The stench of fried demon is atrocious. Stink. Rot. Decay.
Shiny metal catches my eye. The edge of my sword catches the moonlight. It’s a measure away. I leap and grab it then slash until the remaining demons are all headless. Then I slip into the shadows, waiting for the last to emerge from the surf.
The scent of low tide meets my nose even though it’s high. With yellow eyes, the demon peers around then hisses. It must be annoyed that its companions all vaporized.
I did want to fish and hiding in the shadows isn’t my style. I leap forth and in one swift motion decapitate it. “Goodbye, farewell,” I say.
Before it vaporizes, I kick its head into the waves.
The lingering scent of the demons fills the air and I continue along the shore to find a new spot to fish. I’ve never had that many demons attack at once. It seems like their numbers have been increasing lately—along with the fae who go missing. Then again, the king would claim he’s collecting them for his legion of special fae. He’s creating and training an elite group of fae for fighting.
Who? Not sure.
What? I don’t know.
Only that I am, or rather was, one of them until I escaped.
Hesperia, the Westlands capital, has been peaceful for all of my life. No one would deny that the wealth of the monarchy appears to have spread beyond Brendsondl Castle and into the surrounding city. But all that glitters isn’t gold or silver or silk.
I glance over my shoulder as I settle on another group of rocks.
A single light in the tower blinks on like an eye, staring, filling me with the desire for something more than gold and riches, opulent homes, and a life of luxury.
Beside the glistening sea, I want only one thing: the bright taste of freedom. Because all that lies behind me makes me feel trapped. Out here, I feel free. My stomach growls. Or a striddly. Some fish would do too. I cast my line and with a plop, it drops into the sea.
I spare a glance at the horizon, wondering what lies beyond in the most distant parts of the ocean. Another growl from my stomach reminds me that the citizens of Hesperia, as good as life looks, are stuck here. Most don’t see what I see. Long ago, we once sailed beyond our borders, but because rumors abound that a tyrant from the north will capture anyone who sets out, the boats were locked up, the portals closed, and we’re taught to enjoy and appreciate the treasures we have, which are many—bountiful food, glistening pools, leisure...
I snort.
Yet, I can’t deny that the cruel king and the wickedly handsome prince—basically one and the same—, leave me wanting more. I turn my back on Brendsondl and spit on the ground, dismayed by my own want and powerlessness. My choice is simple. Find a way to escape the trappings of wealth, which I know sounds ridiculous because of what happened in the Southlands, or become one of the king’s special fae fighters.
My shoulders dip because there really isn’t a choice to make. Eventually, the king will arrest me—there are signs in the shops offering a bounty for my capture. In a short time, I’ve made a name for myself for being generous with the unseen, giving what I have, taking what I don’t, and most importantly, believing the stories of what they claim to see. Because I do too.
Right now, seated by the sea, I am free—not training to fight. Because even though the wealth of Hesperia keeps most people happy and fed, there’s a price to pay for people like me who dare defy the order established by the royals—it’s called bloodsport and when its quiet like this I can almost hear the phantom cries of the contestants echoing from battles past. I can’t help it though. I’ll keep fighting—for my freedom and against the demons. I keep a wary eye on the shadows in case more appear.
But enough foosting around. I have some fish to catch. An hour later, I dowse the fire I made to cook the fish I’d caught—a herring and striddly for myself and more for the unseen.
With a full belly, I lean back against the rocks and gaze up at the stars. I imagine getting lost up there in their dazzling light. They only shine upon the truth.
In quiet moments like these, when I force myself not to think about the problems hidden under the façade of wealth in Hesperia, I wonder about my mother. My great grandmother only told me one thing about her. She’d said, “You’re so much like your mother—Aina.” It always sounded like an insult. I took it to mean that I’m a rebel. And proud of it too.
From nearby, comes the sound of a struggle, knocking me out of pointless reverie. I imagine it’s a demon, attacking some poor fae, but instead glimpse the red helmets and black cloaks of the king’s guard.
When my feet land on the cobbled road, a guard kicks the snot out of a man, too weak to know the difference between a blow and a caress. Dawn isn’t far off but the guy was probably out late trying to win money at tiles to feed his family breakfast. The parties at court are practically a nightly occurrence among Hesperians with banquet tables overflowing with food and drink. But there is also the contrast—an underbelly of tables and taverns. Tricksters and cheats.
The typical Hesperian is absorbed by the prosperity and wealth, lush furs, lavish meals, and gold everywhere. The rest of us, and there are plenty, are lost in the space beneath the ultra-wealthy with
