Book 3: Chapter 8 – Real Estate [Part 1]
Book 3: Chapter 8 - Real Estate [Part 1]
When crimes begin to pile up, they become invisible. When sufferings become unendurable, the cries are no longer heard. The cries, too, fall like rain in summer.
- Bertold Brecht.
When the winds turned, it became a simple matter to burn the woods.
Barrels of pitch were brought to the young noblewoman, their sides stained and seeping. Seraphina herself tossed one after another into the brush, smiling as the black filth splashed across the undergrowth and tree trunks like spilled blood. Sir Frest, ever the faithful knight, handed her a torch. She took it without ceremony and flung it into the darkness.
It landed with a dull hiss and sputtered out. Seraphina frowned.
Another torch. Then a third. The fourth caught. A soft crackle became a roar. Fire danced along the branches and slithered up trunks like a hungry thing. Smoke billowed. The sky began to darken.
“A shame,” Seraphina said, brushing her hands together, “that we shall see no profit in lumber. But, such is sometimes the cost of certain ventures.”
“Yes, Lady Seraphina,” said Frest flatly.
Though he could not see the advantage of burning down these woods ruled by the Fae. How could one ever hope to defeat a foe older than the land itself? However, he had long since learned not to question the girl, not after seeing what she could do and the fact that she almost always had an answer to every question. And, there was something in her voice, in her gaze, that turned every objection into a weight tied to the tongue.
“Of course,” she continued, “a fire, especially a natural one, the Fae will put out in time. But this is not about burning down these woods, at least not all of it. This is about time and distraction. These fires will buy me time enough to break the final seal…”
Her words trailed off as a shimmer appeared in the air.
Then, with a sound like a sigh, a creature emerged from nothing. It was small, barely the size of a child’s doll, bedraggled and pale. Its wings were not the delicate, iridescent gossamer of storybooks but bat-like and dark, the hide stretched thin over bony veins. Its face was narrow, elfin, with one eye slitted like a lizard’s.
Frest drew his sword in a blink.
“Mercy!” cried the creature, its voice shrill and high. “Mercy, I beg you!”
Seraphina raised a hand. Frest hesitated, though he did not sheathe his blade.
“You are Tia,” Seraphina said, as if naming a summoned servant. “Warder of these woods.”
The creature froze. “Yes. That’s—I mean, how do you—?”
Seraphina tilted her head. “You were the Seal. Bound to the barrier. Forced to guard the ones who made you suffer. They called it honor, but it was duty in chains, wasn’t it?” She took a step closer. “I know you, Tia Losfarren Al Thormaigh. I see you. But why do you protect them?”
“Mortal,” the Pixie stammered, her wings drooping. “They are my family. Please. We have done you no harm. And… And… how do you know these things?”
Seraphina smiled, slow and cruel as she ignored Tia’s question. “And yet they’ve done you harm. What do you call someone who works without rest, without reward, without love? They made you less than a servant. They made you a thing. Bound your soul to their will, to the Barrier of the Lost. And now, they would see you die to buy themselves more time.”
Tia’s silence was an answer more honest than any words could ever be.
“They chose you because you were different. They feared you. Mocked you. And now, they offer you up like a lamb at the altar.” Seraphina’s voice softened, twisting the knife. “They want you to die, Tia. Your death will empower the barrier, separate it from all perception. You know this.”
Sir Frest, ever the dutiful knight, stepped forward with caution thick in his voice. “My lady… tales of the Fae are riddled with deceit. They trick, they mislead. Is it wise to bargain with such a creature?”
Thank you, Frest, for being so wonderfully predictable, she thought to herself.
“I can be trusted!” Tia’s voice cracked. “I have never broken my word. Please. What must I do?”
Seraphina’s smile widened, slow and predatory. A hidden Charisma check had been passed, and the girl knew it.
“Let me in,” she said softly. “Let me end this. I will release you from your chains. I will give you freedom—and more. I will give you that which your kind desire the most, I will give you a grand purpose.”
Tia turned away, her clawed hands trembling. “But… they will all die.”
“Yes,” Seraphina replied coldly. “But you will live. Either way, I will not be stopped. This land is mine. The Goddess herself favors me, and not even the Fae can defy the will of a Divine. So choose, Tia. Choose yourself, or choose those who spat on your very being. Ask yourself if you are willing to sacrifice yourself to people who never cared for you.”
“I…” The Pixie’s voice was barely a whisper. “I want to live.”
“Good,” Seraphina said with satisfaction. “Then lower the rest of the barrier. And sign this.”
The noblewoman gestured, and from behind her came Miriam, pale and composed, bearing parchment and a feathered quill on a velvet tray.
“What… what is it you wish for me to sign?” Tia asked, eyes wide.
“Some agreements,” Seraphina said. “Simple ones. Nothing special. We call it an ‘employment contract’ and an NDA.”
“Endee-ay?” whispered the tiny Fae.
Words were shackles to creatures like Tia. Spoken or written, they had power. Seraphina’s clauses were wound tight as a noose, binding not just action but thought, leaving no space for interpretation or mischief. If the Pixie resisted, the cost would be great.
Tia took the quill, almost as tall as she was, with trembling limbs. It looked absurd in her grip, yet she signed using her wings to flutter about.
“So,” the creature asked, voice quivering as she lowered the magical barrier, “this is to be my purpose now? What happens… next?”
Seraphina’s smile returned. This time, it was not cruel; it was simply final.
“Now,” she said, “you look away, while I exact justice. Know then also, that I can be merciful.”