

Lux did, hovering his palm over the white powder before adding a drop of oil and turning it into a paste. “Begin.” Fingers trembling, he retrieved a large brush and dabbed a gray blob onto the canvas, not bothering with sketches or layers. The model rock sat dull and monochromatic with no hints of high or lowlights. It should be straightforward, yet his painting skills showed otherwise. Fae, the voices called, and Lux’s eyes darted to Hiems, who focused on the portrait. He couldn’t hear them. Fae. With his free hand, he swatted the back of his neck, brushing away a tickle that climbed his spine. He wanted to scream, to question what was happening. Hiems seemed unsurprised as he remarked, “Worse than I thought.” Retrieving the goblet, he thrust it toward Lux. “Drink.” “What is it?” Lux asked, biding the time. Hiems was in no mood to explain. “A Lele confection from the North. Drink it.” “What does it do?” “I’m sure we’ll find out,” Hiems said, a vindictive smile spreading his lips, a gleam of light glossing his dull eyes. Drink, cooed the spirits. Lux shoved away from the easel, knocking over his stool. His skin itched, and his muscles ached to flee. “Can’t you hear them? The voices?” “No,” Hiems said flatly. “It’s your tonic, not mine.” Drink, the spirits persisted.

“How dare you order such a thing at all?” he whispered, horrified, as the voices chanted. Drink. Drink. Drink us. “It was Count Os who placed the order, but you already knew that. You need celestial help, and the Count has risked everything to buy it for you.” “There is nothing divine about it,” Lux hissed, resisting the urge to cover his ears. The chants were drowning out his own thoughts. “If dark magic still exists, then that’s it.” “You question its existence even as you hear it speak? I suppose drinking is believing,” Hiems said, his tone stoic. “And it’s not dark magic, it’s black. I would’ve thought Os had you well acquainted by now.” “Why would you think that?” Lux asked, but Hiems only stared back at him. There were rumors of Os’ dealings in the dark arts a few millennia ago. According to Nix, none of it was true, just smoke and mirrors to spook neighboring countries and keep them at bay. Os had said that fear was power, and he lavished in his sinister reputation. Lux swallowed in sudden realization that it was warranted. Drink us. “Who are they?” He nodded toward the potion. “What are they?” Hiems sighed, lowering his arm. “Fae spirits, past Illustrators. They carry the essence needed to manifest.” Lux shook his head. “Fae spirits transition into the heavens. Why are they still here, like Human ghosts?” “Because they have not ascended,” said Hiems, peering into the cup. Its contents were swirling around the glass, extending over the rim but never spilling. “Do you think ascended spirits would answer the call of black magic?” “Exactly. If they haven’t transitioned, it must be for a reason.”

“Their reasons aren’t my concern, and you’re wasting the moonlight. The potion works best in the darkness.” “We are pure beings! How could Os allow that Lele here? How can you fix your lips to ask me to drink that?” “I didn’t ask,” Hiems said coolly, “although it will work better if you aren’t forced. You must accept the spirits into your core, give them permission to nest there.” “I will not!” Lux said, aghast. Hiems leaned against the table. “Don’t you wish to uplift your people? To show them that Illustrative abilities continue to run through their leader’s veins? To bring them the ore Albens craves?” Yes, isn’t it what you want? the voices echoed. “I want a better way.” “And what’s that?” “There’s a reason Illustration is fading from our blood,” Lux said, his words flowing freely when Os wasn’t around to suppress them. “Every century, less Fae are ing the exams. Perhaps Crea intended for nature to take over.” “Then why hasn’t it?” “You’re an Anatomist, the only Anatomist in Albens. You know most of our manifestations are infertile or ill. If more Illustrators learn proper anatomy, we can recreate the forest. Then, nature will take its course.” “You are naïve.” Hiems’ laugh was cruel. “How do you propose Albens fund this education? Trade is down since the borders’ closure, and coins are in tight rotation. Funding aside, what titania shall these new Anatomists use to rebuild the country if you fail to bring home an ore? You haven’t much left to bleed.” Lux peeked through a crack in the drapes and into the surrounding wood. There wasn’t a colored tree in sight. “Still, plotting would help. Look at Avundruill’s forests across the sea. They have Permanence Illustrators but, like us, few ores.

Their creations may be permanent, but they can still catch illnesses and die, yet their forest thrives.” “Lele infest Avundruill’s forests, and their legendary beasts are dying. Haven’t you noticed the purple miasma above the Dwarves’ mountains have thinned?” Lux tried to hide his shock. “Of course, you haven’t,” Hiems said, studying his features. “Yet you have all the answers, don’t you? All this wisdom that your leaders don’t have foresight to see.” “I don’t pretend to know much, but our solutions thus far are fleeting and failing.” “True.” Lux’s lips parted in surprise. Hiems agreed? “Albens needs an ore, and you can procure it.” “Not by possession,” Lux hissed, eyeing the whispering potion. “You are a Lord. You hold the responsibility of Albens in your palms. Everyone has waited on this century, on this ore, they think you’ll bring them. Why do you suppose they’ve tolerated your treatment as a necessary evil for so long? The Nymphs await proper retouches to Mater with actual pigment. Parents and their young babes pray the Erasurist will spare them if only the country has an ore. They desire to have normal children in a normal country.” Lux couldn’t meet Hiems’ eyes, his thoughts drifting to the child he’d just bled. Had Hiems been holding onto hope that he wouldn’t come to bleed his nephew? New awareness flooded him. He’d been living in a bubble, Marmor Manor. He’d been so distracted by Os’ obsession with reputations, that he hadn’t realized every person, animal and thing was relying on him for something far greater than a title. “An ore to Impermanence Fae is still only a temporary solution. It won’t last.”

“It can for a half-millennium. The Fae will witness Albens’ restoration. Birth rates will soar as their terror eases, no longer fearing the Erasurist torturing their offspring for pigments. Over time, they’ll forget why they aren’t having children. More births mean more Illustrators and more chances at obtaining an ore with every testing.” “You believe this one ore can alter things so drastically?” “It’ll change everything. The people crave reform. They cannot wait for years of meticulous plotting and gardening.” His pale eyes bored into Lux. “If you care about your country, this is the fastest way to make a difference. Allow their hope to soar when you return an Illustrator. A long-term solution needs planning. We cannot do that if the city is in riot and ruin over your failure.” Lux watched as slender black fingers with talons longer than Madam’s reach for Hiems. They crept along his wrist, wrapping around the bone and squeezing. If Hiems felt it, he remained imive. Lux shuddered again. “Or you can abandon your position and title. Count Os has given explicit instructions. You return to Marmor Manor having manifested or not at all.” He lifted the smoking cup to eye level. “If you desire change, it’ll be easier to accomplish as a future Count. If The Academy does not record you as an Illustrator, you forfeit the opportunity.” Silence settled between them, even the voices calmed. “What about my soul?” he asked. Why hadn’t those spirits ascended? “What about your people?” His people. His country. Lux hesitated, then reached for the glass. He brought the rim to his lips, drinking enough to coat his tongue. It was cold and tasted of nothing; he felt nothing. Then he swallowed and doubled over in agony. It burned sharply, fumes rising in his throat like a chimney and escaping his mouth in a huff of dark smoke. Unable to speak, his eyes frantically darted to Hiems.

“They say it’s worse than hellfire, able to melt esophagi and entrails. A quarter goblet on a Fae won’t cause much damage but finding the proper dosage for you will be difficult. As an Erasurist, you produce your own acid and your body has a different tolerance level of it,” Hiems said unperturbed. He resealed the decanter before grabbing a brush from the easel. “The more you fail, the more you drink. For thirteen days, you will not leave my presence but to sleep.” Lux clawed at his throat, stumbling backwards into a tree trunk as he struggled to regain his balance. The potion singed the base of his tongue, loosening ligaments that threatened to free the appendage from his mouth. Hiems shoved the brush into Lux’s clenched fist. “Begin.” Lux tottered to the easel when his stomach eased enough for him to move. Stroke after stroke materialized nothing. Over and over, he drank the potion, his ability to stand disappearing with each sip. The fourth mouthful had dropped him onto all fours, and the fifth made him curl up in the discarded canvases that littered the stone floor. Pain twisted his innards like a coiling snake, scorching the tissues and immobilizing him save for involuntary convulsions. The potion spewed between his clenched teeth, dribbling onto the marble as his body rejected the last dose. “As I thought, you’re relatively immune,” Hiems said, his tone unsympathetic as he refilled the cup. “Another dose then.” The following day was no better, and by the third, Lux refused to drink. His gums were stripped, his teeth as unevenly bleached as Os’ skin, his tongue burned black. “You’ve already begun the process, Lux,” Hiems said, towering over his crumpled form. “We must be upon the right dosage soon. Don’t let it be in vain. Drink.” He drank even as he retched, even as Hiems pinned him down, his hands physically incapable of bringing the cup to his trembling lips. They had sealed themselves, but the Anatomist had gotten creative. Hiems straddled him now, pouring a continuous stream of Nigcatus maiorum over his face, burning his eyes and eating away at his flesh, stripping it raw. Fae

needn’t breathe for an hour, but Hiems was patient, if not enjoying himself. He stared down at him darkly, his eyes gleaming in the twilight. Lux gasped involuntarily for breath, the dark liquid flooding his nose and mouth. He choked, his head whipping left to escape the stream, but Hiems was persistent. Once satisfied, he moved, replacing the decanter on the table, but when he returned, he was Os. A phantom of Os, rippling and translucent. Eyes bulging, Lux struggled to sit, unable to gasp as his grandfather drew closer. Invisible talons reached through his chest and seized his heart and lungs, stopping the beating and breathing. “You fight against them,” said Os, his voice multiplied like the spirits. “I risk the court’s attention by bringing the potion here, by allowing black magic onto Fae lands. I endanger the Manor, Albens, my position as Count, and you squander it, wasting your only chance to rule!” One hand clasped his tightening chest, the other shoved at the ground as he attempted to scoot away. A gurgle escaped his esophagus, the liquid bubbling up and soaking his chin. It dribbled down his neck and seeped beneath his collar where the rose tattoo rested. Aargh! a strangled cry erupted from his sore throat as he pulled at the fabric. The acid was bleeding the tattoo, searing his flesh. “After all that I’ve done for you,” Os hissed like a thousand snakes, his expression contorted, demonic. “You came to me with that worthless mother of yours, soaked, shabby and coinless.” Hiems’ dim parlor vanished, replaced with a sunny image of Marmor Manor. Lux’s stomach squelched as he moved, shielding his eyes from the brightness. There was a filthy female Fae with an even dirtier little boy behind her skirt and a dingy bundle in her arms. A Fae stepped through the manor’s double doors. Os. He was olive-skinned and greened-eyed, his mahogany hair flowing to his waist, his expression cold. “I should’ve sent you back!” Phantom Os roared, and it went dark again. Suddenly, they were in Marmor Manor, a Nymph taking away the babe. As she ed, Lux could see the infant’s rosy cheeks, her sparkling emerald eyes, her

sparse russet hair. Niveii. A female Fae quivered on the floor, wavy chestnut hair obscuring her face, her thin hands clutching Os’ ankle. Nix. “Your mother begged like a dog for your and your sister’s sake.” Lux watched the small boy who stood petrified near the drapes. He was as white as milk, with pointed features and sterling eyes. Os was trying to shake Nix loose, kicking her head with his free foot. Reaching out a tiny hand, the boy pulled on the ends of Os’ hair, immediately bringing the older Fae to his knees with a shriek of pain. Os, panting, yanked free of the boy’s hold. The child tumbled from the force, falling face first into a mahogany puddle beside Nix. Wide-eyed, Os seized his strands that had turned silver. “I knew you were a cretin.” The vision faded again, and when it returned, Os was pressing young Lux’s palms against baby Niveii’s dark red hair. She was screaming bloody murder, Lux crying, Os riveted as he collected the red puddle. Lux was weeping now too, the same pain he’d felt that night rattling his chest and strangling his breath. How had he forgotten such a memory? The pain rushed back twofold. That night had destroyed him. Why was Os dredging up this memory now? He’d only done what was forced upon him. He blinked away the tears blurring his vision as a new image emerged. Nix and Niveii looked like Lux now, as white as snow. They were clean and groomed, dressed in the finest ivory robes. “Still, I thought erroneously that three Illustrative heirs were better than none, and I allowed you shelter, food, education. Your mother was excellent in hiding your paternal lineage from me, swearing you’d manifest. When I realized you wouldn’t, I should’ve ended it, yet my greed for the Marmor name to continue stilled my hand.” The lights dimmed again as they returned to Hiems’ parlor. Os’ face distorted and rippled. “You drink the potion, but in your heart, you do not mean it. You deny the spirits, and so they deny you. I will deny you. This is your last chance, boy. Bring me that ore, or I’ll snuff you out for good this time.”

He rushed toward Lux, sinking through him like a stab of icy wind that broke into wisps of smoke as it emerged, shooting skyward in every direction. Lux gurgled, liquid gushing from his throat. He tried following the wisps as they flew through the trees before congealing into a massive black cloud. It dove for him again, this time stopping short as if a barrier blocked its path. Invite us, the voices hissed. Let us in, in earnest. We can help you. Lux looked to the decanter, to Hiems suddenly beside it, preparing to pour another dose. He couldn’t drink anymore. He wouldn’t. Come. The barrier shattered, the spirits Hiems couldn’t see streaming through his nostrils, his ears, beneath his talons. They nestled tightly inside his chest, threatening to break his ribs, already overfilled with his own soul. It was violating; the spirits depressing his inner being into the recesses of his core, while overtaking and heightening his senses. Crawling, he dragged himself to the easel, or rather, the spirits did. His limbs moved of their own accord, as if attached to marionette strings. Hiems was beside him in an instant, throwing the canvas to the floor and shoving a dipped paintbrush into his grasp. He clutched it, his hand flying back and forth across the fabric for several seconds. Then his arm fell limp, the strings severed. Hiems appeared over him, his expression lingering between pleasure and disappointment. In his hand were two gray stones, the model and the manifestation.

Chapter Nine

Elsu

Elsu twirled, slinging his sword across his shoulder in time to block Dei’s blade. The metals clashed, the metallic ring reverberating around the courtyard. He retreated closer to the yard’s center as Dei advanced, swinging his sword. Elsu ducked and countered the attack, but the blonde boy blocked it with a flick of his blade, before raising the weapon with both hands. With the flat edge he pushed back with so much force Elsu stumbled, unable to stop Dei’s counterstrike a second later at his rib. “I win, again.” Dei said with a grin, his pale face as clean and dry as when they’d started. “Four out of five.” “Damn,” Elsu muttered in feigned frustration as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his forehead. He’d been trying to lose inconspicuously for the past half hour. ittedly, Dei was rather good, though that wasn’t surprising. Northern Fae were the best at swordsmanship, while Avundrians favored bows and arrows. Fae of the Somerset Isles preferred the javelin. Elsu watched as Seren from the Isles danced across the garden in a match with Nodin, whirling out of his blade’s reach. The sword hung limply in her grasp, and Elsu didn’t think she’d raised it even once. “Lunge out! Try to strike me,” Nodin said, echoing Elsu’s thoughts. “You’ll tire before you ever defeat your opponent.” “You will, you mean,” she said, barely out of breath. Bringing the blade above her shoulder, she threw it straight for Nodin, pointed end first. It sliced through the air, searing Nodin’s sleeve and pinning him to a nearby tree. “I win,” Seren sang, her voice so uncannily similar to Dei’s. She stood beside her smug cousin now, their faces and ice-blue irises almost identical. The only

difference was that Seren was several shades darker and her hair a far dirtier blonde, the strands more coiled than even Sassa’s. Sassa. Elsu’s eyes wandered to his bedroom window as Nodin freed himself. He hoped she was studying. She’d been struggling to focus, growing tired and hungry easily, like a newborn babe. Her sluggish speed slowed their already tedious lessons. Painting wasn’t just applying pigment to canvas, there was imprimatura, brush sketch, and Alla prima, or at least that was all Elsu had taught her. He’d skipped parts of the process given the time frame they had, less than two weeks with only five days left. He’d agonized over what to omit and what was imperative for Sassa to know in order for them to . Elsu feared she hadn’t time to absorb a lesson before he was moving on to the next. He’d left her alone all day, unable to escape his duties as Nodin called them. Breakfast had been a grueling hour of polite banter with Seren’s mother, who seemed keen on bragging about Seren’s painting progress over the summer. Then, he’d endured hours of harp play in the drawing room, sipping rose tea and pondering if Sassa was learning the color wheel. Now, as he wasted precious time in the gardens, he wondered how exactly Sassa would sit the exams for him at all. “If you discard your weapon, how will you defend yourself?” Nodin asked, returning the sword to Seren. “That’s the downfall of the javelin,” Dei said, sheathing his sword with an unnecessary flurry. “Same with arrows. What happens when you run out?” “The Somerset Isles don’t believe in wars. We’ve never had to fight, although we can if need be,” Seren said, sitting on a stone bench by the coral rose bushes. Good, thought Elsu, the matches were done, and he could finally excuse himself to his rooms. “Against fish, I’m sure,” Dei quipped, sliding onto the bench beside her. “As a future Illustrator, I’m not too concerned about swordsmanship. I’m far more interested in honing my painting skills like Elsu.” She turned to him, her expression thinly concealed amusement. “How has your training been going?

Today is the first that we’ve seen you.” “As well as yours, I’d expect.” Elsu met her gaze, hoping he looked unfazed. Her lip curled. “I thought we’d have spent more time together, especially in the Isles. I heard you were there all winter.” “Did you now?” Elsu said dismissively, ignoring the surprised gazes of Nodin and Dei. Dei hadn’t known he’d gone to the Isles while Nodin seemed confused about why he hadn’t visited Seren’s family at Somer Manor. “I did,” she said, her smirk widening. “But I figured you needed to focus. With testing around the corner, one can’t be too prepared.” Dei’s eyes drifted to Nodin. “That’s right, I’ve been meaning to ask about The Academy. You’ve sat the test before. How was it?” Elsu’s heart raced. He’d wanted to question Nodin himself. He needed to know what to expect in order to sneak Sassa in, but out in the open with Dei and Seren didn’t seem the time. “Difficult,” Nodin said politely, his eyes finding the patch of grass beneath his boot. “I figured as much, but what part was challenging?” Dei pressed on. “There’s three days of testing. What was each day like? The Academy isn’t large enough to accommodate even half of the examinees. I assume eliminations will happen before we enter the building.” “It may be different now, so I can’t be certain,” Nodin said, his tone dropping an octave, his dark eyes growing darker, swimming with emotion. “He’s right,” Seren said, surprising them all. “Besides, we’ll find out in less than a week.” Elsu should’ve spoken up in Nodin’s defense, yet he remained quiet, wishing for his brother to continue. “It was only three centuries ago,” Dei persisted. “It can’t have changed significantly.”

Nodin’s gaze flickered to Seren. “It’s fine. I don’t mind sharing.” He wiped his blade and sheathed it slowly, biding the time. “First was portal walking. There are guards and instructors everywhere, watching.” “How many?” Elsu asked, trying to sound casual. “A lot,” Nodin said, fiddling with the hilt of his sword “At least four dozen.” “Overkill,” Dei scoffed, but Nodin shook his head. “They need to ensure no one is cheating.” “How can you cheat in portal walking?” Seren asked. “You can’t bring anything into or out of a portrait, not even a copper in your pocket.” Dei shrugged. “Who knows, maybe the barrier becomes compromised a few seconds after one enters.” “That’s ridiculous,” said Seren. “They believe it can be done somehow. The examinations are millennia old, someone must’ve manipulated things into their favor. With so many eyes, it’s hard to bribe or trick an instructor,” said Nodin. “That’s why nobles and commoners test together now.” Seren crossed her ankles. “The commoners thought the instructors were showing favor.” “Even if a Master falsely ed a noble, everyone would find out eventually,” Dei said. “Not true. The courts seldom tested the common populace back then,” Nodin said. “They didn’t want to waste the supplies as commoners rarely manifest. Like Seren pointed out, they segregated the testing. A noble could have a relative Illustrate for them, bribe an Inspector and Master, and no one would be the wiser. It’s not as if Illustrators manifest amongst crowds.” “Why would a relative do that instead of ruling themselves?” Dei asked. “If the current successor’s offspring are incompetent, the next of kin able to create shall rule. It’s their right.”

“When last has a Manor’s succession line been broken for a new ruler, blood related or not?” asked Nodin. No one answered. “What happens to those who challenge it?” whispered Seren, her eyes searching the balconies. After finding them empty, her gaze landed on Nodin. “I don’t know. It was never a part of my history lessons. Yours?” It was quiet once more. Surely, someone must’ve challenged a current ruler. “What round were you eliminated on?” asked Dei, breaking the silence. Seren glared, and Dei shrugged defensively. “I’m curious. Are you Hallowed? Can you portal walk?” “He can,” Seren said through tight lips. Dei’s eyebrows shot up. “How would you know?” “H-he told me,” she said, her gaze turning to Nodin, who surprisingly wasn’t clamming up by the interrogation. “I can,” he confirmed. “Does portal walking happen outside?” Elsu asked, and they turned to him as if suddenly ing he was there. “Like Dei said, everyone can’t fit into The Academy, unless we take turns going inside?” Nodin looked surprised. He’d never inquired about the testing before. It was a subject they’d avoided for three hundred years. “Outside on the lawn.” “The forest surrounds it then?” Elsu asked. “Of course.” “How far from the forest line were the portals?” Did Illustration happen outside too? If Sassa snuck into the forest, she could Illustrate from afar so long as she could see his canvas... No, her manifestation wouldn’t appear beside him.

Their eyebrows knitted in unison at his question. “Not too close,” Nodin answered. “Beasts infest that forest. Guards roam through it with blue lanterns to ward them off. Like I said, guards are everywhere.” Elsu swallowed. “Overkill.” Dei rolled his eyes. “My aunt says they search your carriages. Is that true?” Seren asked. Nodin nodded. “To make sure you haven’t bought portraits, potions—” “Potions?” Seren wrinkled her nose. “Those aren’t real. They may as well look for crystal balls and scrying bowls.” “Some Fae will try anything to , from amulets to good luck charms. The Academy will confiscate them whether or not they believe the items work. They’ll search your person too, from your pockets and shoes, to your mouth and hair. “What would anyone conceal in their hair?” Seren asked, patting her head now. Her blonde strands were twisted away from her face, held by a hundred pearl pins.Nodin shrugged. “They must have a reason.” “I wouldn’t bother with all the accessories if I were you cousin,” Dei said, pulling one of her pins and shoving it into his platinum hair. Elsu’s stomach clenched, his eyes finding his chamber’s windows again. Was Sassa doing all this work for nothing? No, it couldn’t be in vain; they couldn’t fail. He had to secure an ore for Avundruill and he had to convince Sassa to stay long enough to fulfill Avundrui Manor’s outstanding contracts. “What happens to those caught with a trinket?” Seren said. “If the Masters think it’s useless they’ll discard it, otherwise, you go to the courts.” “Wasn’t a girl arrested in your year?” asked Dei. “From Zzarlziqa? I heard she

used black magic.” Some southern sects held an affinity for the forbidden dark arts. Magic had long since dwindled in the Fae realm and deciphering which rituals were real was hazy. Elsu briefly thought of Lord Kohl, whose father ruled Zzarlziqa. He’d be sitting the exams with them. “So I’ve heard,” Nodin said. “Weren’t you there?” asked Dei. Seren poked him with a talon. “The guards arrested her during Illustration inside of The Academy. I wasn’t there.” “Where is she now?” Elsu asked, eager to know more. Nodin squinted at the desperation in his tone. “I don’t know. No one does. The courts aren’t exactly forthcoming.” Dei and Seren exchanged grim looks. “What happens inside The Academy?” Elsu pressed on. “Illustration testing. Most of the common populace will be eliminated by then. What you paint changes every century, but it’s often an inanimate object and a live one.” Elsu’s stomach dropped. There was no other choice. Sassa would have to stay with him, but how? “But you made it inside the building, didn’t you? Before they eliminated you?” asked Dei, ignoring Seren’s finger still pressed at his hip. “What’s it like?” “Dark.” “How?” Dei persisted, but Nodin seemed to have enough. “You’ll find out. I’m going to the springs.” He disappeared around a hedge with a swish of his robes. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?” Seren snapped at Dei.

“What?” he asked, but Elsu followed Nodin out of the courtyard and into the gardens, leaving them to bicker. “What do you mean by dark?” he whispered as they banked a rosebush. “The atmosphere was heavy, smothering, but it was probably all in my head.” He shrugged as they wound down the path. “I never made it past the foyer. I was eliminated during the first Illustration round. The second session happens upstairs.” “Do you know what goes on up there?” “I’ve heard things, but I haven’t asked anyone. It’s too humiliating.” As the larger bath house came into view, Nodin slowed. “Why? Are you nervous? If father were coherent, we could ask him.” “His exams were millennia ago.” He sighed. “Obviously, it ends in animate Illustration. It’s the highest level besides anatomy and that’s a skill you study at The Academy itself.” “I figured all you needed to do was Illustrate, I didn’t know they tested for specifics, inanimate, animate. I thought you attended The Academy to learn those things after.” “You should know how it works by now, Elsu. You’ll as an Illustrator so long as you manifest something, but it won’t gain you ittance nor an ore. Titania is dwindling. They won’t give ores to someone who can only produce a stick. Haven’t the tutors explained the process during your winter in the Isles,” he paused as if suddenly ing something. “Why didn’t you visit Seren and her family?” “I knew she was coming here afterwards anyway.” Elsu shrugged and before Nodin could protest he added, “And the instructors did explain. I just didn’t realize that ores were only being given if one ed the highest Illustration level.” “How could you not? A crow came weeks ago, half of Avundruill knows...” He trailed off. “That’s right, you’ve been in hiding.”

“T-the country knows?” Nodin nodded. “Everyone seems at ease. They know you were gifted since childhood.” “But simply manifesting is most important, so I’m recorded as an Illustrator,” Elsu said, trying to steady his wavering tone. “Avundruill still has an ore.”

“Not anymore.”

“What?” his voice cracked. “During your absence, Father used the last of his strength to repair the border wall and double the harvest fields. So, this new ore is crucial.” Panicked, Elsu mumbled, “What if we don’t get one?” “Then the treaty with the Dwarves dissolves without it. They want those gryphons by century’s end. They won’t be staved off any longer.” Nodin’s gaze met his slowly, fearfully, as if seeing him for the first time. “We’ll get it, won’t we Elsu?” Elsu nodded. “Of course.” But he saw the disbelief in Nodin’s eyes and the unwillingness to question him further. They were exactly alike.

Chapter Ten

Sassa

Sassa was struggling. “Which black is onyx?” asked Elsu from his position opposite her on the stone floor. She scanned the ten jars of black pigment before her helplessly. The basics she knew, red, green, blue, but learning over two hundred variants of each over the past week proved more difficult than anything else. She confused rust with redorange, ginger with tan, cerulean with azure. Finally, she pointed to the jar with the highest luster. “Yes, but that’s far too slow. During manifestation the Masters will tell us which color to turn the titania. They’ll notice if your creation is noir, especially when the paint on my canvas is onyx,” Elsu said, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s move on to the reds. This time I want you to change it yourself. Scarlet.” Sassa stretched her hand over the tiny titania portion he’d scooped onto a wooden palette. She tried to steady her breathing, while shaking away the thoughts that told her she’d do it wrong. Her eyelids fluttered closed in concentration as she envisioned the hue in her mind’s eye. “I said scarlet,” Elsu snapped, his voice high with irritation as Sassa popped her eyes open. The titania had turned to a softer hue of red than she’d intended. “That’s rose.” Apparently, it was. She studied the paint swatches beside her, ruby, rose, crimson, and scarlet, which was the deepest shade. Or was it? She couldn’t find the right exertion of energy to procure it. Either she stopped short as she did now, ending a few hues too bright, or blew past it all together, creating a shade too deep like garnet.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, her fingers massaging her temples, a strong ache in her hunched spine. She’d been bent over the swatches for days with few breaks in between. When she wasn’t struggling to radiate the right amount of energy, she was making the wrong color but on purpose, confusing similar hues, boysenberry as plum or vice versa. The difference was almost imperceptible, or at least to inferior halfling eyes, as Elsu pointed out. “There isn’t enough titania to keep practicing.” He sighed, gazing at the dozens of paint pots that littered the floor. Sassa could only identify half. “Red is the easiest color family to create. If we can’t get past it, I won’t waste time on the yellows. The purples will be impossible.” Sassa straightened. “Give me a chance, I can do it.” The need to prove Elsu wrong, that her mixed lineage was the cause for her shortcomings, soared. She just needed more time, more titania. Elsu shifted to kneel. “No. I’ll change and label it myself, ahead of the exams.” “There are hundreds of colors. How will you know which to choose? Besides, you said yourself the titania is scarce.” “I’ll think of something.” He shook his head. “This is a waste of time.” A waste of time. The words sunk in deep. He’d repeated them often. It was a waste of time teaching her how to radiate and identify each hue. It was a waste of time showing her proper painting techniques. She knew he meant they were short on time, yet inadequacy crippled her. Her mind raced to keep his meaning clear and not her own interpretation, that she was a waste of time. “Let’s try dry sketching with practice parchment. Pick a sable hair.” Sassa studied the brushes, contemplating between the four with brown hairs. They looked identical, but sable fibers were stiffer. She hesitated, then retrieved the third. “Good.” Elsu sighed, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes. “Start with the petals.” Beside her knee was a potted sterling rose bush. It was thornless, filling the room with a citrus aroma. Sassa had only seen a few single red roses in Vădăstriya. She hadn’t known it was possible for such colors to exist in the plant, silver,

gold, azure, cyan, yet they crowded Avundruill’s gardens. Then again, she didn’t know about a lot of things. Elsu had introduced her to oils and ointments, velvet downs and silk robes like the one she wore now. She squirmed within the fabric, her insecurity growing. He was giving her these things based on what he believed she could give him in return. What if he discontinued their arrangement before the testing? It was likely if she couldn’t produce a decent manifestation. Dipping the brush into a paint pot, she began sketching the plant, ignoring Elsu’s scrutinous gaze. No matter how often she tried to replicate the intricate petals, her drawing skills weren’t improving quickly enough. The sketch was abysmal, the proportions off, the lines shaky. When she’d finished, she started again, not bothering to consult him first. Elsu had been on edge, more so since he’d returned from his sword match in the courtyard. His mood had grown darker, quieter, and he seemed even more tired than Sassa felt. He’d told her Fae slept every third or fourth night, but he hadn’t since she’d moved into the manor nine days ago, and last night, he kept them both up with his pacing. “I didn’t realize this would be so difficult,” Elsu said, rubbing his hairless chin. He paused mid-stroke, peering at her with new awareness. “You’ve never drawn before, have you?” “No,” she mumbled, studying the bush.

“Never? Even as a child?”

“Vădăstriya doesn’t distribute art supplies to the poor, especially halflings,” she said, attempting to create another petal. “You grew up in Vădăstriya?” he asked, eyebrows flying as he got to his feet. “They accepted a halfling orphan?” “Yes,” she ground out. It wasn’t a memory she enjoyed elaborating on, not that

Elsu hadn’t tried. He questioned her existence every other day. “They weren’t always Purist.” “She mates with a Fae then abandons the offspring with Humans?” He pivoted, his hair and robes swishing behind him. He was relentless, itching to dig deeper into a past she was struggling and failing to . “It makes no sense.” It didn’t. Possibilities danced through her mind, in her dreams. Had her mother been in danger? Did she think Sassa was safer without her? What about her father, why wasn’t he there to protect them? “I told you I don’t know.” “What do you know?” he quipped. She slammed the brush down in a huff. “My mother took me there when I was six hundred years old. She was there one second and gone the next. A century later the Humans banned foreigners, and I fled into the forest. I barely recall my short time in the village.” “That’s not normal. You should at that age,” he said, confusion wrinkling his forehead. “What did your mother look like?” “Her arm was dark, darker than mine when she released me. Her hair was blue too, a beautiful turquoise.” She squinted, trying to recall the memory. “I don’t her face.” Elsu’s expression darkened, but he remained silent for a long while. When he finally spoke, his tone was dismissive. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like you could ever get answers from her now.” “Why?” “Because she’s dead,” he said bluntly. “Humans live to one hundred and ten. Dwarves nine hundred. Nymphs as long as their trees do, and Fae forever, with conditions. Lele never sur two thousand. Halfling aging is far more complex, but you’re at least seventeen hundred?” Sassa froze. She’d been so hurt over her abandonment that she hadn’t thought of her mother at all. Her mother wasn’t thinking about her, or so she’d reasoned. Over the past week a rosier picture of her parents had bloomed in her mind and, with it, possibilities of a potential reunion. Suddenly, Elsu had snuffed out the

thought. “Sassa, surely you knew that?” Sassa bit her trembling lip, ignoring Elsu’s curious gaze. He probably smelled the salt in her tears. Her third rose sketch was just as bad, wet blobs soaking the parchment. “How do you draw?” she asked abruptly, wrinkling her nose to stop the burning. “How do you make it look perfect?” His sketches were beautiful and quick, effortless. Elsu had the good sense to pretend he didn’t notice as she dried her tears. “I look at the object, then I draw it.” “That’s terribly unhelpful,” Sassa said, dipping the brush and trying again. Elsu knelt beside her, watching as she began. On the seventh try, his worried eyes found hers. “I’ll get it,” she persisted, frustration from the revelation about her mother and her lack of improvement creeping into her tone. With each ing hour, she felt her incompetence grow. She wasn’t raised with tutors pushing brushes and charcoal into her hands, spending day after day learning to paint, draw and sketch like Elsu had. There was nothing she hadn’t accomplished in the forest, nothing she couldn’t learn. All she needed was time. Elsu’s hand stilled hers as he pulled the brush from her grasp. “It’s not working,” he said. “Stop focusing on all the details at once. Pick one aspect and concentrate. Maybe that will help with the proportions.” Sassa focused on the vines. By the ninth try, she’d created a hole in the parchment’s middle. “You keep holding the brush like a hammer.” He reached for her fingers and unfurled them, placing the index to the top of the handle and her thumb beneath. “I correct it, and a moment later you’ve slid right back into the same position.”

The crooked lines appeared a tad better, at least at first, until her index slid, and her hammer-like grasp returned. She quickly readjusted, but Elsu looked perplexed. “Can you write?” he asked, realization flashing across his features. Sassa didn’t answer him, keeping her eyes glued to the parchment. “No one grips a brush like that, unless they’re an infant that’s learning to write. It’s the same way you hold your fork and spoon...I thought you just had awful manners, but now I’ve realized you grasp nothing in the proper manner. You clutch them like your dagger. You can’t write, can you? And if you can’t write, can you read?” Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment, her eyes finding Elsu’s floor to ceiling bookshelf. She’d spent hours examining the spines and flitting through the pages in search of images. Most weren’t illustrated save for a children’s fairytale book. It sat on the bed now, opened to a picture of a smokey, spirit-like monster. Elsu grabbed the book and spun it around to face her. The creature glared at her maliciously, its dark eyes boring into her skull. “What does this say?” He tapped impatiently at the page’s heading, three words in curling script. Silence stretched between them, until she dropped the brush, meeting his curious gaze. “You don’t know, do you? It says The Jinn’s Tale-” “Searching for another reason to berate me?” she asked. He had the nerve to look incredulous. “I don’t berate you.” “You said I draw worse than a child. That I must have the visual range of a dog to not perceive the colors as well as you can and that I stink.” “I’m sorry,” he said, sitting on his heels. “Just because something is true doesn’t mean I should say it. It’s uncouth.”

She shoved to her feet, whirling around to face him. “You’re so perfect? You’ve figured out your part then?” He needed her just as much as she needed him. She wouldn’t allow him to treat her as Bagard had, talking to her any way he pleased. She was used to the hard, wetness of the forest, she could get over the warmth of a goose feather bed and a stomach full of mash at night. “How am I going to sit in on the exams for you?” He narrowed his eyes. “Your concern is Illustration. I’ll handle the rest.” “You don’t know, do you?” “I said it’s not your worry.” “I say it is. Do you know you talk to yourself?” she asked, crossing her arms. “When you think I’m asleep, you mutter. I heard what you said about the courts, about that girl who cheated.” “I don’t murmur to myself.” He stood so that he could glare down at her instead. “Maybe it’s because you’re so tired, but the questions won’t let you rest. It’s like you’re sleepwalking every night.” His lips thinned, but he remained quiet. “You’re a Lord. I’m a crossbreed and a no one.” “Obviously.” “If we’re caught, they may show you grace, but what will happen to me in prison? You said it would horrify Fae to learn of my existence. What if they make me disappear?” “Isn’t that what you wanted earlier?” She deflated. “That was before I knew I was an Illustrator. Perhaps my father is one too.” Her gaze flickered to the barred door. “He’s not from Avundruill.” Elsu’s words cut into her thoughts sharply. “I’m a Permanece Illustrator, so he could be.”

“Or he could be from Zzarlziqa.” She paused, watching spite flare in his eyes. He didn’t want her associated with him or his people, yet he needed her, the halfling. “I hope he’s an Avundruian,” she said stubbornly. “I hope we’re related and your blood runs through my veins.” “Why would you wish that?” “So that the shame of knowing I’m one of you will ease this entitlement you have.” “Entitlement?” he laughed coldly. “If I had any, I wouldn’t be here with you.” “One of your people found love with my mother and created me,” she ignored him. “That’s close to self and you hate it.” “No one from Avundruill would dare it.” He lifted his chin. “I’ve always been just across the lake. Avundrians are the closest Fae settlement to the forest. I have deep skin like you—” “And coiled tresses like the southerners.” “Mine’s far looser, but my mother had hair like them. She could be from there. Lele travel, but Fae stay close to home. Perhaps someone you know from this very manor took a trip across the purple water and met her. It would explain my ability.” “Never.” She studied him, trying to understand his discomfort at her mere existence. “The thought that it could be a person you ire makes you uncomfortable. It forces you to think about possibilities you never imagined. The possibility that you could love someone not Fae.” “I could never love anyone romantically.” He stiffened. “Least of all someone like you.” “But someone here did, probably.”

“Possibly,” he concurred. “Though unlikely.” “You hate that a mere halfling got blessed with Illustration, yet you, a full Fae with pure bloodlines, did not. You don’t think I deserve it, or to be related to you,” she taunted, sitting down. Picking up her brush, she waited for him to respond. He didn’t bother to disagree. “I’d wager we are related,” she went on, relishing in his discomfort and growing empowered by it. “That would make the hot springs awkward, would it not,” he replied tartly, his inky strands falling over his right shoulder as he cocked his head. “You said between Fae, it’s not sexual.” “It doesn’t mean I bathe with my father.” “Our father,” she teased, perhaps enjoying his agitation far more than she should. “You’re repulsive,” he spat, crossing the chamber and storming out of the room. The door slamming rustled her parchment. The lock turned with a sharp click. If she didn’t improve, she wouldn’t get the coins to leave this place. No matter how she told herself she could return to hunting for humans and sleeping upright, keeping an eye out for cŵn annwn, she knew it was a lie. She thought of the Lele twins, of the beasts’ vicious attack. The girls were probably still alive, enduring unspeakable torture. Sassa clutched the brush harder, the wooden handle threatening to snap. She couldn’t go back, she wouldn’t. She needed that money, and she would get it. Her eyes flitted to the rosebush. She studied the petals for a long while, then she dipped her brush and began, again and again.

Chapter Eleven

Lux

Lux was never alone despite his solitude in the dark forest. He lay inside a small tent, his flesh crawling, peppering with goosebumps as the spirits swirled through his veins. They wanted to burrow deeper, desiring more of him. “Lux,” the voices echoed somewhere deep within. “You still resist us?” “I do not,” he answered weakly. His stomach and throat still burned, though the intensity had eased. Yet, a feeling of unwellness laid heavy upon his chest. “You try to block off your thoughts, those you do not wish us to hear.” Silence. “Lux...” He hated the way they said his name, almost on a slither. He didn’t want them to utter it, to use him despite their help. “You still don’t trust us? After all we have done?” And they’d done a lot. He’d watched as his fingers dipped brush after brush into varying palettes of greens, oranges, browns, blues and purples. His hands had painted petals, bark, leaves and sap with painstaking realism. “Look.” He looked not of his own accord but theirs, his head turning with breakneck speed, his eyes peering out the open flap of the tent. Outside stretched the small

cluster of manifestations he—or rather the spirits—had created, a patch of vibrant forest, surrounded by a pale, dying one. Periwinkle and magenta coated tiny wildflowers while plum covered the boysenberries dotting the leafy green brambles nested between two beech saplings. A yellow bird pecked at them. The creations had been effortless. Lux needn’t think or study the models first. The spirits seemed able to recreate each plant from memory until the titania vanished. “Good,” Hiems had said as he examined the works, touching every waxy leaf and silky petal. The display, slowly vanishing by the hour, had improved Hiems’ mood. He’d barked orders on color shades and technique, making Lux go through each step start to finish, a process that took days for the paint to dry. But as Lux ploughed through imprimatura, underdrawing, brush sketch, grisaille, underpainting, details and finally glaze, Hiems’ instruction eased from twenty excruciating hours of nonstop scrutiny to silent observation. His final critique had been for Lux to practice flickering his gaze between the canvas and models. It wasn’t enough to manifest, he needed to look the part of an Illustrator. By his last creation, the little bird, Hiems had grown impressed by the spirit’s anatomical painting abilities. He pressed Lux to question their identities, but the voices grew silent whenever he tried. Still, Hiems remained pleased, weaving himself between the creations as Lux painted, perhaps reminiscing about Albens former appearance. He’d even brought the boy to play when he thought Lux was sleeping. Impossible. Unless Lux was questioning the spirits on their pasts, they didn’t give him a moment’s peace. That morning he was wide awake, spying on the pair despite himself, not looking at them but through them. Swirling inside Hiems was a strange gray light as he helped the child pick berries. A light was within the boy too, a bright white. “The spirit world is an unusual thing,” the voices had cooed.

“Why are your spirits still here?” he asked abruptly now, watching the small patch of forest deteriorate. The little bird grew slower, feathers falling from its wings. He expected the spirits to go silent at his prodding, but they spoke. “We’ve unfinished business,” a voice said, and this time, it was distinctive of the others, feminine and cold. “What’s that?” “Why should we tell you everything when you won’t truly let us in?” a different voice called, a masculine one. “I have. Isn’t that why you manifest for me?” “We want to know you fully, Lux. Manifesting is merely a part of the contract Madam has procured.” “How is a Lele able to summon Fae spirits? Why do you answer her?” he asked, struggling to look away as the bird plummeted to the ground. “She believes in our mission. She helps us so we assist her,” said the female. “Help her do what? And why would you need a Lele’s help?” “The Fae and Lele are far more interconnected than you think,” the male said, not answering the question. “What are your names?” Silence. “Call me Louder,” the male said finally. “And me, Quieter,” said the feminine voice. “You needn’t know our true names, not yet anyway. Unless you’d like us to stay without the potion?” “He wouldn’t. He won’t let us hear his thoughts. He doesn’t trust us so we cannot trust him,” said Louder. “Give him a chance,” hissed Quieter, “he knows not the things we can offer him.”

“We gave him a chance when you showed him a glimpse of the spirit world inside the Anatomist. He closed his mind even more, too terrified at what he’d seen. He can’t handle seeing anymore,” said Louder. “I wasn’t frightened.” Lux blinked up at the midnight sky. “I simply don’t understand why you require my trust, or access to my thoughts, or even how any of this is possible.” “The possibilities are endless in our realm,” Quieter said. “If only you open your mind to receive them.” “Why?” “Why not?” Quieter answered. “Don’t you want to see what could be? What was?” “I only need to manifest, to win that ore.” “If they have wasted all the past ores, what makes this time any different?” said Quieter. “Is the ruler different?” Louder asked. It seemed rhetorical. “Why do you care about Albens? Are you descended from here?” “We care because you do,” Quieter said, avoiding the latter question. “It’s in greater danger than you realize.” “How do you know that?” “Because we can see it,” Quieter said. “And so should he. I say we give him another chance.” “Hmm...just a taste then,” said Louder. Lux didn’t have time to ask what they meant before it hit him full force. The spirits were already within him, but now he was them and they were him. His senses heightened, more than was possible even for a Fae. He could hear the insects crawling through the earth, the sap slowly flowing

through the trees, the ocean’s crashing waves thousands of feet away. The perimeter of his vision blurred, the center growing so clear he could see for miles with a crispness that hurt. He saw every line in the trees’ barks, every grain in the soil. Then there were things that should be impossible for him to see, like the golden gas that tumbled within an ash tree. A Nymph spirit. As if on a thread, Lux drew closer, prodding the molten gold with a talon. It felt like nothing as it shook at his touch, leaves falling around him like a rush of green rain. He pulled away. “A spirit?” he asked, though he already knew. “One of many,” Quieter said as they moved through the forest. Miles east Lux could see the outline of a beast, swirling gases of orange visible beneath the ivory and russet pelt. The creature was so large, its identity was undeniable. “Nine,” he whispered. Nine peeked cautiously around a skinny trunk that did nothing to shield him. Through his moon-like eyes the orange gas swirled faster, frenzied, then he was bounding toward Lux. The impact sent him backsliding into a nearby tree, the air rushing from his lungs. “I told you to stay away,” Lux said, onishing the beast yet rubbing its head with far too much adoration. “I don’t want anyone to see you.” Nine was the only creature he hadn’t bled in Albens. The excuse he’d given Os was that the beast was too smart for him, too quick to be captured. The ninetailed fox could vanish in thin air after all. Os believed him easily, never disagreeing with anything that would make Lux seem competent. He wanted the russet of Nine’s pelt and Lux had tried hard to convince the fox to leave before Os’ guards caught him. But the nine-tails was stubborn, lurking around the manor, gardens and Lux’s rooms. He didn’t belong in Albens but across the ocean to the forgotten continent, Nyall, where nine-tails though rare were native. Lux couldn’t fathom why Nine had flown so far, or why the beast had taken such a liking to him. He’d stalked

Lux through the forest, watching him bleed trees, soil, rocks and Fae. He’d never been afraid. But as Lux reached behind his large, pointed ears and nuzzled the soft fur, Nine recoiled, knocking into a white oak and snapping it in half. It fell midway, caught on the canopy of two shorter beeches. “What’s the matter?” Lux asked, stepping closer only for Nine to recoil again. He skirted around the broken trunk, attempting to hide. The creature didn’t seem to know its size. “Nine? It’s me.” Nine disagreed. His snout didn’t lift at the corners, drool didn’t seep out of his curled black lips as it usually did. Lux reached out to touch him again, and this time Nine allowed it with a whimper. “It’s good the beast is here,” Louder said. “He can help us show Lux what he ought to see. Mount.” And Lux mounted, involuntarily pulling himself up just behind Nine’s neck. Another low whine escaped the fox’s throat, his body quivering. “Stop it!” Lux hissed, struggling and failing to dismount. “Can’t you see something is wrong?” But Lux’s knees dug into the fox’s sides, his fingers curling around the tips of Nine’s long ears, pulling. Nine whined again but rushed forward, three giant leaps, and they were airborne. They surged upwards, Lux shielding his head with one arm as they burst through the canopies, his other curving around Nine’s neck. The forest glowed in the moonlight, the silvery leaves of the treetops broken by the occasional dark green of an ash tree, like small holes dotting a large white blanket. Shining through the gaps were orbs of light, some the size of buttons, others as big as Lux’s palm, clustered or scattered throughout. They crept, glided, and burrowed, shimmering in a litany of hues from azure to cyan. “Spirits,” he thought. “Animal souls.” “Yes,” Quieter hissed.

Lux froze. Something was wrong. The spheres were fading, each growing duller than the last, especially the golden lights of the ash trees as Nine flew closer to Marmor Manor where Nymphs were plentiful. The wind seemed to blow the orbs, extinguishing them like candle flames that ate away at the white blanket, leaving nothing but darkness. “What’s happening?” Lux gasped. “Where are the spirits going?” “Nowhere,” said Quieter. “They’re merely dying.” “Why? and why so fast?” “Because their home is dying,” said Quieter. “No,” said Louder. “It’s dead. Look.” Lux’s head whipped to the far eastern corner of Albens, near the rock side. It was entirely dark, a patch of blackness spreading over the country. “I don’t understand,” Lux said, aghast. “How can the entire forest be dead?” “The diseased seedlings have overtaken the healthy trees. No matter how fast the Nymphs prune them, you allow them to grow in order to bleed them first. Diseased things spread disease,” said Louder. Nine yelped as the sun shot above the horizon, blinding them. Its strong rays scorched half of Lux’s face. Quizzically, he pivoted left and gasped. Darkness cloaked the sky’s other half, and Nine soared along the demarcation line. “What is this?” He panicked as the sunlight left his face, falling to a patch of wilted trees in a concentrated beam. “When trees die, they become very dry indeed,” said Quieter. A little flame flickered into existence on the dried bark. Tiny at first it grew within the second igniting what remained of the withered trunk, spreading faster than it started. The fire ripped across the canopies, blasting through them and extinguishing all the orbs that lingered, including those at Marmor Manor. Including the orange orb beneath him and with it, Nine.

He plummeted toward the flames, the fiery tips lashing out and scorching his backside. A terrified scream left his lips, his eyes shut tight as the fire engulfed him, searing his flesh. Then, when he thought he’d burn alive, the heat disappeared. Freezing, filthy water filled his mouth, surging over his face and submerging him. Debris knocked into his legs, back and arms as he rushed downhill. A log slammed into his chest, pushing out what little air was left in his lungs. He gasped, swallowing mouthfuls of sooty water. Clutching the wood, he pulled himself to the surface and coughed, expelling the black liquid. Heavy rain pelted him furiously as he tumbled into a gully. His tender back hit the jagged edge of a large rock, the log pinning him to it as the rapid waters rushed around him. “NINE!” His voice sounded alien to his ears as it carried on a gust of wind that ripped through his locks. “NINE!” Pain cracked the word as he searched the ashen sky. Nothing. Slowly, the water drained as if someone were simply pouring it out. The trunk fell from his chest and he moved his feet intime before its weight could crush them. The wind intensified, drying the forest and blowing away what ash remained. Lux wrapped his arms around himself, pushing through the drag, and ducking when a stray branch flew his way. “NINE!” The cold gusts dried the ground, cracking it for miles. Like the skies, it was barren. He could see the top of the cliffs where Marmor Manor once stood, straight down to where the continent narrowed and Albens ended. He blinked again, and the forest returned to its former bleached state. Behind a fruitless boysenberry bush, Nine hid. “How were you able to show me this? The future?” he demanded when the drumming in his ears slowed enough to allow him the chance to think. “We aren’t seers,” Quieter said. “The vision was merely a possibility.”

“S-so, it wasn’t real? Then why did you show me it?” His anger flared. “You said you wanted to make Albens better,” said Quieter. “It’s the reason you drank the potion, to win an ore. But what happens when it’s gone? Illustration has been dying since we walked the earth. It may take millennia for a different Albenian to the highest Illustration level and obtain another. That aside, titania is dwindling. Soon the mines will become barren.” “The leaders don’t see your vision, Lux,” Louder said. “They patch what is broken instead of fixing the damage. How can you trust them with what might be the last ore Albens ever receives?” “Take the ore for yourself. Use it to give Albens the chance it deserves,” said Quieter. His mouth fell agape at the absurdity. “I can’t go against an entire army, against Os.” “We can protect you,” said Quieter. “We’ve shown you what can happen once the forest dies. Death, fire, flood and drought. How would you feel when it takes your friend we rode upon? Would the flames kill him first or the smoke?” Lux shook away the thought. “How Count Marmor handles the country is none of your concern, and I don’t understand why you’re making it. Get me the ore and I’ll worry about the rest.” But Lux wasn’t so sure, his eyes trailing over the quiet forest. How could he trust their words? “What you truly desire is Albens, not that ore.” “You don’t know what I want.” “Some thoughts you aren’t so good at hiding,” said Louder. “I need you to fulfill your contract and nothing more.” “The contract asked that you manifest,” said Quieter, “not that you the exams.” Lux curled his talons, their points digging into his flesh. “Why are you doing this? What do you want?”

The voices cooed in unison, “You.”

Chapter Twelve

Elsu

Elsu was fuming. How dare Sassa imply a relation between them? No Avundrian was so desperate, degenerative, to breed with a Lele. Sassa’s father must be from the Somerset Isles, Zzarlziqa, even Ísvaldar, but a noble from his own House? Never. Fae travel little, her smug words drifted into his ear. His eyes darted over the open edge of the hallway’s arching balconies. He studied the forest that shielded Vădăstriya and the great lake that separated it from Avundruill’s sloping forest. The distance was short. Still, no Avundrian could cross the purple water unseen in full view of the manor. Sassa did, his mind taunted. Biting his cheek, he shook his head stubbornly. Her father must’ve boarded a ship and entered Vădăstriya’s ports, but even that made little sense. The Humans had nothing worthwhile to encourage Fae visits. They were descendants of Ísvaldar’s tiny, frozen islands and got their supplies shipped from the mainland. A Fae would go North instead of its ill developed Human settlement. His eyes wandered to Avundruill’s forest. Perhaps Sassa’s father hadn’t encountered her mother in Vădăstriya at all. Maybe her mother had brazenly traveled the waters to Avundruill, bewitching Sassa’s father with a spell. A love spell. Lele charms don’t work on Fae, his mind countered, but Elsu was convinced. It was the only logical excuse. The sorceress must’ve found a workaround with black magic, maddened by lust for Sassa’s father. Elsu breathed a sigh of relief, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. She’d tricked the poor Fae! Once he was

strong enough to overcome the spell, he abandoned her. Then, she fled to the Human village with her babe. It was so obvious now. Elsu glanced over his shoulder at his chamber doors. He had to be careful of the halfling lest she try to possess him. He reached for his collar, pinching it closed. His masculinity was creating a mountain of lust within her, ready to erupt at any moment. How could he blame her? Still, he needed to be more conservative to cool her arousal. As he banked a corner though, his sympathies for her plight diminished as her earlier words flooded his mind. It’s because I’m a halfling. I got blessed with the gift of Illustration, yet you a full Fae, with two pure bloodlines did not. You hate it. He squeezed his fist in rhythm to his thundering heartbeats, the pain pricks of his talons piercing his palms somehow easing his rage. How and why was a gift as precious as Illustration wasted on a creation that shouldn’t exist? Someone abominable and worthless. He deserved to manifest, could manifest if only partially. Why hadn’t all the gold, tutors and countless hours of study helped him? It wasn’t just unfair; it was cruel. What would manifestation serve her, when she had no lands, home, or prospects? A waste. Yet her talent was serving him, albeit poorly. How could he make their arrangement work, her lackluster abilities aside? He thought of what Nodin had said about The Academy. He couldn’t sneak Sassa in, nor have her linger independently of him where she couldn’t see or hear what was happening. What was he supposed to do, swallow her? He turned, hearing the rustle of Nodin’s garments before he saw him. Their fabrics were heavier than the Nymphs and the guests of the Somerset Isles, who traded their thin wardrobes with the Northerners. Seren bundled herself in Dei’s fur lined robes while Dei strutted around the manor, still overheating in Seren’s billowy blouses, his tros rolled at the knee. Elsu wondered how Dei survived his visits to the Isles. “Mother wants you in the drawing room,” Nodin said, coming to stand beside him. “She’s awake?” He didn’t think it possible. The first steps of transition usually

lasted months. Nodin nodded. “Last evening, for less than five minutes. She’s gone again, perhaps for a few weeks.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, annoyed. “I could’ve spoken with her.” “Elsu, she would’ve fallen asleep by the time you came. Your room is an eightminute sprint from their chambers. Even if I used a portal, it would’ve been too late.” He lowered his voice. “You missed little. She was barely coherent, just mumbling about your robes, angry that they aren’t finished.” “My robes?” “These won’t do,” Nodin said, examining the ones he wore now. “Have you forgotten my preparation week? Your costume represents your House. The common populace has already received theirs, a light silver with a teal embroidered rose on the shoulder. Noble garments must be far more extravagant, and the Nymphs haven’t done the embroidery yet, although the silhouette is complete. I chose the shape for you.” “Thanks,” he muttered, still thinking of his mother. If she’d awoken just to argue about his clothing, then the examinations stressed her even in her dreams. They weighed heavily on Nodin as he gazed at him, his lips forming a question. Then, he sealed them again, having changed his mind to which Elsu was glad. Ever since their conversation in the gardens, Nodin seemed tenser, and Elsu himself was too worried to feign an attempt at pacifying his brother. Their unsaid troubles lingered between them, both afraid of saying anything more. He sighed. “The Nymphs are waiting for you in the drawing room, but I must warn you that Seren and her mother are in there too. Seren added some extras to her robe after seeing Dei’s befitted in crushed diamonds, imitating the ice of the north.” “Let me guess, she’s added pearls?” Elsu asked as they moved toward the drawing room together. Nodin smiled. “More than that.”

At the entryway, Elsu saw what he meant. Seren was standing on an ottoman before a mirror, a veil covering her entire head and body. Servants were sewing pearls and sapphires all over it, making it shine in the sunlight that filtered through the windows. A glorified fisherman’s net. “The Isles take their sea life seriously,” Elsu whispered, astonished. “Must everything be ocean themed? “The servants embroidered her robe with a hundred starfish and open clams covered—” “In pearls?” Elsu guessed. Nodin’s grin broadened, but a voice within the chamber cut off his intended words. It was Seren’s mother, a thin woman the color of carob, her crinkly hair wrapped in an elaborate turquoise scarf. “That boy has locked himself in his chambers for days on end,” Sana said, pointing out an empty spot on the fabric to a servant. “I wonder how his lessons are going.” Seren remained quiet, watching the servants as they stitched. “He was in the Isles for months, yet he never visited Somer Manor,” she said, running the hem of the net through her fingers examining the work. “He didn’t,” Seren confirmed, staring at her mother’s reflection in the mirror. “We both know what that means,” Sana said, a smile spreading her full lips. “The boy is lacking. It’s obvious. Why else would Mitena be transitioning?” Seren’s eyes widened and Nodin shut his. “She is? How do you know?” “Please, Avundrui servants gossip more than they work. It’s why we always bring our own.” She pointed to the Nymphs circling Seren. “Ours knows loyalty. Anyway, I heard she’s fading fast, following Simi. Why do you think that is?” Seren shrugged. “It isn’t optional.”

“Don’t be so naïve. The stress of it all probably induced it. Imagine having not one non-gifted son but two.” “Elsu’s manifested before.” “So you’ve heard,” Sana scoffed. “That half stick or leaf when he was eight hundred Mitena keeps going on about? Please. When The Academy’s results come out, she’ll vanish, mark my words. She can’t bear to see her family lose the Manor.” “You don’t know that,” Seren whispered, her large blue eyes finding her mother’s much larger hazel ones. “I do. The boy’s incompetence isn’t such a bad thing. In fact, it’s to your benefit.” “What do you mean?” “An engagement. The Avundrui’s will be eager to pull another Permanence Illustrator into their bloodline.” “What?” Seren’s eyes narrowed as she twirled around. “Don’t look so shocked. Your older sister has already ed Illustration. Somer Manor will be hers when your father and I cross over, but what about you? Where will you call home?” “The Isles are my home. I don’t care about ruling it.” “You’re a Permanence Illustrator. The daughter of two Illustrators. You’ll not sit idly at your sister’s side.” “I won’t be idle, I’ll be Illustrating.” Sana gave the servants a dismissive wave. They put down their needles and threads at once, leaving the parlor through the eastern entrance. “That’s not good enough for my daughter. But this,” she gestured to the room. “Why not make your home here?”

Seren shook her head, the light reflecting off the jewels. “Which Avundrui do you plan to proposition mother?” Sana lifted a brow. “The younger brother, of course. Nodin is an invalid. I won’t have our name embarrassed. I’d sooner marry you off to Dei.” Seren shuddered, the gems on the veil rattling. “That’s disgusting. Besides, what difference does it make? You said Elsu won’t either.” “But we know he has some manifestation within him, as Mitena never lets us forget. He’s the best bet to ensure your children can produce. Who knows if Nodin’s really Simi’s son? Mother’s baby, Father’s...well, you know the rest,” she sang as she stood. “Besides, what other prospects does Mitena have? She’d be a fool to turn down a proposal by a Permanence Illustrator.” “They aren’t as open as the Isles or the North. They like to keep their blood copper, it’s their House’s mantra for crying out loud. Copper ringing through and through. That aside, I may be a Permanence Illustrator, but Father is not, so to them I’m doubly impure. Mitena’s probably hoping someone from their common populace will manifest this year.” “That hasn’t happened in nine thousand years. The Avundruian people are losing the ability and they need it reinfused with stronger blood. It’s that same pure bloodline nonsense that has ruined their lineage. But don’t worry, I think they’re desperation will outweigh their purity stance,” Sana said, looking at the teal fabric draped over a nearby loveseat. Elsu’s robe. “You’ll look excellent in teal.” “Mother, you don’t know that Elsu will fail, and if he does, he won’t be desperate enough to accept a proposal at only nineteen hundred years. You’re getting ahead of yourself.” “We’ll see,” Sana said indifferently, pulling the veil to center it. “This could never truly be my home. It’s been Avundruill for millennia.” “And now seems time for a change.” Nodin pulled Elsu away from the door. “They’re vultures,” Elsu hissed.

“She’s trying to assure her daughter’s future rank.” “You defend them?” “Of course not, but mother and father would do the same. They didn’t pour thousands of gold coins into your lessons for nothing.” “That’s not the same as marriage to an outsider.” “Would it be so terrible?” Nodin asked, and Elsu struggled to keep his composure. “How can you say that?” He swallowed, his eyes searching Elsu’s. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation in the gardens, about how you never visited Somer Manor and how you’ve been avoiding everyone since you’ve returned. I-I sent a raven, pretending to be Mother to your instructor Paz, asking him for a report—” “You did what?” Elsu bit out through clenched teeth, struggling to restrain himself as he heard movement within the room. “He declined, stating that lessons were confidential and if we wanted a report to ask you yourself. But when we’ve asked, you’ve never said more than a word or two.” “There’s nothing more to say. They went well. They’re going well.” “You’ve said that before,” Nodin whispered. “Then what?” Elsu asked, eyebrows drifting higher. “You don’t believe me?” Nodin’s sad eyes showed he didn’t. “I understand the pressure more than anyone else Elsu. I’m here, you realize that don’t you? You aren’t alone and you don’t have to feign being something you aren’t.” “I know.” Nodin sighed. “Maybe introducing fresh blood isn’t such a bad idea. Depending how the examinations go perhaps you could consider-”

“Consider what? Giving Seren the Manor?” “I didn’t say that.” “You didn’t have to! I’m going to my fitting,” he spat, storming into the drawing room, leaving Nodin alone in the corridor. Sana had left, but Seren was still there, her Nymphs stitching on more pearls. Elsu ignored her, retrieving his robe from the loveseat, and pulling his arms through the sleeves before fastening the hidden hooks. Nodin had made a superb choice on the silhouette. The sleeves were dramatically bell-shaped, as was the train, the straight collar high. The teal fabric shined with an iridescent sheen, different hues of blues and greens flashing as he moved. Seren’s eyes darted into the hall from where he’d entered. “I take it, you’ve heard some of that?” she asked sheepishly. “Was I not meant to? It’s not as if I was lingering around your private chambers,” he hissed, his voice laced with venom. “I thought I was walking into a common area, my drawing room. For now, that is.” “Elsu...” “Don’t patronize me,” he snapped as his Nymphs entered the parlor, perhaps ordered by Nodin. He opened his arms as they checked that the fit was immaculate. “Have you thought of your future? Not just yours, but your House’s?” “I’m sorry, have my studies for the past millennia not been dedicated to my House’s fate?” “I’ve been so consumed by the examinations, that I hadn’t thought as far ahead as marriage, or producing heirs,” Seren said more to herself. “My family rarely discussed it. Now that I’m nineteen hundred it’s being brought up. I know we’re no longer children, but I don’t feel like an adult. Do you?” “I haven’t had the luxury to feel anything. With my parents crossing over and others hoping that I fail The Academy and overtake my Manor and such, I haven’t the time.” It was as close to a lie as he could manage.

Seren sighed as she faced him. “Why didn’t you visit me in the Isles? I don’t mean my family, the Manor. I mean, why didn’t you come to see me?” “You’re so special?” he scoffed. “You always visit.” “You could’ve visited me.” “I figured something was wrong,” she said, and her tone seemed genuine. “Was there?” “Like what?” The words were on her lips, but they faded away. “Have you thought of alliances? Blood building?” “So you agree with your mother’s absurd plan then?” “I’m thinking of my future. Not now, nor in a century but perhaps a thousand years.” “That right? Thinking on turning Avundruill into another island with summertime shimming and coconut refreshments?” Her lips thinned. “You expect to maintain the Avundrui rule, yet the thought of marriage hasn’t crossed your mind? How will you continue your legacy with no heirs?” “Not with you,” he quipped. “I’m a Permanence Illustrator,” she lowered her voice. “I can on the gift.” “Your breeding capabilities don’t interest me.” “It’s a duty for us nobles. Not an interest.” “Are you seriously suggesting I procreate with you?” he asked, stunned. A pregnant pause stretched between them.

“You don’t have to. There are other ways no one would even think to know.” His eyes narrowed in disgust. “You want to be mated to me but have sex and bear offspring with another?” “He could look like you,” she said, fiddling with her fingers, unable to meet his gaze. “Have you gone mad?” “How will you have a successor then? You’re not a tree, you must have sex at some point.” “Your vulgarity astounds me,” he gasped. “Besides, I don’t need an heir. I have a brother who can shoulder that burden. My blood is in his and any child he sires.” “It doesn’t change the fact that Nodin has no Permanence in his blood. He still needs an Illustrative mate, as would you! I’m trying to have a sensible conversation, but that’s always been impossible with you,” she huffed, sweeping out of the room. A flash of light reflected off her veil as she went, blinding him. “Where should we embroider the sigil, Lord Elsu? The roses?” asked a male Nymph. “It doesn’t matter,” he mumbled as they pulled at his train. “Shall they be opaque with thread or just an outline? Would you like them small, medium or a combination? I was thinking ing foil for more glamor,” the Nymph said, pushing his spectacles up his nose. “The others seem to have gone overboard this year. I’d hate for you to look underdressed in comparison.” “I said it doesn’t matter. Make them as large as my head for all I care.” “That would take some underlying structure if you wanted them significantly large. We’d need something stronger,” the Nymph said, missing his meaning entirely. “I don’t think muslin would work...” Elsu froze, his heartbeat coming to a standstill as realization poured over him. Not muslin, wysteria. He could carry Sassa with him, binding her to him stitch by stitch!

“I’ve just the thing,” he said, watching as they pulled out trays of metallic threads for him to choose from.

Chapter Thirteen

Sassa

Sassa was in bliss. She reached for her third ball of dark chocolate on the night table, plopping it into her mouth with a moan as it melted on her tongue. Could life get any better than this? The question rolled in her mind as she rolled to the opposite side of the plush bed, taking the heavy duvet with her. The cool morning air streamed through the open window, blowing through her tresses that felt like fine threads of silk thanks to Elsu’s conditioners. Around the teal drapes she watched the people below, mesmerized. There were several Nymphs pruning rosebushes, while Fae made their way to or from the large, southern bathhouse. Sassa’s muscles ached with longing. Elsu hadn’t returned to their chambers since their fight, which meant she couldn’t go to the spring without him. Their chambers. The words had come so easily. This was Elsu’s rooms, not hers, she reminded herself. One moment she was soaring in luxury and the next she plunged back to reality. Her eyes scanned the beautiful roses and she yearned to smell their fragrances and enjoy the fresh morning air. She imagined herself strolling through the gardens freely, taking baths beneath the starry skies without fear of being apprehended. The bathhouse’s glass roof shone brightly in the sunlight now, beckoning her. Pressed against the greenery was a boy that resembled Elsu and a girl with curly golden hair. They huddled their heads close and Sassa wondered what they were saying, wishing she could talk with them or anyone besides Elsu for that matter.

She sighed, easing onto the pillows, her head sinking like a stone in the feathers. Every time she felt she couldn’t leave Avundrui Manor, something reminded her she must, freedom. Freedom to travel, live, exist, maybe even love? The thought crossed her mind the more she observed the complexities of Fae society as opposed to the mundanity of the Humans. She’d seen strong Fae females wandering around the gardens alone, or snuggled with company in fine gowns, whispering, laughing. She saw them spar and garden, in sleek suits, tresses tied. They played instruments, danced and painted. They had options she craved but would never have, not here. The realization struck her hard each time she gazed out the window. No amount of chocolate, warm duvets, hair and body oils or silk robes would change that. She thought of her mother. Had she too been desperate to society, to be one of those ladies? Was that why she’d abandoned Sassa in Vădăstriya, hoping the Humans would give her daughter a chance as a partial Fae? She blinked away the burning tears welling in her eyes. She’d never know. Sassa eased off the bed and into her slippers, well, Elsu’s slippers three sizes too big. She stumbled to his wardrobe, running her fingers through the fine fabrics. She’d taken to trying them on, pretending to be a lady. Shrugging into one of Elsu’s pale silver robes, she gazed at her reflection in the vanity’s mirror, studying the navy-blue strands that fell around her shoulders, the bright fire burst that were her irises. Two words came to mind, not Fae. She thought of Elsu’s earlier remarks, that her dream land of freedom didn’t exist. She heard his cruel laugh ringing in her ears when she said she’d create her own with only two pouches of gold. Sassa wanted to prove him wrong, yet staying was easier. This world already existed, the rules, limitations and possibilities were set, but the easiness of it all didn’t quench her desire for more. The door creaked, jarring her from her thoughts. She’d barely had time to scramble inside the wardrobe before Elsu burst in. “My brilliance is exemplary,” he sang. Sassa peeked between the cracks in the wardrobe’s double doors, squashed against the heavy robes. A sigh escaped her. She could’ve sworn he wasn't alone. There were footsteps beside him, but they were fading down the hall.

“Get out of there. You’ll make it musty.” She jumped down, ready to argue that he hadn’t taken her to the baths in days when suddenly she found herself speechless. He stood in front of the tall narrow window, the sunlight bathing him in gold. His robe was elaborate, flashing green, teal, and lilac all at once. Embroidered roses covered the lower half of the garment, trailing down the long train that ended several feet behind him. Two roses draped across his broad shoulders, their thorny stems flowing over his chest. The silvery thread of each stitch was like a wisp of moonlight. His skin, illuminated in the sun, glowed an even fiercer copper. He turned to her, a smirk playing on his lips that soon split into a devilish grin, his white teeth gleaming. A gentle breeze filtered through the open pane, rustling his inky tresses that seemed to float around his face in slow motion, as glossy and smooth as glass. Warmth flooded her cheeks as their eyes met and she could kick herself for it. Elsu was undeniably beautiful, but as he stood there shining, silver, gold and copper all at once, he was breathtaking, and he knew it. “A natural reaction,” his smile broadened. “I can feel your heat rising from here, practically searing my flesh.” Cockiness aside, she was relieved to see him in a better mood. “How is your brilliance exemplary? I take it you’ve finally thought of a plan after going missing for three days?” “My presence was missed then?” he smirked but didn’t wait for a response. “I was in the library doing research. I need to get you onto The Academy’s grounds with all the art supplies: brushes, titania, cotton and wysteria canvas, even charcoal. The problem is they’ll search my carriage and person so I cannot take anything with me. I thought of leaving you in the forest beforehand, but it's patrolled by dozens of guards. That aside, my fate would be entirely up to you not being caught, finding me, and mimicking my motions from a distance. Impossible.” He moved to the large mirror and ired his reflection. Sassa noticed an unfinished rose by his ribs, loose threads hanging around the edges, its center stiff and white. “Is that,” she paused, “wysteria canvas?”

He nodded. “I realized the only way would be to carry you with me. In here.” He patted the massive bare rose. “I had the Nymphs use it for backing, although they aren’t privy to that fact. They’ve never seen raw wysteria nor held it. It’s far too precious and they wouldn’t dream I’d give them such a sizeable portion to destroy.” Sassa’s eyes found the hanging threads, her throat going dry. “You’re stitching me inside? B-but the exams are three days! Plus the time it takes to travel there and back.” “So?” “So, how’s that going to work? Besides, won’t it be obvious that someone’s inside? My weight alone will drag the fabric down.” “Don’t be ridiculous. You know portals are just entryways into the abyss, a weightless chamber.” “But this is a grounded portrait.” “No difference.” Elsu shrugged. “A grounded portal means it’s not connected to the abyss as it has no twin. What’s painted on the fabric appears inside a small chamber. As it’s blank, the interior will be an empty room. Just like a regular portal, your presence has no effect on the canvas.” He sighed at her frown. “I’ll show you.” “No.” “There’s no other way. We leave at dawn and the guest will see the carriages off. I can’t leave with my robe unfinished nor take the embroiderer with me. The Nymphs are already suspicious by my insistence to try it on now. I had to rip it from their fingers.” “Five days,” she ground out. “I’m not full Fae.” “Clearly.” “I doubt I can make it that long without water to drink.” “I’ll splash some over the threads. You can suck on them.”

“What happens when I need to relieve myself?” she asked incredulously. His eyes dropped to her old boots in the corner. Shoes was a loose word. They were leather sacks bound about the ankles with rope. “Those can double as bags, can’t they?” He tilted his head. “If you don’t mind carrying around the stench,” she snorted, but he seemed unconcerned, iring his sleeves. “Besides, if Fae can hide in portraits, won’t The Academy be aware of that? Your exemplary brilliance can’t be the first to think of it.” “Wysteria is so rare that they’ll find it improbable. Noble houses barely get a hold of it, much less enough to waste on clothing. Embroidery is common and the threads will obscure it. Even if it’s noticed, it’ll as backing as I’ve bleached and thinned it. The thread I’ve chosen is translucent, you can see through it somewhat.” “What about the art supplies? You said items aren’t transportable via portals or portraits.” “But worn clothing is.” “Not its contents.” Elsu nodded again. “The pockets will empty, leaving things behind, even earrings, rings and other adornments. When the Fae forefathers placed restrictive magic upon all wysteria plants, most people didn’t wear jewelry.” Sassa frowned. “So, what’s the solution? Painting on the canvas so the items appear within? Like a grounded portal?” “It’s too risky. If they peak through the threads, the colors will shine through unless you paint everything in white. Except, you’re a terrible Illustrator. , for something to be functional, it must be painstakingly, anatomically correct. Then there’s the issue of titania and wysteria. Fae cannot manifest them, not even in the confines of a grounded portrait.” He moved to an armchair where he’d draped a plain robe. Sassa assumed it was his under robes, but as he held it up, she knew it wasn’t. It was far too small and

poorly constructed as if Elsu had sewn it himself. “I sewed it myself.” He smiled proudly, twirling the garment so she could view the back. It was full of patches, bustles of what looked like Fae hairs covering half the fabric. “It’s the last of the wysteria. You’ll use it during Illustration. It falls apart, giving you six pieces of canvas already stained with imprimatura. I don’t know how many Illustrations they’ll want, but six should suffice.” “And the hairs?” “The magic mistakes sable strands as Fae hair. You must use the threads from the garments to bind them into makeshift brushes. Look, the buttons double as handles.” So, they did, albeit very short ones. “If wysteria is rare, where did you get it?” she asked, taking the garment and pulling it over her shoulders. She studied herself in the mirror, then Elsu. She looked like a peasant beside nobility. Well, she was, but seeing them together presented her with the visual reality of their strange relationship. “If we win an ore, I’ll receive a wysteria roll. I’ll replace it with this one,” he said, not meeting her gaze. “Where? Where would such a roll be unguarded? How could you take it with no one noticing?” “Must you always ask so many questions?” “It’s how one learns. Wasn’t it you who asked why I wanted to remain ignorant?” He scowled but obliged, “From the Avundrui vault. My vault in particular. The Academy gifts each noble Fae with a roll at birth. We use it for portraits when we cross over, allowing a small portion of ourselves to live on forever. It’s sacred.” Sassa looked at her ill mended garment. “And you destroyed it for this?” “Yes.” His eyes were glossy, but he blinked and turned from her.

“Why is this test so important, Elsu?” “I told you, it’s an honor.” “But these lengths you’re going through—” “What does it matter? You want your coins and I need to this exam.” He avoided the question at every turn. “What about the titania then?” Her eyes drifted to the small bowl of powder sitting on the desk beside dozens of rose sketches. She’d duplicated the plant well during his absence. Her proportions were far more realistic, the petals actually resembled petals now. His expression grew grim. “That’s what I’ve been researching. Merchants have been trying to find clever ways to smuggle goods for centuries. Placing objects in their hair, sewing them into the hems and seams of their clothing, wedging items between their toes and even concealing them in their mouths and other cavities. It never works. But they discovered one way to accomplish it.” “So?” He hesitated. “Stomach contents weren’t left behind.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of pellets. Large and oval, they were covered in translucent casings like sausages. Like titania and pigment filled sausages. Sassa’s eyes snapped to his, her eyebrows flying up in disbelief. “I have to swallow it? You can’t be serious.” “It’s the only way,” Elsu echoed. “You must regurgitate them after portal walking. If you do it before, the pellets will vanish when I go through the portals, but you won’t because you’re Hallowed. The casings should protect the contents from your stomach acid long enough for you to bring them up after.” “Absolutely not.” She shook her head furiously. “You must,” Elsu said, voice grave. “I’ve tried everything. Nothing else has worked.” “And how do you know this will?”

“I told you, I’ve researched—” “But did you test it?” “What?” “Did you eat these turds and force them back up?” she asked. “If not, then you’re just taking these merchants at their word.” “Why would they lie and record it? There are records of them doing this.” “And dying too, I’d think.” “Titania isn’t poisonous, and the casing will make it easy to swallow and regurgitate. Jagged gems not so much.” She eyed the pellets. “That simple, huh?” He nodded. “Good. You try it then.” “What?” “Swallow one first, walk into the portrait, then spit it out. If it’s still there, I’ll do it.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why should I? I thought of it.” “And it may not work. You’re asking me to ingest not one, but over twenty. The least you can do is test it.” “I’m paying you handsomely. It’s not my job to be a tester.” “Thank you for reminding me you aren’t giving me enough. I want an extra copper per pellet and I’m still not swallowing it first.” “I will not give you more coppers,” he huffed. She crossed her arms. She wouldn’t back down, nor keep quiet the way she used to with Bagard. “I guess we’ll have to see who’s desperate enough. I can return

to the forests, but something tells me this test is far more important than you let on,” she eyed the makeshift robe, “especially if you’re willing to go through all of this.” “You can’t make the amount of coins I’m paying you out there,” he shook his head. “It’s the deal of a lifetime.” “As is my ing this exam for you.” He snorted. “You’re so confident that you can?” He marched over to the desk and picked up one of her many sketches. The insult was already on his tongue, his lips opening to spew it, but he quickly sealed them. He stared at the rose, the latest one she’d drawn with glossy eyes. A breath escaped him, his shoulders relaxed. “This is good,” he said without a hint of jest. “This might work.” Without a second’s hesitation, he placed a pellet into his mouth and swallowed. Sassa gasped. She hadn’t thought he’d do it. Standing, he removed his coat and hung it on the wardrobe’s open door before stepping into the canvas and disappearing as if he’d squeezed through a narrow doorway. He was right, she couldn’t see a hint of his shadow inside. Following behind him, Sassa landed in a plain room with white walls, all but the one before them that showed a view of Elsu’s chambers. Elsu’s fingers were at his lips, his eyes cutting to her in annoyance. “May I have some privacy?” “We share a bedchamber.” She cocked her head. “What’s there that I haven’t seen?” “Yet you desire to see more. You cannot control yourself, can you?” “Are you doing it or not?” She tapped her foot impatiently. Sticking a finger down his throat, he brought up the pellet easily and thankfully not with anything else. Still Sassa couldn’t help but cringe at the choked sound that escaped him. Contorting her stomach, it made her think of the near thirty times she’d have to do the same. Then, she thought of the coin pouches awaiting

her, the open sea, the world. She’d done worse things, she reasoned, watching Elsu’s devilish grin spread in triumph. “I haven’t eaten or drank in days,” he said, eyeing the titania pellet. “You, however, eat hand over fist. I’d skip meals today. It’ll burn like hellfire, but the alternative is worse, living in your own vomit for almost a week.” He dropped the pellet on the ground, disgust crossing his features as he wiped his palms on his under robes. “I’ve changed some into pigment, the colors you constantly get wrong, but the titania’s nearly gone, and I couldn’t risk changing it all in case the Masters call a color I didn’t think of.” She stared, examining him intently. “Your gawking is becoming embarrassing, Sassa.” He whirled, moving toward the narrow portal entrance. “But I’ll allow it for a little longer as we wash in the bathhouse. It’s almost time for our departure.”

Chapter Fourteen

Lux

Lux sat on his shins on the window seat, his forehead pressed against the cool glass pane. His breaths were shallow, each inhale burning, each exhale scorching. He squeezed a hand against his quivering lips, stifling a moan of anguish. His stomach contents churned no matter how still he was, and he’d been frozen in pain for hours. Hiems had forced him to take another dose of Nigcatus maiorum before embarking for Marmor Manor the previous morning, unsure if its effects would weaken. He wasn’t wrong. After Quieter and Louder had shown Lux the vision of the dying forest, they’d eased to the recesses of his mind. For once they were giving him the space to reflect. They wanted him to think, to eat his thoughts and devour them, devour him, yet they would not offer their reasoning. What did they want? A body, but why? He shifted against better judgement, the potion swishing in his stomach, a puff of black smoke escaping his lips. In front of Os he hid the pain, not wanting his grandfather to gloat at his wimpiness. Don’t feed the beast. Don’t feed the beast, he’d chanted, biting his burned tongue. Somehow he managed, creating manifestations of plants, fruits and saplings to Os’ contentment, or so he assumed. The Count showed no signs of surprise or satisfaction at Lux’s newly acquired skills. The door creaked open, but he didn’t bother to turn around. It was Nix. He knew from the clicks of her heeled bedroom slippers, the swish of her many layered night robes. “Lux?” She shut the door behind her. “Are you alright? I heard you from down the hall.”

Were his moans that loud? Then again, his mother never seemed to sleep. It was as if she floated beneath the surface of consciousness, forever tormented by something that wouldn’t give her peace. She looked haunted, the only color on her face was the gray skin under her eyes. “Fine,” he said as his mind screamed, I’m not. He kept his gaze ahead, watching the trees of the surrounding forest sway in the cool night breeze. “Sorry I didn’t come sooner.” She lowered her voice, sitting beside him. “Father said not to disturb you, but he told me you manifested.” Lux searched her eyes that shone in the moonlight filtering through the pane. Her lips lifted in a tired grin, her boney fingers reaching out to touch his arm. “Did he tell you how I’m able to manifest now?” His tone was bitter, accusatory. Her smile faltered as she pulled away, dropping her hand limply into her lap. “He didn’t go into specifics.” Her gaze trailed to the table where the decanter stood in plain view, its contents as full as the first night Madam had brought it. “When did he tell you about the Nigcatus maiorum?” “W-what?” “Did Os mention the potion before I left, while I was gone, or once I returned home?” “Before,” she mumbled, a hand reaching to stroke her pinned white hair. “Yet you didn’t warn me. You were okay with it so long as I could manifest?” “It’s what we needed for our House, for Albens. You must understand that, or you wouldn’t have drank.” “From Os, it’s unsurprising, but you?” Lux shook his head in disbelief. “Before we came here, I used to know you. I knew what you stood for, and it wasn’t black magic.” “Shh!” Her eyes widened, searching the drapes, ceiling and darting beneath the door as if expecting someone to pop out of hiding. “Don’t use those words in

this house.” “What shall we call it then?” he bit out. “That,” she hissed, “is for malicious purposes. There’s nothing dark about helping your country. It’s simply magic used for the greater good Lux. Sometimes we must suffer for the sake of others.” “Os doesn’t care about other people. He cares about his rule and reputation. What do you think he will use the titania ore for? Mater? Crops? The forest? Or hoarded for more aesthetic restoration attempts? Things that outsiders may see yet benefits Albenians nothing.” “How can you utter such nonsense?” Nix recoiled. “You’re wrong—” “Am I?” “Yes! You don’t know Father at all. Look at the risk he’s taken.” She nodded toward the Nigcatus maiorum, still swirling within the glass. “Would someone who didn’t care risk the courts finding out about this? Risk his rule that you say is the only thing he cares about?” Lux released a breath but remained quiet. “Your grandfather bleeds himself dry for his people, or have you forgotten? He was the first person you bled, squeezing every drop from his flesh, from his blood. He used that pigment for the apple orchids, the food fields that kept us fed all winter.” “That red didn’t come from his blood.” Nix’s eyes snapped to his. “Of course, it did, I was there—” “You weren’t inside the chamber with us. Niveii was my first victim.” Lux’s voice quavered at the memory. “That red came from her hair.” “D-don’t be absurd,” Nix stuttered. “Niveii was just a babe in the nursery...” “Os brought her through the eastern entrance of the drawing room. You were waiting outside the western door.”

“You couldn’t control your ability then, you nearly killed people when you touched them,” she paused, shaking her head, her eyes searching the floor for invisible answers. “Father wouldn’t have used Niveii as—” “A test rat?” Lux offered. “He wasn’t about to sacrifice himself and his rule first.”

“He would’ve used a Nymph, a Human, a—”

“He doesn’t care about me nor Niveii. To him she’s no different from the lesser races,” Lux said exasperated, clutching his churning stomach. “She was a potential Illustrator, that makes little sense.” “By then he realized she wouldn’t manifest. You lied to him. Our father isn’t an Illustrator, is he? Much less a Permanence one.” Silence. She was always silent, and it was infuriating. “If Os made you bleed Niveii first, it must’ve been for a reason,” she said finally. He shoved off the pane, glaring daggers. “How dare you say such a thing about your only daughter,” he hissed, ignoring his roiling stomach. “My sister?” “Father always has a reason. When I was your age, I didn’t understand him, but I do now.” “He has no reason! He could’ve killed her!” His voice broke, angry tears threatening to fall. “I could’ve killed her.” Nix tore her eyes away from his. “I didn’t know what was happening in that room,” she persisted, infuriating him further. “Niveii was a babe. Did you not see your own child in weeks? Months? Years? Did you not hear her cries or mine? How did you not notice?”

“When we arrived at Marmor Manor I was on eggshells, Lux, struggling to keep you and your sister with the nanny, hidden and quiet. I—” she choked, taking several seconds before continuing on, “Your grandfather has sacrificed so much for us, I was afraid he would change his mind and throw us out if I became too involved in your lessons.” “Sacrifice? What about my and Niveii’s sacrifice? Are you forgetting that Niveii’s torture was my own when Os forced me to continue bleeding her for days? When you force me to bleed people now?” “That’s what being highborn is, thankless servitude. Your grandfather knows it well. He used his inheritance fund to secure a marriage with the last of Nyall’s Permanence Illustrators, your grandmother. She had little prospects as her parents weren’t gifted and the other Permanence Manors wouldn’t chance sullying their blood. Father was desperate to improve our bloodline, and the dying country was destitute enough to take the coin. When she produced an Impermanence daughter, me, and transitioned before she could bear another babe, Father was devastated. When I came of age, he drained the treasury, almost bankrupting Albens to wed me to a Permanence Illustrator from Zzarlziqa. But I was too selfish to care about my people, to understand his vision. Instead, I ran off abandoning my country, and had you and Niveii.” “Your biggest regrets?” It wasn’t a question. “I could never regret either of you, although I regret the circumstance. It’s why I returned. To make things right. That was my sacrifice.” “Returning to a mansion,” he snarked. “Where we are needed.” “But not wanted.” “Your grandfather loves us.” She lifted her chin. “That’s why he let us stay, after everything I’d done.” “Why did you return? What changed?” Her jaw was set, her pale eyes stony and impenetrable.

“Why can’t I anything? Anyone?” It was the third time he’d asked, and this time was no different. She thinned her lips as silence stretched between them. What had happened with his father that she took him and Niveii and fled? Who was he and why was it a secret? Lux realized he’d get no answers from her. Something snapped within him. “Os doesn’t love you,” he bit out. “He let you return because he has no other heir nor choice.” “You’re wrong,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “She speaks.” Her gaze drifted out the window. “As a child, he doted on me hand and foot. I was his little princess in this manor, in these halls. I had everything I ever wanted.” “If that’s true, you wouldn’t have run away. Os adored you because he hoped you were a Permanence Illustrator. When he realized you weren’t, he demanded another baby, didn’t he? A replacement. Then your mother transitioned,” Lux guessed. Nix needn’t answer for the hurt contorting her face was clear even in the dark. “Os’ love is conditional, and you don’t fit the condition. None of us do.” She released a breath, her thin shoulders shaking. “I know you don’t see it as love, but it is. Father loves this country, our country. He’s stressed and I’ve caused much of it, but we can make it right together, Lux. Albens needs an ore, and now you can procure it. We left one dead home, I’d hate to leave another.” What did that even mean? He didn’t waste his breath to ask. The skyline was brightening from navy to azure, lightening Nix’s features. The tiredness in her expression was alarming. Fae always looked youthful, but her secrets were aging her. Outside the northern windows of his chambers, he saw the Marmor carriage being prepared by the fieldhands. Made of smoked glass, it stood twinkling in the rising sunlight. The undercarriage was matte black, courtesy of Hiems’

grandnephew’s hair, as was the black and gray ombre infused into the bottom half of Lux’s coat. It hung over an armchair near his bed, large white embroidered birds encircling the train and sleeves. He wasn’t worthy to wear it, yet he couldn’t let the garment sit in vain as extracted pigments were irreplaceable in people. Visions of a desolate Albens flashed before his eyes. The spirit’s said it was a mere possibility, to Lux it seemed far too real. Os had wasted the child’s inky hair for clothing and the carriage. He used Albens last ore to repair Marmor Manor that no one visited yet was a massive staple on the elevated landscape, visible from overseas. He used Fae extracts for portraits of distant relatives who had the same outdated, useless mentality as when they were alive. Perhaps Quieter and Louder were right. Albenians deserved a better leader to handle the titania. “When you leave in that carriage, you’ll take the townspeople’s hopes and dreams with you,” Nix said watching the field hands. “Returning an Illustrator with titania will turn those dreams into reality. They’ll rest easy then.” Albens needed more than an ore. They required a mine. “For a while,” Lux said. Nix sighed, getting to her feet. “Your departure is in a few hours, try to sleep.” She squeezed his shoulder as she ed, shutting the door behind her with a click. A noise drew his eye to the painting hanging over his bed, a vibrant portrait of a sprawling garden. It was the only item of color in his room. Hydrangeas of periwinkle, magenta and violet wove themselves along a curved path that snaked into a lush green forest. A brook ran alongside the flowerbed, clear and audible as if someone were wading inside of it. No, drinking from it. “Come out, Veii,” Lux said. It was a portal, a grounded one where what appeared on the canvas was visible in the portal itself. Its twin stood over Niveii’s bed. She often hid inside, spying on him or pretending the painted forest was real. She still hadn’t mastered the art of floating, walking so lightly one’s footsteps were inaudible, even to Fae ears. He always heard her approach, though he usually ignored it. But as he rose, the

slurping intensified, and it was not Niveii drinking. “OUT!” A dark spot appeared first, then a hole, no, two, and they were...quivering. Lux barely had time to shield his face when Nine’s large muzzle surged through the portrait. His black lips curled into a sheepish grin, slobber splashing onto Lux’s sleeve. “Nine!” He stared incredulously, stroking the black nose as it sniffed his hand before releasing a huff of warm breath. “What are you...how did you?” It was impossible. Only Hallowed Fae could portal-walk, yet there was no mistaking Nine’s slobbering snout. How had he gotten in? “Get out here, Veii, now.” “Why? Are you crossed with me?” Niveii’s disembodied head appeared above Nine’s snout, her colorless strands dangling like a thick curtain. “I should be after your joy ride through the forest, but I’m more perplexed how you got Nine in that portrait.” Niveii frowned, emerging fully from the painting. She was tall and willowy, swathed in a puffy white dress she’d fashioned from one of his older robes. She’d been looking to the Southerners for fashion inspiration, her neck far too exposed. At least she removed her boots as she stepped onto his pillows, something she often forgot. But her state of dress wasn’t why he stared. In her arms was a bushel of lilac azaleas, ones from the portrait. “Where did you get those flowers?” “I’m not too sure,” she said, her large silver eyes full of lies as she stroked Nine’s snout. She always skirted the truth. “Niveii,” he persisted, still gawking at Nine. “How did you do that?” “Do what?” “Get him in the portal?” he snapped, climbing onto the bed and stepping into the

portrait. Nine was scrunched in the scenery, unable to wag his tails in excitement as Lux approached. Then, seemingly affronted, Nine stiffened, sealing his lips. His eyes, as large as saucers, grew wider as he tried to shrink away. “What’s wrong with you?” Lux asked. The beast whimpered. “He doesn’t like that potion, nor those voices in your head,” Niveii said, coming into the portal. Lux froze, his eyes darting to the decanter. “Have you been spying on me again? You’re nearly fifteen hundred years yet you act nine hundred.” Nine whined. “Not you.” “You were screaming all night,” she said indignantly. “It was impossible not to peek. Besides, Nine kept whining by my window and I wondered why he didn’t go to yours. That’s when we saw that black liquid on your dresser. Nine doesn’t like it, nor the Lele sorceress that brought it.” “How do you know about her?” “We spotted her in the forest. Nine chased her, but she kept vanishing, toying with us.” “And the voices?” “I can hear them.” She shrugged. “How?” Hiems claimed he couldn’t. “I told you before,” she said simply. “It’s like we share a soul.” Soul keeper. The words sounded so familiar and now he knew why. Niveii was convinced that they were extensions of the same person, a three-century extension, but one she insisted upon, nevertheless. Lately, Lux was more inclined

to believe her. Nine cried again, shaking him from his thoughts. “Give me the flowers.” “Why? Will you bleed them for me?” He ignored her. “You brought them into my room, but that’s not possible.” She looked at the bushel in her hands quizzically. “You cannot take things out of portraits, nor portals.” Unlike Erasure, he’d never heard of a power like this. It should be impossible, yet Niveii seemed unconcerned.

“You can’t?”

“It’s the first Law of Three. We cannot take anything into nor out of a portal or portrait. You cannot manifest wysteria nor titania. You cannot manifest a person. Don’t you pay attention in lessons? The ones you actually attend?” “No.” She shook her head, lifting the flowers. “Bleed them for me, will you? I want purple lips.” Taking the bushel, he stepped back into his room. The flowers disappeared. Niveii followed a second later, azaleas in hand. Lux took them from her and tried to replace them in the portrait. He couldn’t. His eyes turned to Niveii in wonderment. “Come Nine,” he called, and the canvas stretched toward them before going flat again. Nine whined. “Call him.” Instead of speaking, Niveii let out a low moan, not Fae-like, but beastly. She had a knack for imitating the creatures of the forest. Her calls were so convincing that she constantly played pranks on the guards, startling them.

Nine tried and failed. “Niveii, when Nine’s snout appeared over my bed, were you touching him?” “Yes, why?” “That means he can’t portal-walk on his own. I can’t take him out or put him in, just like I couldn’t replace the flowers, but you can.” She seemed unimpressed. “I think he’s stuck,” she said. “How are we going to get him out? I tried pulling, but he’s far too big.” Nine whined. Lux shook his head. “You don’t understand what this means.” She lifted the flowers toward him persistently, and he grabbed them in irritation. Taking them to his vanity, he bled them over an empty mortar, throwing the now blanched petals into the rubbish bin. She sat on the stool, opening his draw and searching for powder to create a paste. When she had, she reached for a brush. “If you use a sable hair, it’ll last a half century,” he said, snatching it from her grasp. “If you want it to wash off, you must use a swallow hair instead.” He opened another drawer and handed her a thicker brush. “I wouldn’t mind lilac lips for a half century,” she pouted. He squeezed his eyes shut. “How can you explain to Mother where you got the color from? No purple cosmetic exists in Albens as there is no purple in Albens. That reminds me.” He opened a third draw and pulled out a vial of bled boysenberries, the few Hiems hadn’t picked. “An early birthday gift.” “Thank you!” she gasped, clutching the vile and strangling his neck with her free arm. “But couldn’t I show mother how I got the color from the painting? Maybe she’d like some too.” “No!” He cupped her face so hard it looked deformed. He shook her head. “Veii, listen to me. We can’t tell anyone about your gift, not yet.” “Why?”

“Because nothing good comes from abnormal gifts around here.” She never needed convincing. “Ok,” she said, dabbing the swallow hair into the purple paste. “You can’t wear this except in your chambers. No one can see it.” “And in your rooms,” She pointed out, swiping the brush across her lips. “Niveii.” He stood behind her peering at her reflection. “Do you know what this means?” “I can have all the lip colors I want now?” “No, it means you’re extraordinary.” “Of course, I am, because you are, and you are because I am.” She stared at him with such earnestness, his eyes burned with unshed tears. She reached for his face and squished his cheek against hers. After a long pause, he pulled away. “Niveii?” Lux whispered. “When you say our souls are connected, do you mean literally? Or is it just an emotion you feel?” It sounded insane. “I feel you like I feel this talon—faintly.” She held up a finger. “But when it's injured, its presence amplifies. When you do something drastic, it consumes my entire being, like yesterday when you drank that vile potion again.” Lux’s eyes widened. “Why don’t I feel those things from you?” “Because I don’t consume demented drinks,” she said without a hint of humor. “What do you feel from me?” Lux thought. “Happiness. Liveliness. You can manipulate my mood for the better. It’s impossible to stay sad if you’re around.” Niveii smiled. “See, you feel it too.” “We’re soul-tied,” he said, stunned, “but I think I’m only tethered to you. I’ve bled thousands, but I don’t have a connection with them.” “Maybe because we’re siblings.”

“No, I think it’s because you’re the first person I drained entirely, and I guess I took a large part of your soul with it.” Niveii looked perplexed. “Isn’t that Os?” Lux shook his head. “I saw a vision of it. You had red hair then.” “Really?” She brightened. “What color was yours?” Was his hair ever colored? He hadn’t thought of it before. “Silver.” “Hmm, good.” “Why?” “Because now we look even more alike. But why would Os jog your consciousness after all these foggy years? And why a memory of you bleeding me?” “You're my favorite person. Os knows the immense guilt I’d have if I ed what I’d done. He was guilting me into drinking the potion, into manifesting and winning an ore to return Albens to its former state. That aside, having a non-gifted heir isn’t just frowned upon, it sullies the Marmor name. More than the ore, Os wants me to feign being an Illustrator. It’s all he’s ever cared about, titles and appearances.” “Albens’ appearance is his fault. He’s the one that forced you to bleed it dry!” Niveii said incredulously. “You were just a child.” “I’m not a child anymore, but I still do it.” “Lux—” “I’m sorry I did that to you, Niveii,” he interrupted, his eyes finding hers and holding her gaze steadily. “Child or not.” “I’m not.” She placed a hand on his arm. “We’re bonded now.” “That’s another thing. If a portion of your soul is attached to mine, what about the others? Where have those soul fragments gone?”

“Into the abyss? Like in portals.” Niveii shrugged. “Do you think they can be retrieved?” “No. Perhaps they can regrow.” “How?” “With faith and hope.” “Where are you going to find those around here?” she asked seriously. “In an ore.” It was quiet for a long while. “Lux? If you won the titania, do you suppose I’d have a debut?” Her eyes fell to her fingers. “I know it’s silly, but if Os restored the city, do you think it’d be possible?” “You’ll have a ball, although there may only be two guests.” “Lux and Niveii?” He nodded. “Good, I was worried they wouldn’t show.” She smiled solemnly. “It won’t always be like this.” She looked as unconvinced as he felt. The sun was rising rapidly. It was almost time. “I have to get dressed.” He could hear servants entering the hall. “Fetch Nine some fish from the stream, trail them through the portrait into your bedroom and hold on to him. If that doesn’t force him out, nothing can.” She sighed. “I wish I could leave too. I wish we could make our own kingdom somewhere else.” Lux paused. “Who would want to live in a realm of nothingness with only you

and me? The Bleeder and the...Extractor.” Niveii climbed onto the bed, her heels digging into his pillows. “Maybe people just like us?” she offered, before disappearing into the portal.

* * *

Lux’s march to the carriage felt like an eternity. Perched on the front steps was Nix, Os and Niveii. His mother watched him with hope-filled eyes, and Os with a look of thinly concealed contempt. Something was drastically different about the older Fae. He appeared normal. Cosmetics covered his face, mimicking a healthy hue, while gloves and a high collared robe shielded the rest of him. Nix had dabbed rouge onto Lux’s cheeks too, but he’d bled it off. He’d looked like a rosy-cheeked child. White-haired Albenians flanked the winding cobblestone road, mandated to watch his departure. They did so with pale, expressionless eyes. There was no hope or even hatred in his people, merely obligation. Whatever faith they’d held wasn’t just dying like the surrounding country; it was already dead. The only adoring look came from Niveii, who’d wiped the lipstick from her lips but not her teeth. As the coachmen steered the steeds away from the manor, Nymphs blasély threw white, withering petals at the carriage, a gesture that dampened the mood further. Hiems, Nix and Os were right. Albenians deserved an ore, and Lux would give it to them. In the recess of his mind, however, a voice screamed how insufficient one ore would be and how inadequate Os was.

Chapter Fifteen

Elsu

The Academy loomed dark upon the forested landscape, perched high atop a lush green hill. The polished stone walls gleamed in the strong sunlight, the onyx peaks of the multi-leveled roof piercing the clear blue sky. Four stories tall, the massive building spanned half the width of Avundrui Manor, the smoked windows blocking views of the interior. Elsu stared transfixed as his carriage rode around a slope and over the cobblestones that stretched into a large patio. Fae covered the grounds, their House allegiances clear by the coloring of their robes. As Elsu’s coach veered left, it byed the Zzarlziqans. They were dark-skinned people ranging from deep carob to skin so black it shone blue. Swathed in a sea of plums and golds, their commoners were the fanciest by far with arms covered to the elbows in the yellow metal. Lord Kohl should be amongst them. All four Manor Houses had offspring of nineteen hundred years. Noble births were a domino effect in case a foreign match was ever necessary. Mingling with the Southerners was a smaller group from the Somerset Isles. Seren’s carriage was at their center, a sleek oval of mother-of-pearl that glimmered iridescently in the sun. Beside it she shone even brighter in the heavy gem encrusted veil, lavishing in the commoner’s iration. Like Seren, they too held much ancestry from the North, their irises like their clothing were shades of bluish green that followed Elsu’s coach as he ed. If his stomach hadn’t fallen into his bowels, he’d be grinning at the attention. The commoners were gawking, shielding their eyes from the glare of his carriage. Its bottom half was carved sterling silver roses while the top was pure glass. Through it, the sunlight roasted him mercilessly.

Nervously, he ran a hand over the largest flower on his robe, Sassa’s rose. It’d been a full day since she was stitched inside, and he wondered if she was still conscious. He’d slept for most of the journey, finally succumbing to the tiredness he’d felt for weeks. But he needed the halfling awake now. “Sassa?” he whispered. Silence. “Yes?” came her delayed reply, soft and sleepy as he’d expected. “We’re here,” he said as the carriage pulled into a vacant spot adjacent to the Northerners. Hidden amongst them was Dei, the tip of his pale blue coach just visible over their fair heads. Ísvaldarians stood taller than most, their robes the bright colors of the ice glaciers that surrounded their home. “I won’t be able to speak to you again. Not until after testing. We cannot risk it.” “I know,” she said, her voice muffled. Elsu’s eyes darted to the hundreds of black steps that led to The Academy’s giant double doors, his heart quickening its pace. “It’s a long time, three days. You must be quiet at all times. Only relieve yourself when tests have finished for the day.” “I know.” “Hold in your stomach pains, your burps, your farts—” “I know, Elsu,” she snapped. “Will you be alright without water and food for so long?” The question caught her off guard, for silence lingered between them. When had he ever asked about her wellbeing? Then again, when had it mattered before? He needed her well now to , to return to Avundruill a success. “No,” she said finally. “But I’ll manage. The coins and sea await me.” His innards twisted at the thought. He couldn’t let Sassa go, at least not as soon

as she’d expected. An image of Guzuriim the Dwarf King flashed before his eyes, as did a thousand copper faces of his people as they surrounded his carriage now. They needed her; he needed her far beyond ing the entrance exams. For now though, he just needed her to win them that ore. He didn’t respond as the footman opened his door. Like a rippling tide, the Avundrian commoners, dressed in lustrous silver robes, bowed as he descended. Their adoration was overwhelming, yet he didn’t want it to dull as it had on Nodin if he failed. He felt worse for thinking it. He nodded in return as the tightness in his chest spread to his lips that sealed themselves. If only they knew how desperately he wished one amongst them could Illustrate. He hadn’t long to fake a smile, for their dark gazes left him as another carriage barreled down the cobblestones. Like Elsu’s it was mostly glass, though smoked like The Academy’s windows, the underside a glistening black metal. The beasts that pulled it were milk white, their eyes pure silver orbs. When since did horses have fair irises? Leading the way was a three-line procession of Fae, deathly pale with eyes and hair to match, their complexions in rivalry with the bright white of their robes. Albenians. The crowd hushed at the sight of the newcomers, but there was no gleam of adoration or glares of jealousy in anyone’s gaze. Elsu had to it that they appeared otherworldly, if nothing else. The carriage halted and a boy as tall as Dei emerged. He was unnaturally pale like his people, his hair strands of moonlight, his eyes pools of it. His noir robe was embroidered with pearlescent white cranes, House Marmor’s sigil. The boy ignored everyone, focusing on The Academy’s steps instead. The enormous front doors had opened and out poured over fifty Fae dressed in plain robes of black, cobalt and emerald. Three Fae in green stepped forward, but the shortest descended the dark steps alone. The fun of arrivals was over. It was difficult to tell a Fae’s correct age as their bodies remained youthful, but the length of their slow growing hair was an excellent indication. For the Southerners and Islers whose manes coiled or waved distorting the length, it was far trickier, but the short Fae’s tresses were pin-straight, steel-gray and fell to his knees. Elsu tried to calculate the amount of centuries the process would take, but gave up shortly thereafter. He must be over seventy thousand years.

“I am Master Acrid, Master of Realism. To my left is Master Bern, Master of Color and my right Master Fryn, Master of Light and Shadow. There are many Masters at The Academy. If you prove yourself worthy by gaining ittance, you’ll have the luxury of meeting them later.” His voice was cutting, almost shrill. “Today we shall test and record the number of Illustrators, Hallowed, ungifted and their House affiliations. With every millennium manifestation dwindles, yet we hope the new generation can turn the tides. Testing will begin on the grounds, as The Academy’s walls cannot accommodate us all. The first round should decrease the count by half.” Murmuring erupted as faces scrunched with worry or widened with excitement. Nobles would already know if they were Illustrators, but the common populace, who hadn’t access to titania prior, would be surprised. Elsu struggled not to appear crestfallen. “Before we start carriages, beasts and footmen must leave,” said Master Acrid. “They cannot reenter the gates, but may linger until this evening’s eliminations, ready to escort the rejects to their respective lands or ports. You’ll keep nothing on your person besides the clothes on your back. Heed this warning, if you have any unsavory trinkets concealed in your hems, seams, pockets, I urge you to dispose of them now. The courts themselves will handle the consequences of such findings.” The rules had changed. According to Nodin, carriages could stay on the grounds. Not that it mattered, Elsu had hidden nothing in there. He resisted the impulse to pat his side and run his fingers over the threads of Sassa’s rose as his heart thundered in his ears. “Inspectors.” Behind Master Acrid, the Fae in cobalt descended the steps, lining themselves along the courtyard’s perimeter. Elsu allowed the wave of Avundruians to usher him safely aside as the carriages headed for the iron gates that creaked open. All around him robes rustled and swooshed as simple bracelets, buttons and pendants were discarded with a paranoid rush. He watched as his people pulled glass beads and gryphon feathers from their braids. There was nothing magical about them. “Nobles first,” said Master Acrid, hands clasped as he nodded toward the Fae in

blue. A hush fell over the group as thousands of eyes found Elsu, Dei, Seren, Khol and Marmor alike. Elsu lifted his chin, attempting to appear unfazed as the crowd split before them. Beside him, a tanned Fae draped in orange matched him step for step. His robes despite their vibrant color were plain, as was his wavy windblown hair. Next to Kohl, who flanked his other side, the boy looked like a peasant. Dei arched a brow. “Nobles first,” A blonde Inspector spat as the boy in orange stood before her. “My hearing is impeccable,” he said unfazed, his honey eyes drifting up to Master Acrid. “I am Kesor, from House Nyall.” The crowd gasped. “Nyall is no longer a Manor house,” the Inspector quipped. “It will be after the exams.” Another gasp. Master Acrid remained expressionless, his muddy brown irises fixed on Kesor who stared back at him intently. Then his eyes drifted to the Inspector, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod in approval. The Inspector bit her tongue, her hands raking over the orange fabric with more force than was necessary as she began her search. Elsu approached the closest Inspector, a red-haired male who did not bow. In fact, he said nothing at all, motioning for Elsu to open his arms before running his fingers along the material, touching every flower, seam and thread. He groped the patches, attempting to pry his talons beneath the edges to dislodge them. As he worked his way up to Sassa’s rose, Elsu tried to slow his erratic heartbeat with a soothing thought. The Inspector could hear it at this pace. He envisioned himself holding an ore, returning to Avundruill victorious. He dreamed of the treaty with the Dwarves being restored, giving them the gryphons they craved, or rather, Sassa would. Sassa. His heart quickened again. The Inspector’s fingers pressed against each flower, checking that the textures

were consistent. They were, Elsu had made sure of it. He hadn’t just wasted his wysteria canvas on Sassa’s robe and rose, he’d used it on all the roses. The ore aside, he needed to to win a replacement roll. From his pocket, the Inspector pulled a glass rod filled with swirling light. Elsu stiffened, he’d never seen such a thing before. The Fae stooped and ran it along every inch of fabric, turning Elsu’s clothing nearly translucent. When it hovered above Sassa’s rose, he stopped breathing. How could he have been so stupid? Nodin had mentioned nothing about light rods. His eyes traveled the threads with the Inspector’s, but from his higher angle it was useless. Was Sassa’s silhouette shining through? The Inspector’s eyes snapped to his, his thin lips moving in slow motion. The words were lost on Elsu. Sweat prickled his ears and neck as he fought the urge to twitch. The Inspector was surging to full height. His motions suddenly sped up, his words audible. “Turn around.” He sighed inwardly, spinning so the Fae could assess his train. He continued to search for hidden compartments, while Elsu avoided eye with the thousands of commoners that watched him with bated breath. Fingers dug beneath his collar, feeling for any necklaces or amulets. Centuries ago, searches were done in privacy tents, now it was held in the open for transparency. It felt more like a degrading performance. The crowd stifled gasps as the Inspector ruined his braids, loosening and rooting through them. When he spun back around, his mouth was searched tooth by tooth. “Open it.” The Inspector nodded at his coat. Was anyone else asked to do the same? Beside him Dei’s boots were being checked and to his left Marmor’s throat was being studied by two Inspectors while a third examined his talons. Why was he given so many? Elsu froze. Marmor was watching him too, no, gawking, scanning his robe, transfixed. His irises were so pale they nearly blended into the whites of his eyes.

“Open it.” Elsu steadied his fingers, hoping the Fae wouldn’t notice them tremble as he obliged, exposing his plain underrobes. The light rod ed over him again. Nothing. “That was violating,” whispered Seren when they’d finished. A guard in black was leading them around The Academy. “I thought he’d ask to see inside my entrails,” Dei agreed. “So much for equality. The commoners’ searches aren’t half as long.” “Because they’ve little to search,” Seren said, glancing over her shoulder at the commoners trailing behind them. Elsu kept his gaze straight ahead. The pale boy was still staring at him, unapologetically so, his expression unreadable. Elsu didn’t know which was worse, the inspection or Marmor’s penetrating gaze. “No,” Dei gasped, freezing in place and holding up the group. Hundreds of portraits covered the lush lawn. Like Nodin had said, portal walking was the first task. What he hadn’t mentioned was the numerous points of entries and exits. Elsu had only walked through twin and triple portals. Anything above quinary portals, were illegal for home use. People had gotten lost in the abyss of multi-entry gateways, not just untrained walkers, but world-renowned Fae. Elsu’s eyes darted down the rows that spanned the entire yard. There were over two hundred paintings. “Hallowedness is linear,” Master Acrid said from the lawn’s center. “If one cannot portal walk, one is not Hallowed and there is no need to test for further abilities. Today’s task is simple. You must enter through a portrait and leave through an assigned exit.” “Sir,” squeaked a Northern commoner. “Most of us have never portal walked, and those that have, have only used twin portals. What happens if we cannot find the exit?” Dei glared daggers at his fellow countryman.

“Then you shall remain lost. Masters, Inspectors nor guards will seek you out as the abyss is not entirely understood. Attempting to retrieve a soul from its depths often results in another being lost,” Master Acrid said stoically. “The Academy is for exemplary Fae, we’ve no interest in your mastery of twin portals. It’s child’s play.” “Why would the commoners take such a risk? You said yourself most won’t be gifted anyway. If they aren’t Illustrators, it’ll be in vain,” said Seren, surprising them all. “As for the court’s record, why aren’t they given an exception with a twin portal? They’re near impossible to get lost in.” A guard rushed forward, his fingers a second away from gripping Seren’s arm, but Master Acrid gave a dismissive flick of his finger. The guard stepped down. “Lady Seren of the Somerset Isles,” Master Acrid said, hands behind his back. “Are you familiar with the treaty put in place three thousand years past?” She paused. “Aequalitas?” He nodded. “Nicknamed The Treaty of The Isles. Do you know why?” “The Isles were at the forefront of the movement, fighting to bridge the opportunities between Nobles and the common populace, especially where higher education was concerned. The treaty gave commoners the chance to sit the exams, with the courts covering the cost while their respective manors covered the tuitions. After that the courts began keeping official records of all Fae.” Seren lifted her chin proudly. Master Acrid smiled cruelly. Seren’s expression faltered. “Precisely. The act also called for transparency as complaints arose of the Masters showing favor to the Nobles. To eliminate such accusations, we created a system that applied to everyone. No more tents for private searches, closed doors or separation of exams. As the court’s recording and The Academy’s issions are held together to reduce costs, the testing must satisfy both. Are you suggesting The Academy lower its expectations for those unable to perform the tasks adequately? To shift favor toward the commoners? Would that not directly contradict the equality treaty your people fought so hard for?”

Seren remained quiet, her face flaming red. “It’s not in the court’s budget to provide separate testing. The solution would be for each Manor House to pay for their citizens’ recordings privately. That way the examinations can be split. But as testing costs three thousand crowns for Masters, grounds, guards, Inspectors, titania, ores and other supplies, the Houses have rejected this option outright. I believe The Isles having the lowest treasury was the first to refuse the proposal, weren’t they, Master Fryn?” Master Fryn was tall and willowy, his thin frame beneath his robes bent at odd angles. He nodded slowly and spoke even slower, “That they were.” “Of course,” Master Acrid went on, his eyes searching the group, “those unwilling to take the risk are free to leave and face the courts for failure to comply with mandatory testing. The choice is yours.” His gaze flickered to Seren. “Does that sufficiently answer your question, Lady Seren? You’ve delayed us by quite a bit already.” Seren, beet purple now, nodded stiffly. “Good. Let us begin.” Lost forever was all Elsu could think as he headed toward a portrait beside Master Fryn. Up close, he could see every prominent bone in the Fae’s face, the thin skin stretched taut over his skull and deep-set eyes. Unlike Master Acrid, who wore his locks loose, Master Fryn’s hair was wrapped around his head like a turban. “Lord Elsu Avundrui,” he said, not bothering to look up from his parchment. “You will travel by portal toward portrait seven-hundred-and-sixty-four. It is the exit near the eastern forest line, watched over by Guard Seventeen. You have four minutes.” “It’s timed?” Elsu asked despite himself, his mouth shutting a second later. Master Fryn glanced up, his eyes dull and uninterested. “We do not have all morning for everyone to take their sweet time. Four minutes. Start.” And he tipped the hourglass over. Scowling, Elsu darted into the portrait, feeling the thin veil slide across his skin

as he did so. The darkness consumed him, the only source of light was the tiny stars that gave off little illumination. Immediately his feet rose, as did his hair and robes. His fingers reached for his side, eager to touch Sassa’s rose, but he curled them, dropping his arm. She was there, but he’d give her away if he kept patting himself. He ran, sprinting to gain traction before he lost his footing. Funnily enough, running was the first rule of portal walking. All around darting shadows ed him as hundreds of Fae entered the abyss, the portraits from where they’d come spinning out of sight. What? He slowed to a jog, watching as glimpses of the forest popped into thin air only to whirl away like revolving fireworks. One, seven, fifty, they were blinding, dizzying. He shut his eyes, thinking of the forest line near Guard Seventeen, envisioning the blonde Fae and the patch of pines that stood behind her. “Oof!” A body slammed into him, but the invisible force of the abyss prevented him from falling. He didn’t need a light to see who it was. Marmor’s skin glowed in the darkness, his eyes were beams of molten silver as they bored into Elsu, penetrating straight through his flesh to the bone. Elsu shuddered. “My apologies,” the boy murmured, his voice a whispered hiss. He stumbled backwards and nodded stiffly. What was Marmor’s problem? He was staring as if he’d never seen another Fae before, an Avundruian before. Was that it? Sassa’s intense stares were flattering, his was petrifying. Between them, a portrait slung into view. Elsu expected it to whirl away, but it slowed as if waiting for one of them to reach out and grab it. As it drew closer a number appeared along its side, seven-hundred-and-sixty-four. They surged forward in unison, a gasp escaping Elsu as it rotated quicker, speeding up. What was Marmor doing? This was his exit, yet the boy ploughed toward it, his longer legs overtaking Elsu’s. Three minutes must have ed by

now. He couldn’t wait for the portrait to return, neither would the Masters appreciate them exiting it together. The painting spun faster, a blur that darted westward. Marmor was gaining on it, bounding through the darkness faster than Elsu could manage. He struck out an arm, talons ready to dig into Marmor’s collar and fling him backwards, but the boy stopped dead. He grabbed Elsu’s forearm blindly and twisted, searing the flesh with white hot intensity. Elsu screamed, the pain blinding him. He slung his free fist back, and made to pummel Marmor’s neck when the boy hissed, “Look.” The portrait was slowing, coming to a halt. Elsu froze. The portrait’s speed depended on them, unlike twin portals. They just needed to slow down. Marmor used his grip on Elsu’s arm to shove him backwards into the cushion of the abyss faster than Elsu could retaliate. Two leaps and he jumped through the portal, disappearing near a glimpse of the forest. “No!” The wail of sheer desperation escaped Elsu’s lips in time for another body to brush past him, the rough edge of their fabric catching on his. His fingers flew to Sassa’s rose, blocking the impact of Dei’s jagged diamonds that stabbed the back of his hand. “Sorry, lad.” Dei grinned. “I think I’ve seen my stop.” And he had, for as he stood still beside Elsu, a portrait of the cobblestone patio whizzed into view. Dei leapt through it without so much as a backward glance. Elsu trotted to keep his feet grounded, pivoting left in search of glimpses of the outside world. Fae sprinted past him, flashes of blues, greens, golds, purples and a lonely blur of orange. Time was running out, he could practically hear the sand grains falling in the hourglass. Closing his eyes, he envisioned the portrait again and again. Nothing. More bodies vanished. Less and less portraits whizzed around him. His fingers itched to touch Sassa’s rose, and he did, hoping that, somehow, it’d give him focus. Was she as breathless as he was? Their fates relied on him in this moment, and he was failing. He bit his cheek and squeezed his eyes shut one last

time. In his mind’s eye popped the image of the pines, the guards, the blue glow of the lanterns that should illuminate the forest as the sun dipped below the horizon. Below the horizon! That was it! It must be nighttime now, and he’d been envisioning the forest still encased in warm sunlight. The vision in his mind dimmed and as he opened his eyes there it was, the dark exit, the number seven-hundred-and-sixty-four scrawled along its side. He vaulted through it, landing beside Guard Seventeen. The trees behind her were littered with blue roving lights, the lanterns of a thousand guards. “Three minutes, fifty-two seconds,” said the guard, scribbling down the time. He’d nearly missed it. “ the others at the front doors.” On the steps, Dei and Seren stood at the forefront. As he approached, he realized their relieved gazes weren’t trained on him, but past him. Kohl. “What took you so long?” Elsu whispered, slowing so the darker boy caught up. He thought Kohl would’ve finished first. Of all the nobles he’d had the most training in portal walking. The Southerners didn’t seem to fear the abyss, allowing their children to play within the portals like a complex game of hide and seek. “I don’t know,” Kohl mumbled, his steely eyes trained on the group, no, on the Albenians. Marmor’s gaze once again focused on Elsu. “The first task is complete. As expected, it halved the populace,” said Master Fryn, reading his parchment after they’d ascended the steps. “Of the half able to portal walk, one quarter were unsuccessful in finding their exits before their allotted times. They’ve lost the eligibility to enter The Academy but shall remain for further testing for the court’s record. Nine persons have not emerged at all.” “My brother’s still in there,” said a ginger-haired Northerner. Her face was red, her eyes swollen. “I have to find him, even if it means I’m disqualified too.”

“You may,” said Master Acrid, “but first you’ll need the court’s permission to reenter the abyss.” “B-but the courts are up North, it could take days to get a response.” “Weeks,” he corrected. “You can send a crow—” The girl didn’t hear the rest of his words. She darted down the steps and across the lawn toward the nearest portal. A guard attempted to tackle her, but missed by a hair colliding into a nearby tree trunk. Elsu’s mouth went dry as Nodin’s face flashed before his eyes. He would’ve ignored Master Acrid too, and he certainly wouldn’t have awaited the court’s order, entrance exams be damned. He could obtain an ore somehow, but not another brother. Beside him, Dei was wide-eyed, a whimper leaving his lips. The girl was his house member, and like her, Dei too had a brother, many in fact. Seren reached for Dei’s hand, squeezing it, but the boy didn’t seem to notice. Master Acrid and the other overseers seemed unconcerned as he said, “The next task starts at dawn.”

Chapter Sixteen

Lux

Inside, The Academy was just as frigid as the nighttime spring air. Torches flamed blue along the slate gray walls, creating little warmth in the massive room. Four wall-to-wall wooden tables and benches greeted them, filled with decanters of mazska surrounded by goblets. A hundred plus rolled duvets lined the corners. They’d be sleeping right here. “Drink your fill. Lights go out at midnight and we command silence, whether or not you can slumber,” said Master Acrid following the Masters who disappeared down a corridor, leaving them with the guards. The group erupted into chatter as they packed the benches via an invisible seating chart. Southerners and Islers filled the first two tables. The Northerners and Albenians occupied the third, and the nobles took the fourth. Kesor brazenly approached the fourth table, though he sat on the far end, helping himself to two goblets of mazska at once. Proudly, Lux searched for familiar faces amongst the thirty-something Albenians that remained. As if sensing his gaze, a girl turned toward him. Her hair was woolly like Hiems, her irises different shades of silver. He ed her, for originally, she had a blue eye and a green one. She gave him a feeble smile before sipping her drink. Without another option, Lux slid onto the polished wooden bench away from the huddled nobles. It was clear they were friends, perhaps spending festivals, birthdays and holy days alike in each other’s lands. Lux had never been outside of Albens, at least, not that he could . If anyone had ever invited him abroad, Os was sure to have intervened. Their eyes darted toward him as they whispered. He may be a noble too, but he

wasn’t one of them, and they’d rather talk about him than to him. Not that he minded, dialogue was already pinging in his mind as Louder and Quieter hissed at each other instead of pestering him. They were too busy fixating on Avundrui and using Lux as their personal puppet. They’d forced him to collide with Elsu in the portals, and now they were forcing him to stare. Illustration should be the extent of their control, but they were taking liberties, and he was becoming unable to resist them. “Peculiar,” Quieter said for the twentieth time that day. “Peculiar, indeed.” “But how? asked Louder. “He’s young to be mated, especially with a soul bond.” “There are two souls, but one is a fusion,” Quieter said, forcing Lux’s eyes to Avundrui. The boy’s orange essence encased the fusion of amethyst and blue. It was a fearsome sight, much unlike the other spirits that swirled monochromatically around them. “Why does it matter?” thought Lux, reaching for the golden tonic. He didn’t understand their fixation. Their cause was winning him the ore and ittance into The Academy. Whatever Avundrui was up to was none of their concern. “Because he isn’t alone,” said Louder. “And you know it.” Lux froze. He hadn’t spoken to them directly. His heartbeat quickened as he swallowed the mazska, his mind racing. Somehow, they were gaining deeper access into his thoughts. “Shh,” said Quieter. “Let us listen.” And suddenly Lux could hear every word of the Nobles’ conversation. “What happened to your arm, Elsu?” the blonde boy, Dei, asked. The Northerners had often traded at Albens’ ports when they were still open, and Lux had met Dei twice in ing. Lux’s eyes trailed to Elsu’s wrist, peaking above the hem of his sleeve. A red

welt, raised and angry, stood out against the darkness of his skin. Lux forced his head away. The burn should’ve healed by now. He’d stop his acid before the spirits could do any actual damage to the boy, and doubly to himself. Avundrui could suspect him of Erasure and report him to the Masters. “Look what you’ve done!” He clenched his fist around the goblet’s stem. “Easy,” Quieter hissed, and Lux choked, his heart constricting as if someone had squeezed it. “Relax. The boy knows nothing.” “It’s nothing,” Elsu said, flicking his wrist so that his sleeve covered the burn. “What’s with the secrets?” Dei asked, sipping from his goblet. “First Kohl won’t tell us why he was almost eliminated during portal walking and now you’re hiding something too.” “I’m not hiding anything,” Elsu said. “Are you forgetting you scraped against me in the portals?” “Liar,” Louder sang. Dei looked sheepish, turning to who Lux assumed was Kohl. “That’s right, what happened in the portals? Even you can’t be that slow.” Kohl ignored him. “What do you suppose is wrong with them?” he asked, nodding toward the Albenians sitting behind him. “I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to be pastier than Dei. It's not natural.” Dei scowled. “It’s not,” Seren, as Master Acrid had called her, replied. “I brushed against one of them in the portals, a girl,” Kohl said, dropping his voice an octave. “She screamed, as if I’d lit her skin afire. I barely touched her.” “They’re a little off, not undead. Maybe she’s just not used to another’s touch. It ignites a fire within...” said Dei, his eyes glazing over. “Not like that,” Kohl shook his head. “Something’s wrong.”

“I think The Academy has the same thoughts,” Seren said. “Haven’t you seen the way the Masters gawked at them? I’m surprised they’re still here and not at the courts.” “For what?” Dei asked. “Being pale? It isn’t a crime. Besides, The Academy maintains neutrality Lady Seren of the Somerset Isles.” The conversation drifted away until Lux could no longer hear it. Louder and Quieter had grown disinterested, squabbling about Elsu’s fusion again.

* * *

The next testing took place on the vast green lawn after an uncomfortable sleep on the thin duvets. Not that Lux had slept. He, or rather the spirits, had spent the night obsessively watching Elsu, who laid a few meters away. Master Acrid, Bern and Fryn were already there, standing before the four dining tables pulled from the hall, parchments and quills at hand. On each table were double rows of titania powder, metal spatulas and thin wooden strips. “Today we will test your ability to color change titania. Failure to produce the correct hue will end in elimination regarding ittance to The Academy. However, so long as you can turn the pigment at all, you must stay for Illustration testing for the court’s record tomorrow,” said Master Acrid. “Inspectors, at your positions. Testers take a seat.” The blue-robed Inspectors moved between the tables, stationing themselves behind each bench so that there was an Inspector in front and behind every tester. Lux could feel the breath of his hunched, dark-haired Inspector grazing his ear. “Divide the powder into thirty-four fractions,” said Master Bern. He seemed the friendliest of the three, his red face glowing with excitement. When everyone had followed his instruction, he said, “Now, we begin. Amethyst.” Lux steadied his hand over the powder, stretching his fingers wide and

envisioning the purple hue. He didn’t need Quieter or Louder’s help. Color changing was easy. From his palm, a beam of darting light hit the titania, turning the white powder amethyst. He still hadn’t gotten used to seeing the spirit world, a confusing layer of bright lights. “You see the spirit realm constantly now, don’t you, Lux?” Louder hissed. “Just like you can see that second orb within that boy, the fusion inside his orange flame, within his heart. How is he doing that? I want to know.” “Violet,” said Master Bern. Light shot from his fingers, turning the white powder a deep purple. “I need to know,” said Quieter. “Lavender. Plum. Periwinkle,” called Master Bern, pausing between each word. “Our task is examinations. Avundrui isn’t our concern.” “Navy. Azure. Cobalt. Sapphire. Cerulean.” The Inspectors scribbled on their parchments in unison, a chorus of scratching quills filling the crisp morning air. A second sound soon followed, a symphony of whimpers as the tables quickly emptied. Lux chanced a glance up, watching the trembling shoulders of distraught commoners who could not change the titania. Guards were at their heels, shoving them through the iron gates. The Academy wasn’t just a learning institute; it determined one’s future. Alumni were always in better social standings, be they low level Illustrators, or top Anatomists. For a commoner, there was no higher ranking they could achieve, save for a Master or high court official. Their wet faces drew a pang of pity from Lux’s core. No one wanted to be common, yet most people were. Quickly, he counted the Albenians. All were still present, including the woollyhaired girl. Their eyes met again. She gave him another weak smile before scanning the other white-haired Fae as Lux had. While he held the biggest responsibility of bringing home the ore, it didn’t mean the others couldn’t too. If three Albenians gained ittance into The Academy, they’d win enough ores to last Albens a millennium.

“You’re still thinking about Albens’ fate?” asked Louder. We showed you already. It won’t change under the current rule. “Stay.Out.Of.My.Thoughts,” Lux barked. “See, he still doesn’t trust us,” said Quieter, “and we’ve given him chance after chance.” “After all that we’ve done,” Louder agreed, forcing Lux’s eyes to Elsu for a split second. “But that boy is special. Does he have a dual core? An absorbed twin? Or is he too possessed?” “Pine. Emerald. Seafoam. Mint,” said Master Bern. “If he has allowed possession, perhaps he is exactly who we need,” said Quieter. “Focus,” Lux snapped. “Let me concentrate!” He’d nearly produced pistachio instead of mint, and the shades were only growing more complex. Albens and everything in it was white. Some colors he’d never seen more than once, usually in a book. “We’ve been trying to help you think for over a week,” said Louder. “I don’t need you to help me think. I don’t need you at all right now,” Lux hissed. “Just be quiet until it’s time for Illustration.” “Daffodil. Lemon. Canary,” called Master Bern. Sweat coated Lux’s brow, his throat going dry. He hoped his canary really was canary and not butterscotch. The inspector didn’t tap his shoulder as a signal of elimination. He released a breath. “Hmm,” drawled Quieter. “He doesn’t need us now.” “Let’s quiet so he can hear,” Louder said, his cruel laughter ringing in Lux’s ears. “Yes,” Quieter hissed. “Let him hear.” “Mustard. Marigold. Honey. Tangerine,” called Master Bern, his voice suddenly

distant, muted. Lux glanced up, checking if the Master had moved further away but found him in the same spot. He peered back at his palette, watching as his tangerine blob blurred, as did everything else around him. “Rose. Crimson. Scarlet. Merlot.” He could no longer see the beam of light leave his palm, or the spirit orbs that had danced within each Fae. They were blobs now too, barely silhouettes. “Louder? Quieter!” he screamed. Nothing. More footsteps. More eliminations. “Garnet. Mahogany. Umber,” said Master Bern, his voice growing softer. “Stop it!” His eyes watered with strain, unable to see what color he’d produced. It was as if someone had extinguished the sun. Darkness washed over him, and panic arose. “Louder!” They were punishing him. His heartbeats slowed with each of Master Bern’s whispered words until they halted all together. Lux flexed his fingers, keeping his head down. He knew where the titania was, knew the right amount of light required to produce each shade. Unlike the sharp bolts of lightning that flew through him with the purples, the reds were sluggish, taking an eternity to escape his palm. No tap on his shoulder came. He released another breath. They’d finished the spectrum, now would be grays, blacks and whites. All he needed was to finish. “Charcoal. Coal,” Master Bern was almost inaudible. “Ink. Pitch. Onyx. Porcelain. Bone.” At bone, his voice drifted away, as did the critters' songs that hid within the grass and the chirps of birds that nested inside the trees’ canopies. “How dare you?” Lux raged.

Unsure if the testing had concluded, he remained seated and blindly unaware for what seemed an eternity before a hand clasped his. He jumped, but soon relaxed. The fingers were gentle and small, not the stiff touch of an Inspector, but maybe the Albenian girl who’d smiled at him. She smelled of Albens, like the woods forever frosted in winter. If she was touching him so intimately, perhaps she knew something was wrong, and he was thankful when she pulled him to his feet. They walked across the lawn, hands pressed together and hidden between their robes. “If we’re having an intermission, take me to the bathhouse,” he whispered. “I need to cool my face and drink.” He needed an enclosed spot, some privacy. Fae preferred mazska, and he hoped no one else was in the mood for water. If the girl replied, he couldn’t hear her, but she squeezed his hand twice in response. Their footsteps veered left toward the springs. He could envision the little octagon shaped building now, its tarnished copper roof gleaming in the sunlight. They ascended three small stairs, then made four steps to the double doors. He could feel the quick gust of air as she opened a door and ushered him in. “Check that we’re alone,” he whispered, and she released him, returning several seconds later. She squeezed his hand twice. “Good. Now leave.” She didn’t release him, though her grip slackened. Impatient, he shook her loose and felt for the doorknob. Prying it open, he guided her through it with a gentle nudge. Was her hesitation a desire to help? Whatever it was, he hadn’t the time to decipher it. Pressing his weight against the door, he shut his eyes, though it was unnecessary. It was just as dark. “I know you can hear me! You nearly sabotaged me, again.” Silence. He didn’t suffer through several agonizing days of drinking Nigcatus maiorum for nothing. They would respond to him. He’d force them.

If you need me, just whisper my name, Madam had said, and he hissed it now. “Madam!” “Yes?” she drawled a half second later, as if she were already waiting. From the darkness she emerged, draped in a plum, sheer dress that ought to make him blush, if he had time for embarrassment. “Where are they?” he asked, his voice echoing through the gloom. He couldn’t tell if their conversation was happening in or out of his head, nor if Madam truly stood before him. “There,” she pointed a sharp talon at his chest. “They can hear you, but they won’t respond. You’ve offended them.” “And I’m insulted. They’ve almost thrown the exams.” He rubbed his temples. “I don’t understand. Why aren’t they helping me? What do they want?” She tilted her head as if contemplating if she should answer. “A body.” “That I know,” Lux said. “Why? And why me? Why Elsu Avundrui?” Madam didn’t ask who Elsu was, she seemed to know already. “I suppose they could feel your hunger to change Albens, your desperation. Desperate people are the best kind, the most motivated.” He shook his head. “My issues are these exams, as theirs should be, not Albens and its leadership.” “I don’t believe you.” “You don’t have to,” Lux quipped. “Os paid you to provide a service that I’m not receiving.” “You’re getting exactly what Nigcatus maiorum offers. The potion helps you accomplish your most pressing desires. When I brew it, I ask of the spirits what the customer requests, yet what lingers in one’s consciousness often differs. When you first drank after Hiems’ little talk, perhaps you wished for manifestation. But once the souls settled in, they quickly realized how wrong

that was. Your desire is for a better life for your people, your sister. Niveii, is it?” He swallowed. Madam smirked. “It always manifests in our dreams, Lux. That’s how the spirits know, how they feed. They’re dream eaters.” “That doesn’t explain their desperation for a body.” “Spirits don’t use coins, but they need compensation. They assist with one’s desires, and I take the coin. In exchange, they gain entry to warm fresh. It’s up to that body to accept them, even without the potion. With you they thought they stood a chance to access our physical dimension.” “What sane person would allow possession forever?” “Those who crave the impossible, powers from the undead realm. They can give you the world, Lux. All they want in return is a body.” “Then lend them yours, you don’t seem to mind,” he snarled. “Already occupied.” Madam shimmied her shoulders. “Besides, I’m not Fae.” “Why do they need Fae flesh?” “House calls aren’t free, you know,” she drawled. “This is getting rather expensive.” “Why?” he persisted, ignoring her. “I can’t tell you all our secrets.” “You said their payment was a potential body. What happens if they don’t get one? You’ve already received your coin.” Her grin was wicked. “You must compensate them for their time.” A double exchange. He himself had to pay the spirits, but it wouldn’t be with his flesh. He’d sooner transition. “If I give them what they want, will they forget about Albens and my genuine desires? I need to these exams. The third task begins in a few hours.”

“They’re willing to barter,” she said, but offered no advice. “You better think of something quick.” “Wait.” Lux stretched out a hand. “How do you know who I am? Was it the dreams?” “The spirits rarely share those with me. As for your identity, I guessed from your robes. No commoner can dress so elaborately,” Madam said, her eyes trailing over his satin sleeves. “Obviously, I knew the Count commissioned the potion, but I didn’t think it was for his own grandson. I thought he was childless.” “How long has he used your services?” His thoughts drifted to the conversation he’d had with Hiems. Hiems assumed Os would have introduced him to the dark arts sooner. Just how involved was Os with the craft, with the Lele brewer? “If you didn’t know about his daughter, I take it you aren’t close.” Madam cocked her head. “No one’s close to Os. Not even Os himself.” “What does that mean?” She didn’t answer. “The spirits have a vendetta against him and his rule. Did they know him in their former lives?” She checked her necklace, a tiny hourglass. “I believe your next task is about to begin. I’d worry about your future instead of someone else’s past.” “Wait!” She vanished, dissipating into wisps of smoke. What could he offer them besides his body? What else did they crave? “We’ll figure out what’s going on with Elsu Avundrui,” he promised. “Illustrate for me and I’ll find out.” Nothing. “I swear it. Even if it means interrogating him myself, we can discover it,

together. Please, it’s imperative that I win that ore for Albens.” Somehow, it seemed he was trying to convince himself. Silence. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that I didn’t need you. I do.” What did they want, proof? The voices always got louder when he consumed the potion, that foul black acid...He looked at his talons. “Is this evidence enough?” he asked scornfully. Acid oozed, draining down his fingers and collecting in the curve of his palm. Beneath the dark puddle, his skin was blistering. When he could hold no more, he drank, sucking the liquid down in one continuous slurp. It was worse than the potion, doubly so. He stumbled, throwing his arms out to steady himself, but his legs gave out. He collapsed to his knees, choking, his stomach clenching, desperate to expel the fluid. Then Lux heard it, Louder’s cruel laughter. “Desperation,” he hissed. “Such desperation. Maybe he has what it takes?” “Perhaps,” answered Quieter. Suddenly, the room filled with light and he could hear the rush of the spring. He blinked up at the exposed rafters and coughed, rolling onto his side and into a pair of forest green boots. Craning his neck, he saw Elsu Avundrui standing over him, a bright blaze of orange swirling within his silhouette. His dual inner orb, gone.

Chapter Seventeen

Elsu

Elsu stumbled backward, his heartbeat soaring. Horrified, he watched as Marmor, or rather the beast on all fours shoot acid from his talons. Impossible, yet was it not the same wetness that burned him in the portals? He’d spent hours trying to talk himself into a more logical excuse. He couldn’t find one. Marmor brought his blackened fingers to his lips, slurping from them. A plume of black smoke escaped his nostrils, a cry ripping from his throat. What dark magic was this? Elsu darted aside, dumbfounded, as the boy withered across the floor planks in agony. He had to be in pain. What noble would soil their robes and press their face to the filthy ground? He eyed the entrance, then the convulsing beast. Should he alert a guard? No. He wanted answers and he couldn’t get them if they hauled Marmor away. Stooping, Elsu watched as he brought the back of his hand to his lips, fiercely pressing them together. He was stifling a scream, his free hand digging into the boards, desperate for something to squeeze. Elsu considered sticking the toe of his boot beneath the boy’s fingers when eyes like ice froze on his face. Marmor stiffened in shock. Seconds ticked by until finally, he spoke. “Did you bring me here?” he asked darkly. “Why does this keep happening to me?” Elsu whispered to himself, ing how Sassa asked him the same question on their first encounter. “I didn’t bring you anywhere. Perhaps you beached yourself from the spring. It’d be a more rational explanation than what I’ve just witnessed.” He stood, towering above the boy. “I knew something was wrong with you people.” “You people?” he hissed, struggling to get to his knees and failing.

“Well, how can you be Fae? Producing acid, burning people, having others burn you?” Elsu said, his thoughts running to Kohl. “What’s that about, anyway? Is your skin so sensitive that it falls off at the slightest touch?” “We’re Fae, just like you.” Elsu shook his head. “You’re nothing like me, like us. Fae are pure spirits. We don’t produce acid, and we certainly don’t drink it. No wonder Albens denies visitors. You’re all in hiding.” “Then why are we here?” “No one is above the court’s law, even creatures of Albens. You slither around and gawk like you’ve never seen another Fae before. And you, you haven’t stopped staring at me from the start.” Elsu stepped toward the entryway. “My looks may be captivating, but this is lunacy!” A pale hand shot out, grabbing Elsu’s bare shin. “Don’t,” the boy sputtered. Elsu shook him off and examined his leg. “What, no burns this time?” Without thinking, he itched his burned wrist, the reason he’d come to the springs. It still stung, and he’d hoped the cool water would give him relief. Rolling up the sleeves of his under robes, he moved to the water’s edge, keeping an eye on Marmor who was still flat on his belly. He’d taken off his embroidered robe, not wanting to get the massive sleeves soaked, nor risk sending Sassa toppling as he bent. Sassa. It’d been three days since she was stitched inside his coat and a day since he’d spoken with her. He’d hoped to do so here in privacy. “And don’t touch me. I won’t tell the guards. It’s none of my business.” “I know you won’t,” Marmor panted, struggling to kneel again. He crawled to the spring, dipping a hand that was back to milk-white and bringing the clear water to his lips.

Elsu sat on his heels. “Excuse me?” The boy sounded so sure of himself, arrogant even. “Then why did you try to stop me?” Marmor took his time drinking his fill. When he spoke, his voice was icy and clear. “I didn’t want to stop you. I needed to warn you.” “About?” Elsu arched a brow, peeved. “That if you told the Masters or Inspectors, we’d be leaving the gates together.” He splashed the cold water onto his face and neck, a small sigh of relief escaping his lips. Then his pale eyes were back on Elsu, boring into him. “And if you told your friends, your people, or anyone else later, I’d have us both at the courts. We’re in this together now.” “What are you on about?” Elsu snapped. “I’m not the one that can shoot acid.” He laughed, a soft humorless laugh. “I haven’t been looking at you Avundrui, I’ve been staring past you, through you, deep into your core.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “That I can see you’re not sitting this exam alone.” Elsu froze, his throat suddenly dry. The gentle rippling of the spring seemed to intensify as the silence stretched between them. Marmor smiled. “So, what are you? What Fae can possess another? Well, one that’s still alive anyway?” He got to his feet. “Did anyone else come in here?” Elsu shook his head, biting the inside of his lip. “Did you see which Fae accompanied me?” He turned his neck to peer stiffly up at the boy. “Some girl from your House. Seeing as they all look exactly alike, you’ll forgive me for being unable to tell them apart.” “Yet you manage with the copper-skinned, black-eyed, black-haired people of Avundruill.”

He thinned his lips but remained quiet, careful. His eyes followed Marmor as he moved to the entryway, toward where Elsu had hung his coat. He stumbled to his feet, rushing behind the boy who turned to him with a raised brow. “You said we’re in this together. So, we go together.” Elsu grabbed his coat and slipped it on, fastening the hooks. Marmor was eyeing it, them. “You don’t trust me?” he asked, amused. “Together,” Elsu insisted, reaching for the door. “Consider me your new shadow Marmor.”

* * *

Elsu ignored Dei’s quizzical expression as he and Lux strolled into The Academy foot for foot. The first Illustration round was about to begin. Rows of stools, easels and art supplies replaced last night’s duvets. There were two groups, a larger one of failed contenders, and a smaller one of hopefuls. Lux and Elsu ed the latter, taking seats at the rear. Elsu’s eyes skimmed everyone’s robes, searching for teal and counting only fifteen Avundrians left of the two hundred eligible testers. Albenians and Ísvaldarians dominated the group as expected, Impermanence Houses always held more gifted Fae. Still, the Permanence house Zzarlziqa far outnumbered his people. What was the likelihood that at least two other Avundrians would the highest Illustration level, bringing home ores themselves? What was the chance that he, or rather Sassa, would? His heart thundered in every crevice of his body, strumming a frenzied beat to his pulsating fingers, now slicked with sweat. He never sweated. Chancing a look at Lux, he found the boy growing even paler, something he didn’t think possible. From nowhere, several dozen Inspectors ascended upon them, swarming their group in a shoulder-to-shoulder circle. At the head stood Master Fryn, parchment in hand. His quill darted across the paper in irritation as he scoffed at their near

tardiness. Master Acrid seemed peeved to have missed an opportunity to scold them. He flinched as the last sand grain in the hourglass fell a second after they sat. Master Fryn cleared his throat. “Today, we will start with Illustration testing. There are two types, inanimate and animate Illustration. To gain ittance into The Academy, one must not simply Illustrate, but do so adequately.” A row ahead of Elsu, Seren squirmed on her stool, agitated. “Is there something you’d like to say Lady Seren of the Isles?” asked Master Acrid through tight lips. Dei glanced over his shoulder, giving Seren an almost imperceptible shake of disapproval. “Actually, I do.”

Dei hung his head and spun around.

“I was thinking about the treaty, about fairness and equality. The Academy expects the commoners to produce adequate manifestations, yet many of them haven’t had the privilege of holding a brush. As with the pigment changing, how can they create a color they haven’t seen?” “It’s unfortunate the Isles doesn’t have an art program for its commoners,” Master Acrid nodded. “However, that responsibility belongs to the Count and Countess of the Isles.” “It’s not just the Isles—” “Yet, the south holds free art fairs for children as young as seven hundred. Isn’t that right, Lord Kohl of Zzarlziqa?” Master Acrid asked, his gaze never leaving Seren.

“Yes,” Kohl said. “With titania, brushes and wysteria canvas?” Seren asked in disbelief. Kohl turned to her. “No, but parchment and sable hair are inexpensive, as are plant-derived pigments. Those paints cannot manifest creations, but it allows for practice painting and color identification. It’s limited, I it.” “It suffices.” Master Acrid smiled. “Perhaps, you can collaborate with Lord Kohl later for suggestions to relay to your mother, who believes paper is solely for books and those capable of reading them.” “Perhaps,” Seren said tightly. “As I was saying,” Master Fryn went on. “There are two types. Today you will demonstrate inanimate Illustration. The first object is simple.” He pulled a stone from a hidden pocket in his robes. It was flat and black, a blob. “We will start with the simplest of objects. A rock, uniform inside and out as is the color. There’s no need for multiple paint layers. You have ten minutes to manifest. Pay close attention to the shape and shade. Inspectors?” The Inspectors stepped forward, handing everyone an identical stone. Elsu accepted his with trembling fingers, nearly dropping it from his slippery gasp. He itched to press a finger against Sassa’s rose, wanting to alert her, but he didn’t dare, not with Marmor beside him. I can see you’re not alone, Marmor’s words wrapped around his mind, his throat, choking him. How was that possible? Then again, how was he capable of producing acid and what was the benefit of drinking it? Did it help with manifestation? He daren’t ask. He didn’t need the boy meddling in his affairs, asking him questions in retaliation, potential ammunition for a later date. Still, he couldn’t stop the curiosity that built within him. He’d manifested before, although never more than a leaf or two. Was that acid somehow able to amplify one’s powers? His heart fluttered at the prospect. “Begin,” Master Acrid said, overturning the hourglass. Sassa, Elsu thought, reaching for the charcoal, wanting to buy the halfling time. Was she awake? His stomach clenched as he shaded the oval, feeling Marmor’s eyes trail to his canvas curiously. He knew Elsu was stalling, and he was.

Everyone else had picked up a brush and changed a thumb-sized portion of titania to noir. Sharp clicks of rocks falling onto the marble floor from midair sounded one after the other. First was Kohl, followed by Dei. Click. Beside him, Marmor’s stone fell. Relief flashed in his pale orbs as if he hadn’t expected the manifestation to happen. Near Master Fryn, the hourglass was already half empty. More clicks sounded; the boy in orange from House Nyall, another Marmor, a girl from the Isles. From the corner of his eye, Elsu saw suspicious looks crossing the Inspectors’ faces as they observed him. He had to speed up. His drawing was perfect and had been for minutes. Sassa, he thought again, somehow hoping she could hear him. You should have changed the titania by now. He reached for the metal spatula, scooping some titania onto the palette. Not onyx or soot, but noir. He hovered his palm over the powder, feeling a burst of invisible power leave his fingertips. When it had, he felt the same happen at his chest, at Sassa’s rose. The hourglass was almost out. Master Acrid was struggling to hide a smirk at his seeming failure. Everyone who could manifest had by now. All eyes drifted toward Elsu, waiting. Dipping the brush into the dark pigment, Elsu pressed it against the canvas. In one continuous motion, he traced the oval, filling it in again and again. His eyes strayed to the air beside him, looking for a hint of the black rock. Dei and Kohl frowned. Seren sucked her lip, her eyes full of pity. Elsu ignored them. Come on, Sassa...please. He dragged the brush, trying to buy more time. Come on...

Master Acrid was eyeing the last grain in the hourglass, waiting for it to fall. “Time—” The flat stone appeared, tumbling into Elsu’s open palm. A grin of disbelief cracked his lips. Good girl.

Chapter Eighteen

Sassa

Sassa was an odd mixture of anger and confusion blanketed in exhaustion, yet she remained wide awake. She lay crumpled against the canvas’s wall, tossed to the side as Elsu slept in his robe. He’d told his friends that he was freezing when they’d questioned him and ignored them entirely as they gawked when he spread his duvet beside Lux Marmor. She stared at Lux now through the translucent threads, transfixed by his haunting beauty since their arrival at The Academy. Her eyes traced his face, the dark silver brows that slashed over his pale irises, the straightness of his features, the thickness of his lips. In the moonlight, his silvery tresses glowed like rays of pure light. She blinked, breaking the trance. What was wrong with her? The boy had spewed acid, drank it, then threatened Elsu. More importantly, he’d seen her, or at least sensed her presence. How? She’d agonized over the question for hours, yet it wasn’t as pressing as the ones she had for Elsu. He hadn’t exactly lied to her, Fae couldn’t lie, instead he omitted the truth and a large portion of it. They weren’t just there for recordation, but issions too. Of course, it wouldn’t suffice for a noble to be marked as an Illustrator, they needed to study at the most prestigious university the world offered. The problem was Elsu couldn’t attend The Academy without her, and she had no plans to spend the next few centuries stitched into his clothing. Her blood boiled as she ed how he’d constantly dodged her questions about The Academy’s importance. Then she thought of her own naivety. It was a

university after all, what had she expected? What could she expect from Elsu once the testing ended? Would he let her leave? To ensure he didn’t hold her hostage, she could throw the exams. Then again, their arrangement hinged on her ing the highest Illustration level. If she failed, she wouldn’t get the second coin purse and the first money bag couldn’t travel through the portal. It sat within his desk at Avundrui Manor, tucked far from her reach. Who said he’d give her that one either? Idiot, the word lambasted her relentlessly. She rubbed at her tired eyes. Fae were smart, and Elsu probably had a loophole out of his promise stashed at the forefront of his brain. Then there was her safety. How angry would Elsu be if he failed? She was no match for a full Fae. Trapped within his robe, her life was literally at his disposal, something that made her even more anxious than the Marmor boy’s stares. He was still staring. His bloodshot eyes darted back and forth as if he were reading a continuous scroll. Sassa shuddered. Something was unnatural about him, coloring aside. She watched relieved as Elsu’s limp arm slipped further down his side, obscuring the boy from view. His breathing deepened and steadied, as did his erratic heartbeats. He’d finally fallen asleep, relaxed now that most of the work was her responsibility. She rolled onto her side, sucking in her stomach to conceal a growl, something that was growing more difficult by the hour. Her throat was dry and burning, her lips peeling. Elsu had wet her rose as promised, and she scowled at the fact that she’s sucked on the see-through threads greedily. Arriving at The Academy and being amongst thousands of Fae without their knowledge was exhilarating, distracting, at least until inspections. Now, reality had set in. She was starving and achy, too accustomed to Elsu’s goose-feather bed and proper meals. Hunger and tiredness aside, her anxiety seemed forever perched on a clifftop, and Elsu was only exasperating it with his booming heartbeats and racing pulse. In fact, his emotions and bodily reactions had become her own, her heartbeat and breathing syncing with his. It was only helpful when he turned the titania in the

first Illustration task. She’d paid close attention, feeling power waves surge through his body. The reds were sluggish, the purples quick snaps. It gave her a better sense of how to control the flow, and she hoped to replicate it come morning. If she wanted to replicate it. A part of her needed to , to demonstrate her abilities and prove that halflings were just as capable. She tried to picture it, her, an Impure who shouldn’t exist, gaining ittance into a prestigious university. Commoners had wept by the thousands, pleading for another chance. No other halfling would be given the opportunity, but she had been, and she couldn’t waste it.

* * *

The sunrise on the last day of testing didn’t raise Sassa’s spirits as she’d hoped. In fact, her anxiety returned two-fold as she and Elsu ascended the black wooden stairs to the fourth floor. They stood beneath the glass dome of The Academy’s ceiling, waves of strong sunlight beaming down on them as if through a magnifying glass. Already sweat pricked at Sassa’s skin despite her lack of clothing. She’d disassembled the bottom half of her robe for the third task and now she’d detached her right sleeve for the fourth. She gripped the fabric between slick palms, gazing awestruck at the Illustration model. At the room’s center, a large tree grew through the floorboards and up The Academy’s four stories. Its trunk held sheens of gold and silver, bustles of lilac and periwinkle flowers blooming from the thick twisted branches. Their long, pointed petals flopped downward, blending into the plum needle-like leaves that surrounded them. Whatever type of tree this was, it didn’t grow in Vădăstriya’s forest. The room faded to black, leaving only the tree and Sassa. She swallowed painfully, her throat suddenly too narrow to let enough air through to her lungs. Lightheadedness overcame her, and it had nothing to do with her hunger. All night, indecision had kept her awake, yet out of all the possibilities, she hadn’t considered that unwillingly failing was one of them. Her burning eyes roved

over the plant’s intricacies, wondering how she’d ever accomplish them all. You can’t, a little voice taunted in her ear. How had she been so delusional? Throw the exam! The Academy had already thrown it for her. The thud of Elsu’s heartbeat knocked Sassa back to reality and into the testing chamber. The second boom restarted her own heart, and by the third, the room had lightened to its sunny interior. She took it in, her eyes scanning the irregular shape, an elongated octagon. Pews lined the perimeter, ascending to the glass ceiling. Masters cloaked in emerald-green robes filled the first two rows, then Inspectors in cobalt in the third and fourth. Fae decked in ice-blue covered the fifth, and the last pew held Fae in plum who sat in frigid silence, unlike their neighbors who were engaged in hushed conversations. Before them were parchment rolls, quills and an assortment of inkwells. Sassa peered into the stern faces of the five Fae stationed behind Elsu. They were staring directly at him, unblinking. They seemed assigned, for behind Marmor, Dei, Seren, Kohl, Kesor and two commoners from the South were five Fae each, eyes glued to each tester. She noted the perfect way each examinee fit into a corner of the octagon. What if there were nine or eleven testers remaining? Something told Sassa there never was. Elsu gulped, and Sassa swore she heard the saliva slide down his throat and into his gut where it gurgled. At the room’s head stood a new Master, one that towered even above Master Fryn. He was dark, darker than Kohl, with skin that shone near blue and irises to match. His hair was thick, sooty coils that hung past his waist. Master Acrid was beside him, eyes fixed on his parchment. “I am Master Swn, Master of Shell,” said the tall Fae. “Today we are accompanied by the Masters of Academia in emerald. The Inspectors in cobalt, the Anatomists in light blue and the Recorders in purple sent from the courts themselves.”

Elsu’s heart soared at the mention of the Recorders, the quickening boom tensing Sassa’s muscles even more as she struggled to hear the Master’s words over the pounding. “Most of you are already familiar with manollias, known to the Nymphs as Mater. It inhabits the four corners of the earth, growing in varying colors and heights but, overall, the semblances between them are undeniable.” His gaze flickered to Kesor, whose dark eyes examined the plant quizzically. “Nymphs have different essences. At The Academy, this tree produces Nymphs excellent in fine arts, while in the North, they can traverse the harsh terrain with little effort. They’re accomplished swimmers in The Isles and master gardeners and botanists in Avundruill. In the South, their mining and forging skills rival that of the Dwarves. In Albens, they’re famous for...” Master Swn looked to Lux Marmor for an answer. “Lifting, I suppose,” he offered when it became apparent the Fae would not move along. “Well,” said Master Swn, “I pointed out the differences of our companions because they are of great importance. It is critical that we do not tamper with their lives, shells, anatomies or colors. The law states that wherever a manollia sapling grows, it must stay. It is why The Academy altered its roofs to allow for the surprise growth of this Mater between our floorboards a millennium ago. Tampering with manollias always ends in disaster, producing malformed monstrosities both in tree and flesh form. They are unlike the dutiful Nymphs that you know. “Today, you must not only manifest an animate being, but one of the most important creations on our landscapes. It is the Fae’s responsibility not only to ensure these trees’ protection but to duplicate them if needed. Of course, we will not delve into its anatomical, internal composition, merely the exterior, the shell.” Seren lifted a palm, much to Dei’s dismay and Master Acrid’s astonishment, his eyes bulging from the sockets. “Yes?” asked Master Swn, his deep voice somewhere between annoyance and curiousness. “I thought manollias were forbidden from being manifested without the court’s

permission? Why are we using wysteria canvas?” “A good observation,” Master Swn said, much to Master Acrid’s irritation, who strummed his fingers along his parchment. “The Masters, Inspectors and Anatomists alike must examine each manifestation in depth. Impermanent creations may vanish before the inspections are finished if we were to use cotton. Any lingering works from the Permanence Illustrators will be burned.” “If that is all, Lady Seren—” began Master Acrid, but Seren hadn’t finished. “One last question, Master Swn,” she said, ignoring Master Acrid. “What are the Nymphs’ essences like on the dead continent?” Her gaze darted to the boy in orange robes. It was clear she was unfazed by their vast audience. Master Swn didn’t answer, turning instead to Kesor. “They’re good with fires, so I’ve heard,” said Kesor, his eyes flat and cold. A wave of uncomfortableness swept through the room so fiercely even Sassa, who knew nothing of politics, felt it. What happened to House Nyall? Why was it dissolved? “Enough chatter,” Master Acrid said through tight lips. “The task will take over twenty hours, even for the fastest painters. In the first Illustration round, you used the alla prima technique due to time constraints. This morning, The Academy and council need to observe your execution of a multilayered approach. With creations such as manollia, you cannot skip layers. You must do underdrawing on the imprimatura, then brush sketch, dead layer, underpainting, details and glazing. Do not fret over the layers’ drying times. We have altered the titania and oil you’ll use today. It will dry almost immediately but remain mindful of the pigment’s thickness during application.” “Thank you, Master Acrid,” Master Swn said, stepping forward and shielding the Master from view. “This layered technique will indicate your training levels as The Academy cannot accept those merely versed in alla prima, difficult as it may be. I hope you’re well rested for you’ll receive no breaks. As Master Acrid has noted, the task is likely to take us into nightfall.” His eyes cut to Seren next, his words slowing. “There will be no chance to mingle and explain concepts. There’s a reason this room has eight corners. It’s impossible to glance at another’s work.”

What if more examinees had made it to the final round? Sassa thought again, but Master Swn quickly recaptured her attention. “The task begins now,” he said, flipping over a large golden hourglass given to him by Master Bern. He set it on the middle window’s ledge and began a slow walk with Master Acrid along the perimeter. Elsu reached for a paper already cut to size for his portrait. The underdrawing. Her stomach clenched as she watched him sketch. This was it. Wiping her slick palms on her bare thighs, she grabbed the thumb-sized charcoal. It was just enough to complete the drawing, no room for mistakes. They couldn’t get the paper into the portal, so she’d have to improvise, sketching a copy of Elsu’s drawing directly onto the canvas. Elsu’s sketch was simple, far beneath his skill but perfect for Sassa. He went slowly, painfully so, giving her enough time to study and duplicate it. After he’d covered the paper in charcoal powder, he traced the outline. Then came the part where they’d hold the canvas and paper against the nearest windowpane, but the strong sunlight filtering through the glass ceiling behind Elsu’s easel was already bright enough. In deafening silence, they moved across the canvas together. There was no rustle of clothing, or clearing of throats, not even the sound of footfalls as Master Acrid and Swn stood behind Elsu. The longer Sassa spent in Fae company, the more she realized how noisy Humans and animals were. The only noise now was Elsu’s heart still drumming a frenzied beat. “Mahogany,” Elsu muttered beneath his breath, turning a portion of titania to the muddy color. Sassa followed suit, wastefully creating walnut before trying again with fresh titania, something that was already running low. She glanced at the remaining pellets then Mater. She needed to make at least eight colors, and there were only twelve titania pellets left and seven of oil. When she managed the right hue the second time, she mixed in the oil, making sure its consistency matched Elsu’s. In mahogany, they began the brush sketch. Sassa was careful to follow his movements and Elsu was careful to perform them slowly. Beside him a faded tree was appearing, filling out with each brushstroke. The

difference between his portrait and hers was subtle and for good reason, Elsu was intentionally painting worse. His needles came in crooked, the petals a hair fatter than they ought to be. He’d quickly adjust his portrait, smudging his brush or smothering on excess paint so that his image matched what appeared. Each imperfection sent him panicking, and by the time they’d reached the griselle layer in three different shades of gray, his pulse was thumping into overtime. They ignited a relentless pounding in Sassa’s head that blurred her vision. He was sending her over the edge, his nervousness causing her unsteady hand to worsen. This won’t work. She breathed, shutting her eyelids for just a second. If she kept letting Elsu’s emotions amplify her own, they’d never complete the painting on time. She needed to tune out his internal music, the Fae in the pews, the constant presence of the circling Masters, the heat of the sunlight. Opening her eyes, she slowed her breathing, her movements, taking care as she formed the blossoms next. Elsu said she paid too much attention to everything at once. She had to focus not on manifesting or Elsu’s canvas, but her own shaking hand. It would do them no good to produce a creation beneath The Academy’s standards. Another hour drifted by, but already she could see the progress. The manifestation was appearing more realistic as they moved on to underpainting, adding more pigments. Elsu was finally calming with her, his heartbeat receding to a gentle thump, his muscles under the heavy robes relaxing a smidgen. She turned the titania a second after Elsu had, changing it effortlessly to periwinkle this time. She’d emulated the beam of power that surged through him, then herself. Soon they were performing a duet, brushstrokes of gold and pewter dancing across the canvas in perfect synchronization as they underpainted in the fading sunlight. Guards lit torches that circled the slate walls, the blue flames bringing calmness to the once stark atmosphere. The council vanished from her consciousness, as did the circling Masters. The sand in the hourglass slowed to its normal pace. It was just her and Elsu. They could do this. She could do this. On a downward stroke of varnish, Elsu finished the portrait to Master Acrid

yelling, “Time.” His shrill voice ripped her from the peaceful trance. Elsu’s heartbeat was audible again, each beat more violent than the last, as he lowered his brush. The room filled with the council’s unimpressed faces and the worrisome expressions of the examinees. Around Elsu’s easel, Sassa saw Seren and her beautiful manifestation. Her tree was technically correct, precise to the point of unoriginality according to Master Acrid who noted it on his parchment. Hadn’t he said that the manifestations must be identical? What was it with him and Lady Seren? He didn’t seem to like anyone, but with Seren it seemed personal. The other Masters’ critiques were too difficult to hear. Instead, she watched Seren’s face for clues. It appeared drearier by the second. The Anatomist in ice blue was examining every branch as was Master Swn. Master Fryn and six Recorders were at their side, scribbling away. Master Bern stepped forward with a glass spray bottle filled with silver liquid. He sprayed the canvas and wiped, checking the cloth for paint residue. Perhaps he was determining if Seren was a Permanence or an Impermanence Illustrator. The material remained clean. Without further word, the group moved away, their expressions unreadable. B-but it was perfect! The precise colors, the twist and turns of the branches... Seren smiled, breaking Sassa’s thoughts. She gave Elsu a small nod, before grinning at Dei who was too nervous to respond. He stood frozen, his blue eyes wide and unblinking. She had ed. If Lady Seren’s creation was near identical, yet, she’d nearly lost a seat at The Academy, Sassa didn’t want to know what the Masters would think of hers. She needn’t ponder it, for the group turned and headed straight toward Elsu. “It is rather simplistic,” Master Swn said, examining the too fat petals. “The petals are too wide, the leaves too crooked and thin, almost like strands of hair,” said Master Acrid, but his tone was full of pleasure, his eyes shining with

mirth. “The colors are ill-blended,” Master Bern noted with a frown. Sassa’s chin fell to her chest, her eyelids squeezing shut to stop the burning as a pit of dread formed deep in her empty stomach. She had ruined everything. All the days wasted stitched inside the robe, all the pellets she’d swallowed, all the time Elsu had spent trying to teach her for nothing. Despite his dishonesty, Sassa didn’t know who she felt sorrier for, Elsu or herself. “There’s a certain charm to this interpretation. It’s whimsical,” said the Anatomist. “Dream-like, isn’t it?” All eyes turned to gawk at him, including Sassa’s. He was small for a Fae, thin and short with straight black hair that ended a little past his shoulder blades. That meant he was young, almost as young as the examinees. The Recorders seemed only there to observe and report, remaining quiet as their quills scratched over parchments. Their gazes flickered from the Anatomist to Master Acrid, their eyes glued to his lips, quills at the ready. Master Acrid’s jovial expression soured. “If by ‘dream’, you mean child-like absurdness, then yes. There’s no room for personal taste with realism, Anatomist Yil. It either is or isn’t correct, and this plant is not. It’d produce malformed Nymphs if it were a true creation.” The Anatomist smiled, his dark eyes beneath monolids gleaming as he touched the too-smooth trunk, the too-glossy, hair-like leaves. “Actually, my fellow Anatomists and I have discovered that slight shell modification isn’t destructive so long as it hasn’t altered the major internal functionings,” he said. “We’ve tested mild changes in appearances that have led us to believe that the shell, while important, is more of an aesthetic. A thin protective shield.” The Recorders scribbled furiously, and Master Acrid watched their quills intently. Perhaps their observations were of more than just the examinees. “Not in the case of Nymphs. It’s imperative the tree is identical,” Master Acrid ground out. “Master Swn spoke of the monstrosities that can occur, that have.” “Yes, due to interior malformations, but we aren’t discussing internal anatomy.

Regarding the shell, we’ve found that a change in coloring causes the most damage,” said Anatomist Yil. “As Master Bern pointed out, the color blend is poor,” quipped Master Acrid. “Ill-blending and hue match are different, aren’t they, Master Bern?” asked the Anatomist, and Sassa ed he was the Master of Color. “The colors are accurate,” nodded Master Bern, “though the technique is lacking.” Master Acrid didn’t acknowledge him. “It doesn’t mean such loose representations are acceptable, and they certainly are not to The Academy’s standards. Where is the senior Anatomist?” His eyes found the Recorders’ quills eagerly to see if they were making note of his inquiry. They were. He smirked smugly. Anatomist Yil’s smile faltered. “Overseeing beastly projects in the south, but I assure you that our new research is through and approved by the courts themselves.” The Recorders wrote faster. “With the subtle alterations Lord Elsu has made, I guarantee this creation would still produce Nymphs as perfect as the ones roaming the grounds now.” “The Academy has been contemplating the addition of an interpretative art class. I believe it would suit Lord Avundrui well,” said Master Swn. “He can learn stark realism, Acrid, but this style, this whimsical fancy is not easy to obtain through lessons.” “It would bring a new flavor to the world’s landscape if we experimented with fewer restrictions,” said Master Bern sheepishly as Master Acrid glowered at him. “I’ve wanted to try a non-traditional forest, save for the manollias of course.” “We are meant to duplicate, not take liberties,” Master Acrid said indignantly. “Who’ll determine which interpretations are becoming? It’s far too individualized. Sticking to realism is the best way at judging.”

Only half the Recorders wrote on their parchment. “Master Fryn, what do you think?” asked Master Bern. “I like the shadows,” Master Fryn said dryly. “They’re accurately placed. Now, all in favor of Lord Elsu gaining ittance into The Academy?” “I,” called Master Bern, Swn and Fryn in unison. Apparently, only Masters held a vote as Anatomist Yil could only lend Elsu a hopeful smile. Several more Masters raised their hand. Sassa counted eight out of twelve and gawked alongside a stunned Master Acrid. Master Bern stepped forward, spraying the silver liquid onto the canvas before swiping it with a cloth. The rag remained clean. “It appears we have another Permanence Illustrator entering the fall term. Congratulations,” said Master Swn, moving past Elsu, who was too astonished to speak, and to the next examinee, procession in tow. Master Acrid gave Elsu a look of warning, one that said this isn’t over. Sassa released a breath in time to Elsu doing the same. She could feel his body relax, imagine the spread of his lips as he smiled in relief. She was grinning too, falling to her knees in disbelief. Around the manollia’s trunk, Seren’s expression lingered between bewilderment and joy. In the next corner, Kohl gave Elsu a quick wink. But when Elsu shifted left, Lux Marmor became visible, and it was apparent that something was wrong. Very wrong.

Chapter Nineteen

Lux

Lux’s skin was on fire beneath the intense sun shining through the glass ceiling. Sweat pricked at his neck, his shoulders, his ears. He resisted the urge to scratch, conscious of the hundreds of eyes that watched him, following his every movement—the spirits’ movements. Master Swn and Master Acrid were making their rounds, taking half-hours to linger behind all the examinees. His turn always lasted longest. “They don’t trust you,” Louder drawled as the pressure of Lux’s hand along the canvas increased. Lux moved his eyes to and from the model and easel in a timely fashion as the Masters continued their vigilance over him. “Because of his House,” said Quieter. “They’re always suspicious of House Marmor.” “He should watch us,” Lux thought darkly and cringed when he did. His thoughts weren’t safe from them. Not anymore. “He should watch that boy, Kesor,” Quieter hissed. “His country is dead. Even the lowliest race, the Humans, don’t settle in Nyall. How has he inherited Illustrative abilities?” “Perhaps as I have,” Lux thought, despite himself. Kesor intrigued him too. “No,” said Louder vehemently. “He’s alone, but Avundrui is not.” Lux struggled to keep his eyes on the branches that extended in Avundrui’s direction. He was examining the lush canopy and when he glanced back at his

canvas; it reminded Lux to do the same. “So you’ve said.” Lux watched as the outline of a lilac blossom appeared beside him. “But where is the other soul?” Quieter persisted. “It’s not inside of him.” “What kind of spirit is it? It’s not Fae,” said Louder. “Not fully Fae anyway.” “A dual core, within a core,” said Quieter, moving Lux’s arm to dip a swallow hair brush into plum paint. “That explains it. But we’ve never seen two halves of a spirit, stitched together in the middle. Why isn’t it a true fusion?” “Perhaps the fragments are immiscible,” said Louder. “Like water and oil. But where is it? How is it?” “Didn’t they see Elsu without his coat in the bathhouse?” Lux thought a second too late to stop himself. “You knew!” Louder shrieked. “This entire time?” “Madam said you never left. How was I to know you hadn’t seen?” The Masters moved to Kesor. “Yet you use Avundrui for leverage, in exchange for Illustration?” Quieter asked, ignoring him. “I told you we couldn’t trust him. I knew he wasn’t the one we needed,” hissed Louder. “I swore I’d find out who the boy is hiding. We’ll find out together after the exams have ended. You know Fae cannot lie.” “But they can twist their words,” said Quieter. “Be specific.” “We’ll discover who and what he is hiding after I this ending task and before we leave The Academy’s grounds. More blossoms manifested, the canopy of his little tree spreading skyward. His creation was the most accurate by far, especially compared to Avundrui’s

whimsical interpretation, yet his heart fluttered at the sight of it. It reminded him of his tattoos. Why were the arts so technical in the Fae realm? Everything was, from Fae beauty standards to musical compositions, to architecture. It was bland and calculated with near mathematical precision, another subject Lux found dull. The world was too vast to uphold such narrow criteria as exceptional. “What about our payment?” asked Quieter. “After this task,” Lux thought as his brush dipped into the lilac. “It’s almost done.” “But what about our reward?” repeated Louder. “Finding out what the Avundrui boy is hiding was the condition we returned on, not completing your exams. You keep saying you desire that ore, but we know that’s not true. You don’t really believe it’s the solution to Albens’ problems.” “But we can pretend,” said Quieter. “We’re willing to break the rules for what we want. And what we want is a body.” “Are you going to pay us with this vessel? Your earthly shell?” asked Louder. “,” Quieter taunted. Fae cannot lie. His arm was no longer moving of its own accord. The brushstrokes were growing sloppy; the spirits retreating. He stilled his hand before he ruined the image. The onlookers’ gazes intensified as if their irises could penetrate through his core where the spirits swirled. A cold sweat broke over his skin, a paranoid shiver travelling up his spine. “You cannot cheat us, Lux. We hear your thoughts even as you try to hide them,” said Louder. “You pretend you want the ore, but how badly?” asked Quieter. He looked at the hourglass, watching as the last sand grain trickled through the pinched opening.

“Time,” called Master Acrid. Around twenty descended from the pews to him and Master Swn. They moved to Kohl first. “Well, Lux?” asked Quieter. “He’s stalling,” drawled Louder. “What does having my body entail?” Lux asked. He was stalling, his heart slamming in tune to every invisible second that ed. “Our right to it at all times.” “Until when?” Kohl was smiling, his blindingly white teeth visible from ear to ear. It was no surprise the nobles were ing. The procession travelled to a Zzarlziqa commoner. Her tree was abysmal, its canopy more reminiscent of limp noodles. It did not take them long to move to Seren, leaving the commoner to stifle her tears. “Until we find who we’re searching for,” said Louder. “We won’t need a body once we’ve found him.” “Who?” he asked, not caring. He needed the procession to approach him, now. “Who are you looking for?” “We’ll tell you. After payment.” “How long have you searched for this person?” “Since the dawn of time.” The group shifted to Elsu. Master Acrid was bickering with an Anatomist over Avundrui’s creation’s lack of realism. “Lux...” Quieter drawled. Lux’s mind raced. If only he could structure his words to evade the commitment.

“We heard that!” screeched Louder. “And it’s the wrong answer.” “I...I can give you anything else. Gold, gems, you name it.” Elsu’s dark face had grown pale, his body as rigid as stone. Then the Masters marched past him. The Anatomist was smiling. Elsu released a breath, the corners of his lips lifting. He’d ed. Lux’s stomach soured more if that were possible, burning not from the Nigcatus maiorum but a pang of envy. The manifestation beside him was perfect, yet he suddenly wished Elsu’s was his own. He wanted his creation to be his own, in his own style like his tattoos, because they were art and Avundrui just proved they could be valuable. What if he had let the spirits Illustrate his own painting instead? “Lux...” A nagging voice told him the Masters wouldn’t be as lenient or impressed with his dreamlike interpretation, with him. An Albenian. A Marmor. His stomach churned faster. “We need a body,” they chanted, their voices intertwined and multiplied once again. “Beasts,” he offered. “A body. It’s a fair exchange. We can give you more than an ore Lux. With our powers you needn’t fear Os’ army or rule.” “Why are you so against him?” “Os has abandoned us, our mission, our cause. But you could be our solution and we could be yours.” “And who would rule Albens, you or me?” The Masters were coming, the procession of Recorders at their tail. “We. Last chance. Do you consent to our full possession over your body until we

willfully leave it?” They’d phrased it specifically for a reason. Lux could squirm his way out of it. “I,” he stammered, unable to spit the words out, incapable of lying. Master Swn and the Anatomist seemed impressed as they surrounded him, their eyes gleaming with appreciation. “Too late.” A violet petal fell. Then two. “Wait!” “Goodbye Lux.” “No, no!” he gasped audibly as the flowers began to wither. What was happening? The spirits’ heavy internal pressure was leaving him, ripping themselves from every fiber of his being. “Stop it!” Lux shrieked, genuine desperation laced in each word. “Have me! You can have me! But stop this.” They didn’t respond. This time the silence was different, for he retained his senses. His hair rose like whips around him as the tree shook, a halo of rotted leaves raining down on them. Veins appeared beneath his pale skin, dark and raised, running a lattice work down his arms and to his fingers that had gone black entirely. He watched as the beautiful bustles of flowers turned from lilac to brown, the silver and golden branches crumbling to the floor. The unmistakable odor of decay spread vilely through the air as the tree shrunk before their eyes, rapidly decomposing until only a heap of blackened rot remained. “His face!” Master Bern gasped. Lux caught his reflection in the nearest window pane. He was dark as midnight,

including his hair and the whites of his eyes. He looked...demonic. “POSSESSION!” Master Acrid cried. “Flee now! Guards, the windows, quickly, lest the spirits infect someone here.” Around him, a commotion ensued. He could hear the heavy scuffing of heeled boots on wood as the onlookers fled the pews, scurrying for the exit. His knees buckled in pain, his hands shooting out to brace his fall. His jaw ripped open, releasing a rush of putrid black smoke that then shot from his nostrils and talons like the steam from a kettle. It was the same smog that lingered over the opened decanter of Nigcatus maiorum, hot and burning. He clawed at his throat, a mangled cry escaping his flattening lungs, unable to fill with fresh air. But as the pressure in his chest continued to lift, his tissues expanded, refilling their rightful places. His eyes watered with inky tears, the scorching heat drying them within seconds. He pulled at his collar, ripping the metal clasp and the fabric of his underrobe beneath. Air, he needed air! but freeing his flesh did nothing for his breathing. A chorus of gasps erupted from those who remained. “Blasphemous! Abominus!” They cried in unison. “Sullied! He’s sullied his skin with foul depictions of some abominus altered reality!” bellowed Master Acrid. “Is this what you want? Future students to study this detestable interpretation of our world?” “Not now, Acrid!” Master Swn shouted. “Guards, bar the doors and ready your swords. We don’t know what beast we’re up against. All spirits may not flee him.” Lux’s vision was growing hazy, the vessels in his eyes popping, a trickle of blood blocking his left view. Then with enough force to throw him into the pews, a projectile of Nigcatus maiorum expelled itself from his gut, landing with a sickly wet splat along the floorboards. “Aargh!” Lux gasped, slamming onto his front, clean air flooding his lungs. It was over.

His eyes snapped shut and when he opened them again the dark smoke had disappeared. His fingers splayed before him were turning white and his stomach no longer ached. He exhaled, feeling his spirit return to its rightful place. A small smile spread his lips for a split second, then reality crashed down around him like the lunging guards. Talons tore through his thick robe, his exposed fleshed. He’d ripped the garment straight down his torso, revealing the colorful tattoos that disappeared into his tros. Schwing! The sharp blades of over twenty daggers pressed into his back, sides and neck. “Filthy deviant!” Master Acrid condemned. “Have you any idea of what you’ve done by releasing spirits onto our sacred grounds? You’ve risked tainting everyone in this chamber. How dare you?” “Mater,” Anatomist Yil said sorrowfully. “You’ve exposed Mater to black magic.” Master Bern gasped, spinning back into the room. He’d been hanging his head out of a window, desperate to escape the smog. Even Master Acrid’s furious expression had softened to worry. “You don’t think...” Master Swn began, eyes roving over the large tree. The Anatomist shook his head. “We haven’t studied possession on manollias. It may affect her, or it may not.” “When will we know?” asked Master Bern. “We won’t know,” answered Master Acrid, his eyebrows meeting in fury once more. “You know what the courts will command.” “No,” whispered Master Bern, lips trembling. “They’ll want it burned, and when it’s destroyed, there’ll be no more Nymphs at The Academy,” said Master Swn, his eyes moving to Lux. “You really don’t understand what you’ve done, boy.”

Lux’s throat was too raw to speak, not that he had any useful words. He barely ed theirs as selfishly he thought of Albens. There would be no ore to take home, no hope, no future. This couldn’t be it. How could he have failed his people? “I told you something was wrong with those Albenians. We should’ve investigated them before the testing. I don’t know what Count Os is doing in Albens, but it deserves a summoning to the courts!” cried Master Bern. “Inquisitions are up to the court’s discretion,” said Master Fryn, his green eyes visible beneath his heavy brows now. He stared at Lux, transfixed. “Although possession surely warrants one.” “Possession!” Master Acrid scoffed. “The lowest of the low. Nothing, not an ission into The Academy, an ore, wysteria roll, nor a seat as ruler could be worth this crime. You’ve never seen suffering like that of the northern prisons. Get him off the grounds now! Master Fryn, send a crow informing the courts of this imposters arrival upon their shores in a fortnight.” “Shouldn’t we check him first?” asked the Anatomist. “Sending a possessed Fae into the open is dangerous, even with the accompaniment of fifty guards.” “There’s no Exorcist here,” Master Acrid said. “But there are plenty up north. Guards summon the iron carriage. If there are spirits left within him, they won’t be able to escape its confines.” His boots scuffed the floor as they dragged him toward the exit. He peered over the guards’ heads and into the petrified yet relieved irises of Elsu Avundrui. Lux gasped. He still saw the boy’s tri-core spirit. Now that he paid attention, he realized he could see the black gas swirling within Master Acrid, and the peach inside Master Bern, but only if he searched for it. Traces of the spirits still lingered. “Get out!” he roared into the silence, into the abyss. No one was there. An iron carriage covered in metal bars was already prepared, four horses harnessed and waiting in the courtyard. The guards tossed him in with such force his skull collided with the opposite, windowless door. It was more like a cage with no benches and a reinforced roof. The door slammed behind him with a

whoosh of the chilly afternoon air, followed by the click of a lock. Lux shook his head, tears he had no strength or pride to hold back flooding his vision. He’d gone through weeks of drinking that vile potion in vain, humiliating himself, his people, and his house irreparably. It was best the guards arrest him for returning to Marmor Manor emptyhanded would be worse. Return an Illustrator or not at all, Os’ threat echoed in his ear. But he couldn’t think of himself or his fate at the courts. Two words sprang to mind, Albens and Niveii. “Veii,” the hushed word tumbled from his quivering lips. What would happen to his sister if he wasn’t around? Niveii could hold her own, but he shielded her from much of Os’ torment. Without him, Os would make Niveii his personal whipping post. He couldn’t allow that. Os was rarely pacified, but what could please him more than an ore? A mine, a voice answered. This time it was his own. There were three titania mines in existence, all properties of the Fae King and heavily guarded. Impossible, his mind hissed. He couldn’t an exam, much less break into a mine. Niveii’s pale face swam in his tears. With an ore perhaps she’d have the debut of her dreams, or at the very least a wardrobe filled with purples and blues. He’d let her down, again. Could she feel his anguish through their soulbond? Lux placed a hand over his heart, trying to soothe the ache. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, wishing that she could hear him. “Niveii I’m-” Niveii’s image was smiling at him, her lips pulled wide. Her purple lips. Air rushed from his lungs, his heart slamming to a halt. He blinked, swatting at his leaking nose. Niveii, of course.

He didn’t need the King’s mine, nor these stupid exams to return Albens to its former glory; to erase the damage he’d inflicted upon his country. How had he been so daft? How had he not realized it before? Elsu’s robes swirled in his mind, and he envisioned the fusion swirling within his chest. Like him, Elsu clearly wasn’t an Illustrator, yet that hadn’t stopped him from obtaining an ore. Why should it stop Lux? He just needed a little help, and he knew where to find it. His heart slammed into overdrive as he wiped his shriveling tears. Placing his talons against the undercarriage, he forced acid to stream from their tips. It hissed and bubbled, eating away at the thin floor covering and exposing the metal beneath it. He could hear the entrance gates creak open, feel the wagon wheels spin faster as the horses picked up speed, barreling down the cobblestones. Two small circles appeared, and Lux watched with bated breath as they met, forming a hole large enough for him to escape. Under the chassis the road raced by, the cool night air blasting into the carriage. Tucking his long strands into his collar, he lifted his train and shoved it under his arms, flattening the excess fabric tight against his body. Then he fell, eyes shut, hands out, bracing himself for the impact.

Chapter Twenty

Sassa

A bonfire crackled through the chilly night air, warming all five victorious examinees. They stood in a semi-circle around the flames in the large front courtyard, the place where it all started. Sassa couldn’t believe they’d arrived at The Academy’s gates just three days ago. It seemed an eternity. With the rush of the last task fading away, aches and pains were battering her body again. Her stomach stopped growling, recognizing that no food would come. Lightheadedness, however, was overtaking her, and the fumes from her discarded shoes tied up with unmentionables exacerbated it. She needed to escape the robe, and soon. If Elsu didn’t release her for fresh air and drink inside his carriage, she’d break free herself, if her strength allowed it. She lay spent on the canvas’s floor, watching as the orange flames danced against the midnight sky, a grin cracking her lips. They’d done it. One misstep on either of their parts and they could’ve been locked in a barred cage too, heading for the courts. Her smile faltered. They’d watched through the windows as guards dragged Lux Marmor across the cobblestones and into the iron carriage. It whipped out of view, disappearing into the darkening forest. Would his noble status help him? She thought of the black smoke that’d billowed from his nose, mouth and talons, the way his skin had turned from alabaster to pitch. Nobility or not, Sassa doubted they would ever see Lux Marmor again. A vision of the cŵn annwn’s attacks on the Leles flashed through her mind. Were they still alive? She hoped for their sake that they weren’t. Immediately, a pang of guilt struck her. What if they hadn’t helped her with the fire? What if they’d taken that running start? She shook her head. The flames and smoke would have

gotten them eventually, she reasoned, yet the remorse didn’t lift from her shoulders. Was Lux’s fate similar to the girls, or did the Fae prison use more humane punishments? The crackling bonfire drew Sassa out of her thoughts. Master Acrid, Fryn and Bern had ed them, completing the circle. “A horribly eventful afternoon,” said Master Acrid. “Let us not spoil the evening with further talk of that boy. I assure you, the courts will deal with him gruesomely. Perhaps, they’ll make a public example for potential imposters who try to worm themselves into The Academy, into the positions where genuine leaders are born to sit. Into your seats. You have proven your worthiness today. Congratulations fellow Illustrators, The Academy welcomes you to your new home.” New home. The words rang in Sassa’s mind, reminding her of Elsu’s significant omission once more. It would have to be his home without her. How he’d accomplish Illustration alone wasn’t her problem. Her eyes flickered to Kesor. He hailed from a wasteland no one spoke of, other than to say it was dead. But what did that mean? To Sassa, it sounded like unexplored territory that may have what she sought, a place more accepting of untouchables as possible outcasts themselves. “Tonight starts your true life’s journey, a path vastly different from common Fae. You now hold a prestige not even the noble titles most of you have can succeed.” Master Acrid’s eyes found Kesor shadily. “As future students of the Fae realm’s most honored institution, we expect you to act as virtuous reflections.” Master Bern handed Master Acrid a robe. He was holding several of them, all a pearlescent white, with threads that glittered in the firelight. “As first years, you will don white robes, a representation of your lack of knowledge, a clean slate. As you advance, you’ll receive different colors, the highest being Anatomy in ice blue.” Master Acrid held up the garment. Its silhouette was like the robe Lux had worn, with straight sleeves and a medium train. “Consider these garments your second skin, a symbol to outsiders that you’ve won an invitation to study here.”

He was laying it on so thick, Sassa tried to comprehend just how important The Academy was. Envy stabbed at her stomach as Master Bern handed the fine garment to Elsu. His dark fingers examined the fabric tenderly. She wanted to touch it herself, to wear it. She’d earned it, after all. Then why are you in such a hurry to leave? She shook the thought away. She studied Dei, Kohl, Seren and Kesor, who seemed equally mesmerized as they received their robes next. They exchanged warm looks, even with Kesor, looks of amity. Sassa wondered not for the first time since observing Elsu and his friends if she’d ever experience the same sense of comradery. Would Elsu regard her differently now that she too was one of them, an Illustrator? She knew the answer instantly: no. “Master Bern,” asked Seren, avoiding Master Acrid’s gaze, “what’s the next color up?” “Amethyst,” said Master Bern. “It symbolizes that you’ve ed basic Illustration and painting techniques. It’s given after the successful completion of your third century. You may leave with a certificate then, however, it is not advisable.” “How many years are there in total? Until one has to graduate?” asked Kesor, a determined look hardening his features. Master Fryn’s beady eyes cracked open, showing a sliver of green irises. “Anatomy is tedious work, and few achieve those ice blue robes. It takes twelve centuries, sometimes more. The last Anatomy graduate needed fifteen. I hope that doesn’t deter anyone here who may try. Anatomists grow rarer each millennium.” “And to become a Master?” asked Seren. “To wear the emerald robes?” Master Acrid’s eyes bulged in surprise, as if no one had ever asked him before, though no one had. Seren was staring at Master Fryn, but Master Acrid spoke. “One cannot study to become a Master. The position is earned through thirty council votes. Of course, one must be invited and appointed to the council first, something that requires extraordinary accomplishments.”

Seren’s eyes cut to him, her words strained. “What was yours, Master Acrid?” “The beasts that protect this forest. I’ve designed them to keep everything and anyone out.” “And Anatomist Yil painted them to anatomical perfection,” chimed in Master Bern. Master Acrid gritted his teeth. “Yes, and it was I who designed them to fear blue lanterns.” “And Anatomist Yil, who illustrated their brains to display this characteristic,” Master Fryn nodded solemnly. Master Acrid cleared his throat. “Let us concern ourselves with the year at hand. Your first semester of general study begins this fall. When you return, you shall no longer be Lords, a Lady, nor a commoner, distinguishable by your clothing. Here, you are all students, and that newfound equality starts with these uniforms. You may don them now.” Everyone worked to remove their elaborate robes, Elsu and Dei taking the longest. Elsu was careful to keep Sassa’s rose upright, draping the garment across his arm so that her view was unaffected. “Without wysteria and titania, we cannot manifest,” said Master Fryn, opening the wooden box beside his knee. He pulled out a large roll of textured ivory canvas. “As you know, we grow wysteria trees here at The Academy. To produce a roll, we must use several tons of the fuzzy fibers from the canopy, a process that takes five hundred years before the fabric is fully cured. These rolls have waited half a millennium for this precise moment, just as you have. Guard them carefully.” Master Bern helped Master Fryn hand them out and the group cradled the canvases like newborn babes. Sassa touched the wysteria material beneath her, trying to in on the excitement. “But what is wysteria without its mate, titania?” Master Acrid asked, reaching into the golden pouch around his neck.

The guards that lined the forest’s perimeter stepped forward, forming a tighter circle, weapons drawn. The new students leaned in, their eyes wide, their lips parting. Elsu’s heart thundered, his feet shifting an inch closer toward Master Acrid. From the sack Master Acrid drew a white rock. He held it up to the moonlight and everyone gasped in awe, including Sassa who quickly muffled hers. It was no rock but an ore, a titania ore. It shone emerald, lilac, gold, and sapphire all at once, its jagged edges cut like that of a diamond. “Every Illustrator deserves an ore,” Master Acrid said, iring the stone, “and I can think of no Illustrators more deserving than the ones before me.” His eyes drifted to Elsu, his gaze contradictory to his words. Elsu swallowed. Master Bern took the pouch and made his rounds, handing out the stones. Even Master Acrid’s penetrating stare couldn’t stop Elsu’s glee as he held the titania level to Sassa’s rose. If she was envious of the uniform, she was downright jealous of the ore as it sparkled in his palm. “Congratulations once again, you have made your countries, your people, and, most importantly yourselves, proud.” “Who shall go first?” asked Master Fryn. “First to do what?” asked Seren quizzically. “It’s tradition to burn your old robes,” said Master Fryn before Master Acrid chimed in. “They’re representations of your past, of your homelands that no longer exist on these grounds. The burning is a symbolic gesture that one is ready to step into their new role of academic enlightenment while discarding their past. Thousands of Illustrators have burned their garments in this very pit from Fae Kings to many of your noble relatives.” What? Sassa gulped, wishing for once that she could see Elsu’s face. Had he not

known about this part of the process? “We don’t have to burn them though?” Elsu asked, his voice calmer than Sassa liked. “Yes, it’s rather expensive,” Dei said, gripping his coat tighter. “Besides, diamonds don’t melt, do they?” “These uniforms are far more valuable than jewels,” said Master Bern. “It’s a terrible waste,” said Elsu. “There’s no need to ruin magnificent garments when we can simply not wear them. Keep them for memories.” “It is tradition,” persisted Master Acrid, his face growing dark. “Besides, has not Avundruill thousands of yards of teal fabric?” Seren startled them all by stepping forward. Her robe was plain compared to the elaborate veil she’d left at the gates. She held out the sea-foam green material, wordlessly dropping it into the flames. Kohl followed suit, his stunning purple-and-golden embroidered robe disappearing with a crackle. Surprisingly, Kesor was still clutching his, his eyes trained on the plain orange fabric as if its importance was more meaningful than The Academy’s uniform. Perhaps it had been something he fought for. Sassa knew the feeling all too well, yet she couldn’t worry about Kesor. What was going to happen to her? “I know they’re just crystals,” Seren hissed under her breath as Dei fingered the shiny jagged protrusions that littered his garment. “There are thousands up north.” Dei squeezed his eyelids shut before releasing his beautiful costume a second later, causing the flames to flare violently. With a sigh, Kesor went next, leaving Elsu to go last. The others were staring at him expectantly. Master Acrid’s eyes drifted to Sassa’s rose, suspicion overtaking his features. His lips parted to speak, but Elsu stepped closer to the fire. He moved his arm, slipping the garment from it. No! Sassa’s mind screamed. He wouldn’t! Would he? He had what he wanted, his

ore, the wysteria roll...No, he needed her if he stood a chance at The Academy. He didn’t know that she would refuse to stay, and he couldn’t just burn her alive! He dangled the fabric over the flames. Immediately heat seared her flesh, singeing the fabric beneath her feet. The crackle of the roaring fire drowned out her screams as her talons ripped through the threads. They were unbearably hot, blistering her fingertips with the slightest touch. Then, just as suddenly, a gust of cool wind rushed through the canvas. She gasped. The fire was disappearing, growing smaller beneath her. She was...flying! Above the small gathering she soared, spinning away from the courtyard and Elsu’s outstretched hand. His expression was dire. Over the treetops, she sailed, rushing deeper into the thicket of the forest, past where the blue lanterns shone. A jutting tree branch broke her freefall, her hoarse screams. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, her pulse thumping a frenzied beat. She continued her onslaught on the threads, struggling to ignore the throbbing pain in her hands. Blood sprang from her cracked fingertips, but she persisted, breaking four, six, twelve threads at a time. There were thousands to go. She sank to the burned floor; her outstretched arms trembling with fatigue, hunger, and fear. If Elsu came for the coat, he’d have to return to The Academy without her. There was no way she’d get back in the blasted thing. That was if he came at all. She thought of her gold in Elsu’s desk, the other half he still owed her. She deserved that money, had nearly died for it, yet she couldn’t fathom what Elsu was thinking or how she’d ever get to Avundruill to confront him. Was the gust of wind that saved her a coincidence, or his plan? What about her plans? What was she to do now? Visions of a ship sailing across the sea without her swam in her watery eyes. She swiped at them with her sleeve. Sixty-two. Ninety-nine. Three hundred and twenty. She’d lost count when the garment shifted, freezing her in place. Someone was picking up the coat. Suddenly, talons were digging through the embroidery, tearing it with ease.

“Elsu?” she called, hating the hope that bloomed in her heart as the night air rushed into the canvas. When the last thread vanished, she leaned toward the midnight sky, sticking her head out the wysteria in relief. “Thank the heavens.” Strong arms snaked out to catch her as she pitched forward, her wobbling legs threatening to give out. One hand cradled the back of her neck, the other caught her trembling wrist, squeezing the blistering flesh. “You’re welcome,” said Lux Marmor, his voice as cold as the night breeze. A sharp breath left her as she struggled to get away, but he fisted his fingers through her hair. They were freezing, sending a chill down her spine. “W-what do you want?” she sputtered. “I need your Illustration services. The same as Elsu Avundrui.” “I’m closed for requests.” Her talons rose to claw him, but he clenched her arm so painfully, stars exploded before her eyes. She fell into him, her head slamming against his chest, her limbs giving out. He released her wrist, which fell uselessly to her side, throbbing. Grabbing her chin, he tilted her face to look up at him. His pale eyes bore into her own, his expression...sorrowful? “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his grip still tightening, “but I wasn’t asking.”

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About the Author

Beck Beetle loves anything nostalgic, from late 90s to early 2000s classic teen movies, alternative rock bands, and platform shoes. She’s fond of drawing and anything opalescent or spicy. When she isn’t writing fantasy books or plotting paranormal storylines, she’s obsessing over cozy mysteries and dreaming about slow-burn romantic subplots. Read more at Beck Beetle’s site.