Young Immortals

One: Isobel

Some mortals pawn their life to the Green Court for good reason, like to save a loved one from the brink of death, to end a famine, to kill a tyrant. But all my life bought was a realization. 

My deepest desire, the thing I want most in the world, is for someone to die for me. That's the only way to know they truly love you. Promises aren't enough. They must put their money where their mouth is and die.

I'm going to prove that tonight.

But first, the new recruits. Now that I've worked at the palace longer than any other copper–rest in peace, Oragog–I'm in charge of orientation, and odds of it going well are zero to none. Madame never leaves the new recruits in any state for introductions. 

She has one goal–permanently strike all ideas of disobedience or escape from their vocabulary–and over the centuries, refined a simple yet foolproof strategy to achieve it.

Half an hour before sunrise, I meet Madame and a knight at one of the palace's side exits. At well past seven feet tall, the knight towers over me. His silver armour covers everything but two orange eyes glowing from the shadows of his visor like twin flames. He could snap me in half without breaking a sweat, which still isn't half as intimidating as Madame.

Even wearing a gold mask, it's obvious she's as beautiful as any fae, a cold kind of beauty. Her ears and cheekbones are sharper than knives, and her stare is even sharper, with a narrow gaze that misses nothing. The second she hears me coming, she levels me with it. "You will not help this time."

"Yes, Madame." That's all I ever say. Yes, Madame. Right again, Madame. You are so wise, Madame. Not all someone I'd like to push down a stairwell, Madame.

"Otherwise, you will join the next batch, and when sunrise arrives, I will throw away the key, leaving your cold body behind as food for the crows."

I smile pleasantly. "Yes, Madame."

In a triangle formation, with Madame taking the lead, we stride through the gardens. They're too big to fix a beginning or end, but what can be seen is ridiculously luxurious. Marbleized gods and angels rise above the manicured bushes, and fields of grass roll across the horizon, greener than any emerald.

But it all pales compared to the sight behind me. I've lived in the Green Court for four years now, and I'm still impressed by the beautiful palace sprawling across the grass, its silver towers scraping the clouds, its pillars polished like diamonds. Walking through its halls is like dropping off the face of the earth and into the pages of an old story book.

Madame stops so abruptly, I nearly slam into her shoulder. We've reached the perimeter of the palace grounds dividing the gardens and the woods. Three new recruits sit in the shadows of the trees. 

They're all different species–satyr, troll, and nymph–but each is dressed exactly like me. A copper mask paired with a shapeless brown smock ending just below their knees and extending over their head like a shawl.

But unlike me, they each have a metal cuff chaining their ankles to the trees. The nymph catches my stare. Her eyes bug out of her head, and her lips quiver in fear. Run, she mouths. She thinks I'm going to be chained up alongside them. I look down at my satchel, pretending to adjust a strap.

"Call me Madame," Madame says. The new coppers raise their brows at her high fae accent. The infliction is so crisp, bell-like, it almost sounds like she's singing. "I oversee all coppers, and I'm sure you have many questions, but be patient. Sunrise will provide all the answers you need."

"How do we know you won't string us along?" the troll bursts out.

Madame ignores him, turning to the trio at large. "Anyone care to educate their fellow copper?"