The Fairest (Sample)

Mageia paced the cell, nerves bubbling every minute that flew by. Some cells grew emptier, and her belly grumbled louder with hunger and nerves. Apparently, the king or the Seat of Judges were flushing through the criminals quickly and precisely. Most likely aiming to wrap cases up before the Royal Luncheon that led to other festivities.

“Holy beloved Dawnis, god of life and death, grant me mercy and relieve me from the clutches of this situation,” she prayed. “Holy beloved Mesori, goddess of fortune, intercede on my behalf and grant things go in my favor.” She scrunched up her nose, sensing those prayers weren’t getting anywhere. So, she tried another approach. “Holy Ordained, grant me mercy. Whoever is in the Serene, please find favor with me. Please give me strength and wisdom in this situation.”

She recalled her last ordeal, standing in the throne room of the Royal Court, hard eyes stared down at her. Her mother, Vale, tried her best to plead their cases and have Mageia freed. Cruel and heartless, King Thaddeus ignored her mother and accused her of committing and concealing sorcery because of Mageia’s purple eyes. Mageia was only nine-years-old and had lived most of her lifespan in their little house in the Hillside, in her tower, hidden from people.

I want you to keep a promise for me, her mom would say every night when she put her to bed. Promise me you will keep these things a secret no matter what happens. Your surname, your father’s name, your lineage, and your birthmark, until either the gods reveal it first or if we ever reach Ilseda.

The Kingdom of the Elves? Mageia asked in astonishment.

Ah-ha, my girl, she said with a nod.

I don’t understand why.

You will in time. Promise me you will keep this promise.

Her mom was weird at times, but it never destroyed the love they shared nor broke their trust. That was why she knew she couldn’t tell the Court anything about herself. Especially having the knowledge that someone in the palace betrayed and assassinated her stepfather. No matter how much they would try to pry it from her mouth, she could only trust herself at this point.

My family needs me alive.

The door at the end of the hall unbolted, and the thunder of boots flooded in again. Mageia’s mouth went desert dry, and her heart beat faintly. They opened the cell door and yanked her out. They shuffled her through the Doomed and ascended into a hallway towards double doors leading into the throne room. Voices clashed on the other side, and she held her breath, hoping she looked presentable enough to stand before royalty. The guards opened the doors and shoved her to keep walking. Citizens, waiting for their time in the spotlight, fell silent.

The muggy smell of sweaty bodies clunked together created a nauseated taste in her mouth and throat. She took a step back, eyes scanning every nook and cranny for a way to escape, but saw none. Soldiers were everywhere, and the only pathway led to the throne, for a rope had been risen to keep the crowd at a reasonable distance from the Royals.

The throne room had not changed since the last time she entered through the doors of the Doomed. It still had its high ceilings and windows creviced in shades of white, silver, and green that gave the room a happy appeal. Pillars sculpted in fine sharp designs and paintings of both the realm and the kingdom’s history lined the stone walls. Green and silver silky drapes hung everywhere, daunting the kingdom’s blossoming emerald tree sigil. The gray marbled floor shimmered under the sunlight pouring in from the windows onto everyone, even the royal family sitting on a dais of emerald and jasper stones.

On a sunny day as this, there was no need to light the torches, the lanterns, or the glass chandeliers above. And though the throne room was possibly the most beautiful part of the entire palace, it was also the most disturbing. A place where laws were passed and justice executed, opening the doors to nothing good, but death and heartache to those too afraid to stand up and say so.

A fist pressed into her back to force her to continue walking. She clenched her fist, glaring at the green carpet, worn from constant tread, that looked to have never been changed. As she approached the inclined circle of six judges and the throne, their strong colognes drifted into the muggy odor, but did nothing to appease it.

Mageia gasped under the full attention of the king himself. A memory quickly flashed before her eyes; the cruel-hearted former King Thaddeus glaring at her from the highchair. Except this time, his only living son, King Dimitri Arlon, replaced him. He had the company of his wife, Queen Saia, and his stepdaughter, Princess Relana, all waving exquisite fans to fight the heat and reduce the smell. Annoyance was chiseled into their perfect faces, blessed to them by the Diviines. Exhaustion hung under their eyes, sweat glazing their faces. They looked almost like the fancy glass dolls created and sold in the cities.

It made Mageia grin inside, thinking how one crack in their beauty and their glorious strength could be what relieved them of their crown. Just like the late Queen Nari Arlon, who met her first fate when the hem of her dress brushed against a fireplace and caught on fire. The burn marks could have been hidden if they hadn’t reached her neck and face. Heartbroken and terrified that the gods were not pleased with her being Fair, she met her second fate by drinking poison.

“Purple Thief,” King Dimitri Arlon bellowed, snapping her back to the situation at hand.

Mageia forced a stern expression at the ruthless bulk of a king who clearly received his height and muscular appearance from his Ardean ancestry.

“Have you no respect for the Crown?”

She scoffed, knowing exactly what he was talking about. She grabbed hold of the sides of her peasant dress and did a quick curtsey. The swiftness of it was immediately interpreted as mockery and aroused muttering in the crowd behind her.

Stop it, Mageia, or they will dismiss you to death before you have a chance to defend yourself, the reasoning side of her conscious spoke.

King Dimitri’s eyebrow raised, and his eyes narrowed. “You, like many other bandits who manage to stay hidden within the walls of our kingdom, have a very long record.”

So, what? Burn them.

“Your unnatural eyes are not something people so easily forget.”

Thanks to your Diviine Six.

“Which I can admit are quite intriguing, having this our first acquaintance.”

What? Mageia wanted to say. How can you forget me? It’s only been eight years.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Um… no,” she responded, uncertain whether to mention her past failed execution and decided not to. It’d only add to suspicions of sorcery.

“Then answer my question.”

Mageia shifted her feet. “Can you repeat it, please?”

“What is your name?”

“Mageia Unknown,” she said confidently.

“Unknown? I’m guessing that means you have no surname?” The king frowned at her.

“That is correct, Your Majesty.”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Your thieving and breakouts precede you. For the record, how long have you been in this illegal business?”

“Um… For seven and a half years…”

“And do you have any reasons for your actions other than the obvious opposition to the Laws and the Crown?”

Mageia allowed a pause to follow before answering. “We needed food and necessities.”

“Food and necessities? The very things a Strange would receive by legal means.”

“Like slavery, you mean, or begging?” she scoffed.

The king narrowed his eyes. “Everyone must pay their debts somehow, Fair and Strange, correct?”

“Honestly, Your Majesty. It could be done excluding the slavery part.”

“So, what do you suggest?”

Her eyebrows shot upward in shock. She shifted her feet, unable to tell if the man was mocking her or honestly curious to know her thoughts on the matter. So, she thought of her brave mother and spoke proudly. “Paid servitude,” she said, and a few people shouted their agreement.

“Hmm.” King Dimitri studied her with hard, unreadable eyes. “Are you a Soother? A gift from the gods?”

Her jaw dropped for a moment from the swift change in topic, but she answered confidently. “I don’t know, Your Majesty.”

A couple of chuckles arose from the crowd.

“So, you don’t know if you are a gift or a curse?” the king continued.

“Well…” Mageia cocked her head from side to side. “I know I’m not a curse, but I wouldn’t call myself a gift either.”

“You must know what you are; you’re near full grown.”

“From what I know about Soothers, their gift can be triggered at any time if it’s not addressed at a younger age. I was never given that privilege,” she inputted.

For a minute, the king was silent and stared at her. The crowd, on the other hand, began to mumble. Then, from the right side of the inclined circle, a familiar pair of flaming red eyes and hair stepped forward into her peripheral.

“Your Majesty, may I speak?” Commander Eron Shadar asked.

“You may, Commander,” the king said.

Mageia groaned as the Fiisen stepped forward from the line of nobles wearing another of his daunting uniforms and cloak. If he wasn’t known to be so cold-hearted and arrogant on the inside, she wouldn’t mind how appeasing he looked on the outside.

“When I heard of her capture and what her vagabond friends had done,” he began, “I went to interrogate her, hoping it would reveal a Sooth, but found none.”

Mageia gawked. “Liar!”

Those red eyes cut to her, and her left leg, where he had burnt her, began to ache.

“Explain yourself,” the king demanded before the commander could respond.

“He only burnt and tortured me. If he was trying to reveal a Sooth, he did a very poor job at it,” Mageia said.

“Being that I am a Fiisen, I would’ve been able to sense any magic in her blood. I felt nothing,” the commander said angrily. “She is as mortal as anyone in this room.”

Screw you, she wanted to scream at the young man.

“Can you attest to this, Master Joras?” the king asked.

Mageia followed the king’s gaze to the Master Fisican sitting in the front row. He stood and looked a bit flabbergasted.

“Your Majesty?”

“Did you not visit the Taefo earlier this morning? I received word that you were spotted there, no doubt visiting this girl out of curiosity, I assume.”

“Um… Yes. That is correct.” He caught eyes with Mageia, whose gut churned, realizing this man could be the strike she needed to meet the executioner again.

“I-I found nothing suspicious or interesting except, obviously, her eyes, and nothing else, Your Majesty.”

“Nothing else?” The commander gave Mageia a dangerous glare. “Look at her! The girl was near to death last night. Bleeding all over the futtin place. Yet here she stands, awake and fully energized as if no harm was placed upon her.”

“I did give her some amberia leaves this morning for the pain,” Master Joras added to Mageia’s surprise. Why was he trying to help her?

“Still, something is not right here.” The commander began to approach her with some unknown intention.

Mageia backed away, only for two guards to push her back into place, almost colliding with the man. Before she knew it, the Fiisen grabbed the right side of her collar, and ripped it down to expose her shoulder.

“How dare you!” she squealed, gathering enough strength and courage to push him on his breastplate. He barely moved.

“Commander, mind your manners!” the king bellowed as the commander’s red eyes scanned her shoulder.

“Sorcery!” he barked, now backing away from her as if she was poisoned. The crowd behind her murmured and shuffled backwards.

“No,” Mageia said, heart stammering at this inevitable accusation.

“What was that, Commander? Explain yourself,” the king said, now quite upset.

“I interrogated the girl. She had an arrow in her shoulder. That shoulder. But the wound is near gone. How is that possible?”

“I am not a witch!”

“Silence,” the king ordered, and when the noise subsided a bit, he continued. “Then what are you?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” she said, glaring at the Fiisen.

“Are you an outsider?” the king asked.

“No. I was born here in Ardania.”

“Where in Ardania?”

“Uh…” She hadn’t thought of that answer before. “Strana,” she said, hoping it’d be acceptable.

“You’re lying,” the commander red eyes flickered dark.

“No, I am not.”

“Who are your parents? Are they still alive?” the king asked.

“No. They are dead.”

“Quite convenient,” the commander mumbled.

The king continued his interrogation. “Who were they?”

“Um… I’m not obliged to say.”

“And why not?” the king questioned.

“Because they’re dead and it does not matter.”

“I assume whoever they were, hid you from Checkings and the Court, or simply left you somewhere to die.”

“No, they died of natural causes, leaving me to fend for myself.”

“You’re lying,” the commander growled under his breath.

She stared at him. Could his gift sense it, or was she failing at hiding the truth?

“Are you from an Elven line you wish not to disclose?” the king asked.

“No. I don’t think so,” she replied, shifting her feet.

“Are you a magician?”

“No.”

“Are you sure you have no Sooth? Mind you, if you do, it could help your case,” the king said to her surprise.

“If I had a Sooth, believe me, it’d be the first thing I’d present to the Court.”

“Sorcery,” someone shouted from the crowd, stirring it awake again.

“Silence,” the king ordered.

“Honey, the girl is a nobody and probably deals with sorcery with her Strange friends,” Queen Saia said with a humored smile.

“Not true,” Mageia said.

“We are going to handle this case once and for all,” the king narrowed his eyes in thought. “Can you give any answer, any reason, for your purple eyes?”

My parents said I was special.

Mageia shrugged, uncertain of how to defend her eyes. Of all her years of thieving, she never took time to think of anything to explain them.

“Do you think yourself pure?” the king asked.

“I do,” she said, though many scoffs echoed throughout the throne room.

“She is not pure. Look at her criminal record. She must face the consequences of her actions,” Commander Eron said.

“Mind yourself, Commander,” the king said. The Fiisen grumbled something under his breath as the king continued. “Do you think yourself a hero?”

“No.”

“A sorceress?”

“No. I am simply a thief and a Strange who possessed something called a heart and empathy to save children from a cruel death.”

“They were Sacred,” Queen Saia said with a chuckle of a careless, delusional woman. “Can you believe this?”

“Hush it, Saia,” the king ordered with a dismissive hand. The curly blonde made a disgusted face and clasped her hands on her lap. “You had no right to steal sacrifices from the Crown and the Priesthood, especially on such an important night. You have interfered with one of the kingdom’s holiest ceremonies to the Diviine Six.”

“I doubt the Diviines care,” she said, only to regret it because everyone grumbled their disagreement.

“She has no respect or honor to the gods,” Queen Saia said, this time seriously. “No wonder she’s cursed with those eyes.”

“She also has no respect or honor to the Crown,” the commander added.

King Dimitri’s face seemed to shrivel more and more in disgust for Mageia, warning her that her chances of escaping execution were growing slim.

“Strange girl. Do you regret what you’ve done?”

“No,” she said. “And would I do it again? Of course, because you were in the wrong.” Muttering and gasps arose at her bravery to say such a thing to a Royal.

“How dare you?” Queen Saia sneered, but her daughter’s smile stretched into a mischievous beam.

“Watch yourself, Strange,” the commander growled.

The king’s eyes darkened with fury. “Please explain how I was in the wrong.”

“You amended the law to exclude executing children, and yet, you did not heed it. You went by the words of some old priest to satisfy your own indulges for blood.”

“I am king. I make decisions on behalf of the well-being of this kingdom.”

“If you cared so much about the well-being of your kingdom, then why are you and your loyal subjects profiting off the unfortunate circumstances of sickness, deformities, and injuries?”

“You have no right to question the Crown,” the commander said.

“What’s the purpose of having a crown when you don’t heed the voices of your subjects?” She glared at the Fiisen.

“Mind who you’re speaking to, Strange.” The commander’s hand gripped the hilt of his sword.

“Silence, Eron. Allow the Strange to speak and bury herself.”

Mageia scoffed with annoyance. “You Fairs and Royals think you’re so high and holy and untouchable, but Fair or Strange, we are all still mortals and should not be held accountable for physical and mental misfortune. For two hundred years, we’ve reverenced a law of cruel discrimination based on some ridiculous prophecy that may or may not be true. Only to fill your pockets with bloody peeks. Yes, I stole from people, but not from everyone. My family only stole from the fools who enjoy watching people’s heads being chopped off.”

“These laws have governed this kingdom well for eras,” the commander barked.

“Oh, whatever comes out of your mouth is nothing but a joke,” she snapped at Eron, whose chest puffed up in rage. A few veins around his eyes spewed red with the desire to burn her alive right then and there. He managed to take a step towards her, fire flickering in his hands, but the king ordered him to stand down.

She raised her chin in defiance at the Soother and felt heat penetrating from his pores. Yeah, stand down like a good little servant, she wanted to say. His hands sucked in his flames, but he did not step away.

“You speak so well to be just a thief,” the king said, slow, steady, and thoughtful.

“Anyone with any sense would say the same,” she retorted.

“Yet … so familiar …” King Dimitri massaged his beard as his mind dug for a faint memory she prayed he would not remember.

Oh, no. What if I sound like my parents? Some of these people might have worked with my father or were present to hear my opinionated mother speak before her death.

Queen Saia scoffed. “This Strange is wasting our time, Dimitri. Make a decision so we can move on.”

“Hush, woman; I’m trying to think,” he said, receiving a roll of the queen’s big ice-blue eyes.

“May I speak, Your Majesty?” the commander requested, turning away from Mageia.

“I suppose so,” the king grunted.

“This Strange,” he started, stabbing a finger into her face, “sorceress or not, was a danger and a nuisance to the cities for eight years.”

“What danger?” she challenged. “We just took things in order to survive.”

“Her so-called family is still out there, along with the twelve Sacreds,” the commander continued. “She needs to reveal the location of her hideout in exchange for a lenient sentence from the Crown.”

“I will never give up my family!”

“She has spoken. She must be given the full punishment according to the Laws and the Crown.”

“And what do you suggest, Eron? Death?” the king probed.

Mageia shivered, but kept her composure.

“You’ve heard her speak the tongue of resistance towards the Laws and the Crown. We’ve heard enough of that from the rebel group, the Blesseds.”

“I only speak the obvious truth,” she couldn’t help but say. Commander Eron was aiming to add another claim and suspicion to her case.

“If we were to kill every person who spoke their disliking of the Laws, we’d have no people left to rule in Ardania,” King Dimitri explained.

Says the very person who continues to accept executions of anyone claiming to be a part of the group. Mageia shook her head and bit her tongue. Such a hypocrite.

“What of her misdemeanor charges?”

Her head popped up at that. “Misdemeanor charges?”

“Trespassing on Royal Property—the Taefo—and assaulting two guards,” Eron said. “She has committed too many offenses to the Crown to just work in the Runes or rot in our prison.”

“Despite my dislike of the girl, I must judge fairly. We must consider her age and what she might be,” the king said.

“She is nothing but a mortal,” Eron said.

“Perhaps you might take time with her to discover—”

“No,” the Fiisen barked at the king.

The king’s eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare. “Remember your place, Commander.”

“What if she’s mixed in sorcery? I don’t want anything to do with that.”

“You could figure it out. Am I correct?”

Eron shifted his feet, and a red vein popped from his neck. Mageia scrunched up her nose, already disliking the king’s choice.

He grimaced. “Maybe.”

“If not you, I’ll find someone else for the task,” the king said, then turned to Mageia. “Young lady, do not see this as a pardon for your crimes. You will still serve a lifetime in the Dungeons until you figure out what you are. If you are something of value.”

But I don’t want to work for the Crown, she wanted to say but bit her tongue.

“May I make an appeal?”

“You can, but I cannot guarantee anything due to your record.”

“This is ridiculous,” Eron muttered, hands clenched at his sides.

“Perhaps work in the Runes?” Mageia proposed.

“There is still some freedom as a slave. You’ve used up your freedom by stealing,” the king said. “However, give us the location of your hideout or figure out your Sooth, and maybe the Crown and the Judges may reconsider your sentence.”

Mageia’s heart skipped with relief, but she could not smile. She had heard terrible stories about the Dungeons located south of the Runes. It wasn’t a pleasant place, especially for women, but she had to admit. It was better than facing death again, plus there’s always a possibility to attempt an escape.

“Does anyone have anything else to say?” the king questioned.

Those from the line of Judges and the noble side shook their heads.

“The Crown has spoken. Lifetime in the Dungeons unless you and the commander identify what you are. Then your sentence will be reconsidered. Mageia Unknown, you are dismissed.”

Mageia couldn’t believe the mercy the king had shown, even with her resistant outburst. For the first time in her life, she thanked the gods for her majestic eyes and this holy Sacred Day that forced Fairs to be kind towards the Strange. She prayed now to figure out what she was before the commander did.

A guard grabbed her arm, but Eron grabbed the other, stopping her in place.

“We’re going to have fun finding out what you are,” he growled.

She yanked her arm out of his grip and gave him a clever grin.

“Bring in the next prisoner,” the king bellowed.

The guards returned her to the Doomed and stuffed her in a new cell full of prisoners. She leaned against the bars, and a smile of relief crawled onto her face.