Page 3 of To No End

“But if you disappear, if you do not take your place in the Offering, Versa will be taken instead and there is nothing we can do.”

I don’t know if it was a threat or a plea, but it hurt in ways I refused to let myself feel fully. Versa had always been closer to my mother, whereas I was closer with my father. Though it was not the intent of her words, I couldn’t help but feel my mother would have never let her prized daughter be the one to go. However, through this entire ordeal, I wouldn’t let my parents see me fall apart. No, I’d plaster on that same stoic face I’d wear anytime hurt and disappointment came for me.

Whether it was my failure to master footwork in sparring sessions at school, facing my loneliness in the background behind all the budding relationships of my fellow classmates, or the fact that Versa was the daughter worthy of a handsome betrothal; ultimately, I'm just the "Offering" to the king and the realm.

For all they knew, I was being sent away for slavery, slaughter, or worse. So, I swallowed the hurt deep down and hugged them both tightly. Nightfall was calling me, and I knew exactly where I wanted to be when I came apart at the seams.

The three moons of Demir were bright in the night sky, each of their crescents hugging the shoulder of the other. The garden path was illuminated with their moonslight, and I followed the trail to the nearby gazebo and tree swings.

Two swings, one for my sister and the other for me. This place, which I could come to whenever I wanted, now seemed much more meaningful. Only thirty days to soak in the people and places I loved. Thirty days to do whatever my heart desired. It’s a funny thing to know what you want to do the next day or even one hundred years from now, but when your freedom is limited, those priorities change.

I kicked off my shoes and felt every blade of dewy grass tickle my ankles as I approached my swing and sat down. The cool breeze comforted me as I began to swing slowly, staying low to let my toes drag across the tough dirt below.

How does one even approach planning for their last days of freedom? It could take me thirty days alone just to make a list I felt good about. A list. That’s what I needed. I was going to make a list of everything I wanted to do, see, or experience with what little time I had left. After all, my mother said to be as selfish as I wanted to be. It’s not like I’d be around to experience the consequences. I swung underneath that tree for what seemed like hours, watching my shadow sway back and forth across the lawn.

Occasionally, I’d glance over at the empty swing next to me, trying to ignore the growing pain in my gut. The loss of Versa might be the most painful aspect of all of this. I continued to swing higher, faster, feeling the air rush all around me. My long dark locks were flying carelessly in the wind and I kept pushingback the stinging tears building in my eyes, the tightening of my chest. The never-ending barrage of thoughts overwhelmed me, deciding what I needed to experience in the days that lay ahead.

Beginning tomorrow morning, I couldn’t waste a single second of what was left of my freedom. Higher and higher the swing flew until the list building in my head began to consume me. Now motivated to action, I tucked my legs underneath me and leaned back to maximize my momentum. The rush of adrenaline took over as I timed my dismount with the highest point of the arc and leaped, landing perfectly, gracefully, almost feline.

I stood, dusted off my hands on the sides of my emerald green dress, and began to embrace the dark feeling of my life being utterly out of control. There was one thing I had to do before the Offering, one thing that was undeniably happening; I was going to lose my maidenhead.

CHAPTER

2

It was the middle of the night by the time I returned to my room. Versa was sleeping soundly across the hall, and for that, I was thankful. I was never good at lying; even worse at lying to her. The only time we ever pulled off lies was when we were in on it together and out to mislead our parents. For as innocent as she came off to others, only I knew her secrets and occasional antics.

I had no idea what story my parents would tell her in the morning about my upcoming “disappearance.” I certainly didn’t want to spoil things by coming up with my own falsehood. I knew I wouldn’t be nearly creative enough to spin up something believable off the cuff, not with Versa’s eyes on me.

I glanced around my bedroom at the wall of trinkets that I’d collected from my father’s various travels. He’d always bring me back something so that we could share in his adventures. A way to learn about the people, the customs and the beautiful places beyond the sea. I noted the top few shelves consisting of a handful of unique instruments, none of which I could play, butall equally interesting to inspect and admire. My favorite was the golden flute with decorative mother-of-pearl embellishments.

To the right of the instruments were an arrangement of masks and dolls, each intricately painted in a beautiful array of colors that were beginning to fade from the sunlight glaring in through the giant windows. Each of the items made me nostalgic for my childhood, and what ordinarily wouldn’t have seemed long ago, suddenly felt so far away.

My collection of books was precious to me. I couldn’t fathom the thought of them covered in dust, and I hoped that after my disappearance they’d find a new home, someone to love and cherish them the way I had. I acknowledged how I had them meticulously arranged in an order that only made sense to me. Row after row I scanned, remembering how quickly they overflowed my shelves and I had to beg Versa to let me move some of them into her room. Given the questionable content, I was too embarrassed to store them in our family library.

My room was already beginning to feel lonely and foreign. I hated that this simple change of direction in my life made me feel like a stranger in my own home, my own room. A home I had made memories in for 25 years, some of which were captured in paintings displayed throughout the gallery.

On every special occasion, my mother insisted that we sit for hours while some poor artist struggled to paint our family in a way that met her extremely high standards. Mother spent weeks planning our attire for these portrait sessions, trying her best to ensure that our outfits appeared cohesive. Not surprisingly, that same rationale gave her an excuse to pore over expensive and exotic fabrics, allowing her to commission new dresses to be made for all of us.

She constantly critiqued the artist, implying that our beauty had not been captured accurately enough, but what she reallymeant to say washerbeauty. For all my mother’s kindness, she was also vain. Rightfully so.

I’m glad to say my sister and I did inherit her looks, but we were both much humbler. If you glanced at the portraits quickly, it was clear that we were our father’s daughters. His bloodline dominated all our major features. Our heads were crowned with long, dark brown hair—so dark, it was almost black—falling like tendrils well past our shoulders. We bore the same sparkling emerald eyes as him, and nearly translucent eggshell skin. Our father’s cheeks, however, were always rosy, permanently sun-kissed from years at sea under the relentless sky.

However, the foundations of what made us considerably attractive Fae were our mother’s perfect nose, pouty lips, sharply arched cheekbones, and deep-set eyes.

Some might have considered her intense burgundy hair color harsh, for it appeared like blood if you stared long enough. Her olive skin was that of her mother’s, and all the females who came before in their family. At least from the paintings I’ve seen.

She was what most would refer to as intimidatingly beautiful. Her dark eyes were like endless pools of ink. If you stared into them for too long, you’d find yourself drowning. Sometimes, I’m convinced it was her eyes that first ensnared my father.

My mother is intense. My father, on the other hand, has a light-hearted and jovial exterior, but could be brutal when it came to matters of commerce.

In my mind, they were the quintessential opposites attract love story. Since many High Fae families were focused on keeping bloodlines strong, they often denied their children the chance at finding a true mated bond or love match. Instead, they relied on favorable arranged marriages. I have never actually encountered a pair of mates myself, as my mother and father were a love match. For that, I am grateful to have grown upwitnessing two people who, despite not having a mated bond, chose each other for all time.

They’re lucky their families didn’t intervene. I am also lucky that despite Versa’s betrothal being what would be considered a financially beneficial arrangement, she was happy. The attraction was there, and I believe my father would have never forced a decision upon her. We were his pride and joy, after all, and he’d never have condemned one of his daughters to sadness… I paused, contemplating the thought that despite that, I was indeed condemned—and powerless to stop it.

Each portrait featuring two daughters now felt like it might as well be just one. Will they miss me? And for how long? Hundreds of years could pass until my family took their final breaths, and my time amongst them was a mere season. Not that they would, but there was even time for my mother and father to replace me with a newborn should they so choose. Maybe even a male heir.

It never did bother them that they only had two daughters. Even though the families of the High Court were encouraged to breed large families. It’s a shock they stopped after me and my sister, but they did get two for the price of one. I couldn’t help but feel some sense of impending grief, that for my mother and father these portraits which brought them joy would someday make them feel despair.

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