Blackwarden

Say your farewells,” Magistrate Thompson spat, turning away as the other two men stepped forward, all frowns and folded arms. I’d made my choice. I had to go with them, or my sister would be dragged away—and I refused to let that happen. I turned to Renee and immediately wished I hadn’t. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and I struggled to hold back my own sorrow. I needed to be strong, for her. For me. I pulled her into my arms and held her as tightly as I dared, her shoulders shaking as she cried. I choked on a sob as I gripped the back of my baby sister’s head. This would be the last time I’d get to hug her, and I’d make it count. “It’s going to be okay,” I whispered, even though I knew it was lie. “It’s not going to be okay,” she said, between snivels. “I’ll never see you again!” “We’d never see each other again anyway, whether it was you or me going.” She refused to remove her face from my shoulder, holding me tighter than she ever had, and I refused to let go. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Not yet. “It should be me. He called me,” she whimpered. “You still have so much to live for. I’ve had nothing since Bastion was killed.” I pulled her back, holding her at arm’s length before cradling her face between my hands. I couldn’t help my lower lip from quivering. She was my little sister. As far as I knew, she’d never even held a boy’s hand. Never been kissed. Never made love. She hadn’t lived, not really. And now I wouldn’t get to see her fall in love, or braid her hair on her wedding day, or hold my nieces and nephews in my arms. But at least I knew she’d have a chance to have these things. “Let me do this,” I said, with as much authority as I could muster. Her blood shot eyes glared back at me before she finally nodded swiping at her tears with the organza sleeves of her gown. This is how it had been, me, protecting my precious little sister, and no matter the cost, I would always pay it. Renee was ten years younger than me. She had been my entire world before I met Bastion and she’d been my light through the darkness of losing him. We had a brother between us. His name was slashed into the fabric of my sorrow. I was four, and I’d been so excited to be a big sister the day Romie was born. When my mother found him cold in his cradle, I thought she’d died too. She didn’t speak or eat for days. My father and I did our best to continue on, as if the cruel world hadn’t just dealt us our greatest misery. Then one day, she picked herself up, smiled at me, and became my mother again. To this day I don’t know how she’d overcome such grief. Six years later, Renee blessed us with her squeaky cries. They’d been the best days of my life—holding her as she squirmed in my arms. I cherished every moment, every adventure we embarked on through our village. Every time I’d braided her golden hair. Every time we’d sneak away and steal an apple from the neighbor’s orchard to pass between us, taking monstrous bites and giggling until we were both in tears. And now, I had to tuck those memories away before my world collapsed again, like it had the day I lost Bastion. I had to be strong a little longer, even though everything I knew was being ripped from my fingers. I didn’t know what would happen to me. No one knew exactly what happened to the human girls taken to the Gatehouse every five years. We only knew that it had been a century since our village had been required to provide a maiden, and that the names were drawn from a collection of unwed women ages eighteen to thirty, with no children. Girls married as soon as they could to escape the choosing—myself included. The two guards stepped forward before grasping me by my upper arms, my spine stiffening at the callousness as I was quite literally torn from Renee’s grasp. “Hey, I’m not going to run,” I said, but their grip only tightened. “For the Mother’s sake, I’m choosing to go.” Renee crumpled into a pile of chiffon and organza, wailing like a toddler, as the two men yanked me toward a carriage waiting at the base of the dais. “Renee! Pick yourself up!” I swallowed back the first of my tears, desperate to keep them at bay a tiny bit longer. I needed to be strong and apparently, she needed her big sister to yell at her one more time. “I love you, Renee. You have to live your life. Live it for me!” I tried to pull myself free from the guards long enough to turn back to her. “Tell Mother and Father, I love them. Now, get up!” Before I could say another word, I was crammed into the carriage, the door slammed in my face. For a long moment I could do nothing but stare in disbelief at the wood grain that surrounded me, my sister’s tear-streaked face burning into my memory. I promised myself I’d never forget it. I had sacrificed myself for my miracle sister. The one who pulled my little family from the depths of our darkest despair and made everything whole again. I’d done it so she could have the life that had been stolen from me. I’d done it for Renee, but in all honesty, I’d also done it for myself. I couldn’t lose another member of my family. Not after all I’d endured in the last year, losing Bastion. He’d been the center of my life, carved from my soul before our own family could grow. I collapsed into a heap of tears on the floor of the carriage. The latch clicked loudly as it was locked from the outside before lurching into motion. Every thread of my being unraveled as I let the wall I’d built around my heart since my husband’s death crumble into a pile of broken dreams. If I hadn’t thought my life destroyed before, I did now, because I was on my way to the mysterious Gatehouse, to be prepared for whatever the Dark Fae would do with me. It was said the maidens were used for cruel experiments, hunting rituals, or turned into servants for the households of the Unseelie Court. All their free will stripped, leaving them nothing but human puppets, emotionless and empty. But I suspected there was a far darker purpose. Why would the Fae require slaves? They controlled powerful magic—the Dark Fae especially. They were mysterious and evil and relentlessly uncaring of what their edict did to the families stripped of a cherished daughter. My vision grew dark around the edges as I tried to take long, slow breaths and failed. The Dark Fae were the monsters that crept into homes in the middle of the night to spirit away loved ones. They were the evil that destroyed households, the crafters of curses designed to inflict anguish for generations. I squeezed my eyes closed as I curled into a ball, pressing my legs tight against my chest. I was going to the Dark Fae. The source of every nightmare I’d ever had. Behind my eyelids terrifying creatures with taloned fingers reached for my throat. I couldn’t do this. Why had I thought I could? Bile burned in my throat, and I swallowed it back down, gulping in shallow breaths. I dragged myself up, hoping to draw more air into my lungs and distract myself from the death I was being dragged to. With trembling hands, I pulled myself to the carriage window and peeked out. A cold landscape slipped past. The day had been new when the Magistrate gathered us at the base of his dais. Now the sun hung at its highest point, washing away the shadows and turning everything the same drab gray of winter. I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders. Exactly how long would the journey to the Gatehouse take? Hours? Days? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know how much longer I had to live. –––––––– Three days. We rode for three days. Other than to relieve myself, I was not permitted to leave the carriage. I was given bread, cheese, and water to sustain me. It was miserable. My abs hurt from crying. Every time I blinked it felt like sandpaper scraping over my burning eyes. The motion of the carriage made me so sick; I struggled to keep any food down. I was used to riding on the backs of horses, not in wooden prisons on wheels. At some point, I stopped caring that I was likely going to my death and began praying for it to hurry up and take me. The first day, I tortured myself with memories of every happy moment I’d spent growing up with Renee—the trips to Fennigsville, rising with the sun to do chores around our tiny family farm. When I moved home after Bastion’s death, we went back to sharing our little attic bedroom, almost as if I hadn’t spent six years being a wife. The second day, I devolved into a weird delirious state, reliving every moment before I was shoved into the rickety carriage. The memory of learning Bastion was dead seemed superimposed over it, like a curtain of black, sheer fabric. I thought I’d cried myself dry, but apparently, I’d been wrong. Renee’s anguished face wouldn’t leave me alone. My skin burned with every fresh tear that carved a path down my cheeks. As the third day waned, I grew antsy. I was ready to face whatever would greet me after this wretched journey. Perhaps, it was because I’d already been torn apart by the year I’d endured at the loss of Bastion, but I felt hollow and hopeless. Who needed hope anyway? It was such a fickle thing. Something that could be stripped away in seconds and replaced with the darkest shadows of despair. The carriage driver must have felt the same growing dread that simmered in my gut, because our pace slowed, even though the road conditions hadn’t changed. The landscape outside my prison hadn’t changed much either. We’d passed fields and villages, then desolate stretches of land, nothing but untamed grass swaying in the bitter wind. The walls of the carriage weren’t thick enough to keep the winter wind out, and I was chilled to the core, my threadbare cloak barely kept me warm. The cold settled so deep in my bones, it would take a blazing fire—and possibly a blistering hot bath—to thaw me out. As the sun painted the sky pink, we passed through an unassuming stone gate, which marked the border of a forest. I was relieved by the change in scenery, until I noticed the trees seemed trapped in endless summer, leaves clung tenaciously to the branches even though we were deep into winter. They crowded the road with their full leafy canopies, until there was no light at all. And those leaves—they slowly changed color, from the brilliant green of summer to the black of death itself. Eventually, it grew so dark I wasn’t sure if the sun had set or if the trees had smothered it entirely. The only light came from the lanterns mounted to the sides of the carriage, casting sinister apparitions against the tree trunks as we passed. After what felt like another hour, the carriage came to an abrupt stop. It was at that moment my bravery decided to betray me entirely. I straightened the skirt of my brown work dress with trembling fingers, waiting in the stillness for what would happen next. The moment stretched thin and brittle, and I nearly fell off the bench when the lock finally clicked open. One of the guards who had ripped me from my sister’s arms greeted me with a pale face and wide eyes. “Hurry now,” he said, holding out a shaking hand. To see a grown man—a guard of the Magistrate—terrified, did little to calm my own fear. I took his hand and let him help me down. I wouldn’t have managed on my own otherwise. The stiffness from sitting for days was so complete, I stumbled on the steps, thankful for the guard’s iron grip on my upper arm. When I turned and faced the dark structure known as the Gatehouse, I shrank back in terror. I knew then, I’d been insane to think I could exact some sort of revenge on the Dark Fae who killed my husband. I was hardly brave enough to take a single step forward. Onyx spires rose several stories into the air from either side of massive double doors which stood taller than most of the buildings in my village. The entire structure was made of some kind of black stone that seemed to soak up every drop of the remaining light. Dark windows gaped like empty eye sockets, glaring down at me as the guard pulled me forward. Stone steps led up to the door, framed by black metallic sculptures of grotesque serpent-like creatures. They twisted together until they were nothing but indiscernible limbs and long bodies. They reminded me of the illustrations from my favorite picture book—nightmares I’d always known as the Dark Fae—evil creatures with evil intentions. I’d been both mystified and scared of the stories as a child, addicted to the monstrous depictions in a way that had bordered obsession. Bastion’s death only renewed my nightmares. And now? I was in a living nightmare, staring up at what I had always told myself was nothing more than a fairy tale, because how could something so wicked, so foreboding, be real. Vines with the same black leaves from the forest clung to the dark facade like spindly fingers, climbing over twisted ornate trim and up the eaves and gables. Two braziers mounted on either side of the door, burned with mocking warmth, but I knew the truth. My death awaited on the other side of those doors. “Hurry,” the guard said, as he pulled me along. “I must see you into the Gatehouse before nightfall.” I swallowed the fear that crept up my throat. This was just another step, another thing to conquer. If I was brave enough to take my sister’s place, then I needed to be brave enough to pass through these doors—even if I knew I would likely never step back out. The guard knocked three times, and with the third knock the doors creaked open, swinging inward with a torturous slowness to reveal a pitch-black hall beyond. How had I gotten myself into this? Why had I ever thought I was brave enough? A cold numbness crept through my limbs as I waited for some sign of what to do next, or where I should go. Or if I’d be left in the Gatehouse alone until I was dragged to the Unseelie Court by some bloodthirsty monster made of nightmares. From the far end of the hall, two braziers flared to life, their eerie warmth oozing through the darkness. Something stepped out of the murky depths, more braziers igniting as it approached. No matter how much light those braziers emitted, the figure remained cloaked in shadow. I wrung my hands, trying to keep them from trembling, but it was useless. A deep fear settled in my marrow, it was all I could do not to turn and run. The guard rushed down the steps, eyes wild with fear, followed by the faintest scent of urine as he passed. The closer the figure came the more it appeared to be a man. Tall and slender with strong shoulders. Dark hair hung messy around his head, but it was what was on his head that caught my breath in my throat. Two horns sloped back over pointed ears. Horns as black as the stone and glittering with high polish—demon horns. Dark Fae. I took a sharp breath, trying to keep my knees from collapsing. I had never thought I’d see one with my own eyes. His pale skin seemed to solidify from the shadows as he came to stand at the entrance of the Gatehouse. A long face framed by a sharp jaw drew my eyes down to the deep neckline of his finely embroidered doublet, unapologetically revealing a slice of toned chest. The Fae kept themselves far from humans. The ties they had to the magic of the Earth Mother made them arrogant and self-centered. They isolated themselves in their courts which required magic portals to enter. I knew Fae could be beautiful, but I hadn’t been prepared for how beautiful. Behind me, the driver of the carriage snapped the reins and sped away. I risked a glance over my shoulder in time to see it disappear into the forest. When I looked back, I found the Dark Fae waiting, his gorgeous face showing no emotion. He had a slender nose and angular, arched eyebrows that rested over almond-shaped eyes as black as his doublet. They watched me with an intensity that bordered on creepy. “Welcome to the Gatehouse.” His voice was a song I’d never heard but had dreamt of all my life. It curled around me, pulling me forward as my gaze fell to his perfect lips. He was gorgeous. And truly terrifying. He held out his hand, stretching elegant fingers toward me. “Come,” he commanded. The fear that had rooted my feet firmly in place released its grip, and I took one trembling step toward him. I wasn’t sure where my bravery had come from. Was I meant to take his hand? I hesitated, while he continued to hold it out. I’d anticipated he’d be cold, like the dark shadows that seemed to cling to him, but instead his skin was warm and soft. He curled his slender fingers around mine possessively as he pulled me through the door. For a second, I thought about yanking my hand away, to turn and run in the same direction the carriage had gone. Perhaps, I could get out of the forest, through the gate, and down the road to the last village we’d ridden