the gentry with lines dating back to the Old World. Pretty, ill-defended, but overall useless. Vlari’s spell turned it into the most impregnable area of Alfheimr. Our enemies tried everything. Magic, explosives, armies. Our walls are only opened to the folk.
As I approach, the shimmering golden barrier parts right in front of me to let me pass. I never quite understood how it works. The others say that sometimes, the walls remain closed; it generally means there’s an enemy nearby that they need to dispatch before being allowed through. The spells woven into our shields are quite beyond me.
They’ve never failed to open for me. Perhaps because no enemy is stupid enough to follow me.
Seconds after I’m allowed in, I see the wall open again at my right, a few paces away.
Frowning, I approach it.
There should be no other party of rangers coming in tonight, and my companions should have arrived ahead of me.
No enemy has ever made it through the barrier, but I am on my guard all the same.
Someone comes through—almost a child, not much younger than my sister. I only have to take one glance at her to know her story. She’s emaciated, out of breath, and her dilated pupils betray the ordeal she’s been through.
She’s one of the courageous souls who have managed to make their way to us by themselves. Over the years, the ranger parties venturing outside of Whitecroft have managed to rescue a number of folk, bringing them to us, but rare are the fae who’ve made it on their own.
None of them were children as young as she.
“Are you hurt?” I ask her.
She’s unlucky I’m the one who found her. I’ve never been accused of gentleness. I read fear in her eyes as she takes me in, and I don’t attempt to defuse it.
I don’t detect any wounds, but I don’t like making assumptions.
The girl shivers, but she shakes her head. I’m glad of it. I’m capable of administering basic remedies when the circumstances call for it, but I’m not much of a healer.
She needs something warm to eat, and a place to sleep. She probably also needs someone to speak to, and that someone isn’t me, so I gesture behind me. “Choose your court. You’ll be cared for.”
The lower kings and queens of Tenebris have found refuge in Whitecroft, with a part of their courts. As we could hardly all fit inside the building that used to be our school, we’ve built seven halls, with small but comfortable apartments, each representing our seven courts. Ash, Mist, Stars, Storm, Silt, Ichor, and Stone. Whitecroft Hall itself houses the royalty, and whatever is left of our government—the leaders of our armies, our politicians, our lawmakers.
The one good thing to come of our ordeal is the fact that we aren’t defined by where we were born. Not anymore.
Before, a fae born in the Court of Stars could only join another court if the king or queen requested it. For the first time in generations, we’ve been able to choose where we belong.
My family was born at the border between Stars and Mist—technically on Stars lands. They’ve chosen to remain with the Court of Stars, in order to be close to their friends.
I haven’t chosen. Not officially. I sleep in my parents’ quarters, though my position means I could have an apartment of my own, should I request it.
Requesting lodgings would mean actually picking a court. A lord. I can’t bring myself to kneel to anyone. I don’t believe in the lords of Tenebris. Had they been powerful, we wouldn’t be stuck behind these walls, cowering before mortals. I don’t trust them. I don’t respect any of them. None of the elders, none of the queens, none of the warriors saved us.
Vlari did.
Vlari, who’s little more than a child to the folk. As the gentry don’t fade with age, we’re considered too young for responsibility under the age of a hundred years. Vlari wasn’t even seventy when she placed herself between us and immortals, with none of the lower monarchs by her side.
Just me and her grandfather. Another lord I don’t quite trust.
And she paid for their inability to protect us.
I don’t think I can ever forgive the kings and queens of Tenebris for their helplessness. Their weakness. They’ve lost my respect, and how could I serve a leader I don’t respect?
I can only kneel to a power greater than my own.
“What about the girl of light?” the child asks, making me stop in my