#And so smitten for his unhinged fairy friend | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hereisleo · 3 years

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NEON JUNCTION

w/ k.ys & j.wy

g/ cyberpunk!au, friendship, mild angst

w.c/ 3.8k

a.n/ @moonchildsaurora, here it is finally. from your birthday through christmas, new years and now our one year of friendshipvery, this is long overdue and thank you so much for you patience. ah, time flown hasn’t it. i will forever be grateful of your friendship and reaching out to me first, my lovely 🌹 anon. the incredible talent you have in creativity, you have me absolutely smitten over world building (multiples now) in our convos. you’re such a vibrant person, Sunray, and i adore you dearly from the bottom of my heart. seeing your messages first thing in the morning and at the end of the night is a good way to start and end the day. cheers to more years to come and who knows our dynamics might shift akin to woosang. i love you to pluto and back! here’s to friendship and to our first pieces of the year! (excuse the mistakes you find here pretend they don’t exists).

t.w/ expletives, character death (not the mains)

playlists/ cyberworld | k.ys skates & drones

An illegal virtual world. A damaged psyche.

How far is Yeosang willing to go to find the answers to his questions? Will he put his friendship on the line? Just as how his life is beginning to near its end. The DarkNet is not a place for weaklings and its the only place where he perhaps will get his answers.

A treacherous journey is afoot.

Yeosang knows the DarkNet better than he knows his world, the real world where his body is still on the chair in the attic of his friend’s humble abode. In the net, it’s only his mind and light particles forming his appearance. Dangerous but thrilling. He has come to love the rushing adrenaline, an outlet for him to rid of his pent up frustration. Is he properly armed? Is his supply stocked well? In the old world, this is all a video game played on television. In the current world, the world he lives in, the post-apocalyptic environment, this is his reality. The DarkNet, everything illegal happens here. Credit, fame, information, it doesn’t matter what or who you are in the real world but the DarkNet requires you to build a name for yourself. It has taken so much from him. He’s sore, tired, most definitely overworked although the last is self-imposed for many reasons. He can’t rest until he has answers and the credits needed.

A virus slams his wall of codes, dragging him into a fight, vision blurring slightly from the impact and red lights of warning. His monitor reads a huge output of energy from the wild AI that strikes him. The resounding sound of ‘FIGHT’ reverberates in his ears and his light particle fingers flew across the screen, mind racing and the heartbeat bar on the top right corner shines yellow in warning with how fast his heart is hammering in this ribcage. Not being able to code is akin to a death sentence in his line of work. Talons slam on to his screen, vicious orange lines of codes burning into his memory, a phoenix avatar. He hasn’t seen one in so long after- No, now is not the time, Yeosang. A little character waving a sign appears, the nervous bouncing and worried expression have him refocusing. ‘STAY ALIVE.’ He will and with it comes forth his avatar, roaring at the wild phoenix AI. A sophisticated dragon in black codes emerges, wrestling the phoenix on to the virtual dirt ground. If there’s one thing Yeosang has that is his own, it’ll be willpower. His friend calls it being stubborn but he’ll take stubborn too.

The virtual cheering falls deaf to his ears, the colosseum is a mere replica of past time, almost real, he could almost touch it. Almost. Alas, what’s long gone can never be rebuilt the same way. Yeosang simply doesn’t have the clearance or importance to enter the colosseum in the real world. No, those are for the governmental scums. The reason why he resorts to the DarkNet. Another swipe recalibrates his mind that he’s still in the middle of a deathmatch. He hates phoenix, they’re hard to kill. His neon green French nails dance under the black light of his screen, the pads of his fingers typing codes after codes. ‘TERMINATE’ and his dragon glows from within, orange light peeking between the scales, rumbling with brewing fire. The dragon pins the phoenix to the ground by its neck, the angry screeching of the bird makes Yeosang ground his teeth. Too close to home, the similarity of the screams of survival from that night comes crashing to the forefront of his mind. “End it, Mars!” He yells and his dragon obeys, jaws unhinging and relentless waterfall of flames burn the phoenix to its ashes. ‘VICTORY’ flashes on his screen. He doesn’t stick around for long, his vitals are yellow, caution. It’s time to log out, he taps the green box of ‘EXIT’ on the corner. The tugging sensation of his mind being dragged back into reality has him closing his eyes to diminish the dull ache. Yeosang doesn’t see the ashes trembling as his light apparition disappears from the illegal virtual world.

Disengaging from the DarkNet is proving to be difficult for Yeosang, his consciousness ebbs and flows, brainwaves tangled up in what’s real and what’s not. Wooyoung stands stiffly next to the Meta, feeling sick in his stomach, chest constricting with worry. He’s not averse to the virtual world but it doesn’t mean he likes it the same. He watches the Meta shut down, Yeosang’s vitals and brain activity updated on the glass screen mounted on the wall. The little character Yeosang crafted into the AI system jumps up and down with happy chirps, ‘STABLE.’ Hehetmon, it’s called, a moniker after the old TV show from the gone world. He and Yeosang would binge-watch together occasionally when he’s not swamped from juggling two jobs. Three. Watching over Yeosang is a job in itself. A job he’s willing to sacrifice everything else for.

A groan has Wooyoung almost throwing himself to his friend but he digs his heels and instead he kneels beside the blasted chair and hands reaching to disconnect all the wires attached to Yeosang’s body. He doesn’t know all the names of the cables but he does know the two most important, the EKG and the digital implant. Hehetmon on the screen highlights the different wires that need to be detached first. The cables slither itself back to its ports within the chair. He gingerly touches the base of Yeosang’s neck, the wire attached to the neural digital implant gives into his fingers without a fight. He thinks it’s muscle memory, he does this often enough Hehetmon keeps a record on how fast he could bring Yeosang out of the Meta. (Less than a minute when push comes to shove but usually under two.) They have come so far.

14-year-old Wooyoung was putting his younger brother to sleep, a worn-out storybook clutched between his hand as his brother rested against his chest, the strong thumping of his heart and his voice lulling the younger. He could have used the tablet, everything was in it but they only had one and he didn’t want to take it from his parents. They needed it more and they couldn’t afford another one, they couldn’t afford many things. His parents splurged on a book when they first had him, a treasure for their little treasure. He had read the compiled fairytales from cover to cover, the make-believe of the olden freedom, a taste he can only experience between the pages and in his mind when the house was still. A dream far from reality.

The door creaked open and Wooyoung stiffened. It was the newcomer. “How’s Kyungmin?” Timid. The new addition- Yeosang, his parents scolded him for being impolite by not referring to the other boy by his name. Exhausted, malnourished and was most definitely ill. His parents were apprehensive about Yeosang's sudden appearance but took him in regardless. Wooyoung was reluctant to have a new addition in the place. As if they need another mouth to feed. They were struggling to meet ends. He glanced at the barely one-year-old sleeping on his chest, the high temperature took a toll on the small body. “The fever broke.” He left it at that and Yeosang was understanding enough to let the matter rest. He put the book aside and cradled Kyungmin securely before standing up. Yeosang was shifting from foot to foot by the door, Wooyoung sighed exasperatedly, he was tired enough, “Just lie down somewhere already.” The blonde let out an awkward thanks and shuffled to the bottom bunk bed on the other side of the room. Wooyoung didn’t have the energy to tell him the bed Yeosang occupied was his. He left the room and laid Kyungmin back in his crib in his parents' room.

“What are you doing?” Wooyoung didn’t expect Yeosang to flinch at the question nor did he expect to find the other boy to be curled up on the floor and reading the fairy tales book. Yeosang stood up, the book slipping from his hands and both of them winced when it hit the ground. He picked it up hastily and hung his head, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” Wooyoung waved him off, “It’s fine.” Thick silence blanketed the room and neither moved to ease it. Yeosang opened his mouth before closing it again. He managed to string out a sentence after a while, “There were never any books back there.” Back there? Did he mean home? “Do your parents never read you to sleep?” Wooyoung almost apologised, Yeosang flinched at the mention of parents. The blonde shook his head and Wooyoung felt his stomach twist. “Mum used to sing me to sleep.” His chest tightened.

“How did you end up out here, Yeosang?” Wooyoung thought he was a bastard for not calling Yeosang by his name sooner. He never witnessed someone look so surprised by hearing their name. He walked up to his bed and sat down, patting the space next to him. Yeosang hesitated before giving in and sat next to him, posture tense and ready to bolt. “I ran away.”

Yeosang rouses from his ‘sleep’, the warm dark yellow light welcoming him into reality and so does the familiar voice next to him. Wooyoung is reading to him and he recognises the old story immediately. The Ugly Duckling. “It’s getting worse lately.” The pages flutter and Wooyoung keeps reading line after line in soft tandem. The book closes inaudibly. “You slept through dinner.” Yeosang steps into the Meta in the afternoon and for him to wake up at night, it’s getting worse indeed. He’s grateful that he hasn’t started hallucinating though he knows it wouldn’t be far if he keeps going at the pace he’s been putting his psyche through.

“Woo-”

“I know.”

“Wooyoung, I-”

“I know, Yeosang!”

“I know you can’t stop going into the Meta. I know I can’t stop you from fighting in the DarkNet. I know you need answers. But would you please take care of yourself for once!” Wooyoung runs an aggravated hand through his hair, he slumps forward in his seat, elbows digging to his knees and face hidden in his palms. Yeosang falls silent, letting his best friend, who is as close as a brother, gather his bearing. He stands up and his legs give out under him, muscles convulsing, sending him tumbling back to the Meta chair. He feels like puking yet his throat is also closing up, his head spinning and there is ringing in his ears, Wooyoung’s voice sounds so distant even though he is being held against the ravenette. He could make out flashing blue lights through his blurry vision, the health scanner kept handy beeps but he could barely hear it.

It could have been a minute or ten or an hour before Yeosang takes a hold of reality. His heart slams furiously within his ribcage and he’s once again reminded of the sped-up mortality rate of a DarkNet gladiator. The effects the Meta has on a person is damaging and he started to show the symptoms of what they called the bleeding effect. He currently renders more physical than mental and it won’t be long until the latter catches up. For how long he’s been exposed to the Meta, it’ll be sooner than he expects.

He blindly searches for Wooyoung’s hand, grasping it in a vice-like grip. He’s not the only one who’s scared. Yeosang doesn’t want to lose his sanity. He’s exhausted enough but there’s no rest for the wicked. He can’t rest, he can’t sleep with both eyes closed knowing there are answers for him out there and he needs to find it. He’s quite willing to put his psyche on the line even if it means him being thrown into the loony bin. Wooyoung loops his arms around Yeosang, tight enough for the blonde to feel how fast Wooyoung’s heart is racing. There’s a hole of emptiness in his stomach. “Can you stay with me tonight?” His voice is too raspy for either’s liking. There’s not a peep of sound coming from Wooyoung. Action speaks louder than words, especially when it’s Wooyoung. Wooyoung has a lot of words to use and yet he chooses not to, Yeosang knows better than to question it. He trusts the other with his life, his psyche and all that he is. There’s nothing that would err Yeosang to turn his back against Wooyoung. He owes Wooyoung way too much. All the credits in his account couldn’t repay what the other has done for him. It’s never enough and never will be. The seven years that they have known each other and the experiences they go through, Yeosang thinks he could never not trust Wooyoung. His life in reality and the Meta is in Wooyoung’s hands. Others would say their relationship isn’t healthy, that they are too dependent on one another and maybe that’s true. He knows he can’t function in the real world without the other.

“Promise me one thing, Yeosang. Don’t go into the Meta without me.”

Yeosang nuzzles his head into the space between Wooyoung’s shoulder and neck, his hands bunching the fabric of his friend’s shirt. The emptiness settles deeper. It’s not an answer because he knows he can’t keep such a promise. Wooyoung knows it too.

The DarkNet has shifted again. No two places look the same after each login. It changes constantly to avoid detection from the government’s pesky security. The lines of codes forming his apparition in the Net walk on the edge of a skyscraper. Mars languidly flew around the building ready to catch him if he slips. He won’t die necessarily, forcibly exited from the Net with some repercussions but not dead or just as good as dead. He has heard of those who were in comatose or worse. Mars huffs out a flaming breath, a rumbling growl thickening in its throat and Yeosang halts on his track. A stray orange feather twirls into his vision and his hands involuntarily shake, mind racing hundreds of miles an hour and he almost could feel the phantom cold sweat. He sees Mars’s wing slides between him and the feather, the thick lines of codes that formed the dragon burst into a pixelated mess and his ears ring from the explosion and the angry roar of his avatar. In the distance, Yeosang sights a phoenix emerging amongst the skyscrapers.

He sinks to his knees, hands covering his ears trying to block the screaming in his head or maybe he’s the one who is screaming. Mars knocks him into safety, away from the ledge and under its wing. No! No! No! His nails dig into his scalp.

The screeching of a phoenix avatar was the last warning he heard. The last sound to be ingrained to his memory with his mentor, with his brother, with his only friend in the blasted tech conglomerate. Yeosang could make out the silent words of the man across from him, trapped under locking codes and rubbles. Damages sustained in the Meta transferred over to the real world. The red warning signs ‘LOW HEALTH’ flashed before his eyes. His screen lit up with white words and Hehetmon skipped across the coded lines in loading.

- AVATAR TRANSFER IN PROGRESS -

URL: ORTECH://psh.MARS.980403

PREDECESSOR: [loading…]

Yeosang reached out futilely. The orange feathers fluttered around them, singing with heat as they glowed and sparked. Through his heavily cracked screen, he saw a small content yet the regretful smile of his friend. His eyes prickled with tears, dread, no, acceptance of the inevitable sank into him. Why is it always the best one to go first? One of the feathers zinged, a chain reaction of explosions rained upon them and Yeosang couldn’t hear his scream.

“Seonghwa!”

Take care of him, Mars.

- AVATAR TRANSFER COMPLETED -

“Kang Yeosang, get a grip of yourself!”

Yeosang stills at the call of his name. His battle screen is already up and the rectangular box of the communication line is open. Since when? Hehetmon spins in cheers when his eyes locked onto the pair of brown eyes he’s never tired of seeing. The beauty mark under the right eye puts a soothing balm into his mind. Wooyoung. His nails ease from its abuse against his scalp. Fuck, he must look so pathetic right now.

“You little bastard, I told you not to go into the Meta without me!” Guilt tinges in his chest. Yeosang opens his mouth, apology ready at the tip of his tongue. “Keep your ‘sorry’, we got a bird to cook.” Wooyoung never fails to reassure him but he knows it’s merely the calm before the storm. He’ll get his scolding later. Mummy never forgets.

He does what he does best even in trouble, “I’m still taller than you.” There’s still a quiver in his voice but the incredulous look on Wooyoung’s face makes him feel better. “Strip it off its feathers already, dammit! There’s milk on fire here!” Yeosang exhales and rises to his feet, his screen following his movement. The French manicure is chipped but the neon green is still vibrant in contrast to the black light emitting in front of him. He types in a series of battle commands, Mars flies higher and higher into the virtual light blue sky. Blades like armour materialise over the avatar’s claws and thick orange light peeks through between its scales. The phoenix is still far but his screen picks up the avatar’s image, the damages from their previous encounter aren’t fully repaired. What kind of a gladiator does that? Even Wooyoung can do better.

From Yeosang’s view, Mars appears to be a crow, so small up so high. Of course, he never sees the real bird, far extinct in the old world but there’s nothing that couldn’t be found on the Net. His avatar reaches right below the height barrier and takes a sharp nosedive, its weight falling at terminal velocity. Mars jaws unhinged and the fire stokes in the depths of its belly slowly rise to its throat. The screech emitting from the bird is as irritating as he remembers and his fingers tremble. He can’t tell if it’s fear or physical exertion but his head is in the game and mind is surprisingly clear despite the fireballs of feathers that are about to burst. Mars is partly hidden from his eyes with the myriad of singing explosives surrounding the dragon. Yeosang learns the hard way and he’s a learned man as Wooyoung puts it. He activates the defence codes just as the first fireball of many rains upon the black scales. He smirks from his perch, he didn’t spend many sleepless nights perfecting the codes for nothing, the tautness in his shoulders and back are good reminders too. The enraged squawk from the phoenix AI lifts his mood. The crosshair locks into place and the ‘TERMINATE’ sign appears. “Give it a good roast, Mars.” His finger taps the sign and an eruption of fire falls on the ugly big bird. His avatars claws sink into the phoenix broken pixels and glitches are visible around the broken codes. The storm of fire doesn’t relent, damages blooming across the sky and buildings. Surely the surge of energy catches the attention of fellow DarkNet users and government security. Mars doesn’t let up until each code is destroyed beyond repair, its claws tearing the wings apart by the joints. Yeosang slams his fists against the screen and yells when ‘VICTORY’ pops up in vibrant gold. Wooyoung’s cheers fall deaf to his ears over Mars roaring.

He slumps against the ledge, laughing like tomorrow won't come. He can’t believe it. He’s still alive and he supposes revenge is exacted. It feels empty somehow, he doesn’t know how to process the emotions in him at the moment. The event hasn’t hit him yet. “You’re so melodramatic, Yeosang,” Wooyoung chirps from the corner of his screen, “Give it a good roast, Mars!” His friend mimics his words earlier and Yeosang rolls his eyes but he can’t help the smile creeping on his face. Mars lets out a proud huff beside him, the dragon gives him an affectionate nudge and its ember eyes shine with much familiarity. His breath hitches but the avatar disappear with a sharp toothy grin. “Yeosang?” He makes a noise of acknowledgement. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He might have, “I’m alright, Woo. I’m going back now.” Even now you still look after me. Messages and clips of the fight start to spread in the forum. Data from the scrimmage is filed away, he’ll deal with them later. Hehetmon is skipping over the green box of ‘EXIT’ and he lets the mini AI jump on the button. He closes his eyes as the pull on the base of his neck erases his condensed light form from the DarkNet.

“Six months?!”

Wooyoung clicks his tongue as he inspects the nonexistent dirt under his fingernails, “Do you want one year instead? Okay. I’m completely fine with it.” Yeosang frantically refuses the added length, “Six months! Six months! Deal!” He never wants to wipe the shit-eating smirk off his friend's face so much. “Get scrubbing then.” Mummy never forgets indeed. Wooyoung not only scolds him but also gives his ear a good pinch and twist as soon as he is fit to walk around. Now he’s stuck on dishwashing duty under ‘consider it your retribution for breaking your promise.’ Yeosang sighs, he picks up a dirty dish and squirts the washing liquid on the plate. He’ll count himself lucky Wooyoung didn’t put him out there as hall staff.

“Did you process the data from last time?” His hand stops moving at the inquiry. Hell, he didn’t like what he saw on the files and Wooyoung most certainly wouldn’t either. God, he hates this so much. He doesn’t like it when the past comes biting back. “The phoenix URL traces back to ORBIT Tech.” A utensil clatters to the floor and Wooyoung curses like his seventeen-year-old self. “ORBIT Tech? Please tell me it’s a different conglomerate and not the piece of ‘the future is virtual science’ shit of your lunatic father’s!”

Yeosang nods, lips thinning, “Unfortunately, it is. That’s not the worst.” Wooyoung sucks in a breath, the come hither motion gestures him to go on. “I thought the phoenix was a wild AI or someone from the DarkNet was bribed,” he pauses, eyes searching for the dark browns of his friend’s, “It was under Seonghwa’s name.”

“Seonghwa’s dead! He couldn’t possibly-” Wooyoung halts his rant when he notices the unflinching gaze of his seven years companion. It clicks in his mind the inevitable of many other inevitables are descending rapidly on them. At some point, there will be a time where he couldn’t protect Yeosang. There will be a time where his friend has to return from where he comes from. He would be lying if he didn’t lose sleep thinking of this day. The twinkling skyscraper at the centre of the city mocks him. Yeosang doesn’t belong in the nest infested with lies. He’ll be damned, he much rather have Yeosang fights in the DarkNet instead. He’ll take the repercussions. But the chills running down his spine, the pressure in his chest and the unnerving hollowness in his stomach douse him in the harsh reality they live in. The finality of it grips his marrows.

“It’s time for me to stop running.”

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bittykimmy13 · 4 years

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The Longest Night

Midwinter is here. For years, Bristel has been smitten with Yarrow, a fairy from a viciously rival village. Nothing can prepare him for the moment that Yarrow requests his company at the Midwinter festival. And certainly nothing can prepare him for the consequences.

~~~

SAY HELLO to my fixation from the past 2 months!! Bristel and Yarrow will appear in a future Shot in the Dark novella!

Characters belong to me and the lovely @marydublin5 <3

(( More Shot in the Dark. ))

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“You don’t seem excited. What happened? You’re always buzzing before solstice festivals.” Rhona’s eyes darted higher in her vanity mirror to look at Bristel across the room. “You get to see your lordling. What, has he become less dreamy recently?” Bristel was sprawled on Rhona’s bed, so lost in thought that it took him a moment to catch up with what she said. He sat up, pointedly ignoring the dreamy comment. “It would be more exciting if he actually spoke to me.” “What do you mean? You’ve vanished half the night the past few festivals. You don’t have to lie to me if you’ve been sneaking off with him.” Her gaze sparkled with intrigue, desperate for gossip. “I won’t tell a soul.” “Well, when all your friends are soulless, that shouldn’t be hard.” He walked up behind her and checked the mirror to make sure his lavender hair wasn’t too tousled from laying down. “But for your information, I do not sneak off with him. Solstices have become so boring, I can barely remember them. Forgive me for not flying laps around the room.” “Hm. Maybe take it easy on the wine tonight, then.”

Bristel flicked his hand at the mirror, frosting it over with ice. Rhona whirled around, pouting.

“No need to get testy,” she said. “I was just so sure I saw him leading you off into the shadows during Midsummer.”

“What are you talking about, he barely looks at me!” He began pacing—luckily Rhona’s room offered ample space for Bristel’s wings to flicker with agitation. “I thought he was making some sort of cute game of it, but it’s gone on too long. He doesn’t have any interest in me. And, well… it’s for the best, isn’t it? It’s not as if anything worthwhile could actually happen between us.” Giving up on her reflection in the frosted mirror, Rhona strode into Bristel’s path. Her peach hair was pinned loosely, allowing most of it to fall in elegant waves. Her gown glittered like starlight, befitting a young woman of her status. “Don’t be a spoilsport,” she chided. “There are plenty of fairies around here who make eyes at the ravine villagers during solstice—and they do more than that, but you didn’t hear it from me. It’s harmless fun, it doesn’t have to mean anything.” She egged him on with a scandalous grin. “And don’t lie to me. I know you haven’t given up hope completely.” He crossed his arms. “What makes you say that?” “I see you fussing over your hair.” She reached out and tapped the side of his face with her fingertips. “And I know you only came in here so I can glamour some pretty festival glyphs around your eyes.” Bristel shrugged innocently. “Or maybe I like spending time with you when your posse isn’t around?” “Sure, Bris.” She steered him to the vanity. “Sit down and take that stupid ice off the mirror if you want me to make you presentable for your lordling.”

~~~

Bristel entered the Midwinter festival with silver glyphs shining around his eyes. It went perfectly with the icy decorations that swept across the tree trunks and shrubbery that enclosed the festivities. Soft light glowed from the windows carved into the tree trunks. Even the creek that coiled halfway around the grove seemed iridescent tonight. Already, the visitors from the ravine village had arrived. As Bristel and Rhona flew their way through the mingling crowd in the grove, he could sense the typical tension that was present at every solstice festival. They were civil enough tonight, but tomorrow, they would go back to being bitter enemies. The shaky truce was practically held together by Midsummer and Midwinter, when both villages would honor the extremes of the seasons side by side. There were musicians peppered throughout the festival—both from the creek village and the ravine village. The rivals tried to outshine each other. Some solstices, this led to a discordant tune of harps and fiddles and flutes. Tonight, the rivalry seemed to work in harmony. There was no denying the elegance of two rival girls practically dancing around each other in the air while they plucked their strings. Pausing at one of the shrubs, Bristel swiftly reinforced a shimmering pattern of ice that looked like it might be melting. Although it was the dead of winter, the grove was glamoured to stay at a mild temperature. He had performed a great deal of the spellwork that would keep the ice and frost intact through the night. Perhaps that would impress Yarrow. But likely not. Rhona grabbed Bristel’s arm, distracting him from his work. “Your lordling is looking at you,” she whispered. It was horrifically embarrassing how quickly Bristel swiveled his head. He tried to make up for it by allowing his eyes to rove casually, as if he hadn’t spotted Yarrow immediately by one of the decorative shrubs, accompanied by the other royal families from his village. He wore wine red tonight—one of Bristel’s favorite colors, but that was entirely irrelevant—and he was indeed looking back. Bristel tentatively raised his hand in greeting and wrestled away a hopeful smile. In response, Yarrow clenched his jaw and looked away, choosing instead to talk to his sister. Rhona shuddered. “I can’t stand that one,” she said under her breath, nodding at the sister. “High Lady Wren. What a nightmare.” Tearing his eyes away from Yarrow, Bristel frowned. “Why, what’s wrong with her?” “Really? You’re obsessed with her brother, and you don’t even know what she is?” “A high lady?” Bringing her voice even lower, Rhona glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “Her affinity is manipulation magic, from what I’ve heard. I’m surprised the other royal families allowed her to take her father’s place after his death. But now that I think about it, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s using her magic to manipulate the lot of them. Or maybe they’re grooming her into some kind of torturer.” Pursing his lips, Bristel sized up Wren. Although she was older than Yarrow, she was smaller and unassuming. It was hard to believe she housed the kind of glamour that could completely rearrange and unhinge a fairy’s mind. Yarrow looked away from Wren to scowl at Bristel. “I don’t know what you see in him,” Rhona said, tugging his arm to lead him in the other direction. “He’s seems like nothing more than an egotistical hothead.” “He wasn’t always like that,” Bristel argued, allowing himself to be taken to one of the many refreshment spreads at the base of a tree. The familiar scent of vegetable stew and warm berries made him feel marginally better. “He used to smile at me. He used to look like he wanted to talk, but his father refused to let him leave his side.” “Well, his father’s not there anymore, is he?” Rhona grabbed a berry slice, weighing it in her hands. “Face it, your lordling is grown up now and he’s turned into one of them. He realizes you’re not worth getting tangled up with.” He shouldered her. “Hey, thanks a lot.” “Oh, you know that’s not a knock on you. Look at you, you’re positively enchanting. But he’s been taught nothing but contempt for our village.” “Since when have I ever really been considered part of this village?” The words came out hotter than intended. He started to apologize, but Rhona recovered quickly, clearing her throat. “Come on, if you want to fool around with a ravine boy, we could find someone who’s less… important.” When Bristel didn’t answer, she sighed and kneaded her temples. He saw her gaze wander closer to the center of the grove, where a group of her cohorts had their heads bent together as they talked excitedly about something or other. “Go on,” he said, offering a half-hearted smile. “I’ll come find you when I’m done moping.” Part of him wanted her to insist on staying and keeping him company while he moped, but she looked relieved at being let off the hook. She squeezed his shoulder good-naturedly and fluttered off, leaving him to his troubled thoughts. He tried not to feel empty inside when Rhona’s friends greeted her with a chorus of hooting cheers. Just as he was working up the motivation to grab a bowl of stew, someone came up beside him. He didn’t look their way, stepping aside in search of somewhere more isolated to gather himself. But then she spoke. “Hello.” Bristel nearly jumped out of his skin, goosebumps raising along his arms. It was Yarrow’s sister, Wren. A high lady and alleged manipulator. Her long hair was jet-black like Yarrow’s, decorated with little shards of rubies shimmering like wet blood. Her smile was friendly enough, but there was something lurking beneath her eyes that he didn’t want to search for. “A radiant solstice to you,” he uttered in greeting. He’d never spoken to a manipulator before, but he knew the stories. They were capable of terrible and amazing things. She didn’t seem particularly intimidating, and that made her all the more frightening. “You were staring at Yarrow,” Wren said, reaching for a berry slice. “You make it too obvious.” Color rushed to his face. “High lady, I-I wasn’t! I… I’m not even sure who you mean. Is he, er… related to you?” She giggled. “You’re a bad liar too. Are you enjoying the festival?” His mind raced. Why on earth would a high lady from the ravine village care that he, of all people, was enjoying the festival? “It’s fine,” he said, his gaze darting around desperately for Rhona. “It’s a bit boring, isn’t it?” He drew in a steadying breath. Wren must have been used to this type of flustered reaction, because she didn’t seem bothered at all. For all he knew, she was already working her magic on him as punishment for staring at her brother. He wondered if he would even be aware of it. Before he could answer her question, let alone sort out his own questions, someone came up from behind Wren and took her shoulder. “The other lords and ladies want to know where you’ve gone off to.” Yarrow. Wren turned to him and pouted. “I’m sick of talking politics. Can’t you see I’m trying to make friends?” She gestured at Bristel, who felt more like a hostage than a friend. “Isn’t the point of this whole dull festival to make nice with the creek people? I can’t do that with the court breathing down my neck—everyone around here is afraid of them.” Yarrow smirked. “Afraid of you, perhaps. With all your creepy staring and unsolicited conversation.” And unholy magic, Bristel added. “I find that offensive,” Wren said, jabbing Yarrow in the chest. “You have every right to. Now hurry, before they start getting upset.” It was the strangest thing, seeing a high lady shooed off by her younger brother, but they must have had a much more comfortable relationship than it appeared on the surface. Bristel couldn’t help but feel like he had been saved—and by someone he fancied, no less. Relief should have overtaken him, but when Yarrow’s attention turned to him, he found his heart thudding with uncertainty. “Don’t mind her,” Yarrow said. “She’s still getting used to her rank as high lady. Our father would keep us on a short leash during festivals to make sure we stayed out of trouble. I suppose we’re both still unsure what to do with the freedom.” Bristel nodded shakily. “Seems you never left the royals’ side for years.” Amusement flickered at the corner of Yarrow’s lips as the implication hung in the air with all the subtlety of an earthquake. “Not that I’ve been paying close attention!” Bristel stammered. “It’s just—well, the royal families in your village don’t seem very interested in mingling outside their circle. Not that I’ve been keeping track of that, either.” He heaved a sigh and dragged a hand down his face. “I’m not trying to be rude, really, I—” “I don’t think you could be rude even if you tried,” Yarrow cut in. “Though perhaps by accident. Do you remember when we were children? The first time you came to my village for Midsummer, you didn’t look where you were going. You flew right into me.” Bristel would have gladly allowed the earth to swallow him where he stood. “You remember that?” “Of course! My father threw a fit, and you were apologizing so quickly, I couldn’t understand what you were saying. Then you flew off before I could get a word in.” “You did get a word in. Several of them. ‘Why don’t you watch where you’re going?’” Yarrow chuckled. “Did I really say that? I don’t recall. All I know is that I kept an eye out for you every festival after that.” Face growing hotter, Bristel stared at the refreshment table. There were other fairies there now, acting as though they were interested in the food, but he could sense them eavesdropping. “You wanted to make sure I didn’t ram into you again?” Bristel asked. “That, yes. And I always thought you seemed… interesting.” Oh, stars. Someone at the table was bound to have heard that. He’d have to ask Rhona about what sort of gossip started roving around—a ravine royal talking to the creek’s lonely outsider. “Yes, well…” Bristel gestured around vaguely, desperate to pile on how interesting he was. “I did help with some of the ice enchantments myself, you know. I mean, it’s… not as impressive as the decorative flames in your village during Midsummer.” A full-blown smile sprang to Yarrow’s face, startled and endeared and… sad? All three emotions vanished swiftly when he looked down and cleared his throat. Before Bristel could ask what was wrong, Yarrow fixed him with a more serious look that made Bristel’s heart sink. Certainly this was where the two of them would part ways, and Yarrow would tell him to stop staring all the time. “Would you like to accompany me tonight?” Yarrow asked. “Well, we’re… already accompanying each other right now, aren’t we?” Yarrow raised his eyebrows. “I thought it might be polite to ask a little more formally.” “Oh.” Bristel thought his heart might explode. “I’m not usually this stupid, I promise you.” Yarrow offered his hand, apparently oblivious to the stares around them. “Is that a yes?” Bristel wanted nothing more than to take his hand, but he resisted. “What about the royals, and your sister? Won’t they be upset if they see us… accompanying each other?” “You needn’t worry about them. I can make my own decisions.” He closed the distance and took Bristel’s hand. Then he lowered his voice. “But if you’re so worried, fine. Do you know of any places we can go where no one will bother us?” Bristel was reeling from the contact, praying that he wouldn’t let out a burst of ice from sheer excitement. “I know just the place,” he said. Although his wings were folded tightly to his back, Bristel felt like he was floating as he led Yarrow to the edge of the grove, careful to weave around the shrubbery to lose the gazes of whoever was casually watching. Along the way, he spotted Rhona, who looked on with a strange mix of disapproval and pride. She raised her hand and wiggled her fingers at him. Bristel pressed his lips together to hide a smile, hurrying on. “I’ve always liked this place,” Bristel told Yarrow, flitting over the roots of a massive tree. He landed amongst the entanglement and made his way down until the soft earth was beneath him. “It floods when the creek swells, but it’s safe enough right now.” Yarrow picked his way through the roots efficiently. “It’s nice,” he murmured. “And you can still hear the—” “Music,” Yarrow finished. “Of course.” He leaned back, half-sitting on one of the jutting roots near the edge. “So… you’re something of a ward to your village’s council, aren’t you? Does that mean you’ll have a seat on it one day?” Bristel swallowed the urge to lie. The last thing he wanted was to talk about how much less impressive his status was than Yarrow’s. “Not exactly,” Bristel admitted. “I’m more of an attendant, really.” “Oh? How did that come about?” “I wasn’t born in the village. My mother was nomadic. I was a child when she brought me—barely ten or eleven. We stopped in the village, and she… she was killed by an owl when she was out foraging. I was more or less adopted by the council and made to earn my keep. No family was willing to take me in, seeing as I was an outsider. Still am, in their eyes.” Yarrow scoffed, his eyes darkening. “Strange, how your village and mine have different ruling systems. Yet when it comes down to it, it’s all about blood and insiders and outsiders. What a farce.” He softened. “I’m sorry about your mother.” “It’s alright. She wasn’t much of a mother, if that makes it any better.” A funny little smile came to Yarrow’s lips. “No. It’s still pretty depressing.” He casually conjured a ball of purple flame and began tossing it back and forth between his hands. “But believe me, I know how it feels to be disconnected from those around you. The people who are supposed to be your family.” “I’m sorry about your father.” Bristel tried to catch Yarrow’s gaze, but he was too busy playing with the fire. “That was just a couple years ago, wasn’t it? Is it just you and your sister now?” “We have two younger brothers. We aren’t ready yet to keep them under control at festivals, so they stayed back at the village with their governess.” He gave a heavy sigh. “It hasn’t been easy since my father died. Not in the slightest. It feels as though every day Wren and I have to bend over backwards to prove that she is worthy of her title as high lady. And she… she’s changed quite a bit these past months. I barely recognize her.” Quiet hung between them for a few moments, wrapped gently in the music from the festival. “The other royals will have to accept her eventually, won’t they?” Bristel asked softly. “You’re both from a powerful lineage. They have to respect you.” Yarrow extinguished the flame, smoke curling in front of his face. “I’m nothing but a pawn to them. And now, it feels like she sees me the same way. Like I’m someone whose entire worth is based on how useful I am and how well I obey.” His gaze flickered up to meet Bristel’s, vulnerable. “Surely you can understand.” Bristel nodded slowly. “Of course I do. The council expects me to do everything they say, but it’ll never be enough. As long as I’m here. I’ll always be an outsider who should be grateful to live here at all.” Yarrow straightened up and pushed away from the roots. He looked taller with the low earthen ceiling hanging just above his head. He circled around Bristel, looking him up and down thoughtfully. Color rose to Bristel’s face, and he pushed his hair back, trying not to feel like he was being appraised. “I’ve seen you talk to others,” Yarrow said, sounding almost as if he was interrogating. “You’re not a complete outsider.” “Sure, there’s a few who don’t look down their nose at me all the time, but that doesn’t mean I belong.” Although Yarrow passed out of sight, Bristel still felt his eyes. He self-consciously reached up for his hair again, then dragged his fingers down the side of his face. As Yarrow came to stand in front again, his hand flew out and snatched Bristel’s. “Stop doing that,” Yarrow said matter-of-factly, as though he hadn’t just made Bristel’s heart ascend to the stars from the sudden contact. “You’ll ruin your glyphs. I’m sure you don��t want all your friend’s work to go to waste.” Bristel slid his hand free and frowned. “Did… did I tell you that Rhona did the glyphs for me? I don’t remember that.” For the first time that night, it was Yarrow who looked flustered. “Well, I always see you around her at the festivals, and I’ve overheard that she’s the one you creek people go to for solstice glyphs.” Something stirred in Bristel’s chest, knowing how closely Yarrow must have been paying attention to him and those he was around. The notes of the music outside began to stretch into a slower tune—a traditional ballad dedicated to the longest night of the year. Yarrow straightened his shoulders, as though composing himself, and met Bristel’s gaze. “Would you like to dance?” Yarrow asked. Bristel's instinct was to turn him down, certain that he would only make a fool out of himself if he danced with royalty. But instead, a breathless “yes” croaked past his lips. Yarrow didn't hesitate to pull him to the center of the earthen enclosure, and thankfully he didn't expect Bristel to lead. Bristel followed along as best he could, trying to keep his eyes on Yarrow's face instead of down at their feet. Luckily, the steps were similar to the ones Rhona had shown him the past few years. Finally, he was putting that practice to good use. They slowed down, and Yarrow guided Bristel's arms around his neck before slipping his own hands around Bristel's waist. “You’ve been practicing,” Yarrow said softly. “Is it that obvious?” Bristel’s chuckle cut off when Yarrow tugged him into the air, their wings buzzing in harmony. Bristel stared in wonder. “You're a master at this.” Yarrow pulled in closer, practically resting his chin on Bristel’s shoulder. “I have to be,” he whispered. The sound of his voice made pleasant chills creep along Bristel’s skin. Then they began to dance in the air. Bristel focused on not letting their wings collide, but that wasn’t a problem. Yarrow was a natural. He moved as if he knew exactly what to expect, as if the two of them had danced together a million times before. Has he been imagining this moment as much as I have? Bristel wondered. “Do you ever think about leaving?” Yarrow asked suddenly. Bristel stopped at a hover, snatching his hands back in sheer surprise. “Do you?” “All the time.” The light in Yarrow’s eyes was urgent, almost manic. “I just… I never wanted to go alone. I suppose I’ve needed someone to convince me to go through with it.” Unable to believe his ears, Bristel stammered for a second. He had thought about fleeing day in and day out for years. And somehow, the royal he had been swooning over was a kindred spirit. “What about your family?” Bristel asked. “Your rank?” “It doesn’t even feel like family anymore. I can’t take it. One of these days, I’ll end up speaking out. Everything is hanging by a thread, and I feel like I’ll ruin everything for Wren and my brothers if I stay any longer.” Swallowing hard, Bristel took a leap of faith and moved closer. “Then let’s go. Let’s leave this stupid rivalry and politics behind, if that’s what you really want. We could be nomadic.” Something strange came over Yarrow’s face again, rife with sorrow. He looked down, as if he was having second thoughts. “This rivalry… I’m sure you here all about how much your council hates us royals.” Bristel nodded somberly. “All they want is to have one over on your village. Wanting you to get the short end of the stick with trading and territory and all that nonsense. They’ve been especially upset these past few years. You always seem to be one step ahead.” “Is that so?” Yarrow pursed his lips and chuckled humorlessly. “What do you mean about trying to make us get the short end of the stick?” “Well, there’s talk to take more neutral territory for us. Through force, if necessary. They want to be sly about it at the negotiation tomorrow.” Bristel leaned in to catch Yarrow’s gaze, a tentative smile growing. “But that won’t matter anymore, will it? Not for us. That is… if you really mean it about running away.” Yarrow avoided eye contact, pondering. “We should flee while the festival is underway. We’re already at the edge—as long as we don’t draw attention to ourselves, no one will notice. We can stop at my village for supplies before we leave this forest for good.” Bristel could scarcely draw a full breath. He had never felt so simultaneously light and conflicted. No, not conflicted—just sad. He knew what he wanted, there was no conflict there. This place had never really been a home for him, but he would not be able to say goodbye to Rhona. He would simply vanish, though surely she would put two and two together once the news of Yarrow’s disappearance spread. “Let’s go,” Bristel said. He took Yarrow’s hand and guided him out of the roots. The fresh air seemed fresher than ever when they emerged into the night. It wouldn’t be wise to start flying until they were further away. In his hurry, he almost didn’t feel the clamminess of Yarrow’s hand. “Yarrow?” Bristel pulled to a stop and turned around. The music was still playing, and there were conversing voices just beyond a patch of shrubbery. He spoke in a low tone. “Are you sure you want to do this? You’re shaking…” Yarrow let go and took a step back, looking Bristel up and down before settling on his face. Then he grabbed Bristel’s shoulders and leaned in until they were nose to nose. One moment, they were frozen. The next, they both acted: their lips crushed together. Bristel slid his hands up Yarrow’s chest, then around his neck. For a few blissful moments, nothing else mattered. Not until Yarrow broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Bristel’s. “I’m sorry,” Yarrow whispered, his violet eyes wide and evasive. He delivered another kiss—fleeting and frantic. “I really am sorry.” “What?” Bristel cupped his face, trying to catch his stubborn gaze. “What on earth could you be sorry for? We’re leaving! We’ll be together. We’ll—” His whispers choked to a stop when someone came around from the side of the shrub. Wren folded her arms, looking amused. Bristel dropped his hands from Yarrow’s face, but Wren had to have seen everything. He turned to Yarrow, frantically searching for some clue of how to react. “My, my, you’re certainly getting faster at this,” Wren told Yarrow, then waved him off. “Stand aside. I know it wasn’t easy for you to watch last time.” Yarrow clenched his jaw with a longing glance at Bristel. “A few more minutes. Please.” She shook her head. “I told you to be careful, that you were getting too attached. But did you listen?” “What are you talking about?” Bristel demanded, looking between the two of them and shuffling back. Wren sighed and kept her eyes on Yarrow, as if Bristel was beneath her attention. “Tell him, if that’s what you want,” she said. “He didn’t take it well last time. Nearly had a breakdown, the poor dear. What makes you think this time will be any different?” “Yarrow.” Bristel felt like ice was spreading through his chest. “What does she mean last time?” Letting out a slow breath, Yarrow fixed him with a pleading look. He struggled for a moment before getting the words out. “Listen to me, Bristel. This isn’t the first solstice we’ve spent together. It’s the fifth. These past Midsummers and Midwinters, we’ve been sneaking off together, just like tonight.” “No, that’s… that’s not right!” Bristel closed his fists at his sides. “This is the first time we’ve spoken more than a minute, for stars’ sake!” But a shiver ran through him when Yarrow spoke his name—it was the first time he’d said it all night. And Bristel didn’t remember giving it to him. “Yet you’re always ready to jump into his arms,” Wren said, finally addressing Bristel with a sneer. “It’s quite sad, really. Sad enough to make you grow on Yarrow quite a bit. I’m not fond of seeing him upset. Feel free to take comfort in that, but it must be done.” “What is ‘it’?” Bristel asked. Yarrow hesitated and glanced at Wren, who merely crossed her arms, looking more and more annoyed. “It’s… memory alteration,” Yarrow said. “You won’t remember tonight as anything but another uneventful solstice. I’m sorry, Bristel… I just—I’m sorry. We needed to prove our worth to the other royals. Wren is able to keep her position if we offer inside information about trading and upcoming negotiations.” Bristel blinked hard, fighting the threat of tears. “Why? Why me?” “You’re a ward of the council,” Yarrow said helplessly. “And he saw you were smitten with him over the years,” Wren said. “And this is quite enough, Yarrow. There’s no sense in tormenting him any further. Leave, and let me do what I need to do. He won’t feel any pain, you know that. He won’t remember how terrible he feels right now.” Yarrow didn’t budge. He squared his shoulders and glared at her. “No.” “What did you say?” Wren snapped. “I said no. Not this time. Not ever again. I… I can’t do this anymore.” He stepped between Bristel and Wren, his hands trembling at his sides. “I’m done fighting tooth and nail just to be allowed in our own home. We can get far away from here, Wren. Now, while everyone’s distracted with the festival. We can stop at the village, get the boys, and leave all this behind. I refuse to be part of this.” “You’re out of your mind!” Bristel considered flying off as the siblings viciously bickered. There were other fairies just beyond the shrubbery, in the grove. He could call for help… But anger boiled inside of him. Whatever glamour had been performed on him must have been melting away now that he knew the truth. It all came rushing back the more he thought on it, like a blindfold had been ripped from his eyes. The past four festivals had played out the same as tonight, beat by beat. The difference was Yarrow’s improving efficiency. Wren startling him when he was alone. Yarrow coming to shoo her away. Bristel eagerly finding solitude with him. Dancing. Speaking as though they were kindred spirits. The promise to run away together… Betrayal. “It was your idea,” Bristel said softly. The other two turned to him, but he only had eyes for Yarrow. “The first time this happened… You said it was your idea. You laughed. You laughed at how easily I fell for you and your lies.” Yarrow did a good job pretending to be devastated. “Bristel, no. That was two years ago. That was before I… I got to know you. I was just so relieved we had a way to stay in the royals’ good graces—” “But it was your idea, wasn’t it?” Bristel snapped. “Tell me!” The music in the grove faltered at his shout. “Yes,” Yarrow said, his voice breaking as though the word stabbed him in the gut. If that simple word really hurt Yarrow, Bristel wasn’t content to leave it at an emotional wound. His affinity may have been ice, but an inferno of rage burned inside him. He gave a cry of anguish and threw his hands out, aiming them at Yarrow. A gale of ice blasted him squarely in the chest, and he choked out a grunt as he was knocked off his feet. He sprawled on the ground and gasped for air. “How dare you!” Wren shrieked. The sound of buzzing wings approached, voices raising with alarm in search of the commotion. Several other fairies came around the shrubbery—villagers from both the ravine and creek territories. One look at the lordling on the ground was enough to send the ravine villagers into a fury, but they were the least of Bristel’s worries at the moment. Wren was upon him. He could have shoved her off if not for her magic. She dug her fingers into the sides of his head, screaming an incantation he had never heard before. All at once, Bristel lost feeling in his legs. He collapsed while the other fairies looked on. He searched desperately for someone to help him, but no one lifted a finger against Wren. He opened his mouth, but he could not speak. Wren went on with her twisted magic, taking more and more from him. A haze entered the corners of his vision, tunneling into the center. He could see the creek village council and ravine village royals push their way to the front of the forming crowd. Two of the royals ran over to Yarrow, helping him sit up as he clutched his chest and fought to steady his breathing. One of the high lords took the lead, his voice booming over the confused murmurs. “What is the meaning of this?” “High Lord Ivar, this creek parasite attacked Yarrow!” Wren declared. “Unprovoked! I tried to stop him.” Bristel shuddered and tried to speak, but the glamour was too strong. Wren’s fingers were still locked around his head, holding him up. “Treason,” Ivar spat, rounding on the creek council. “Such violence at a solstice festival is punishable by death! And he is your ward, is he not?” Try as he might to fight his haze, Bristel couldn’t make himself react to his own death sentence. He merely sat there as if every bone in his body had been glamoured into lead. His eyes settled on Elise, the head councilwoman of his village—the closest thing to a maternal figure he’d had since his mother’s passing. Elise pursed her lips into a thin line, addressing Ivar. “How do we know your lordling didn’t strike first?” “You’ll find no burns on your ward,” Wren said, then she muttered another spell. “I have a dose of truth glamour on him. Watch for yourself.” She maneuvered herself around Bristel, placing herself right next to him. “Nod or shake your head. Did you attack my brother?” Bristel had no control. He nodded. “Did he raise a spell against you?” Wren asked. He shook his head, wailing on the inside that she had been the one ready to throw his mind into darkness. But his lips would not move. Outraged shouts rang among the crowd from the ravine villagers. Even the villagers of his own home looked on in disgust that he would bring shame upon them during the festival—one they were hosting, no less. Elise looked down at Bristel gravely and heaved a sigh. “There is nothing we can do to protect you, you fool,” she growled. “You know the nonviolence pact as well as anyone. Why you would choose to do this… I don’t even want to know.” She turned to Ivar. “He is at your mercy. Do with him what you must, but understand, he is an outsider. He does not represent us.” “No!” Yarrow staggered to his feet and went in front of Ivar. For a moment, Bristel thought he would tell the truth. Instead, Yarrow threw a glare of contempt his way. “As much as I would love a public execution, I humbly request that we take him prisoner. I want to make him suffer for what he did. I’m owed that much, seeing as I was his target.” Ivar narrowed his eyes, then nodded. “Select a team of guards to take the prisoner. You and High Lady Wren will go ahead to the village with them. The rest of us will stay a moment,” he said, turning his hard gaze to the council. “To discuss this unfortunate incident.” Wren undid the spell enough so that Bristel could not put up a fight, but he would not be dead weight. Guards came to collect him, and he was half-dragged away. He still couldn’t speak—he could barely breathe. As he searched desperately for someone to defend him, he caught sight of Rhona at the edge of the crowd. Her hands were over her mouth, and her eyes were glistening. But she only watched. ~~~ In the hour it took to reach the ravine village, Bristel focused all of his energy toward breaking out of the glamour, but it was no use. He was forcefully escorted down into the rocky chasm where the village was hidden, and everything happened so quickly that the following silence was more frightening than the initial descent. Soon enough, he found himself alone. The glamour didn’t begin to wear off until he had been laying in his cell for what felt like ages. Feeling came back slowly to his body, but exhaustion hit him and he could barely bring himself to move. There was little he could do but lay there and take in his surroundings. He had been taken to Yarrow’s village—a place he visited once a year on Midsummer—but he had never gone underground into the network of rocky tunnels. When they had dragged him in, he tried to keep an eye on where they were taking him, hoping to find his way back outside if he managed to escape. The twists and turns were too confusing to keep track of. They had finally stopped in a dead-end tunnel, and he had been shoved into an alcove. The team of guards performed spell after spell: an earth-affinity fairy had conjured roots to grow straight out of the rock to seal the alcove like bars, and another couple of fairies had glamoured his prison to make magic unusable on the inside. Once Bristel found the will to move, he took a shuddering breath and pushed himself up to his hands and knees. He couldn’t fully stand in the cramped cell. Scraggly vegetation clung to the ceiling of the tunnel, dotted with the dim light of glowing white flowers. There didn’t appear to be anyone outside his cell. He tried to force his arms through the thick roots, but they would not give way. Thorns scraped viciously at his skin. He clawed at the base, where the roots erupted from the ground, but he was no match for the spellwork. It didn’t stop him from trying. He meticulously picked at every root, his hope dwindling with each fruitless second. He stopped when he heard someone coming. Jolting away from the roots, he folded his wings tight and sat with his back against the rocky wall. Perhaps his fate had been decided by the royals. Perhaps he was about to be executed. “This is where he is,” the earth guard’s voice said. “Perfect.” Yarrow turned the corner at the end of the tunnel, coming into the flowers’ light. He faced the guard. “Leave us.” She hesitated, biting her lip. “My lord, I don’t think it would be wise to—” “I want some privacy with my attacker,” Yarrow said coolly. “And unless you doubt the spellwork of your fellow guards and yourself, I should be perfectly safe.” The guard didn’t try to talk him down again. She walked off and turned the corner, leaving Yarrow and Bristel entirely alone. Bristel stayed back against the wall, his breaths becoming quicker. Try as he might to look furious and nothing more, tears pricked at the back of his eyes as he glared through the roots of his cell. He was glad his voice didn’t shake, at least. “Well, it looks like you’re about to lose your smitten victim,” Bristel said, astonished that he could talk about his own death so matter-of-factly. “What will you do when I’m gone, turn your sights on someone else? After that scene I caused, I doubt anyone from the creek will want to go near you.” Yarrow walked right up to the cell and dropped to his knees, gripping the roots. He began murmuring a spell, his eyes never leaving Bristel. Purple flames flickered from his hands and began eating away at the bars. Gasping, Bristel pressed himself back harder. The roots—the only thing separating him and Yarrow—fell away to ashes. Raising his hands, Bristle choked out his own spell, but the anti-magic glamour was still thrumming inside the alcove, even with the physical barrier gone. He peered wildly past Yarrow, wondering if he could rush past quick enough to conjure an ice spell inside the tunnel. But what good would that do? All Yarrow needed was shout for a team of guard to come barreling down the tunnel. Bristel squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the agonizing burn of fire. “Get up,” Yarrow whispered urgently. “I can make a distraction, but you need to be quick.” Bristel’s eyes flew open, releasing tears down both sides of his face. “No. Please. Please stop. I-I don’t want to do this anymore. No more games. Just do what you came to do.” “This is what I came to do.” Yarrow ducked into the alcove, making himself just as vulnerable to the nullifying glamour. He took a seat beside Bristel, who leaned away and looked straight ahead. The tunnel was wide open, but he wasn’t foolish enough to make a run for it. Not yet. “I had to make them think I came to torture you,” Yarrow went on softly. “But I won’t. Of course I won’t. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I wasn’t lying when I said that Wren’s changed. And about how I’m sorry for everything. You need to get away from here. I’m giving you the opportunity. It won’t make up for everything I’ve done to you, but it’s a start.” Bristel stared. For an instant, he allowed hope back into his shattered heart. “How do I know this isn’t a trick?” he asked nonetheless. Desperate as Yarrow looked, his eyes took on a reckless sort of spark. He grabbed Bristel’s arm, then shoved him out of the alcove. Bristel whirled around and to see Yarrow still crouched in the magic-free zone, making himself entirely vulnerable. “There,” Yarrow declared. “If you’d like to have a free shot at me, you’re more than welcome to. You’ve got nothing left to lose, right?” “You… you’re awful,” Bristel croaked. “You’re a liar. You may not have manipulation magic, but you are as much a manipulator as Wren. You could have gotten me killed tonight—and you still might. But… if you really mean it about escape, then get me out of here.” Yarrow crept out of the alcove and stood by him. He reached out to take Bristel’s hand, but that was not allowed. Bristel rigidly stepped away, and he thought he saw hurt flicker in Yarrow’s eyes. Good. Part of Bristel was still unsure about following him at all, but his options were limited. He could stay in the alcove and die, or he could follow Yarrow and probably die. Before he could fully weigh his options, Yarrow pushed past him and beckoned him along. “I’ll take you to a tunnel that will lead you straight to the opening of the ravine,” Yarrow whispered. “All you have to do is keep moving forward. I’ll lead them off your trail. Once you’re out, stick to the shadows. It’s still dark.” “My lord?” another voice said. The guard. She was far closer around the corner of the tunnel than anticipated. She stared at them, eyes wide. Her scowl fixed on Bristel, and the tunnel began to tremble from her earthen magic. “I don’t know what trickery you’ve fooled him with,” she spat at Bristel, “but you can be sure you’ll stay in that cell until you rot!” She threw her hands out and chanted. Roots sprang from the walls, floor, and ceiling. Yarrow blocked Bristel and unleashed his own magic. Purple light filled the tunnel, flames eating away at the enchanted roots. The guard stared in disbelief for a second before she drew in a deep breath and shouted behind her. “The creek boy is escaping! Yarrow has betrayed us!” Yarrow grabbed Bristel’s wrist and wrenched him along the tunnel, throwing a warning flame at the guard, who sprang against the wall to avoid getting singed. She continued screaming betrayal, turning the corner of another tunnel to get help. Bristel couldn’t have kept track of where they were going even if he tried. Yarrow led him down turn after turn. The flowers overhead changed color at each new stretch, until finally they emerged into a wide-open chamber. But it was not freedom. They were still underground, and it was too late. A dozen guards were already darting out of other archways and closing in on them. Before Bristel knew it, someone came from behind, and he was wrenched away from Yarrow, who sent out flame after flame, only to have each one extinguished by the water affinity guards. “Stop!” Yarrow shouted. “Leave him alone!” As they were both subdued, Bristel met Yarrow’s gaze desperately. It took several minutes for the purple flames to give up igniting. There was no way they could take down a team of guards on their own. Bristel knew it was pointless to fight as they were taken into another chamber—a spacious room with a dais at the front. It didn’t take long for the ruling families of the village to gather there, along with commoners looking on from near the walls. Bristel and Yarrow were positioned apart from each other, both of them flanked by guards. Wren was the last one to join the royals on the dais. Judging by the look on her face, she had already been explained what happened. “Yarrow.” Her voice carried over the murmurs around the room, silencing them. The coldness in her tone was undermined by desperation. “Tell me what they’re saying isn’t true. Tell me this… this parasite forced you to free him. Tell me you’re not a traitor.” “I’d tell you to put truth glamour on me, but I’ll save you time,” Yarrow snapped. “He didn’t force me to do a thing.” “He is a traitor,” Ivar said, turning his glare to Wren. “I pray such treachery does not run in your blood.” Wren paled. She struggled for words, looking between the other royals and Yarrow. “I’m not a traitor,” she said finally. “Nor our two younger brothers. I confess this to you to show my loyalty: Yarrow told me himself he had grown a soft spot for the parasite. He has fallen in love.” A buzz ran through the gathered villagers. Bristel could feel their disgusted scowls upon them both. He shivered where he stood and stared at the floor, the word love pounding through his head. Ivar’s voice cut through the murmur. “And what do you say to this, Yarrow?” “I refuse to a pawn any longer is what I say. Bristel had every right to attack me after what Wren and I have been doing to him.” Yarrow’s voice rose furiously. “Let him go, dammit.” But Wren wouldn’t hear it. The other royals were staring at her, waiting for her to make a just decision befitting such treachery. “Denounce him at once,” she begged Yarrow. “Both of you, denounce each other if you want even the slightest chance of making it through the night.” “Of course I don’t love him,” Yarrow said. “He’s just an unfortunate tool I’m sick of using.” The announcement might have hurt if Bristel believed it were true. When all eyes turned to him, he followed suit. “How could I possibly love him?” Bristel said. “He’s tricked me, used me.” “Very well,” Wren said quickly. “They have denounced each other. Take the prisoner back to his cell—have a guard there all hours of night and day while we deliberate on what to do with him. And Yarrow, you will come with me—” “This is insufficient,” Ivar interrupted, and other royals nodded grimly in agreement. “Yarrow was found helping the prisoner escape. He attacked the guards. He is lying.” “A truth enchantment, then?” Wren suggested. “No,” Ivar said coldly. “They are obviously lying to escape execution. Let us see for ourselves how desperate they are to live. A duel to the death. If Yarrow lives, all is forgiven. If the outsider lives, he is free to leave.” Bristel felt as though a knife had been twisted into his gut. There was a ringing in his ears. His guards turned him to face Yarrow, and in a matter of seconds, the two of them were alone in the middle of the room. In another life, they might have been closing the distance to dance together. Yarrow stared at him, his face unreadable. “Kill him, Yarrow!” one of the villagers shouted. All at once, there was a cacophony of voices screaming for Bristel’s blood. Yarrow’s wings twitched, and he began to step forward. Bristel flinched back and raised his hands, ready to retaliate against the fire that Yarrow would have no choice but to conjure. But instead, Yarrow merely reached for Bristel’s hand and placed it against his own chest. “Just make it quick,” Yarrow whispered. He threw a glance toward his sister, as though seeing her for the last time. “I know I deserve to suffer, but please. Just make it quick.” Bristel tried to pull away, choking on his own words. “What are you doing?” The voices began to quiet around the room as the scene unfolded. Yarrow fell to his knees and put Bristel’s hand on his forehead, shutting his eyes. “You can finally get away. From here, from the creek village. You can be free. I’ve brought you nothing but misery. Let me give you something nice for once.” Wrenching his hand back, Bristel could only stare. He barely knew Yarrow, but Yarrow knew him. Even the memories that had been hidden by glamour felt like they belonged to another person. But with each second that Yarrow impatiently awaited his death, Bristel felt like those solstice nights hadn’t been a complete lie. “I can’t do it either,” Bristel said. He turned to the rest of the room, eyes settling on the dais. “We refuse to duel!” “Bristel, no…” Yarrow shook his head. The low mutterings of the crowd settled into utter silence. It wasn’t a normal kind of silence. It was charged, ready to burst. Bristel thought they might start throwing their own deadly spells into the middle of the room at any moment. “Execution!” Ivar shouted. “Both of them!” “No!” Wren cried. Every eye turned to her. She stood in the middle of the dais, chest rising and falling with sobbing breaths. Slowly, she squared her shoulders. A golden aura gathered around her. “Yarrow is of my clan. The final judgement is mine.” She turned her anguished, furious gaze to the middle of the room as Bristel urged Yarrow to stand. “You are exiled. Take your parasite pet if he pleases you so. May you both suffer out there with no community, no family. If either of you are spotted in this territory, you will be killed on sight.” For an awful moment, Bristel thought the other royals might overrule her, but the fairies on the dais wavered for a moment, as if in a daze. They didn’t raise a word against her. As Wren stepped off the dais, she looked winded, as though she had just performed a great deal of magic. She exited the chamber without so much as a final glance at her brother, tears running down her face. The guards grabbed both Bristel and Yarrow, leading them toward an exit tunnel. Villagers hit the two of them with petty spells and insults on their way out of the chamber. Bristel flinched at first, but with every step toward freedom, his fear was replaced with clenched fists and an iron will. Starlight glimmered overhead. They were led out of the ravine. The guards, who might’ve known Yarrow all their lives, barely acknowledged him as they stepped back near the drop-off and watched to make sure that the exiled would not attempt to re-enter. Bristel and Yarrow began walking in silence, until the ravine was far behind them. “She saved us,” Bristel murmured finally. “She… she manipulated the other royals so they wouldn’t disagree with her. Didn’t she?” Yarrow’s stony expression didn’t change. “It was the least she could do.” Another beat of silence. “You shouldn’t have done that,” Bristel said as the shock wore off and the reality of their situation truly hit him. He hurried forward to step in Yarrow’s path, making him stop. “You had a life, rank, e-everything, Yarrow… Why would you do that?” Yarrow offered a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know why.” “You… you did it for me?” “For us.” Yarrow stepped around Bristel and took off walking again. Bristel rushed to catch up. Somewhere along the way, Yarrow slipped his hand into Bristel’s. Somewhere farther along the way, Bristel stopped minding it was there.

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TWO YEARS LATER

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It had been about a week since the last resting ground. According to the directions given by the nomadic fairies, the next resting ground would be coming up soon—not soon enough, in Yarrow’s opinion. He was ready for some actual provisions and hopefully a bed. It was their third winter as nomads, and still Yarrow wasn’t used to throwing together makeshift shelters. “Is that it?” Bristel asked. Yarrow flew a little higher to see past the thick pine branches around them. He followed where Bristel was pointing and spotted some huge human machinery near the wide river. The yard was abandoned and rusty. By the look of it, the forest was taking over the edge of it. Occasionally, a car could be heard passing on the road nearby, but other than that, the place seemed devoid of humans. Just as the other fairies described. “It must be,” Yarrow said, breathing a sigh of relief. He tried not to complain too much. Bristel was quick to tease him about missing the comforts of being a royal. As they flew closer to the abandoned machinery yard, Bristel hesitated. “Did they have to put the resting ground so close to all this human… stuff?” “It has to be safe,” Yarrow said dismissively. “It doesn’t look like humans have touched any of that stuff in years.” They split up briefly to search the trees near the edge of the concrete. Within a few minutes, Bristel called Yarrow over to show him he had found exactly what they were looking for: a series of runes etched onto the bark of a barren oak tree that signaled this place was a haven for nomadic fairies. “Can you sense any glamour around? I can’t.” Bristel turned in a wary circle, running a hand through his lavender hair. “It could be abandoned. You’d think they’d wrap this place up tight with enchantments since it’s so close to the road.” “Are you suggesting we keep flying until the next resting ground?” Yarrow asked. Bristel shivered from the cold, clearly hating the idea. Yarrow smirked and flew closer, chanting an incantation to conjure warmth around them both. “I don’t think you’d do well out there for much longer. For an ice fairy, you’re awfully whiny about the cold.” In an instant, Bristel sent a flurry of snow from the ground at Yarrow. “Hey!” Yarrow intensified the heat wave around him in an attempt to melt the snow before it could hit him. For his troubles, he ended up getting sprayed with melted slush. “You seem to forget that it's a very bad idea to tease me when there’s snow around,” Bristel said, calling forth more snow with a wave of his hand. They both grinned breathlessly as they fired spell after harmless spell, weaving around the winter-bitten vegetation and trees to chase after each other. The sun still shone somewhere behind the gray sky; they had plenty of time before it got dark and they needed to get serious about shelter. However, their game was cut short when the sound of an engine approached. Yarrow whirled around, eyes darting between the trees until he spotted a car pulling right up to where the forest met the machine yard. He and Bristel were out in the open, and though they were a good distance away from the car, he got the sick feeling in his stomach that they could have been spotted. Cursing, Yarrow pulled Bristel up to the nearest branches. They wouldn’t have much cover with the trees in this grove being bare, but it was better than nothing. He made sure they were on the opposite side of the car. His heart seemed to skip a beat when the door opened and then slammed shut. Several minutes passed while Yarrow muttered to Bristel potential plans of how to get away undetected. Although there were no footsteps crunching through the snow, it didn’t sound like the human had left, either. The next sound was not footsteps or the car door opening, but the fluttering of fairy wings. “Hello?” Another fairy appeared around the side of the tree, landing on the adjacent branch. Her dark blue hair was ratty. Her eyes were wide, scared. “Are you hiding, too?” Though startled by her sudden presence, Yarrow nodded. “The human…” “I know. I’ve been here a couple days, and he’s been around quite a few times. I don’t know if he knows this is a fairy ground, but I do know that there’s a safer place for us to lay low.” She paused, then offered a weak smile. “I’m Ariella.” “Yarrow. And this is Bristel.” “A pleasure.” She looked back over her shoulder, then beckoned. “Follow me.” When she took off, Bristel grabbed Yarrow’s shoulder to stop him. “I don’t like this,” Bristel whispered. “Something feels off, don’t you think?” Yarrow felt a tug of guilt. Ever since they had become nomadic, Bristel had been overly tentative around every fairy they met at resting rounds, as though they might be hiding an ulterior motive. Yarrow knew it was his own fault Bristel had lost his ability to put faith in others. “We can’t stay here,” Yarrow muttered back. “She obviously knows this place better than us. Besides, if she was the swindling type, this wouldn’t exactly be the time for it. She doesn’t want to be seen any more than we do. Now come on.” Reluctantly, Bristel took his hand and followed. Ariella took them to a large tree than gestured at the hollow. “It runs deep,” she said, hurrying them in front. “Watch your step—it slopes down pretty quick.” Bristel hesitated again, but Yarrow didn’t have time to argue with him. They were low enough to the ground that the human could easily spot them. Yarrow gave Bristel’s hand an encouraging squeeze and urged him to go in first. Bristel relaxed somewhat and headed through the opening. No sooner than they took two steps inside, Yarrow was shoved sharply in the back. He lost his balance and fell forward against Bristel. The two of them tumbled to the bottom of the hollow and fell in a heap. Metal clanged around them. Yarrow threw himself over Bristel, expecting something to crash down on them, but once the sound finished reverberating in the air, there was silence. The ground beneath them was cold and smooth. Yarrow scrambled off Bristel and charged viciously after Ariella, but he ran into metal bars. He bounced back, gasping out an incantation. He tried to ignite magic, but it was no use. It made him think of the glamour that had been used on Bristel’s cell a lifetime ago. Except it was not magic that was preventing his flames. Iron. “I’m so sorry,” Ariella whimpered. She stood on the other side of the bars, wringing her hands and trembling in the shadows. “He saw you. I had no choice.” “Who saw us?” Yarrow demanded. She looked away and wiped her tears. “I’m sorry.” A steady sound broke the silence outside. “Yarrow,” Bristel whispered, coming up from behind and seizing his arm. “Do you hear that?” He did. Human footsteps were crunching through the snow, heading straight for them.

#mywriting #shot in the dark #the longest night #bristel #yarrow #rhona #ivar #elise #ariella

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