Page 2 of Unlikely Omega

Old customs, these, left over from the Fae, some say. People don’t see the contradiction in hating them and keeping their Temples, cities, customs, even their gods alive.

“A whole race,” Councilor Mazarine Elend goes on, “doesn’t just vanish. They are here, among us. Waiting.”

Councilor Kaidan laughs and a few of the others titter along. “Spooky.”

“You forgot,” she says, ignoring me as Kaidan should, “how cruel they are. How bloodthirsty. What they did to us. That’s why we don’t really hate the Fae anymore; because we humans forgot. Glorified them. Beautified them. They were animals, without ethics, without humanity. They murdered us, cut us into pieces to feed their dogs. Does anyone remember?”

I listen to her but all I can think of is how we describe in our history books how we tortured and killed Fae, not how they tormented us. We took pride in what we did to them. So how are we now complaining?

For some reason, my fingers tremble around the candle. With measured steps, I return to the filigree candelabra I lit earlier, approach the wick to the golden flame. Three candles are already burning and adding a fourth feels like an imbalance, so I stick it inside the holding cup and grab another from my bag. Five is another sacred number, after all.

I stare into the dancing flames as the council continues its debate—but about what? What are they so agitated about?

“The Fae are among us,” she goes on, “mixed with the human population. Interbreeding. It happened a lot in the early days, before we screened the omegas and suppressed them. Before we started the program to eliminate the Fae blood. But you can see their traits appearing in the populace, in any unexpected place, in backward hamlets and farms on the fringe.”

“Like her,” councilor Kaidan says and a hush falls.

A prickle spreads between my shoulder blades. They can’t be talking about me.

But there’s nobody else apart from the council and me inside this room. I scan the doors quickly, in case a maid has stepped in.

Nobody is there.

“Turn around, girl,” Councilor Mazarine says. “Take that veil off.”

The prickles spread. A shiver racks me, along with an urge to flee—but go where? This is my home, even if I feel out of place in it. So I turn around and suddenly they are all looking at me.

All of them.

“The veil,” Councilor Mazarine snaps and though my hands are trembling badly now, I lift one and unhook the veil from my hood, letting it fall.

Artume should be angry about this, about letting them see my face. It’s particular of Goddess Artume to hide the faces of her acolytes. I wish she’d strike them, produce a flash of lightning, set the table on fire so I can run out of here.

“She looks like she has the blood,” Kaidan accuses and said blood goes cold in my veins.

I don’t really know what I look like. Acolytes don’t have mirrors. I know the color of my dark straight hair; I know the basic lines of my face because I touch it every morning and evening when I wash it. It never mattered. A priestess of the goddess always has her face covered, as it’s a goddess who used to kill any man or woman who laid eyes on her bared form.

“But she’s from an old family,” Councilor Elethia says, eyes narrowing. “The Vespere family is pure or so it was always thought.”

“Is it, though?” Councilor Mazarine wonders. “And it only goes to prove what I have been saying all along. The signs are there.”

“The signs? If by signs you mean yet another witch hunting for everyone even remotely looking like a Fae, having light or dark eyes, round or pointy ears, big or uptilted eyes, basically any shape and color at all—”

“You know the prophecy.” Councilor Mazarine is still giving me the stink-eye—although I am apparently proof supporting her theory that our population still carries Fae blood.

But there’s more to her words, her intensity. She’s… scared of something.

What, though? In the Anchar Empire, humans control everything, and the Empire sprawls as far as the eye can see. No other kingdom can threaten us, not even the southern kingdoms that control the ports of the Great Sea.

“Stop seeing ghosts everywhere,” Councilor Elethia says with a flick of her hand that’s meant to be dismissive. She then reaches for her goblet and takes a sip of her blossom wine—Fae recipe, as most luxury products are. “You can’t really tell who carries Fae blood in his or her veins. We’ve dissected enough people to know that.”

My teeth grit as I pull my veil back up.

“As if you can tell by their internal organs,” Councilor Mazarine scoffs. “There isn’t always a mirroring, you know, a reversal of their organs’ position inside their bodies. Not if the blood is diluted.”

“And if it’s diluted, then why are you concerned? No Fae omegas will rise, and no alphas with Fae traits have been detected in centuries. In the case that any such omega rises, she will be cut down. Let’s not forget, the prophecy is old and crusty, the words of a mad prophetess, probably high on fumes from the sacred fires.”

“Blasphemy,” Councilor Kaidan cries once more, but he sounds bored now. I catch his gaze on me again as I turn back to finish my prayer.

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