The Summer Solstice

Chapter 1: Rue

🦋 Rue 🦋

    Even though I've been pretending my whole life to be something I'm not, I'm still remarkably miserable at theater.

The other Faie pupils around me carry a certainty with them that emanates from every perfect feature they possess—their tall, lithely frames, their bright eyes, their gracefully pointed ears. They dance around on the platform, flittering from position to position, flawlessly memorized.

Reed takes center stage. His golden locks are tied in a stiff bun, but a stray curl dangles at his jawline. I know Reed well enough that the curl, stray as it might be, was purposely left out. The Faie do nothing without intent.

"What I am I must not show, what I am thou couldst now know," he begins, voice raining down like drops of honey. "Something betwixt heaven and hell, something that neither stood nor fell, something that through thy wit or will, may work thee good, may work thee ill."

I stifle a yawn as Imery—daughter of Lord Yew of the Hobs—begins her lines. It's the third time we've recited the poem of Sir Walter Scott, a mortal. Our preceptor, Valdim, adores adapting human poetry into plays. No one in the class minds. They enjoy it, I think, to take the words of a species inferior and mold it to their desires.

Even I cannot deny that the sentences sound better when it rolls from their tongues than any mortal could ever attempt.

Someone clears their throat. I'm ripped from my daze of admiration as Valdim frowns at me. His bushy eyebrows furrow like they always do when disappointed. "Rue, you've been cued."

I scramble from behind the curtain among the snickering of my peers. It's not malicious, though. If it were, they'd be risking the chance of displeasing East King Nardiello's daughter—me.

Before I trip or slide across the stage, I catch myself. I remind myself of my endless years  training, of the long hours spent solely on the art of walking like the Faie, of giving my feet an arch that mimics theirs.

It's all I need, that little reminder, and I fall into place. I become as graceful as them, as serene as those who call themselves the divine descent.

I take my directed spot next to Reed while trying to ignore his scent of gardenias and pride. I say my lines without thinking, without pausing to feel unsure of myself.
From his tree stump director's seat, Valdim gives me a stellar smile when I finish.

I think that's how I've lasted this long on the Isle of Empyreal. No matter how miserable of an actress I might be, I pretend otherwise.

🦋

When I return to the eastern stronghold, night has already fallen. Our massive candles, perched on the walls, burn long streams of wax. A tiny goblin—one of our home keepers—collects it in a pot and polishes where it left smudges on the floor.

Though I entered from the side tunnel, I come into our massive hallway all the same. Father doesn't like for us to use the main gate. He thinks it unwise to give any unnecessary information of the castle's structure away.

Even so, we have so many Sovereign Guards posted inside and out that I've always doubted a secret side tunnel would lead to our family's demise.