Raphael
I flip through his thoughts, searching deeper. The prisoner. Does he
know anything about a beautiful, silver-eyed demi-Fey?
The prisoner has been here for some time. Captured in the war with the
humans, but they didn’t put him with the rest of the rabble. He’s too
valuable, for some reason. Doesn’t seem particularly valuable to Cadoc.
Just another half-breed mongrel…
My heart skips a beat. Raphael.
I invade Cadoc’s every thought, sifting through ideas, memories,
everything he knows. I’m ravaging the inside of his skull, grasping the
threads, then pulling the strings to bend him to my will.
Now, Cadoc wonders if the prisoner is literally valuable.
Maybe he’s rich. In fact, he’s probably rich, or they’d leave him with the
rest, right? If Cadoc will just do this tiny thing, just unlock the door, the
prisoner might reward him handsomely. Yes. That’s what he should do.
Odelia will fall back in love with him, and his father will get his job back in
the stables. Cadoc absolutely shouldn’t question this drunk lady more
because she’s a distraction from what’s really important. She’s just a tiny
woman, a drunken musician, not worthy of his notice.
When I withdraw from his mind, he stares at me, dazed. Then, without a
word, he pulls a skeleton key from his belt and opens a door into yet
another torchlit stairwell.
I follow him down a flight of stairs, the air growing staler, like wet earth
and mushrooms.
My heart is pounding as he leads me to another wooden door. He slides
a second key into a rusty lock, turns it twice, and pushes the door open.
I can hardly breathe.
“You,” he says into the darkness. “Get up.”
I step inside, trying to see in the dark.
In the corner of a grimy stone cell sits a shirtless man. For a second, I
almost don’t recognize him. Dirt smears his body, and
POPULIST: Of course it’s irrelevant to you. For years you and your kind have ruled this place, saying the people are irrelevant.
ARISTOTLE: Please, answer my question.
POPULIST: The real people of this country think otherwise. Our response is something that cannot be found on any elite papyrus.
ARISTOTLE: (Silence)
POPULIST: Prove it. Prove to me that all humans are mortal.
ARISTOTLE: (Nervous smile)
POPULIST: See? You can’t prove it. (Confident grin, a signature trait that will be exercised constantly to annoy Aristotle.) That’s all right. What we understand from democracy is that all ideas can be represented in the public space, and they are respected equally. The gods say …
ARISTOTLE: This is not an idea, it’s a fact. And we are talking about mortal humans.
POPULIST: If it were left up to you, you’d kill everybody to prove that all humans are mortal, just like your predecessors did.
ARISTOTLE: This is not going anywhere.
POPULIST: Please finish explaining your thinking, because I have important things to say.
ARISTOTLE: (Sigh) All humans are mortal. Socrates is a human …
POPULIST: I have to interrupt you there.
ARISTOTLE: Excuse me?
POPULIST: Well, I have to. These days, thanks to our leader, it is perfectly clear who Socrates is. We know very well who Socrates is! You cannot deceive us any more about that evil guy.
ARISTOTLE: Are you joking?
POPULIST: This is no joke to us, Mr Aristotle, as it may be to you. Socrates is a fascist. My people have finally realised the truth, the real truth. The worm has turned. You cannot deceive the people any more. You were going to say, ‘Therefore Socrates is mortal,’ right? We’re fed up with your lies.
ARISTOTLE: You are rejecting the basics of logic.
POPULIST: I respect your beliefs.
ARISTOTLE: This is not a belief; this is
Fourth Estate
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Auren
And then I let my dragon tear free.
Like billowing smoke and streaking shadows, it swarms out of my
skin, collecting, building, feeding off my emotions. When it lands hard at
my side, its chest gleams with gilded scales, and its body is completely
solid.
For the first time, I’ve just manifested a fully physical dragon.
Not vaporous, not intangible. A solidified menace that now stands
even taller and more monstrous than it was when its splintered form
streaked over the skies of Sixth Kingdom.
It stretches taller than the steepled buildings along the street, its
spiked body and coiled tail barely fitting. Then it opens its mouth, showing
off its wicked sharp teeth, and breathes fire of black rot, taking out what’s
left of the soldiers.
Panic decimates the street.
The gathered crowd bolts. Abandoning their tightly packed positions
from where they were trying to get closer to the square, they now turn and
flee. The grieving fae whose body is draped over the boy shakes in fear,
tears caught in every crevice of his face. “Don’t destroy him, please!” he
cries as he clutches at the body.
I shake my head. “You have nothing to fear from us.”
Then I turn and start walking, and people scatter as fast as they can
while the dragon stomps behind me, every step shaking the street.
Hare appears at my side out of nowhere. “A dragon?” he shouts,
shock dripping off his face like drool as he stares at the creature. “You can
manifest a dragon? I thought that magic died out in your family generations
ago!”
“It did.”
He clamps his mouth shut after that, staying behind as I make my
way down the street. The weight of the dragon snaps the stone as it walks,
tail whipping, eyes flashing.
A Perfect love Declaration
“So fucking devastated that I was going to lose you,” he replies,
stark honesty rumbling out of his gravelly voice. “That I was going to lose
you before I could tell you that I love you.”
Breath sucks in between my lips, my eyes widening as I stare at him.
“Love?”
He pauses and studies my face like his dark brown eyes are soaking
up every inch of me. “Yes, Rissa Bell. I fucking love you.”
My mind sputters, heart skipping. “But…we barely know each other.
We’ve barely spent any time together,” I say in a rush, looking around like
excuses are going to start falling onto the floor so I can pick them all up.
“We can’t even stand each other!”
He smirks. “We like the fire. We each don’t back down to the other,
and we like it that way. So don’t lie and try to act like we can’t stand each
other, because we both know that’s not true.”
My pulse feels like there are a thousand birds taking flight within
every vein, fluttering all over.
“You almost died,” he says again. “And I’ll never fucking forget
how close it was. Just like I won’t waste any more time now that we’ve
gotten a second chance. We can’t fight this anymore, Rissa. I’m claiming
you as mine.”
I stare at him. Mouth opening and closing like a struggling fish. “Are
you out of your mind? You can’t just…claim me!” I say shrilly.
“I just did.”
My back stiffens. “I am an independent woman. I decide who to be
with.”
“You’ll decide to be with me.”
My teeth grind. “You cocky son of a bitch.”
“And yours.”
“Mine?” I scoff and try to slap his hand away from my waist, but he
pays the swat no mind, his touch still holding me. “What, you’re mine until
A character development
“What are you doing?”
I don’t answer Dommik. All my focus is right here, on my hands. On the
gashes cut through each palm and the sharp shards of ice stuck to them.
And I beg.
On my knees in desperate prayer, I beg.
I don’t beg the gods, because what have powerful men ever done for me?
No, I beg the magic instead. The magic I shouldn’t have. I beg desperately
for it to do something, anything, to help me save the city I endangered.
Please…
The wind howls.
Snowfall starts to drizzle down from the sky.
And I beg and beseech and pray.
Dommik watches me. A kneeling queen and a silent assassin, the two of
us a seemingly unlikely pair. Except, we have more in common than most.
We’ve both brought on death. He’s just honest about it. He wields a blade
and spills others’ blood. I let someone spill my blood, and now the enemy
will wield their blades against my people.
What I’ve done is far, far worse.
Please…
My eyes are shut tight, my hands shaking, everything in me coiled with a
desperation that seems larger than life itself.
Because I regret.
I regret allowing my powerless life to mold me. I regret not standing up
to my father. I regret marrying Midas. I regret allowing him to keep a
woman in a cage. I regret looking down on the very people I was meant to
serve. I regret taking everything for granted.
I regret becoming this bitter, cold woman, and I want to let that cold out.
To make it do something good.
Please…
I keep praying to this power, keep begging this mercurial magic, and
Fall or Fly
“Goldfinch, can you hear me?” he asks gently.
My head cocks, though I don’t answer. Gold weighs
down my bones and slouches my shoulders as I struggle to
take in a full breath.
The male steps forward, an inky black form against the
shine I’ve wrought. “Auren, you can let go now.”
My brow furrows. Let go?
I don’t want to let go. I want to continue to rage. I
want to take my gold that was stolen from me, and punish
everyone in my path. I want to be the monster that’s been
held back for far too long.
The male takes another step, and my beast screeches
at him, though he doesn’t seem deterred. He should be
running away from us, should be terrified like everyone
else, but instead, he keeps coming, closer and closer, until
he stands just a foot away. “You need to let go, baby. You’re
draining yourself.”
My mouth drops into a frown.
“Draining?”
Eyes so dark green they look black are locked on my
face, caressing over my own gaze. “Yes,” he says quietly.
“You need to drop the magic before you hurt yourself.”
My back bristles. “My gold won’t hurt me.”
“It already is.” He tips his head, and I look down,
though I don’t see anything amiss.
“Your aura is fading,” he tells me. “You can’t see it, but
I can. I need you to breathe and let go of your power.”
Panic surges up in me. If I let go of my power, I’ll be
weak again. Helpless.
Fury sparks in my eyes, and the gold flexes behind me
