Chapter Two

Errant Imps

Kela Sidhe awoke slowly, the warmth of her blankets trying desperately to lull her back into sleep. She would have let it, if not for the fact that the sun shining bright outside was casting its beams straight down onto her balcony, the glass doors of which stood open to let in the warm summer breeze. It was midday, and she was late for class.

She threw off her blankets, slipping her feet into her satin shoes.

“I need a maid!” She threw open her wardrobe doors. “Cianán is going to be furious, I can’t do this today!”

Kela watched as a pale girl came in, her pace languid. She did not look up from the floor as she shuffled across the room, and wordlessly began to shift through Kela’s gowns, selecting an emerald brocade dress. She turned to Kela, and cast her empty, half-lidded gaze at the princess’ face.

“Lovely.”

She began dressing Kela, who shivered at the lack of substance behind her eyes. The Glamored were so off-putting.

“Faster, please.” Kela pleaded quietly, and the girl began tightening the laces on the bodice hastily. When she had finished, she stepped back from Kela and dropped her head again, awaiting instruction. Kela dismissed her with a wave of her hand, and rushed quickly out of the room without watching the girl go. They always did as they were told.

She moved through the hall quickly, trying to avoid bumping her horns against the lower-hanging lanterns. The warm breeze fluttered through the open arches in the hall, disturbing the curtains. Kela reached the door to the classroom, imposing solid oak, carved through with intricate patterns of leaves.

She opened it as quietly as she could, and watched with dread as Cianán paused, turning slowly to face her.

“Your Highness, thank you for joining us. Please take your seat. We are discussing magic theory as a reminder for Princess Sour.” The tall, dark haired man spoke sharply, his pointed face resting in its usual expression of displeasure.

Kela moved quickly across the room, sitting next to her sister. Sour turned, nudging Kela with her clawed foot.

“Sleeping in is becoming a pattern for you, á bhobain.” Sour grinned, her scaled face lighting up with mischief.

“I am the edling of the court of repose, Sour. I’m going to sleep.” Kela shot back quickly, and her older brother, Crater, stifled a laugh.

“Children, please.” Cianán cleared his throat and began again. “All fae creatures are capable of magic, but only some are capable of performing it outside of their physical forms. For the sake of Sour’s question, those are the forms on which we will focus.” He began to pace the room as he spoke.

“Glamorie is the first of the four magics. All of you should be familiar, as your eldest brother is gifted in glamors. It is a suggestive magic that permits the caster to adjust the memories, perceptions, or objectives of a lower form of faerie or a human being. A wonderful example of the long term effects can be observed in the human servants that attend the palace here in Ildathach.

“The second magic is Coiscín, which protects the caster, through interfering or sometimes entirely cancelling offensive magics and attacks. Your mother became gifted in this form when fighting the battles that preceded our crossing into Tír na nOg.

“Asarlaí,” Cianán paused, looking pointedly at Kela. She sat up straighter in her seat.

“Asarlaí is the magic of summoning. Energy, objects, knowledge, and indeed, lower beings can be summoned if this magic is used properly. Your father, King Finvara, is an example of when energy asarlaí is used to its limit.

“The last, and rarest of magics, is Grammarie. I personally, do not believe it should be included in the classification of forms, however, as it has only ever been documented as presenting in your father. It is the ability to, in essence, rewrite reality as it stands. If he had used it, we would never know. The things he spoke would simply become true, always having been, and always to be.” Cianán stopped pacing, looking at Sour. “Questions?”

Sour thought for a moment.

“Yes. Why, if Crater can summon the spirits of the dead from the place between the stars, is he not classified as using asarlaí? That is the summoning of beings, and certainly happens outside of the self, so why is he Low Fae?” Sour’s tone was playful, clearly attempting to ruffle Cianán’s feathers. By all appearances, it worked, as the man’s face grew flushed.

“Prince Crater is exiting his body, yes, but that is not a summoning of the creatures to himself. All of what he performs, to the naked eye, transpires within his body, and traveling outside of himself takes a toll, as I’m sure you will recall. True asarlaí, when used, causes no harm to the caster.” Crater held up his hand.

“Cianán, if asarlaí causes no harm to the user, then what were your earlier implications about our father’s excessive use of the form? Did you not imply that his body was in some way harmed by the magic?” Kela looked at her brother, watching him grin as he scratched at his antler, which shed a small, bloodied clump of velvet onto his fingertips. Cianán took a deep breath.

“My implication was that your father relies too severely on his energy manipulation to maintain his power, Crater. Now, if there are no more questions-“ Kela raised her hand, feeling her siblings expectant gazes.

“Cianán, pardon the interruption. What form of magic does Doorkeeping fall into?” She blinked widely, attempting to look naïve.

“Kela, we have discussed time and again that the magical forms are a framework, and that not all magics fit into the four categories-“

“But then why is Grammarie a category, if only our father has been known to possess it?” Sour interrupted.

“Yes, by that logic, Doorkeeping should be its own form.” Crater added. Kela nodded to herself. This was the killing blow, and she was going to end this dreary lesson.

“It should be called clasán.”

Cianán’s eyebrows flew up in shock.

“That language was extremely inappropriate, young lady, especially in reference to a magic that your brother alone possesses. It took the entirety of our tribe to bring us here, and indeed protect you from the barbaric nature of the human parallel-“

“Cianán, I’m going to tell our mother that you yelled at us.” Crater crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. Cianán held his hands up in defeat.

“Very well. Clearly, none of you three possess the temperament or attention span to commit to learning crucial information that will shape your daily lives. Go, do what you will. And tell no tales to your mother of yelling, I simply raised my voice.” The three siblings rose from their chairs, piling out of the room and into the hall as quickly as they could.

The door thudded closed behind them, and Sour laughed breathily.

“Incredible work, all. Now, the gardens, yes?” Sour grinned, stretching her black, leathery wings and her sinewy arms in tandem. Every now and again, Kela was struck by just how imposing her sister was. Sour stood more than a head taller than Crater, who was not a short young man, and was covered in iridescent black scales. She possessed two reptilian wings and a long, spined tail, which she very frequently would accidentally lash against some unfortunate courtier’s ankle.

“Of course. We didn’t make it out nearly as quickly as yesterday, but á bhobain slept in, so I suppose we weren’t at full force.” Crater grinned, scratching at his antler. “These damn things are so itchy. I hate the shedding season.”

Kela smiled sheepishly at her brother.

“I don’t do it on purpose. Sometimes I just can’t sleep, and I’ll try everything I can think of, but the sun will rise before my eyes finally close. I simply have too many thoughts.” She began walking down the hall, her siblings quickly falling into step. The marble floors, polished to a glossy sheen, made no noise as they walked but a slight click against Sour’s claws.

“What thoughts plague you, bhobain?” Crater ruffled Kela’s wild curls, and she batted at his hand.

“Stop, you’ll get your antler velvet in my hair and I’ll need to wash it again.” They turned a corner, beginning to descend the steps to the gardens. “I think of many things. The Glamored, and how they could be seeing things. How warped it must have to be to keep them calm. I think of the two of you and Gazer, and how powerful you are. It doesn’t make sense to me, the difference they say there is between us. I think of our father.” Kela paused. Sour put a gentle hand on her shoulder, squeezing carefully so as not to snag her younger sister’s dress on a claw.

“I try not to think of him, for I am certain he does not dwell on us, Kela.” Sour spoke softly as they stepped onto the gently swaying grass.

The gardens stretched before them, ever-blooming and vibrant. Trellises, fountains, and trees stretched into the air, growing things tangling through branches and structures. Bushes and flowers peppered the ground, flourishing into unkempt shapes. Kela had been told that royal gardens in the human parallel were planned, sectioned, and kept, but she much preferred the wild meadowlands that surrounded the Queen’s Capital. Any wild that was to be kept and preened was not wild at all, it was like a caged bird.

In a gazebo, not far off from where Kela and her siblings stood, was their eldest brother, Titanyoung, and his lover, Viper. He was speaking animatedly, gesturing wildly with his free hand as she calmly sipped her tea, nodding in agreement.

“Titan!” Crater called out to their brother, and Titanyoung turned, grinning.

“Bit late today, troublemakers! Come, have some tea, we’re speaking on a topic I could use your input on.” Titanyoung’s sharp features split in a grin, and Kela couldn’t help smiling as the three of them approached the gazebo.

Titanyoung’s legs were crossed at the knee, his catlike paws flexing into the air absently. His tail was resting a bit above the paved circle on which the gazebo sat, and he was holding a large, steaming mug.

Crater sat next to Titanyoung, shoving his shoulder roughly against his older brother’s in greeting. Titanyoung laughed. Sour sat as well, grabbing at the small pile of sandwiches on a plate in the center of the small wooden table. Viper looked at Kela, her expression soft, and then at the chair next to her.

“Sit, darling girl. I don’t bite, your brother won’t let me. No one other than him, at least.” Kela sat as Viper spoke, and Titanyoung’s gaze whipped from Crater to the lithe woman across from him.

“Viper, please.” Titanyoung’s face flushed. “Kela is still far too young for such talk, quiet yourself. Now, the three of you. I’ve been pondering the concepts of Low and High Fae.” Titanyoung sipped his tea as Viper leaned forward to speak, her silky black hair trailing in low loops from the crown of her head and back over her shoulders, tossed over the arm of the chair so as not to drag on the ground.

“The concept of the binary classification, High and Low, is laid on shaky foundations. I possessed external magic, powerful magic, but when my eye was taken and my magic with it, I dropped to a classification lower than Low. Your baby brother Gazer’s magic, though still in its infancy, appears to allow him to glimpse the future itself, speaking to higher beings to glean what may come to be, and yet he is classified as Low.” Viper leaned back again, and waved her hand towards a shadowed corner.

Kela noticed, for the first time, a boy about her age in the corner. He was dressed in the simple, clean garb of the Glamored, but as he stepped forward to serve the three newly seated royals their tea, something immediately struck her. He was looking around, and with eyes so clearly focused that she was certain of it: He knew where he was.

“Well,” Crater started, “I think the classifications are simply based on who Mother and Father wanted in power, if I’m completely honest. There is no way to quantify someone’s magical ability, not in numbers, and so I have no choice but to believe it is based on their perceptions and biases and those of the original court of the Tuatha de Dannan.” Crater held his mug out for the boy, who’s russet hands shook as he poured the tea. Yes, Kela was certain. This boy was moving his own body, he was not being puppeted at all. Sour nodded.

“I think that may be true, but we also have to consider what they were walking out of as they came here. They were at war, and the strongest people having the most power did make sense.” Sour did not bother to look at the boy as he filled her cup, his hazel eyes locked on the level of liquid in the mug so as not to spill. Kela tried her best to focus on the conversation, piping up as the boy made his way around the table.

“That is understandable, but I see no reason why that should stand now. People are not just flesh meant to fall so that the court can remain, and even so, it is clear that power has nothing at all to do with it, for if it did, I would not be High Fae at all. Sour, your strength is far greater than my own, in this form or your other, regardless of what I cast, and that has been displayed time and again when we spar. Crater has far more knowledge than I, even with the sounds of the dead ringing in his ears, so knowledge cannot be the qualifier either. I think the whole thing is ridiculous.” Kela huffed quietly, starting a bit as the servant boy leaned over her shoulder to fill her mug. He was taller than he had seemed from across the table.

“Bhobain, you cannot measure yourself against us when you don’t apply yourself to improving.” Crater sipped his tea and Kela heard the servant boy choke on a small laugh. She turned to look at him, knocking into his arms with her horns and sending the teapot clattering to the ground. She silently thanked whoever had charmed the porcelain not to break.

“Why do you laugh, boy?” She snapped at him. He looked directly at her, eyes wide. Her companions behind her chuckled as though she were joking, but quieted as they realized what she had minutes ago.

“Speak! I am a Princess of the Court of the Seelie Fae, and I am sure you would be just as capable without your tongue.” Kela stood, and the boy took a step back.

“I don’t know why I laughed, Your Highness. Please, accept my deepest apology.” The boy spoke in a measured tone, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

“Why can you speak?” Crater spoke, his eyes alight with interest. “Are you not glamored?” Sour nodded feverishly, indicating her interest.

“I am not, Your Highness. I cannot be glamored, as I hold fae blood, but I cannot live unmonitored, as part of my blood is human. May I go?” The boy took another step back.

“May I have your name?” Titanyoung stood slowly, setting his mug down. The boy nodded.

“Deep Puck, Your Highness.” The boy, Deep, spoke softly, lowering his gaze as Titanyoung stepped toward him. Sour cackled.

“Oh, you gave it so freely. Deep, has no one taught you the power of a name?” Titanyoung put a hand gently on Deep’s face, lifting his chin to look him in the eye. Deep shook his head.

“Titan, don’t.” Crater stood. “The boy needs not know, he is obedient enough. Let him be.”

“Hush, Crater.” Viper waved her hand at the Prince, “Let him have his fun.”

“Deep.”

Titanyoung cooed at the boy, and Deep’s eyes went wide and glazed over.

“Pick up the teapot and pour it on the floor.”

Deep, without a moment’s hesitation, lifted the teapot from where he had dropped it and began pouring it onto the pavement. Sour giggled, watching the tea splash up into Viper’s hair.

“Alright.”

Deep very suddenly came back into himself, dropping the teapot on the floor again and blinking away the glamor. Titanyoung put a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry. You’ve given it to me, and so now it is mine until I say otherwise. I am far kinder with my glamors than your father Cianán.” Titanyoung sounded thoroughly pleased with himself. Kela would imagine that if Cianán had taught Titan the way he taught her, he would not have been fond of it at all.

“Please, Your Highness, do not make me act a fool in front of him. He already wishes I had not been born, so I know he would take no issue with ending my life.” Deep turned to Titanyoung, failing to keep the edge of pleading out of his voice.

“Oh, it is not me you need ask. Kela?” Titanyoung turned to his younger sister, smiling like a shark. “Do you want this boy?” Kela looked at Titanyoung in disbelief for a moment. This would be a valuable pawn for, if nothing else, driving Cianán crazy. The fact that her brother would pass that off astounded her, but she was not about to give him time to second-guess.

“Yes.” Kela tried her best to sound haughty. “I think I do.” Viper giggled.

“My, Kela, do not sharpen your claws in front of us. Your tone betrays your thoughts, little one.” Viper stood, brushing Kela’s hair back from her face. “He is a tool, not a toy.” Kela felt her cheeks flush.

“Viper, cease your teasing. Very well, then, Kela. Deep Puck is yours.” Titanyoung waved to the boy like he was presenting a gift, and Kela nodded.

“Maybe he can wake you in the mornings, Kel.” Sour spoke up, sipping her tea as if to punctuate the barb.

“Oh, like she’d be able to sleep with him looking at her.” Viper ruffled Kela’s curls.

“What just happened?” Deep spoke quietly, and Kela smiled.

“Deep, come. I need you to get out of those ugly clothes.” Kela bowed to her siblings. “I will see you all later, doubtless.”

“Be kind to him Kela. He is a bastard, but he’s Cianán’s.” Titanyoung took his seat, waving a limp-wristed goodbye.

Kela nodded, turning and grabbing Deep by the wrist, pulling him with her as she walked away.

“What is happening, Your Highness? This feels like a lot.” Deep spoke again, just to Kela this time, as she dragged him through the garden.

“You are my giolla. You have to do what I say, and what I’m saying now is you need nicer clothes.”