Page 10 of The Fae Lord
But as far as I know, there has never been another who can see the future. Only my family. Only my mother, and me.
And only one who can command the shadows. Not even my brother could do that.
I stop in front of a tavern. Its doors and windows are shuttered closed, but there is movement pulsating within. The scent of liquor drifts out from beneath the door and the cracks in the window frame.
I haven’t been inside a tavern since I ascended to the throne at one hundred years old. I have barely set foot outside of the castle, and in recent months, my hermit-like lifestyle has been even more intense.
I turn the handle and push. The door is locked.
I look up at the place where, on the other side, the bolt will be sealing it shut and hear it slide to one side.
I keep my powers a mystery as far as I can. I rule through the threat of what they might do, the anticipation of them. I show them how cruel I am with my bare hands and let them imagine what this would mean if I was using magic.
No one knew about my mother’s visions. No one knows about mine.
That is the way I like it.
I push my shoulder into the door and as soon as I enter, allow my wings to unfurl.
They fill the space in front of me.
Over by the fireplace, the patrons look up with wide eyes.
This is a Shadowkind tavern, but it is Sunborne who are in front of me. They stand immediately, assessing my silver hair and my black wings. They know who I am.
Behind the bar, the innkeeper says, “My lord. It is a pleasure to have you in –”
I shake my head and raise my palm to stop him talking. I do not care to hear what he has to say. “Whisky,” I say, sitting down on a stool at the bar.
The Sunborne who were playing what looks like a game of runes are muttering in hushed voices as if they are unsure whether to talk to me or carry on with their game.
I snap my fingers at them and tell them to continue as they were. “I do not wish to be disturbed,” I say, stalking into the corner of the tavern and choosing a table that faces out towards the rest of the room.
Folding myself into the large leather armchair behind the table, I let my fingers rest on the scratched and peeling material. I pick at it as I drink my whisky. And I strain my ears.
They do not know I can hear them. They have no idea that I can hear their voices as if they are whispering right next to my ear, that I can control shadows, and see the future.
They do not know half of what I’m capable of.
Perhaps I don’t either.
I drink slowly.
At first, they talk only about the game, but as the hours wear on and their bellies become more full of alcohol, their tongues loosen.
“The elves are muttering something about an uprising,” one of them says, glancing in my direction. I do not give any indication that I have heard them, simply keep my gaze cast down into my glass.
“An uprising? You mean the Shadowkind?” another says. He has thick glasses, a pinched, pale face, and large teeth. His wings twitch as he speaks. “I told Marta to keep a close eye on ours.”
The one who mentioned the uprising shifts her playing piece, takes a sip of ale, and shrugs. “That is what I’ve heard,” she says. “At the market this morning, at least half the stalls were empty. They are disappearing. You must have noticed?”
“There are rumours that Eldrion lost all of his,” says a man with thick curly hair. “All of them gone from the castle. That’s why the banquets have stopped. He’s got no servants left to serve and no jester left to entertain.”
The woman lifts her ale to her lips and takes a large drink. When she puts it back down on the table, she shrugs. “I also heard that the Leafborne escaped. The slaves from the auction.”
“He must be losing his touch,” chuckles the one in glasses.
“Careful, Brock, he’s only over there.”