“Hello Zorca.” Thorn rocked back on his heels. “I’m in need of a place to stay.”
“Of course, dearest blossom, do come in.” Zorca stepped back, beckoning Thorn and the girls into his home.
Candor gasped. The entryway, camouflaged behind the dull sandstone wall, opened into a deep foyer. Above, green leaves spilled over hanging pots that hung between lanterns. Small glass pieces draped around the lanterns, splashing the tiled walls with specks of bright, white light.
The floor angled ever so slightly up towards the back of the space, and large, rectangular flagstones pressed orderly against each other. Somewhere, water trickled comfortingly.
“It’s magnificent.” Letti breathed.
“Zorca Aslanti, may I introduce you to Candor and Letti.” Thorn did not bother attempting to offer their family names.
“Well met, Candor, Letti.” Zorca offered his palm and did not seem offended by their lack of formal names.
Both girls offered him their palms as well. “Thank you for your hospitality.” Candor said.
Zorca grinned. He had a gleeful look about him. Tall and lean, the man seemed to be all elbows and knees, but did walk with a certain ungainly grace. Candor noted that he seemed to favor his left leg, though the man did well to hide it. He had an easy smile and darting eyes that, instead of indicating suspicion, offered him an aura of intense curiosity.
“What did you do this time, my most loathsome serpent?” Zorca hooked his arm inside the crook of Thorn’s and gestured for the girls to follow them.
Thorn, Candor was pleased to see, seemed irritated at the casual touch, but did not pull away. “These two killed a few at the Windless.”
Zorca blanched. “What were you doing at the Windless?”
Candor rolled her eyes.
“We were gathering information, Zorca.” Thorn answered. Candor thought he sounded tired.
“Something is stirring in Durevin.”
Zorca seemed to deflate slightly. The sparking lights from above threw curious shadows across his face. “The port master has been entertaining nobles.”
“So, we’ve surmised.” Thorn murmured. He glanced back at the girls. “Perhaps we could discuss more over a meal?”
“But of course!” Zorca’s gait popped back to his toes. “I will have something whisked up right away.”
“We don’t need anything fancy.” Thorn grimaced in spite of himself. “But a bit of fresh meat would be lovely.”
“Fish it is.” Zorca tugged the large man through a curved door at the back of the entryway.
The second room they followed Zorca into was nearly as tall as the first, though not as long. Tiles lined the walls, and lanterns hung quietly above, their soft colored glass lighting the room as if with a sunset. Candor struggled to keep her mouth closed. This was a staggering display of wealth.
“Please.” Zorca relinquished Thorn’s arm and gestured at the long, gleaming table in the center of the room.
Zorca seated himself at the far end, Thorn sat on his right, and the girls settled themselves on his left, dropping their packs behind their chairs.
“I am so sorry my absolute blooms,” Zorca was the picture of remorse. “Let me have those taken to your rooms.” From within his silky shirt, which, Candor noticed, was a beautiful light blue, Zorca produced a little bell which he rang.
At the first tinkle, a servant appeared through a nearly invisible door to Zorca’s left. He leaned back and spoke to the young woman, dressed in a cerulean suit, who then disappeared quickly, only to reappear with two more blue-clad servants. Swiftly, they grasped the three packs, though Candor snatched her indigo sword and hung it on the back of her chair, and exited though the invisible door.
Not a moment later, three plates of steaming fish, tubers, and spiced sea grass were placed in front of the three travelers.
Utterly astounded by the last two minutes, Candor and Letti took a moment before they ate, watching Thorn to see if there were any manners or customs they should be observing.
Zorca, taking note of the pause, sought to reassure the girls.
“You can trust me, my dears. I would not seek to poison you in my own house!” The man seemed scandalized.
“That’s not why they’re dumbstruck, Zorca.” Thorn grunted. “They’ve never seen a city, much less a home like yours.”
“Ah, I see!” Zorca said, looking rather pleased. “Don’t stand on ceremony, please eat. The sea grass was particularly delightful tonight.”
And so, the girls dug in. Candor could have groaned. It had been so long since they had eaten cooked food. The ghosteaters had offered them fresh fruits and vegetables, but they had not eaten a full meal since the night of Candor’s name day. She tried not to think on that.
After a few bites, Candor’s ears pricked up to Thorn and Zorca’s conversation.
“The port master has been curtailing trade lately.” Zorca was saying, his words losing some of their enthusiasm. “And he’s been pulling the youth of the city for the guards. He’s not been pulling from families though, which has won him some support. He pulls from the streets, the orphanages, and offers these kids money and a berth.”
Thorn nodded, chewing slowly. “And what of Durevin? It’s not been since the last Fae wars that the two cities have engaged.”
“Fae wars.” Zorca seemed uncomfortable. “That is true.”
“Is someone making a play for power then?” Thorn asked.
“I don’t know.” Zorca shook his head. “There are a few nobles here, though not anyone I would expect to have enough charisma to draw together the empire again. Not with the southern tribes or the far east, by the martyr.” Zorca shook his head. “No, more likely the two cities are trying to open some more regulated trade routes.”
Thorn sat back, considering. “That’s a lot of soldiers for trade routes.” He finally said.
Zorca shrugged. “What do we know of politics?”
“What indeed?” Thorn said softly.
“Now,” Zorca seemed to remember himself and turned to the girls. “May I ask, why you two lovely girls are travelling with this rather rugged individual?”
Candor glanced at Thorn, then back to Zorca. “Convenience.”
Zorca’s laugh, a high happy sound, emanated from his lips.
“How dashingly quick witted.” He fluttered his eyelashes. “Do tell me your stories. It is so rare that I enjoy new company.”
“Why is that?” Candor asked lightly.
“Oh,” Zorca flapped his hand, “I know everyone in Ome Chaer, and most are utterly boring. You,” Zorca peered over his fingertips at the girls, “are decidedly interesting.”
“Hardly.” Letti offered Zorca a shy smile. “We met Thorn north of here, and he was kind enough to escort us through the gate. We’d never visited Ome Chaer before.”
“Indeed.” Zorca sat back in his chair, appraising the girls frankly. He knew what game they were playing; he was a professional.
“Where, may I ask, is your destination?” Zorca asked. A glass of dark wine appeared before him as if he had summoned it by sheer force of personality.
“We’re heading down the coastline.” Candor replied airily. “Some sea breeze will do us good.”
“Not much along the southern coastline save the Departure.” Zorca sipped his wine, calculating.
It chilled Candor how quickly the man could switch between his facades.
“The Departure?” Letti asked.
“The last gate of Icaria before the Citadel.” Zorca studied the girls for a reaction.
He knows, Candor thought grimly.
“Oh, like a port? Or a boat ramp.” Letti pried.
“Something like that.” Zorca replied mildly. He turned to Thorn. “You must be tired. Let me take you to your rooms. You are more than welcome to stay longer if you desire.”
“Kind of you, but we will likely move in the morning.” Thorn thanked their host.
Zorca held up his hands in an as-you-wish gesture.
“Yer Aslanti, what is it that you do?” Candor asked politely.
Zorca, returning to his affected speech, turned with alacrity. “I am a scholar my miniscule saffron.”
“Really?” Candor could not contain her excitement. “I thought I knew your family name!”
“And what did you read that my family has written?” Zorca mirrored her enthusiasm.
Catching herself, Candor shook her head, apologetic. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember.”
“That happens.” Zorca nodded sympathetically, but Candor recognized he had filed that tidbit away. “Would you like to see my library before you retire?”
“Can we?” Candor turned to Thorn, face shining.
He raised an eyebrow but nodded.
“Marvelous!” Zorca stood quickly and trotted towards the door through which they had entered.
The trio followed him back through the sparkling foyer, past a fountain that blew water through a sculpture of a fish balancing on his tail, and through another set of double doors.
Candor staggered as she entered. From floor to vaulted ceiling, the walls seemed to grow books. Shelves lined every spare vertical space, and small balconies pushed out from the walls several lengths up. Candor had never seen so many books. She wandered forward, past a long desk surrounded by chairs. Lanterns flickered on the tables, bending around hanging plants, and Candor wondered how long it took to extinguish all the lights in this home.
“This is spectacular.” Candor breathed, whirling back to their host. A genuine smile rested on his face, and he seemed more at ease than she had yet seen him.
“They are indeed.” He said simply. “Peruse if you like.”
Needing no second invitation, Candor dashed to the walls, looking over spines, drawing out various scrolls. She climbed up a few ladders that hung on the walls and felt her heart contracting. She could learn so much here.
Carefully, stepping down from the ladder, she returned to Zorca and Thorn, pulling off her shawl. She ran her fingers through her hair regretfully. “Thank you for letting me see this.” She looked up.
Zorca had frozen, his face an image of aversion and guilt.
“Who’s the Fae?” He asked flatly, turning to Thorn.
Thorn took a deep breath but did not say anything. The silence grew. Zorca finally turned to Candor.
“Who are you?” His voice was not hostile, but neither was it welcoming. A cold wall seemed to rise behind his eyes. Utterly baffled, Candor stifled a giggle. Zorca’s expression did not change.
“Do not take me for a fool.” Zorca whispered. His eyes raked Candor’s appearance. “I should have known by the eyes.”
“She’s not full.” Thorn finally spoke, albeit quietly.
“And you,” The tenor of Zorca’s exclamation changed. “How dare you bring her here?”
“You have no quarrel with Fae but that your own conscience pains you.” Thorn said, impassive.
Zorca flinched as if he’d been struck. “What would you do?” All remaining color drained from his face. “I do what I must, Thorn.”
“I know this.” Thorn replied mildly. “But now you see the face of those you take.”
Zorca choked, before turning back to Candor, who was still smiling sardonically.
“I’m not Fae.” She said. Letti stepped up quietly, returning as she noticed the tension in the room.
“You might not be full Fae,” Thorn addressed Candor, “But Zorca is not wrong.”
“That’s absurd.” Candor was uninterested in this new line of revelation. “My parents were human. My mother died giving birth to me. That does not sound particularly Fae-like.”
“Fae die.” Thorn said quietly. “That is why Zorca cannot look at you.”
Zorca shot Thorn a devastated look.
“You are more graceful. Your senses are keener. You are stronger than your peers, than I am. You can see in the dark—”
“No, I can’t.” Candor interrupted. “I can’t see in the dark.”
“No?” Thorn seemed surprised.
“We’ve only been travelling together for how long now?” Candor snapped. “How could you have not noticed?”
“I assumed you wouldn’t have said anything.” Thorn shrugged. “You must not have inherited that particular trait.”
“Seeing as I’m not Fae, that would make a lot of sense,” said Candor, sarcastically.
“Fae,” Zorca broke in, his voice brittle. “Are characterized by their tensile strength,” he gestured to Candor’s limbs. Covered by a tunic and trousers, Candor did not put much stock into this observation. “Their brightly colored almond eyes,” Zorca nodded to Candor’s violet gaze, “their impossibly fine skin, and their hair. Either bright white or pitch black.”
Zorca crossed his arms, then uncrossed them. “You are Fae, and I can’t imagine why anyone would have kept it from you.”
“Can’t you?” Thorn said sharply. Zorca winced again.
Unsure at Zorca’s reaction, Candor began to consider the possibility. Her breath grew faster, and spots darted between her vision. It cannot be. She thought miserably. Mo and Lola would have told me, they would have known. But as Candor tried to calm herself, she knew only one of those thoughts to be true. There were too many things Mo and Lola had allowed her not to know for Candor to trust in her identity.
“How is he?” Candor heard Thorn ask.
Zorca sucked in a breath, and Candor refocused on the situation at hand. Zorca seemed old, as if the last ten minutes had aged him ten years.
“He’s not well, but he is with me.” Zorca replied miserably. “Come. He would love to meet this crew. Even the Fae.”
Candor made a face but held her tongue.
“What…?” Letti whispered to Candor, but Candor shook her head. She had no idea what had just transpired.
Zorca led the trio back through the foyer to the largest set of double doors yet. Down an ornately decorated hallway, Zorca wound through his home, the fashion and wealth of which no longer impressed Candor. Something felt rotten under all the grandeur now, something felt broken. Candor enjoyed the brief glimpses at dimly lit paintings but did not stay to study them. Finally, Zorca reached a set of doors, and turned, hand on the knob.
“You must stay here,” he pointed to Candor.
“Why?” Candor asked.
Thorn turned what could have been a chuckle into a cough. Zorca glared at him.
“Because he would not be alive but for your kind. And I do not need your presence to remind him what he has become.”
“Do you people always talk in riddles?” Candor complained. “Thorn?” She turned to the large man for an explanation.
“Zorca’s husband Miquen was struck by the blood-plague many years ago. He has since grown weaker, as one never fully recovers from it. To keep him alive, Zorca has used new magic, any and all Fae products he can get his hands on.”
Zorca looked ill. Candor did not find this as repulsive as Zorca had expected. “And you feel that Miquen will know me as Fae and will feel guilty for consuming people you think are my kin.” Candor finished.
Zorca nodded.
“Fair enough.” Candor nodded and placing her back against the wall, slid down to sit on the floor. She was exhausted.
Slightly bemused, Zorca glanced at Thorn who gave a short shrug, as if to say, don’t try to understand. The tall, spindly man knocked on the door, and without waiting for an invitation, slid it open quietly. Thorn and Letti followed Zorca into the room, and the door swung shut.
Candor let out a breath she did not know she had been holding and leaned her head back to look at the ceiling. A dark sky colored the stone, punctuated by tiny, white constellations. The artist had managed to replicate the constellations perfectly, and Candor searched for her stars.
She frowned. They were not there. No cluster of golden orbs hung on the southern constellation of the stingray. Before Candor could search the rest of the painting, the door to her left opened once more, and Zorca poked his head out. “Miquen wants to meet you.” He gave Candor a quick once over, “Leave your sword out here.”
“No.” Candor shoved past Zorca. She did not leave her weapons.
“Hello Yer Miquen.” Candor approached the bed. Careful to keep her expression neutral, Candor offered the reclining figure her palm.
“Well met Candor.” Miquen’s voice sounded like sand blown across a beach. It was light, scratchy, and wistful, but it bore a genuine warmth.
“I was told you did not wish to meet me.” Candor smiled impishly.
The man chuckled, and as Candor moved closer to the bed, she could see that his skin was translucent. The veins and muscles beneath his skin were visible, and his blood, Candor could see, was black.
His irises were blood red, as if any color had seeped out of him years ago, but his smile was kind. He had no hair, but, Candor saw, his ears were adorned with gold hoops and chains, similar to Thorn’s.
“Zorca does not wish to rattle me.” Miquen threw a loving glance at Zorca, who smiled gently in return. “I wished to see a face of Fae, so many of whom I have used to stay alive.” He raised his hand feebly. “I know what I am.” He met Candor’s eyes. “And I will not ask for forgiveness. But I did not want you, who are too still alive, to remain in the hall for my heart.”
Candor found herself strangely attached to the sick man. “I appreciate that.”
“Tell me.” Miquen said so softly that Candor had to lean in to hear him. “Why do you seek the Citadel?”
Candor looked deep into the dying man’s eyes for a moment, making a decision.
“My mother told me to, I think, at the moment of her death.” Candor finally whispered. “I cannot but follow her guidance.”
“That is as good a reason as any. And better than most.” Miquen reached for one of Candor’s hands. His skin remained surprisingly firm, though his temperature soared. “I wish you luck.”
“Thank you.” Candor smiled.
“I do apologize,” Miquen tried to lift his voice, “But I should sleep.”
“Yes of course.” Thorn nodded to the man. “Zorca we will see ourselves to the rooms.”
Zorca, who had filled Candor’s position by the bed, merely nodded.
“Come on. Candor, Letti.” Thorn led the girls out of the room, closing the door behind them.
He breathed out deeply. Candor opened her mouth to ask a question, but Thorn held up his hand. “In a house like this, everyone listens.” He motioned for them to follow him. “We will speak in the room.”
A few twists and turns and several masterpieces later, Thorn opened the doors to a room with a large, canopied bed and a smaller, low-slung divan, pushed against one side of the room. A small basin, like the one Haela had in her tree-trunk home, set in the far side of the room, next to a large, curved window. Their three bags rested at the foot of the bed.
“Wow.” Letti breathed. “Why didn’t we just come here in the first place?”
“Because Zorca knows too much, and Candor is Fae.” Thorn flopped down on the divan and began to unlace his boots. He looked up quickly as he found the tip of an indigo sword in his face.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Candor asked. “You knew.”
“I suspected.” Thorn replied calmly, though a storm was brewing beneath his features. “And if you’re not going to use it, don’t pull your sword. It is not to be used for threats, only follow through.”
Candor sheathed her sword angrily but did not let the subject drop.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not my place!” Thorn finally roared. “There are no half-Fae, there are no Fae at all anymore!” Thorn breathed heavily. “The Fae that are left in this world are a shadow of what they once were. That you exist confounds even the cleverest of my assumptions.”
Candor, unsatisfied, began to pace. “My mother was human.” She said at last. “Or she would not have died in childbirth.”
“That is a silly falsehood.” Thorn ran a hand over his hair. “Fae women die just as much as human women. Look at Anaia. Even a goddess can die from bringing new life into the world.”
Candor shook her head. “Then how am I to know?”
“Perhaps you are not meant to know right now,” said Thorn helplessly. “This is partly why I did not wish to tell you. It would simply distract you.”
“From what?” Candor’s voice rose hysterically. “From an instruction that emanated from a mother who never thought to tell me the truth of myself?”
“Candor.” Letti’s soft voice cut through the rising conversation. “What difference does it make?”
Stymied for the moment, Candor turned to her friend. Letti’s dark eyes implored Candor to quiet, and she sank to the floor. She began unstringing her boots, angrily, though quietly.
“You had no right to keep this from me.” Candor finally growled at Thorn.
“I had every right.” Thorn replied.
Candor sat and thought for a few more moments, before coming to a decision. “I want to stay here for a day. Just a day. I want to read and discover in Zorca’s library. I am tired of learning about my world from others.”
Thorn looked thoughtful, but he nodded. “I will send a request to Zorca tonight. Or this morning rather.”
“And I want to continue to the Citadel.” Candor looked at Letti. “That is where we will begin.”
Letti nodded, and smiled tremulously, but suddenly felt a sickening dread creep into her stomach. She had no desire to go to the Citadel, a truth that had been growing inside her since they left the village.
Thorn stood and opened the door slightly. He rang a bell that hung outside their room; Candor had not noticed it. Quickly, a dark silhouette appeared at the entrance. Thorn murmured to it, and it whisked away. He closed the door gently.
“Doesn’t anyone here ever sleep?” Candor groused. She rubbed her feet, enjoying the freedom.
“Zorca has night staff who attend to he and Miquen at all hours if needed.” Thorn explained. “His family is one of the oldest in Icaria, and the most revered scholars.” Thorn moved back to the door as a light knock sounded. “It’s a shame he will die childless.”
The black shape muttered something, and Thorn withdrew his head. “We can stay another day.” Thorn raised his eyebrows at Candor. “You must have made an impression upon Miquen. I cannot imagine Zorca would have liked you to stay after his little discovery.”
“The Fae bother him that much?” Candor did not phrase the description collectively; she still had trouble understanding herself as Fae, or even half Fae.
“He’s guilty.” Thorn shrugged off his tunic. “For the amount of new magic he’s bought over the years, he’s probably held the lives of hundreds of Fae in his hands.”
“But they were already dead,” said Candor, surprising herself.
“Some.” Thorn nodded. “But some, especially the smaller Fae, have been captured and forced to breed for slaughter.”
“That’s horrible.” Candor felt sick, and Letti covered her mouth.
“Aye.” Thorn nodded gravely. “It is. New magic is a stain upon the human race, and it cannot be forgotten. Zorca knows this but does not like to be reminded of his choices.”
The room fell silent as Candor and Letti contemplated Thorn’s words.
“I don’t think we can stay here longer than a day.” Candor finally said slowly. “I’m not sure how I feel about all this.”
Thorn smiled sadly. “That is understandable. I am impressed you were as kind as you were to Miquen.”
“It’s not his fault he got the blood plague.” Candor muttered.
“But it’s not as if he has the courage to die either.” Thorn replied gently.
Candor looked at her feet, which had swelled considerably since she had removed her boots.
“Go wash yourselves.” Thorn said. “I’m going to stretch.”
The girls stripped their clothes and took turns stepping on the little pedal that neighbored the carved basin. Along the side of the tub, two little bars of soap rested, each flecked with what appeared to be herbs.
“Lavender.” Candor breathed as she scrubbed herself. Her hair hung loose around her face, a few inches up from her shoulders. She contemplated trying to cut it but decided quickly against it. She would instead find a way to tie it back. She was proud of who she had become.
Candor pressed the pedal for Letti, and she scrubbed. Both girls wrapped towels around themselves, unwilling to dress in their smelly tunics.
“Here.” Thorn said as they moved toward their packs. “Give me your clothes.”
Thorn grabbed the girls’ folded laundry and stuck his head into the hall once more. After another muted conversation, Thorn returned. “They will bring fresh tunics shortly. The washing will be done before we leave.”
Candor and Letti exchanged a glance, surprised. Sure enough, not five minutes later, a knock sounded, and Thorn returned with two small, white, tunics, and a large white linen tunic. “I suppose I should have specified black.” Thorn shook his head.
The girls dressed as Thorn pressed the pedal for himself and washed.
“You’ll share the bed.” Thorn rumbled, as he settled himself on the divan. His feet hung off the end, but neither girl argued.
As they sunk into the mattress, the girls almost moaned. Never had they laid on something so soft.
“I don’t think I’d wake even if we were attacked.” Candor muttered, and Letti giggled.
Letti turned to her side and drifted quickly to sleep. Thorn’s deep snores also echoed in the chamber, but Candor could not fall to dreams. Her mind wandered, conjuring images of beings that resembled both the pixies and herself falling to sword and trap. She shivered. How could Mo and Lola have kept this from me? Candor thought miserably. What else did they not tell me? That list, Candor could tell even in the space between sleep and waking, was growing longer every moment she spent outside the village. Candor’s dreams, when they visited, were dark, harrowing, full of flashing colored swords and bright, frightened eyes.
~.~
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