Kingdom of Tricksters and Fools Special Edition

Chapter One

“Jaclan? Jaclan!”

The eight-year-old stopped spinning wildly on the
browning grass and frowned at me. Seemed I interrupted vital business.

“What?”

“The clouds grow heavy. Bring in the sheets, please.
Get Gisela to help you.”

“I don’t need help. I can do it myself.” Jaclan ran
headfirst through the quilt, swinging and swiping his arms at the fabric, and ended up blinking and confused on the other side.

I hid a smile as I bounced the baby. Jac had been on
this independent streak since he started school. No doubt his instructors were filling his head with stern words of how he would soon be the man of the household—tasked with using his magic to protect his mother and sisters, then one day his wife and daughters.

Jac tried again to tackle the quilt and ended up flat
on the grass.

His instructors clearly hadn’t known him long enough. It’d be a while yet before this dreamy, clumsy boy untied from the apron strings, and what was wrong with that? A child should be a child. Not a protector. Not a provider.

My eyes drifted over his head to the sign once again
plastered on our door. They narrowed.

And not a pawn.

“Ahh,” Savia cooed.

Shaking myself, I settled my squirmy sister in the sling and knelt down in the vegetable patch. It was doing well despite the sorry state of the rest of our small scratch of land. Meliora and I had been forced to ration our water through the dry season, sharing it with the patch. It paid off in enough green beans, radishes, carrots, and squash to make a vegetable soup that would actually fill our bellies that night.

I worked in a steady rhythm of weeding, digging,
cleaning, and singing to the baby. My croons carried on the wind, covering the sounds coming through the window overhead.

Fat, stinging pellets of rain struck my back,
signaling its final warning to go inside. I rose on aching knees with my basket of goods. Turning around, I found the sheets exactly where I put them and no Jac in sight.

Sighing, I dropped the basket and quickly took them
down myself—running inside as the heavens opened. I paused only to rip that cursed sign from my front door. It’d be back again in a few days’ time, then that parchment would meet the same fate.

Jaclan sat at the table with my second-youngest sister and his twin, Gisela.

“—is the rune for water.” He stuck his tongue out,
concentrating hard as he drew directly on our worn, splintered table. “See?”

Nodding, Gisela scrunched up her sweet, cherubic face, swiping her unruly golden curls out of the way as she copied him. A wave of such sadness hit me, I would’ve sworn it summoned the crack of thunder that struck that moment.

“Haeowen, look!” Gisela waved at me, bouncing in her seat. Haeowen as in honored sister. The young weren’t allowed to address those older than them by their given names. Not even within families. I didn’t care in the slightest and told her so, but even as a babe there was a seriousness about Gisela—the perfect balance to her wild twin.

She followed the rules. Did things in the right order.
Asked permission before taking a step. She sought law, order, and structure in our world of chaos, as if following the rules would one day bring rewards.

Eight years old was too young to shatter her dreams.

“Did I do it right? Is it good?”

A smile tugged on my lips. “That is the best water
rune I’ve ever seen. You’re a natural, Gisela.”

My sweet sister beamed so wide, I saw all of her
missing teeth. The smile was a dagger through my heart.

“I can’t wait until I go to school with Jac. He says
they’re learning mind riding next week. I’ve gotten better. Look!” Gisela spun around, hand up and face scrunched. Not a second passed before a lump of fur and whiskers crawled out from under our threadbare couch.

I laughed as it bounded up to me. “So that was the
mewling noise I heard last night. You and Jac said it was Savia.”

The kitten looked at me through too-intelligent eyes.
Behind them, was Gisela. Or at least her mind and thoughts pushed into a smaller, weaker being. It was said her namesake, Gisela Raekin of legend, could meld her mind with her familiar and companion, a dragon.

I suspected that was why our Gisela was so taken with mind-riding magic. She’d been practicing with the mice and other critters that have long shared our home, since she was practically in swaddling. Successfully melding her mind with an animal the size of a kitten was a grand accomplishment for a child her age. An accomplishment that would name her a prodigy to be praised in the same name as Gisela Raekin.

But the legend she admired was from a time when dragons still existed.

And freedom.

“Haeowen,” Meliora called. “The water’s boiled.”

I patted Gisela’s head on the way to the kitchen. “You keep practicing, faywen.” Sweet one. “You’re going to leave your instructors speechless.”

Meliora looked up from the pot when I rounded the
corner. She didn’t let her voice carry. “You shouldn’t tell her those things,” she said, taking the basket from me. “It’ll just make her hate you when she learns the truth.”

“Did my lies make you hate me?”

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to. My sixteen-year-old sister was
called stoic, and other unkind things, for the blank, unsmiling expression she carried through our village, but her thoughts always shone like fireflies in the night to me.

She did not hate me for letting her believe in a
fantasy… most days.

Today was not that day.

“She keeps asking to go to school with Jac.” Meliora
gave her back as she set about washing and chopping the vegetables. “We don’t have two years’ worth of lies to keep her from realizing there’s a bigger reason to why she can’t go. It’ll only take one word from one of Jac’s new friends to shatter her illusions. They’ve started following him home.”

“Because Jac tells them all sorts of fanciful tales of
the pet dragon we keep in the barn, and that one of the faeriken visits him at night and tells him the secrets of the wild kingdom.”

“Yes,” she said flatly. “He’s almost as experienced a
liar as you. His study of you rivals any accomplishment he could achieve at school.”

I winced. Yes, Meliora wasn’t too pleased with me that evening.

“I sense I’m not all that’s set your teeth on edge.”
The line of her shoulders hardened. “After all, you’re quite used to the stories I tell the children. What’s added to your ire today?”

She didn’t speak for so long, I assumed she wouldn’t
answer. I turned to put Savia down for her nap.

“The royal wedding approaches.”

The whisper tickled my ear, stopping me in my tracks. “Yes. So?”

“A procession from the wild kingdom arrives in a
week’s time. They say the king of Wind and Wild is bringing a hundred men with him. Wonder what it says that despite his upcoming marriage to Princess Emiana, he won’t set foot on our soil without a small army.”

“Why are we speaking of this, Meliora? The likes of us aren’t invited to the wedding. We won’t even be among the crowd of people lined along the main road, watching the procession arrive.”

Her shoulders hunched. The chop-chop-chop
slowed as her blade settled on the wood, and stayed.

“They’ve been having trouble finding war wives willing to service King Alisdair’s people. Kirwan offered me.”

Clang! Clang!

I spun, knocking over our drying tin cups and bowls.
Savia jerked awake—screaming.

“No! He can’t— You won’t!”

Meliora hunched over, resuming her chopping. Her
refusal to look at me proved one thing at that moment.

She was crying.

It was no wonder she was furious with me that day.
When she was small, I encouraged her every wish and dream. I filled her head with stories of all the wonderful things she could be.

I certainly never told her that she’d be denied
education, work, status, and opportunity. That we’d struggle for food, medicine, and money… until one day a loathsome man offered her up against her will in service of the one thing our kingdom still valued of women—our bodies.

“He can’t do this. Once you take official work, it’s
branded your profession for life. A nobleman could take you from us. You could be called to war. And none of that comes close to what the faeriken men would do to you. They’re little more than beasts.”

“I offered s-such arguments,” she rasped. “They fell
on deaf ears. The palace has raised the reward to one hundred and fifty kiruna. Kirwan means to have a cut.”

“No.” I spoke with a finality that silenced Savia’s
wails. “This will not happen. I lied about many things, Meli, I know. But I did not lie about this. I promised you’d never be forced into that life. Your body will always be your own.”

“He’s coming for me tonight,” she cried. “No doubt he thinks I’ll run and ruin his plans. He told me to be ready by the break of moon’s light.”

“You will leave this to me.” I touched her shoulder.
“You’re not going anywhere.”

“Haeowen—”

“Look at me.” I tipped her chin. Mossy pools rimmed
with starlight drowned in a salty, spilling sea. Only sixteen years old, and the lovelier of the two of us by far. Meliora claimed everything from our beautiful mother. The lush, flowing dark locks; shining two-colored eyes; full, dusky lips, and a glow in her cheeks that gave the appearance of health, happiness, and radiance even when nothing could be further from the truth.

It was because her frustration so clashed with the
perfect little petal people wanted her to be that they mocked the dull reflection in her eyes.

But my sister was not cold and emotionless. Her
feelings—her fear—dangled from her sleeves for all to see. I was just the only one who bothered to look. “I will take care of this, faywen. I promise.”

She searched my face, and I knew she found no lies.
“Okay,” she croaked.

I kissed her cheek. “Start the soup. Mama hasn’t eaten all day. I bought some shaela bread from the market this morning to tempt her appetite. It’s her favorite.”

“That must’ve cost half our purse.” My serious sister
returned quickly. “How many times, Haeowen? Stories, gifts, and sweets cannot change our reality. Cease wasting our hard-earned coin on them.”

“The bread was half price today in celebration of the
royal marriage. Even if it wasn’t, I would still spend the coin. It’s not about changing our reality. It’s about the fact that a life without stories, gifts, and the occasional sweet that brings a smile to Mama’s lips, isn’t a life worth living.

“Once I’ve stopped caring enough to lie to you, then
you’ll know I’ve given up on you. That day will never come.”

She sniffed. “I will not make a liar into a hero by
praising that speech.”

I laughed. “I’m going to put Savia down and check in
on Mama. The shaela bread is in my bag. There’s enough for all of us.”

Baby Savia did not go down easily. I rudely woke her
the first time, and she fussed and flailed her anger at me until the sun retreated and the rain stopped. Finally, her lids fell heavy and she drifted off—holding tight to my finger.

I smiled gently while that finger stroked her soft
cheek. “I will tell you the same pretty lies too, sweet one,” I whispered. “Because in this reality, we can only be happy in a fantasy.”

I left Savia to her rest and went out into the main
room. Meliora came in from outside carrying a sign.

“Why do you have that?”

“They hung another one up.” She glanced behind her. “And they’re waiting to do it again.”

Frowning, I looked past her shoulder outside. Three
young men stood on the wrong side of our fence—bold in their intrusion and their glares. In their hands were the signs and glue they were taking through the Gutter Galley—a fond name for the poorest part of town that we lived in. They were most aggressive about their recruiting in this neighborhood.

“Yes,” I called, “we have a young boy in the
household, and tonight he curses this door, so that misfortunate befalls any who touches it without permission!”

I slammed door, so angry that I took the sign and
ripped it to pieces. Meliora didn’t comment on my outburst and instead went to prepare the table for dinner. I moved to the curtain, watching them through the window.

They were low-powered fae. Only two had a crystal on their lapel and they were small ones at that. I watched them debate if they planned to test me.

“It’s because of the wedding,” Meliora said. “King
Alisdair agreed to marry the princess and sign a treaty to end the war. But he did not, and would not, agree to end the curse. We are no closer to attaining what we began this war to achieve.

“While we are sticking to the terms of the treaty,
Alisdair’s people will grow stronger until he and Emiana give birth to the rightful of both thrones, and they return to conquer our kingdom once and for all. Everyone capable of looking beyond the immediate future sees this marriage for what it is. They believe the war to end us is coming, and we don’t have enough men to stop it.”

“We might if women were allowed to join the army, and not as bedwarmers,” I returned. “The war to end us has always been coming. We fight because we have to, but I don’t believe anyone—not even the king—thinks we can win. One day Jac will have to decide if he wants to fight this unwinnable battle, but that is not today. It is not when he’s eight years old. I will protect his childhood the same as I protected yours and Gisela’s.”

Meliora did not answer me. I looked back and landed on her back as she went into the kitchen. I knew she agreed with me on this—in theory. In practice, one nineteen-year-old girl from Gutter Galley was an unimpressive match against the Royal Army.

King Alisdair will soon arrive with a hundred soldiers, and the response to save us is to conscript my young brother into the army.

I watched Jac roll across the floor, making faces at
the kitten.

We’re doomed. I laughed at my private joke—a short, sharp one that ended quickly.

Only boys were allowed to attend magic school, but at eight years old, they were given another choice as well. They could join the academy and begin the ten-year training that would end with a sword, a coudarian crystal, and the name of the regimen they’d go to war with. The end result was non-negotiable. Even if Jac became an advisor to the king himself, if his regimen was called up, he’d have to go—no exceptions. No excuses.

The only men who could not be conscripted were those who did not attend the academy. Naturally, they did not have ten years of fighting experience and would be a liability on the field. But most young men were signed up. That is what happens when the crown pays the families five hundred kiruna for each name on their roster, and then one hundred every year that they complete training.

Surprisingly, the choice to sign our sons up for
training was not left solely to their fathers. Both parents had to agreed, and though Jac’s father argued loudly and constantly that Jaclan must do his duty, my mother continued to refuse.

That didn’t stop recruiters from haunting Gutter
Galley—home to many a struggling single mother.

One of the recruiters broke the pack, and marched on our door with a recruitment sign—the payment for doing so was written larger than anything else on the parchment.

“Gisela,” I said. “Hurry.”

My sister ran into next room and got what I needed. I
threw open the door just as he touched the wood.

“You were warned.” I tossed the basket of Savia’s
soiled wrappings in his face.

He bellowed like he was being murdered. “Filthy little kakka!”

I slammed the door before he could lunge at me. He
settled for pounding on it instead.

“Don’t think yourself better than us! I was born on
these streets too. There’s no future for the likes of you other than whoring for my regimen. You’ll wish you were nicer to me then.”

Walking off, I left the fool to his squawking. He’d do
no more to that door other than yell on the other side of it. Magic would allow him to blow it off the hinges and deliver on his many threats, but that was a tiny crystal on his lapel. He didn’t have much magic to waste, and it wasn’t worth wasting it on me.

His noise, and the twins’ giggling at his crude
language, muffled as I closed myself in Mama’s room. The lump on the threadbare mattress didn’t stir.

I was gentle withdrawing the sheets, and taking Mama’s hand. She curled around me instinctively—though she did not wake. My chest squeezed gazing at her.

A gaunt cheek rested on the pillow, appearing as
though even its gentle touch could break her. Bony fingers wrapped around mine, each tipped with brittle cracked nails. A crown of hair once so shining and full of life, draped limped and oily across the sheets.

Drained.

That is what my mother was. She was drained of life, healthy, vitality—and there wasn’t a single thing I could do to stop it.

“Mama?” I gently shook her. “It’s time for supper. I
bought you shaela bread. Why don’t you try a little?”

A watery eye cracked open. “Fay… wen…” Mama’s voice was thin and brittle like the crust on shaela bread. Wind blowing in from the open window tried to steal her soft words away before they reached my ears. “How are you… my precious girl?”

Tears stung my eyes.

This last bout of sickness was worse than ever. For
the past two months, Mama’s stomach rebelled at the notion of food. She had not been able to keep anything down and had taken to eating one meager meal a day—if that. And even that single bare meal wound up in the bucket beside her bed most days.

For twelve years, she’s battled bouts of the sickness
that’s gotten worse and worse, longer and longer each time, but every day all she wanted to know was if I was okay. She would be such a great mother.

If she could get out of bed.

“I’m well, Mama. It’s you I’m worried about. I stopped
by the apothecary this morning. He said we could work out a deal on your medicine if I look after the shop in the evenings.”

She shook her head. Doing so caused her great effort. “Costas Lightfellow will work you more than the medicines are worth at full price. He has used the young women of the Galley for free labor since the shop opened. The man has no concept of fair business, nor of keeping his hands to himself.”

I slumped, dropping my forehead on the mattress. “What choice do I have? You’re getting worse and this is the only way I can afford your medicine.”

“We both know that medicine does little for me, my
darling, and less and less every time.” She smiled in spite of everything. “We cannot continue to waste the coin. It does not help me. Nothing can. Nothing
will.”

“While it does little for you, it still does something. We will waste the coin until that changes. I will not see you suffer any more than you must.”

“My girl.” Mama stroked my hair as Meli came in with her supper. “So strong. So stubborn. Never lose that, faywen. Your obedience is taken, but your fire is surrendered.”

Mama has told me this since I was old enough to
remember. I was certain she said it when I was a babe as well, but I did not know what it meant. If my choices were gone and obedience was taken from me on the knife’s edge of everything I held dear, what did fire matter? I already surrendered. I already lost.

“Here you are, Mama.” Meliora spoke to her with a
softness no one else received. “Do you need help?”

“No, celesi.” She squeezed her fingers. “I will
manage.”

Celesi. Treasure. We were all Mama’s faywens, but only Meliora was her treasure.

This did not fill me with jealousy—only sadness. Mama did her best to love Meliora twice as much to make up for what my sister did not receive from him.

A fist pounded on the door, snapping both our heads up. Meliora and I exchanged a look.

“What?” A mother’s eagle eyes missed nothing. “What is it?”

“Nothing, Mama.” I got to my feet and tucked the
sheets tight around her. “You eat. I’ll see who’s at the door, and get them acquainted with Savia’s wrappings if they dare shove another recruitment letter in my face.”

A chuckle sounded from beneath the blankets. “There’s that fire.”

I mouthed stay here to Meli and left, softly
closing the door behind me. Our small little hut claimed only two bedrooms. One for Mama and one for the young children. I picked up Jac’s and Gisela’s bowls and sent them all to their room. I crossed to open the—

The door banged into the opposite wall, rattling half
off the hinges. A man in a silken tailored coats tepped over the threshold, wiping his hands on his coat as if the mere act of his magic touching our home sullied him.

His coldly handsome face swept our living space, his mouth curling up at the edges.

I wished I could stop describing him at cold, but
there was no denying that Kirwan Dawnbreaker was the handsomest of men. Streaks of silver wove through his raven locks, giving him distinction instead of age. Lily pads floating in a clear stream did not come close to the crisp green of his eyes, and when he smiled at those he deemed worthy of his attention, the wonder of his full lips and teasing amusement knocked you on your back.

Yes, Kirwan earned the turned heads he collected
everywhere he went, and it wasn’t just because the hem of his coat was lined with coudarin crystals bigger than my fists.

He was handsome. But to me, I’d never seen a more
hideous creature in all my days.

“Where’s the girl?” he asked by way of greeting.
Kirwan pushed me aside and came in. “I told her to be ready.”

“Which girl are referring to?” I got in front of him,
halting Kirwan with his mere refusal to be touched by me. “There’s no girl here who answers to you.”

Kirwan looked me up and down, and dismissed me. “You will be silent, kakka. You were not given permission to address me. Meliora? Meliora! Get out here now.”

The hairs on my neck stood on end, giving rise to
choking rage. It was one thing to be called kakka by a squawking man-boy covered in baby waste, but for the likes of Kirwan to call me such?

Kakka was the worst of insults. Scrapings from a
horse’s hooves. Flies that feast on rotted dung. Old chamber pots left in the sun. All of these had more value than you.

“There is only one kakka in this room, and for all his
money and station, he’s little more than a soulless broker.” I sniffed. “What am I saying? Even brokers have more honor than you. They don’t barter with their own blood!”

Meliora’s father stiffened. “How dare you. The girl is
stepping up in service for the king himself. It is her honor and her duty to aid in the union that will bring our kingdoms together.”

“Strange how her honor and duty fattens your
coin purse. You wouldn’t deign to remember her name otherwise.”

Kirwan brushed a thumb over the crystal on his chest, and I went flying.

Screaming, I was blasted off my feet and thrown onto the table—tipping us both over with a resounding crash.

“Haeowen!”

“What’s going on!”

Meliora raced out of the room amid Mama’s shout. She ran to me and Kirwan snatched her off her feet, hauling her back by the wrist.

“Let’s go. The carriage is waiting.”

“No, please!” Meliora strained against his hold. “I
don’t want to do this. Please, don’t make me, Kirwan. Please!” She cried in earnest. “They’ll kill me!”

My head lolled, wetness running down my forehead.
“N-no…” I tried to get up and pitched forward on my face. “Stop…”

“Meliora?” Mama screamed. A loud thud sounded from her bedroom. “Children, what’s wrong?”

“Enough!” Kirwan dragged her to the door. “You will be silent or I’ll spell your mouth shut.”

Meliora was not silent. She sobbed and wailed,
fighting her father harder than she ever had. His mere presence, and the swirling cloud of disdain he brought with him, used to strike her quiet. Not that day. “I won’t go! I won’t!”

I crawled over the splintered wood, vision spinning.
“Meli!”

“Leave Haeowen alone!” Jaclan burst from his room,
wielding his wooden spoon like a club. He struck Kirwan between the legs, doubling him over.

“Argh!” Snarling, Kirwan raised a backhand to Jaclan.

“Don’t—!”

“I’ll go!”

My scream stopped everything.

Kirwan spun on me, hand still raised. “What?” he
barked.

“Take m-me.” I rose on shaky knees. “I’ll do it.”

“No one wants you, girl.”

“No, you don’t want to offer up Meli.” My gaze
burned him where he stood. “Advisor to the king. Lord of the House of Dawnbreaker. One of the highest-powered fae in Lyrica… and his daughter can be had for three coppers. You’ll never hear the end of it,” I rasped. “Your comrades with laugh and taunt you of the taste of her, and don’t pretend they won’t.”

Frowning, Kirwan looked from me to her. No denial
came.

Kirwan knew well what would happen if Meliora wound up in the grip of men as vile as him. Not for her sake, but for his reputation. His only love in this life and the next.

“I’ll do it,” I repeated. “I’ll become a war wife, you
won’t be known for selling your own daughter, and you’ll still get your one hundred and fifty kiruna. Surely, you have no objection? You’ll get everything you want.”

His lips peeled back from his teeth. It was the hard,
unfeeling monster in him that wanted to say no just because I asked this of him. But—

“Fine. You’ll do just as well.”

“No!” Meliora broke from his loosened grip and ran to
me. I gently dried her tears. “Haeowen, you can’t do this. We promised we would never.”

“I promised that you would never be forced into
this life,” I whispered. “I promised we would choose, and I choose to protect you. That’s what I’ll always choose, faywen.”

“But not faeriken. They’ll k-kill you. We’ll never see
you again.”

“Let’s go,” Kirwan ordered.

Ignoring him, I forced a smile on my lips. “Of course
you will. Nothing’s going to happen to me. I’ll be back after the wedding, and when I do, I’ll tell you all about the palace. It’s grand rooms, luscious feasts, and the queen’s famous gardens. It’ll be like you were there with me.”

Meliora cried harder. Of course she didn’t believe me. She knew I was a liar.

Mama’s door banged open. She huffed—chest heaving and hair hanging lank over her face. The effort that short distance cost her, left her clinging to the doorframe. “What has happened?” She took in the scene, and my weeping wound. “Kirwan, what did you do?”

He sniffed. “The girl’s clumsy. She tripped over the
table like a one-footed fool. You should be thanking, not scolding me, Olene. Your circumstances will be improving. You’ll either have two incomes for the household… or one less mouth to feed.”

“Excuse me? What does that mean!”

“It means Kirwan has offered me a job,” I rushed. “A
housekeeper in his household. I am to leave now for training, Mama, but I’ll return in a fortnight.”

Her lips drew tight. “If that’s true, why is Meliora
crying?”

“Because she knows her father as well as I.” I gave
him a hard look. “I will not be treated well.”

“That’s not true, faywen,” she said, voice sharp. “He will treat you well. He’ll care for you better than his own, or I’ll know why. Isn’t that right, Kirwan?”

He smiled. “I can swear no harm will come to her by my or any fae hands.”

Meliora’s nails pierced my shoulder. She understood
the meaning behind his word choice clear as day.

“In the carriage, girl,” Kirwan said. “Don’t make me
change my mind.” And take Meliora instead.

I untangled from my sister and bent down, opening my arms to Jaclan. Gisela took that moment to shoot out from behind the cracked door. I hugged the twins tight.

“Be well, my loves. Listen to everything Meli says.”

Standing up, I brushed a kiss over Meliora’s forehead. She was crying too much. Mama would figure out something was wrong soon. I had to be gone before then.

Chin raised, I walked to the door without looking back at my family. Kirwan’s smirk taunted me the whole way.

“Tell Adan I won’t be long.”

“What—?”

Kirwan advanced on my mother.

“No, you leave her!” I cried, grabbing his arm. “You
know she’s not well.”

Kirwan threw me off. His strength enough to toss me
across the room again. I grabbed my siblings as he slammed Mama’s door shut, hurrying them out of the house.

We didn’t make it far down the path. Meli turned on
me, clinging tight and tripping me up. Her weight pulled me down onto the earthen lane. I suffocated under Meli’s, Jac’s, and Gisela’s embrace. The twins did not understand what was wrong, but they knew enough to be worried about anything that made Meliora cry.

I opened my mouth—to give them reassurance. Tell them everything would be okay. Say that their worry was silly.

Nothing came out.

A war wife. The polite, official term for what I would
be. The actual term. The one that would be yelled at me in the streets. Branded in the stares I received in the marketplace. Hissed at me as I descended back
staircases and crept out of darkened rooms.

Was whore.

Decades after King Kazimir decreed that all women must have their magic bound and rendered unusable by age ten, his son set down another decree. The men who now had to fight alone on the battlefield deserved comfort in the long months and years they spent far from home. They deserved a body to warm their bedrolls, soothe their aches, and sweeten their nights.

Naturally, their actual wives had to stay home and
fulfill the only role still available to them in a magical society—raising the next generation of sons to fight and daughters to bear them. Thus, a contingent of women would be sent along with the regiments. The war wives.

Over the years, the soldiers would make more demands of their king—binding the chains tighter around women. A war wife could not be claimed by one man. They were to be shared among whoever wanted them. War wives were not only for soldiers. Nobles and high-powered fae could make use of them how they wished. A noble can take a war wife into their home, imprisoning them with the man who now owned her, and his true wife who hated her. And the law that they fought the hardest for—any children that resulted from their union would be her responsibility.

The men were required to do no more than pay for their sons’ education. But if Jaclan went without food, clothing, and a roof over his head, Xandros Waterdancer was not obligated to do anything about it. A sentiment he proved when we went without all three, and I begged him to help the twins—his children—at the very least. He had me thrown away from the carriage and continued on to his grand manor on the hill.

In the end, when a war wife got too old, when they had too many children, when the sickness took them as it would take every woman of Lyrica, all that was left for a war wife… all that would be left for me was to lie ill and broken in a little room, while my children cried outside—covering their ears.

I opened my mouth to tell my siblings that if I survived the beastly men who slaughtered our soldiers in droves, the life that awaited me afterward was nothing to fear…

…and a sob tore from my throat.

I cried—squeezing them tighter than they squeezed me. I had finally done it.

I ran out of lies.

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