A Fracture of Light and Shadow

Summer had always been Meira’s favourite season of the year. She worshipped the heat and the way it made her feel. She loved the scent of the air and the sounds of nature. Lior was known for its magnificence in all quarters—but summer, well, summer was something to behold. Not a cloud tainted the azure blue sky. The sun offered rays of warmth and light—gentle tendrils of vitality and goodness that made it difficult for Meira not to smile. Made it difficult for her not to close her eyes and tilt her face to the sky. Made it difficult to not take a moment to embrace the warmth and the way the sunlight made her body thrum under its loving touch.

So, that’s exactly what she did. With the grass soft and warm under Meira’s hands and the dense wood of the tree trunk behind her back, it made for a comfortable place to pause whilst she took a moment to rest her weary legs. Whilst she took a moment to procrastinate.

Her mothers would be expecting her home within the hour and even though that thought should have been enough to prompt Meria to her feet to continue her journey home, the opposite impulsion seemed to settle into her bones and she found herself making every excuse to remain right where she was - sitting in the grass, eyes closed, with her chin tilted to the sun.

Procrastination was one thing Meira was good at. If there was an award for finding something to do to deter from the thing you were actually meant to be doing, then she would have won it a thousand times over. She shouldn’t have been proud of it—she guessed—but currently, the sun was warm, her legs were tired and the grass was comfortable. Consider her deterred.

With a disgruntled groan, minutes having passed since she’d parked her backside in her favourite spot, the back of Meira’s head knocked gently into the hard wood of the tree in defeat. She opened her eyes, staring at her toes as they wiggled freely in her leather sandals, her legs stretched out ahead of her in the lush grass.

Sitting here was only delaying the inevitable. If she made it to the villa in an hour, or in three hours, the result and confrontation with her mothers was going to be exactly the same. What do you mean, you got fired? Aubrielle would ask, as if the notion was a shock to the petite, freckle-faced witch. Then Meira would be left to explain to both women how Lord Yerden had asked her all of five questions - five questions any druine should have been able to answer effortlessly - and yet Meira had stumbled over each and every one. Embarrassing. Yet not the first time. Reverie wouldn’t say a word to her, Meira knew that. The chocolate-skinned, hazel-eyed witch would just purse her lips and give her that look. That look that conveyed everything the woman wanted to say but didn’t have the energy or the bother to open her mouth and say it. That look that made it so tempting for Meira to roll her eyes and dare ask what she was holding back. Meira had made that mistake once - never again.

But she was getting used to it now - getting laid off. Three jobs this year, and the year was still young. It was one more than last year, and two more than the year before that - at least she was being consistent.

It had upset Meira at first. The first dismissal had been a blow to her confidence and it had taken a while for Aubrielle and Reverie to convince her to apply for another position. The second job she’d taken had lasted even less time than the first. Three hours, to be exact. Aubrielle managed to get her a job as a book shelver in the reputable Ciellios Library. Big mistake. Sure, Meira was a druine - it was in her blood, in her genetics, to absorb information quickly and efficiently. Most druine had the proficiency to read a book or glance at a map and memorise everything their sight touched - this made them an asset to a place such as a library or institution.

Not Meira. Meira was lucky to remember what she had for breakfast that morning or what her mothers had requested she collect from the markets. She was a terrible druine and maybe the sooner her mothers realised this, the sooner they’d stop pushing her into assignments where it was only a matter of time before her employer was forced to let her go.

So, yeah. Procrastination—Meira was good at that. Something Aubrielle and Reverie would no doubt agree with.

With another groan, the blue-eyed druine propelled herself to her feet. She straightened her skirts, flicking off the rogue blades of grass as she smoothed the thick lilac material. It was much too warm for the layers she wore, but a prerequisite to making a good first impression - or so Aubrielle had insisted. Fat load of good it did her. No amount of luxurious cottons or fancy pleats could help Meira if her brain refused to function the way a good druine’s should.

Lior was aesthetically pleasing, to say the least. The closer a village was to the Palace of Light, the more effort and money were put into its structure and design. Being the second closest village to the palace, Lior was as beautiful as it was lucrative.

The gardens were maintained, not a blade of grass or a leaf out of place. Each private villa had matching front terraces and immaculate greenery. The stone-paved roads—the colour of sand—were smooth and clean. No rubbish littered the streets and no horse droppings were left to mess your shoes. The harmonious sounds of sea birds filled the air, only interrupted by the cheery voices of Meira’s fellow villagers as she made her way through the square.

“There you are. I was wondering if I’d missed you” Meira turned toward the familiar and friendly voice of Cora, the baker’s wife, beaming at her from her store’s front door, “Aubrielle wants you to pick up some bread and asked me to remind you about her herb order too.”

“I hadn’t forgotten.” That was a lie.

Cora folded her arms over her chest, nodding, then cocked her head to a bag sitting on the stoop “Three loaves, fresh from the oven.”

“What do I owe you?”

Cora shook her head once more and grabbed the bag, passing it to Meria, “Nothing. Aubrielle did me a favour today. The bread is the least I could do.”

Meira could only imagine what that favour might have been. It was common knowledge Cora’s husband had been sleeping with the blacksmith’s daughter. The pair had been found rutting in a myriad of public places within the village.

It was only yesterday, Sorelle had been caught with her ankles behind her ears whilst Stellan had ploughed her amongst the empty wine barrels behind a seedy tavern. Last week, he’d had her on all fours beside the Lior stables.

Perhaps it was an anti-lust potion Aubrielle had provided the thin, plain-faced faerie. Or perhaps, even though everyone knew it was a serious offence to use magic to commit a crime, Aubrielle had provided Cora with a potion to shrink her husband’s cock—or to make it drop off altogether.

The heart witch had always had a soft spot for women treated poorly by their spouses. Meira wouldn’t put it past Aubrie to provide the baker’s wife with a little something-something to exact her revenge, even if it held the inherent risk of being caught by palace guards and taken to Fort Adira for punishment.

But instead of letting her curiosity get the better of her, Meira took the bag of bread from the grateful faerie and nodded politely, before making her way towards home.

“Meira,” Cora called out, “Don’t forget your mother’s herbs."

With a nod of the head and a curse under her breath, Meira altered her path, taking the small laneway that passed behind the main street, toward the Supply District.

It didn’t matter in the slightest that the sun was still warm and high in the afternoon sky; these small laneways that dipped and weaved between tall buildings and main roads of Lior were always shrouded in darkness. Only small, decorative lanterns lit the way for faeries and other beings who utilised these lanes to travel to where they wanted to go.

Unfortunately, there was no main road that led to the Supply District. For Lior standards, the Supply District and the connecting laneways were quite seedy. Popular taverns and pleasure houses took up every few building sites and Meira was always amazed, especially this time of day, how many wealthy elves and faeries alike littered the streets, singing and swaying merrily to the questionable music that flowed from the establishments.

As always, when Meira made these trips for her mothers, she was met with catcalls and wolf whistles from the males who had their bellies full of ale and their minds full of sex.

She ignored them. Meira knew better than to engage. She knew none of them would touch her - not if she didn’t want them to. Everyone in Lior knew Meria, knew of Meira. Knew who her mothers were. If one of those cocky, vain-as-sin elves so much as breathed on the pretty-faced druine, her mothers would have their balls in a vice before they could even send a prayer to Cielle to save them.

No, these leering males wouldn’t harm Meira, and she smiled politely at them as she continued on to her destination. It wasn’t the drunk elves and faeries of the Supply District that bothered her anyway—it had never been them who made her skin crawl. She knew their intentions and what they wanted from her and her body if she chose to indulge their fantasies—which she didn’t. It was someone else entirely that made her skin crawl and he—Meira knew without any doubt—was the reason why Aubrielle and Reverie continued to send her to collect their herbs and magic supplies instead of doing it themselves.

Meira paused outside Braylin’s Basics and breathed in deeply, then exhaled in one long, fluid motion as she gripped the handle, opened the door, and stepped inside. The tiny, silver bell chimed upon entry and Meira glanced toward the counter at the other end of the dimly lit shop. Waiting, just waiting.

“I wondered if I’d see you today.”

A shuffling of boxes and the clink of glass jars alerted Meira to the faerie in the back of the store before his raspy voice had even met her ears. Her skin bristled, her nails biting into the palm of her hand as she gripped the handle of the bread bag.

“Hello, Braylin. Aubrie sent me to collect her herb order. Is it ready?” Meira kept her voice even and disinterested - and her explanation for being there direct and to the point. She was there to collect a delivery. That was all. She wasn’t there to socialise or to chat about her day—or his. Meira couldn’t explain it, she’d never been able to. Braylin Featherton just gave her the creeps.

The tall, skinny druine, rose to his feet, a smile tugging at his thin lips as his dull green eyes combed over Meira’s lilac dress. Her stomach turned, knowing he would think that she’d chosen this outfit to please him - yet another reason Aubrielle no doubt sent her to collect her supplies today.

“You look beautiful, Meira, as always."

Braylin thankfully didn’t approach, but instead made his way behind the counter, pulling out a medium-sized box from underneath.

His perfect silver hair was tied back today. Meira wondered if it was because he’d been unpacking stock and didn’t want it in his face. She noted the pearl and amethyst comb holding it in place, it would have been worth more than her entire wardrobe.

It was a druine trait - white or silver hair, commonly partnered with light blue or light green eyes—so light they were often mistaken for having no colour at all. Boring. Meira had always disliked her appearance, the blandness of it. White hair that flowed in thick waves down her back, and eyes the colour of spring Periwinkles. She wasn’t ugly, not by any stretch. Meira, as Aubrielle continuously delighted in reminding her, was the most attractive druine to ever grace the Light Lands. If this was true, Meira didn’t know, but from the way males enjoyed staring at her, she had to believe there was some truth to her mother’s appraising words. She had a curvaceous yet athletic body—not exactly known for being a druine trait. Druine were more commonly thin and pale—two things she was grateful she wasn’t.

Meira didn’t bother acknowledging Braylin’s compliment, instead, she just made her way silently to the counter and pulled out her purse. “How much do I owe?”

Braylin held a pensive look whilst drumming his long pale fingers on the side of the box, “For you, dear Meira?” he muttered after a few seconds, “Ten stones.”

Meira refrained from rolling her eyes. She knew he would have charged ten stones anyway, regardless of who she was. Braylin Featherton was a tight-arse, just like his father before him. It was one of the many reasons he could afford to live in the kind of villa he did and live the affluent life he’d grown accustomed to. Sure, his stock was always of the best quality and he only dealt with the most honourable and notable merchants—that was why her mothers shopped there—but he never ever discounted anyone, regardless of who they were or what they meant to him.

Meira handed over her payment and waited for the druine to slide the box across the counter. Instead, his fingers continued to drum the sides as he stared at her.

This - this was why he creeped her out. That look. The one that she couldn’t quite read. His moss-green eyes assessed her and lingered on her lips without shame. She fought back the urge to snarl at him, to bare her teeth like some kind of rabid animal. It would be worth it just to see what he would do. He’d probably enjoy it—she thought, hiding the grimace on her face.

The druine’s gaze then lowered to Meira’s throat. It was as though he could see her blood pumping through her veins and savoured the length of time it took to reach her cheeks, tinting them with a rosy blush that matched the shade of her lips.

Would he think she was blushing because she liked him? The thought was enough to make bile rise in Meira’s throat. Anger tinted her cheeks. Nothing else. Gods, what did her mothers see in him?

“Is there anything you would have me bring tomorrow night, Meira?”

Wait, What? If Meira’s cheeks were pink before, she hated to think what colour they’d progressed to now. Tomorrow night—had she missed something? Just another thing her mothers had no doubt told her that she’d forgotten. A reminder of what a terrible druine she made.

Meira cleared her throat, dropping her gaze to the box of supplies as she tugged it from Braylin’s grip, “What are you talking about?”

He chuckled, the sound grating Meira’s nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard, “I guess they wanted it to be a surprise.”

“What?” she snapped rudely.

“Aubrielle and Reverie invited me for dinner. There are matters to—discuss. They were the ones who suggested your villa as the suitable location.”

Heat rose further into Meira’s cheeks and from the unpleasantly feral grin on Braylin’s smug face, he clearly wasn’t reading her body language correctly.

“It must have slipped their mind” she spat, nails digging into the sides of the box. Boy, were those witches going to have some explaining to do when she got home. Nothing—nothing slipped their minds. Not ever. Meira hadn’t been told this information because they didn’t want her to know. And typically, Braylin couldn’t help himself and told her anyway, which only made her wonder - what was this matter they so desperately needed to discuss over dinner?

“What is the topic of discussion then?”

The silver-haired faerie only grinned, a grin Meira would have loved to wipe from his pompous face. “Never you worry your pretty little head.”

Oh, did he just—? She couldn’t stand him. Meira’s body droned with the irritability Braylin’s unsettling face and annoying voice seemed to conjure in her soul. She could have cried with the effort it took to bite her tongue. Her mothers had raised her better than to fight her battles with a foul mouth and unladylike behaviours. No, Meira would not stoop that low in front of this egotistical prick. She was better than that. More cunning than that.

“Bring your most expensive bottle of wine.”

Braylin blinked, taken aback by Meira’s request. But he did not argue and instead, his grin grew wider, something knowing and dangerous flickering in those sallow green eyes.

“I can do that.”

“Be sure you do.”

Home was located right on the outskirts of Lior, a fifteen-minute walk from the village centre. Meira’s was one of the nicer villas, her mothers being two of the most sought-after witches in town, making for their ability to be able to afford such pleasant accommodation. The Mothers - as they were known collectively to most villagers in Lior and surrounding towns - were two powerful and well-respected witches who’d adopted Meira when she was just a baby. They owned a magic shop in the square - Love and War.

Aubrielle Winterstar, being a heart witch, had powers and abilities that centred on emotions and auras. She was the only heart witch in this half of the Light Lands and therefore her abilities, potions and spells were under great demand.

Beings from near and far came to visit Love and War to have their auras read and their true emotions channelled by Aubrielle. The strawberry-blonde, emerald-eyed woman could tap into anyone’s feelings and emotions. Questioning if your husband still loves you? Well, Aubire could give you the answer in a heartbeat—for a cost, of course.

Then there were the impatient patrons. Beings who didn’t have the time or simply couldn’t be bothered waiting for their love interest to actually fall in love. Meira, even though she’d never tell her mother this, thought that kind of magic was for the weak-minded and the faint-hearted. How many lovestruck fools had Meira seen stroll into the store’s front doors, in desperate need of lust potions and aura-cleansing elixirs to draw their true loves’ attention? Over the years, she’d lost count.

Meira was a strong believer that if true love needed a potion to make it happen, it wasn’t really true love. It wouldn’t matter how many lust potions Cora shoved down her throat, if Stellan wanted to screw the blacksmith’s daughter then she should just let the bastard do it and get her revenge some other way.

But it was a different clientele that Reverie drew to Love and War - if Aubrie was the love then Rev was the war.

Reverie Slayborn was also a witch. Not a heart witch, just a standard, everyday witch. Now, don’t let the lack of an extra title deceive you - Reverie was anything but standard.

The woman was a force of nature. There was not a single piece of weaponry in the Light Lands that Rev hadn’t mastered. She’d been raised alongside her brothers - talented warlocks and Nreean warriors in their own rights - and had not been treated or trained any differently from them. Because of this, Reverie had earned herself the title of War Witch—some even called her Warrior Witch.

Her father, centuries ago, had been the King’s General of War; the only ever warlock in history to have held that title. Usually, any high ranks in the king’s army were taken by elves - naturally powerful and skilled fighters with tongues as savage as their swords. But Reverie’s father went down in history as the finest General of War the king’s army had ever seen.

Rev took after her father in not only his magic ability but in his skill as a fighter too. She forged all her own weapons - much to the blacksmith’s disgust - and concocted a myriad of strength-enhancing and injury-healing elixirs.

Meira had witnessed all manners of beings come to Love and War to call upon her mothers and pay good money for their services. Aubrielle and Reverie worked hard, and they earnt the handsome home and expensive clothes they’d become accustomed to—although Rev lived mainly in her traditional Nreean attire, and it was more Aubrie who enjoyed high-end fashion and fancy dresses. Yet they still didn’t flaunt their earnings or assets, not the way she’d seen Braylin Featherton do regularly.

“You’re home! How did your first day go?”

Meira cringed, Aubrielle’s melodious and joy-filled voice echoing from the kitchen as she walked in the front door. Meira straightened her shoulders, readying herself for the onslaught of disappointment that was about to come her way.

“Lord Yerden asked me how many species of sea nymph populated the Tampir River.” Meira placed the box of herbs on the table before making her way into the bright and spacious kitchen.

Aubrie stood behind the stovetop, her strawberry-blonde curls bouncing as she stirred what smelled like a pot of mushroom and chicken soup.

“And you told him twenty-five,” she muttered. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

Here we go—

“I said twenty-four.”

The heart witch stopped stirring, only for a fraction of a second, but long enough for Meira to wince at the tightening of the muscles in her petite shoulders.

Aubrielle never raised her voice at Meira, not even when she was a child. She’d always had a different way of parenting - a calm and loving way, a way that fit in with her kind and peaceful nature.

“He also asked what the main source of nutrition was for an Aixin.”

“Basin Newt.”

Meira nodded, placing the bag of bread on the bench next to Aubrielle, “I couldn’t remember that either”

The heart witch sighed and Meira’s chest twinged painfully as her chin dropped and she let the ladle rest on the side of the simmering pot.

Aubrielle turned to face the poor excuse for a druine but there was no anger in her stunning, emerald green eyes, only sadness. Which hurt all the more, “So, it’s fair to say your first day didn’t go very well then”

“It’s fair to say.”

With another small sigh, the pretty little witch with sparkling green eyes and a perfect button nose, shook her head, causing her curls to bounce and twirl in every direction. She gave a small shrug and stepped into Meira, rising on her toes to plant a kiss on her daughter’s cheek.

“You are good enough,” she said, lowering herself back down to the floor. Aubrie, at full height, only reached Meira’s shoulders - but what she lacked in height, she made up for in power. “I don’t want you thinking those thoughts. You just haven’t found what works for you yet. Give it time.”

The witch knew exactly what Meira was feeling, there was never any point in trying to hide it. Not in front of her.

“She’s been given plenty of time, Aubrie. As it is, any place Meira applies for a position has already heard of her questionable abilities as a druine. Time has run out for her to prove them wrong.”

Meira’s jaw clenched as Reverie entered the back door of the kitchen, her Nreean leathers torn and filthy from whatever activities had taken up her afternoon. Sweat glistened on her rich bronze skin, her long dark hair pulled back from her strikingly beautiful face in tight braids; traditional Nreean feathers and hairpieces holding it in place. The witch dropped a dirt-covered axe on the kitchen bench as she stared at Meira, earning a side-eye from Aubrielle.

“So, what would you have me do?”

Rev cocked her head, enough to convey she didn’t like the tone her daughter was taking, and crossed her muscled arms over her chest as she leaned against the wall. Aubrie shuffled in behind her, picked up the soiled axe between her thumb and forefinger and threw it out the door.

“An unpaid apprenticeship with one of Lior’s other druines. Clearly, you aren’t retaining any of the information Aubrielle has been teaching you over the years. Perhaps being trained by one of your own will make a difference.”

Meira held Reverie’s steely gaze, noting there was something else behind this suggestion. Something else the witch was leaving unsaid.

“I think what Rev is trying to say, is that—”

“No, I know exactly what she is trying to say,” Meira interjected. She folded her arms over her bust, mirroring the War Witch’s body language, yet looking a darn sight less intimidating, “I saw Braylin tonight when I collected your herbs. Is there something you forgot to tell me?”

Rev remained unphased, her expression a page of stoic indifference. Aubrielle, on the other hand, stilled at Meira’s question. That was enough to let Meira know she was on the money. If only Meira could read Aubrie’s emotions instead of the other way around.

“We forgot to tell you nothing. We invited him for dinner tomorrow night.”

“I’m aware of this…now. Inviting him for dinner has nothing to do with this suggestion of yours to have me partake in an apprenticeship with another druine, does it?”

“And what if it did?” Aubrie asked, her eyes softening as she took a gentle step toward her daughter.

Meira’s tense body language eased as her mother drew closer and she cursed herself silently for giving into the heart witch’s natural ability to manipulate one’s emotions. Yes, not only could the pocket-sized woman read people’s emotions…she could also alter them.

“Don’t do that,” Meira snapped, “I’m annoyed. Let me be annoyed.”

“You are twenty-five, Meira, and you have not held a job longer than five days. Featherton has offered—he’s offered a lot more than we could have hoped, for someone with your—” Meira cocked an eyebrow, daring—daring Reverie to finish her sentence, “—with your lack of natural talent”

There it was. It didn’t matter how her mothers painted it, how they tiptoed around the facts. Meira was a joke of a druine. The smartest, most intellectual species of faerie known to populate Nebilliha, and Meira could hardly retain enough information to get through a week’s work in the Ciellios Library.

“And what has he offered exactly? I’m not stupid—as much as the two of you may disagree. All the orders you’ve had me collect, all the stupid dresses you’ve had me wear. Why do I get the idea it’s not just an apprenticeship I’ll be stepping into?”

“Sweetheart. We don’t think you’re stupid. We’ve never said that. Please don’t ever think—”

“Braylin Featherton has asked for your hand in marriage.”

Meira flinched, her hardened gaze moving from Aubrielle to Reverie. Marriage? To—to that—that creep? No. She closed her eyes, shaking her head slowly as if the movement would somehow scramble the thoughts around in her head until she would begin to see reason within them. But there was no reason. Her mothers had gone behind her back. For weeks now they’d been sending her to Braylin’s shop, exhibiting her in front of him. Swathing her in expensive gowns to pick up orders they likely didn’t even need. And Braylin had watched her, assessed her. He’d relished the completely one-sided courtship, staring at her as if she were a possession—his possession.

“I will not marry that pretentious prick,” Meira hissed. Her pale blue eyes narrowed as she scowled between her mothers.

Reverie remained unflinching, a true warrior - never revealing her emotions unless she chose to. Aubrielle, on the other hand, wore her heart on her sleeve, her emerald orbs already glistening as tears built behind them. No doubt the heart witch could feel the level of betrayal Meira felt from hearing of their deceit. Good.

Meira would not feel guilty. She was the one who deserved to be hurt, who deserved to be angry. Her mothers - the women who’d raised her and loved her and cared for her as if she’d come from their wombs - had gone behind her back. Had all but arranged a partnership—a marriage, without her knowledge or consent.

“Featherton is coming for dinner tomorrow night. You will be there. You will be pleasant. You will hear him out. You will use your brain, for once in your life. You will be reminded that he is a brilliant druine and well-respected businessman. You will see that what he is offering could, and will, set you up for the rest of your life. A marriage to him—Meira, your failures as a druine won’t matter anymore, can’t you see this?”

She could hardly contain her fury. It was a bitterness, a pure white rage she hadn’t felt flow through her veins before. She stared at Reverie as her blood warmed, such an incoherent array of emotions clouding her mind. On one hand, she loved this woman - on the other…she couldn’t even think of words to convey the deceit and heartache she felt with every utterance that passed between Reverie’s lips.

And Aubrielle just stood there. Tears running down her perfectly freckled cheeks as she felt every emotion that coiled through Meira’s heart, a heart that fractured ever so slightly in her chest.

“I will not marry him.”

“I’m not giving you a choice.”

I’m not giving you a choice— Reverie was taking this burden off her sister’s shoulders. There was no we in this. Typical. She would always play the bad guy. Her heart was stone, her stare holding no sign of remorse from the wounding words she’d emitted. She’d take Meira’s rage, she’d take it so Aubrielle didn’t have to, even if this decision was one made equally between them.

“I’ll never forgive you for this.”

Reverie shrugged, “Never is a long time when you’re immortal, Meira. Never say never.”