Chapter Text
The Court at Elfhame may be a spectacle, but to be truthful I find it terribly dull most days. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been brought up around it, but the only way I find any fascination is to get stupidly drunk, until almost anything would amuse me.
Balekin, or bastard brother, as I privately refer to him, is smiling at Dain and Elowyn as if he doesn’t despise them. The three of them, the most influential of my siblings, are standing closest to Father as if no one knows their standing and they need to assert it. Me, I’m sixth in line, or as everyone knows 𑁋 not in with a chance at the throne at all. Not that I’d ever take the thing even if it was forced upon me.
Nothing about ruling a Kingdom interests me in the slightest.
A new ballad begins, and the frenzied pace of faeries dancing increases with the tempo.
“Of all the sons King William had, Prince Jamie was the worst,
And what made the sorrow even greater, Prince Jamie was the first.”
I’m half surprised they haven’t changed the ditty to be about me.
“Wine?” Nicasia asks me, redundantly, I have had a goblet in hand the moment I arrived. Pearls glint off her blue-green hair, and she bats her eyelashes at Locke. I roll my eyes and turn to go, but they follow 𑁋 Nicasia, Locke and Valerian, close as shadows behind me. They’re my friends, I suppose, or as close to friends as I’ll ever have.
I’m not sure I’m entirely capable of both knowing or being a real friend. It's not exactly something we place much value on. My companions are those that are closest in status to me. That's how it's always been.
“Would you look at that,” Valerian sneers, and my traitorous heart picks up in speed when I follow the projection of his disdain. I’d hoped she wouldn’t be here tonight. Or maybe I hoped she would.
Pulling my eyebrows together I frown, and Jude Duarte grimaces right back.
I’m surprised that I missed her before. Despite my attempts otherwise, my eyes always seem to find her face in any place she’s present.
Her hair is braided in an imitation of horns. I bite my tongue, blood mixing with the red wine in my mouth as I tamp down on the stupid urge to compliment her. She doesn’t need to try to be like one of us. Her humanness, fragile as it is, in all honesty is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Her mortal beauty holds more appeal than all the rest present in the room, their sameness and familiarity a bore.
Her sister, I forget her name honestly, for some reason doesn’t draw me in the same manner. It’s not all human girls, I regretfully admit, only to myself. It’s just her. Just Jude.
“No other head of hair so dull, no other face so plain.”
I grit my teeth as Valerian insults Jude, and the bright flash of her eyes hits me like a curse.
“Valerian,” I whisper, teeth gnawing at my cheek holding my temper at bay. We insult her often, of course, but it only feels fair if I do so first. Jude’s sister looks up at us, eyes wide and frightened. Jude continues to glare.
At me.
Valerian steps closer, gives her braid a hard tug and Jude winces. She looks as though she may just hit him right in the face, and I admit, I wouldn’t be mad to witness it. But instead she turns away, red-faced. My nails press into my palms as Valerian laughs, Nicasia tittering beside me in delight.
I turn away from them all, and a faerie boy stands before me, unbowing. He laughs and Valerian’s idiotic face flares in my brain when I strike at him, hard, and he sprawls onto the marble floor. The connection of my fist to his cheek is a pleasing burn, and if I were a better man I’d feel ashamed.
But I’m not good, and I won’t ever be. I feel Jude’s eyes on me as I tear at one of his pitiful moth wings, the sound a pleasant rip. The boy curls up on himself, and a rush of nausea fills my stomach. I know what it’s like to be lying in that position.
Valerian raises an eyebrow at me, as if he’s never done the same, and Jude looks at me with disgust. I try to hold onto the feeling, feed it, she hates you, she hates you, she hates you. I lose myself in another goblet of wine and repeat it like a mantra, her expression of horror and disgust burned on my brain. For maybe if I can truly make her hate me, I can convince myself I do too.
Because I should.
I do.
She’s only human, nothing special at all, yet I feel inexplicably cursed with the awful desire to know her and all her mundane humanness. For the hideous truth is, I don’t find her mundane at all.
It rankles when I look back and see Locke kneeling down next to the faerie, hand outstretched to help him to his feet. But what feels worse, is when I see Jude is staring at him, a soft expression on her face that I’ve never seen before. Or certainly never in my direction.
Locke has always been like that. He loves to be the saviour, the soft-hearted one. But I know better. Appearances aren’t everything and although faeries cannot lie, we are masters of manipulation. Locke’s do-gooder status is at least half a farce, and I’m almost disappointed Jude doesn’t seem to see through it.
She’s smart.
Another reason I’m so intrigued. A mere human and she still rivals half the faeries our age.
She’s too smart to be fooled by Locke.
I try not to stare as Jude is whirled away by her sister, and eventually disappears from view. But I’ve had far too much wine to try and pretend. Nicasia tugs on the hem of my sleeve and I shake her off. Valerian is prattling on about the upcoming Summer Tournament and I can’t bring myself to participate in the conversation. Dread coils in my gut at the thought, Father’s face, or worse, Balekin’s. I’ve never particularly liked dueling, nor have I much interest in training.
There’s no real reason for me to be anything more than average with a sword anyhow. There isn’t a chance in Elfhame that I’ll ever need to sit on a real throne, much less lead an army.
Jude though, my thoughts, as always fall back to her. When she fights there’s something in her face I’m not sure I could ever replicate. Odd as it is, particularly for a human girl, she seems to want to fight. Relishes in it.
I don’t think I’ve been that passionate about anything really.
Except trying to hate her.
And failing.
I escape Court after I’ve made a sufficient appearance, and take a pretty faerie with long blonde hair that looks nothing like Jude back to my quarters. When she kisses me I close my eyes but Jude’s face surfaces anyway.
I tell her to leave after that and stare at the ceiling of my room, willing Jude’s expression of hatred to disappear from sight. She does, eventually, until I succumb to sleep.
....
....
Jude smiles at me, and she’s so lovely I am almost certain my mouth will betray me and tell her so.
Her fingers reach out to caress my cheek, and she’s so close I can feel the hot puffs of her breath on my skin. Her breathing is unsteady, like mine is. I feel giddy, like I’ve had too much wine. No, not like that. It’s a light-headedness that doesn’t make me feel heavy and slow.
It makes me feel like I could fly.
“Cardan,” she says, and the sunlight makes it seem as though the smattering of freckles on her face are alive and dancing. Her voice is soft, devoid of all the harshness that’s usually sent towards me.
I feel her body shift closer towards me, and I lean in, my eyes closing and heart hammering with anticipation.
It’s like I’ve never kissed anyone before which is absolutely not true.
But what's true is that I’ve never kissed anyone like this.
A harsh scream of pain jolts the moment abruptly to an end. My eyes fly open and it’s not Jude, it’s the faerie boy 𑁋 the one with a torn wing. I stumble back, confused. His face, mournful and twisted in pain suddenly morphs into Jude’s.
“You hurt me!” she cries, and I reach out to take her hand, to say sorry, but my lips won’t allow the words to form. I can’t say sorry, I don’t, and everything feels blurry and confusing. Like I am drunk this time, like it’s definitely the wine.
“Jude?” I slur, confused, as the faerie boy’s green eyes shift back into hers, the colour of walnuts, blinking at me hard and unforgiving.
“Jude?”
I wake suddenly, my sheets damp with sweat and my tongue half-dried to the roof of my mouth. Embarrassment courses through me as my heartbeat lowers to a steady pace.
She hates you, I repeat, and the familiar refrain is both a comfort and a strain in my chest.
She hates you
She hates you
I hate you too.
....
....
It’s not at all common that Jude and her sister are taught with the Gentry’s children on the palace grounds. I remember when they first came, small and pitiful hand-in-hand, staring at us all wide-eyed. They never stood a chance of fitting in, and we made sure they knew their place quickly. Me, most of all.
Jude would never know, I’m sure, that she took my attention all the way back then, as mere children. I can still taste the rage, my dry mouth when I woke that first time after she’d visited my dreams.
That was the first time I’d ever kissed anyone, and Jude stole it, right out of my sleep.
I’d kissed a surprised Nicasia the very next day, the shock and then grin on her face chasing away the memory. But kissing Nicasia 𑁋 or others for that matter, never really worked in erasing Jude entirely. And it wasn’t even real.
I try not to look when she arrives at school, instead grinning at something stupid Locke’s said as Nicasia cards a calming hand through my hair. Poesy laughs loudly when I reply and it’s barely funny. Irritation crawls beneath my skin. I can’t stand those who laugh at me for show, who smile when they’d really rather be scowling.
I suppose this is why I like Locke and Nicasia most. Nicasia, in particular, excluding that one ill-fated summer together, has never smiled at me if she doesn’t wish to. And Locke goes out of his way to vex me. While infuriating, at the very least it proves he doesn’t just stay in my company for my title. Not that my title really means anything.
The lesson is dull and one I’m sure we’ve had before. The instructor regales the class with the wonders of Orlagh, Queen of the Undersea. Nicasia smiles, smug as anything, interjecting to gloat about her mother and correct him. Like most of our lessons, I can’t see why I need to know about any of this. Queen Orlagh will never be mine to ally or negotiate with, and the Undersea is not a place I even have a fleeting interest in visiting.
I’m not afraid of water, exactly, but an incident in the river with Balekin as a child, has not been one I’ve shaken easily. He was creative with his punishments back then, up until he decided to favour simple corporal punishment. I'm not sure which is worse. I flinch, the lines on my back that are hidden to the world a constant reminder of my place in it.
Lunch rolls around and my feet stray unconsciously towards Jude. She’s whispering to her sister, Taryn, that’s her name. I pause just above them and Jude looks up at me and it takes me by surprise, the intensity of her glare. On instinct, I kick dirt right onto her lap, the dark granules splattering over her buttered bread. The other faeries laugh and my face relaxes into a sneer as I look down at her.
She hates you.
Her stare is unnerving and I lose the battle, as I always do, my eyes shifting from her face. I feel childish and silly.
“Something the matter?” Nicasia asks, her arm sliding across my shoulder, possessive. She lost that right a long time ago but I make no move to remove it. Not while Jude is staring at me like she may just slice me in half.
Maybe I want her to.
“Dirt. It’s what you came from, mortal. It’s what you’ll return to soon enough. Take a big bite.”
“Make me,” Jude taunts boldly , and her sister looks alarmed and takes her by the arm in warning.
“I could, you know,” I hear myself saying, and I grin widely as if nothing sounds better. My hand curls into a fist and I squeeze, every eye in the class is on us. Predictably the elderly instructor doesn’t move a muscle to interfere.
No one ever has.
“You don’t want that, do you?” Valerian asks with mock sympathy as he kicks more dirt onto their lunch.
“What if we promise to be nice to you for the whole afternoon if you eat everything in your baskets?” Valerian’s tone is high and condescending.
“Don’t you want us for friends?” Nicasia interjects, sweet and poisonous.
It’s my friends who have taken it further, but it’s me that Jude continues to stare at, her anger simmering and almost visible. I don’t dare drop my gaze as she looks at me.
I hate you, I think.
But I don’t hate her at all.
I hate what she’s done to me.
Nicasia leans down and pulls a pin from Jude’s hair, her braids unraveling. I haven’t seen her hair down, long and loose like this. I blink, momentarily distracted.
“What’s this?” Nicasia holds up a golden pin, triumphantly, Jude 's cheeks have gone red and she has a hand in her hair holding it together. I wish she’d let go.
“Did you steal it? Did you think it would make you beautiful?
Did you think it would make you as we are?”
Jude’s glance down betrays her. I know she wants to be like us. She’s not like her sister, the older one, who never took an interest despite being half like us. I’ve seen the look in Jude’s eyes at Court many times, wonder and fascination, envy.
Plus, there’s the matter of the Tournament, Jude obviously cares if she is going to such lengths to be noticed. I wonder what it's like to care so much about creatures who despise you. But maybe I know a little about that after all.
Locke comes up behind me, quiet. I wonder if he’ll decide to play the good guy this time.
“You’ll never be our equal,” Nicasia laughs. Jude flinches.
“Oh, come on,” Locke chuckles, predictably. He wraps his arm around Nicasia’s waist and pulls her from my side. “Let’s leave them to their misery.”
Taryn looks up, “Jude’s sorry,” she says, in a rush. “We’re both really sorry.”
Jude glowers at the grass and looks like she’s anything but.
“She can show us how sorry she is,” I can’t help but drawl, and wince at the unintended implication.
I recover quickly, “Tell her she doesn’t belong in the Summer Tournament.”
Jude stands up, ignoring the pull on her hand from her sister beneath.
“Afraid I’ll win?” she spits.
“It’s not for mortals,” I inform her, my heart rising in my throat as I ignore my own impending doom with the duel.
“Withdraw, or wish that you had.”
Taryn smiles up at us, beseeching. I wish I’d kicked the dirt on her lap, instead. But she’s not worth my attention.
“I’ll talk to her about it. It’s nothing, just a game.” Nicasia and Valerian smirk down at Taryn and Jude, predatory.
Still, Jude looks past both of them, her gaze locked on mine, simmering. I stare back, and again she wins. I turn to go, head jerking at my friends to follow. I don’t like to think about what they might pull in my absence. For this is my game with Jude. Ours.
The instructor picks up where he left off as if nothing at all happened over lunch. A mock war, he decides we’ll play, for the purpose of remembering history. I’m almost certain Jude’s ‘mock hatred,’ is anything but, as she jabs at me with too much ferocity for play-acting.
I hate how she makes me feel.
I hate feeling weak.
I whisper in her ear, cruel and nasty. A defence that works as it always does when she springs away from me to a safe distance, disgust on her pretty face.
Better she hate me than get too close and realise what I don’t 𑁋 I can’t 𑁋 I might 𑁋 feel.
....
....
Balekin is waiting for me when I get back to Hollow Hall, for I shall never call it home. The look on his face when he sees me is as it always is. Both annoyance and disgust, as if I am both a pebble in his shoe and mud beneath it. My back stings, both phantom scars and real, as if I am conditioned to feel them when he’s near, like a wild beast half-tamed.
“Cardan.”
The way he says my name makes me feel as though I never wish to hear it spoken again.
I incline my head, toes curling in my shoes to ground me. It makes me angry how after all these years he still affects me so. His voice sparks fear and I can never let him see it. He already thinks me weak.
Balekin taps his staff on the floor, and I suppress a shudder at the ringing noise.
“Brother,” I eventually reply, stretching it out laced with sarcasm. To each other, we are anything but. Only by name and by blood.
“Are you ready for the Tournament?” he asks, and my eyes roll automatically, despite my heart picking up in pace.
Balekin’s staff taps again, closer to my shoe and I can’t suppress the shiver up my spine at the sound of it. I nod stiffly, too tired to bother with taunting him today and reaping the consequences.
“Do not embarrass me,” is all he says, and mercies above, steps aside to let me retreat to my room.
“Can’t have that,” I mutter, only when I’m well out of earshot, and collapse on my bed.
....
....
I should’ve known better by now, that Jude is not a girl to let things go easily. I almost may have been disappointed in her if she was.
She strikes at lunch the next day in lessons. Valerian is the first to spit out his food in horror, with Locke, Nicasia, and then myself following suit. It’s been well and truly salted. I can’t help but feel pleased that Locke’s been included with the rest of us.
Maybe she does see through him.
I look up immediately, I know instinctively where she’s sitting of course. Jude smirks at me, already looking over and obviously waiting on a reaction. It’s a pale comparison to her genuine smile, but it still makes me choke on my food a little bit harder.
I try and think of something clever and witty to say, but my mouth is burning and Jude looks more pleased than I’ve ever seen her.
“This is war,” Nicasia spits, bread and honey falling in chunks on the grass.
Valerian stands up, his face a similar shade to her hair, but Taryn has already dragged her sister by the arm and is leading her away in a half-sprint.
I notice then, the looks of the lesser faeries in our direction. They look amused, a few outright in tears of laughter. No one can get away with this.
Especially not her.
It’s because I hate her, I tell myself, as Valerian suggests retaliation.