The Fairest (Sample)

For a second, she thought she heard wrong until his words fully processed. This prince has truly lost his mind. The people didn’t call him the Strange Prince just for humor. She wouldn’t have minded having the knowledge that a Royal may be a Blessed or a follower of the Ordained, but to hear this type of theory was pure blasphemy.

If the king and the commander still perceived her to be a sorceress, then this theory would send her straight to the executioner– no hesitation.

“A Fairest? You’ve gone mad.” She pressed a hand to her jumping heart.

His beautiful eyes widened for a second before turning firm and confident.

“Who were your parents?”

“Fut you.” She shook her head in disbelief and fear. She hoped and prayed no one overheard this down in the lower level.

“L-look, allow me t-to explain myself.”

“If you tell someone this, I-I could die,” she whispered.

He shook his head, and his curls trembled. “I s-swear this s-stays between us. Allow me t-to explain.”

She backed away and scanned the study, expecting soldiers to pop out of the aisles of books and storm up the staircase.

“Two years ago, I had this dream—”

“Oh, a dream, huh? Great,” she interrupted.

“I stood in this white void. I could b-barely breathe. I heard f-footsteps like th-under above my head, and then a voice spoke.”

Mageia clenched her hands into fists. “You heard a voice, too?”

The Strange Prince sighed at her anger and sarcasm.

“I am telling the truth. Please, can I finish?” He huffed and tugged angrily on his shirt.

Mageia couldn’t believe this nonsense.

“The voice told me to seek the next Fairest,” he said. “The voice said she would have purple eyes.”

“She?”

“Yes, she. I thought that was strange too. The maj-jority of Fairests recorded were men.”

“Wait! Are you telling me you don’t have enough to do on your royally spare time, so you decided to listen to a damn dream?”

“I know it sounds r-ridiculous, but—”

“You’re insane,” Mageia said, shaking her head in disbelief. “Why would this-this voice tell you to find someone with purple eyes?”

“Specifically, a woman. And you’re the only one known in Ardania with purple eyes,” he pointed out. “I tried to s-seek you out myself, b-but you and your crew were very hard to find or capture.”

“Thank the gods,” Mageia mumbled.

“They had purple eyes too,” he said confidently.

“Who?”

“The eight Fairests. After doing research and communicating with a h-historian in Iisebrin, I confirmed it.”

Mageia caught her breath and quickly turned her back to him. She stared at a half-melted candle on the next table as more of the faded memory resurfaced.

Her mother sat across from her at their dining table, still staring at Mageia as if struggling with what to say.

Who are they, you mean? Her mother said to her. They are the Ordained.

You worship them, mama.

I do, she said.

Why is that?

Because they are special … like you.

Like me? I don’t understand.

You will in time, her mother said. Then Mageia couldn’t remember anymore. She massaged the bridge of her nose where it met her forehead. A slight headache began to form. Confusion and disappointment fought for control of her mind as it flooded with questions.

“My lady, are you okay?” The prince asked.

“What?” Mageia shivered for a moment and took a deep breath to calm herself.

The prince studied her with his daunting honeyed eyes and stood straight and tall. “Do you know Hamino’s Promise? ’Let this be an eternal promise bound by the s-sacrifice of my flesh and blood,’” he began to recite slowly, “‘to bless Valeera with a Fairest who shall be the Keeper of Magic, the Crown above crowns’—”

“’And the High Seer of peace and order,” Mageia finished and gave a soft scuff. “I’ve overheard people in the cities whispering it. My-my mother used to say it a lot.”

“It’s the most important part in the beginning of this book,” he said. “But the only part Ardania sees fit to focus on is the Last Fair Prophecy from King Tiivon Lariius. ’C-cure your hearts before the d-death of the last Fair Tree for the days of chaos are unmasked. Only then shall the Promise be r-restored, not to land, nor to sea, nor to gem, but to the Fairest of the realm’. I don’t believe it’s mentioning a g-group of Fair people but only one Fair. The one in Hamino’s Promise.”

Mageia continued staring at the candle and its many folds and hated how much this prince was enticing her curiosity.

“Lady Mageia, who were your parents?” He asked again.

“That is none of your business.”

“Were they of a noble house? Were they Royal?”

She cut him a dangerous glare. “If they were Royal, I doubt I’d be an outlaw and a thief.”

“Do you know anything about them?”

“I know enough to assure you I mean nothing to the gods,” she said.

“Perhaps you’ve never dug deep into your soul to seek the truth,” he said. “My lady, I know it’s a lot to dig-gest.”

“Look, Your Highness. I appreciate your peculiar interest in who I am and my well-being. But if you are that interested in my well-being, then go to that father of yours and grant me freedom. I don’t deserve to rot in a cell.”

“I told you I will keep my promise,” he assured. “May I ask you o-one last question, and I promise not to b-bother you about this again.”

Mageia growled. “Whatever.”

“You said in court that you just turned seventeen.”

“So?” Mageia’s back straightened, somewhat sensing where he was going with his questioning. She wished she could slap herself for being so stupid to give her actual age in the court appearance and to say it in that exact way. She averted her gaze from the curious prince.

“Were you b-born on the first day of the first month of Apraan?”

“Why does it matter?”

“If you just turned seventeen this year, it means you were b-born in the year 1000, like me.”

“Okay … and?”

“Did your parents ever tell you the dates when the Ordained were born?”

She nibbled on her bottom lip and suddenly felt overheated. “No,” she responded, but her voice was quiet and afraid. Before she could speak again and reiterate more clearly, the prince continued.

“That’s fine. According to the Book of Legends, they were born on the f-first day of the first month of a new Era. That’s every hundredth year. On this day, a Fair Tree dies in Fairlaana. The same thing happened on the day you were born.”

“Wait, what if I wasn’t born on that day?” She scowled and folded her arms. Who was this young man to make such a conclusion, despite it being true?

The prince’s head cocked to the side, and his eyes narrowed with a humored smirk. “Were you born on this day? If you knew your parents, did they not tell you?”

“They told me. It’s just …” Mageia shifted her feet and shook her head. “Why does this matter? I don’t understand.”

“You being born into the world c-caused a Fair Tree to die in Fairlaana. This only happens when a Fairest is born. I have proof. Come here.” He gestured for her to approach. “Please come here.”

Mageia gave a ragged sigh and couldn’t believe she hadn’t knocked the poor boy out, stolen the key, and freed herself from this nonsense. She thought of the many halls and turns she and that soldier had taken and wondered if she’d be able to find an exit before anyone noticed her.

Curling her upper lip, she forced herself to approach, but again kept her distance. He watched her intently and shook his head with a slight smirk.

“I’m not going to bite,” he said, grabbing a thick scroll held together with green brackets.

She tapped the table with her fingers and bravely closed the distance between them. Though she hated this, she had to admit that never in her lifetime did she imagine ever being in the presence of a Royal again. The last time she was in the presence of Royals, they sent her, her mother, and their friends to a swift execution.

He carefully unraveled the scroll to its full length and used heavy figurines to keep it in place.

“This is one of many rec-cordings of what happened on that day. The last Fair Tree in the Kingdom of Fairlaana died, the first one in two eras since Tiivon Lariius v-vanished. There was r-representation from every kingdom in the realm to witness this.”

Though trembling in agitation, Mageia fed into her curiosity, and leaned forward to read the beautiful cursive writing. She noticed the colorful designs of the border surrounding the long parchment. It was Ardania’s colors of greens that connected to the king’s Royal Seal at the very bottom.

“I heard a priest in Strana mentioning the last Fair Tree dying, but he claimed it unmasked the impurity of people. This is why we have Strange and Fair,” Mageia said.

“Yeah, the priests like t-to twist things to enforce the Ardanian Laws and Beliefs. Can you, please, my lady, read this part.”

She sighed but forced herself to do so. Though she thought his theory was ridiculous, let alone blasphemous, it stirred old memories she had long forgotten.

She read it aloud:

“’The First Day of Apraan, year 1000. Time, the first spot of dawn, the last Fair Tree of the Holy Lands in Fairlaana, gave up the last of its magic and withered to ashes upon the ground. Nothing happened after the tree died, except a feeling of emptiness. The Elves of Ilseda, the Guardians of the Holy Lands, collected the ashes and divided it between the Royal households and proclaimed the Lands to continue to stay uninhabited and unruled until Hamino’s Promise and the Fairest Prophecy was fulfilled.’”

“You see? Despite my f-father being present at this event, he s-still refuses to accept the idea of a Fairest and the fact we’ve t-twisted Tiivon Lariius’ prophecy to continue our Fair Laws. Did your parents ever mention this event?”

She continued reading the scroll to the portion where it listed the representation from Ardania. She spotted King Dimitri’s name, who was a prince at the time, and then she paused at one familiar name. Ser Leon Holt.

Stepfather, you were there? She couldn’t recall if her parents mentioned his absence at her birth. Why would you not be by mother’s side when I was born?

“Mageia?”

“Hmm?” She bit her bottom lip in deep thought.

“What is it?” he asked, glancing at where her finger stopped. She quickly removed it and backed away.

“This does not prove I am what you speak of.” The irritation from this conversation and the confusion rising in her gut told her that this needed to end now.

“Your purple eyes are proof enough,” he said.

She shook her head firmly and dismissed everything. This was not what she needed to hear right now. She had a family back at home worried to death about her, and here she was entertaining blasphemy. “You are mad!”

“My intentions are good.”

“Your good intentions can get me killed, Your Highness!”

“If you are a Fairest, you can be p-pardoned by the king,” he said.

“No, I won’t!” Her elevated voice seemed to echo across the spacious study, over the balcony, and into the living quarters. But she didn’t care. “You cannot prove that I am one of them other than my eyes. Yes, I may be special with some sooth I’m unaware of, but your theory just proves you’re everything people say about you. Strange and mad!”

The prince clamped his full lips closed and tugged on his shirt again. His cheeks grew a deeper shade of red as he blinked away in embarrassment, frustration, and disappointment.

Guilt and regret stabbed her in the gut after realizing her nasty response could truly bring out the ugly in this prince. She recalled the glare he made when she had mentioned his mother, the late queen, and suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

If his theory was true, the gods would’ve found favor with her. They wouldn’t have allowed her stepfather to be assassinated and her mom to be executed. But then again, she did survive her own execution and most recently healed herself from almost fatal injuries. The strange outweighed what made sense, but it only left her even more confused.

Someone behind her cleared their throat. She spun around to see the limping manservant standing at the top of the stairway. He didn’t look too happy and still gave her a scrutinizing glare.

“Rasheem, what is it?” Gris asked.

“An hour has passed,” he said.

“Okay,” the prince said, but without any life in his voice.

Mageia rubbed the back of her neck where her odd birthmark was located, and more questions arose. She wished she hadn’t responded to the prince so crudely. Had not years of living as a thief taught her how to play along with situations even if she disagreed? She hated losing herself and dropping her guard enough to allow this Strange Prince to get under her skin.

“Also, Gris, you need to prepare for the Royal Luncheon,” Rasheem reminded.

“Damn,” the prince muttered as he pulled out a beautiful gold timepiece. Mageia’s fingers itched with the urge to steal it. Something as fancy as that could feed her family for five months. Sudden grief struck her; she may never see her family again.

“This conversation is not close to b-being over,” the prince said. “I give you p-permission to stay up here and read through the Book of Legends and my notes. Dargany will es-escort you back once he’s returned. P-please think on my theory.”

She folded her arms in defiance. “No.”

The prince sighed and passed her to follow Rasheem downstairs. She stared at the scroll, not wanting to put the pieces together, not wanting to question her parents or the memories she had now remembered.

Mageia pushed back the sudden desire to cry her heart out. She cursed, recalling that the key to the double doors was still in the prince’s pocket.