

A Fairy's Tale

by

Heather Wielding

Copyright 2019 Heather Wielding

License Notes

This free ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please download an additional copy for each recipient.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

# Prologue

"Get a move on, Sara! You know the Elders want the wheat by sunrise!"

Sara nodded. She knew well what Tilda meant: the fall Equinox -feast wouldn't prepare itself. The wheat gathered by two virgins during the darkest hours of the night would be ground to flour as the sun reached its blinding arms over the mountains behind their village, and baked into soft bread served at the feast come midday. The bread was believed to have special powers: whoever ate it, would gather many blessings during the coming year. Wishes made while chewing were believed to come true, and everyone wanted a slice of the bread.

If the wheat wasn't delivered on time, the bread couldn't be made. Still, Sara paused at the sight.

"Have you ever seen anything like that?" Her voice was soft, full of wonder, but Tilda would have none of it. The hour was growing late, and they were needed.

"What's so special about a dewy meadow?" she snapped, worn from a night of hard work. "Let's just go and get some sleep before the sun comes up."

Sara hesitated, but only for a moment. "You go. I'll catch up, and meet you along the way. The village gates at the latest."

Tilda rolled her eyes, and flung a heavy sack over her shoulder. "Fine then, but make sure you get there before dawn."

"I will."

As Tilda turned to walk down the narrow footpath, Sara lay her sack down. She stepped off the path. The meadow glistened in the moonlight, but not with dew. It looked as though it was powdered with fine dust that turned soft light into rainbows. It was the most beautiful, enchanting thing she had ever witnessed, the loveliest sight she could even hope to imagine. The desire to touch the colours, to breathe them in, to become one with them, was overwhelming.

Conscious thought fled from her mind as she stepped into the meadow and reached out to touch the rainbows.

***

The night was still dark as reason returned to her, but the horizon was turning lighter. Daybreak was near. Light would soon flood the world. The village was still many steps away. Sara felt her scalp tingling, like her hair was trying to stand on end. If she was late, the ceremony, along with the feast that followed it, would be ruined.

She gathered her skirts, and rushed to the footpath. The meadow had lost its magic: it was cold and damp, and everything that grew there tried to make its way around her ankle, to pull her down and stop her.

The sack was where she'd left it. Sara picked it up without bothering to arrange her hems, and set out to beat the sun.

***

Tilda was waiting for her at the main gate. Sara could see her red hair in the soft glow of the light posts, and though there was a sting in her chest and a burning in her throat from running the entire way, she picked up the pace. She was almost there, and the sun still hadn't risen. The village slept, there was time still, and Tilda -

"Where have you been! I have waited all night for you!"

Breathless, unable to reply or explain, Sara took Tilda's arm, rushing toward the dome in the middle of the village. There would be plenty of time to explain later, after the wheat was delivered and proper words exchanged, after the sweat had dried on her back and made her dress crispy, after her breathing had slowed down, and the pin in her side left her painless and able to speak.

The Elders were waiting in darkness, as was custom, and as the girls entered their circle, one of them, the eldest, stood, and spoke the words that would complete the rite.

"The Innocents return. With plunder, I hope?"

The girls knelt, one more heavily than the other, offering sacks of grain.

"We return, oh esteemed one, our purses rich with wheat."

There were supposed to speak in unison, with one voice, but Sara's came out in wheezes and gasps. The eldest looked at her with a twinkle of laughter in his eye. He remembered well what it was like to be young, and knew the fall Equinox wouldn't be ruined by a few missing words. The wheat was delivered in time, and that was all that mattered.

"Then let us grind it as the sun rises, and thank nature for its generous blessings." His voice was full and powerful despite his frail appearance, and kindness coloured it like the dust that had coloured the meadow for Sara.

***

"Where were you?" Tilda asked, her plate full of food, dark shadows under her eyes. Sara's adventure had robbed her of a night's sleep, and despite her youth, it showed. Lack of rest hadn't affected her appetite, though, Sara was happy to see. The dome above them echoed with voices and laughter, and in the middle of it, the Elders sat in silent harmony, benevolent rulers of a happy village, listening to every word that was spoken. No-one remembered who had built the dome: it had been there longer than the Elders had lived. It acoustic traits were well known to them, but not the villagers. At each gathering, the Elders sat in the middle of the dome while the shape of the ceiling carried the voices of villagers to their ears. It was how they knew everything, and maintained an image of all-powerful beings of magical abilities.

"I didn't go anywhere," Sara said. "I was in the meadow." After a pause, she added, "I think. It's all a bit unclear. But it was beautiful. The meadow was glistening with light and colour, and... "

"And we almost missed sunrise. It was a matter of moments!"

"I know, I know, Tilda, but we did make it. And it was the most exiting thing I've ever experienced!"

"The most exiting thing, and still it's a bit unclear?"

There was a hostile tone in Tilda's voice, but Sara was used to it. Tilda was full of fire, just like her hair. Most things she said sounded like she was picking a fight. Sara's mother liked to say that Tilda wasn't too likely to get a husband, but Sara disagreed. She'd seen the way boys looked at her, like they enjoyed her fire, like they wanted to play with it. Tilda was smart, too, and pretty in a way Sara envied. Her own hair was brown like the earth, her features plump and homely. She suspected Tilda to marry far earlier, while she held her hand through weddings and childbirth, remaining a spinster herself.

"Well it was lovely, and that's it."

Tilda ate in silence for a while, carefully chewing on the soft bread baked from the grain they had collected. Whether or not she was making wishes, Sara couldn't tell. The way her eyes were fixed on the Collin's boy, though, suggested she was.

"Do you feel any... different?" Tilda asked after a while.

Sara paused to think. She didn't pay that much attention to how she felt. She was rarely nauseous, rarely sick. Feeling nothing but fine was unfamiliar to her. Tilda sounded serious, so she took the time to consider.

"No, not really," she said after a moment of careful introspection. "I mean, I'm tired, but that's because we haven't slept, and my legs feel funny, but that because I ran all the way back, but other than that..."

Or was there something? A touch of nausea in the pit of her stomach? A headache maybe?

Sara smiled bravely and confirmed her own words. "I feel just fine."

Neither of them noticed that the eldest of the Elders was watching them with concerned wrinkles on his forehead, like he didn't like what the dome carried to his ears.

***

Sara dropped her basket of dirty laundry, and ran around the corner. Nausea hit with no warning, with an intensity she hadn't experienced before. She closed her eyes as everything she'd eaten after waking up left her, bitter tears welling behind her lids. Sara struggled to keep them in, but the battle was quickly lost.

The vomiting spells had lasted for two weeks now. She had tried to keep them a secret, but knew she wasn't doing a very good job. It was difficult to conceal things in a small, tightly knit community, especially if you were a young girl waiting to marry. She was a treasured asset, her value greater than she could imagine. The village saw it as its right to keep her safe under its ever-watching eye. She, like all he girls in the village, was on display. Everything they did was known to all, and Sara knew her illness would soon be public knowledge.

The plague she had contracted would mean exile.

A life alone, in the woods with a deadly sickness was no appealing fate, so Sara tried her best to keep her condition a secret. Little did she know that spying eyes had already noticed, and news was being delivered to the Elders.

***

"It's my girl, Sara," Lucy said, touching her apron to the corner of her eye. "I suspect she is with child."

The council of Elders didn't gasp in disgust. Instead, sounds of disgruntlement escaped them.

In their community, girls entered marriage untouched. It was an unwritten law, a custom they had followed for centuries.

Accidents, though, happened. Every once in a while, a girl met a boy, gave in to his advances, and ended up pregnant. In these situations, the happy couple usually wed with the blessings of the Elders, but Sara hadn't been seen with anyone. The lack of a suitor made the situation all the more challenging.

"We wish to speak with the girl," the eldest of the Elders said. "Bring her to us."

Lucy bobbed her knees in an attempt to curtsey, and escaped the audience hall. The Eldest were the law of the village, and though they were a kind, compassionate law, the simple villagers feared them.

***

"But I haven't done anything," Sara protested.

"You know what you've done," her mother snapped, ushering her into a clean apron. "The entire village knows. And now you'll have to pay the price."

Sara's stomach was in cold, tight knots. She'd know this day would come. This was the day she would be driven from the village, left alone to die. "But I don't want to go," she sobbed, trying desperately to keep tears in check.

Her mother wasn't moved. "You'll have to. The council is waiting."

***

"I was told to..."

"Yes, yes, go on in. They're expecting you."

The man whose duty it was to announce visitors to the council waved his hand, and turned back to his book. His eyes were poor, so he had to hold the book so close it almost touched his nose.

"I thought that..."

"Go on in, dear."

This wasn't what Sara had expected. She had prepared herself to meet armed guards who would drag her in kicking and screaming. She'd expected to meet disapproval and accusations, and all she got was this.

Complete lack of interest.

She nodded her head, like she had been taught, and entered the audience hall.

The Elders sat in a semi-circle around the chamber. Their faces were pale and bearded and grey, and for the first time, Sara noted how old they looked. She wanted to go to them, to touch their hands and comfort them, like it was they who were in pain, not her.

"Sara," the eldest of the Elders spoke. "We understand you haven't been feeling well."

Tears burned her eyes, stifled her throat. It was a sensation she'd grown used to during the past fortnight. "You understand correct," she answered. There was no point in hiding now. The truth was out.

The eldest nodded. "You are a sweet and innocent girl, but we have to ask: have you laid with anyone?"

The shock roused by the question drove tears away. "What... no. I haven't."

"As I assumed.

"And tell me, child, have you seen anything... unusual in the past month?"

Sara struggled to form coherent words. Thoughts were a jumbled mess in her head as she tried desperately to remember what she'd seen and done during the past weeks. She swallowed and stuttered, and as a clear thought struck her like a lightning bolt, she fell quiet. Her eyes were big and round and scared, and the eldest stood to walk to her.

His hands were warm and dry, like she imagined ancient silk to be, comforting around hers. "What did you remember, child?"

"The meadow," she said. "When I returned from gathering the wheat, I saw the meadow full of stars and rainbows."

The grip the eldest had on her hands grew tighter. "Fairy magic," he uttered.

"Fairies?" Sara repeated. It was starting to become clear that she hadn't contracted a deadly plague, but something else.

"That's how they breed. They sprinkle dust on meadows, and inhale it." The elder's words were dry and curt, like he was upset about something. "I did not know it could affect humans as well."

"What do you mean?"

The eldest looked back at her, his eyes gaining light and joy. "You are with child, Sara."

"Child?"

She didn't want to seem silly, but the idea of having conceived a child by inhaling fairy dust seemed absurd to her. Everyone knew a man and woman were to lay together in order for a new life to begin. Still, she kept her mouth shut. She didn't want to upset the Elders by arguing against their better judgement. After all, she was only a girl, and knew little of the ways of the world.

"Every child is a blessing, no matter their origin.

"Every child must also be born in wedlock."

Sara felt the cold, tight knots in the pit of her stomach again. Surely they would exile her now, drive her off into the woods to die alone, not of a deadly plague, but of childbirth.

But the Elders smiled.

"We must find you a husband, and act quickly.

"And the way the child was conceived must remain our secret."

***

Later, she could remember little of the wedding ceremony. It was like a dream, and gone as quickly as a dream fades. Tilda was there, all smiles for once, and her mother, touching her best apron to the corner of her eye, her aunts and uncles, the entire village, and the boy they had decided should wed her.

It wasn't a bad match, she later noted. Sam was kind and hard-working. He liked to kiss her forehead and call her missus. He wasn't upset, either, when he learned they were blessed with a child. Now, as she was screaming her pain out in labour, she would have liked his hand on her head, calming, soothing. Instead, she had a midwife between her legs, her mother squeezing her hand so tight Sara feared her bones would break, and pain that was blinding her, pain unlike anything she'd ever even imagined.

For the longest time, pain was all that existed. Pain that tore her in half, ground her to cinder, and left her wheezing until it returned once more. And just as she thought she couldn't take more, it ended.

"Where is it?" she managed. Her voice wouldn't carry over the murmur of worried women. "Where's my child?"

She could see their backs, all turned to her, crowding over something small.

"Give me my child," she insisted. Her voice sounded strong in her ears, but in truth, it was weak as a newborn calf's. Somehow, the midwife still heard it.

"Dear," she started, holding a small bundle in her hands. The bundle was moving. She could see the tiniest hand poke out. Sara reached her arms to it.

"Dear, there's something you should know," the midwife said, carefully placing the bundle in Sara's arms. "The child..." Hesitation claimed something was wrong, but Sara didn't care. The child lived, it was warm in her arms, so small and pink and wrinkly like an old woman.

"Dear, the child..."

"I shall call her Shaela," Sara said.

"It has wings."

***

Sara stood by the crib Sam had so patiently carved out of wood, watching the small creature she had brought into the world. Shaela slept, tucked under soft, white blankets. Sara reached in, careful not to wake her, and pulled the blankets aside.

The child was pink and frail, her back adorned with translucent wings that crumpled up when she slept on them, and slowly straightened themselves out once she awoke. She looked just like a normal child, only smaller and winged.

Sara's hands shook as she covered the child again after the eldest of the Elders had given permission by nodding his head.

"It is clear this child is one of the fairy folk," the eldest said.

"It is clear," Sara echoed, in unison with her husband. His hand was strong and kind on her back, offering support though she hadn't thought to ask for it.

"She doesn't belong with us, among humans." The Elder's voice betrayed his emotions. Children were seen as a gift, a blessing, and each one was treated as a treasure.

Difference, though, was seen as a threat.

This child was truly different, and the Elders were now faced with the task of deciding which weighed heavier on the scales: a child, or her wings.

"She cannot stay," the eldest ruled, and Sara echoed his judgement.

"She cannot stay."

# Chapter One

The night was falling. Sun set slowly, covering the earth in long shadows, and in the fairy village, little ones were being tucked in. Usually, they settled in quickly, but tonight, they were full of questions. The Fairy Queen had made her annual appearance in the above-the-ground, and the children had all gotten a glimpse of her. It had been plenty to drive them off the wall, and now, as it was time to sleep, they were bombarding Shaela with questions she didn't have answers to.

"Where does she live?" they asked, "How did she get here? Does she have a carriage? With horses? Or butterflies? What's her house like? Where did she come from? Why doesn't she live here with us?"

"She lives in the court below ground, in a magical realm of high-born fairies," Shaela explained. She didn't know everything about the Queen, no-one did, but she did know enough to fulfil the curiosity of children. She was also smart enough to know that each answer would rouse ten more questions. With children, conversations never ended. "She enters our realm through mushroom rings that were created by fairy magic many seasons ago. As the rings are magical, she doesn't need a carriage. But if she had one, I'll bet it was drawn by gigantic butterflies instead of horses."

The children giggled in awe at the thought of giant butterflies, and chattered like a pot of boiling water. Their voices were soft and light, and all too often, Shaela had trouble understanding them. They spoke fast, faster than Shaela could follow, and half of their words were those of animals and birds.

Children were like that in Fairyland: they understood every language in their realm, including that of human's, but preferred to communicate through a jumbled mess of noises and words and sounds incomprehensible to anyone else. Adults saw them as wearisome. Most wanted as little as possible to do with their offspring. Children were never abandoned, but fairies did enjoy their freedom enough to choose to leave them with Shaela while they enjoyed their existence.

Shaela didn't complain. She liked children. They asked a lot of question, but they never judged. Not even when they flew around their bedchambers, wondering why Shaela didn't join in on their fun.

Shaela's wings had never been strong enough to lift her off the ground, no matter how hard she tried.

The language she spoke with the young ones was sometimes human, sometimes fae. Though fairies kept their distance from earth-bound creatures, they did know their words. Shaela knew of her human origin, and speaking their words made her feel closer to them. Still, as the small ones got exited, they forgot Shaela's limitations, and chattered amongst themselves in a tongue that came naturally to them.

"What's it like in there?" they asked now. "What does the court look like? And her house? Is it full of fairy dust and dragons? Are dragons even real?"

Their eyes were large and exited as they stared at her, sitting up in their beds, small, translucent wings at the ready to carry them off. They were small compared to her, tiny like all fairies, and once again, Shaela wondered why she had grown to be so tall and wide and heavy.

She knew that faeries pondered over it, too, whenever the thought happened to cross their minds. They wondered why a child born so different was brought to them, and why they had decided to pity it enough to adopt it.

"I don't know what it's like in there. No-one knows," Shaela said. "And as for dragons... I have a story about them. Would you like to hear it?"

The children screamed in joy, and after a little bit of flying around, they returned to their beds, tucked themselves back in, and settled to listen to Shaela's story about a dragon named Lindea who loved a dwarf.

***

The children slept, their soft, pink faces calm and sweet, their wings wrinkled up against their backs. Shaela stood at the doorway, hunched over because the room was too low for her, watching them, making sure they slept. After a while, she left through an open doorway. There were no doors in fairies houses, only arched openings that led from room to walkway to room. It was always warm, so fairies had little use for doors, and even less for clothes.

The walkways circulated trees. They were lit by jars filled with fireflies. Each walkway was carefully fenced with branches, though fairies needn't fear falling. Shaela was grateful for them, though. She was too young to remember, but as she was just learning to walk, fairies got fed up with having to watch her all the time, and built fences to keep her from falling. Now, she slid her hand down the smooth surface of old wood, and wondered, not for the first time, how her own kind lived.

Despite her wings, she considered herself more human than fairy: she was tall and big compared to her family of fae, and her features were far from beautiful. Fairies preferred wide cheekbones and pointy noses, and Shaela's thin, flat face was seen as almost ugly. Her skin was too white for their taste, her hair too thin and silky. They liked colour, and if their skin didn't sparkle in all the colours of the rainbow, they used dye to enhance its tone.

Shaela had never cared for such, and was regarded odd for not even trying to appear attractive. When fairies flew off to spread fairy dust onto the meadow nearby, she remained home to watch the children, knowing there would soon be more to care for.

"Lost in thought?" someone asked. Shaela didn't jump. She had lived with fairies long enough to expect the unexpected.

"I was wondering about humans," Shaela answered. She knew the speaker by voice: it was one of the council members, Cedar. The fairies didn't have a political system other than a Queen, but every village had a council of esteemed, well-aged fairies who were seen as wise and trusted. They watched over the village, and helped those struggling with problems. The council was needed often: fairies were fickle in nature, and often caused trouble for themselves and those around them.

"Humans?"

"My kin. I've lived with fae all my life, but I'm not one of you. I have wings, yet cannot fly. I'm different from you, and sometimes, I wonder whether I would fit in with humans better."

"Aren't humans the ones who abandoned you to our care?"

His words were true, that much Shaela was willing to admit, but something about them made her uneasy.

"Maybe they didn't abandon me. Maybe they couldn't care for me and needed your help. Maybe I was orphaned. Or maybe they thought I would fit in better here."

"And now that you're all grown up, you doubt their decision?"

"Well... yes."

Cedar nodded. "You have the right to rule your own life, as do we all. But if you decide to leave, returning may be impossible."

"I know."

"Shall I arrange a meeting with the council?"

"Yes."

He nodded, and flew away.

Shaela remained outside, the only place where she could stand up straight, to watch the night darken. She could hear an owl calling, but didn't understand what it said.

***

"We understand you wish to leave our village in search of your own kind."

Shaela nodded. She stood in front of the council dressed in her best, knowing this day would change her life. There would be no going back, no matter how the ruling fell.

She would no longer watch over the small ones, would no longer tell them stories until they fell asleep, would never again live in rooms too low for her.

Life as she knew it was over, and after today, the rest of the world would know it as well.

"This decision is your own to make," the council ruled, fast in its motions like all fairies. "How do you choose?"

Shaela pulled in a deep breath, held it in, and allowed it to leave in a slow sigh. Breathing out the air was like shedding a piece of clothing too tight. "I choose to leave, but with gratitude and a heart that will always miss you."

"Then leave with our blessing, and know, that though we cannot welcome you back once you go, we will always consider you our friend."

Shaela bent her head, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her heart. She was free now, free to go as she pleased.

Free to seek out those who gave her life.

***

She didn't have many belongings. It didn't take long to pack them up. She took all her clothes, a book especially dear to her heart, and a doll her fae mother had made her. As she looked back at the room she had slept in for sixteen years, she heard footsteps from behind her.

She turned to look, and saw Cedar, the council member who had spoken to her the night before. He stood on the ground, which wasn't common for fairies who preferred to fly, and hid his hands behind his back.

"I have something you need to have," he said, pulling out a bundle of white fabric. "You were wrapped in this when we first found you. Perhaps, when you find your kin, this will serve to proof you were indeed born to them."

Shaela took the bundle, opened it with careful hands. It was a soft blanket lovingly knit, warm and soothing to the touch. It was clearly made for a child, but Shaela could still wrap it around her shoulders like a scarf.

"And something else, more valuable." Cedar looked grave. Faeries smiled often and widely. It was alarming to see one so solemn.

He held out his hand, revealing a small ring of fine gold. "This was in your hand. It has an engraving, though we do not know what it means."

Shaela took the ring, turned it around to find the engraving, and read it aloud. "My heart, eternal – J'dra." She frowned, uncertain of how she should feel. She had expected to find a clue to her kin, not a declaration of love. The ring fit easily around her thumb, and she left it there.

"Who is J'dra?" she asked. "My mother? My father?"

"No-one knows. But perhaps humans do. Show them the ring and the blanket, and maybe they will recognize them."

He touched his hand to hers, small, dark fingers delicate on her white skin. "But remember, they might not. Many years have passed. Knowledge dies quickly."

"As quickly as fairies fly."

He nodded with a smile, and the smile was sad. "We will miss you."

"And I you," she said, but Cedar had already flown away.

# Chapter Two

Summer reigned eternal in the fairies' realm without the threat of winter. Trees bore fruit without pause, and rain always fell warm and soft. Walking though the outskirts of the realm, Shaela felt an odd sense of peace, like the world was finally falling into place. She picked an apple to eat as she left her home, trusting to find more along the way. She had no reason to assume otherwise: in a land of endless summer, food was always plentiful.

Her first introduction to fall came as she crossed the border. In Fairyland, sun rose toward its high point without a single cloud blocking its way. Outside the blessed land, cold winds tried to separate Shaela from her clothes, tearing and pulling at the light fabrics spun with light and joy.

The world outside was grey and bleak, void of colour and life. Shaela shivered, turned around in a strange environment, not knowing where she was, or where she was to go.

"Find your way to the meadow," Cedar had said, "and look for any signs of paths that look like they were made by human feet." The directions were far from accurate, and as the enchantment of fairy dust bled away, Shaela found herself struggling to find familiar landmarks.

In the past, a path had led to the meadow, the breeding ground of fairies. It had been lit with torch-bug lanterns, and decorated with flowers.

Now, everything was grey. All that marked the way was a faded footpath half-covered in dead leaves. With light fast fading, Shaela struggled to see it.

Eventually, she made it to the meadow. Shivering with cold, Shaela stood by a sight she had not expected. Hopeful thoughts for the future drained away with rain as she found nothing but more dead leaves.

The meadow was nothing like she remembered. It no longer repeated the colours of the rainbow, nor glistened like liquid silver. It, too, was dead and drab. Looking at it, Shaela felt the first sting of regret. This world was nothing like she'd hoped. It offered no joy, no peace of mind. Only death, and freezing cold.

Tears burning her eyes were the only warmth she ever expected to feel as she curled up next to the meadow to sleep, like all fairies did if snow fell over them.

***

"Don't forget your scarf, now, dear," Sara said, holding out a grey homespun shawl for her daughter. This was the first time Mia left to gather crops for fall Equinox, and Sara was rightfully concerned. The forest was a dangerous place, too dangerous for young girls to venture out into. Lately, some girls had returned injured, or not at all. Each mother prayed that their daughters would be spared from the choice, and the Elders were discussing whether it would be wise to end the custom.

While they debated, the girls would be escorted by an older man. The man would follow them at a distance, and only come to their aid at the sign of danger. Today, June's father would accompany them, armed with a crossbow and a dagger.

"Please stop fuzzing, mother. I'm sure we'll be fine with Mr. Collins watching over us."

She took the shawl, and wrapped it around herself, layering knits over knits. Fall had come early this year, and everyone wondered whether the girls would find anything to gather in a forest already picked clean. The Elders had advised them to pick anything they could: frostbitten apples would be just as welcome as wheat, just as long they didn't return with empty baskets.

The village had fallen upon hard times since Sara's firstborn, Shaela, had been cast out. Cattle had started dying, crops grew scarcer, and people, hungry and worn, lost patience easily, and argued with one another. Peace and harmony were gone, and most villagers blamed the Elders. They thought the banishment of a newborn girl-child had brought a curse upon them all. Demands for new leadership were made, but, to date, not answered. The council of Elders remained in power, and did its best to ensure a happy life for everyone.

"I know, I know, dear." Sara tied Mia's hat tighter under her chin. She was the only child Sara had been given after Shaela: the thought of subjecting her to danger filled her heart with dread. "You just be careful."

"We will," Mia promised lightly. "And we'll try to stay close to the village."

Kisses and embraces were exchanged, and Mia left into the cold night, leaving Sara to touch her apron to the corner of her eye, just like her own mother so many years ago.

***

Timothy kept his distance from the girls. He knew they needed time to breathe, time to forget about the proper ways of behaviour, to just be young. He ignored them laughing and joking while still making sure he kept them in sight: he would never be forgiven if something happened to them.

The girls headed toward the meadow, following a footpath that had formed during years of walking back and forth. Though the meadow itself wasn't an interesting sight to see, it did lay at an intersection where pathways crossed and met, one leading to a nearby village they traded with, one tracing the way to a larger town, and one disappearing into the woods. The last pathway was never used. It was said to lead into a haunted part of the forest, and no-one wished to venture out too deep. Life was hard enough without having to meet ghosts and wraiths.

Life was hard, indeed, and watching over the girls while they picked mushrooms and joked, keeping an eye out for something more interesting than a couple of yellow legs, felt like a vacation. The day was cold but sunny, and Timothy enjoyed walking outside with no rush, no duties other than keeping two chattering teens out of harm's way. It seemed like an easy task, given that the girls were loud enough to keep any beast at bay, and bright enough to see in the barren forest. Timothy kept a close eye on them, but still, the screams came as a surprise.

"Dad!" June screamed at the top of her lungs, scaring birds to take flight an entire mile's radius. "Dad, come quick!"

Timothy scrambled through the pathway, tripping on roots, struggling to release his crossbow. He was certain the girls, despite being within his sight and obviously unharmed, were being torn apart by trolls. They were kneeling on the ground as he reached them, their baskets forgotten, their faces pale and scared. Crops grew wild and heavy around them, and between them lay something small and white.

"Daddy, it's a child," June said quietly. "A girl."

***

The night was dark around them, and the girls worked as fast as they could while Timothy held the child close to him to keep her warm. Her skin was like ice, and they all feared the worst. Still, common sense had forced them to gather all the wheat they could before returning to the village together. Timothy refused to leave the girls alone, and the girls refused to leave the crops behind. So he waited, the child cold and unresponsive in his arms, as the girls used small knives to cut spikes off stems, and stored them into sacks. The mushrooms waited on the side of the path, and Timothy made a mental note of reminding them to pick the baskets up, and hang them on his arms. He wasn't allowed to help the girls with the offerings, not in gathering or carrying, but now that they had found an abundance of wheat, the mushrooms didn't matter. He could carry them to the village, and they would be baked into a pie, and appreciated at the feast.

Or a funeral, if the girl in his arms, wrapped in scarves and shawls the girls could spare, passed to the other side.

Finally, what felt to be hours later, the girls were done. They turned to walk home together, and Timothy remembered to mention the mushrooms.

***

The Elders were waiting for them, wrapped in warm blankets, huddled around a small fire. Old bones felt the chill in ways younger ones couldn't imagine, and despite growing mistrust, the villagers wanted to make their night easier. Warmth was easily given, and brought much comfort with it.

They hadn't expected to see the girls return so soon.

"The innocents return," they chimed, "with plunder, we hope?"

"Forget about the plunder," Timothy said, pulling a blanket off one of the Elders, who protested meekly. "We found something more precious." He wrapped the child into the blanket, and took her to the fire.

Behind him, the girls knelt to offer their loot. "We return, oh esteemed ones, our purses rich with wheat."

The Elders tried to follow the rites, but what Timothy had carried in seemed far more pressing. Somehow, the correct words were spoken, and the wheat sent to be ground.

No-one noticed to wonder how they had found so much in a time of need.

***

"Where did you find her?" The nurses were busy trying to get the child warmed up, but obviously chatting didn't take away from their concentration.

"The meadow," Timothy replied. He wasn't much for words: in his opinion, talking was best left for the women.

"The meadow at the intersection? The one with the strange happenings?"

"That's the one."

He didn't need to ask what the nurse meant by "strange happenings". Everyone in the village knew about the lights and the sounds of singing. It seemed that the nurse wanted to clarify it anyway, since she started a chat with the other nurse. Timothy wanted to make himself scarce, but he didn't know whether the nurses needed more information from him. Interrupting their chatter was too much for him, so he waited.

The nurses were silenced abruptly as the eldest of the Elders entered the room. Timothy bowed his head, wondering how long the eldest planned to live. He had been old when Timothy was born, and now, thirty years later, he looked exactly the same. The only difference was a cane the eldest leaned on when he walked.

"How is the child," the eldest asked, his voice soft and concerned.

The nurses bobbed their knees, their voices a busy jumble of explanation.

The eldest was wise enough to ignore them. He walked up to the white, pale girl, and placed his wrinkled hand upon her cold brow.

"You should live, child," he whispered. "Wake, and return to us."

The nurses shied away, pressing their skirts down like fearing demons to fly up them. It was rumoured that the eldest could use magic, though it had been centuries since might was banished from the Universe. Some believed the rumours while others didn't. Still, the nurses stood by the wall, pretending to be invisible.

The eldest took the child's hands, and pulled them up to breathe warmth into them. He felt something hard around her thumb, and turned her hand for a closer look.

The ring pulled loose easily. The red stone set into it was familiar to his heart.

The day Sara had placed the ring into her baby's hand was clear in his mind.

"You've returned to us."

He concealed the ring into his hand, and rushed out to deliver the news to Sara. Timothy followed him, carrying the cane the eldest had forgotten.

# Chapter Three

"You found what in the woods?" Sara asked, frowning. Mia's explanation was scattered at best, and though she was used to having disorganized conversations with her daughter, this one exceeded the limits of her comprehension.

"A girl," Mia repeated, "and she was laying next to a big batch of wheat." She rolled her eyes like she often did when Sara couldn't follow her train of thought. "And then we picked the wheat, and brought everything home!"

"Where did you find wheat?" Sara asked, more interested in the crops than the child. "The woods were picked clean weeks ago."

"By the meadow, where the paths cross. I told you that!"

"And the girl?"

"Next to the wheat!" Mia's voice rose to a new height to indicate her frustration, and Sara was wise enough to leave her alone. Too many questions could irritate anyone. Mia's night had been long and sleepless. Answers would come, in time, and by dawn, many things would be clearer.

"You've done good things tonight, dear," Sara started, but Mia had already turned to leave. "Go to sleep now."

Sara settled back into her chair to knit. She felt restless, like something was about to happen. There was a cold stone in the pit of her stomach, and she feared she would have to take a trip to the outhouse. Stitches moved from needle to the other at a solid pace until a knock on the door demanded her attention.

"Who could it be at this hour?" she asked, fearing someone had passed. She wanted to turn and go check on her husband and daughter, just in case, but continued to the door.

Her hand hesitated on the handle a long moment before turning it.

***

The ring lay on the palm of her hand. It was warm now that she'd turned it around so many times, warm like it had been when her own mother gave it to her.

"You're certain this is the ring?"

Sara nodded. She had been certain since the eldest first dropped the ring onto her palm. "It is J'dra's ring," she said. "The ring my mother gave to me, and which I, in turn, gave to Shaela."

"Then we do have reason to believe this girl..."

"When can I see her?" Sara interrupted the eldest. Speaking out of turn fought against all customs, but Sara was beyond caring. "I want to see the child."

"I will take you to her now," the eldest promised, "but you should know she may still be asleep."

"I don't care," Sara said, getting to her feet. The knit she had so diligently worked on lay on a table next to her chair, forgotten, tangled. "If she truly is my daughter, I should be with her."

***

The nurses shied away when Sara entered with the eldest. One of them tried to make hurried eye-contact with the eldest, like she had something urgent to discuss with him. Sara could see her mouthing silent words, repeating them to catch the attention of the esteemed old man.

"Wings," the nurse mouthed, "she has wings."

Tears burned Sara's eyes as she approached the unmoving shape of a girl laying under layers and layers of warm blankets. Wings weren't a common feature among humans. Sara had heard of only one child born with wings.

Her daughter.

Sara approached the bed on which the girl lay, noticing how small and fragile she looked even under thick blankets. Her palms were slick with sweat, her breath got caught in her throat. The world around her seemed to be both too dark and too bright, and for a moment, she feared she might faint.

She took hold of the rails of the bed, held herself up. She needed to be strong, if not for her own sake, for her daughters'.

For now there were two.

The girl had blond hair, just like Sara did, a nose just like her grandmother's. Sara's hand shook as it reached to move a strand of hair aside, away from her eyes.

The hair must have tickled. The girl scrunched up her nose. Her eyelids shivered, and as she opened them, her eyes were as green as Sara's mother's.

She jumped up, shedding blankets from her, trying to flee like surrounded by enemies. Sara didn't blame her. Waking up in a strange room surrounded by strange people was scary at best.

"Shaela," she said, speaking her name out loud for the first time in sixteen years. "Don't be afraid. No-one is going to hurt you."

Kind words weren't enough to calm her, but they did offer a bit of reassurance. She gave up her attempts to find a door, and resorted to asking questions.

"Who are you?" she barked, her voice thin and shrill with fear.

During the short walk to the healers' quarters, Sara had planned what to say to the girl. She had planned to ask her questions to determine her origin, had planned to carefully ease in the possibility of them being related, but now the plans bled away. There was no need for questions, no room for doubt.

Shaela stood by the door, small and fierce, seemingly ready to bite anyone who approached. Her clothes were light and bright, repeating the colours of rainbows and sunlight, clinging to her white skin like nothing Sara had ever seen.

And on her back, wings stood out frail and translucent, at an angry stance.

"I'm your mother," Sara said, and though she could no longer see clearly through tears, she approached the girl to make her feel safe. "You're home now, child."

***

Mia's old dresses fit her well after Sara had cut openings to their backs for her wings. Shaela pulled at the long hems, fidgeted in the tight bodice. She was quite uncomfortable, Sara saw, but at least she was warm. The broth she had given her warmed her hands, at least, for she didn't seem to enjoy it.

"You're not used to our food," Sara remarked. She felt uneasy now. This was the daughter she had abandoned, the child she'd refused to keep. Now, after years and years had passed, the daughter sat in her kitchen, her hands curled around a cup of broth, clad in old clothes, and stared at her like she was the enemy.

"Fairies eat fruit," Shaela said. "Fruit and honey."

"We don't have either," Sara said, desperate to feed the child. "Would you enjoy a piece of bread more?"

Shaela shook her head. "You're nothing like I expected," she said. There was something hostile about her, something that claimed Sara would soon be faced with more questions, questions she might not have answers for. "So tall and big and bulky."

"Our kind are relatively small for humans," Sara tried, and got nothing but a blank stare.

Shaela tasted her broth again, and her nose went up in wrinkles.

"Do you want to tell me about fairies?" Sara asked.

Shaela shook her head.

"Would you like me to tell you about our lives?"

Shaela shrugged.

Sara closed her hands, and remembered what she'd been holding. She pulled out J'dra's ring, allowed the red stone to catch candle light and turn it into sparkling rays.

She could see interest in Shaela's eyes.

"My mother gave me this ring," Sara started. "And before that, her mother gave it to her. And in turn, I gave it to you.

"I don't know how long this ring has been passed down the line of women in my family, but I do know who started it all. Would you like to hear?"

Shaela nodded, and tasted her broth once more. This time, her nose remained straight.

# Interlude: J'dra

Decades ago, when magic still roamed free in the Universe, J'dra would have packed her chests with a single word. Might would have come to her aid, and carried her luggage to a Portal opened by another small word.

Now that magic was gone, she folded each garment by hand, careful not to crease precious silks that had last been worn before she took the tests to become a wizard. Those carefree days were long gone, but J'dra knew life was just like it had once been in the world of the elves. Magic had never touched that land, and the elves still lived as they had when J'dra was nothing but a girl, a child of mixed blood.

She closed the chest, and opened the next one. A noble woman born of elven blood, even if it was mixed, didn't travel light. Outfits for travel, dancing, luncheons, and the wedding itself were needed, and each one required its own accessories. Gifts were also required, and as J'dra finished, fifteen chests awaited to be carried to the elven world. They would be packed into two carriages, and drawn to the gates, where a clerk of elven blood would inspect them before J'dra and her things would be allowed to enter one of the few Portals that still remained in the Universe.

A bell brought servants to her quarters.

Before, when magic was still hers to command, she had lived alone, near the school where dr'chen children learned the ways of the Universe. Duties had taken her around the Universe, but now, after, she had nowhere to be. Her only duty was family.

"Please, tell my husband I am ready to depart," she said as the last chest was carried out. The servants nodded, and left her to gather what she required to leave the house. Gloves to protect fair skin, veil to conceal her face, purse to hide a few coins and documents needed for travel.

A noble woman never travelled light, but what she carried in her hands weighed less than a bird.

J'dra descended the curved marble stairs to meet her spouse who waited for her by the arched doorway. He had built her a house of marble, as was customary among the nobility of elves, and she had chosen the paintings to line the white walls.

"Ready to depart?" he asked, offering her his arm and a kiss.

"I am," she replied, allowing her fingertips to rest upon his arm.

***

The elven world was closed from the rest of the Universe, as it always had been. Entering it required documents to prove one's identity and origin. Those allowed to enter were to follow the strict customs of elves. J'dra knew the customs well: she had lived with the elves as a child. Entering the gates that led to a Portal was easier now than ever before. She no longer had magic to hide, and her reason for returning was a joyous one: she was returning home to attend her firstborn daughter's wedding.

Elves were blessed with long life, so long, in fact, that they seemed nearly immortal to humans. As their lives were long, choosing the person to share it with was not to be taken lightly. Some elves postponed tying the bonds of matrimony to a mature age, and engagements were often long. Miriel had been lucky enough to find someone to love at a young age, and though J'dra had reminded her to consider carefully, she had stuck to her decision to marry.

Concerns aside, J'dra was glad to see her daughter happy, and gave her blessings to the union. The man she had chosen was older than her, stable, and wealthy enough to provide a safe home for her. More important than fortune, J'dra saw true warmth in his eyes as he looked at Miriel.

She had lived alone long enough to know what truly mattered in the Universe. Having someone look at her daughter with that kind of affection was more than enough to convince J'dra.

***

"I do hope you haven't come to leave a final word of objection, mother."

Miriel was dressed in her wedding silks. Her hems kept J'dra at large, and a maid waited nearby, eyes directed to the floor, in case they wanted to exchange presents. If that happened, she would pick up a tray with a three foot handle attached to it. The tray would be used to present gifts over the barrier of wide hems.

"Do you think so low of me, child?" J'dra smiled. "I wanted to see you before you are married."

"You are welcome, mother, and the only one I can jest with. Tell me, do you like my silks?"

J'dra, knowing well how many gold coins had been used in creating such a dress, smiled. "Your silks are lovely, yet nothing compared to your heart."

Miriel reached her arm to her, and J'dra returned the gesture. They couldn't touch hands, for the dress was too wide.

"I come with a gift for you," J'dra said. Her hand fiddled with the ribbon of a small packet in the folds of her dress. "A gift I wish you'll welcome."

"What is it, mother? You sound so grim."

J'dra smiled, but the smile bore the marks of old sorrow.

"A long time ago, I knew someone whom I loved as dearly as you love Kymil."

"Someone other than father? How exiting!"

Miriel was young still, and J'dra easily forgave her thirst for scandal.

"Someone other than your father. He was a kind man, loved by many, and he did many things to aid the Universe. He fought beside me during the WizardWars, and stood by me as I learned the ways of might."

"You have told me of Ingold the Great before, mother, but you never shared you were... lovers?"

"Love comes in many forms, my heart. What we shared was more than carnal pleasure, and I wish love like that comes to us all. Therefore, as a reminder, I wish to give you something Ingold gave to me."

The maid straightened herself, reached for the tray, and held it out to J'dra so she could place her gift upon it. She then directed the tray across the sea of silk so Miriel could pick up the gift.

She opened the small packet, allowing the ribbon to fall upon her dress. Afar, J'dra could hear maids draw in sharp breaths. It was their task to make certain the bride looked perfect, and picking up litter from her dress would not be an easy task.

The wrappings fell away, revealing a golden ring with a red stone set into it.

"It's lovely," Miriel said.

"Read the inscription," J'dra encouraged.

"My heart, eternal – J'dra," Miriel read.

"This ring was one of the few gifts Ingold gave to me. I received this for my birthday not long before the Wars."

"I shall treasure it, mother."

"I wish that one day, you will give the ring to your firstborn daughter."

"And she in turn to hers," Miriel said softly, and pushed the ring into her index finger.

J'dra reached her arm out to her, and she returned the gesture.

# Chapter Four

"Magic?" Shaela asked, her eyes full of emotion for the first time since she entered Sara's small, dark house. "You mean to say there once was real magic?"

Sara nodded, her hands working on her knit without the supervision of her eyes. Her sight was somewhere else, in a ballroom where elves danced in celebration of a wedding, in a life she could never even hope to posses. "Yes, dear. Once, a long, long time ago, so long that it might have been in a different life of the Universe, magic ruled all living things."

"Where did it go? Why was it lost?" Shaela asked, without realizing she sounded much like the children she had read stories to. She was eager to know, thirsty for another story, and despite being tired and in need of sleep, Sara was glad to tell. She had missed her firstborn for years, and now that she was here, eyes full of wonder, she couldn't bear to part with her.

"Well, no-one knows for sure, but histories claim that magic was captured inside a small vessel, and cast into a watery grave. Some say it is a bottomless pit, and that the vessel is still falling, some say it is a lake in an uncharted land. All I know, is that the vessel is made of crystal."

"Crystal", Shaela repeated, tasting the word in her mouth, turning it around like she'd turned broth brewed from earth's blessings. "What's crystal?"

"Crystal is a magical substance found only in a certain land. It had the power to channel magic. Seers used crystal orbs to look into different worlds, even different times."

"Can we find some?"

"I'm afraid not, dear. Crystal was lost as magic faded from the Universe. Everything that was once clear and reflective to those who could look, is now dead."

Shaela's face grew dark, faded like crystals decades and centuries ago. "I don't like death", she said.

"No-one does. But it is inevitable. Just like fall, winter, and spring."

Questions coloured Shaela's face, and as Sara remembered what she had been wearing, she understood.

"There are no seasons where you come from", Sara said, and though it wasn't really a question, Shaela answered.

"We fairies only know summer. In our land, it never gets cold, it never rains, nothing ever dies. Time works differently there. We age, but slowly, and seasons stand still."

"It must be very different to be here", Sara remarked.

"It is. It's cold, and the colours are strange."

"Fall makes everything grey and brown. But when winter comes, the world will turn white."

Shaela frowned. She didn't like the sound of winter. The world was meant to be red and green and blue, not white. "Will it come soon?" she asked.

Sara nodded. "Just as soon as the crops are gathered, and the Equinox has passed. There will be a great feast tomorrow, come midday."

"Tell me more about magic", Shaela asked with the persistence of a child. "I want to know about J'dra."

"I don't really have much more to tell", Sara sighed. "All I know is that she was the only woman who earned the right to call herself a wizard, and that she is your grandmother from centuries ago."

"Centuries? How long do humans live?"

"Humans live for sixty years, no more, but J'dra wasn't human. Her blood was mostly elven, and mixed with that of a rare breed of dr'chen. She was part shapeshifter. As elves live for thousands and thousands of years, she might... Why, she might still be alive."

A thought was born in Shaela's mind, a quick, simple thought, much like those of children. "J'dra knows magic", she said, and continued without waiting for Sara to nod. "If I find her, she will teach me the ways of magic."

Sara hesitated. The thought was too far fetched for her mind, too extravagant for her to comprehend. To her, magic was reserved for fairy tales, and no living man should ever even dream of using it. "But dear", she asked, "why on earth would you want to learn about magic? It is long gone."

Shaela pushed out her small chin in defiance. "I want to use magic to stop death. I will bring it back to the Universe, and find J'dra, and learn to use might."

"But dear, you don't even know where to begin!"

"I will find a way."

***

For the first time in years, the fall Equinox bread tasted like real bread. Villagers ate with their eyes closed, making wishes, enjoying the taste of bread free of sawdust. The only one who sat still, barely touching his food, was the eldest of the Elders. He pushed his food around his plate with his fork, preoccupied with dark thoughts.

The child had arrived without warning. Usually, unexpected happenings were preceded by omens. This time, nothing had happened. No smoke rising against the wind, no black birds eating the carcass of a kitten, no blood falling from rain clouds.

The world had never been so normal, and still...

The child ate her food with caution, tasting slowly and carefully, liking some things, discarding others with a frown. She seemed to enjoy bread and dried fruit, seemed to like boiled eggs, but pushed meat and fish away from her. Honeyed milk made her smile, and as she did, others around her did, too. It was like emotions were spreading from her.

The Eldest frowned. What the girl radiated almost felt like...

He shook his head, and concentrated on the feast.

Magic hadn't existed in centuries. Why would a girl-child have anything to do with it now?

***

As the night grew dark and the last of the bonfires died out, villages stretched their arms, and headed home to rest. The day had been long, and for some, sleep was more than welcome. Mia and June sat side by side, leaning on each other, both sound asleep, exhausted by a long day and a sleepless night before it. Sara ushered her husband to carry Mia off to bed, beckoning Shaela to follow. The girl had looked around the village, understandably curious, and now she started to look like she needed rest, too.

Sara tucked her into a hastily drawn bed on a hard, wooden sofa. Shaela didn't seem to mind: she curled up under the blankets, her small face in thoughtful wrinkles, and asked a question.

"Can I speak with the eldest?"

Sara hadn't been expecting that, but saw no reason to argue. "Tomorrow, yes. He needs his rest, too."

Shaela nodded. She knew the importance of sleep, though fairies didn't require much of it.

"Once we awake, and break our fast..."

"More food?" Shaela protested. "I'll be full for a fortnight after the feast!"

Sara smiled patiently, amused by the strange ways she had. "I'll take you to the Elders' council. We'll ask a clerk if the eldest has time, and if he does, you'll be taken to see him."

Shaela nodded. It all sounded good. "The fairies' council doesn't make appointments," she said, "but human's have different ways."

Sara touched her forehead, and saw her slipping easily to sleep.

***

The child looked around his chambers, moving lithely like a butterfly, poking her nose into places it didn't belong. The eldest watched her, amused. It had been long since a child so brave and unpretentious had visited him, and he welcomed the intrusion. The council's work was tedious at best: they settled differences between villagers, worried about crops and cattle, decided when it was time to venture out to trade. A talk with this little one was new and exiting.

"Would you care for tea?"

Shaela turned, startled, like she'd forgotten the eldest was there. "I don't know if I like tea," she said.

"We'll have to see then. Come, sit." The eldest poured steaming hawthorn tea into two cups, offering honeyed cakes left over from the Equinox feast. Shaela sat, and picked up a cup. She smelled the tea, brought it to her face, and set it back down. "It's hot," she commented.

"Let it cool for a moment."

Shaela stared at her cup, like she wanted to will it colder. Then, she sighed, and straightened her shoulders. "I wanted to talk with you," she said, "about my ancestor, J'dra, and her relationship with magic."

"I gathered as much." The eldest settled down to listen. A long life had taught him patience. Listening had become an important part of his existence, and aiding others soothed his mind.

"Sara, my mother, told me that once, there was magic in the world."

The eldest nodded. During long years of listening, he had developed high skills in the field of nodding.

"And she told me that my ancestor, J'dra, was skilled in the use of magic."

Another nod, carefully placed, not too long.

"She also hinted that J'dra, born of elven blood, might still be alive." She picked up her cup, and took a sip. Tasted, frowning, and took another sip. "I like this," she pointed out before setting her cup back down.

The eldest allowed a smile to touch the corner of his eye. "Your mother speaks true. J'dra was indeed a skilful wizard, and histories teach us much about her heroics. And as she was born of elven blood..." The eldest paused to think. Wizards and magic were long gone, but there may still be someone who knew where to find them.

"I do not know if she still lives," the eldest continued, "but there is someone who may. An old woman lives in this world, in a cottage three day's journey from here. Some say she is a witch, some call her a seer. She is older than anyone in this village, older than me, even, and though I am not certain, she may remember things I have forgotten."

"Where can I find her?"

"You would have to walk, and the way is not safe."

"I don't care. I will walk to the end of the world to find what I need."

The eldest nodded. "I will draw you a map."

***

Three days later, Shaela was wrapped up in Mia's old winter clothes, ready to leave. Sara touched her apron to the corner of her eye, unwilling to lose the child so recently returned to her. "Are you certain you have all that you need?" she asked.

"I am warm, I have a map and rations, I have means to make fire," Shaela answered. "And shelter I can find in nature, if need be."

"I would feel so much better if a man came with you, to protect you from harm."

"Mother, I'll be fine. I am well protected from cold, and animals won't bother me. I am much too small to make a meal."

Sara knew she meant it as a jest, but still, her apron rose to the corner of her eye. "You be safe, now, girl," she said. "And know that we will be here, waiting for you to return."

"I know," Shaela said. "And I will return, just as soon as I find the answers I need."

She set out to reach the cottage of an old woman, not knowing how long it would take for her to return to the village.

***

Studying the map the eldest had drawn for her, Shaela noted that humans relied on footpaths to guide them. Where fairies marked routes as the crow flies, humans drew directions using known roads. She would have preferred to walk straight, crossing rivers as she met them, climbing mountains if need be, but as the landscape was unfamiliar to her, she decided to stick to the roads.

Walking around mountains and taking detours to find bridges lengthened the journey while simultaneously making it easier. By the first evening, Shaela was uncertain of which she preferred: the fairies' way of travelling was more exiting, like an adventure into the unknown, but the human way held the benefits of safety and comfort. She enjoyed meeting other travellers, exchanging quick pleasantries before moving on, and liked the freedom to lose herself in thought while her feet followed a clear path.

By the second evening, she had decided that the human way of travel was preferred, but only for an occasional trip. Crossing the same path more than twice would grow boring, and then fairies' way would be much more enjoyable.

By the third evening, Shaela had come to the conclusion that all travel should be banned. Walking had left her feet sore, cold air had bitten her cheeks, and her rations were quickly fading.

She settled to rest by the side of the road, where a small shelter served travellers, and fell asleep grumpier than ever before.

By midday on her fourth day of travel, she reached the small cottage.

# Chapter Five

Life had changed drastically since her husband passed away. Widowed women weren't looked kindly upon in the world Elion had chosen for them. As he contracted pneumonia and died as a result, his body frail and weakened by age, J'dra was forced to give up the marble castle, her paintings, and silks she had gathered during years and years of love and plenty.

Upon his death, Elion had willed all their earthly possessions, according to J'dra's wishes, to their children. Their home belonged to their eldest son now, and though J'dra was more than welcome to remain there until the end of her days, she had decided to leave, to build a life for herself somewhere far away. The marble castle held memories of their life together, and though she knew they would, one day, comfort her, as the pain was fresh and new, everything she saw and touched tore open the wounds of loss, making them bleed once more. Therefore, she chose to leave it all behind, and resort to solace.

The past had taught her that ridding oneself of what hurt, often aided the process of healing.

The home she had made for herself here was small and humble. She had paid able-bodied men plenty of gold to build a small cottage with a wood-burning fireplace, glassed windows, and an engraved wooden door. Her own hands had dug up the earth around the cottage, planting edible roots, medicinal herbs, and colourful flowers to bring her joy during the warm seasons. Inside, items from her past decorated the small space. Her book of spells lay closed on a pedestal. Under it, on a separate shelf, other books dedicated to magic waited to be opened. An orb set into a black marble table stood in one corner. Once, lightings had danced inside the orb, ready to open Portals anywhere in the Universe if one only knew the right words.

And next to it, lay something small and grey, something she stood by often, and carefully touched. She had carried the bundle Kaim had made with his vest through the storms and calms of her life, without opening it once. J'dra knew well what waited inside, and her heart couldn't bear to witness an all-seeing eye blind and dead. Kaim had made the orb for her, and her alone, and the memory of it still made her eyes water.

As winter drew near, visitors to her house grew scarce. Spring and summer were the times when the help of a witch was needed. Potions to spark love and lust were bought, and though J'dra knew love could never be forced, she did what people asked her to. When fall fell, people stayed home, preparing for the winter, gathering supplies to make it through the cold season. The advice J'dra offered wasn't needed during that time: when winter fell, her help was mostly sought out when flu struck. She had given a recipe for most common medicines to all villages nearby so they could cope with illness on their own.

A knock on the door surprised her, but not enough to make her spill her tea. "Enter," she urged, setting her tea onto a table. Her hair, now grey and dull, was braided to fall over the left shoulder of her home-spun robes. She wasn't dressed for visitors, but could not turn away someone who might need her help.

The door opened slowly, like the one behind it was hesitating. J'dra waited, hands joined, wondering when they turned so wrinkly. It felt like just yesterday she was dancing with the elves, clad in her red silks, without a care in the world, and now...

A child entered her home. A child dressed in layers and layers of homespun wool, a child with frostbitten cheeks and bright green eyes. "Are you J'dra?" the child asked, and her voice declared she wasn't, like J'dra had assumed, a boy.

"I am," she stated.

"Good," the child said, and closed the door behind her. "I need to speak with you."

***

"Would you like a cup of tea?" J'dra asked. "You must be cold from your journey." Her own cup sat on the table, growing old and unwanted. The child was shedding layers of wool onto her floor, frostbitten cheeks red as beetroots in the dim light. "Hawthorn?" she asked.

"Juniper berry," J'dra said, reaching for her cup. "It has a piney aroma, and it can help battle a cold."

The child paused, pile of wool growing beside her. She was smaller than J'dra had expected, smaller and more frail. She frowned. "I don't know if I'll like it."

"You don't have to finish it." J'dra returned to the fireplace, and filled another cup with steaming tea. Ingold's words echoed in her mind, like they always did when she filled a cup, and the bittersweet memory made her eyes water.

it is always a good time for afternoon tea

Lately, her eyes seemed to fill with tears at the slightest hint, and old, dead friends crowded her mind. Like they were calling her to join them.

Like they missed her as much as she missed them.

As she turned back, the child was free of most of her wools. She looked around her home, small and straight and confident, touched things without asking, pushed her nose too close to paintings to see details hidden in them. J'dra noted small, translucent wings on her back. She'd seen much in her life, too much to be shocked by wings. Still, she assumed they were the reason for the girl's visit. Perhaps she wanted them removed, or required assistance in finding her kin. Whatever brought her here, J'dra feared she wouldn't be able to help her.

Old age had made her slow, robbed her of much knowledge. She knew not where fairies slept, though she had often wondered it.

"Please, sit," J'dra beckoned, hoping to part the girl from precious memories. She did as asked, taking the tea offered to her. Her nose wrinkled as she smelled it. The taste obviously didn't agree with her, J'dra saw. She had the kind of face that could not conceal emotion.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" J'dra asked, noticing that she hadn't asked for the child's name. Her abrupt appearance had thrown her off guard, disrupted the routine of receiving guests. "But first, do tell me your name."

"I should have started with that," the child said, a strange, twisted smile stretching her face, like she was upset with herself for forgetting her manners. "My name is Shaela. I was born of fairy dust to a human mother, and I am your kin."

"My kin?" J'dra repeated, curious now. Life repeated a small cycle, smaller and smaller the older she got, and not much surprised her. She thought she'd seen everything life had to offer, and now, a winged child appeared claiming to be related to her.

This was indeed a story she wished to hear.

J'dra rubbed her arm with her hand, paying little mind to the tingle under her skin. It was a familiar sensation, only something she'd forgotten. It had been centuries since she last felt it.

"That's what my mother told me. She gave me this ring, and said it has been passed in her family from mother to daughter as long as she remembers." She pulled a golden ring from her thumb, and offered it to J'dra. "It has your name in it."

J'dra didn't need to touch it to recognize it. Still, she held out her hand, seeing the ring Ingold had given her through a wall of glass. "It has been centuries," she tried, but her voice broke. She cleared her throat, and tried again. "Centuries since I last saw this ring. It was given to me by someone dear to my heart, and I gave it to my firstborn daughter on the day she married." She wiped tears from her face with her free hand. "I see she has kept her promise, and passed it on."

Shaela took the ring, and pushed it back around her thumb. "I feel kind of guilty having it," she said. "I mean, it's yours, and you should probably..."

J'dra shook her head. "I gave the ring away a long time ago. It was my decision to part with it. It belongs to you now."

Shaela turned the ring around her thumb, and took another sip of tea. Her face still betrayed her not caring for it much, but J'dra was glad to see her try.

"I wanted to ask you..." Words were difficult to find now that she needed them to come out. She had planned what to say during her long walk, had imagined the entire conversation in her mind, but so far, J'dra hadn't been sticking to her lines. "Well, mother told me that once, there was magic in the Universe."

J'dra nodded to encourage her to continue.

"And that you are a wizard."

J'dra smiled, a crooked smile, bitter and weary. "A wizard. Now that's a word I haven't heard in while."

"But it's true, isn't it?"

"True it is, but no longer valid." J'dra sighed. "Magic is long gone. It was willed away, and nothing can return it."

The tingling grew stronger, and this time, J'dra understood what it was. She hid her hands into the sleeves of her robes to conceal her nails slowly turning into pearly claws. As adrenaline rushed into her blood, the change started to take over. She hadn't felt in years, and had nearly forgotten how to control it.

The child was blessed, touched by might, and coming here, she had brought magic with her.

J'dra could hear a crackle of a tiny lighting. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see, knowing what she would witness if she turned. They smelled it, too, her things. They knew magic was close, and reached out to touch it, to feel it again, to be used.

After a long, long sleep, they were eager for the slightest hint at life.

"I will bring it back," Shaela said, her voice young and strong and steady. J'dra squeezed her eyes closed even tighter, trying to force tears back. Years ago, she would have welcomed her, but now...

Now she was old and weak, and her friends were waiting for her in the world of the Dead. She had to go. This was too much to demand of her.

"No," she sobbed, suddenly too aware of just how many years had passed for her. "It's locked away, and it should stay there."

Shaela felt a wash of disappointment. She had come in search of a great wizard, and instead, she got a whimpering old woman who seemed to like her tea better than the idea of releasing magic from its prison. She tried once more, patiently, like she was talking to one of the young ones back in the fairy village. They whimpered, too, and had much less sense than J'dra.

"Might has been absent from the Universe for a long time," she said. "It is time magic was returned to us.

"The Universe needs it, don't you see? Once, it brought balance to all worlds, helped heal wounds, made crops grow thick and strong.

"Now that it is gone... look around you, wizard. Pain and death rule all realms. People starve, suffer from the cold.

"Magic could fix all that. It could help us all live a better life."

Still, J'dra shook her head. Her protest was weaker, though, like Shaela's patient arguments were making her change her mind. "No, no. You don't know how much suffering magic has caused. You don't know why it was locked away."

"You are the only one who remembers. Doesn't that tell us something?

"Times are different. Everything has changed. Those who misused magic are long gone.

"We deserve another chance.

"Magic deserves another chance."

J'dra squeezed her eyes shut, tighter, tighter. What the child said made sense. It had been long, and magic needed to breathe. She could feel its need to run free through the Universe, could feel its desire to do good

bad bad things

to aid those in need and to help others

kill

live a good, decent life, to

destroy everything that ever existed and hide it under a layer of steaming lava so all that remains is darkness and death

preserve the balance.

Balance.

As she swore the oaths to become a wizard, J'dra had promised to preserve the balance no matter what happened. Didn't this fight against her oath? Keeping magic locked away, in a prison forged of crystal?

Wasn't this against everything she had sworn to do?

"I don't know," J'dra whispered. "I don't know anything. Not any longer."

"I do," Shaela said, kneeling in front of an old woman, taking her wrinkled hands between hers. "Magic needs to live again."

J'dra opened her eyes, and met her green gaze. She nodded, knowing she was right.

"Magic needs to live again."

***

Lightnings struck inside the orb. They were small and thin, as random as during a thunderstorm. Shaela reached her hand out to touch it, and J'dra slapped it. "Careful, child," she snapped. "Magic is nothing to mess with."

"That doesn't seem like magic," Shaela protested, rubbing her hand. "Looks more like weather trapped in a bubble."

"It's a device to open Portals anywhere in the Universe, even into places you've never seen," J'dra explained meekly, already regretting lashing out at the child. "If magic wills it, I can open a Portal for you, and it will take you where magic is resting."

Shaela nodded. She didn't fully understand how the orb worked, or what Portals were, but she trusted the old woman fashioned out as a wizard. J'dra seemed odd to her, but so did everyone she'd met outside Fairyland. Being strange was a norm among fairies. Shaela felt a strange sense of belonging, of being home.

J'dra's hand, bone-thin, birdlike, touched the surface of the orb. A single lightning reached out to touch it, reminding her of a time when there had been many, too many to count, battling for her attention.

Magic was asleep, but it seemed Shaela was right: it wanted, needed, to live again.

Hesitantly, J'dra spoke a few words in an ancient language known only to wizards. She trusted herself to be the only one left alive who knew s'man-tek. The lightning inside the orb flickered, strengthened. Another one joined it, then another, until the orb was full of life.

The air flickered and moved, grudgingly shaping itself into a silvery pool that glistened in the dim light like the surface of a lake under a full moon. For the first time in centuries, a Portal was born.

"You must go now, child," J'dra said. "The Portal won't stay open for long."

Shaela could sense the instability of the Portal, and though she hesitated stepping into it, she knew she had to. Magic was waiting for her on the other side.

"Thank you," she said, and stepped inside the silvery lake.

J'dra watched as the Portal closed. The orb grew dark again.

The pile of wools the child had left lay forgotten by the door.

J'dra finished her tea, and turned to gather the things she knew she'd need.

Magic would soon return, and work remained to be done.

# Chapter Six

Shaela stumbled out of the Portal nauseous and disoriented. She hadn't expected anything when stepping into the gleaming lake of silver, but if she had, what she met would have been the last thing she imagined.

The Portal was grey and empty, slowly turning around itself. Inside it, she lost all sense of balance and direction. She saw no openings, no light at the end of the tunnel indicating where to go, nothing but grey, gleaming silver that gave under her curious hand, feeling like living, breathing tissue. Escaping it was a relief, up until motion sickness struck a heartbeat later.

Shaela lay on a rocky river shore, heaving under waves of nausea, the world spinning uncontrollably around her.

Slowly, the world settled along with her stomach. She hung on to rocks under her, drawing comfort from their hard, rounded shapes, drinking the warm sun with her skin.

She'd forgotten what it was like to lie in sunlight, free of suffocating clothes, free of wool and leather. Eyes closed, warm stones under her, warm air around her, she lay there, ready to sleep, until realization drew her awake.

There was something she needed to do. Something important.

Shaela got up, noticing how hard the rocks were under her. She stood, surveying her surroundings.

The Portal had brought her to a riverbank. She stood facing a river that gleamed in sunlight. On the opposite shore, she saw a forest of pines and birches growing together, in harmony despite their difference. She could hear birds singing, and once again, wondered what they were saying.

The river flowed from a distant mountain, let into a lake on her left. Instinct told her to follow the river, to walk to the lake, to see what waited there.

The rocks hard under her feet, Shaela walked down the riverbank. She enjoyed the short walk much better than the arduous journey to J'dra's cottage.

Soon, the lake spread out in front of her, rocks surrounding it as far as she could tell, forest creeping up close to it, thirsty for its water.

Sunlight was reflected from the soft waves on the water. Shaela tried to shield her eyes from it, failing miserably. Light was too bright, and came at her from too any directions at once. The only way to hide from it was to turn away.

Shaela walked closer to the lake, her eyes on the shore, scanning the rocky terrain for dips and bumps, carefully walking around bushes and small trees growing there. Shadows concealed most of the rocks, as they were drawing longer. Night would fall soon, and Shaela needed shelter. She didn't mind being outside, but the thought of unknown beasts coming to drink under moonlight made her shiver.

The shore was empty, free of habitation, but she didn't want to leave it. It felt safer to remain out in the open: who knew what awaited in the shadows of the forest.

She glanced up, shielding her eyes, to see what the shore looked like up ahead. Nothing caught her eye, except for a bright ray of light close to the water.

Curious, Shaela ran to it, caution forgotten.

She reached the source of the light soon, and knelt by it.

Nearly buried in the sand, something small waited to be dug out.

Something small and bright, a translucent stone shaped like a tortoise.

Shaela removed sand from around the stone, her eyes bright and full of wonder.

The tortoise's eyes gleamed a deep, dark red.

***

Shaela hesitated. She wanted to pick the tortoise up, wanted to touch crystal-clear surface, but an instinct stopped her. Whether it was fear or the need to survive, she didn't know.

The tortoise waited, patient and silent, amidst damp earth, its eyes gleaming red, its insides full of light. As Shaela reached her hand out to touch it, her skin tingled like it had been numb, and was now enjoying the return of circulation. She wanted to hold it in her hands, to carry it out, to touch each groove on its surface, but instinct held her back.

She needed to do something first.

Speak.

Words were forming in her throat, words she had never spoken before. They weren't quite ready yet, and she knew that if she mispronounced them, all of the Universe would suffer.

She waited, patient like the tortoise amidst the wet sand, and the words formed in her throat, harsh, crude words of a language lost so long ago, words no-one but J'dra would understand.

Now it was time to reach out, to touch the crystal-skin of the tortoise. She curled her hands under it, lifted it from the sand where it had rested for who knew how long.

The words were ready in her throat, desperate to escape, and she allowed them.

"V'sen rachen area'ch, org'oliath an-assach," Shaela spoke.

Nothing happened. She frowned, tempted to speak again. She opened her mouth for another try, and as she did, the tortoise tremored. The light inside it grew brighter, the tremors stronger, and as Shaela closed her eyes and turned her head away to shield herself from the light, it reached a new height, and exploded.

***

Decades, centuries, perhaps millennia ago, magic had consisted of two strands. The balance of dark and light held the Universe from collapsing in on itself. The laws of might were based on this balance: where there was light, there was also dark. Each thing, each spell, had an opposite.

The Balance remained the only true law of the Universe. Those guarding it were held in high regard. J'dra and the seers of Crystal Halls had been among them, and Ingold the Great the most revered one.

As stones of might were pulled from their graves and used to disrupt the Balance, something small and grey rose to change it all.

A dwarf favoured by magic itself, bound the strands of might together, turning everything grey. On that day, the Balance ceased to exist, and the laws of the Universe became unstable. What once had died, lived again, and spells no longer had a turn-side.

With all things grey, each being could choose to do both good and evil.

Magic had entered its prison as grey as the dwarf who was loved by a dragon. During the hundreds of years of its imprisonment, little had changed. The two strands still remained as one, and the Balance of the Universe was still as lost as it ever was.

Now, as it left its prison, and once more filled the Universe, magic was eager to share itself with as many as possible. Hands that had never used might found themselves now blessed. Beings who never believed in miracles now found themselves capable of creating such.

And those willing to injure, now found themselves with the power to do so.

As might escaped the tortoise a dwarf had forced it into, it didn't leave as a benevolent, penitent being.

It left as a force uncontrollable and fierce, an entity with a desire to burn and punish.

# Interlude: Wizard's Peak

As Ingold the Great died, so did his magic. Each spell he had spoken undid itself. The same happened to every wizard's spells upon death: with their own might no longer present to sustain the spells once spoken, they vanished.

Ingold had used spells to bring the castle upon Wizard's Peak to unforeseen glory. The castle had housed refugees and lost souls, even an orphaned dragon, and as more room was required, spells came to aid. Not even Ingold himself knew how much he had added to the castle.

As he passed on to the World of the Dead, the spells were undone. The castle returned to ruins, crumbled and died, just like its owner.

Now might saw it fit to remember Ingold the Great. Once, it had served him with an open heart. Once, it had done anything Ingold thought to ask of it.

As freedom was restored to it, magic touched old memories, ancient recollections of faded spells.

The ruins of a castle shivered like they were cold, and walls began to grow from rubble. Great towers rose once more, coloured glass windows grew out of thin air. Tapestries covered the walls again, and a fire burned bright in the great hall where Ingold liked to sip his afternoon tea.

Each room of the great castle was born again just as Ingold had imagined it. Each detail was redone, each memory replicated.

The halls of the castle were empty. Might hadn't restored the castle for those who had once lived there.

It had something else in mind.

With magic absent from the Universe, all those who had once been touched by it, slept. Dragons and mermaids, demons forgotten, and a child once found by a dwarf.

A spawn of an incubus born to a mortal woman had been placed on the path as a dwarf with a heart too kind, was heading home. Ingold's herbs forgotten, he brought the child to his master, and a spell was cast upon her.

The child posed a danger to the Balance of the Universe. Ingold saw it best to keep her hidden. He made it so the child would sleep for a thousand years, and tasked J'dra with renewing the spell once each millennia. As Ingold's magic faded and the castle crumbled to ruin, J'dra regarded the child dead.

Now, returning to the Universe, magic remembered the child, and saw her as a tool of destruction. The spell Ingold had cast upon her had broken. She had slept until now for she, too, was a magical being, and slept like the rest.

During the years of slumber, she had grown. A suckling babe was gone, replaced by a young female crowned with a head of black hair, adorned with a pair of black wings.

Her lashes trembled as she lay on a slab of stone. Wrinkled wings started to straighten.

Purple eyes opened, hesitating, like they were sensitive to light.

The creature sat up, naked, wearing only her hair, eyeing her surroundings.

She saw only stone, grey and crude like her chamber was cut straight into the core of earth. The floor was etched with runes, magical figures to induce sleep. She hissed an angry word, and the runes melted into the floor, like they never had existed.

The being stood now, black curls falling to her waist, wings fluttering, tasting the air, as if to determine if they were strong enough for flight.

Her chamber was complete with a single door. It opened before her, forced by a single motion of her hand, and closed behind her without a touch. The stone hallways echoed at the sound of her soft steps, and as she walked, a robe grew to cover her.

As she reached the great hall, fire burned higher, brighter, as if to welcome the new mistress of Wizard's Peak.

She stood in the great hall, and what she saw pleased her greatly. The castle was grand, as grand as she planned to be. It would suit her desires, serve as a safe haven for her, and all her slaves.

"Now," she spoke to the shadows hiding deep in the corners of the great hall. "I do need a name for myself."

Her voice was low, soft like a cat's purr, pleasing in every aspect, and so was her shape.

She moved her hand in a swift gesture across the air, not to look across the Universe, but to behold her own features.

She had slept for centuries, and had yet to see herself.

The winged woman turned her head from side to side, pleased at what she saw. Her features were sharp, yet pleasant, a straight nose, a full mouth, purple eyes filled with desire and promise of pleasure. Her skin glowed purple before she spoke a spell to hide it along with black horns growing from her head.

She wanted to appear pleasant for humans. For that, a human shape was required.

"Alaene," she decided after a moment. "I shall be known as Alaene.

"And now, it is time to see who disturbed my slumber."

Her hand moved again. This time, she spoke a word, a single word, a snap of a command. A vision appeared to the arch her hand had left in the air, and she stared into it with predatory interest.

A girl lay on a rocky shore, shards of crystal surrounding her.

A girl as blond as she was dark.

A girl with small, translucent wings.

A cruel smile pulled one side of her mouth up. "Well now," she whispered. "Won't this be fun."

# Interlude: Fairy Queen's Court

A rush of white light burst through the halls. High-born fairies paused, looked around, shrugged, and continued on. Among fairies, the unexpected happened too often to be really noted.

The Fairy Queen lounged upon a red divan, silks and lace gathered around her in artful folds, and sighed.

"So it has returned to us," she spoke, and no-one truly listened. The court was a mess of noise and colour, and even the Queen went ignored until she raised her voice to demand attention from her subjects.

Now was not the time for that. She only needed to sigh aloud, to push her thoughts out into the open.

The Queen had ruled for a long time, long enough to recall what magic felt like. She recognized it as soon as she felt it: it was like an injection of cold liquid to her chest, tasting like copper coins and cardamom. The stories told around Fairyland had prepared her for the return of magic, though it was seen as an event highly unlikely.

As the wash of white light faded, she knew magic had returned.

"And it is up to me to deal with the consequences."

The Queen watched her subjects as they danced and ate and drank in a stupor, watched the feast that paused only when they slept, and sighed again.

Fairies were magical beings, but too fickle to be truly affected by might. They used it at a whim, calling upon it to give horns or tails to each other, or to set friends aflame when an argument got out of hand. None of them cared about magic, nor bothered to learn proper ways to use it.

As all other magical beings slept, fairies shrugged, and danced on. No-one knew why, or bothered to pause to find out the cause. In Fairyland, reality was accepted as it was, and reasons behind it rarely given concern to.

Now, it was up to the Queen to control the magic that had entered her realm.

"Council!" she commanded, and two fairies dressed in all the colours of the rainbow rushed to her side.

"I have need of your assistance," she spoke, her voice barely audible over the racket of fairies. "Escort me to the grand library."

The council, in its entirety, bowed.

Instead of walking, the Queen flew. Her feet never touched the ground, and would do so only as she died.

She could feel the day drawing closer and closer.

Her wings were wider than she was tall, translucent, their veins bearing shades of green and blue. It was told that the Queen was born of human blood, but the truth behind the stories was widely doubted. The Queen was a fairy through and through, though her head was level and wise beyond comprehension, and her size larger than that of others.

The council opened the doors to the library for her, and closed them behind her. They knew well that the Queen needed them for little more than that. Her rule was the law, her word the only truth. No council could step in between the Queen and her will.

There was no need to draw a book out of a shelf now that magic lived once more. The Queen beckoned to it with her finger, and the book obeyed. It floated across the room, settled in the air in front of her, and opened.

The Queen had been taught to read and write in many languages. S'man-tek was one of them. Though she wasn't trained in magic, she could cast a simple spell now that her court relied upon it.

"Mer'endieth an-sennanch v'sen, angathor oschen," she spoke, and the council stumbled upon the impact of might. The same happened all around the Queen's court, and everywhere in Fairyland.

Fairies weren't forbidden to use magic, but they were forbidden to cause harm to each other. Only beneficial spells would be allowed in Fairyland. Only the lightest shade of grey was allowed to enter.

"Now then," the Queen spoke, moving her hand across the air in an arch, just like the book instructed.

"Let's see who caused this all to happen."

# Chapter Seven

The world around Shaela exploded into white light, and everything she had ever been, changed. Magic rushed through her in a painless wave that entered every cell, altering them, infusing them with might. The sensation was close to waking from a nightmare: Shaela felt new, refreshed, like she hadn't truly lived before this moment, this instance in time where all of her being was one with might.

And then it left her, and she fell onto the hard rocks on the lake shore, and lay there, having lost all sense of time.

She didn't know how much time had passed as she awoke. The sun was low, and the shadows long as they had been when she spoke the words to release magic. Days could have passed since then, or maybe mere minutes.

Shaela sat up. Her hands were empty. The tortoise was gone. She looked around to find it, but all she saw were shards of crystal. The impact of might escaping had shattered it, and Shaela felt a deep sense of loss at the sight of its remains. She hadn't had it for long, but a bond had formed between the tortoise and her soul. Now that it was gone, forever broken, she felt sad, like she'd lost something meaningful. A memento, a keepsake.

A memory of a loved one.

She stood on legs that felt weak and unstable, wishing, not for the first time, that her wings were strong enough to carry her through the air. Instead of gifting her flight, they were merely in the way as she slept and dressed herself. She found them useless, and wondered once again whether she could just cut them off.

The world looked like it had before she spoke in the lost tongue of s'man-tek, yet all had changed. Colours were more vivid, the sound of waves breaking more present. She could taste the wind, could hear whispers in it.

And still, none of it held meaning for her. Might lived again in the Universe, and she had no understanding of it.

"I must learn," Shaela spoke to herself, or maybe the remains of the tortoise. "I must find a teacher to guide me in the ways of might so that I can use it to my desire."

Shaela didn't know that magic heard every wish spoken, no matter the language used. It knew the hearts of those who lived, knew every desire ever to be. It heard Shaela's wish, and saw it fit to help her.

Those who wielded might were few, and it wanted more willing hands and souls to work through. Granting a wish was a small price to pay for another slave.

A Portal opened before Shaela, a lake of silver just like the one J'dra had opened for her in another world. Shaela jumped from it, skittish like a kitten, but the natural curiosity of her fairy blood soon won over fear.

She walked through the Portal, not knowing where it would take her, trusting chance to shape her fate.

***

Wizards were long gone, but not those who knew the ways of might. Hidden behind veils of time, some of them still lived.

And one of them heard the call for help.

She stood, old and frail, beaten by time, but not yet lost, as she felt a tremor in might. It was like a small stone falling into still water, circular waves around it growing and growing until they were large enough to drown cities, worlds, entire civilisations.

Something was coming, and her help was needed.

A Portal opened in the garden in which she had sat, comfortable in her soft chair, surrounded with the flowers she liked the most. It wasn't unprecedented, but certainly unexpected even in this pocket of time she had created for herself moments before the world was robbed of might. She had waited for what felt like a lifetime, grown old, then older, until time lost all meaning, and now, as magic had snapped back into place with a blinding flash of light, a Portal reminded her of the past.

Andesha, once a seer of the Crystal Halls, stood to greet whoever it was to emerge from the Portal.

***

This time, the travel didn't make her throw up. This time, the Portal was stable and solid.

Shaela stepped out into a lush garden filled with pink roses and butterflies, to a world of sunshine and sweet smells. She closed her eyes to breathe in all the beauty. What she walked into reminded her of Fairyland, so much so that when a human voice spoke, she jumped.

"Who are you, child?" a female voice asked, "and what are you doing in my garden?"

The voice wasn't unkind. It sounded amused rather than upset. Shaela opened her eyes, and saw an old woman with long, blond hair and a wrinkled face, a woman who leaned heavily upon a cane. Her eyes were kind and curious, and there was a beauty in her that reminded Shaela of J'dra.

"My name is Shaela," she said, "and I have come in search of someone to teach me."

"And what do you wish to learn, child?"

"The ways of magic."

She could see the old woman stumble, like the force of Shaela's words was too much for her. "Why do you wish to learn this?" she asked.

Before, the answer had been clear to her. "To aid those who are suffering, and to keep death at bay," she would have said. Now, as everything had changed, the answer was no longer there.

"I don't know," Shaela stuttered, "but I know I need to learn."

The woman nodded. "Very well, then. I will teach you what I know, though it may not be as much as you need."

Shaela bent her head. "I will take what you have to give, and receive it with gratitude."

***

"Where did you learn?" Shaela asked. The first day was growing old, and she knew nothing. The old woman, Andesha, had told her of might, of the Balance, of the dwarf who imprisoned magic, and still, Shaela felt as though the world kept secrets from her. Might made her fingers tingle, gave water a new taste, and still it held itself from her. It would not bend to her will, nor would it be commanded.

Andesha, though, sang trees to life before Shaela's eyes like it was an act as simple as breathing.

"I learned a long time ago, back in the Crystal Halls." Andesha seemed to be looking back in time, like she was staring into an Orb that revealed images of a different place, different realm. "Novices there are taught never to touch Orbs without supervision. I was curious, and broke that rule.

"I touched an Orb without proper training, and spent decades imprisoned by visions it decided to show me. I stared into the World of the Dead, and learned all that would be, all that once had been.

"I also learned the ways of might.

"That knowledge I kept to myself. In our world, magic isn't seen as a gift. Might is a curse, and those who use it, are seen as outcasts."

"Are you an elf?" Shaela asked, interrupting her tale. "J'dra said that elves don't use magic."

Andesha hid her surprise well. Not a single muscle on her face revealed her astonishment as she learned that J'dra, her teacher, still lived. "No, child," she said, "I am a toleen, not an elf."

Questions showing on Shaela's face encouraged her to continue.

"We are a healer race, living alongside the war-like dr'chen. We have a symbiosis, if you please: they get injured fighting each other, we sing them back to health.

"Our magic is the only kind tolerated in our world: only the songs of the toleen may bend magic."

"Will you teach me to sing?"

Andesha smiled. "No, child. Only those born of toleen-blood can sing. But I will teach you s'man-tek so you can command magic. I will start with simple spells, and as time passes, you will learn to control might."

"I don't have much time," Shaela said, and something sinister stirred in Andesha's eyes.

"In this place, time does not move.

"I created this pocket in time and space before might was taken away. We live here, inside the pocket. We age, and so do plants and animals around us. Outside, time moves as always. Rules in this place are different: a day lasts forever, the sun never sets. Still, our bodies don't seem to realize that."

Shaela wasn't certain she understood. "How do you create pockets in time?" she asked, like a child eager to know how yeast makes dough grow.

"With spells, and persuasive will," Andesha said. "But some pockets already exist in the folds of the Universe. One needs only reach to find them."

***

Andesha's voice was like falling rain, reviving drops of crystal-clear water in the drought of spring. She picked a fruit, and held it on her palm, her song kind and convincing. Shaela watched, mesmerized, as the fruit split open, revealing a hard pit inside.

Andesha allowed the seed to fall while a flock of birds appeared to feast on the fruit's flesh. She sang, and the seed buried itself in the warm soil where it grew roots. Delicate sprouts broke the soil, and as Andesha sang, they grew stronger until a young tree stood before them, carrying its first harvest.

A fruit fell into Shaela's hand. It was heavy and ripe, and her mouth watered at the sight of it. She knew it would be juicy and sweet.

Andesha's voice stopped her before she could bite into it.

"In time, you will learn this spell. Each one of those who wield magic must know the basic spells: how to create life, how to ward oneself and others, how to change the shape of objects, how to spark fire.

"You will draw these spells yourself. They will have your own, unique voice, just like all spells you will ever use.

"These spells you will draw into a book which you must hide in a pocket in the Universe. No other should lay eyes upon your spells, for they are yours, and yours alone."

"What if someone does see my spells?" Shaela asked. "Will I die?"

"No. The spells might, though.

"Each one of us uses different words to persuade magic. The words come to us, as though might itself whispered them in our ears. If the words are spoken by someone else, they lose their effectiveness."

"But I won't die?"

"No."

"Good," Shaela said. "May I eat the fruit now?"

***

Shaela stared at an empty book. Its pages were white and blank.

A quill lay on the open page. An inkwell stood by the book's side.

This book was to be her spell book.

It was big, and heavy, and bound in brown leather.

Shaela hated the feel of it.

Andesha had given her the book, and told her to use it as she pleased.

Shaela had understood that she wished for her to fill the book with spells.

She stared at the empty pages, desperate to fill them, and at the same time, desperate to set the book in flames, and watch it burn to cinder.

Fairies never used leather. Their books were bound in eternal leaves that never turned grey with age. No animal died for their fickle desires.

"My book should have leaf covers," Shaela whispered, angry all of a sudden. "It should be made of fairies' finest parchment, and the vines of the leaves should be brushed with gold."

The book in front of her waited, silent, empty, blank.

"You should burn," Shaela told it. "You should catch fire, and turn to cinder."

She stared at the book, and a word came to her.

A simple word.

A harsh word.

A word in a language she didn't speak.

"Brachen," Shaela spoke, and the book caught flame.

***

The word remained in her mind, lingering there like the memory of a bad dream. Now she needed a place to write it down.

Shaela had tried writing the word into sand. Wind rose as soon as she did, and wiped the sand clean. She had tried scribbling it onto a peace of discarded parchment, but the ink bled away. She had even tried drawing it on her own skin, but her quill would leave no mark.

It was like a dream where the laws of nature had changed, and she tried, in vain, to bend them to her will.

The pockets Andesha had mentioned didn't cease to puzzle her. They gnawed at the edges of her mind like a puppy gnaws at anything hard to help with the pain of teething. Just as she grew certain that the gnawing would drive her crazy, it stopped.

Shaela looked at the air in front of her, looked through it, and saw what she needed. A word formed in her mind, a soft one, a beckoning one.

She spoke it, and pushed her hand into a pocket in space and time.

As she drew it out, it held a book bound in green leaves, brushed with gold, filled with pages of finest fairy parchment.

Through the pocket, she thought she saw a winged woman smiling at her, a woman wearing a delicate crown.

She spoke another small word to seal the pocket once more, and set out to fill the empty pages with spells.

***

"Have you made progress?" Andesha asked. She kept to herself, allowing Shaela space to find her spells.

"I know how to burn," she said, "and to draw objects from pockets in the Universe."

"I see you have found your book," Andesha smiled, and the smile was proud.

Shaela felt ashamed for not appreciating her gift. "I apologize for destroying the one you gave me."

"It helped you draw your first word," Andesha said. "Do not apologize for things that make you stronger."

"Even if it causes suffering to others?"

"Even so."

Andesha's words remained with her for a long time. Fairies were forbidden to cause harm, to injure, or offend others. They lived in harmony with nature and each other, and thrived with love. Shaela had lived by their law all her life. Broadening perspectives baffled her, left her feeling torn.

If she was allowed to cause pain, what kept her from doing so for pleasure? Where were the lines of propriety now?

A frog happened upon her as she was lost in thought, pondering over good and evil, of peace and chaos. She held out her hand, and it jumped upon it. Having never met humans other than Andesha, animals in this pocket realm were tame and trusting. They had nothing to fear but predators, and the women here had never hunted them.

Shaela turned her hand to see the frog from different angles. It looked strange to her, like it needed something more.

Something added to it.

"Being a plain frog must be tiresome," Shaela said, and the frog croaked. Whether it was to agree or beg to differ, she didn't know. Nor did she care. She wanted to add to the frog, and would do so regardless of its will.

"Wouldn't you like to fly?" she asked. "To spit fire like a dragon?"

Another croak.

Words formed in her mind. This time, they were sharp, commanding.

She spoke them, and wings grew from the frog's back. They flapped as it made a clumsy attempt to move them. With a few more flaps, the frog figured out how to use its new appendix, and half flew, half hopped away. Occasionally, it would croak, and spit fire while doing so.

Shaela saw the alteration she had caused, and it pleased her.

The spell book gained another entry.

***

The tree Andesha had sang to life had grown strong. It bore fruit without cease, just like trees in Fairyland. Shaela sat under it often, delicate fingers tracing the markings on its bark, green eyes half-closed, mind trying to solve the puzzle that was magic.

Today, a fruit fell from the tree, hit the ground, and burst open. The tree bore more fruit than they could eat, and sometimes, one got too ripe, and fell.

She reached out her hand, and dug the seed out of pulp. Insects would eat the fruit. Ants would soon arrive to take care of its remains. In nature, nothing went to waste.

"Unlike with humans," Shaela said out loud. "Humans have wasteful, arrogant ways."

The seed dug its sharp edges into the soft flesh of her palm as she closed her fist, angered, once more, by her own human blood.

"I want them gone," she hissed, regretting her words as soon as they left her lips.

Fairies' ways were set deep. Though magic offered her permission to do harm, she chose not to. Anger, outrage, would soon change that, but for now, she chose to remain innocent.

The seed inside her fist shivered, like it was cold.

She opened her hand, and saw it growing roots, pushing out small, brown sprouts, searching for nourishment.

Shaela knew she should set it down, allow it to take root in soil.

Instead, she held it in her hand. She wanted to see it grow.

The roots grew stronger, darker, started to resemble legs. The seed grew two small branches, like arms, while its body grew, gaining in shape and size.

Now, as the seed was too heavy for her to hold comfortably in one hand, she set it down. The roots would not take to the soil. Instead, they grew in the air.

As Shaela watched, the being that had once been a seed opened its eyes, and rose to its legs. Its branches were brown and barren, free of foliage or fruit.

"You have created life," Andesha remarked from behind Shaela's back.

"I did not mean to make this," Shaela whispered. Speaking the command, she had not planned this, had not planned to create. In her anger, she had wanted to banish all things associated with humanity.

The seed-thing reached up, and picked a fruit. It pushed it to its mouth, smearing soft pulp around its face before tossing what it could not eat. Then, it reached for another.

"It seems I banished my thoughts of humanity into this thing," Shaela whispered, frightened and appalled by what she had done.

The thing would grow. It would eat its fill and more, ruin what it couldn't eat. It would take everything it saw, and give nothing back.

It would destroy the beautiful realm Andesha had created for herself.

The command to burn danced on Shaela's lips. She saw no other way to rid the realm of this plague.

"Destroy it if you must," Andesha said. "And remember: the power to create comes with great responsibility. Do not use it lightly."

"I won't," Shaela promised, and as the thing burned, another entry was added to her book of spells.

***

"You are ready," Andesha said. "There is nothing more I can teach you."

Shaela nodded. Her book was full, and her heart heavy with new knowledge. "How much time has passed?"

"Here, no more than a moment. Outside, two years."

"Two years," Shaela repeated. There was a chill in her spine, like someone tickled it with cold fingers. "I promised my mother I would return soon as I left to meet J'dra."

"You have not told me how you know J'dra," Andesha said.

"I thought you knew everything, having looked into the World of the Dead."

"This story was kept from me. I doubt that world even knew you would be born. Remember, the ways of fairies are fickle and unstable."

"Just like death, at times like these," Shaela said contemplatively, repeating the words Andesha had spoken many times while telling her stories of the past.

"J'dra is my kin," she said, pulling out of a strange sense of dread. "My great-grandmother from beyond centuries." The ring around her thumb was warm as she turned it, like she often did when thinking of J'dra.

"What a small Universe we live in," Andesha remarked. "It is good to learn that she had children, a life after all the chaos."

Shaela nodded, unable to provide more. She knew little of J'dra and her life. All she knew was that once, J'dra was a great wizard, and an even greater wizard felt a deep love for her.

Love that travelled with her in the shape of a golden ring.

"You must go now," Andesha said.

This time, Shaela opened a Portal for herself. She spoke a word in ancient s'man-tek, and a lake of silver poured out of nothing. She stepped into it, not knowing what waited for her on the other side.

# Chapter Eight

Two years had passed since a Portal hid the winged girl. For two years, a small demon had sat in front of a magical image, waiting for something to change. The image showed a lake shore covered in stones, a shore where shards of crystal still reflected sunlight. The demon, small, dark, and winged, had no other task. It sat in waiting without eating or sleeping, without drinking, and as days crawled by, it turned into a dry, bony carcass somehow still alive. It watched, its eyes yellow and dry, without blinking, afraid to even breathe. Its mistress had told it to watch the shore, and to inform her of any changes.

"Weather may come and go as it pleases," she had said, "but if a girl with golden hair and translucent wings returns, I will know of it."

So the demon waited, watching. It had seen many things come to pass. It had witnessed animals drinking their fill, humans fishing, camping, eating, drinking, mating, and a deep envy had cut its dark soul. Still, it had watched, without sparing a thought to its own needs and desires, living only to serve and to obey.

The demon sat in its cage like it had for two entire years, its tail coiled around one of the bars, its clawed hands holding two others, as something changed. Its heart jumped to its throat. It knew this was the change its mistress wished to see.

A Portal opened on the shore.

The demon tried to scream, but its throat was too dry to make a sound. Desperate, it jumped and flapped like a mindless animal to attract the attention of someone, anyone, in its vicinity.

The Portal shivered, shimmered, and a girl stepped through it.

A slender girl with golden hair and small, translucent wings.

The demon jumped and croaked like the frog Shaela had altered to her will.

"Girl," the demon managed. "Girl has come!"

A servant turned, went pale, and ran to find the mistress.

***

"Why wasn't I informed of this sooner?" Alaene snapped, leaving her scented bath. The servant fell to her knees. Slaves remained in the pool, silent, relieved. Alaene wasn't a kind mistress, and her desires were endless and raw. Any leave of her was welcomed with gratitude.

"I came as fast as I could," she tried, but the mistress was in no mood for explanations.

Alaene snapped her fingers, and the servant burst to flames. A pile of ashes soon lay where she had knelt.

Maids waited on both sides of the pool filled with warm water, herbs, and foam. One of them held towels and a robe, the other a tray complete with a carafe of wine and silver goblets. Alaene didn't spare either a glance. Wearing only driblets of foam, she burst through her chambers, and into the hallway that led into the room where the demon sat in its cage, staring at an image of a lake once thought to be bottomless.

***

Alaene watched the girl move. She was slender, fragile, somehow older than she had been two years ago. Like she had matured, turned into more than she was.

Two years ago, Alaene had seen her step into a Portal. After that, the girl was lost. No matter how hard she tried, Alaene could not reach her. It was like the Universe had swallowed her.

Determined to find her, Alaene had opened an image of the shore where she was last seen, and ordered a demon to watch it day and night. She had started to lose hope, but now, after all this time, the girl had returned.

She was just as beautiful as Alaene remembered, blond and pretty, innocent like a new-born calf. It was that innocence that attracted Alaene to her. It was the only quality she could not mimic, could not possess, and yet she desired it like a child desires a shiny thing held just out of arm's reach.

"And now is the time to get her," Alaene whispered.

Maids had followed her, carrying robes of silk. They covered her naked skin as she watched the girl, knowing that the mistress wouldn't bother clothing herself before leaving.

For a spawn of an incubus, earthly things like clothes bore no meaning.

***

"Mistress," one of the council said. "The view..."

"Have we found her?" the Queen asked. The council nodded. "She has returned."

The Queen nodded in turn, and rose to her wings. Age was catching up with her, and she flew slower than the council walked. Still, she insisted upon flying instead of walking. The council didn't see this as a sign of vanity, but as proof of her blood being more noble than theirs.

It took long for the Queen to reach the library, where an image showed a view of a lake front at all times. For two years, the view had remained the same, unchanging. Now, a Portal opened there.

"Finally," the Queen spoke. "We have waited so long."

"Yes, my Queen." The council had learned humbleness during the two years. They had seen the Queen wait, patient, calm like a lake before storm. Their respect for her had grown as she showed no sign of temper, impatience, or frustration. Now, as she was rewarded with what she desired, she showed no emotion, only a thankful smile.

"We must welcome her," she said. "This child needs to visit my court."

"Yes, my Queen," the council echoed.

There was no need for further instructions. This day had been planned to the last detail during the two years the court had spent in waiting.

***

The shore hadn't changed much. The lake was just as it had been, large, cold, and somehow uninviting, the rocks on the beach just as round and dense as before. Shaela stood still, book tucked under her arm, and wondered. She knew what she wanted to do, but not where to begin. She desired to help others, to make life easier for those who struggled. The Universe was too full of suffering, and she was only one person, but still, she wanted to try. She didn't know if she was strong enough to make any difference on a larger scale, but she knew she could offer aid where it was needed.

The problem she was facing was not knowing where to go, where to start. She looked around the lake front, and saw no-one. The shore was quiet, empty. No animal had come to drink, no human camped there.

Further away on the lake, a fish broke the calm surface of water. Shaela paid it no mind. Fish didn't require assistance; they were happy where they were. Shaela sighed, and spoke a magical word to open up a pocket into the Universe. She tucked her spell book in the fold, and closed it with another word. Carrying the book around under her arm seemed risky: she had spent much time in crafting her spells. They were safer in a magical fold than in her hands.

"Perhaps I'll visit home," she said, and as she spoke the words out loud, they made perfect sense. She had promised her mother to return soon, and two years had passed since then. The last she saw, the village needed help. Hunger was a constant companion in her home, and that was something she could help with. Magic might not be able to mend broken hearts, but it could help crops grow taller.

Returning to the village made her frown again. Portals only opened to certain places: the one she had exited led to Andesha's pocket realm. She knew a Portal to her own world waited somewhere on the shore, but couldn't remember its exact location. Finding it wouldn't be an easy task. She needed to be within two feet of a Portal in order to open it with a magical command, and speaking words of might without a target could cause serious consequences.

Unwilling to try her luck blindly, Shaela kicked rocks around, trying to come up with a solution. She knew there was a simple way to find a Portal, she just didn't know what it was.

Before she could come to a decision, the air tremored near by. She watched it with a frown, readying words of protective spells in her mind, and saw another Portal open.

She didn't know what to expect, didn't know if she would be faced with a friend or an army of ogres. What she saw was the last thing she would have assumed to face: a winged woman stepped onto the shore, her hair a fall of dark curls, her clothes sewn with the finest silks.

Her wings were as wide as she was tall, reflecting the light of the mid-morning sun in shades of black and purple. Her eyes, purple like violets growing in Andesha's garden, smiled as they looked upon Shaela.

"There you are," she purred. "I have been looking for you for a long time."

Shaela took a hesitant step back. She'd never seen wings so large, so dark, and fear touched her soul. "Why have you been looking for me?"

"And how do you even know who I am," she wanted to add, but felt it safer to keep the words in check. There was an aura of danger around this woman, and Shaela wished not to anger her.

"I feel we have a lot in common," the purple-eyed woman said, "And I know I can teach you something."

Magic danced at her fingertips, and its scent was enough to drive fear away. Mesmerized, Shaela walked toward her, into her open arms.

***

Air tremored on the rocky shore of the lake. It flickered like needing to shake something off, something small, something that tickled, and before long, two fairies stepped forth from an invisible opening in time and space. They looked around, and saw the shore empty.

"We come too late," one of them said. The other one sighed. "We must wait, then. The girl will certainly return."

"If she desires to go back home, yes.

"But if she changes her mind..."

Both members of the Queen's council sighed, and sat down on the rocky beach to wait. They knew that the Queen was watching them. If she desired them to act differently, she would send word.

Right now, neither of them wanted to return empty-handed, and receive a scolding for disappointing her.

***

Hearing Alaene say that she wanted Shaela to see her home, she had expected to be taken into a small hut in the woods. Entering a castle was like a dream. Shaela had never in her life seen, or even imagined, such wealth. The great hall was decorated with lush tapestries, soft rugs of bright colours, and paintings so life-like Shaela had to look twice to believe they weren't windows into other realms. Fire burned bright in the hall, and around the fireplace, soft sofas waited for wary travellers to sit, and enjoy afternoon tea. Maids and man-servants stood in wait, all in uniforms, all polished and clean, smelling of flowers and expensive oils. They bowed stiffly at the sight of their mistress, their eyes never moving, never blinking.

"This is amazing," Shaela whispered, unable to put her astonishment into words.

"I have more to show you," Alaene said, pulling her by the hand to another room, another marvel. "And much to tell you. Come. We will take refreshments in my chambers."

She snapped her fingers, and two of the maids rushed to fill her orders. Shaela tried to see where they went, but Alaene walked too fast, and her grip on Shaela's hand was tight.

The hallways they walked through were lit with wax candles, but their walls were free of other ornaments. Shaela tried to ask why, but Alaene paid her question little mind. "Who would have time to look at paintings here?" she said. "Besides, the lighting isn't the best in these dreary halls."

After many turns and intersections, they reached a door. Alaene opened it with a single motion of her hand, pushing it open from afar. Shaela felt jealous of her skill: she had tried to use magic in a similar way, but her spells never worked that well. Her attempts usually resulted in her opening doors and lifting things by hand, like she bore no magical gifts.

She pulled her into a chamber carved of stone, and decorated with purple tapestries, soft, black rugs, dominated by a round bed so inviting Shaela couldn't help but take a few steps toward it before noticing her mistake. Alaene laughed at her, laughed an amused, throaty laugh usually reserved for misbehaving kittens.

"Go ahead," she said. "Try my bed. I promise you, sleeping is the last thing that will come to your mind."

"Perhaps later," Shaela stuttered, knowing well what Alaene meant, but lacking all confidence to take up her offer. In a world filled with pleasures of all kinds, Shaela was still innocent.

"Sit anywhere you'd like, then." Alaene fluttered her wings, and took to the air, like her feet were tired of walking. "Tell me, do you like my wings?"

Shaela could only nod. Alaene's wings were strong and beautiful, everything hers were not. She'd never felt jealousy this powerful before.

In Fairyland, she'd envied the way fairies flew about. That envy was different, softer, lighter. She envied their skill, not their wings. She wished to possess such skill herself, but understood why she was forced to walk the earth.

Now, seeing Alaene's wings, she wanted them for herself. The feeling was dark and brutal, kin to fury, and it scared her. She wasn't at all certain she liked it, and wondered how long she'd have to wait until it was polite to end the visit.

Following Alaene here started to feel like a mistake.

"Don't you wish you had such wings?" Alaene asked now, and again, Shaela nodded. She had no other answer: the simple gesture held in it everything she could possibly say.

The door opened, and a maid entered. She placed a tray filled with wine and fruit on a table near the sofa Shaela had chosen to sit upon, and left.

Alaene paid her no mind.

"What if I told you that magic can grant you wings strong enough for flight?" Alaene asked. "Wouldn't you like to know that spell?"

Now words came to her. Simple words, eager ones.

Words full of desire and lust.

"I would like to know it."

"And would you use it?"

"Oh yes."

"Then I shall share the spell with you." Alaene settled back on the floor, and walked over to Shaela. She poured wine into two goblets, and sat next to her.

"First, we must drink," she said. Shaela took the goblet offered to her, and allowed Alaene to touch it with hers. "What shall we drink to?"

"Did you know that those who use magic are most often men?" Alaene asked.

Shaela had met two people who used magic, and both of them were women. Not wanting to offend her hostess, she nodded.

"Old, spineless men wanting nothing but to force others to their will.

"It is time for us to take back what is ours."

Alaene raised her glass. "To sisterhood, and magic!"

Shaela wasn't entirely convinced they knew each other well enough to declare themselves sisters, but raised her glass anyway. "To sisterhood," she repeated, but with less enthusiasm, "and magic."

The wine was sweet and strong. She could taste sunlight in it, whispers of warm wind. She closed her eyes to enjoy the taste.

Alaene smiled, watching her, and her smile was sinister and bent.

***

Outside Alaene's chambers, the maid who had brought in wine stretched its back, and wiped its forehead. Horns grew black and curved from its purple skin, its claws were long and strong enough to rip open a rabbit's belly.

In fact, that was exactly what it wanted to do now.

"Do you think the mistress missed anything?" another maid asked.

"No," the first one said, shaking its head. "She masks us well, and her eyes are all-seeing."

"Wouldn't you like to see her fail?" the second one asked. "Just a little bit?"

The first demon took a pause to consider. Alaene was a demanding, difficult mistress who rarely rewarded her staff. On the other hand, demons thrived under unfair conditions. "Maybe just a little. Just so long we wouldn't get punished for it."

The demons laughed together, and went on their way, wearing their veils of magic with pride. To them, it was amusing to know that humans saw them as tall, beautiful women instead of the small, bent demons they were.

***

The sweet wine rose to her head, making it difficult to concentrate. Shaela tried to understand what Alaene said, but it all became a blur. As she tried to reply to a particularly clever remark, to compare it to her own experiences, her words came out as an incoherent jumble.

Shaela frowned, knowing something had gone wrong, not understanding what it was. Alaene laughed, and her laughter reminded her of silver bells that were rung in Fairyland when a fairy died.

"Oh sweet thing," Alaene giggled, "have you no head for wine? Had I known this, I would have enchanted you to endure it better."

"I'm fine," Shaela tried hard to concentrate. Her tongue felt big and clumsy. It was like a human among fairies, and the thought made her laugh. "I'm fine," she repeated. "Completely fine."

"That you most certainly are," Alaene said, her fingers light and curious on Shaela's arm. "Too bad you won't remain here with me, as my constant companion."

Shaela saw an opportunity for escape, and took it, forcing her tongue to co-operate. "I should be going," she managed. "I have things to do."

"So soon?" Alaene purred. "I promised to show you magic. Don't you want wings of your own?"

Shaela had thought she'd forgotten her promise, had thought that it wasn't true, that Alaene had just tossed words around to make her stay longer. She still had her doubts, but curiosity took over. "I do want my wings," she said. "Please, share your secrets."

"It's really quite easy," Alaene said. "Stand, come here." She pulled Shaela up from the sofa, and placed her in the middle of the chamber, where there was more room to move.

"This is basic a basic spell of changing form. All you want is to grow an existing thing larger, to increase it in size. You have a spell of your own for this?"

"I think so," Shaela said, unwilling to admit how inadequate she felt about her skills.

"You see what you desire, not with your eyes, but your heart, and speak the words."

Shy to cast spells in front of another person, Shaela tried. She closed her eyes, and concentrated as hard as she could. An image grew in her heart. It wasn't difficult to find, for she had dreamt of wings all her life. She wished them large, and strong, and translucent as they were now, reflecting light, allowing her to finally rise from the ground, the hateful ground that held her hostage.

"Annante, v'sen esannach," she spoke softly, and might looked kindly upon her wish.

Magical powers encased her, living, breathing around her, in sync with her heartbeat. She could feel might tingling in her fingertips, her toes, even the points of her ears. It concentrated around her back, to where her wings were attached, grew stronger and stronger until she felt she couldn't keep her hand from scratching, and then it was gone.

Gone, like it had never existed.

Ashamed, Shaela opened her eyes. "I failed," she whispered. "My magic isn't powerful enough for this." The warm buzz of wine was gone. It had left her head dull and sad, her heart heavy with grief.

Alaene laughed again. "Look at your shadow," she beckoned.

Light grew in the chamber as she made candles burst to flame. Shadows grew darker, and as Shaela looked, she saw a new aspect to her own.

Translucent things cast no shade, but her wings bore bone-like cores, like the veins of leaves. She saw them, and the outlines of wings, saw them larger than ever before, stronger, grander.

Like they were ready for flight.

Shaela turned, trying to see behind her back. She failed, and turned the other way, somehow trusting she would succeed that way. Wings opened and closed on her back, and she could, could almost see them.

Once more Alaene laughed. "Use the mirror, silly," she said. "You can't see your own back!"

Hesitant, her feet now lighter, Shaela stepped to the mirror on the other side of the chambers, and finally, she saw.

Wings, wide and strong, opened and closed on her back, and as she moved them faster, her feet left the floor.

***

"Come," Alaene said as the shock of being able to fly started to wear off. "I'll take you on a trip."

Wings hadn't completely washed away Shaela's desire to return home. Her thoughts lingered on her mother, and the village she had left with so little warning. They had all been kind to her, and she felt she owed them.

"I must return," Shaela tried, but Alaene wouldn't take no for an answer. She pulled her down another hallway, as barren as the first one, into a large room with a balcony.

The view over the mountains took Shaela's breath away. She had never been so high, had never even imagined she could see mountaintops covered in snow. "This is so beautiful," she managed, triggering more laughter from Alaene. "You haven't seen nothing yet. Come!"

Alaene jumped to her wings, allowing air to carry her. Her grasp on Shaela's wrist was strong. She had no choice but to follow.

A small shriek of terror escaped her as the balcony disappeared from under their feet. Flying was still new to her. Trusting air to hold her like the earth had up to this day took a tremendous amount of courage.

Had Alaene not been there holding her hand, Shaela would have descended to the balcony, and settled on watching the view from the safety of stone. With Alaene there, leaving her little choice, she flew with her, and the world spread open under them, far below.

The flight lasted no more than an hour, but during it, Shaela saw more than ever before. She saw waterfalls from above, dove into the sprays and allowed wind to dry her hair, she flew with birds and laughed as she realized she still couldn't understand what they said, she rose to touch clouds, and frowned as she learned they weren't warm and fuzzy, but cold and damp instead. She saw the world from a fresh angle, and understood why fairies loved the air so much.

From above, it was easy to see what needed changing.

The balcony felt like an old friend under her feet. Shaela noted, without giving it much thought, that her wings felt tired. Just like legs, they grew wary when used in excess.

"I've never seen anything like that," Shaela said. Her heart was lighter now, like wings had taken off a weight she hadn't realized she'd been carrying around. "Thank you for this."

Alaene smiled, her purple eyes glistening. "I had little to do with this. All you needed was a little encouragement."

"A lot of encouragement." She touched Alaene's cheek, and she pressed against her hand like a kitten.

"You will visit me again, won't you?" Alaene asked.

"Of course I will," Shaela promised, not knowing whether she spoke a lie or the truth. Alaene had proven to be interesting and funny. Shaela realized that she did enjoy her company despite the initial fear. Still, making a promise to visit her felt much like promising her family to return soon. "But when, I cannot say."

"I will wait, then," Alaene promised, and opened a Portal for Shaela to return.

# Chapter Nine

Time moved differently for fairies. During the hours Shaela had spent with Alaene, the Queen's council had grown bored, cold, hungry, tired, and, again, bored. They had called upon magic to build them a bonfire to warm themselves by, a feast worthy of kings (which they shared with a family of raccoons, a few bunnies and squirrels, and one hungry bear), cosy beds to sleep in, a jester for entertainment, and another feast they shared only with each other.

As a Portal opened on the beach, both were yawning again, unenthusiastically bickering about whether they should ask for a tent with bathtubs, or just more beds to replace the ones the raccoons had taken over. Tents and tubs were winning, but Shaela interrupted the argument before a decision could be made.

"Well finally," one council remarked, and the other one echoed. "It's about time you showed up, young lady!"

Then, both drew breath, and took a step back.

"She grew wings!" the exclaimed, and for a moment, Shaela was certain they would flee, taking refuge in the forest.

Neither of them did so. Instead, they sneaked closer, and poked her with a careful finger to see if she was real.

"Stop that," Shaela commanded, "and tell me who you are."

The council remembered its place. Both fairies straightened their backs, and pulled at the colourful livrés that had grown dirty, wrinkly, and somewhat torn during the hours they had spent awaiting Shaela's return. Despite that, they managed to appear majestic enough.

"Her Majesty the Queen, ruler of all fairies, monarch of Fairyland and all its subjects, wishes an audience with you..." the council hesitated. No-one knew Shaela's name.

"Shaela," she tried to help, but the council was quicker to finish.

"... young lady. If you would be so kind as to follow us to the court of her Majesty."

"Why does the Queen wish to see-" Shaela started, but the council had already taken hold of her hands, and was pulling her forth. The air in front of them shivered and tremored, and as they reached it, it gave in, allowing them to transport into another realm.

***

Stepping into a Portal was disorienting, and the travel itself took a few moments. Those moments were spent in a grey tunnel with no beginning and no end. Travel to the Queen's court was faster: one moment, Shaela stood on the beach with the Queen's council pulling her hands, the next, she stumbled into court.

"How did you," she started, but the council had much to tell her.

"We must get you into proper clothes before the Queen sees you," the first one said.

"And ourselves, too," the other one pointed out. "Look at us!"

The first one did as told, and shrieked. "What happened!" he asked. "These were fine but hours ago!"

"Sleeping on the ground is what happened," the second one explained with the wisdom of one born twelve minutes earlier. "And the animals. The bear in particular was very sharp of claw."

"Ah yes, the bear," the first one remembered. "Quite eager in the hugging department, that one."

The first one waved his finger around, and his livré dropped all the filth it had gathered, mended itself, grew a button to replace a lost one, and de-wrinkled.

"Show-off," the second one remarked, and followed the first one's example.

"And now you," they said, turning to Shaela.

"I believe I'm good as I am," she tried, but fingers were waved, and her clothes replaced with a long gown of white silk. "Well then, thank you," she said, touching her hand to her hair that had turned itself to a high tower of curls. "I do believe I look very fashion-"

"That's far too much!" the council cried. More finger-waving followed, and her garb turned form white to pale blue to pink to lavender, while her hems were changed from form fitting to short and poofy and back again. Her hair went up, curled itself, fell down, and settled into a low bundle of coils at her neck.

Finally, as she stood before the council in a short, fitted dress made of pink flower petals, Shaela scoffed. "This is ridiculous," she snapped. "And I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself." She spoke an order in s'man-tek, and her dress turned into one she liked better, a green one with no shoulders and a short hem.

The council cocked their heads so that they touched, their expressions thoughtful. "She looks familiar, doesn't she?" one asked.

"She does," the other agreed. "The drawn one?"

"That's the one."

"What on earth are you talki-"

"Now we go," the council decided, pulling her by the hands again. "Off to see the Queen!"

"But not in that dress," the older one decided, and waved his finger again. Shaela's dress obeyed, turning back into the white one they had started from.

***

The court was full of life and colour. Fairies of all shapes and sizes played, danced, and feasted with each other. No desire was left unfulfilled, and Shaela felt the need to turn her head away from the open displays of pleasure.

"Is it always like this?" she asked.

The council glanced around. "Oh you mean the 'nobles'. Yes, it's always like this."

"Nobles?" Shaela asked, having heard the mocking tone. "How do you mean?"

"Well, they exist only to entertain the Queen."

"She finds this entertaining?"

"Not so much now. In the past, the nobles were much more well-behaved."

"Better behaved," the other corrected.

"Are you certain?"

A nod.

"Fine then, more better behaved. Then, the Queen got bored with all the formal dinners and luncheons and afternoon teas, and told the nobles to live a little.

"They took it to the letter, and things got out of hand a tad."

"Just a tad," the other one stepped in.

"Yes, just a tad. Well, now she feels she's old, and doesn't want to interfere with the way these 'nobles' live their lives. She says let them have cake, and looks the other way."

Shaela tried her best to look the other way, too, but found it challenging. "Wouldn't they be of more use if the Queen made them work?"

"Work?" The council stopped in its tracks. "Nobility doesn't work, young lady!"

"Fine then, do something other than celebrate."

"What else is there?" The council looked baffled, shrugged, and continued on.

They led her to a library, where blessed silence embraced them.

"Now then," the council said. "The Queen will arrive momentarily."

"Thank you," Shaela said, not knowing what was expected of her. This day was the strangest one she had ever lived, and it wasn't even time for afternoon tea yet.

***

Without her council, the Queen flew slowly. Reaching the library took a while, and during her flight, she couldn't help but notice the nobility passing its time the best way it knew how: in decadence.

Decades, perhaps hundreds of them, ago, the Queen's court had been a place of quiet contemplation and study, of calm days and long nights of leisure. Entertainment had consisted of music and stories.

Now, there was nothing but gluttony and decay. The Queen sighed in disgust, and turned her head. There was little she could do: ways once set were not easy to change. Fairies were too used to having their every desire fulfilled the moment they thought of it. Change would take too long for the Queen: she could already feel her time growing short.

The next Queen would have to arrange the court.

If she so chose.

The library, at least, was quiet. Fairies shied away from books now, and no-one came here. The Queen had taken the space to herself. She often sat amongst books, leafing them, touching their backs, recalling stories she had once read.

Now, the library housed visitors. The girl she had seen stood there, dressed to fit the high standards of court old.

"I see my council has dressed you," the Queen remarked. "How do you like your new outfit?"

The girl touched her dress, spread the hem of it in uncertainty. "I've never worn anything like this," she said, and the Queen was pleased by her honesty. "And wearing this every day would feel constricting. For a special occasion, such as this, though, I feel this is good."

"Good," the Queen repeated. "I like that word."

She beckoned her council to refrain from fidgeting with each other's livrés. They did that often when bored. The Queen had tried to cure them of the habit, but the council was persistent.

"I saw you," the Queen began, "as you set magic free of its prison. I have watched you since, or tried to. You were lost to my sight, to all the Universe, for two long years. And today, you return."

"Yes, my Queen," Shaela said, uncertain of how she should address the Queen. Apparently, she took no offence in her choice of words.

"Where you spent the two years is your own business, but I wish to speak with you of the company you kept today."

Shaela could feel a ball of fear settling in the pit of her stomach. It was clear that the Queen didn't approve of her actions.

"I wish to tell you a story.

"Please, sit, and listen."

Shaela chose the nearest seat, and listened to the Queens tale.

# The Queen's Tale

Since the dawn of time, Fairyland was ruled by a monarch, a king or queen both benevolent and kind. Fairies thrived under respectful rule, living peacefully with each other, hidden from the outside world.

The customs regarding rule over Fairyland were simple, yet strict, and none protested against them. The monarch's will was law, and as rulers changed, so did laws.

Fairies, being fickle in nature, accepted the changing laws with happiness. Despite one monarch's rule lasting for thousands of years, all change was regarded a good thing.

As Dey, the reigning Queen and her husband, Florian, rose to power following the untimely, accidental death of the old Queen, Fairyland was a calm, quiet place. The previous monarch had encouraged reading and practising arts, and the fairies of the royal court had been more than willing to obey. Now, though, under Dey's and Florian's rule, they rebelled.

New laws and customs were needed, and Dey, being young and inexperienced, allowed Florian to set them. The King, being young and foolish, raised pleasure to be valued over art, and though none of the old ways were banned, the rule of their predecessor was quickly forgotten.

Fairies loved the new laws, indulging in every desire they could think of. The court was soon nothing but chaos as fairies ate, drank, and copulated to their hearts' desire.

The Queen tried to turn a blind eye to them, tried to reinforce old ways, but fairies ignored her. The King's word pleased them more, and they obeyed him blindly.

It didn't take long for the King to grow cold and indifferent toward his wife. At first, he turned his affections to the women of the court, keeping dozens of mistresses at once. The Queen smiled her benevolent smile, and withdrew from both King Florian and the court. Isolated from her subjects, she grew more and more distant to them, a figurine behind a curtain, easily ignored and forgotten.

The women of the court pleased Florian for a while, but as centuries crept by, he grew bored with them. Curious, he ventured outside Fairyland against the Queen's wishes and all customs.

Fairies, being magical creatures, attracted others blessed with the gift of might. The King was easy prey for a succubus: she smelled him miles away, was drawn to his magical aura, and sought him out in the dark of night.

King Florian fell to the succubus's glamour. Seducing him was easy for a succubus who could use magic to wear any face, any form imaginable. All she needed was to look into his mind, and see what he most desired.

The Queen, lonely and concerned among her subjects, used magic to keep an eye on King Florian. She saw him lie with a winged woman who wore a different face to please him, and knew he'd fallen victim to a succubus.

Infuriated, Queen Dey declared all demon-blooded creatures sworn enemies of Fairyland, and to this date, her rule applied.

King Florian was banished for his crime, and the Queen remained to rule alone.

She held the throne as magic was taken from the Universe, and as it was returned, she still ruled.

As for the King, no-one knew what had become of him. King Florian was lost to the Queen, and all realms around her.

For all she knew, the succubus still held him.

# Chapter Ten

"But..." Shaela objected, "she's my friend."

The Queen's council took two steps back. They glanced at each other, like trying to reach each other's minds. Slowly, they retreated behind a set of columns to hide from the Queen's anger.

No-one had ever protested against her will.

"She's a succubus," the Queen explained, calm and patient still. "A demon. Our sworn enemy." Her wings fluttered, but that was the only sing of emotion in her. Every hair on her head was in perfect order, every fibre of her gown lay in place, every muscle in her face worked together to hold a kind, convincing smile. And still, the threat of anger was there, hiding just beneath the surface. Shaela saw it, and ignored it.

"I don't care," she said. "I will judge her for myself, if it comes to that, without your prejudice."

The council gasped. Shaela could hear their wings as they shook in fear.

"My rule reaches over all fairies," the Queen said. "All fairies, including you."

"I am half-human," Shaela protested. "And as such, I live by human laws."

"No human is permitted in my court," the Queen ruled, and air tremored around Shaela, swallowing her like a hungry child swallows a spoonful of porridge after waking from slumber.

The Queen sighed, and her council peeked out from hiding. They assessed the situation, deciding it was safe to emerge. They kept their distance, though, just in case the Queen wished to express an emotion in a disruptive way.

"Escort me back to my chambers," the Queen commanded, but her voice was meek and soft. She didn't sound like a Queen. The council didn't hesitate to fulfil orders despite her weakness. She was the Queen, no matter how she sounded, and the council would remain loyal to her until they all died.

From the look of the Queen, they suspected it wouldn't take that long.

"My Queen," one of the council dared, "what will happen to the girl now?"

"She must find her own way," the Queen said, "but for our sake, I do hope her way leads back to us."

"I thought you wished to banish her for all times," the other one remarked.

The Queen's smile was weary. "No. No fairy is banished for all times. Our ways are fickle, and dictated by temper. I do not differ from you in that regard: my rule is as erratic as the behaviour of my subjects.

"She is different, her fairy blood diluted by human flesh."

"And therefore, she was banished," the first council concluded.

The Queen paused, fluttering in the air just above ground, and turned to face her council. "Not banished," she said, "but sent to reconsider. If she is to become Queen, she must learn for herself."

The council gasped, shrieking in terror as the Queen flew on. "New Queen!" they screamed. "But we have you!"

"No-one lives forever," the Queen explained calmly. "Not even me. I shall soon pass. After that, Fairyland needs a new ruler."

"Surely one of the nobles..." one of the council started, glancing over the Queen's court. He closed his mouth with a snap, and wished he'd never spoken.

The court was filled with sparkle and bubbles, noise and drunken laughter. As the council looked upon it, they saw too much revealed skin.

The Queen smiled, smiled a forgiving smile reserved for children and those not blessed with full intellect. "The ruler of Fairyland has always been one born of mixed blood," she explained. "My predecessor was half elf, hers half dwarf, and stories claim there once ruled a being who was half fae and half dragon.

"My blood is mixed with humans, and so is hers."

"And so she must rule," the other council member sighed.

"She must come around quickly," the first one remarked. The Queen was descending: her feet had never hung so low, so close to the floor. Soon, the day would come when she could no longer rise from the ground.

"We should do something," the council said in unison.

"You should help me to my chambers," the Queen instructed, "before my weakness is noted."

"Yes, my Queen," the council chimed, and behind her back, they exchanged a decisive nod, as though to make a solemn pact to take action.

***

Fairy magic returned Shaela to the beach. She stumbled on the rocky shore, fell, and scraped her knee. The air flickered behind her, and fell silent, as though to declare how little it cared about her mishaps.

Shaela sat on the shore, rubbing her injured knee. Healing it with magic never occurred to her: might was still new to her, a miracle rather than a daily companion.

Getting escorted out of the Queen's court stung worse than her knee. In her own opinion, Shaela had done nothing wrong. Her only offence was befriending someone the Queen did not approve of.

"To hell with her," Shaela decided. "I will not let a distant ruler dictate who I can and can not talk to."

She felt better after coming to a conclusion, so much so, in fact, that she decided to pay Alaene another visit. Getting scolded by the Queen had piqued Shaela's curiosity better than a direct permission. Now that Alaene was declared persona non grata, Shaela wanted nothing more than to see her.

"Who knows," she said out loud, getting to her feet like a human, forgetting she had wings now, "maybe she'll become more than a friend."

Shaela was innocent still, but not ignorant. She knew that the pleasures men shared with women could also be shared amongst females. She didn't know whether Alaene truly had those kinds of intentions toward her, but she was going to find out.

Upon leaving Alaene's castle, she had received a spell to take her back there. After a moment of hesitance, Shaela spoke it out.

***

Sleeping for thousands of years had taxed her energy more than she realized. After Shaela left, Alaene felt herself tired, too tired even to take pleasure in her slaves.

She needed nourishment.

Alaene had slept her entire life: she'd been found as a new-born, and spellbound quickly after. During the years she slept, her body had grown to its full size, reaching maturity, but no-one had taught her to care for it.

Instinct was the only thing she had to rely upon, instinct, and minor demons she had surrounded herself with. They cared for her, looked after her needs, but none of them knew how to replenish her strength.

Alaene had spent much magic on Shaela. It had been necessary: she needed to turn the fairy-girl from foe to friend, and Alaene regretted none of the might wasted on her. Now, though, as the girl was gone, she felt weak.

Slaves waited in her bed, in her pool, in every room of her castle, but Alaene wanted none of them. They existed only to service her, to pleasure her.

She needed something more now.

Something stronger.

Magic was a life-essence much like the soul. To replenish her might, Alaene needed it.

Or something similar to it.

She smiled a crooked, sinister smile in the solace of her chambers, and opened a Portal to walk through.

***

Alaene ended up near a small village much like the one Shaela was born in. Life in these villages moved slow and steady, following a similar rhythm. People lived in the summer, prepared for death during fall, slept through the winter, and came to life come spring. In this world, this was the time to live, and that made Alaene's task much simpler.

She stalked the village for a moment, and quickly chose a target. She preyed on instinct, not skill or experience.

Her target was a tall, blond boy who had not yet seen his sixteenth birthday. He walked alone with an empty bucket in both hands, heading down a path that, Alaene assumed, led to a river. The boy was handsome and lean, his soul smelled young and strong.

Alaene picked a pleasant image from his mind. Magic helped her change to match it. The boy was in love with the girl next door, so Alaene took her shape. She despised the short, chubby frame, the blond braids, and the freckled skin, but wore it anyway, just to get what she needed. She followed him to the river, quick and silent in her steps, watching him as he filled both buckets.

Then, she called for him.

"Theodore," she laughed. "Are you ignoring me?"

He jumped, turned, and saw her. His cheeks turned bright red, and he stuttered as he spoke. Alaene thought it adorable. His essence would serve her well.

"Why, Laura, I didn't see you there. Are you spying on me?"

"I most certainly am," Alaene replied. "I am spying a boy who likes me for certain, but never says a word." She pouted, making certain her face caught sunlight. She wanted the boy to see her lips, her lashes, her awful mood only he could set straight.

The boy turned even redder, his stutter grew even worse. For a brief moment, Alaene wondered how human-beings could stand one another. The short time she'd spent with this one was more than enough to last her half a lifetime, and humans willingly chained themselves to such loud mediocrity.

"I didn't know..." the boy stumbled on his words, "I mean, I wanted to but... well, you're so pretty and all the boys... so popular and I didn't think I..."

"Oh Theodore, you silly boy, don't you know I only have eyes for you?" Alaene used the girl's voice, her body, to make her appear even more attractive to the boy. He didn't need much encouragement, though. A few more bats of thick lashes, and he was there, in her arms, ripe for the picking.

As Alaene sucked down his soul, the image of the face she'd decided to wear bled away, and the last thing the boy saw was a demon with purple eyes, devouring his immortal soul.

***

"Alaene?" Shaela called hesitantly.

The great hall was empty. No servant stood there, in wait of the mistress's command. Fire burned bright in the fireplace, but no-one sat on a soft sofa, watching it, sipping tea from an ornate cup.

"Is anyone here?"

No reply came. The great hall was as silent as it was empty.

Shaela didn't know she was being watched. Two demons, the ones who had shared a laugh outside Alaene's chambers earlier, spied on her.

"Should we speak?" one of them asked in its most silent voice.

"No," the other one replied. "The mistress has forbidden us from speaking to visitors. We would be out of place, and she would punish us."

The first one settled to this, knowing its friend was right. Alaene was not a fair mistress, nor a kind one. Her punishments were cruel, and often undeserved. It was always safest to keep quiet, and stay out of sight.

They watched, hidden in shadows, as the blond girl walked hesitantly around the great hall, looking at paintings, reaching a curious hand to touch sculptures, pausing in front of tapestries that portrayed images detailed to life-like perfection.

The mistress would return soon, and as she did, she would be alerted. She would learn there was an intruder in her house and then...

Well, then, the demons would enjoy their entertainment.

***

The Portal took her back to her chambers, back to where she had left. When choosing her chambers, she had made certain to pick the room with the most Portals: that way, she could leave without anyone seeing, and return before anyone noticed her gone.

Today, her chambers were not empty. A maid waited for her, a demon wearing a human facade. "Mistress, a visitor," the maid said, its expression unchanged by the sight of her mistress.

Alaene's face was half-covered in blood, her clothes torn and stained. Taking a life, especially through fornication, wasn't a particularly tidy event.

"Tell them to wait," Alaene commanded, "while I clean myself."

"Mistress, it's the fairy," the demon continued.

Alaene threw a glass vase at it. "I don't care who it is!" she yelled. "Tell them to wait while I clean myself!"

The demon offered the mistress a good grovel. Alaene had a good aim: the vase had hit the demon over the right eye, and left a nasty bruise. Its human-face covered the injury well. No-one would be able to see unless the charm broke.

And Alaene was the only one who could break it.

As the demon left, Alaene walked over to the pool that was never empty. Fresh water filled it at all times, refreshing it. She paid no mind to the slaves there. Her plans required none of their services now.

A succubus never walked alone. It was her goal to populate all known realms with her kind. For that, she needed a master. Her kind couldn't give birth: they could only steal the souls of the mortal men they seduced. To breed, she needed to impregnate a woman who would then give birth to an incubus.

Alaene was alone. No other one of her kind had suffered such a fate, and only instinct told her what to do.

In order to create a lord and master for herself, she needed to steal the seed of mortal men, and plant darkness into them.

Another woman would carry the seed for her, carry a child in her name.

Alaene opened her fist, and a shining orb floated out. She hissed at it, and it floated lightly to the other side of the chamber, where it settled upon her mirrored vanity.

The orb contained the seed of the boy she had drank. She would use it to create the lord she so craved.

And the one to carry the spawn already waited for her.

Alaene leaned back in the pool, and submerged herself into the water. She rose back to the surface free of bloodstains, and her smile revealed fangs sharp and cruel.

***

Shaela was alerted by approaching footsteps. She turned to see the source of the sound, and saw a maid approaching.

"Miss," the maid said, keeping her face down. "We apologize for keeping you waiting. Mistress will come to see you soon. Please, sit by the fire, if you please. I will bring you some tea." The maid beckoned toward the fire. Shaela gladly followed her instructions. The day had been long, and tea sounded lovely.

"It is always a good time for afternoon tea," the maid said, frowned, as though surprised by her own words, and left.

Shaela sat by the fire, watching the flames. They danced high into the chimney, striking sparks as they went, and she could see colours changing within the flames. They turned from orange to yellow to green to purple and then back again, all too soon for Shaela to truly register what she saw. All she understood was that the fire reminded her of rainbows, of home, of Fairyland and the summers there, slow, never-ending summers where nights were warm and trees bore fruit without a pause.

She didn't know that Alaene was watching her, looking into her mind as she allowed it to run free, unchained, to touch memories of a time when she was, truly, happy and free. She didn't' know how long she sat there, watching the flames, but she did know time passed. It felt like falling asleep: as dreams take hold and the realm of twilight becomes reality, time passes, and the awareness of it lingers.

"Shaela," Alaene's voice broke the spell Shaela didn't know to exist. "How kind of you to come see me again."

Shaela stood to embrace her friend, and paused. Alaene looked different, somehow, but Shaela couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"Did you do something to your hair?" she asked, not knowing she played the safest card.

Alaene smiled, touching her wet curls. "I was in the water when you called," she explained, cancelling out every spell she'd cast upon herself after venturing out. Magic was persistent sometimes, leaving traces of masks behind for others to see.

Shaela settled for the explanation. "Maybe that's it," she said, an apologetic tone to her voice. "I haven't seen you like that before."

"All wet, you mean?"

Even Shaela was smart enough to blush.

"Have you been given tea?" Alaene asked, ringing a bell by the fireplace. "I'll have the maid bring us something to eat, too."

"I would like some tea," Shaela said, settling back into the sofa.

After listening to the Queen's tale, she'd been uneasy about Alaene, but now, as she fluttered around, her hair wet, her small feet bare, Shaela felt a warm sense of peace wash over her.

Perhaps the Queen was mistaken. Perhaps all demons weren't bad.

And perhaps Alaene was no demon. She certainly didn't look like one despite her purple eyes. All Shaela saw was a girl with white skin and long, black hair, a girl with dark wings she had so envied.

Perhaps she was just like her, a lost girl born of mixed blood, looking for her own place in the Universe.

# Chapter Eleven

"Truly, this is getting ridiculous," the Queen's council said. They'd slipped out as the Queen slept, and had waited for what felt like an eternity to them. The sun was starting to set, and the beach looked like someone had held a spring Equinox celebration there. The fairies sat, still waiting, in soft chairs, chewing on candied parsley leaves, their clothes in ruin once more, their faces dirty, their hair standing on end with filth.

"Truly," the other echoed. "Where can that girl be!"

"My guess is," the older one said, "that she is with that demon the Queen warned her about. She didn't seem like the kind of girl who takes advice from others." He paused, chewing on a leaf, reaching for another. "Not even from the Queen, which will, mark my words, be hazardous to her health in the very near future."

"Hear, hear," the younger council said, and chugged down a cup of brown ale. He burped loudly, and filled his cup. "She really should learn some manners. We must teach her, remind me."

"And soon. Fairyland needs to have a Queen."

"We have a Queen!" the younger council cried. He still wasn't over the fact that the reigning Queen would, someday, pass away. "I don't want another one!"

"We must be prepared for anything," the older said with all his wisdom. "And so must the girl. She is young, silly, and naive. It is up to us to help her."

"But what can we do? We are only the Queen's council."

"Exactly," the older one said, reaching for another parsley leaf. He frowned, wrinkled his nose, and tossed the leaf over his shoulder. He'd eaten his full, and was bored with candy. A snap of his fingers brought forth a bowl of pickled elderberries, a delicacy appreciated by few in both Fairyland, and outside of it. "We are the Queen's council. It is our sacred duty to make certain the Queen behaves as such." He paused, frowning, and continued to clarify. "The Queen, I mean, not her council. Not that there is anything wrong with the way we behave."

They had both consumed a generous amount of brown ale, and were starting to get confused about their mission.

"She should return to the court," the younger one said, staring at his cup with great longing. It was empty again, and he missed its contents.

"And that is why we are here, waiting for her. It is our sacred duty as the Queen's council to order her to return to the court."

"But how?" the younger one asked, reaching for an elderberry. "She doesn't know our magic."

"Why, just like in the olden times. Fairies went to and from the court when magic slept, didn't they? She'll just have to use the back door."

"Back door?"

"Why, yes. Mushroom rings!"

The younger council looked surprised. "Do those things still exist?" he asked. "I truly thought they were nothing but... a fairytale!"

This sparked an endless burst of giggles from the council. "They most certainly do," the older one said once the laughter had died. "But only in certain places. She must follow a map," - a piece of parchment was produced from a pocket- "which I have right here, and make her own way to the court."

As he spoke, a small gust of wind rose. It pulled the map from his hand, making it dance right out of their reach. The council shrieked, and jumped to reach it, but air, as fickle and short-tempered as fairies, opened to send them both back to Queen's court.

***

The tea Alaene served was sweet, and tasted of oranges. It came with honeyed cakes, and a maid to wait nearby for further orders. Shaela enjoyed her time with Alaene, but though many words were changed, she learned little of the ways of magic. They laughed, talked, and ate their fill, and when time came to leave, Shaela touched Alaene's hand, having gained confidence in the past hours.

"I enjoy your company," she said.

"And I yours." Alaene's smile was eager and sweet, her lips even sweeter as she touched them to Shaela's. "Come back soon, and we'll talk again."

"I will," Shaela promised, the thrill of the touch still tingling in her. "Tomorrow perhaps?"

"Tomorrow it is then."

Another soft kiss sent shivers all the way down to her toes, and as they parted, something tremored. It was like the Universe pulled back its skin, revealing infected tissue beneath. Shaela could smell brimstone, could see a purple glow around everything, Alaene, the fire, the teacups. Her eyes found the maid standing in wait, and in her place, stood a small, bent being with purple skin and horns.

Shaela stumbled, and the Universe snapped back into place. Alaene's hand was there, against her back, kind and soothing, the fire burned high, its flames orange and yellow, and a maid stood by the fireplace wearing a black and white uniform, her skin white, her brown hair tied into a tidy bun, her head free of horns.

"Are you all right, dearest?" Alaene asked, her smile concerned.

"Yes, fine, thank you. I just thought I saw a spider," Shaela lied with a nervous chuckle. "I don't much care for spiders."

"Dreadful creatures, I agree," Alaene said. "But mostly harmless."

As the Portal closed behind Shaela, Alaene frowned. Despite the soul she had drank, she felt weak.

Like her might needed more replenishing.

For a moment, she'd feared Shaela had seen behind her spells, behind the lovely facade she had given herself, her demons, the castle. Spells were there to hide horns and slaves, to ensure nothing unsightly spilled out into the open.

To keep the spells in place, she needed souls to drink.

Her mouth watered as she thought of the youth she had taken earlier.

It was time to take another, to gain back the powers spent in this lavish charade.

***

The Portal returned her back to the beach, where a peculiar sight awaited her.

Shaela frowned, staring at the mess the Queen's council had left behind, and wondered what had happened.

A brightly coloured gazebo awaited on the beach, and under it, stood two soft armchairs and three long tables filled with food and drink of all sorts. Two unmade beds waited further off, and just behind the tables, a bathtub still blew bubbles into the air. Candles burned bright all around, and a family of raccoons feasted under one of the tables.

No-one else was in sight, but Shaela recognized the ways of the council.

"Did they come to call upon me again? Has the Queen something to discuss with me?"

Shaela looked around, and her eyes caught a piece of parchment on the ground. Wind had caught it, too, and was playing with it, lifting it up, letting it fall, making it spin around in a small hurricane. Breeze never took it far, though, and Shaela wondered whether it was natural, or magical.

She took the parchment away from the wind, almost hearing a disappointed sigh, and studied it carefully, the taste of orange tea still lingering in her mouth. It was a map, marked with few words. It didn't take her long to understand it: the map showed a way to the Fairy Queen's court.

"It must have been the Queen's council," she said. "But how could they... how did they manage this? I was gone for two hours!"

The beach, filled with litter and remains of treats seemed to sigh to indicate it agreed.

***

"She must be angry," the council said.

"Quite angry," the other agreed.

After being pulled from the beach, they had done nothing but waited. Both of them fidgeted restlessly, bored to tears, afraid to use magic to entertain themselves.

The Queen made them wait, and that, to them, seemed like the worst kind of punishment. Not knowing whether she was upset or just slow was bad enough, and combined with the lack of entertainment, the two felt like they were trapped in a nightmare.

Finally, the Queen appeared. She flew slowly, close to the floor, and the council's hearts sank as they saw her.

Death, it seemed, hung as close to the Queen as she to the floor.

"I have need of your services," the Queen spoke. Her voice, once commanding and strong, was weak now. The council listened carefully, eager to please the dying monarch.

"I want you to find out what happened to King Florian," the Queen commanded. "I no longer have the strength to wield magic, and you are the only ones I can trust."

"Your will be done, Majesty," the council spoke in unison.

They resisted the temptation to push their thumbs together and make a wish, which was customary in the event of speaking the same words at the same time with someone else. The Queen took note of this, amused deep down in her heart.

"I wish him returned to me, be he dead, or still alive. As my end comes, I will see him once more."

"It will be done, Majesty," the council spoke, and this time, their attempts to resist failed.

"What about the girl?" the younger one blurted out, and slapped both hands on his mouth. It was forbidden to speak out of line at the presence of the Queen, but she waved the insult.

"The girl must find her own way," she said. "With your help, her journey is made easier, and I thank you for it.

"Perhaps, with your efforts, Fairyland won't have to go without a monarch."

***

Shaela flew over the forest depicted on the map, pleased that she could finally follow directions given by fairies. Reaching the point marked on her map didn't take much time: Shaela found herself there just before dawn. Her body required rest, but the council's command felt more important than sleeping.

"Later then," she promised herself. "I will sleep after I have spoken with the council."

She had assumed to find the council waiting for her, but the spot she ended up at was empty of all living things. Shaela stood in a forest slowly filling with daylight, wondering whether she was even in the right realm. Fairies' maps often led travellers astray, she'd learned, and she feared the council had tricked her.

Disheartened, Shaela sat on a rock to contemplate. In the growing light of day, the map was just as simple as earlier: it showed the beach, a forest, the setting sun, and an X over a ring of mushrooms along with a way, as the birds flies, to the destination. She sat on the rock for a long time, lost in thought, wondering about hidden clues.

The map offered little to work with. Only the few markings she'd used to find this place, and the setting sun.

Her mind remained with the sun, poking at it, tasting it, smelling it just to see if it was spoiled.

"Could it be a time?" she asked the trees. "Could it be they want me here at sunset?"

The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. She could see no other reason for the sun to be there, marked on the map.

"In that case," she decided, "I will rest here."

Shaela was born of fairy dust, but she lacked the fairies' ability to use magic on a whim, to fulfil passing desires and needs. She needed to concentrate, to draw spells, and for that reason, she used magic rarely to satisfy her basic needs.

Instead of conjuring up a bed like the Queen's council, Shaela curled up under a shrubbery, and gathered dead leaves to serve as a blanket. She closed her eyes, and quickly fell asleep.

***

The council did its best to fulfil the Queen's orders. They opened views into the world King Florian had last been seen in, looked into past and present, and finally found a lead.

Fickle fairy magic was eager to follow the narrow trail Florian had left behind. Soon enough, the council found him.

The view refused to show them what had come to pass. The past was hidden, but the present tattled of it.

King Florian lay on a stone pedestal in a dark chamber lit only by a few tall candles. The chamber was obviously a mausoleum: other pedestal stood in even rows, and on one, a corpse lay, covered with a white cloth.

The council sighed. Though King Florian had aged, his appearance was still familiar to them.

"We must retrieve him," the older one said.

The younger one nodded. "The Queen will be buried with him."

"Despite their falling out."

"Despite everything that has come to pass."

The council nodded. They snapped their fingers, and their tattered livrés turned into fresh ones. Their bright reds and greens faded to shades of grey to express the sorrow they felt for the exile King.

Air shivered before them as the view turned into a hole in space. The council entered it, stood solemn by the King's resting place, and spoke two words in perfect harmony. King Florian's remains rose to the air, and floated between them to the Queen's court, to the chamber where passed monarchs resided.

King Florian would join them, and all too soon, Queen Dey would join him.

***

"Majesty," the council said in soft voices.

The Queen needed no explanation. She could see the truth from the colours they wore.

"So it is true," she spoke. "My King has been taken from the Universe."

"Yes, Majesty." The council hesitated, but felt obligated to continue. "We have returned King Florian home, to rest where he belongs."

The Queen nodded.

"We will be buried together, as one, as we were meant to be."

The council agreed.

"I will see him now. Alone."

***

The sun was slowly setting as she awoke. Shaela crawled out from the bushes with leaves stuck to her hair. The dress the Queen's council had put her in was in ruins, its white fabric stained with dirt and mud, its beads falling off and hanging from loose threads. Shaela paid no mind to her garb: she had more important things to think of.

Setting sun had made the forest golden. Trees swayed in soft wind, and tall grass sang to its heart's desire.

Something else had risen aside the wind.

A ring of mushrooms glowed in the light of the setting sun, their caps round and smooth and sprinkled with fairy dust.

Shaela stood, her legs numb and uncooperative from sleeping on hard ground. The mushrooms glowed softly, inviting her to touch them.

She tried to walk to them, fell, and crawled the rest of the way. Wings fluttered on her back, still straightening after sleep, useless to her now that she had need for them.

Her hand touched a mushroom, and might made her fingers go numb.

Shaela forced herself to stand, and stepped inside the ring.

Nothing happened.

She had expected to be wooshed away to the Queen's court, but instead, she was left standing there, inside a mushroom ring glowing in the light of the setting sun, feeling disappointed and somehow foolish.

Old children's tales came to her mind, without invitation, as she stood there, sun slowly setting, time running out with its dimming light. She remembered reading them to children back in Fairyland, repeating the same tales night after night, enchanted by them over and over again.

In the stories, fairies spoke magical words when entering mushroom rings. Words that sounded like s'man-tek, but weren't.

Words that made the mushrooms shiver, to emit fairy dust that then transported the speaker to the Queen's court.

Shaela had read the stories too many times to forget the words now. They rolled easily off her tongue, and as they did, the mushrooms around her shivered, emitting fairy dust that covered her and made her sneeze, and then the forest around her melted away.

***

"Well, you certainly took your time, young lady," the Queen's council said.

"Again," the other one emphasized, widening his eyes to put more weight to the words.

"I had to wait until the sun set," Shaela protested. "You must realize that!"

The council shook their heads at the sight of her, making disapproving clicks with their tongues. "Honestly, girl, after the trouble we went through!" they said, and waved their fingers.

Shaela's dress changed. The fabric turned grey, the hems wider, the bodice more concealing. A veil attached itself to her hair that bound itself to a modest twist.

"What is this," Shaela asked, alarmed. Fairies loved bright colours. They revelled in them, wearing as many as they could. Grey was openly associated with grief.

"The Queen," the council sighed.

"The Queen is dying."

***

The Fairy Queen's court wasn't all bright colours and decadence. It had a turn-side of darkness and sorrow, just like all life.

The council, clad in shades of grey, escorted Shaela through descending corridors deeper into the bowels of the castle. Out of respect for the Queen and King Florian, they walked instead of flying. It was quiet here, as fairies rarely ventured far from the epicentre of sin located in the first and second floors. Shaela understood why: the corridors smelled of death and decay, like the world itself had died around them, but refused to believe it.

Questions circled her mind, but she was afraid to speak them out loud. The council was quiet, and the lack of their usual babble made Shaela anxious.

As they reached a door, the council paused.

"She waits inside," they said. "With the corpse of her dead spouse."

Against her own will, Shaela grimaced. The thought of anyone willingly spending time with a dead body made her both nauseous and appalled.

The council saw her expression, and shook their heads. "You should take caution, girl, and keep from sharing your emotions with the Queen. She was quite fond of her spouse despite his indiscretions, and has decided to die with him."

The younger one pulled his partners sleeve. "I don't think it's a decision," he whispered loudly enough for Shaela to hear. "The more I think about it, the more I believe it's just her time to go."

"Everybody knows that, fool," the older council snapped, "but it is our custom to explain it otherwise!"

The younger council rolled his eyes, and made a rude gesture with his hand. The older one ignored it until he looked away, and then smacked the younger one on the back of the head. "That'll teach you to disrespect your elders!"

"Do you have to fight?" Shaela asked. The situation upset her, and she wished to leave. First, she had to speak with the Queen, and she couldn't enter before the council gave her leave to do so. As long as they were busy bickering, she was forced to stand in the corridor, breathing in the smell of decay, feeling more nauseated by the passing moment.

The older one snorted. "Of course we do," he reported dutifully. "We are fairies, and fairies rarely agree on things important."

The younger one nodded with a decisiveness that claimed his emotions had been deeply wounded. "But we can continue later," he said like a true martyr. "You just go on in now, and have your chat with Her Majesty."

"And don't forget to call her that. She may be old and dying, but she's still the Queen."

Shaela promised to remember, and opened the door.

The chamber waiting behind was empty save for a high table. The Queen sat on a chair a few steps away, staring at her late husband's corpse. She sat unmoving, without reacting as Shaela entered. Her usual gowns of light blue, frilled lace were gone, replaced with grey robes that matched the shade of her hair.

"You have returned," she said, and her voice betrayed her age.

Before, she had sounded like a queen.

Now, she was nothing but an old woman kneeling at her own approaching demise.

"Yes, Majesty," Shaela answered like instructed. "I have returned. I do not know if it is because of your will or mine, but here I am."

The Queen smiled. She sat with her back toward Shaela, but she could hear the smile in her voice. "Nothing of late happens of my will. My power is drained away, and I will soon follow.

"And that is why you have returned."

The Queen beckoned her to approach. Shaela glanced at the dead body lying on the table dressed in finest silks, and inched toward the Queen.

"Come closer, child, no-one is going to bite you," the Queen snapped, proving that there was life in her still. Her anger frightened Shaela more than late King Florian, and she drew as close as she dared.

"Now, child, I must tell you another tale," the Queen said. "And this time, I want you to listen carefully, and learn from what I share with you.

"For few others know the full details of how power is passed on among the fae folk."

Curiosity stirred in Shaela, and at the Queen's beckoning, she drew herself a chair, and settled to listen to her tale.

# The Queen's Tale

Fairies bore their children like all the rest of those who walked on two legs. The only thing to separate them from others, was the process of conception.

Under each full moon, fairies gathered on meadows and grasslands, their breeding grounds, to celebrate the gift of life. They would dance and sing, spread fairy dust to the air, and inhale it during their merriment.

Though fairies enjoyed their carnal pleasures, they weren't needed in order to reproduce. All it took to make a baby, was a pinch of fairy dust.

Sometimes, quite rarely, beings of other species happened upon the breeding grounds. Fairy dust was usually invisible to mortal eyes, but sometimes, it made itself known to women of different races.

When Equinox aligned with full moon, fairy dust gained special abilities. It could, if one approached breeding ground with an open mind, become visible, and even impregnate women belonging to any known race.

Fairy dust showed itself to mortal eyes as a light-reflecting shimmer, a layer of fine dust that turned soft moonlight to rainbows. It fascinated the minds of those seeking only beauty, enchanting, and finally entrapping them.

Under the effects of fairy dust, mortal women sang and danced as though they were one of the fae folk. They inhaled the dust just like fairies, and some of them ended up with child.

Not all women found themselves blessed after an encounter with fairy dust. The chances of that happening were slight. Still, some of those who found fairies' breeding grounds under a full moon during Equinox, realized later that they were with child.

Quite often this caused trouble to unwed women: they were seen as promiscuous and loose, and, depending on culture and customs, frowned upon. Some were banished from their community to have their child alone: lone women rarely thrived, and often faced their deaths in the jaws of wild animals. Some were isolated inside the community, and their children, born with wings, seen as a curse, a sign of ill omen.

And sometimes, rarely, the children born of fairy dust were cherished and loved. They were seen as blessings and raised as valued members of community. Fairies knew of some children born of fairy dust who grew up to be seers, rulers of mortals, even healers.

Some children found themselves back to Fairyland. Their mixed blood was often easy to spot. They grew taller than fairies, and possessed traits unfamiliar to them. Their wings could rarely support their weight, forcing them to walk the earth instead of flying.

There were exceptions, of course: once upon a time, a dragon had become enthralled with fairy dust. She had danced and sung like a fairy, inhaled fairy dust, and later, laid an egg the likes of which had never been seen. Months later, the egg hatched, and a fairy born of dragon-blood crawled out. The mother, an abashed dragon, realized she couldn't care for a child resembling a human rather than a dragon, and was wise enough to release her into the care of fairies.

That child grew into an exceptional woman, and histories still speak of her as a kind, benevolent ruler.

Fairies never chose leaders among their own kind: fairy-blood was quick to anger, quick to judge, and quick to forget. It possessed none of the traits necessary for a leader, and therefore, only those born of mixed blood could serve as monarchs.

Usually, a ruler held power alone. A Queen rarely married, and never produced offspring.

Queen Dey was an exception to the rule. She was lucky, or unlucky, enough to find another of her unique race. Florian, who later became her husband, and rose to rule Fairyland with her as King, was also born of fairy dust. They both shared human blood, and were returned to the fairies on the same day, under the same moon. They grew up together, shared their lives with each other, and decided to marry before learning of their fate.

This saved fairies of quite a dilemma: with two prospects to the throne, a vote should have been cast. As the two stood as one, fairies gladly allowed them to rule together.

As King Florian later fell victim to a succubus and his own fickle blood, Queen Dey was left to rule alone. She waited for a child born of mixed blood to emerge for thousands of years, fearing one would never arrive.

As Shaela was abandoned near the breeding grounds, she could finally breathe out a sigh of relief. A fairy monarch ruled as long as necessary: a ruler could not die before a successor to the crown was found.

Now that Shaela, a child born of fairy dust and human-blood, had entered Fairyland, the Queen could finally let go.

***

Shaela listened to her tale, and as it ended, she sat as quiet and still as the Queen, staring at King Florian as he rested upon a high table.

"So you see, child," the Queen spoke, "you are destined to become Queen."

Slowly, with certainty, Shaela shook her head. She hadn't asked for any of this: as she left Fairyland, she only wanted to find her kin, a place where she could feel welcome. Her only desire in life was to live with others like her, to find her people, those who would not judge her.

Those who would understand her, and look kindly upon her.

"No," she said. "I refuse this burden."

The Queen smiled an understanding smile. "I'm afraid you have no choice, child. Your destiny is set: you will rule over all of Fairyland as Queen, until a new monarch rises to take your place. So it has been since the dawn of times, and so it shall be until time itself ends."

"Time can end now, for all I care," Shaela said, and stood. Her chair fell over, and the noise it made disturbed the silence of the funeral chamber. "I will not be Queen."

"You will. You have no say in this matter."

The door to the chamber opened with easy. Shaela stumbled out of it, pushing the Queen's council out of her way. They had been standing with their ears to the door, eavesdropping as fairies should, entranced by the Queen's tale. Shaela rushed past them, not listening to their alarmed shrieks.

"Do something!" one of the council cried. "The Queen's getting away!"

The other one had little he could do. "Don't let the Queen get away!" he cried just to do something.

The Queen flew slowly, her feet close to the floor. "She has nowhere to go," she said. "The girl does not possess fairy magic. Without it, her way out is locked."

The council did not take ease in her words. For once, they took action to themselves, rushing to catch Shaela.

"The Queen must not escape!" they shouted, and as they all reached busier parts of the court, other fairies rushed to their aid.

Small hands grabbed Shaela's hems as she tried to get away, slowing her down. Hands reached to take hold of her hands, her shoulders. They didn't hurt, caused no harm, served only to slow her down.

Fairies knew she could not move if many enough clung to her.

Finally, Shaela paused. Fairies surrounded her. They had climbed on each other's shoulders to reach her head, to bury Shaela in a mountain of themselves. She was trapped, with no way out.

Behind her, the Queen flew slowly to administer orders.

"Take her to her chambers," she commanded. "And prepare her for the coronation ceremony."

Shaela protested, but her voice was lost in the gleeful chatter of fairies.

# Chapter Twelve

The Fairy Queen's court was built around a great tree. Corridors and walkways circulated the tree's trunk. Rooms for residing and trading were built around its branches, and right where the tree's roots delved into the ground, fairies gathered to rejoice every single day. Underground, among the roots, the dead were laid to rest so their bodies could nourish the tree, and replenish life. Nobility looked forward to the day when they would, in turn, be laid to rest among the great tree's roots. Royalty, however, was treated differently even in death.

Deep in the ground, where darkness resided, fairy magic had formed funeral chambers. They were reserved only for royal members of the court. Kings and Queens who had once ruled, now lay each in their own chamber, slowly decaying, slowly releasing their life's energy back to the Universe. Every time a new monarch stepped forth, a new funeral chamber was formed.

Queen Dey would eternally rest with King Florian, and as the time for Shaela's coronation crept closer, a new chamber began to form. It started out as a small bud in the roots. It grew slowly over the course of two entire weeks, and burst out, not as a flower, but a room which would, in time, serve as a resting place for the new Queen.

The tree had not only grown a funeral chamber for Shaela, but also rooms for her to reside in while she remained in the court. Her private quarters were located in the highest branches of the tree. They could be reached through several portals which opened in the Queen's conference room, the first floor near the great hall where important affairs, such as coronation ceremonies, took place, and close to the plaza, where fairies traded wares of varying quality. Shaela had no interest in the portals: the only thing that intrigued her mind was how to leave the court.

Shaela sat at a table that grew out of a wall, leaning her chin on her hand, staring out of a window that offered a lovely view of blossoming branches. None of the view registered in her mind: the flowers remained unnoticed, the birds went about their lives without attention, and the insects buzzing among the branches flew without interruption.

The rooms were quiet. Shaela was alone with her thoughts. The Queen's council was busy organizing the coronation ceremony, and the Queen herself was fully occupied with dying. No-one paid attention to Shaela, not that she needed it. All she wanted was to leave, to go home to her human family, and never look back.

The Queen's court was free of Portals other than the ones formed between her chambers and the public areas. The only way out was through fairy magic.

Shaela knew might, and could form spells to bend it to her will, but the ways of fairies were unknown to her. Their magic worked in different ways: it knew no rules, no boundaries. There were no words to lure it, no language used for communication. When in need of magical assistance, fairies snapped their fingers or waved them about, and made a wish.

Making a wish was easy. Shaela closed her eyes as tight as she could, concentrated her thoughts and desire on home, home alone, and snapped her fingers.

As she opened them, she was still in her brand new chambers that had grown out of a tree to service her personal needs.

Shaela sighed, and got to her feet. Staring out a window did little to lift her spirits, and even less to spark inspiration. She walked around her rooms, running a curious hand along the frame of her bed, her wardrobe filled with gowns of finest silks, her vanity complete with a bright mirror.

She walked to her bathroom to find a pool of clear water with lilies floating in it. The water smelled like summer, and though it enticed her, beckoned her, she turned her back on it.

Bathing would wash away the desire to leave, she knew. The water smelled of summer, and reeked of fairy magic. They wanted her to stay, to rule over them, and would do anything to make it so.

Even enchant her to never want to leave.

Shaela found her library filled with books of history and culture. Everything she could ever hope to learn about fairies and their world was there, within her reach. The books called to her just like bathwater: they, too, bore an enchantment. She suspected it would not harm her, only increase her attachment to Fairyland, and her desire to remain there.

She couldn't blame the fairies for trying. If only one woman could take the place of the reigning Queen, it was understandable to want to keep her within the realm, no matter the cost. And the enchantments were a kind way: they were meant to increase her will to serve her people, not to harm her.

"But this is not my life," Shaela protested to the silent rooms. "I have not chosen this for myself."

She did not know how she wished to spend her life, but being forced to rule over fairies wasn't on her list of options. She wanted to help those in need, help those suffering, to bring light where there was darkness, not sit on a throne and watch fairies perform unspeakable acts on each other.

Shaela wanted to be free, and a Queen, as she had understood, was never free. A Queen was bound by rules and laws, by ancient customs and traditions. She couldn't spread her wings to fly into the outside world to have afternoon tea with friends and family.

"She is to serve her people, come what may," Shaela spoke, and something rose its head in her soul. A small voice that tried to claim that maybe, just maybe, she could best help those in need by becoming a kind ruler.

She silenced the voice with a harsh hand, and continued to mope around her rooms.

Everything she could find was to her liking. It was like the tree had looked into her mind, and seen what she preferred in furniture, colours, and decorations. Everywhere she looked, she found items she had once loved and cherished, or hoped to possess. Even the fruit carefully laid out to entice her appetite were perfect in every sense; round, smooth, rich in colour, and sweet of smell.

Shaela refused to eat or drink. Food was easy to manipulate, and if fairies were willing to enchant her bath, they wouldn't hesitate to drug her food.

"I just need to find a way out," she said to herself. "Any kind of way out."

***

Alaene licked blood from her fingers in exaggeratedly sensual motions. Her slaves watched her, their eyes fixated and dark, their souls empty and useless.

The bodies of two dead humans lay at her feet. Venturing outside was fun, but always a risk, and wearing someone else's face exhausted her. Today, she had beckoned nourishment to come to her. These two had obeyed willingly. She used them, had her way with them, and drank their souls.

Their blood soiled her skin, a sickening contrast to its purple shade. She would soon join her slaves in the pool, and wash away the evidence of killing.

First, there was something that needed taking care of.

Two orbs of light floated in the air. Alaene had parted them from her victims for later use. In order for her plan to succeed, she needed to impregnate the girl whose wings weren't strong enough to carry her without magic.

And for that, she needed the seed of three mortal men.

Two orbs floated in the air, proceeding toward Alaene's vanity. A small chest opened upon it, and a third orb rose out to meet the others.

They emitted a blue light, soft and clean in the purple, blood-stained chamber.

"Finally," Alaene said softly. "Finally I have what I need."

Three orbs floated to meet each other, and as they merged, Alaene spoke words to curse their essence. Only through proper incantations could the conjoined seed of three mortal men create an incubus lord in a mortal womb.

A slave rose from the pool, a beautiful woman born of toleen-blood. She picked up a silver blade from a table, and walked slowly to Alaene, blade held at the ready. The slave knelt before her mistress, now offering the blade to her with both hands.

The words poured from Alaene's lips though she'd never heard them before, and as the seed began to shine a deep, purple light, she slit the throat of a slave to give powers of darkness one last victim.

"Thy will be done," she said, sealing the deal made with powers beyond her.

Three corpses lay in her rooms now.

Alaene paid them no mind.

Slaves and pleasures were more important than death.

***

"Shall we dispose of the corpses now, mistress?" a maid asked.

"Do so, and quickly," Alaene replied without paying the maid too much attention. Her concentration lay elsewhere, in an image that showed a blond girl walking around rooms that looked like they were growing out of a tree.

Alaene didn't require assistance often, but this time, she was helpless. She couldn't recognize Shaela's surroundings, and therefore, couldn't transport to her. Frustrated, she sighed, and snapped at her maid.

"Tell me where this is, or I'll part you from your skin."

The maid knew well that Alaene's threat was true: she had flayed servants for less. Luckily, it knew well where the image came from. No demon had ever set foot in the Fairy Queen's court, but stories spread among them described the place thoroughly. Jealous of the beauty described, demons tried to replicate the court. Success varied, but deep inside the earth, where demons were born, a tree bent and broken grew. It was told that it was an exact copy of the Queen's tree.

Seeing the image now, the maid recognized the tree, though it bore little resemblance to the one grown by demons.

"Why, mistress, that, if I am not mistaken, is the Fairy Queen's court," the maid answered. Its voice was slick and full of flatter, its demeanour grovelling. Alaene kicked it on the side instead of thanking it, and the demon returned to its duties.

"Fairyland," Alaene spoke slowly, softly.

"No demon has set foot inside that land.

"But times change, and so do destinations."

The orb, glowing purple light, followed her, floating after her everywhere she went. Now, she tucked it away into a magical pocket. Taking it it the Queen's court was too risky. It would have to wait until its receiver was good and ready.

And then, fun would begin.

***

"Rise and shine, little one," a familiar voice whispered into her ear.

Shaela jolted out of sleep with a shriek, nearly punching Alaene in the face.

Alaene laughed, and the sound was welcome after an entire day of silence.

Shaela had tired herself out pacing around her rooms, and finally fallen asleep in the bed prepared for her. Though everything else in her chambers filled her with dread, the bed seemed safe. She couldn't see how a piece of furniture could be enchanted with spells.

Had she known that the Queen's council had gone around her rooms infusing every item with memory-spells of varying strength, she would have done anything in her power to flee. The fruit, the water, books, and even the select pieces of art hung on the walls were laced with magic that would, eventually, wash away the memory of her human family and their village, and make her want to stay in Fairyland until the end of all time.

"Alaene!" Shaela exclaimed, greeting her friend with a hug. "What are you doing here? And how!"

The borders of Fairyland were closed to all those who weren't born of fairy-blood, and hidden carefully to keep coincidental intruders at bay. No-one was to enter Fairyland, and here Alaene stood, in Shaela's bedroom, wearing her widest grin.

"I had to come save you," she said, "from all this magic around you. Can't you smell it?"

Shaela tried, but all she could smell was the fruit slowly growing overripe on the table. "No," she admitted. "I can't smell might yet, unless it's very strong, and malignant."

"Well, I can, and I'm telling you, someone wanted you to forget everything you know." Alaene paused, allowing her eyes to grow large and sad. "Including me. You don't want that, do you?"

"Of course I don't. I never want to forget you."

Alaene's smile returned. "That's what I thought. Now, let's get out of here. I have so much to show you!"

Shaela got out of bed to follow her. Now that she knew how much magic the Queen's council had wasted on her rooms, she didn't want to touch anything, not even the floor. She spread her wings, still creased from sleep, closed them, opened them again, hoping that the repeated motion would make them straighten out sooner.

All she achieved was another burst of giggles on Alaene's part. "Come along, silly. It's only a few steps!"

Air shivered and tremored at Alaene's command, and before Shaela could ask how she did it, how she used magic like fairies did, the air swallowed them both.

***

They emerged at a shore. This one wasn't covered with hard stones, but soft, lush grass that grew short and even. The lake sparkled silvery as sun touched it with its long, tired arms before fading away behind the horizon. Lonely birds flew across the lake, their wings almost touching the water, and their calls made Shaela shiver.

"I still can't understand what they're saying," she remarked, amused that she hadn't thought to ask magic to give her what she'd so desperately wanted. Growing up, she used to envy fairies who spoke with animals, and now that she had that gift within reach, she forgot about it.

"Much has changed for you," Alaene said as though she'd read her thoughts, "and as things around us change, we can't help but to change ourselves. What we once wanted more than anything sometimes grows meaningless as we learn of gifts more valuable."

"So it is," Shaela said, "but speaking with animals was my dream for a long, long time."

"What replaced it?"

Shaela stepped closer to the lake. She wanted to sit close to the water, maybe dip her toes in it. "I'm not certain," she shrugged. "Perhaps learning to use magic. With so many possibilities, I got overwhelmed."

"Magic does that," Alaene said. "Overwhelms you, draws you in too deep. You must learn to protect yourself. Otherwise, you might lose your soul."

Shaela laughed. "Who would want my soul? It is of no value to anyone."

"You shouldn't say that. You are, after all, half fae."

"That means nothing to me."

"It could mean everything to someone else."

Shaela was bored with the conversation. Her soul was hers, and she would do with it as she chose. If that meant losing it due to carelessness, so be it. She stood, and shed her clothes.

"I want to swim," she said, and ran into the water. "I didn't dare bathe in Fairyland. I feared they poisoned my bathwater."

"They most likely did," Alaene said, following her into the waves. "If they wanted you to stay so much..." She paused, frowning. "Why did they want you to stay?"

Shaela splashed water around. The sound it made felt good. It diminished her anger and frustration, and she did it again before answering. "They say I am to be the next Queen. Ruler of all Fairyland, monarch over all those born of fairy dust." Her voice grew mockingly pompous over the last words, and her anger diluted to crankiness as she was allowed to vent it. "They say the Queen is always born of mixed blood. Half fairy, half... something else."

"Like you are half fae and half human?"

"Yes. We don't get to choose. We are presented with a destiny we must just accept." Shaela splashed some more water, kicked it with her feet. "I don't want to be Queen. I won't!"

"Then don't. Run away with me, come live in my castle. Be my Queen, if you so choose."

"That sounds like a fate more to my taste."

Alaene's lips were soft and warm against hers, her skin cold from the water.

***

Alaene's hand hovered over Shaela's stomach. It was flat and narrow now, but soon, it would swell with new life.

Purple light glowed inside, and the smile that spread to Alaene's face glowed just as bright.

The seed was taking hold.

Shaela had been so eager to be loved, so desperate for soft kisses and smooth touches. Alaene was sickened by such innocence. Pretending was just as easy as wearing a face: it came naturally to her, and as was her nature, Alaene hid her emotions. For Shaela, she was a kind, gentle lover, soft and sweet like midsummer peaches.

Causing her to lose focus of what was happening was easy for Alaene. At the highest moments of pleasure, she reached into a magical pocket in the face of the Universe, and pulled out a purple seed. The essence of three mortals infused with dark magic found its way inside Shaela, and there it would remain.

Until time arrived to bring it forth once more.

Alaene waited, and her spell kept Shaela safely asleep.

The purple glow under her hand grew stronger and faded, in perfect sync with Shaela's heartbeat.

# Chapter Thirteen

"The Queen is gone!" the council screamed. The other member of the council shrieked, pulled out of sweet slumber with a fright.

"She cannot be!" he screamed in return. "The Queen never dies before the coronation of the new Queen!"

"Not that Queen, fool!" The council received a hearty smack on the head. "The new one!"

"Ooooh," the second council commented. The situation made much more sense to him now. "We must retrieve her then," he said. "Again." He frowned, distracted by a dilemma that seemed pressing. "Do we do other things besides retrieving the new Queen?"

"We don't!" the other council screamed. He was clearly distraught. "We retrieve the new Queen, put her in pretty rooms, and then retrieve her again! It is what we do! It is ALL we do!" Panting, he fell silent. Shouting was hard work for a fairy of leisure.

"Let's get cracking, then," the calmer council said. He spoke his desire out loud, and snapped his fingers.

An image formed in the air between them so that they could see both it and each other's expressions. The council wasn't certain whether he'd done it on purpose. He was quite certain he'd only asked to see Shaela in order to return her to the court, but here they were, opposite of each other, separated by an image, free to examine each other's faces while looking at it.

They saw Shaela sitting on short grass next to a lake. It was dark: the sun had set, and the world was preparing for sleep.

Shaela wasn't alone. She was speaking with another woman, another winged woman, only this one was no fairy.

The council looked at each other. They wanted to reach through the image to hold hands. Equal distress was marked on both their faces.

The disguises Alaene wore were useless against fairies. They saw through them just as easily as they saw through all lies. Her true face was clear to them, in plain sight, and the only thing they wondered, was why Shaela didn't seem to see it, too.

"A demon!" one of the council cried.

"Succubus!" another exclaimed.

The image faded, and the council reached to hold hands.

"We shall never tell the Queen," the promised. "It would kill her."

"Well, she's pretty much a goner anyway, but it is best we keep this to ourselves."

"Only to ourselves."

"Not a word."

"To anyone."

"Ever."

They nodded, and shook the hands that still held each other.

Then, they spoke the words that made the Universe open doors to other realms.

***

Shaela opened her eyes. It was dark. The sun was gone, and Alaene hadn't conjured up candles.

She sat, reaching for her clothes. Modesty didn't come to her mind, but night air was cold, and made her skin rise up in goosebumps. "How long have I slept?" she asked.

"Not long," Alaene answered. She didn't help her dress, didn't reach to touch her. Shaela found that odd, but said nothing. She had seen many odd things lately. Alaene's silence was easily interpreted as shyness, or tiredness.

Pulling on her dress, Shaela frowned. She'd remembered something.

She looked closely at Alaene, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"That's funny," she said. "I thought I saw..."

"Saw what?" Alaene's question was short, almost a snap. There wasn't a trace of her usual joy in her voice.

"I thought I saw your skin turn purple. And I thought I saw horns on your head."

"You must still be affected with fairy magic. It works in strange ways. Sometimes, it takes a while for it to wash away."

"Yes, of course," Shaela said, and finished dressing. She felt lonely all of a sudden, lonely, and lost.

Like she'd done something wrong.

"I will return home now," Alaene said.

A cold hand squeezed Shaela's stomach. "I thought you said...," she started, understanding how young and foolish she must sound.

"You thought what?" Alaene asked. "That we'd live happily ever after in my castle?" Now she laughed, a laugh that was sinister and cruel. "Did you really believe all that?"

Tears burned Shaela's eyes. She had really believed it all, had thought Alaene truly promised her a happy ending. She'd taken joy in believing they would live together in her castle, and take afternoon tea in the great hall while maids waited to bring them more sweet things to eat.

She'd truly believed she'd get to sleep next to her every night until the day they both died.

"Think again, little girl." Alaene's voice was cold, and filled with contempt. "You are nothing to me but entertainment. And now you aren't even that."

A Portal opened to swallow Alaene, to take her away from Shaela.

The grass was soft and sweet in welcoming her as her knees gave in.

***

Air shivered once more, and for a moment, Shaela thought Alaene had changed her mind, that it all had been nothing but a cruel joke.

As the Queen's council poured out onto the grassy beach in its two-strong entirety, she felt simultaneously both ashamed and relieved. Shaela knew how fairies felt about Alaene, understood the graveness of her crime. The arrival of the Queen's council meant that she would be retrieved regardless of her crime.

She didn't know what would come to pass, but at least the council was there to aid her.

Shaela could see anger on their faces, anger and disappointment mixed with terror. She'd felt happy and relieved to see them, but now, realizing their emotions, a wash of fear poured over her.

Perhaps they weren't here to save her.

Perhaps they'd come to punish her, to exile her.

Perhaps she had ruined it all, her life with Alaene, becoming Queen, living, even.

"You foolish girl!" the council screamed. "How dare you sneak out behind our backs after all the things we gave you and meet with that... that... monster!"

"How did you get out, by the way?" one of the council asked as a side note. He seemed genuinely curious, his anger completely forgotten as the thought popped to mind. As his partner continued to scream, he remembered to be angry as well.

"We did everything for you, and you betrayed us! You left with a demon of all things! A demon!"

"Succubus! Don't you realize how dangerous they are!"

Shaela hung her head in shame. "I didn't know," she whispered, knowing it would accomplish nothing. Her knowing or not knowing was no excuse.

But the fairies didn't seem to think so. Their voices softened, and one of the council patted her on the shoulder. "Of course you didn't know," the other one said. "She wore a guise for you."

"They do that, you know. Wear pretty faces to hide the ugly one underneath. That's how they get you."

They exchanged a look, a look with much hidden meaning in it. One of them opened their mouth to ask something, and the other one shook his head. He pressed a finger over his lips, as though to say they would never speak of the subject. The other one nodded, and continued to pat Shaela's shoulder.

"There now," they said, "stop crying. Tears make you all red and puffy."

The council made a small sound of disgust at the thought of red, swollen eyes. Fairies rarely cried. They liked thing pretty and sweet, and sorrow never lingered in their hearts. They took the obstacles of life with a grain of salt, and laughed on.

Tears, though, human tears in particular, weren't new to the council. The Queen was half human, and during her long, long reign, the council had been tasked with wiping away her tears more often than they cared to recall.

"Please stop crying," one of the council begged. "We'll get you a pretty pony when we get back home. You'll like that, won't you?"

"She isn't four!" the other council snapped. "She's too old to be consoled by a pony!"

The council sighed, unable to come up with a better suggestion.

"Cakes," the other one said. "How about we get you cakes? As many as you can eat, or more even! Cakes with strawberries and whipped cream, how's that sound?"

Shaela couldn't hold back a smile. Their efforts were endearing, comforting. And there was meaning behind their words that warmed her heart. "Do you mean to take me back? Back to court?"

The council seemed baffled. "Where else would we take you but the court? You are to be our new Queen. Your place is in court."

"Queen," Shaela sighed. "I'd nearly forgotten about that."

The council exchanged another look. It started to seem clear to them that Shaela had gotten overwhelmed with all the changes forced upon her, and rebelled. Like a horse forced under too much weight, she'd broken free, and fled. The council had been around enough horses to understand what happened if one stood too close to the hooves.

"We'll talk about it back in court," they suggested with a firm tone. "Over cakes."

"Over cakes," Shaela nodded. "And please undo the spells in my chambers. I want to make my own choice."

"Fair enough," the council promised, knowing the outcome of her choice was now in their favour.

***

The cakes were sweet and airy, the strawberries even sweeter. Shaela ate greedily, like she'd not seen food in weeks. The council did the same. Cake was not a thing to take lightly, and all fairies knew it. Cake was to be enjoyed while it lasted.

"Being Queen is the biggest commitment I can think of," Shaela started, her hands stained with whipped cream. She licked it off without even noticing what she was doing. "I don't know if I can do that. Be Queen all of a sudden. I don't know anything about being a Queen!"

"You'll learn," the council promised. "We'll teach you."

"We've been here for..." they paused to calculate. Fairies weren't very good with counting: numbers were an abstract concept void of real meaning to them, so few bothered to learn. They could determine how many stood in a room, but anything beyond that was disregarded without a care.

"... many years," the council decided. "All of Queen Dey's reign, and part of her predecessor. We have seen it all."

"Well, almost all, we haven't seen a dragon attacking our realm."

"Well, yes, that remains. But normal things, we've seen all of them."

"And a few abnormal things, like a giant demanding taxes in honey..."

"Yes, and a swarm of bees chasing him off-"

"Oh, and remember the time when we were left without magic for goodness knows how long?"

"Yes, that was bad. How did we manage without cake?"

"I guess we just baked it ourselves."

The council fell silent, pondering over the harsh fate of having to cook.

"Don't forget the time when a queen-to-be ran off with a demon," Shaela reminded them, and after a moment of shock, the council burst out in laughter.

After the merriment trickled away, the looked at her with solemn faces. Shaela had never seen them so serious.

"Will you do it, then?" they asked. "Will you take the crown and be our Queen?"

Shaela sighed. The small voice that had woken as she spoke with Alaene was stronger now. It made valid points, Shaela had to agree. The small voice inside her claimed that as Queen, she could do much good. She could help those in need, form friendships between fairies and other races, and even visit the outside realms to aid humans and fairies alike.

"I would like to propose terms," she said.

The council clapped their hands, shrieking in joy. Fairies loved compromises. In their experience, it meant that everyone got their way, since proposed terms were always forgotten soon after set.

"I want to be able to visit the realms above," Shaela demanded. "I wish to form allies with humans, and to help them better their lives. As Queen, I refuse to sit idly by, and watch others suffer."

"Settled," the council promised. They held their hands behind their back, their fingers crossed. No Queen had ever left the court to visit outside realms: it was forbidden for a member of royalty to be seen outside the boundaries of Fairyland. "But only with proper escorts."

"Good enough."

Shaela leaned back in her chair, and reached for another piece of cake. It didn't seem as enticing as it had before, but as the council had promised to give in to her demands, she felt the need to oblige them. If that meant eating more cake, she would.

# Chapter Fourteen

"Have you thought of everything?" the Queen's council asked.

"I don't know," the other one replied with a tone snappier than necessary. "How am I to know what I've forgotten if I've forgotten it?"

The first council nodded his head, weighing his partner's words carefully. "You make a compelling argument, my friend."

"Is the Queen ready?" the council who didn't know whether he'd thought of everything or not asked after taking a good, long moment to thoroughly roll his eyes.

"The old one or the new one?"

"Both of them!"

"I suppose we will have to go and see."

The council looked at each other in bewilderment. This was the first time in thousands or years when they needed to do something separately. The longest time they'd spent apart was during bathroom breaks, and even those gave them separation anxiety.

"If you'll go see..." the first one started, "the old Queen..."

"... then I'll go with you to see the old Queen?" the other one finished.

"No, no, no!" the first one screamed. "I go to one, and you go to the other!"

"Alone?"

The mere sound of the word was enough to make them shiver in fear.

Alone.

The Queen's council took each other by the hands. "This will only take a moment. We can do this. One goes to Dey, and one to Shaela. We bring them here, and it will all be over."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Couldn't we just bend time?"

They paused to consider the thought. The words needed formed in their minds, but the older one broke the plan off before it could go any further. "No, no, no!" he screamed again. "It would ruin the entire ceremony! This needs to happen without magic."

The younger council nodded. "No magic."

"No magic."

"Not even a little bit?"

"No magic!"

They parted, and while walking to Shaela, who was to become the new Queen, the younger one muttered to himself.

"... what if I get hungry along the way and need to whip up a quick batch of pancakes..."

***

Queen Dey waited in the funeral chamber. She hadn't left it once after King Florian had been brought home. She hadn't taken food or drink nor rest. Her time had been spent in silent meditation: as her time grew short, she wanted to reminisce on all the things she'd seen and done, all the good she'd accomplished.

She also wanted to repent her sins, which she knew would cost her dearly in the afterlife. She had broken against many rules, both knowingly and unknowingly. Some of her sins were necessary, made to benefit her people or to protect them from harm, most were small ones and made out of the simple need to indulge. She remembered the times she'd drank too much wine and partaken in mating rituals, the times she'd spoken hastily to King Florian, the time she'd forced others to fulfil her needs.

Her sins didn't outweigh her good deeds, and she hoped others would remember her with kindness.

King Florian rested easily in the funeral chamber. Others had come and gone while she remained with him. His earthly remains had been washed, changed into royal silks of grey, and enchanted with magic that would slow down the process of decomposition. He had been placed upon a bed worthy of a King. There he would rest until the end of times, unless disasters broke out to disturb his sleep.

Another bed had been prepared next to him. Queen Dey touched it now, enjoying the softness of the silks it was lined with. It was the bed she would soon rest upon.

A knock on the door disturbed her thoughts. She didn't need to ask who it was.

"My Queen," her council called. "It is time."

Time.

Queen Dey had learned to fear the word. Time was fleeting, ever-lasting, and irrelevant. Old age came regardless of it, love grew cold and vanished, the world itself turned meaningless.

Now it had ended for her.

Queen Dey snapped her fingers for the last time. Her simple gown bled away from her, and was replaced with grey silks. Her hair coiled itself once last time into a royal chignon.

It was time.

Queen Dey spared one last look to her husband. "I will return soon," she promised, and walked out of the funeral chamber.

***

Shaela's chambers had changed while she was away. Fresh silks covered her bed, fresh fruit waited on a table, fresh water filled the bathtub. Floors were now covered with soft carpets, sofas lined with embroidered silks, and windows covered with heavy drapes of finest velvet.

Magic was also gone: her chambers smelled of orange blossoms, and nothing else.

Shaela waited, dressed in what the council had told her to wear. Grey silk covered her, coils of hair were bound into a royal chignon. Her wings fluttered nervously. She had been instructed to remain in the air throughout the ceremony. The Queen's feet were never to touch the ground. She was above it, above everything, and her subjects should never forget it.

A knock on the door made her jump.

"Enter," she commanded, though she knew who it was.

The door opened on silent hinges.

"Majesty," her council said. "It is time."

Shaela rose to her wings, and cast one last look upon her rooms.

Next time she saw her chambers, she would be Queen.

***

Fairies had gathered in a room rarely used, a room where coronation ceremonies were held. They were quiet, which was unusual for fairies. The silence hanging over the large hall made them anxious, caused respectful fear to spread among them.

None of them remembered ever seeing a coronation ceremony. To them, Queen Dey was the only Queen. The thought of her disappearing and being replaced by a new one was disconcerting to them.

Fear hung low in the room. Embroidered handkerchiefs were pulled out, and used to dab eyes not used to shedding tears.

The court had been expecting this ever since news of Shaela first started spreading. Old stories were whispered then, stories of Queens dying and changing, stories of funerals and coronations.

No-one had witnessed a coronation before, but many had heard tales of them. Fairies loved their stories dearly, and repeated them to children and the elderly, lulled themselves to sleep repeating old, worn words.

Stories brought comfort, security.

Part from this one.

Fairies waited, and the silence grew pressing.

***

"It is time," the Queen's council said on one side of the hall.

"It is time," the Queen's council said on the other side of the hall.

Together, two Queens entered the hall, one flying slowly, one walking even slower. Each had a council by their side, a council who had to fight back the urge to run to greet the other one.

Two Queens approached the centre of the hall, where the coronation ceremony would take place. A fire burned there, a bright flame to represent both life and death. As flames devoured, they lived. As they died, ashes were revealed.

Two Queens, dressed alike, reached the flame. They stood on opposite sides of it, facing each other.

Disregarding the ardent nature of the event, the Queen's council reached out to hold hands, pleased beyond words to be reunited.

"We stand as one," two Queen's spoke in one voice, "to reign over Fairyland.

"We stand as one, to live beyond death, to breathe as love.

"We stand as one so that our Queendom will never falter, never fail, never fear.

"We stand as one, for all times to come."

Shaela had studied the ceremony until the words were drawn into her mind, until she knew them backwards upon waking in the middle of the night. Still, her hands were slick with sweat. Standing there, in front of so many fairies was an ordeal for her. Speaking to them filled her with dread to the point where she feared she might faint.

In all her life, Shaela hadn't seen so many faces.

"I stand as one," the old Queen spoke alone, "to give my place to a brighter light.

"As all things, I too, must die."

The flame died, and as the flames flickered out, so did Queen Dey. Her body fell to the ground, where it would remain until the end of the ceremony.

Shaela fluttered to float behind the flame, facing the crowd.

"I stand alone," she spoke alone, "to take my place as a bright light.

"As all things, I shall live to serve."

The fire burst back into flame. Shaela felt its burn, felt her hair curling from the heat. She feared it, too, would catch flame, but the thought was distant, fleeing.

Looking at the faces of fairies, all shocked and teary-eyed, she felt a strange kind of compassion. These were her people, her subjects. These were the people she would spend the rest of her days with, the people she would serve.

These were the people she had been looking for, longing for ever since birth.

"I stand alone," she spoke, moving to float in front of the fire now to let all of the people see her, "and take my place as Fairy Queen."

She bowed her head. Queen's council approached her, carrying a crown in between them. They placed it upon her head, and with it, Shaela received the weight of responsibility.

As she rose higher, she did so as Queen. The crown on her head was made with entwining threads of spun gold. Pink jewels hung from it like blossoms hang from a cherry tree. It sat at her brow, heavier than she'd expected.

Fairies were silent still. The shock of seeing a new Queen had robbed them of speech.

On either side of her, the Queen's council waved their fingers, simultaneously as though they were not two, but one. Magic heard their simple wish, and her grey silks changed to indicate the time of mourning was over. Pink replaced them, and as it did, fairies regained their voices.

Cheers began soft at first, scattered through the crowd. Small seeds grew into larger bursts of joy, and before long, all fairies were singing out their happiness and relief.

No-one paid any attention to Queen Dey's body as it was carried to the funeral chamber, where it would rest with King Florian until the end of days.

# Chapter Fifteen

A demon sat in its cage, silent, diligent. It had thought it could die once the girl with golden hair and small wings had been found, but mistress hadn't let it. Instead, it had been fed and washed, and given another task.

The demon sat in its cage, watching a girl dressed in pink gowns. The girl flew, never walked, and two fairies followed her at all times. She used magic like a human though she lived among fairies and they all bowed to her.

Mistress had told the demon to keep an eye on her. She hadn't told it what to look for.

The demon sat in its cage, staring at an image that followed the girl wherever she went, waiting for something to happen.

***

Alaene sat in a chamber carved in stone, the one she had woken up in. She'd had magic form a throne here, so she could sit, and think.

Today, she hung a leg over its arm rest, lost in thought.

Three weeks had passed since she'd implanted the seed. There had been no visible changes in Shaela. No morning sickness, no swelling, no change in appetite.

Nothing.

Alaene's leg swung slowly back and forth as she sat, biting on her nails.

Something should have happened by now. She should have vomited green puss, she should have had recurring nightmares about birthing a three-headed wolf. She should have at least craved animal flesh, but the she remained healthy and innocent and sickeningly happy.

Alaene spat out a sliver of nail, and cursed. Her teeth had broken the nail, ruining its shiny, black surface. She waved her hand, and magic arrived to fix it for her.

She continued to bite it while her thoughts returned to Shaela.

Ever since she'd taken the seed and placed it within her, things she usually took pleasure in, had lost meaning. Slaves waited for her, in vain, mortals went about their daily routines with their souls untouched. Even her staff was starting to wonder. Mistress punished them less than usual, and no demon had earned a good, hard kick in many days.

Now, one of them poked its head in.

"Tea, mistress?"

Alaene intended to send away both it and the tea it carried, but the smell of honeyed cakes made her realize how hungry she was.

"Bring it in," she commanded.

The demon was small and bent, its horns still budding. All masks were off now that the castle wasn't expecting surprise visitors. Alaene hadn't bothered with hers, and her purple skin glowed softly in the dark chamber.

"Leave the pot," she snapped, and sent the demon away with a kick. It shrieked in delight, and ran to report to its friends.

Mistress was alive, taking tea, and kicking demons. All was well.

Alaene sipped her tea, and her thoughts kept returning to the girl who should have started showing signs of pregnancy days ago.

***

Shaela woke up from restless sleep with an ill-feeling to her stomach. She lay in bed, waiting for it to go away, to fade into nothingness.

Fairies didn't get sick. They never felt ill, never felt the effects of excess drinking, never complained of a headache. Shaela envied them. Her human body was vulnerable to disease: though she was born of fairy dust, her human-blood made her flesh weak and frail.

The ill feeling wouldn't pass. Shaela stood on shaky legs, panic starting to hit, and pulled out a chamberpot. She knelt over it, and vomited.

Eyes closed, she hunched over her own waste, the smell of it both sickening and delightful, and wondered what she'd eaten before bed. She couldn't recall having anything but her usual fruit.

As she opened her eyes, she saw the chamberpot full of greenish liquid.

Disgusted, she pulled away from it.

***

"Majesty," the Queen's council approached her hastily. "We hear you felt ill in the morning."

"It's nothing," Shaela dismissed her spell of nausea with a wave of her hand. "Probably just something I ate."

The council nodded, and the day continued in usual tracks. Shaela wrote up laws she wished fairies to follow, came up with new customs for them to adopt, planned ways to approach humans and even elves. The council stood by her side, accepting all she wrote. They clapped as Shaela brought forth the idea of education, and suggested fairies be encouraged to read again. They shrieked of joy as Shaela decided to set up new libraries open to all those who desired to use them. They even agreed when Shaela suggested fairies be allowed to leave and return at their own will.

"We must ensure safety," the council said, "as our priority."

"Yes, safety. No fairy is to leave alone."

"And we must remain under an invisibility spell at all times."

"Unless we wish to converse with humans," Shaela said.

The council exchanged a look. The survival of fairies depended on secrecy. As they were small and magical, humans and other brutal races had always seen them as little more than good luck charms. Countless of fairies had died in the hands of savages, had legs and wings pulled out, been trapped in glass jars.

"That might not be the best idea we've come up with," the council tried.

"Humans may not be so... how should I put this... gentle when it comes to fairies."

"Oh pish-posh," Shaela said. "I'm half human, and we get along just fine."

The council exchanged another look, and this time it was filled with disapproval.

"Majesty, we really..."

"Should eat," Shaela interrupted. "It is close to lunchtime, isn't it?"

The council had to agree.

Matters regarding laws and customs were never discussed during meals, and they were both happy to take a break from this conversation. "What shall it be, Majesty?" the council asked. "Bananas and pudding? Perhaps braised peaches? Apple tart with that lovely syrup sent from the above?"

"Rabbit," Shaela said sharply. "With a blood sauce."

She'd been feeling strange since the attack of nausea after waking. The ill feeling in the pit of her stomach hadn't shifted, and as the day progressed, it had turned to hunger. Usually, she craved for fruit and berries, the kind of foods fairies enjoyed.

Today, her stomach desired meat. The bloodier, the better.

"But Majesty, rabbits are our friends!"

"And I am your Queen. I eat what I please."

The council shared a look closely related to fear. Then, they snapped their fingers to bring forth the meal their Queen insisted upon.

***

"Do you think we should say something?" a council asked the other.

The other one shook his head, slowly. "No," he said, "it's too soon to say anything. I mean, it was just one meal."

"But she ate a rabbit," the first one insisted. "An entire rabbit! It is against all our customs to kill animals for food."

"Well, technically, she didn't."

"No, we did. We acted against our own, set ways to please her."

The council sat in silence for a long moment that seemed to drag on for an eternity.

"We should keep an eye on her," said the council who had claimed it was too soon to do anything. The other one nodded. "That in the very least," he said.

"Maybe a magical mirror to spy on her?"

"Only if we don't call it spying. It sounds so... dirty."

"Watch her, then."

"That sounds more like it. Let's do it."

Fingers were snapped, wishes thought of with great intensity. A small, handheld mirror appeared on a table close to the Queen's council. One of them rushed to pick it up.

It was the kind of mirror ladies used to steal a look at their hair at parties, a small mirror with a delicate handle and an oval shape. It was compact enough to fit inside a bodice of a tightly fitted dress, or a pocket of a fairy's vest.

After a bit of arguing over which one got to carry it, the council agreed to share custody of the mirror, and looked into it for the first time.

Inside the mirror, a tiny Shaela wandered around her chambers. She held a piece of fruit in her hand, biting into it occasionally, with little interest.

"See?" one of the council said with relief. "She's fine. Everything's fine."

"She did vomit the other morning."

"Well, a spell of nausea isn't so serious. Maybe it was something she ate."

"Maybe." The council held a pause. "Or maybe it's something else."

"What else could it be! She ate a bad date! That's all!"

"Does her dress seem a little tight?"

The council shut his mouth with a snap. "No! Her dress is fine! Everything is fine!"

The mirror was secured into a pocket. "Fine then. Everything is fine."

"Good. Fine."

"Good."

The council went on about their day, sulking at each other for the first time ever.

***

The Queen's council woke in the middle of the night, in darkness, grasping for hold of each other. A scream, thin and shrill, demanded for attention.

Nights in the Queen's court were usually calm, quiet. Only singing and sounds of pleasure broke the peace.

Screaming was a new thing, a thing the council cared little for.

"What is that!" they cried. "And who! And, most importantly, where!"

They jumped out of bed, alarmed, ran around aimlessly looking under furniture and into closets, until one of them remembered the mirror.

Their hands shook as the mirror was pulled out. Its surface was dark, like it didn't want them to see what was happening. The screaming that had woken them was clearly coming from the mirror.

It was coming from the Queen's bedchamber.

The council, petrified in terror, stared into the mirror until a light burst out in the middle of darkness. They saw their Queen sit up in her bed, pale and shivering, her brow covered in sweat.

A purple glow surrounded her as she leaned her arms and head against her knees.

The Queen's council turned to look at each other. The same thoughts went around in both their heads, but the words still needed to be spoken before they could believe them.

"The demon," one said.

"Succubus," the other one said.

"It got to her."

"But how?"

"That doesn't matter."

Inside the mirror, tiny Shaela pulled out a chamberpot, and vomited. The council made a disgusted noise.

"She's with child," one council said.

"A demon child," the other agreed.

"Still, how? They're both female!"

"Magic," the older council decided. "Must be magic."

"Magic," the younger one spat the word out like a curse.

"We have to get rid of her," the older said.

"The child? We can't be sure it's a girl."

"No, the Queen."

"How can we get rid of a Queen?" the younger council slapped both hands on his mouth as he understood. "Do you mean we... kill her?"

"No!" the older council screamed, and slapped the younger one on the head. "We send her somewhere far, far away. That's what we do."

"And she'll have her baby there, and no-one will have to know."

"And more importantly, we don't have to deal with it."

"The child, you mean."

"The child, and the whole mess of a pregnant Queen."

"Oh yes, there's that, too."

The council sighed, and sat down at a table to draw up a plan of action. It was late, and they would have liked to be in bed, dreaming of pancakes. Instead, they needed to come up with a way to get rid of their newly crowned Queen.

The Fairy Queen never took part in breeding ceremonies. She never entered the breeding grounds, never inhaled fairy dust, and never produced offspring. The Queen was everlasting, never-changing, and eternally virtuous, a shining example to fae folk. She was to shine over her people like a bright beacon of hope.

Consorting with demons went against all laws and customs. Carrying the spawn of a demon was a crime punishable by death.

As fairies never killed anything, not even the wasp who had stung them, a death sentence wouldn't be carried out even if it was given. If Shaela was to stand in front of a grand jury, she would most likely be sentenced to a life of exile.

The council decided to spare both her and her people of the humiliation. If the Queen left in silence, no-one would ever have to know.

No-one would have to suffer.

"Tomorrow," the council decided. "We'll do it tomorrow."

"The sooner the better."

They returned to bed, but instead of pancakes, they dreamt of death and destruction.

***

"Majesty," the council said.

"Is it time for breakfast?"

"Well, that's not exactly what we meant to talk about..."

"We'll have deer today," Shaela ordered. "With a side of bear. I've never tried bear. Do you thing it will taste like chicken?"

"Majesty," the council insisted. "We must be allowed to speak."

Shaela frowned, putting away her work. She had never seen the council so pale and serious. "What is it?" she asked. "Is something wrong?"

"That's what we want to know," the council said. "Tell us, have you noticed nausea of late? Bad dreams? Changes in appetite?"

Shaela shrugged, gnawing on a braised chicken leg. "Not that I can recall," she said.

"Purple glow? Cravings of raw meat, perhaps?"

"Have your dresses become smaller around the, um, midsection?"

Shaela pointed at the council with her snack. "Now that you mention it, my dresses do feel tight. Take that up with whomever is in charge of washing them."

"Majesty, your dresses aren't washed. They are magically cleansed."

"Well then, magic is to blame." Shaela turned back to her work. Sauce that seemed to be nothing but blood seeped onto her papers.

"Majesty, do you even notice what you're eating." The council's voices were small and sad.

Shaela looked up, baffled. "Eating?" she asked. "But breakfast hasn't arrived yet."

She looked at her hand, and saw the chicken leg. It still had its claws on.

Shaela tossed the leg with a stifled shriek. Her eyes were large and shocked, like she hadn't known it was there.

Like she hadn't known she was gnawing at it.

She backed away from the table, from the leg, wiping her mouth in a desperate attempt to undo what she had done. "What is happening?" she asked. "Why am I doing this?"

"Majesty," the council said, "we believe you're pregnant."

"With demon blood," the other one continued.

Neither of them saw the group of fairies who had arrived to bring fresh flowers for the Queen.

***

Rumours were quick to spread, quick to take hold. After one fairy told the next, the entire court seemed to know.

Stories started to circulate. It was said that the Queen held a demon lover in her bed, that the Queen left the court each night to dance in the moonlight, that the Queen was going to give birth to a demon that would devour all the world, that the Queen was a demon in disguise, that the Queen was a hoax, and the real Queen would return once the pretender was killed.

The court was no longer a peaceful place of joy and pleasure and beauty.

Fairies armed themselves with sticks and fire, and settled to wait for the Queen to emerge.

They knew she would have to come out eventually.

***

Shaela looked outside her window. Most of them let out into the branches of the huge tree, but one carved into the floor showed her a view of the lowest floors.

She could see the crowd gathering there, a crowd armed, carrying torches.

She could feel her hair trying to stand on end.

"I didn't mean any of this," she cried. "I only wanted to do good."

The council patted her on the shoulder. "We're certain you didn't do this on purpose."

"We can't think of anyone who would."

Shaela sighed, sitting down on the floor next to the window that allowed her to see her loyal subject gathering in the hopes of burning her alive. "I don't know how this happened," she said. "I've never lain with a man, and that's what needs to happen for a human to carry a child."

"That, or fairy dust," one council said.

"Demon dust in this case," the other one pointed out.

"Yes, of course, good catch." They both fell silent. Their brows wrinkled as they were lost in thought deeper than usual. "Do demons have... demon dust? How do they breed?"

"I don't know!" Shaela snapped. Her mind was busy with the mob of fairies waiting for her, and she had little patience for the council's irrelevant questions. Her life was in danger, and a child had decided to live within her.

A child that demanded raw flesh to feast upon.

"I need a way out," Shaela said.

The council shared a look, and nodded. They had been hoping that Shaela would ask to leave on her own accord. "We'll open a door for you," they promised. "And explain your absence to the fairies."

Relieved, Shaela stood. "And I will have the child, rid myself of it, and return to rule."

Another look was exchanged between the council. Their faces were grave, solemn. "No, child," they said. "After all this, you cannot return. You must live in exile, and forget there is such a place as Fairyland."

"And we must live without a Queen."

Air shivered between them, and as the voices of angered fairies rose all the way up to Shaela's chambers, she walked through the door to return to the rocky shore where this all began.

# Chapter Sixteen

Nothing much had changed since she last came here.

The mess the council had left was still there. A canopy swayed in the wind, the beds were torn, remains of food were spread around to spoil.

Slowly, Shaela walked over to the canopy. She allowed her fingers to run along the soft, tattered silk.

This would be the last time she touched silk spun by fairies.

The world had never seemed darker. She was alone, without a home. Fairies had turned their back on her. Alaene had forsaken her. The only place she could think of was the village where her human mother lived.

Tears clouded her vision as she returned to the hill where a Portal waited to bring her home. There, she remembered why she hadn't come back sooner.

Portals were invisible when closed. She needed to be near one to open it with a magical command.

The Portal's location was not marked.

Frustrated, Shaela kicked a rock. It hurt her toe, and she sat down to rub it.

"How do I find something I cannot see?" she asked the Universe, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, might came to her aid.

Shaela closed her eyes as a simple answer came to her.

All she needed was to cast a spell to make the Portal visible.

The words of a spell came easily to her, sneaking into her mind like thieves. She spoke them, and the location of the Portal was shown to her.

Shaela reached into a magical pocket, pulled out her spell book, and wrote the words down.

***

Life in the village was much like it had been. Seasons came and went, children were born, old ones died. To Sara, it seemed like the cycle of life grew faster with each passing year.

It had been two years since Shaela had left to find J'dra. Each night, Sara had stood at the doorway, waiting for her to return. When it was too cold to open the door, she sat at the window, a shawl over her shoulders, a candle by her side. She watched the empty road, waiting.

The road remained empty.

"You should come to bed," Sam said each night, and each night, Sara nodded, and followed him.

This morning, she decided not to stand at the door. By each passing day, it became more and more clear that Shaela would not return. She had either forgotten all about them, or perished.

Sara hoped she still lived. It was easier to believe her daughter had inherited the fickle ways of fairies, and merely found a better place to live. No mother could bear the loss of a child, not even an estranged one.

This morning, she stood in her small house, which she kept neat and tidy, stirring a pot of porridge over a fire. The time of plenty hadn't returned, but after Shaela's visit, hunger had left the village. Crops grew tall again, and harvest was plentiful. The village worked hard, slowly gaining both prosperity and happiness.

Sara stirred the porridge, knowing she'd have leftovers to bake bread with. The simple thought gave her hope: if she had leftover porridge today, she'd have leftover bread tomorrow. Life was simple, slow, and full of sadness no matter how hard she tried to rid herself of it.

Having her firstborn daughter back, even for just a few days, had torn open old wounds. She'd lost her twice now, and her heart wept tears of blood every time she remembered.

Everything reminded her of Shaela: the blanket she'd brought back with her, the chair she'd sat in, wrinkling her nose at vegetable broth, the hard sofa she'd slept on. Sara stirred the porridge, wiping away a tear. She told herself not to cry: it wasn't a healthy way to start the day. She would smile, and try to be happy, for her family's sake if not her own. Seeing her upset made them worry. As Sara loved them dearly, she didn't want that for them. She wanted to see them happy. If that meant she had to pretend, she would.

"No more crying," she told herself. "No more tears, no more waiting at the door."

She left some words unsaid. If she spoke it, it would be true. She wasn't yet ready to say the words.

She didn't think she ever would be.

No mother could believe her missing child dead.

A knock on the door pulled her away from the porridge. She pushed it to the side of the fireplace, away from the flames, before answering the door. Living a hard life of hunger, she was wise enough to protect her breakfast. Further away from the flames, it wouldn't burn.

It was early still. The village was still waking. Receiving visitors at this hour wasn't unheard of, though. Sometimes, a neighbour popped by to borrow an egg or a cup of flour, still dressed in their nightclothes, rubbing sleep from their eyes. Sara was always glad to give from the little she had. Hunger had taught her well, not only to protect what she had, but to share it with others so no-one would have to suffer so.

The knock repeated itself. It was light, a tap rather than a knock. Sara frowned. All her neighbours were tall and strong. None of them would knock like that.

"Perhaps a child?" Sara thought to herself. "Maybe someone has fallen and injured themselves."

She pushed the door open, almost hitting a small someone kneeling on the stair.

"A child indeed," Sara had time to think before her mind kindly informed her that the small someone had wings. "A child, someone's fallen and now I have to run to the nurses and-"

The small someone turned her face to Sara. Despite the tears, Sara recognized her with ease.

"I didn't know where else to go," the child cried. "You're the only mother I have now."

The floor was cold and hard. Sara didn't notice it as she knelt to embrace the daughter she thought she'd lost for all times.

***

There wouldn't be leftover porridge, Sara noticed. It didn't affect hope like she'd thought. With Shaela there, eating greedily, hope shone brighter than ever before.

Mia was there, sleepy still, and wary of her half-sister. She watched her closely, pulling further away from her.

Sara couldn't blame her. Fairies were a myth, a legend. Seeing one eating porridge in your own home was enough to make anyone wary.

They didn't want to ask her questions, not yet, anyway. She looked tired, worn somehow. Sara wanted her safe and warm first. Time for questions would come later.

"I need to speak with the Elders," Shaela said after she'd finished her porridge. She wouldn't raise her eyes from the bottom of the bowl.

"We will go to them now," Sara promised. "I'm sure they're interested in your story."

Afraid her words sounded too hard, Sara rushed to soften them. "If you'd like to tell it, that is. You don't have to, you know that. We're just glad that you're here."

"You won't be for long," Shaela said, and another tear fell out of her eye.

***

The eldest of the Elders pushed his breakfast around the plate with a piece of bread. They always brought him a single egg, a piece of ham, and a slice of bread. The food was accompanied with a cup of black tea, which, they said, was "good for the digestion".

The eldest was so bored with having to eat the same thing every morning, he'd started seriously considering the prospect of death. Each morning, he pondered what the villagers would say if he, out of protest, took his final breath, and fell face down onto his never-changing breakfast. Then, after poking at his egg until it grew cold and clammy, he gave up his pride, and cleared his plate.

This morning was no different from the rest. His breakfast arrived. He was served a single egg, a slice of ham, and a piece of bread. Black tea was poured into his cup.

The eldest poked his egg with a piece of bread until the yoke broke. He ate the yoke-soaked edge of bread, and wondered what the villagers would say if he truly did take his last breath and -

Someone knocked on the door.

"Enter!" the eldest commanded. Surprise made his voice strong, frightening both himself, and the one knocking.

The door opened, and a clerk poked his head in. He sat at his desk from morning to evening every single day, most likely just as bored with his lunch as the eldest was with his breakfast. He'd never entered these chambers before. From this, the eldest conducted that something very extraordinary had happened.

"Pardon me," the clerk said. His voice was nervous and shrill. "There's someone to see you. Urgently, if you don't mind."

"Who is it?" the eldest asked. He hadn't been bothered like this since... well, this was the first time he'd been bothered in his personal chambers during breakfast.

"I did not catch her name. A girl, esteemed one. She has wings."

"Shaela," the eldest breathed.

"That's the one," the clerk said, his voice returning to normal. "She did say it, it just slipped my mind. You know, the wings. A bit of a shocker."

The eldest grasped his chest, his breath catching his throat.

For a moment, he thought this was the morning he would be found lying face down in his breakfast.

***

The eldest walked toward the conference room as fast as he could. He didn't notice that he was still grasping a piece of bread in the hand that wasn't holding a cane.

They'd waited for the girl to return. After the first year, everyone but Shaela's mother and the eldest himself had forgotten. As the second year drew to its end, the eldest had started to doubt his own memories: perhaps a winged woman hadn't visited their village. Perhaps it had been but a dream.

Perhaps he was too old and senile to separate dreams and reality.

Perhaps he was going crazy, like so many old people did.

Now, the girl had returned, and the eldest had reason to trust his own mind again. It hadn't lied to him. It had, in fact, hung on to the truth like a very decisive puppy. The eldest was quite pleased with it as he hurried toward the room where he sat all day, every day, listening to the woes of villagers. For the first time in years, he couldn't wait to get there.

The doors were closed like they always were when he arrived. He pushed them open, half expecting to find the chambers empty, nearly believing that his mind had tricked him. There would be no winged women waiting for him, only old age pointing a finger and laughing at him, a fool who mistook dreams for real life.

But the girl was there, leaning on her mother's shoulder, thirsting for safety and protection.

The eldest paused at the doorway. He turned, and carefully closed the doors behind him.

He had lived long enough to know when privacy was needed.

***

"I don't know how this happened," Shaela said. A cup of tea steamed between her palms, Sara's hand moved slowly up and down her back, keeping a respectful distance to her wings. The eldest waited, silent, for her to get the words out.

Sometimes, he'd noticed, it was best not to push.

"I've never lain with a man," she said, and from the look on Sara's face, the eldest understood she knew what the child meant. It took a little longer for him. The eldest blamed both old age and his gender.

"I'm with child," Shaela continued. "And I fear it's not of human origin."

"A fairy?" Sara tried. Her optimism was contagious: for a moment, the eldest felt a touch of relief. A child was nothing the village couldn't handle. Shaela would remain with Sara, and in time, she would marry. The village would be blessed with another child of fairy-blood. All would be well.

But there was more. The eldest knew it, saw it, and forced optimism back into its cave.

"If it were of fairy-blood, I wouldn't be crying." Shaela took a sip of tea. "I would be in Fairyland, ruling as Queen, hiding a growing belly."

The eldest caught Sara's gaze. He was hoping for explanations, but saw that it wouldn't be wise to expect them from Sara. She knew even less than he did.

"But this isn't a normal child."

The eldest nodded. It was all he could do: Shaela needed to tell her story in her own way. Pushing her would end up in disaster. As some sort of encouragement was required from time to time, the eldest resorted to nodding.

"How do you know this?" Sara asked. Her voice was soft and kind, without pressure or judgement. The eldest envied her for it. It seemed women possessed a trait the Elders could never achieve: an ability to fish out deepest, darkest secrets with kind words.

"I have... symptoms," Shaela started. Her voice was hesitant, like she was ashamed of what had happened. The eldest couldn't blame her. Becoming pregnant without the relations usually required for it was bad enough. Having reason to believe the child was not of human origin added an entire level of fear and disbelief.

"I crave for meat," she said, "and fairies don't eat animals. I don't eat animals.

"I vomit in the mornings, I have nightmares. And sometimes, in the dark, I see my skin... it has a different colour. Purple." She paused for a moment, and the eldest could see another kind of pain in her. "Like her."

"Her?" he asked, trying to keep her voice kind and soft, like Sara's. He didn't succeed: Shaela jumped at the sound of it, turning back to her mother.

"I met a woman," she explained. "I thought she was like me, but she turned out to be a demon. Succubus."

The eldest repeated the word.

Succubus.

In his youth, a long, long time ago, he'd studied. He'd read every book he could find. Some of them had been about demons. Though the subject terrified him, the eldest had read every word.

To this date, knowledge about the demon race remained in his mind. He may have forgotten much of what he'd learned, but this had stayed with him.

Like his mind knew that someday, the information would come in handy.

"Demon magic works differently from that of wizards and warlocks," the eldest spoke. "They can do things unthinkable, unspeakable. Impregnating a woman without a man's touch isn't a difficult task for a demon." He could have spoken for an entire day, but decided to close his mouth for now.

Old age had made it loose, and sometimes, he had to concentrate hard to keep it in check.

Shaela seemed calmer. The eldest assumed she took comfort in learning what a demon could achieve. "Perhaps she did it, then," she said. A teary burst of laughter escaped her. "I'm carrying a spawn of a succubus," she blurted, "while all I wanted was to find somewhere to call home."

The eldest was grateful for Sara's presence. He had lived long, and gained much wisdom, but still, he did not know what to do about a woman's tears.

***

"She will remain here, won't she?" Sara asked.

Slowly, the eldest nodded. His options were sparse. Sending Shaela away had been his first intuition, but having seen her condition, he didn't have the heart to do so. The child needed a mother, and Sara was more than willing to do her part. The eldest had full faith in her, though he could not foresee what would happen once the child emerged.

Having given Shaela a permission to stay in the village, he had to concentrate on the future. Eventually, a child would come. A child whose origin was covered with a dark shroud.

A child that could be a threat to the village.

The eldest sighed, giving Shaela reason to jump again.

"She will remain," the eldest said, "and when the child comes, we will have a plan of action."

"What do you mean?" Sara asked, defensive, ready to protect hers like a mother should. "The child will remain as well!"

"The child may be dangerous. We will have to see it in order to know."

Sara settled into an angry pout, giving the eldest more reason to fear the future.

If the child proved to be a danger, prying it from Sara's arms would be challenging. She had lost too much to let a child go without a good fight.

"We will see when the child comes," Shaela said. "If it is bad, we can't let it remain."

The eldest nodded, surprised at the support Shaela offered him. "It may turn out fine," he said, knowing full well he was giving them false hope. He was unable to help himself: old age had made soft beyond all help.

# Chapter Seventeen

Shaela turned in her sleep. Doing so, she caused a lot of noise, which alerted Sara, who raised her head from the pillow to see if something was wrong, which, in turn, bothered Sam, who pulled the covers higher over his head to get some much needed rest. After Mia married and moved to her own home, Shaela had been given her bed, which was much more comfortable than the wooden sofa she'd slept on before.

Change of beds didn't chase away the nightmares that woke her up at least twice each night. Shaela grew paler and more irritable as her belly gained size, and now, as she had reached the final days of pregnancy, Sara was the only one who dared talk to her.

Sometimes, Alaene was there in the dreams. She'd look at her, and turn away. As Shaela followed her, the world around them melted away, until they were standing on towers of stone reaching up from a melted earth core, staring at each other across flames.

"My child will come," Alaene would say, "and rid the world of kindness."

"It's my child, too," Shaela would argue, "and I will raise it to respect the values and virtues I value."

At this, Alaene would laugh. The pedestal beneath Shaela would crumble, leaving her to fall into flames.

She would wake up in cold sweat, Alaene's words echoing in her mind.

"My child will come."

As her belly grew, Shaela often wondered what the child would look like. Would it have wings like her, would it have horns and purple skin.

Or would it be fair and small, like Shaela.

She thought of names fit for a child, imagined what it would be like to live with a babe. She learned to knit, and made a blanket for the child.

Sara looked upon her with kindness, though her smile was sad and knowing. She knew what it was like to carry a child only to lose it. The same fate, she feared, would wait for Shaela.

On this night, the dreams were worse. Shaela woke from them swimming in cold sweat, fell back to sleep, and dreamt again of worlds burning, of Alaene promising to claim the child.

As she fell for the last time, a pain grasped her.

A pain that would not fade after waking.

Her cries alerted Sara, who in turn woke Sam, who, in turn, was sent to wake a midwife.

It was time.

***

Washes of pain came and went at regular intervals. Exited to see the child, Shaela did what the midwives told her to do. She breathed, she walked, she squatted according to their instructions. She kept only positive thoughts in her mind, she took a sip of water, drank a numbing tea without complaints despite its foul taste.

As the pain grew gradually worse, positive thoughts faded away. Shaela screamed and cried, bashed and trashed in her bed, cursing the midwives to the lowest levels of the underworld.

The pain seemed to last forever, and just as she thought it couldn't get any worse, they told her to push, and the pain grew worse, turned into a monster with flaming hot blades that cut her in half, tore her open, and turned her inside out until there was nothing but screams and agony and death.

And the cry of a new-born child.

***

"She's lost a lot of blood," one of the midwives said. There were two, an older, more experienced one, and an apprentice just learning the ways of childbirth. "We'll have to wait and see how she fares."

"Many women lose blood during birth," the apprentice said. "How is this different?"

"The amount," the older one explained, "is too large for her. The body can only hold a certain amount of blood. She's lost too much. Her body cannot replace it as fast as she needs it."

"I see," the apprentice said. It was clear she did not understand.

"Swaddle the child," the older midwife said. "Make yourself useful."

"Blood isn't all she's lost," Sara said, her voice filled with grief. She'd been there through the birth, holding Shaela's hands, wiping her brow. She'd seen what was happening. Out of fear, she'd kept it to herself, but she could no longer keep quiet.

The floor was covered with translucent fragments. They caught what little sunlight seeped into the room, and turned it into rainbows.

The older midwife covered her mouth with her hand, a shocked tear escaping from her eye.

"She'll never fly again," Sara said softly. "If she'll even live."

***

Her dreams were different now. The pedestals of stone were still there, one for Alaene, one for herself, but something had changed.

Shaela couldn't figure out what it was, but she knew it was there, just within her reach.

Alaene stood on one pedestal, in her arms, a bundle wrapped in the blanket Shaela had knit. The bundle kicked and cooed, and Shaela understood what was different.

The child was no longer inside her belly. It was in Alaene's arms now.

"Show it to me," Shaela beckoned. "Give me my child."

"It's my child, girl," Alaene said. "Mine to have, mine to keep. Mine to use for whatever folly I may think of."

"No, it's mine," Shaela tried to protest, but she was too weak all of a sudden. It was like all her strength was draining away, into the flames waiting under her. "Give me my child."

"My child."

The pedestal broke, and she fell into the flames, still repeating her plea.

"Give me my child. I want to see my child."

Something cold and wet lay on her head. Shaela tried to shrink away from it, though it did balance out the flames that burned her feet.

Moving hurt, and she remembered she could open her eyes.

She did so, and saw the ceiling she'd stared at so many times before falling asleep. It was at a perfect height: she hadn't hit her head on it once.

"My child," she tried. Sara's face appeared from above. "I want to see my child."

"She's awake!" Sara cried. Her voice was sharp. It cut at Shaela's ears. She tried to lift her arms to cover them, but they were too weak to obey.

The midwife appeared at the foot of her bed. She had a bundle in her arms, a bundle wrapped in the blanket Shaela had knit. The blanket held many errors and loose stitches, but the one wrapped inside it didn't seem to mind.

Shaela tried to reach her arms out to hold the bundle, but they wouldn't obey.

"Finally," the midwife said, "we were worried about you."

She turned the bundle so that Shaela could see the child's face. It was round and pink and chubby. "This is your son," she said.

"Hello, son," Shaela said.

The midwife placed the bundle next to her, and Shaela's arm found the strength to rise and touch his hand.

***

"No wings, then?" Shaela asked. Sara avoided her gaze. She shook her head. "No wings."

The floor had been swiped clean. No trace of the translucent fragments remained.

Shaela hadn't noticed yet.

"Just a normal child?"

"It would appear so."

"So he can stay then?"

"That's up to the Elders to decide."

Shaela nodded. It was the best she could ask for.

"We'll go to them when you're strong enough."

"Tomorrow."

"When you're strong enough. Now rest. You've earned it."

***

The demon tasked with first waiting for Shaela to return, and then waiting to see the first signs of pregnancy still sat at its cage, watching. It didn't have a task now, but it didn't know what else to do. Its life's work had been accomplished. Its world was an empty void of uselessness.

Alaene pushed its cage to make it swing. She'd been on a good mood since the child had emerged. The demon feared this sudden change. It was used to seeing its mistress throwing and kicking things.

It missed the way things used to be, the times when it had a task, and the mistress came in only to scream at it.

"My child will come home today," the mistress said. "How do you feel about that?"

"Yes, mistress," the demon croaked. It didn't know what else to say. Demons weren't educated in the art of conversation, nor expressing emotion.

The view inside the image changed. The demon could now see a new chamber. It was a bright, airy one, decorated with a small crib, a high table, and cabinets that housed things the likes of which it had never seen. Bottles, fabrics, a basin. It wanted to ask what the meaning of this was, but the mistress scared it.

"You have a new task now," the mistress said. "You will watch my son when I'm away."

"Yes, mistress."

"You'll inform me if the nannies misbehave, or if he doesn't like his toys, won't you?"

"Yes, mistress."

The demon was happy. Its cage swung slowly back and forth, giving it delightful motion sickness, and its life was again complete.

It had a job to do.

***

The baby cooed in its sleep. Shaela touched its little nose. An overwhelming wave of affection washed over her. She hadn't felt anything like it in her entire life. It was amazing to feel so strongly toward someone she'd only just met.

"What's your name, little one?" she asked the child. "Is it Jonah? Or Timotheu? Or maybe..."

"His name is Azán," a familiar voice said, "after his mother."

"That isn't even close to my name," Shaela protested. Seeing Alaene again, in this village, was strange. She was out of place, out of sync with everything.

The child's skin changed as Alaene came closer. It developed a purple glow, and the same glow appeared into its eyes as well.

A cold hand grasped the pit of Shaela's stomach. She pulled the child closer to protect it, to keep it safe and warm. "His name will be Timotheu," she said, "after his grandfather. And he will remain with me until time ends."

Alaene laughed, and still, her laughter was like the ringing of silver bells. "Oh, what sweet innocence!" she exclaimed. "Haven't you learned anything, dear child?" She reached for the child, and magic pried him away from Shaela's arms. Air carried him to Alaene, and he greeted her by grabbing hold of her long, black hair.

"Azán will come with me," she said. "And as a reward for incubating him for me, I will let you keep your life." Alaene looked upon Shaela with pity and disdain. "From the looks of you, it won't be worth much."

Shaela reached for the child, who now held Alaene's hair in one hand, and her finger in the other. He was laughing, and as Shaela watched, little horns began to bud on his forehead.

"No!" she cried. "He's mine! I made him!"

"I made him," Alaene snapped. "I took seed from mortal men, and placed it within you. You were nothing but a vessel."

Even at this moment of distress, Shaela's curiosity was sated as she learned how Alaene had done her magic. She had wondered many times, on many sleepless nights, just how Alaene had planted a seed within her. Now she knew, and the thought filled her with dread.

Men, she had said. Not one, as was usual, but many.

Cold fingers of fear danced on Shaela's back, raised her skin into goosebumps.

"Don't long for us," Alaene said, and a Portal opened to take them away. "We won't miss you."

Shaela was too weak to walk, but she had to try to stop Alaene from taking her son. She spread her wings, and expected to rise to the air like she had before.

Nothing happened.

Shaela tried again, moved her muscles as hard as she could, but her bed held her hostage.

Alaene turned to look at her, like she'd heard something, and laughed. "Oh child, haven't you noticed?" She leered, and the leer revealed fangs as sharp as a cat's. "Your wings are gone."

She turned, and the Portal closed behind her.

All Shaela had left were tears.

# Chapter Eighteen

"She isn't like she used to be," Sara told the eldest. "It's like something is... missing."

The eldest nodded. He could see what Sara meant.

After the child had disappeared, Shaela had turned pale, not only in skin, but in spirit as well. The eldest had seen the same before. Sometimes, when loss was too great, people turned transparent, nearly invisible. They were quiet, withdrawn, just like Shaela was now.

The eldest looked out the window, and saw her. She knelt by a flowerbed, weeding it with slow and blind determination. Her hands worked like a machine in need of oil, repeating the same motions again and again.

It didn't seem to matter that they no longer found anything to pull out.

"She will get better in time," the eldest said.

"Don't lie to me," Sara snapped. "This is my child. If you can't heal her, at least be honest with me."

The eldest sighed, frustrated at himself. After all the years he'd lived, he still wasn't able to bring comfort to those whose hearts had been broken.

"I don't know what to tell you," he said, this time with honesty. "She might heal, and she might not. The best thing we can do is to keep her close."

It was Sara's turn to sigh. "Close to mind, close to heart."

They watched her, together, in silence. Shaela got up, and moved to the next flowerbed. It was all she did: she weeded the flowers, ate, slept, and repeated. Each night, Sara collected her from whichever flowerbed she was working on, and took her home to rest. And each morning, Shaela got up with the sun, and returned to the flowers.

"This is worrying to watch," Sara sighed. "Maybe tomorrow I'll try to keep her at home."

"Try to engage her mind with something other than flowers," the eldest suggested. "Knitting, perhaps."

"Or dusting."

"Anything, really."

Outside, Shaela pulled out weeds from a flowerbed that was already free of parasitic plants.

***

The world was nothing but darkness. Everything had been taken from her. Nothing remained but a dull everyday of eating, sleeping, and working.

Shaela ate, slept, worked, like a mechanical being, without thinking, seeing, feeling.

The world was filled with darkness, and nothing else.

The loss of a child was like an open wound deep inside her soul, a wound that howled out its pain every minute of every day. It wouldn't heal, wouldn't quiet. All it did was howl, and to silence its screams, Shaela worked. She couldn't think of anything to do, so she weeded flowerbeds. It was simple, repetitive work where she didn't need to use her mind. All she needed was to weed, weed, weed, and allow her mind to go around in circles time and time again.

"I failed," her mind stuttered, "I failed, failed, failed. I was Queen, and I failed. I was daughter, and I failed. I was mother, and I failed."

Failure was all she had left. Failure, and memories of a life that she once had.

She buried herself in the soil of the flowerbeds that didn't need weeding, wishing that someday, soon, darkness would swallow her, and she would no longer have to feel the wound that howled and howled, the wound that could not be silenced.

She weeded the flowers, knowing that someday, soon, everything would end.

***

The Queen's council slammed the door closed, and leaned against it, panting. They'd run all the way up the long stairs from the first floor, trying to escape a flock of fairies who demanded to know when Queen Dey would return.

The council had tried to tell them that Queen Dey was dead, and would therefore not be returning to rule Fairyland, but no-one believed it. They wanted the Queen, and would not take no for an answer.

"What do we do, Jobe?" the younger council asked. "We can't go on like this! The fairies need a Queen!"

"I don't know, Basil," the older council replied, noticing how they called each other by name only when times were desperate. He looked back to see when it last happened, and noted it was back when Queen Dey first came to power. During those times they tried to struggle against mutual attraction, and felt rotten about it. That resulted in arguments, snapping, and the use of real names.

Basil reached to take Jobe's hand, and felt it squeeze back. Desperate times had returned, but not all was lost. "Do you think they remember what Queen Dey looked like?" he asked.

"How do you mean?" Jobe asked in return. "They are very likely to recall the colour of her hair and wings, but other than that..."

"If they don't remember, we could..."

"Could we really?"

"I think we could."

"But should we?"

"Well, that's a whole different matter."

Ever since Shaela was driven out, Fairyland had been in a state of turmoil. With no-one to lead, the court fell to ruin: fairies argued, fought, and moped. The days of joy and pleasure were gone, replaced with fear and uncertainty.

As fickle as they were, fairies needed to have a constant, a ruler to rely upon, a monarch to look up to. Without one, they were lost. As Shaela left, she took away the only source of order the fairies had; she took away their sense of security.

Now, the Queen's council was the only thing standing in between complete chaos. As a new Queen hadn't emerged, they were forced to allow the fairies to believe that Queen Dey would return. The realm was beginning to fall apart, and they were in desperate need of a Queen.

A real Queen.

For a while, the council had entertained the idea of pulling Queen Dey's body out of its funeral chamber, and placing it upon a throne. They had been quite close to executing the plan. The only thing that stopped them was the fairies' desire to approach the Queen to make sure she was real.

Fairies were fickle and inconstant, but stupid they were not. Even the dumbest of them could easily tell apart a real Queen and a dead one. Therefore, Queen Dey remained in her funeral chamber, and the council continued to battle their dilemma.

Now, a different solution was emerging.

The true Queen lived still, and there was magic in the Universe.

They could bring Shaela back, and allow her to rule, if only they altered her appearance a little.

Different wings, different hair. No-one would notice.

No-one would care.

Fairyland was in desperate need of a Queen, and the council was low on options.

"Should we?" Basil asked. "Really?"

This was the first time he asked the younger council for his honest opinion. Jobe took the opportunity to truly consider, to weigh options on all sides. "Well, if we take honesty into consideration," Jobe started, "we really shouldn't. Although, since our land is in dear need of a ruler, and Shaela is the only one who can take the crown, we should. But then again, she has broken against a very strict rule-"

"Against her own will, unknowingly."

"- against her own will, which speaks on her behalf, so we should." Jobe frowned. "Shouldn't? I was going for shouldn't! You tricked me!"

Basil laughed, and it was the first expression of joy since Shaela left. He took it as a good omen, and decided.

"We should, then. And we will."

"Yes," Jobe agreed. "Let's bring peace back to Fairyland."

***

The village square was empty as the fairies entered it. They looked around, baffled, out of place. Their brightly coloured livrés seemed too fancy for a run-down world, their wings made it painfully obvious they were strangers here.

Jobe reached for Basil's hand. "I'm afraid," he said. "Can we go home now?"

"Not yet," Basil said strictly. "And definitely not without Shaela."

Jobe sighed. "Fine then," he said. "But let's be quick about it."

They didn't know where to find Shaela, but they had learned where she lived. The small house was easy enough to locate, though it wasn't visible from afar. Like all houses in the village, it was small, brown, and low.

The Queen's council gave the door its most demanding knock. They were forced to wait for an entire minute before the door finally opened. During that time, Jobe got bored, and conjured up a small dancing bear to entertain them.

The human who answered the door was taller than Shaela, and twice as wide. She bore a resemblance to her, and the council guessed who she was. They bowed to her, and were greeted with surprised words instead of hatred.

"Fairies!" the woman said. "As I live and breathe!"

"Good afternoon, ma'am," Basil said. "We are... um... ambassadors and um..." They hadn't rehearsed conversations for this particular event, and for the first in his life, Basil found himself at a loss for words.

Jobe stepped up to help him. "Ambassadors from Fairyland, ma'am, in search of Shaela, whom we believe to be your daughter."

"Yes, she is indeed my daughter," the woman said, "and from what I've heard, she is a quite important figure among you fairies."

The council followed Sara in, and after proper introductions, were seated on a hard, wooden sofa, and offered sweet-smelling tea.

"The reason for our visit, ma'am, may not be to your liking," Jobe started. Basil was proud to see him find such eloquent words, and made a mental note to praise him later. "You see, Shaela left our realm in quite a hurry, and since then, Fairyland has gone to sunder. Fairies are lost without a leader, and Shaela is the only one who can, by our laws and customs, stand up."

Basil noted the look of doubt on Sara's face. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her everything would be fine, but left it to Jobe. He was doing well, and interrupting him would only serve to show distrust.

"I don't know about that," Sara said. "She's been in a bad way since..."

"Since the baby arrived, yes, we know about this."

The fairies had looked upon Shaela's life after her hasty departure, and knew how she was. The plan to return her to her people served more than one purpose: the council had decided to return the enchantments on Shaela's chambers, so that she would, in time, forget her pain. She would serve her people as monarch, and her people would, in turn, serve her by helping heal her wounds.

"We were hoping to speak with her, if it please you, ma'am," Jobe said with newly found politeness, "to see how she feels about returning to us."

Sara nodded. The more the fairies spoke about it, the better the idea of Shaela returning to them seemed. "I'll fetch her," she said. "It may be better if you don't draw too much attention to your..." she glanced at their wings and continued, "... selves."

The council waited. To pass the time, they kicked each other's shins.

By the time the door opened again, they were each nursing a bruised leg.

"Shaela," Sara asked gently, like she was talking to a slow child. In a way, that was what Shaela was now, a slow child, hurt and broken. "Do you remember your friends from Fairyland?"

The word seemed to break through a barrier. A glint of hope sparkled in her eye, but only for a moment. "Yes," she said without trying to carry a conversation.

"They have a proposition for you, dearest."

"Yes," Basil jumped in. "Shaela, we want you to come back."

The spark was stronger now, nearly strong enough to live. "Come back?" she asked. "I committed a mortal sin."

The Queen's council waved their hands like it was nothing. "Oh pish-posh," they said. "There's a way around that little thing."

She looked at them now, the girl once Queen of all fairies. Her eyes were dull, her hair dirty and matted. Basil noted dirt under her fingernails, and his heart swelled with compassion. He reached for her hand, and held it between his to warm it up.

"We don't have a Queen," he said quietly. "We need you."

On her other side, Jobe took her hand, and held it between his. He blew into it, and for a moment, his breath was visible, full of sparkle and joy. It was as though he was trying to breathe life into her.

"I'm not well," Shaela said. Her voice was stronger now, her eyes wary and shy.

Wariness was an emotion, and the Queen's council happy to see it.

"We'll fix you. We'll fix everything," they promised.

As the first tear fell, they knew they'd won.

# Chapter Nineteen

Her chambers were exactly like she'd left them. Fruit waited on the table, honeyed cakes filled the air with a sweet scent, water splashed in the bathtub.

"We've enchanted all things here," Basil said. "By the time you get out of the tub, you'll feel much better."

"I don't want to forget everything," Shaela said. "I want to remember my mother, my village."

"You will," Jobe promised. "And you will visit them whenever you wish to."

"With guards!" Basil reminded them.

"Yes, with guards," Jobe and Shaela agreed.

"We'll wait while you bathe," the Queen's council said. "And while you do, we'll inform the people that the Queen has returned."

Shaela nodded, and retired to her bath.

The water was warm, scented with vanilla and lilies. She breathed the scent in, allowing fairy magic to heal her, wash memories from her mind.

The wound inside her soul stopped howling, and as it did, Shaela cried the tears that had refused them their healing power. She cried the loss of her child, the loss of her wings, the loss of her home in Fairyland.

And as she rose from her bath, the pain was less.

The gown they had chosen for her was blue, the colour of care-free skies. She wore it, and slipping into it was like returning home. A golden crown waited next to the dress. Its weight was familiar and comforting as she donned it, though it reminded her of the responsibilities of a Queen.

"One more thing, Majesty," the council said. "You require something more."

"What is it?" Shaela asked. "I can't wear anything else."

"Wings, majesty."

She touched her back, the scars she bore where her wings had once been. "They fell when the child was born," she explained, her voice full of sorrow. "I will never fly again."

"A Queen doesn't walk the earth," Basil said. "She flies the air," Jobe agreed.

Together, in perfect unison, they waved their fingers in opposite directions. Magic heard their plea, and smiled upon it.

Wings grew again from the scars in Shaela's back, wings translucent and frail, adorned with blue and green veins. They opened and closed, as if to test their strength, and slowly, slowly, Shaela rose to the air.

"There we are," Basil said while Jobe clapped his hands in delight.

"We have our Queen back!" Jobe exclaimed. "Are you certain about this dress, though? Don't you think it's a little bit... I don't know, blue?"

"You could be right about that," Basil agreed. "Maybe a turquoise one instead?"

"Oh that would be nice! Although, Dey did wear a lot of blue, and we need to convince the people."

As the Queen's council continued to bicker about the dress, Shaela floated slowly toward the first floor. Memories of the child were fading, memories of pain receding, and for the first time in a long while, she could breathe deep, to feel a sense of peace.

With the Queen's council bickering behind her, Shaela flew slowly toward the lower floors of the court where her people waited for their Queen to return home.

# A word from the author

Hey there, and thank you for picking up a free copy of A Fairy's Tale. What you hold in your hands now is not a professionally edited product of a well-oiled machine. It is a story written by one woman, and I do hope you'll appreciate it as such.

Back in October, 2019, I decided, on a whim, to take part in my first ever National Novel Writing Month. The goal of that widely spread social experiment is to write a 50,000 word novel within the month of November. I didn't expect to succeed, but in the end, it took me 18 days to push out the story I had planned. This is what I wrote during those eighteen days.

A Fairy's Tale is located in a world I created for my Sha-e-fa -series. The events take place long after the third part, Sha-Nazen, ends, and long before the fifth part, Dragons, begins. As I was writing under a lot of stress, I wanted to tell a tale I knew I'd be comfortable with. A Fairy's Tale is soft and light in both tone and content, a fairytale in the true meaning of the word. It varies little from the original series, and I hope the birth of this tale will push me into finally writing the fourth part.

If you'd like to keep an eye on my progress, the easiest way to do so is to follow me on Twitter. I'm not very active, though, so be warned.

Once again, thank you for reading my story.

Love,

Heather Wielding

