Book 1: Brutality

Ageless

In memory of my little sister who will be in my heart, always and forever.

7

"We don't stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing." - Benjamin Franklin

~Trigger Warning~

"Yes," Nardual's black eyes gleam. "The birth of a royal heir," he shrugs, face carefully blank. He knows too much of the stars to disbelieve them but he doesn't need to say how unlikely this seems.

Still, miracles can happen. For a moment, I smile, thinking about how nice it would be if there was a new prince or princess at Court - a new little baby. Then, I remember Naela's little talk about me and Barathalion and I turn away, mouth twisting.

Anxiously, I scan the crowd but I still see no sign of Barathalion. Unfortunately, I'm too busy watching for Barathalion that I fail to notice the arrival of his little brother.

"Well, well, well." That familiar, loathed sneer sounds. "If it isn't the Galor sisters, gracing us with their presence! How do you find time to attend our little celebrations? Isn't your time rather...limited?"

It's Prince Curuion. Of course it is. Pale, beautiful and sneering, surrounded by his Court of Fawning Sycophants. Officially, they're called the Court of Grackles but, frankly, I think the Court of Fawning Sycophants suits them much better —  though, to be fair, this could describe most courtiers.

Looking at them, a memory pops into my head, it was just before I left school for good. I was reading a book while waiting for Ari to finish up tournament practice. I could still concentrate long enough to read back then. One of the Fawning Sycophants — I don't remember which one — sidled up to me and asked, "How does it feel? To be stuck in a fairy tale?"

I didn't reply. Of course, I'd pretty much stopped talking to anyone outside the family by that time but I don't think I would have answered him even if I'd been Faerie's most outgoing, extroverted chatterbox. "How does it feel to be stuck in a fairy tale?" Honestly, that's the most idiotic question I'd been asked in forever.

I think he was probably the one who put that note in my rucksack on the last day I ever went to school but I threw it away without reading it. I'm really not interested in anything a fawning Sycophant would put in a note. Now, Keya's eyes blaze. Nardual looks uncomfortable but Ari turns as though she's only just seen Curuion.

"There you are, Your Highness. Slow, as usual." Any other Cormyth and Ari could have expected severe punishment for such insolence. But Curuion's been out of favour since he was born and she can get away with it. "Still idling? Tsk, tsk, tsk!"

He flushes under her implication. "At least I have time to idle. I'm not going to die." He sneers at me and Ari over his glass and the Fawning Sycophants snigger. Ari flushes angrily, but I don't. I remember the exact moment that digs about my mortality ceased to deliver any sting.

It was when a human guest lecturer came to class, to teach us about probability and statistics. He was enchanted to believe himself lecturing at a different school than usual, which was, of course, true. Most of it went over my head but it got me thinking about faerie lifespans.

Most faeries would be quick to say that they have no lifespans; they're going to live forever and this is technically possible. Faeries don't age and don't die naturally. But, as I learned firsthand, there are more ways than simple ageing to die and Faerie has its share of them.

Even if you factor out the faerie infant mortality rate which is quite high, for many faeries are born weak and sickly, there's still warfare and murder, malefic curses and the curious magical diseases that can lay waste to faerie populations.

There are still the many carnivorous predators of Faerie. For faeries who venture to the human world, there's iron and salt poisoning. There's the brutal justice of Faerie, such as what Myriil forced me to deliver. There's even suicide and simple fatal accidents.

Just because these dangers are relatively few and far between doesn't mean they don't exist and for every year a faerie lives, the higher the chances become that they will meet death. When a faerie lives forever, it becomes inevitable that they will eventually encounter one lethal danger too many.

Ironic that the very thing they boast so much of is what leads to each faerie's inevitable demise. So every time Curuion or his Sycophants say, you're going to die, I just think, so are you.

That is not to say that he doesn't say hurtful or infuriating things. His cold eyes turn on me and I clench. "This one here," he says. "Silent as the grave already!"

"I wish that you were so silent," Ari sneers. "You'd spare everyone a lot of grief, including yourself, Your Highness." She smiles sweetly. "For it must be so dreadful having to listen to yourself all day long, every day and it will go on and on forever. How can you bear such an awful sentence?" She widens her eyes in faux sympathy, clutching her hands. "Poor, poor Curuion."

He draws in a furious breath and Nardual, of all people, comes to the rescue. "Your Highness," he says, bowing, "forgive me but I must take Miss Ari away. She has said she will inspect the stars with me."

Curuion has to visibly get himself under control. He can insist that Ari stay, of course, but Nardual can report him to Elbauthin, who will take Nardual's side. "Of course," he says with a good approximation of magnanimity. "Go look at the stars while you still can."

Ari looks sulky at being denied her sparring match but follows Nardual off with one last curtsy and a venomous glare. Keya takes the opportunity to give her own curtsy, holding my arm so I curtsy with her, and promptly drags me off.

"Never mind that jackass," she says. Although, I of course, haven't said anything and I don't think my face shows anything either. "Here, have some honey cakes."

I take one and eat it distractedly. That conversation has turned my thoughts in a most unexpected direction, death. It should evoke fear and horror, but it doesn't. Instead, there's something almost pleasing about the idea.

Death. Being dead, no more misery, no more pain, no Myriil, no Barathalion, no Curuion, no memories of my murdered parents or that faerie I killed. No memory of a single faerie at all, in fact. Just...nothing. It sounds like paradise.

I imagine sloughing off my body, dissolving into nothingness, all hurt fading away, all thought and emotion evaporating as I sink into the endless sleep-

~Fun Fact~

The world wastes about 1 billion metric tons of food each year.

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