Sparkles

ASH

It was nearly time for the evening meal and here I was, sitting in the garden awaiting Klyesque. She was late, and I was beginning to worry for her. We meet here every week at the same time, as we have for the past ten summers. She is never late.

I could go looking. Could miss dinner and the vision of beauty that surely awaits, but I don’t want to. I want to see her again.

Daphne.

Just as I am about to give up, I feel the shimmering hum of a Fae presence.

“Ash,” Klyesque says breathlessly.

She enters the garden from the direction of the forest and my eyes narrow questioningly. She is disguised as a human commoner and should have entered from the south not the north, but a quick look around tells me that no one else is present. Limping quite noticeably, her stride appears painful.

“What happened?” I hiss. Knowing fully well that there is a war going on at home, I press her for answers. “Have our borders been breached?”

She shakes her head no, but swallows audibly. “Not our borders.”

My eyes light with red fire. “Whose?”

“There was a Dracuum in the woods. Just outside the gate. It attacked me. It was wearing her crest.”

A Dracuum. A giant woodland spider, native to the faerie realm. They are awful, insatiable creatures that revel in collecting their prey and slow drinking them, one pint at a time. Their legs are razor sharp obsidian blades and all eight of their eyes can see for miles upon miles. They are obsessed with the blood of woodland nymphs and only venture from Faerie when their food supply is low. I happen to know that it isn't.

“They never trespass. She is scouting and she is getting close.” I groan, “Did you dispose of the corpse?”

“Of course, I did. What do you think took so long?” She laughs, tossing her glamoured hair over one shoulder. Klyesque is a Selkie. A beautiful water faery with shimmering blue locks and nearly translucent blue skin. Just now, she has the appearance of an old, scraggly, villager, with dull blond hair and a dirt covered face. Klyesque is an accomplished warrior, having to fend for herself from the time she was born, she’s been fighting all her life. She has been my friend for decades.

“You’re going to have to work on your accent more, Klye. You sound foreign.”

“I am foreign. I have not yet learned to glamour my tongue. Not like you have.”

I laugh smoothly. “My tongue has many talents,” I say.

“Maybe you should use them on the Winter Queen and put an end to this war.”

Sighing, I suddenly feel very tired. “I may call upon you tonight for a horrible favor. If I have need of you, I will send three stones.”

She nods without hesitation. “I am at your service.”

I reach toward her and brush a hint of blue blood from her mouth. “Go home and heal. Have Dionie on watch until you are at full strength. We will meet again next week, unless I call upon you tonight.”

“There is something going on. Your eyes are sparkling.”

I smile larger than I have in twenty cycles. “Good. Girls love sparkles.” Then I retreat toward the palace. It is time to play with the human slave.

Daphne.

DAPHNE

“Are you certain I should be wearing this?” I ask Petra.

“Oh, yes.” She says, smiling coyly. “You look like an enchantress.”

Grinning back at her, I sigh. Trying to settle my nerves is proving difficult. It all just feels so strange. Not having earned any of this luxury, makes it hard to accept. My sisters and I have shared clothes for years. Each of us were only ever allowed one tunic for daily wear and one skirt for Sundays. My sister Isabel made them from old sheets found behind the palace, after the ones fashioned by my mother grew too small.

The armoire in the tower room is stuffed with different gowns and the heavy oak strongbox at the foot of the bed is stuffed with fabrics. All in various colors. Some of which I have only ever seen in gardens of wildflowers and roses. Oh, what Isabel might make with some of the cloth in the chest. How I wish I could get some of it to her.

The young maid, Petra, arrived shortly after Ash left me. Armed with a basket of linens and one bar of lavender soap, she introduced herself as my personal maid.

Since when do slaves have servants?

A short march of burly females had entered behind her. Each of them hauling tall pales of hot water which they poured into the large tub in the corner of the room. It wasn’t until she and I were alone, that I stepped into the basin.

I couldn’t believe how lovely it felt. My body seemed to melt into nothingness. I nearly fell asleep while Petra lathered my hair. It had been my first hot bath, but according to Petra, it would not be my last. Petra appeared to be my age and having grown up in the palace, she knew everything about everyone. Including the nefarious Prince Hayden. At least, she claimed to.

Now, I was dressed and sat in one of the blue satin chairs. Petra was to plait my hair in a popular style I had seen worn by many a noble lady. When she first told me of her intention, I declined, saying I wanted to wear it long, but she simply shook her head, no. The king’s orders, she informed me.

I am garbed in a long gown of rich red velvet that falls low in the front and cinches scandalously at the waist. Soft, new leather slippers don my feet, and I am afraid I will walk funny. For I am used to traveling barefoot, or wearing my father’s old, weathered boots. These shoes are brand new. This is insanity.

“I feel ridiculous,” I say as I stand and give Petra a little twirl. The skirt of the dress is heavy and flares out with the movement.

“You are breathtaking,” she says, blushing. “Come, I shall escort you.”

Once out of the long hall, we are joined by two palace guards. One of them, the larger one, eyes me rather openly. I ignore him and continue to follow behind Petra until we enter a broad open dining room. It is expensively furnished and brightly lit, with ten huge lanterns hanging along each of the four walls. Two fireplaces roar on opposing sides of the room, and I am led to the first of five long tables that rests upon a stone scaffold. The remaining four tables are set on lower ground and spaced evenly apart, almost like an afterthought. It is clear I am meant to be seated next to the king.

Oh my God.

Everyone is staring at me.