Page 26 of The Forbidden Fae King

The lesson on relics consumes most of the morning, and I swear I hardly blink as I take in every detail. There are so many different types. Jewelry, blades or armor, all imbued with specialized magic that is either protective or gives the bearer special abilities. Objects passed down to the fae by their gods, or created by the strongest amongst them, bestowing blessings upon the wearer.

Midday arrives and servants enter with platters of thinly sliced cold meats, aged cheese, dried fruits, chutneys and steaming hot bread. A comfortable silence falls over the room as we eat. I mechanically shove food into my mouth, my mind a thousand miles away, until I notice how the girls from the villages stare at the food and take second helpings, like it is a feast of delicacies. I suppose it is for them, especially at the end of winter.

I nudge Caitlin and make sure she notices, then make a mental note to speak to my father on the state of the villages. If our crops are failing, theirs must be worse, and we cannot have anyone starving.

My grandmother claps her hands, the sound echoing down the corridor, and servants immediately remove the food.

“Heart-stones,” the high priestess begins without preamble, chalk scratching against the board. My stomach tumbles, because I already know this is going to be heart-wrenching. “They are taken from the nymphs of the fae realm, who are spiritually connected to the land. Tree nymphs bind to a grove, body, spirit and soul, and within its center there will be a great mother tree that holds their heart-stone. It is a fist-sized piece of amber that carries the source of their power.”

She pauses a moment to survey the class. “This is where our mission becomes absolutely brutal. If you steal the heart-stone, the trees will die and the nymph will die, unless another tree nymph gives it shelter, but it will be forever maimed, without its power and heart. So expect it to fight you to the bloody death. For it to beg for mercy. You must use your wits. There are a thousand ways to lure the nymph away from its grove before you take its heart. Can anyone suggest any other types of heart-stones?”

I try to swallow down the horror that rises within me, but bile burns my throat anyway.

My heart races at the acknowledgment of my people doing that to any creature, vicious fae or not.

It’s not easy to accept that sometimes we are the villains. I only calm myself with the conviction thatIwill not be stealing any heart-stones. Surely there is another way to get what I need.

I lift my hand despite my inner struggle, to answer my grandmother’s question.

“Anyone other than Keira?” My grandmother raises her eyes to the ceiling in silent prayer as the room remains silent. “By the gods, do they not teach you anything in the villages about the fae?”

“Flower nymphs, my high priestess.” A timid voice calls out from behind me.

“Good. Please, call me Naomi. No need for titles here. Anyone else?”

“Lake maidens.” Caitlin volunteers. “They have multiple heart-stones and seed-stones. A woman could gain a seed-stone, with the promise of planting it within another lake and nurturing the new spirit that is born. To help spread its offspring.”

“Yes. In theory.” My grandmother replies, considering. “But that woman would need to be a very convincing liar. No Lake Maiden would agree to having her seed-stone brought to the human realm, because without the magic of the fae world, her offspring would not be intelligent or self-aware. It would be no better than a sea monster guarding its waters, and could not take solid shape or leave its lake.”

The high priestess turns away, dismissing the subject.

“Perhaps if a woman were to make a bargain with the Lake Maiden.” Caitlin says.

The room seems to bristle with tension. I swallow nervously. I know where she is going with this.

“Dangerous words, Caitlin. You should never make a bargain with a fae. They are devious by nature and they will try to trick or cheat you. If you are cornered into it, you must be incredibly careful in setting out your terms, and still they will find a way to take advantageof you. Take it from me, you do not want to be at the mercy of a fae. They don’t understand the meaning of the word.”

A muscle bulges in Caitlin’s jaw. I kick her under the table, but that look tells me she won’t back down. “The pilgrim could offer to spread many of the seed-stones to other bodies of water in the fae lands, with the payment of one heart-stone. From my understanding, the Lake Maidens can generate more heart-stones. Losing one would be only a temporary loss of their power. What they cannot do is travel more than a mile from their lake, and therefore rely on other creatures to spread their seeds.”

A huge, proud smile fills my face. I found that chapter on water spirits in an incredibly old tome in our library, and excitedly recited my notes on it to Caitlin while she practiced archery. She said nothing at the time, but clearly listened.

“An interesting theory. It could work, but has its risks. This could be one way to avoid cruelty, for the gentle-hearted.” My grandmother’s eyes slide to mine.

A chill runs down my spine. Caitlin should be planning her own pilgrimage, but it sounds like she has put more thought into mine. “It could work for you,” Caitlin whispers.

I nod, forcing down the brimming emotion.

As confidence builds within the classroom, more women put forth their suggestions on how to bring fae magic back to our home.

One mentions the dwarves’ mines, where they dig magic from the ground as glowing ores and glittering gems, and smith them into enchanted blades and jewelry.

Another, the goblin mechanics of the winter realm, who use the same raw metals and imbue them with magic, and create amazing technologies. The fuel cells of such a device could gift our realm with immense magic.

No one mentions the fact that dwarves and goblins have a taste for human flesh and must be avoided at all costs. Stealing from them would have to be a very covert operation.

The pros and cons and risks of every option are scrutinized until even my head swims. The classroom is a buzz with low, excited voicesby the time the thick, orange rays of the setting sun illuminate stripes across the marble floor.

There is a wicked twist to my grandmother’s lips as she takes in her audience.

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