24

Mor Trisencor and the Ruby

The first time Mor ever saw Luc’s sparkling red ruby was on a cold day when the Shadow Army division was training in the forest. The overcast had made it almost pitch black, but fairies, especially Shadow Fairies, often saw best in the dark. Fairies were sectioned off into pairs to battle, and in some cases, to release all the anger and fury they had bottled up since the beginning of the day. Night training had transformed into the thing the most vicious fairies looked forward to.

Mor, on the other hand, despised the evening battles. Fairies from across the Shadow Army came through the forest to challenge him. Ever since Mor had joined High Prince Reval’s division, he had become a target; the strong village boy who the Prince had selected to join his ranks. Sometimes he won against the Army’s great war fairies. Sometimes he was left hardly breathing, unable to move from where he’d fallen until sunrise after his bones had melded.

But on this night, Mor had overheard whispers of Westra—a newer, terrible war fairy that had recently transferred to Prince Reval’s division—who was salivating at the chance to battle the village boy the rest of the fairies were lining up to fight. Mor waited for the fool to emerge from the woods and challenge him. But it wasn’t Westra who spoke over the division and made a challenge.

Luc sat high upon a large rock, his knee propped up, his arm draped over it. The moment Westra appeared, Luc stole him. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said to Westra. Luc’s lush hair glittered in the muted moonlight. “Forget the village boy. Fight a real war fairy this eve.” Luc slid off the rock and approached Westra with all the sly movements of a fox. “Unless you’re afraid of the Dark Prince’s son?”

Westra’s thick arms flexed. “I fear no fairy,” he said in a horridly deep voice.

Seconds later, the pair stood across from each other in the clearing. Luc turned away, seeming to take a look at the foggy stars. Mor caught sight of him sliding a red gem into his mouth. When Luc returned to face Westra, something strange came over the ruby-haired fairy. It was like Luc could see Westra’s strikes before they happened. The nine tailed fox blocked before Westra struck.

Luc left Westra a broken-boned mess in the grass in exactly eleven seconds.

Afterward, the notorious fox sauntered through the division as they marvelled at his brutal, fast success. No one had seen Prince Reval’s son enter a night challenge before. War fairies became respectful in his presence in the days that followed. Only the bravest dared to challenge Luc beneath the stars. And he always won, leaving his opponents with snapped bones and teeth, and sometimes killing them outright.

Night after night, crowds of Shadow Fairies gathered to watch the battles where Luc hungrily stole the attention of his father’s division. Mor saw more fairy blood in a single faeborn week than he had in his whole lifetime. He knew the challenge was coming; Luc would challenge Mor before the Army, and possibly kill him. That’s what this was all leading up to. Yet, Mor didn’t run away.

But every eve that came, Luc fought someone else, and Mor watched from a distance. At first it was a relief. Then it became mildly frustrating.

Finally, on an evening where the stars struggled to peek through the toiling haze above, and the forest beasts hushed in unison, Mor challenged Luc himself. Luc had been drinking silver water from a crystal vase at the woodside. The Shadow Fairy slowed his chugging, staring off into the darkness of the forest. He lowered the vase and wiped a bead of silver from his lips.

When he turned to Mor, his gaze was sharp. “You wish to challenge me, Trisencor? Haven’t you seen what I can do?”

“Let’s get it over with,” Mor said. He stretched his arms as he headed toward the clearing. He rolled his black fairsabers in his grip.

When Luc appeared across from him, the fairy’s feet seemed sluggish. He eyed Mor, tapping a long finger against the fur tails hanging from the chain around his throat. His chain was down to only eight tails now. The fox stared until Mor crouched into a ready position. And finally, Luc drew his fairsabers. He lowered himself into position, too.

Mor looked at Luc’s pocket. Then back to the fairy’s face.

“Where’s your ruby?” he asked.

Luc’s broad smile appeared, growing slowly. “I don’t need it for you, Trisencor.”

Mor grunted. “Very well. I’ll challenge you again tomorrow since I’ll still be alive. Perhaps you’ll change your mind by then.” He lunged, and Luc blocked, beginning what would be a three-hour battle late into the gloomy night. It ended with Mor on his back in the grass with Luc’s fairsaber at his throat. “Do you have a death wish, Fairy?” Luc asked when it was over, his chest pumping, fae sweat glistening on his scarlet brow.

Even though his faeborn bones felt weak and his body threatened to faint, Mor cast him a gloating smile from the ground.

Three faeborn-cursed hours. No one had lasted that long against the fox.

Mor challenged him again the following evening. And the one after that.

Night after night went by. Luc never used his ruby to face Mor, never pulled it out again for a fight. And it seemed he was right about not needing it.

Mor never won. Not once.

Mor didn’t see Luc’s ruby again until they were on a hunting mission. Mor and Luc travelled across three villages to find a certain rogue fairy, all the while bickering over who was going to kill who first. Every morning, Luc informed Mor of how he planned to kill him that day. And every morning, Mor listened, and by evening he usually came up with a witty response of how he would return the favour. They never walked anywhere in silence—Luc had far too much to say for that.

“You talk too much,” Mor grumbled as they arrived at the cliffside village where the rogue resided. Crisp jade water stretched as far as the eye could see, and Mor had a brief touch of homesickness—hot like an elfshot, something he had not felt for many years.

He slid off his crossbeast and patted the creature’s head around its horns, avoiding getting too close to its dagger-sized teeth.

“And you don’t talk enough, Trisencor. But don’t worry, I’ll chat enough for the both of us,” Luc said. “I have a feeling I’ll like this rogue anyway. Rumour claims he’s a troll fairy, and most trolls can sense treasure. Did you know that?” Luc slid off his beast and marched to the twig house of the rogue. He rapped on the door, then in the same heartbeat, he kicked the door in.

Mor sighed and waited outside while Luc stormed into the house. Mor examined his nails as he listened to the shouts. He flicked off bits of lint and dirt from his shell armour. He looked up at the dark sky, wondering if a storm might blow in later.

The rogue came flying out the front door. Mor snatched him by his collar and dragged him toward the cliff. Luc emerged from the house, brushing the dust and triumph off his hands. He kicked the dirt from his boots and followed as Mor reached the cliff and held the rogue fairy half over it.

The rogue squirmed, trying desperately to cling to the cliff’s edge with his toes. “I have gold!” he promised Mor and Luc. “I can make you the richest fae in the Dark Corner!”

“Can you?” Mor kept his face dull and straight with his sarcasm, making the rogue believe for a second that he was serious.

The rogue nodded but seemed to realize Mor was playing him for a fool when Mor tilted his head and smiled after all.

“Give up the weapons you stole from the Shadow Army troves,” Luc demanded in a bored voice. “And perhaps we’ll forget what you did for a little while.”

When the rogue refused to speak, Luc nudged Mor’s side as though he wished to take over. Mor yanked the rogue back to land and handed him off to the fox. From there, Mor folded his arms and waited.

“I wish to make a bargain. One that will surely benefit you the most!” the rogue fairy blurted, trying Luc instead.

“Sky deities,” Luc cursed in amusement. “You’re just full of deals, aren’t you? Shall I take out my coin purse and pay you for your kindness?”

“I am kind! You should have mercy on me for how kind I am!” the rogue exclaimed.

Mor snorted a laugh.

“You stole weapons from the Shadow Army. Our army,” Luc corrected.

“And you use them to rule over your village,” Mor added—the part he found the most important of all.

“Not all of them,” the rogue protested. “Some of the weapons I sold!” He leaned toward Luc as if meaning to whisper. “Let’s make a bargain. I can fill your pockets with real gold, no rocks—enough to rule any village in the Corners of Ever as a noble. And I’ll give you a fairy trick, too! One that will destroy your greatest enemy in his sleep!”

Mor laughed louder this time. “You should take the bargain, Luc. Perhaps you’ll finally go through with it and kill me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Luc muttered back with a smirk.

The rogue kept talking. “In exchange, you must forget about the weapons. You must forget about me, and I can run off and live happily with my childling son. All it would require is for me to be able to steal your memories of this conversation so I cannot be tracked.”

Luc’s smile faded. “Oh dear.” He angled his head, his eyes turning sharp. “And what shall I tell my commanders when you rob us again and they realize I didn’t do my job?” he asked.

The rogue fairy looked off as he thought about that. His eyes widened as though he’d come up with another cursed idea. “I can draw you a map to my personal storehouses of gold!” he offered. Then he smiled, wide and wicked. “I would trade everything I have for that tiny little ruby you have hiding in your pocket.”

Luc stared; not blinking, not moving a muscle. He said nothing for a moment as he slowly reached into his pocket, drawing out his ruby, and held it before the rogue fairy’s nose. It sparkled even in the dim light. “This ruby?” he articulated slowly.

The rogue fairy’s eyes turned wild as he gazed at it. “Yes,” he breathed.

Luc hurled the fairy off the cliff—one swift movement that left the rogue no chance of catching himself.

Mor folded his arms and waited to hear the splash at the bottom. It was a faint sound when it finally came; the cliff was quite high.

“He will live, you know. That fall won’t kill the fool,” Mor pointed out.

Luc shrugged and began heading back to the village. “I hope he does. I hope he crawls out of the sea and warns every fairy he meets about me.”

Mor released a grunt. “You could have taken his bargain and ruled over this village as a noble.”

“Yes, I find it rather amusing he tried to tempt a rich noble with the idea of becoming a rich noble.” Luc’s sarcasm was straight-faced, too.

“How did you manage to refuse?” Mor followed, snatching a handful of rose grass off the path to feed his crossbeast before the ride back.

Luc didn’t answer right away, and Mor looked up to see him solemn; the jokes vanished with the wind. “I never take a bargain where I could lose something,” Luc said, stopping before the rogue’s house. The door was wide open. The son the rogue had mentioned was nowhere in sight, and Mor wondered if the childling even existed or if the rogue fool had been sputtering nonsense to try and buy himself sympathy.

Mor sighed and shook his head. He spotted a nest of sea snails on the front stair. He reached to pick one up, eyeing the slug peeking out from its shell. “Why is that, Luc?” Because you can’t stand to lose?” he guessed. He turned and hurled the snail toward the cliff, aiming for the Jade Ocean to set it free.

Luc turned away from the house. “My mother once made a bargain like that,” he said. He snatched half the rose grass from Mor’s hand and headed toward the crossbeasts. He fed his beast the grass.

Mor followed and did the same, careful to keep his fingers from getting too close to his creature’s teeth. “What did your mother lose that was so faeborn important?” he asked.

Luc brushed the grass remains from his hands and rounded his crossbeast. He pulled himself onto its back in one motion and reached for the reins. Then he said, “Me.”