When Candor and Letti awoke, the sun had drifted high in the sky. A greyish light tilted through the domed windows, an early flirtation with the edge of a storm. Candor rolled over to find Letti staring at the canopy above them, her dark eyes troubled.
“What is it Lettishae?” Candor’s voice was hoarse. Her limbs felt heavy.
Letti rolled over and propped herself up to gaze at her friend. Candor’s white hair puffed in places, making her look like an exhausted owl. Letti smiled. “Just thinking about what we do now.”
“What do you mean?” Candor struggled to sit up. “We’re going to the Citadel.”
Letti looked away. “When we leave, and move south, and make it to the Departure,” she began slowly, “and try for the Citadel, what do we do after that? We haven’t actually discovered anything about the village, or your mothers.” Letti turned back to Candor. “I think there’s more to the mainland than there is for us at the Citadel.”
Candor did not reply, flopping back on her pillows. “I have to go, Letti.” She finally said slowly. “Something is drawing me to the Citadel, as one is drawn to water from thirst. It is not only Lola’s message. Something is there that I need to see.”
Letti pursed her lips. “Ok,” she too laid back down. “We will go.”
The sound of the door opening kickstarted Candor’s heart and she leapt out of bed, snatching her sword.
“Easy.” Thorn grumbled, setting down a stack of clean laundry.
“Good morning, Thorn.” Candor sheathed her sword and ran a hand through her hair. Feeling it stick up every which way, she was sheepishly grateful that Thorn had not commented.
“Time for breakfast. Here.” Thorn handed each girl a clean, black tunic. “These are washed, mended, and I asked Zorca’s tailors to add a few layers in certain places.” He pointed to the knees and elbows. “It might give you a slight advantage in a fight.”
“Thank you.” Candor took the clothes, and tossed a pair to Letti, who was just exiting the bed.
“Change and wash, I’ll wait.” Thorn turned, studiously, and the girls did as they were told.
A few moments later, the trio emerged into the dining room once more, Thorn having marched them from their chambers. As if he thinks we’ll get lost. Candor groused to herself.
“Good morning.” Zorca greeted them stiffly. He sat at the head of the table, occupying the same seat he had the night before. All ebullience absent now, however, the man did not seem as safe as he had the night prior. He lifted a small mug of a dark beverage to his lips, reading an extended paper in front of him. It looked thin, thinner than any paper Candor or Letti had ever seen.
“It’s the news of the city.” Zorca did not bother glancing up as he explained. “The paper is made of sea reeds, easier to make a tight paste than with trees. That would also be marveously expensive.”
Candor did not reply, but settled herself next to Letti, the latter having taken the seat on Zorca’s left, a reversal from the night before.
“I trust the accommodations were to your liking?” Zorca addressed Thorn.
“They were.” Thorn said. He sat back in his chair, expression flat.
“Good.” Zorca flipped his paper up. “Breakfast will be served shortly.”
“What’s the news?” Candor inquired.
Zorca glanced up, irritated, before returning to his page. “There was a murder last night, in a small tavern not far from here, called the Windlass. Know anythihg of it?” Zorca looked up and met Candor’s gaze.
Aware of the veiled threat, Candor was unfazed. She had battled monsters; she would not respond to this quiet manipulation.
“I heard three men were dispatched quite quickly for assault on two young women.” Candor replied. “Good riddance.”
“Well, it seems,” Zorca glared at her, “That Lord Navere has offered an award for the capture of their murderer.”
“How big?” Candor asked in spite of herself.
Zorca sniffed and did not deign to answer.
Candor could have sworn she saw a smile flicker over Thorn’s face. A few moments of silence ensued before the cerulean suited waitstaff deposited plates of fish, fruit, and breads on the table.
“Thank you.” Candor murmured as a young man placed a small dish in front of her.
Zorca folded his paper, handed it to one of his servants, and began to serve himself. The girls and Thorn followed suit, and after a few more moments, found themselves quite satiated.
“If I wanted to learn about the Fae, Yer Aslanti,” Candor addressed Zorca politely, “Where would I begin in your library?”
Zorca made a face, his aristocracy vanishing in a moment of pure discomfort. “I will show you.”
“That’s kind of you.” Candor smiled.
Thorn flashed her a warning look that she ignored. She would not conduct herself differently for this man. Candor was just foolish enough to pick a fight with a powerful nobleman, but it’s a worthy battle, she thought to herself.
“Shall we?” Zorca asked as the plates grew empty.
“Let’s.” Thorn grunted, shoving back from the table.
The girls followed the two men out of the dining room, retracing their steps from the ngiht before. Candor glanced back as she left, watching the servants tidy the table. She felt a twinge of guilt. I should have done that, she thought. The little boy who had handed her the dish caught her eye and winked. Candor, surprised, retreated, and trotted to catch up with her party.
“The sorting system is rather archaic.” Zorca explained. “I’ve not changed it from the first way my ancestors did it. The subjects are grouped, noted by the oldest system,” Zorca gestured at a plaque on which symbols identified various themes and subjects. “Therein, authors are sorted by house loyalty, and therein alphabetically.” He smiled sardonically. “You’d have to have a passing knowledge of the major noble houses to find anything useful.”
“Sounds rather exclusive.” Candor offered the knobby man a wide smile. “I’ll manage.”
Zorca scowled. “Chamber pots are in the back. Do not leave. I’ll be back for you this evening.”
Zorca spun on his heel and stalked out of the room, the two large, curved doors echoing behind him.
“Always dramatic.” Thorn sighed. He too turned to go.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” Candor crossed her arms. “You’re leaving us here unaccompanied?”
“Unchaperoned more like.” Thorn grunted and adjusted his sword. “I mean it this time. Don’t kill anyone.”
Candor blew out a short breath but did not reply. “Just be back before dark.”
Thorn raised his eyebrow. The doors creaked shut after he too exited.
“It’s as if you care about him.” Letti teased.
Candor clucked. “He’s our ticket out of here.”
“Mmhmm.” Letti grinned, catching the glint off Candor’s violet eyes. Her breath caught.
“I’m going to start with the Fae.” Candor flounced over to the plaque by the door. Symbols sparkled up and down its metal face, matched by metal plates that seemed to stick out from the bookshelves themselves like so many stunted, bronzed branches.
A small image sat next to the word Fae, near the top of the plaque. Three swirls combined into a center point indicated the section; Candor glanced over the rest of the plaque, noting symbols for various cities, various periods of history, and various monarchs.
“This seems like a useless system.” Candor frowned. “It might have made sense when scholars were all attached to various wealthy families, but there’s too much crossover. The mad king could be under this section,” Candor pointed at a small etched sword, “or this section,” three bottomless triangles sat next to ‘Durevin.’
“You’d have to know exactly what you want to be able to use this place at all.” Candor groused.
“It’s made for the elite.” Letti shrugged, stepping next to Candor. “I want to learn about Durevin.”
“Really?” Candor was distracted from her irritation. “Why?”
“Haven’t you noticed that we use Durevin customs?” Letti asked. “The ‘customer’ noted it, Zorca noticed it too. How could we know the court manners of Durevin? Why?”
Utterly nonplussed, Candor considered. “Mo and Lola taught me our customs.”
“As my parents did me.” Letti turned to scan the library for her symbol. “Funny thing is, my parents always told me my ancestors were from the south.” Letti, having secured her symbol and its section, turned back to Candor. “Why would we use Durevin’s customs when ours could have been passed down through our line?”
Candor, uninterested, nodded and let Letti chase her suspicions. Having located the tri-swirl that noted where readings on the Fae were housed, Candor trotted to the far side of the library. The little metal tabs that ejected themselves from the bookshelves gleamed, with the far side showing the etching that Candor remembered, was the sign for a certain monarch.
Candor stared at the wall of books, unsure where to begin. She felt unsteady, as memories of the chamber below her mothers’ house flowed through her vision. Candor had just as little idea how to attack this wall of information as she’d had then. She hated feeling helpless.
Resolving to begin, Candor stepped forward and observed the spines of the books; Origins of the Fae, Fae History, the Rise and Fall of the Fae, a Compendium of Fae Wars.
“How broad.” Candor ran a finger over the books, noting that they were free of dust. “You’re recently read.” Candor muttered to the tombs.
Glancing around, Candor tugged Origins of the Fae off the shelf. Cracking the book, Candor flipped a few pages before opening to the introduction.
On the origins of the Fae race, little is known beyond myth and legend. Origin stories allow historians to grasp the nature of Fae self-perception, myriad of which are encoded herein. An analysis of the Fae belief system accompanies these origin stories, as there is little certain known on this race and their subsequent species.
Shaking her head slightly, Candor shoved the book back on the shelf. Why commit that to writing? She wondered.
She tried Fae History, with little better results. The Rise and Fall of the Fae offered few useful tidbits about their beginnings, but Candor suddenly found herself engrossed in the politics of their demise.
After taking the crown, King Estandoa of the House of E’Alturam ventured once more from Durevin, retracing his steps to the Sakjeden, the trees whose counsel he had foregone previously. There, he learned a prophecy, and armed thus, returned home to muster his chaos. While it is worth noting that the then King Estandoa seemed to harbor no ill will towards the Fae themselves, his attacks against humans and his witch army forced, or at least incentivized many who could afford new magic, elixirs and the like, to prey on the Fae to defend themselves against the witches. As the king’s attempted subjugation rolled over Icaria, what Fae remained were hunted, nearly to extinction, and therein began the program of forced breeding in captivity. Though many Fae mounted a resistance, they found themselves outnumbered and facing foes imbued with the strength of their dead. Few Fae survived this era, and the ones who did fled to the deepest and wildest parts of Icaria. While wild Fae can still be found, and indeed there are merchants who employ roving parties to do just that, most Fae who provide new magic to Icaria are enslaved and bred to die. Some small towns have made this practice illegal, but most cities still have no laws against trafficking Fae. The following chapters will explore the politics at the Fae’s final fight with the humans, and the subsequent stories of captivity and abuse.
Candor looked up, her stomach turning. She shut the book and replaced it on the shelf, feeling lightheaded. She bent over and held her knees. Bred in captivity, she thought miserably. This is what Zorca uses to keep his husband alive. A flash of anger ripped through Candor, and she lost her breath for a moment, skin prickling as if with fever. The remaining titles blurred, and Candor stepped back from the shelf. Rubbing her eyes furiously, Candor tried to regain control of her emotions. She spotted Letti engrossed in a few books at a table near the shadowed rear of the large room and decided not to approach her. Candor was not sure Letti would understand. She dithered for a moment, still as a statue before turning and slipping out of the library.
Keeping an ear out for sounds of servants, Candor slithered back towards the foyer, the morning sun casting gentle, pink light through the high windows. The glass refractions danced as a small breeze wound through the house.
Carefully, Candor picked her way through the corridors until she stopped in front of a closed door. Hesitating only briefly, Candor knocked lightly. A hoarse “come in” answered, and Candor slowly pushed the door open.
“Yer Miquen.” Candor stepped inside the chamber and closed the door. She offered her palm. “I am sorry to disturb you. I—” Candor realized she had not a trajectory for this conversation. She had returned to this man on instinct alone, and now that her mind had caught up, she was unsure how to proceed.
“Come in child.” Miquen gestured feebly to a chair by his bed. “I had hoped you would visit, though I did not know if Zorca would let you come.” He smiled, and Candor saw all his gums, as red as his irises.
“I know I am an unpleasant sight.” Miquen continued, gazing at Candor who sat rigidly on the chair. “But I get so few visitors, I cannot but try to keep you as long as I or you are able to bear it.”
Candor’s head snapped up. “I don’t mind the way you look.” She said, and she meant it. “You remind me of a kind of fish I used to swim with in the north.” Candor smiled wistfully, the aquatic image flitting briefly across her view.
“The invisible fish.” Miquen almost laughed, but his breath sounded as though he had exhaled gravel. “This was a common comparison from Durevin, when their healers tried to attend to me. Zorca tried everything.” Miquen sighed.
“He loves you very much.” Candor allowed the man that much. “That does not absolve him of his methods for extending your life.”
“Funny you blame him and not me.” Miquen considered Candor for a moment. “I am the one who consumes the new magic.”
“Do you have any control over your consumption?” Candor asked flatly. “You would have died if not for his ministrations. He is the procurer, the enabler, the one who makes the decision. I blame he who makes the choice. Not he who lives by it.”
Miquen remained silent, and Candor looked up. She was surprised to see he was smiling. “I have never asked him to stop. I have never offered my life as forfeit for the dead I have consumed. Zorca is not the only monster in this equation, and perhaps not even the worst. I am the coward, while he is a knight.”
“And yet.” Candor was unsure why she continued to view the men differently. “You do not spurn me for
being who I am.”
“That would be silly.” Miquen attempted a shrug then grimaced. “You are blessed with more life than any human. You are likely a gift to those around you, as is every Fae who has died for me. I did not wish them ill, I did not wish their death, their captivity, any more than I wish you gone.”
“But—”
“The resources are available to me, and so I make use of them. The lives, my husband. I have never before considered dying.” Miquen’s voice dropped, almost as though he were no longer speaking to Candor. “I remained a part of a system I knew caused pain to many others less fortunate than I. Does that not make me a monster of the worst sort?”
Candor did not know how to answer, but she realized she did not dislike the man. In fact, his sincerity appealed to her. In a world that had become ever more opaque as she discovered more of it, she enjoyed talking to a man who knew himself and who would share his faults with her.
“How did you and Zorca meet?” Candor finally asked.
Miquen chuckled, a low bubble of wet air. “I was a herder, and my herds were set upon by a band of Fae catchers. They don’t just terrorize Fae, you know. I had a few left, too few to breed, so I drove them to Ome Chaer to sell. I did so, selling for a pittance of what they were worth. My parents had died long before I was a man; I was accustomed to making my own way. I apprenticed in the city as a bookbinder for a while. I was good with leather and sheepskin. One day, a skinny little scribe came into the shop, asking for several copies of a few different tomes.” Miquen, lost in his memories, let a tear fall down his translucent cheek.
“We got to talking. He was an Aslanti, though he did not tell me at first. I figured it out. I did not treat him any differently, which I think he liked. He returned a several more times, and we grew to know each other.” Miquen sighed. “He lost his family to the blood plague as well. They had been coming back from Durevin and their carriage was set upon by thieves, hardened by the times. Infected, they died shortly thereafter, leaving Zorca to run the family business himself.”
“He’s immune.” Candor surmised. A memory of red fire flickered in the back of Candor’s mind.
“So, it would seem.” Miquen smiled sadly. “The man has lost everyone he’s loved to this accursed plague, and he can’t seem to follow them to the grave.”
Candor remained silent.
“He asked me to come live with him a few months after they passed. I began to bind his books for him in house. We wed not long after. And then, for someone who did not often leave the house, I contracted the plague. The original wave had dissipated, so we thought it was safe.” Miquen shook his head. “You know the real reason Zorca tends to me so?”
“Because he was a carrier. And likely gave it to you.” Candor sat back in her chair. “I am truly sorry.”
Miquen shook his head, then winced. “Don’t be. I’ve had a love for the ages, a life extended, and I’ve read so many stories.”
Despite herself, Candor felt bad for the man. “I cannot hate you.” She finally said.
“Any more than I can hate you.” Miquen winked.
The room seemed to grow warmer.
“You seem to have more energy today.” Candor observed.
“Aye. I do.” Miquen seemed to be enjoying a private joke. “I won’t get to see you again. It’s worth the pain.”
“You flatter me. I am no one.” As Candor spoke, the truth of this crashed down around her. She was so small, so insignificant in this enormous world. Perhaps it was this impossible existence that her mothers had tried to shield her from, keeping her in the village.
“You are not no one. You just don’t know who you are yet.” Miquen’s hands twitched as if he were trying to gesture.
“How did you come to be with the Serpent?” Miquen asked.
“Thorn?” Candor shrugged. “Right place right time, I suppose. We were facing a foe that we were certain to lose to, and he showed up, right at the moment we needed.” Candor remembered the light of the flame and the eyes of the wolf-men. She shuddered.
“He’s got a knack for that.” Miquen said quietly. “Saving people.”
“Oh?” Candor, intrigued, hoped the man would offer a bit more insight into her travelling companion. “You know him?”
“He was the one who killed the Fae catchers that set upon my sheep.” Miquen coughed. “He suggested I sell the rest in Ome Chaer.”
Surprised, Candor bit her lip. “Zorca knows this.” She finally said.
“Zorca met Thorn a while back, just as I had contracted the plague. He is the source for new magic. Zorca asked him how to save me.” Miquen’s brow furrowed. “I’ve never told him I’d met the Serpent before, but it’s possible he knows.”
“Why do you call him that?” Candor asked. “The Serpent.”
“You don’t know?” Miquen looked surprised for the first time during their conversation. “Then it is not my place to tell you.”
Irritation rippled through Candor’s belly. “The number of times I’ve heard that stupid phrase.” She growled.
“Nevertheless.” Miquen sounded firmer than Candor would have thought possible. “This is true. There are some pieces of knowledge that one is supposed to learn at key times in one’s life. It drives the way they continue to exist.”
“That sounds rather superstitious.” Candor relaxed slightly.
“Don’t believe me if you like. But I’ve seen enough coincidence and correlation in this world to know this is true.”
“It is true for you.” Candor said gently. “I need more information in my life. I feel like I’ve been floating on the top of the sea for ages and have just discovered that I have gills. I need to know what the ocean is.”
“An apt comparison.” Miquen coughed again, and Candor watched his organs shake. Her heart sank. “Would you do me a favor?” Miquen cleared his throat.
“Yes.” Candor answered.
“Would you take this book back to the library for me.” Miquen turned his head slightly. “It’s on my nightstand.”
Candor nodded and picked it up. On Faith and Healing. She raised an eyebrow at the fading man.
“It’s a good one to read in times like these.” His eyes suddenly met hers with an intense ferocity. “And it’s even better to put back.”
Bewildered, Candor recognized her cue to exit. Bending, she kissed the man on his forehead and patted his shoulder, feeling the heat through his bedroll.
“Goodbye Candor.” Miquen smiled, then closed his eyes.
“Goodbye.”
Bemused at this encounter, Candor retraced her steps to the library, closing the door without a sound. She’d had to duck one blue-clad servant on her way back, but a strategically placed column had hidden her.
Letti had not moved, nor did she look up as Candor approached the table. “Still stuck in Durevin?” She asked, and Letti jumped.
Face slightly slack, Letti rubbed her temples. “Deep in Durevin.” Her voice cracked.
“I just visited Miquen.” Candor informed her friend.
This garnered Letti’s attention. Her breath hissed between her teeth. “What?”
“I had to, Lettishae.” Candor dropped into a chair facing the table. “I had to know what kind of a human takes the lives of others to extend his own.”
“And what did you find?” Letti asked.
“He’s not a bad man.” Candor said haltingly. She was unsure how to characterize the stricken human. “I don’t know.”
Letti nodded sympathetically.
“He asked me to return this. Want to take a break and help me?” Candor asked, holding up the book Miquen had given her.
Letti nodded and the girls made their way to the plaque with the symbols.
“Religion maybe?” Letti gazed upwards. “What would this be under?”
“Religion. Medicine. There are a lot of options.” Candor rolled her eyes. “By the Twins this is a useless system.”
“Let’s start with religion,” said Candor. She noted the symbol and turned to locate it in the library.
“There.” Letti pointed to the far-right corner, where the glint of the etched door appeared out of the bookshelf.
The girls wound their way through the tables and began to search the shelves for a space.
“Stones below, this is madness.” Candor swore.
“We’ll find it. Have a little patience.” Letti admonished her friend gently, then, as if still caught in her own thoughts, “Did you notice that Zorca exclaimed about a martyr? Instead of the twins? I wonder what that means.”
Candor, distracted, merely shrugged. After a few more minutes of scouring, Candor saw a shadow near the corner of the library. “I think it’s here.” She looked at the book’s spine and the spines of its potential neighbors. “This doesn’t make sense.” She muttered.
“What?” Letti joined her.
“These books are all about Fae death rituals.” Candor glanced back down at the book in her hand.
“What’s wrong with that?” Letti asked.
“The Fae don’t have death rituals.” Candor peered into the slot as if it might offer her some insight.
“Letti.” Candor breathed. “Letti look at this.”
At the back of the nook where Miquen’s book was supposed to rest, a little lever stuck out from the wall. It’s form indistinct in the dark shadow, Candor reached in and felt it.
“It feels like a handle.” Candor retracted her hand. “I’m pulling it.”
“Yes.” Letti nodded, as if this were the only course forward. Candor appreciated her friend’s support.
Candor reached in again and applied some pressure, wiggling the piece of metal back and forth. With a jolt, jarring Candor’s elbow, the lever slipped down, and Candor nearly fell into the bookshelf as it opened slightly inward.
“It’s a door.” Candor breathed.
“Indeed.” Letti’s voice bespoke a swallowed smile.
“These books aren’t real.” Candor tapped at the books that peppered the hidden door. “Of course.”
Candor pushed the door further open and checked the frame. Letti raised an eyebrow.
“Growing a bit paranoid, aren’t you?”
“I think Miquen wanted me to find this.” Candor glanced behind them. “I worry this is a trap.”
“You just said he wasn’t a bad man,” said Letti.
“That doesn’t mean he’s a good man,” Candor replied, still checking the doorway.
“Now you sound like Thorn.” Letti grumbled.
Candor’s eyes flashed. “Twins forbid.” She muttered. “Let’s go.”
The girls widened the gap between the library and the secret chamber, and slowly stepped inside. Smaller than the girls’ bedchamber, what looked to be a small study boasted no windows. Instead, lining every spare inch of wall, were boxes of varying sizes, of varying materials. Some dark wood shone out of the darkness, while many brightly hued metals glimmered around the perimeter. Each had a little door built into the front, making some look remarkably like mounted bedside tables. A few were nearly Candor’s height, with strange runes carved around the dark crevices. An unnaturally deep silence filled the room; Candor and Letti’s breathing sounded almost as an echo between the boxes.
“These can’t be…” Candor turned to find Letti’s face contorted with rage and disgust. Her eyes fell upon Candor’s. “They’re interludes, Candor.”
~.~
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