Page 1 of Between Realms

1

SUMMONS

WYNSTELLE

Creeping toward the door, I desperately hope my Elven keeper won’t prevent me from sneaking outside. My voluminous skirt conceals my blade as I cradle a small saucer in my palm.

I freeze as Merlara, my Elven guardian, calls out in irritation, “Wyn, I don’t understand why you bother with the little ones. They don’t dare harass the Elven households with their antics. There’s no need to feed them.”

“I like to give them treats.” I shrug noncommittally. “The pixies are fun to watch as they battle over the bounty.”

“Humans.” Merlara shakes her head with a wry grin on her lips. Despite being five centuries older, the beautiful female elf doesn’t appear much older than my twenty years. “Just be back inside before dark. I don’t want to hunt you down. Remember, there are dangers if you go beyond the meadow.”

“I always stay within the perimeter of your territory,” I project as much innocence as possible with my voice and smile. As much as I sometimes wish to explore beyond her small estate, I know I wouldn’t fare well as an unescorted human. The elves haven’t forgotten the wars from twenty years ago. That is only a short while, considering elves can often live a thousand years or more, barring any unforeseen incidents.

Just a few steps beyond the front door, I gaze up and marvel at the evening sky filled with pastel colors of peaches, watermelon, and lavender. I’ve only ever known the glorious skies in Elfhame, but they still take my breath away.

I don’t have to travel far to find the little ones. Their secluded ring is in the forest just behind Merlara’s house and the metal workshop.

After laboring in the foundry all day, my tired limbs feel revitalized being outdoors on my evenings off and the thought of trying out the new poses I studied in Merlara’s sword technique books. My wild, golden-brown hair is plaited back and off my face as I often wear it. Having my hair singed off while working with fire isn’t something I’d like to experience again.

Of course, I enjoy watching the little faeries play, but it isn’t the only reason I sneak off to visit them. I also need to hide in their isolated and secret spot to practice my swordsmanship. It’s forbidden for a human to wield a sword in the fae realm—or, as it’s called by its population, Elfhame. Not even Merlara, my kind keeper, would approve of my illegal hobby.

I’m not sure why I have developed such a forbidden compulsion to master swordplay. Perhaps after crafting and polishing blades all day, I need to know what it feels like to brandish one, to experience the result of all my hard work.

Or perhaps, the more likely reason is that I have a genuine desire to break the rules and the thrill of the secrecy. Maybe I use this time to forget, for only a moment, that I’m nothing more than a lowly servant and imagine I have the freedom to do whatever I desire. I know freedom isn’t an option for me, but it’s lovely to pretend. My daydreams are all I will ever have for a life of my own. I don’t even own the clothes on my back. Fortunately, Merlara often allows me a couple of hours a day to fantasize.

My life consists of working in the foundry—long, grueling days over molten metal and a polishing wheel, sharpening swords and daggers. My respites are reading myself to sleep afterward or having philosophical conversations during meals with Merlara. Still, I need something else to fill my lonely, repetitive life. The forbidden challenge of swordplay is that for me.

As I enter the private field encircled by a grove, the flower faeries accept my meager offering. After they have their fill of milk, they delight in watching me as I practice my moves. I have long since given up worrying that the little ones will turn me over to the authorities. They love our secret playtime just as much as I do.

A pixie, who could fit into my pocket, zips around to distract me.

“Be careful!” I laugh when he dives, tugging my long braid as he flies by. “I’m notthatgood. I might hurt you.”

The little one laughs. “It’s more likely you’d hurt yourself,” he says with a grin.

“Alright. I suppose I should leave with the scraps of my dignity I have left.”

“See you tomorrow?” a little one asks.

“If I can get my work done early enough.”

“We can help!” they all squeak in unison.

“Oh, no no no, I remember how youhelped.” I chuckle, thinking of the mess they made of the foundry. It took the rest of the day to clean up after theirassistance.

* * *

Merlara greets me when I return home from my excursion. “I have another order for my new Orna blades. A dozen, due next week.”

“That particular design is proving to be popular.” I smile outwardly, but ready myself mentally for the exhausting days to follow. Unfortunately, there will be no time to play in the meadow for a while.

Now that I’m grown, I handle most of the hard labor, while Merlara focuses on detailing the intricate designs. I don’t mind the work, but it’s intense when a large order like this comes in. It means long and grueling days, sweating over a crucible with the bellows, pouring molten metals into their molds, and then chipping away the forms.

The strenuous work is also a dangerous process for a fragile mortal. Unlike me, Merlara seems to avoid any injury with her quick reflexes, keeping her burn-free. Only one of the many blessings of being an elf.

Even though I don’t consider myself a jealous person, I would prefer to have been gifted with the elves’ skills, beauty, and freedom. Since that’s impossible, I find contentment in achieving what I can in my sheltered life instead. I’m proud of being an asset and not a burden to my Elven keeper, knowing I exceed Merlara’s expectations.

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