Over the centuries, the folklore, fate, and folly of the Fyrges have been altered significantly through events caused either by their own actions or by the hands of Demiurge.
— The Foundation of Fyrgen Archives, The Great Hall Of Learning
An ancient saying, coined sometime after the death of Lars, sought to encapsulate the ever-changing nature of life on the continent:
“A fawn so absorbed in the twig between its teeth that it ignores the rustling leaves behind it invites death. But so does the fox that lunges at a fawn too cavalier to run.”
~ Kushiana ~
A chill crawls down my spine as I stand before the large black wall that spreads miles, dividing Fyrgen and Xerat. The reason is not the atmosphere but the conversation with my father earlier. I had asked him if it would be possible to shift my crowning by a couple of weeks. He neither denied nor approved it outright, but said he would convene a meeting with the members of the Council. They decided against any further delay today. The night the twin moons turn blue comes once in three millennia and is considered an extraordinarily propitious occasion for a new heir to be crowned. Unfortunately, that is only six months away.
“Nothing will hurt you. You are going to be fine,” Agnes says lightly, keeping her reassurance casual. She knows I hardly listen when my thoughts start spiralling, but it does not help that I have ruminated in silence since leaving my father’s chamber.
“Maybe. But I have to be prepared.” By suffering through it in my own mind before it actually happens, it might hurt less.
Before Agnes can counter or add to the dead conversation, fast frigid winds begin blowing all around us until a portal of blue light opens slowly before us, and the icemale steps out as effortlessly as ever.
“Halló, sweet dame.” Caelen’s warm, heavy voice is always such a contrast to the graveyard of ice and stone he was raised in. A male of enduring charisma, standing a couple of inches over six feet. The crimson lips beaming against his pale skin always have me transfixed, and his piercing silver-lavender gaze slices through me like I am a mere block of nothingness in his cold world.
His eyes never leave mine, but I can tell he scans me from foot to crown as he says, “Highly appreciate the precision with which you are undressing me mentally, but I prefer greetings to be exchanged first. Perhaps a little dialogue before we proceed to…”
I fix him with a challenging glare, daring him to finish that sentence. He responds with that shameless, maddening grin instead.
“You have got to stop feeding the straying delusions of your mind.”
“Endearingly sentimental, as always.” He flashes his crooked grin before wrapping his hand around mine and pulling both Agnes and me into the portal.
Hardly a moment passes before we land in his safe house. A truly cosy, firelamp-lit retreat for us to scheme in. It is so remote that only Xerata and Caelen know its location, though it was merely a gift to him since she has not bothered to appear here in over a decade. I imagine her choice of comfort no longer extends beyond the diamond throne.
“Any specific agenda for your visit today, princess?” he says, pouring cranberry wine into one of the two glasses already levitating in the air between us.
Agnes lets out a disapproving coo, which prompts him to arrange a bowl of sweet nectar for her. She disappears into the corner.
It is hard to believe we have only met twice before. The first time I ran into him was by accident, at the autumn ball, while I was trying to avoid the court ladies who kept pressing me to seek a lover. It did not help that I was already miserable because of Zir and Uliya’s absence, announced at the last minute through correspondence. My corset felt tight, like it was designed to choke me. I rushed toward the back alley of the Odolith and collided with him. The close contact with a stranger startled me, but his scent was so fresh, cedar-filled and misty, that I could not help but look up. Despite the mask, it was obvious this male did not belong to Citrindally. He sensed my distress quickly. All it took was him asking, “Are you alright there?” for me to burst into tears. I simply could not bury my emotions any longer, and as embarrassing as the outburst was, he got me out of there fast, to my preferred stargazing spot on the hill behind the palace. We sat in silence. Neither of us said anything. I felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted off my shoulders, like I could breathe easily for the first time in a long while.
“Who are you? I can tell you are not from here,” I asked him eventually.
“Someone who should not be here at all. Yet I have no choice,” he replied calmly.
I did not press further. Eventually I rose, realising the guards would be looking for me. He offered to walk me back to the palace gates. We made our way down the hilly path until I heard my guard Slovak’s voice calling for me, growing closer. By the time I turned to thank the stranger, he was gone. I found myself wondering if he had ever been there at all.
The second time…
“Ally with me against the cursed tradition my family has held for centuries,” I say outright, before Caelen has even had the chance to hang our coats on the stand.
He raises an eyebrow but arrives at a tone of agreement with surprising speed.
“And what is in it for me?”
“I will find your sister.”
He cocks his head, then laughs. “You realise if it were that simple, she would be sitting beside me right now? There are countless Fyrges out there. How would you even identify her from the brief description I managed to get out of Xayla?”
Xayla’s his grandmother, one of the most powerful witches in our world. She’s also the only one who bothered telling him he has a sister somewhere in Fyrgen—on the condition Xerata not learn of it until after he’s found her.
I grin, pure sarcasm probably evident on my face. “You should be more worried about whether she would stay once she learns how obnoxiously arrogant you are, snowflake.”
He considers this for a moment, well aware that I may be the only one with the resources to find her. His eyes soon darken and his expression turns grave. “Your plans are perilous enough to set the entirety of Fyrgen aflame, Kushiana.” It is the first time I have heard him say my name, and I find it vaguely unsettling.
“Is the frost giant afraid of a little adventure?” I offer the words with a bite, the kind that gets under his skin immediately.
He swallows whatever retort he had and collapses onto the couch with a whoosh of wind, patting the spot beside him. “Run me through your ideas. Best we eliminate all the ridiculous ones straight away.”
~ Zir ~
I walk into the parlour the next morning to behold an interesting sight. Uliya is reading aloud from my hideously worn scroll of Fyrgen’s oldest folklore while Yer and Cecil listen eagerly from the top of the mantelpiece.
“And then the male cursed the entire royal bloodline with—”
“It appears to be a good morning indeed. We are already discussing cursed bloodlines.”
She scoffs with disdain and folds the scroll lightly, declaring, “We will continue the session once he is gone.”
“From here, or for good?” Cecil adds begrudgingly. The great thing about close relations is that you often find them cross with you for no good reason. But life goes on. Especially for our kind.
I smile and pour myself some water with a snap of my fingers. “So what are your plans for your last day here, sister?”
She rises, dismissing the question with a slight wave of her hand. “None that concern you. I am free to bask in my last shred of human-disguised liberty tonight.”
“Fair. Just be here by morning.” I respond with indifference while hydrating. Uliya may be up to no good as per habit, but I have a full day ahead to keep myself occupied.
She lands one of her sweetest defiant smiles on me and a chill travels down my back like a rush of water from a mountain. Demiurge protect her. I cannot deal with her absurdities today, so I simply smile in return.
“I will leave now,” I bid her goodbye.
Cecil perches on my shoulder and I circle a steady hand around us, making us emerge directly outside the ministerial estate.
“Go keep yourself busy. Only answer if I call.” I murmur to him and he disappears into the nearby forest. I quickly straighten the lapels of my blue blazer and walk inside toward my office, where I find Estella, a warm-faced woman in her mid-forties with ink-stained fingers and a holy locket she touches more often than she breathes, attempting to sort through a tumbling mess of land treatises. Two slip from her hand, only to be caught in my grip as she stumbles backward.
“Oh, sire, apologies. We were not expecting you this early.” She bows, sporting her half-embarrassed smile.
“Thought I would do you all a favour by making an early appearance on my last day.”
“Not your last! Your last day here. God bless you with a long life ahead, sire. Perhaps rephrase that for the rest of the day?”
She touches her holy locket to her forehead and says a quiet prayer. How comical, to have her praying unknowingly to one god to save another. She never changes.
I laugh and head into my office to collect the last of the papers I am to review and stamp. Or pretend to review and stamp until she disappears for some errand. My powers allow me to do it with the flick of a finger. I usually only keep up the theatrics until my office is clear of all human life. When I first joined here as an apprentice to another retired minister, they were in considerable awe of my pace in sorting everything out. With magic, navigating the job ladder proved easy enough. Initially, I felt like an imposter hiding my abilities, but eventually there was simply nothing else to do. So, for the past five years, I have been playing the role of a diligent worker.
A few minutes into the act, Estella appears after a knock, holding an envelope with my name on top.
“We received a letter for you this morning. No address or stamp on the outside. Only your first name.”
I nod. She hands it over and leaves quietly, closing the door behind her.
The name is handwritten not just in red ink but in one smeared with intoxicating nostalgia and the scent of wild poppies, the kind that captures my soul and almost stops my breath. A tear slips out and falls over the name, but the “Zir” stays intact. Havburthian blend.
I steady my sinking heart and open it with unsteady fingers. My blurring vision threatens to make it impossible to continue, but I bring myself to read on.
Dear Z,
I hope all is going well for you. You must think me shameless to write after all these years, and I reckon I am. But you are the only person I could bring myself to think of at this moment.
I cannot bear to explain everything, but my precious father has caught an illness deemed untreatable by the forest healer Hjalati. It has been catching on to him slowly for the past three months. Initially he showed some recovery through the lejonese herbs, but his condition has only worsened this past week. Hjalati believes he is on the brink of death. It may come to claim him as soon as the next full moon.
As you already know, we are not permitted to step outside Lejonet because of our strained relations with the Council. My family thinks it vain for me to write to you or any member of the royal household at all. They have slowly accepted his death even before it has come.
The ink appears smeared over the next lines, likely by a tear.
But I beg of you, Zir. Please do something. My father is the most pristine soul alive. He should not be punished for the sins of my ancestors. It is unjust and deeply cruel. If you can find it in you, please forgive me. And speak to her royal highness. Please.
I will wait for your reply. Hopefully it will not take as long as the years I took to write back to you. But it is perfectly alright if this is beyond your reach. I would still love you the same.
Sylve
I realise the letter has crumpled slightly in my hand from how tightly I held it. I cannot turn my back on her. Nivun deserves to live. I will find a way, even if my parents do not approve. I am gifted with a paper cut while hurriedly folding it back and shoving it inside the envelope.
~ Uliya ~
I find myself standing on the dewy cobblestones. Mrs Fairweather must have watered her garden sometime before dawn. It is harder to say my goodbyes than I expected. All the friends I have made in the human world are a door away, waiting for me to come to my own farewell party. I did not use magic to get here today. I took the local carriage, one last time.
I left Yer behind as well. Even though I have told everyone here that she is my pet dove — they doubted whether doves made appropriate pets, then assumed it was possible among the affluent. She would have soothed my nerves. I have been standing here for the past fifteen minutes, and with every minute that passes it becomes harder to take the steps. Neza, Ariel and Liliana have each come and peered out of the window one by one, awaiting my arrival. And here I am in my mist form, hiding behind the tree in their garden, too much of a coward to become corporeal.
I consider running back to Zir’s mansion to hide. They cannot come looking for me there since they do not know I have a brother. I still have my apartment, but that is a risk.
Then suddenly I feel her warmth all around me and straighten my posture. “Mama, are you here?” I ask inside my mind and my mother’s image appears. She is in her private dining chamber taking her supper, Nysleon resting by the window beside her. “My darling child,” she responds in her ever-sweet voice. “Why are you not going inside? Your friends are so eagerly waiting for you.” I must have been extraordinarily anxious for her to sense it and reach out. The sun god gave her the gift of reaching into the minds of those she loves, but she seldom uses it. She deems the idea deeply invasive. Everyone believes the Queen of Citrindally values jewels and status above all else, but the family knows my mother values nothing more than individual freedom and the people she loves.
A tear slips out. “It is so hard to say goodbye, Mama. They are bidding farewell to a crook. I was never honest with them about where I come from. My immortal Fyrgen life that ages a hundred times slower than theirs, my companion, my royal family. I feel so ashamed. They are my friends and I have been utterly dishonest with them at every turn.”
“Never. I raised a brave, sweet child who makes everyone’s day a little brighter. As Fyrges we have been taught since birth never to reveal our origins to humans. A human who learns of our world trades their life for it. You have done the right thing, do not blame yourself. And I did not invade your thoughts, but it seems you share a great many colourful memories with those girls. Hold tightly to them and walk through that door.”
I frown. “You are right. I was overcomplicating it. I do not know why I do that.”
She sighs. “A trait inherited from your father. It was a moment of weakness and it has passed. Go and rejoice with your friends. Your heart is not pumping quite so fast anymore.”
“Thank you. I miss you, Mama. Save me the warmest hug for tomorrow.”
She smiles. “The warmest one is always yours. Your brother has real ice running through his veins, so do I even need to say it?”
I shake my head. “No. I already know you love me more than the other two.”
“Absolutely,” she offers as goodbye and vanishes from my mind.
I grin to myself, step into my corporeal form and run toward the doorway to see my girls.
We end up celebrating well into the night, all of them wildly optimistic about my future as a jewellery heiress in the citadel. Because yes, I had to kill off the affluent fake aunt I invented, as an excuse for my sudden departure from the village. Ironically this is the lie I feel the least guilty about. Perhaps because we Valhades are so accustomed to the concept of untimely death, particularly ones we orchestrated ourselves.
My friends baked me a strawberry and raspberry cream cake as a goodbye gift. We danced all evening at the local tavern and spent the rest of the night laughing and revisiting memories from the past few years. In the morning they bid me farewell, and I returned to the mansion.
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