Chapter 10

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Even extroverts may prefer not to deal with unexpected guests.

Despite my most estimable intentions, the Good Lord persists in His efforts to test me. I don't know what I've done to deserve such relentless attacks on my mental well-being, but here I stand, facing down yet another trial.

I am dressed as a rogue elf in a hooded cloak ready to assist a group of ne'er-do-wells in the downfall of the evil king of Ragonia.

I am holding a cheese castle I was bringing out to the obligatory snack table set up in the shade by one of the encampments in my backyard.

I am regretting all of my existence, forever and ever, amen.

Sir.

Hi, yes.

Me again, Your loving child, Zahra?

Right, yeah. You know who I am.

Even with the cloak and the boots and the face paint. You see right past the fake ears, purple contacts, and half dozen daggers. You're cool like that.

Ha ha. Guess what I don't think is cool?

This refining fire.

Something my mother never taught me growing up was to ask questions . I got What Would Jesus Do? The end. 'Twas the only acceptable question in the world. Beyond that, in most situations, curiosity was considered rude, but in her religious context, it was considered blasphemy. You do not question God. Doing so depicts an absence of faith. My mother expected my beliefs to be her beliefs—just because .

To her, they were right .

Anything that didn't align perfectly was wrong .

And wrong things?

Well.

Those are sins. And we all know the wages of sin, yada yada.

Real fun concepts for a child to take in and internalize.

Thankfully, I have since grown in my relationship with God and cultivated a faith that I can claim as my own, not the fading carbon copy of my mother's. In my faith, questions are king. Fearing them means fearing the answers, and if we fear that the answers might change what we believe, then maybe that's the point of them.

Right?

Nowadays when God appears to be trying the last fraying strand of my sanity, I ask a very, very good question: what can I learn from this?

It's just that, um, Sir…right at this exact moment, the only answer I'm coming up with for what can I learn from this is how to get out of a straight jacket and flee a facility , so…

Please intervene?

"I hope you don't mind that I've brought a new member!" Wade—our tall, imposing, big, black game master—thwacks me in the back and booms a laugh. "Who am I kidding? You love meeting new people." He sweeps his free hand out toward the new member . "Castor, this is Zahra, our beloved benefactor. She owns this whole playground."

Beaming a pearl-white smile that does not presently match his short blonde hair— or, you know, include fangs— Castor clasps a guide stick in one hand and extends the other. "Zahra. What an interesting name. Charmed, I'm sure."

Wade grins. "Oh, sorry, buddy. She's holding a platter of what seems to be a cheese and cracker palace? So cool. Did you make this yourself?"

My throat closes, but I manage to force words out, "Yeah. I sent pics to the WonderCraft group chat on Discord. They never kicked me out. Which was a grave mistake. Because now I get to harass them all and suggest they launch a Purge event on an April Fools Day where they all blow up each other's bases and kill each other with no explanation before reloading their last world save in the next episode and saying JK LOL."

I'm rambling.

Stop that, Zahra.

Nobody cares about your brilliant ideas.

"Awesome." Wade grabs a cube off a castle tower and pops it in his mouth before referencing the bandanna wrapped over the top half of Castor's head, covering his eyes. "Castor's a spy ninja faerie. What kind did you say?"

"A basilisk-human hybrid."

My stomach drops.

Merciless, the basilisk continues, "The backstory I've concocted for this character includes the humans of Ragonia having dug out my eyes when I was a child. They hated me for being a half-breed monster." Castor chuckles, smiling a little too bright. "I call it incorporating my disability in a fun way ."

Wade, oblivious and heartwarming as ever, says, "I'll have to get you his character sheets when this campaign is over, Zahra. They're some of the most detailed I've ever seen. You'd never know it, but he's completely blind. I swear, it's like he's Daredevil or something."

"Must be those heightened faerie senses," I supply.

In this direct sunlight, my cheese castle has started to sweat.

Honestly?

Relatable.

Gripping my big girl stockings by the garters, I straighten up. "Looks like Chrissy and Isaac just got here. Why don't you greet them, Wade? I'll take Castor around so he knows the general location of where things are."

"Sounds great!" Wade claps his hands together and fixes his attention on our love birds as they come around the house. In the last session, I killed Isaac's character—a palace guard—and even though Chrissy is supposed to be on the side of the resistance, she cried actual tears.

It was beautiful.

Once Wade and the others seem out of ear-shot, I let my smile fall. "Castor."

"Zahra."

"Why?" I turn toward the snack table and continue the march that was so rudely interrupted.

Using his white cane as though it's a dress cane, Castor trots right after me, swinging it around his finger. "Why what ?"

" Why are you here? Like that ?"

He dips his chin toward his black outfit and tugs on the baggy shirt. "I was opting for a classic ninja. I brought shuriken. Would you like to see?"

Absolutely I would.

Setting my cheese castle down—calmly and rationally, so as to not topple the towers—I turn on my guest and cross my arms over my chest. "You're blond ."

"A little less than my usual platinum, I know." He brushes his fingers through the strands escaping the bandanna around his head. "Quite strange having it so short, but for a good ninja, it was either short or a ponytail."

I just—

I can't with this.

What is going on?

In what universe does the evil prince who stole a baby stop by unannounced in cosplay to roleplay in the backyard of the person he thinks he's allowing to babysit? Where's the angle? The motive? The humanity ?

God's sense of humor is off the charts with this one.

A man who I know has long elven fae ears is wearing silicone ones . And, worse, the left one? It's crooked.

Sir.

Sir, please .

Your child. She's weak. She can only take so much of this.

"I'm taking care of Ash," I state, hard. "Why are you here, like this, if you're just checking up on him? He and Alexios are in the house."

Castor samples a part of my castle, chews thoughtfully, and gets a little too close after he's swallowed. Tone disturbingly low, he murmurs, " Ash . Who gave you the right to name it?"

"Since you're still calling him an it , I took a liberty."

His chuckle whispers in the stillness between us as he lifts a finger. Taking a breath, he closes his hand back into a fist atop his cane. "You're lucky I'm fond of the name Ash . After all…such is what remains in the wake of a world on fire…" Providing me an inch to breathe, he sweeps his attention away from the refreshments and out toward the rest of the makeshift town. "It's… poetic ."

That last word leaves him like a sneer.

"How does an infant play into your plans of setting the world on fire?" I ask.

Castor's curled lip settles back into a chipper smile. "You're a Christian, aren't you, Zahra?"

My brow furrows, and I bolster a bit, ready to throw hands if this egomaniac comes for my religion on my own property with my own cheese castle on the tip of his tongue. "Yes."

"So you know that the greatest war in the history of time…was won with a baby, don't you?"

The birth of Christ, sent to die in order that humanity might be redeemed. Yeah, that knowledge is the foundation of many religions. But, growing up in my household, I rarely heard the beginning of the story. God's great gift of a baby sent to die on a cross to save us out of overwhelming love was never the point my mother made.

Rather, she preferred to ceaselessly remind me that my every fault was like crucifying God's Son anew. I was driving nails into the hands of the person who loved me most.

She twisted the innocence and purity of sending a child made of love to stop a war built on selfishness and hate into something so breathtakingly…hopeless.

With bitterness in my mouth, I mutter, "I'm familiar."

"I wonder what manner of war a baby made of poison could start…"

Before I know it, my fist is wrapped in Castor's shirt, dragging him in. My body vibrates, heart racing, heat swelling. The anger is physical and overwhelming. It demands all of my energy, leaving me without any words to speak.

Castor, calmly, sets his cool hand on mine and whispers, "I wouldn't treat me like I'm glamoured in front of all your guests, starbeam. Rest assured, I have no intentions of letting Ash come to any harm. I may be a villain, but I do try not to act like the monster I was born to become." He pries my hand out of his shirt while the LARP group is still catching up by the house. Smoothing out the fabric, he murmurs, "Do recall what I said when we first met. I am remarkably susceptible to behaving in the manner with which I am treated. At this point, I do not consider us enemies. Are you opting to change that, or are we going to play nicely ?"

Nothing inside me settles. Nothing at all.

Castor sighs. "I cannot lie. You believe that, don't you?"

"People I do trust have proven that the fae can't lie, yes."

"The passive aggression oozing off that line really wounds me, child." Castor tilts his head back, casual. "I am here to have some harmless fun with your friend group. I'm told you're an extrovert. Imagine how painful would it be for you to spend centuries blind and alone in a land built on whispers and shadows with nothing but senseless creatures for company. Imagine having the spare few people you thought were friends keep things from you, then blame you for what you couldn't help. Imagine the isolation. Imagine the pain…and then. If you can…imagine a second chance. Xios is the first real friend I've had. I know that. Because, Zahra, he trusts me to be here. With you . And you are the most precious being that will ever exist in his life." Lifting a finger, he touches my chin, directing my attention toward the top floor of my house, where Alexios stands—pouting—at the window with Ash in his arms. Upon my catching his eye, his demeanor brightens, and he waves. Castor continues, "Could I be so bold as to request you treat me like a person who, by merits you witness for yourself, is innocent until directly perceived guilty?"

My chest tightens, but I squeeze my eyes shut and ask that stupid question.

What can I learn from this?

Perhaps, there's a lesson in judgment here.

And perhaps the reason it's here is because every cell in me wants to say screw it, I refuse to throw caution to the wind .

"You stole a baby, Castor," I hiss, pulling my attention off Alexios. "How are you not already guilty through my direct perception?"

He exhales a soft laugh. "Oh, my dear starbeam, with that logic…you're raising a stolen baby, aren't you?"

"What?"

"Tell me, if you're holding it against me for nurturing a sapling to a life it would not have had without me, if you're claiming that Ash does not belong to me, then he also does not belong to you . I stole from the dryads. You know a dryad. Pila. You have access to her, do you not? You extroverts always seem to have access to just about everyone…"

My skin goes cold.

"If Ash is not mine to entrust you with, Zahra , and if you are holding that against me… give him back ." Relaxing, Castor swings his cane up to his shoulder. "Elsewise, you're a hypocrite."

My lip trembles. "You wouldn't let me do that. You'd stop me. You'd have Xios stop me."

His teeth bare in a wicked smile, and, for a second, I see the points of his fangs. "No," he says, unable to lie, "I would not stop you at all."

Blood drains from all my limbs.

"So, are you joining me in this crime, making it right, or…absolving me of error and admitting you've changed your mind where it comes to accusing me of stealing a baby when all I stole was a plant ?"

Choked, I say, "You have no intention of harming Ash?"

"None."

"And he…he wouldn't have become anything else, another dryad like Terra, without you?"

"He would have grown into a regular tree, not an ounce of sentience to speak of."

Breaths tight, I step back and extend my hand. "Consider this the start of our acquaintanceship. Call me Zahra or any derivative thereof. If you keep up this child and starbeam nonsense, I will hold that against you."

Castor's cold hand slips into mine, somewhat slick, nearly scaled. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Razah."

"Not gonna lie. That's a new derivative." My lungs quiver as I shake his hand. "But, I'll allow it."