CHAPTER THREE
N ausea rolls through my stomach as I stand in front of a plain wooden door on the north side of the city. It doesn’t matter how many times I try to convince myself that I’m a badass resistance fighter and a skilled magic user who will help free our people, every time I stand in front of this door, I’m reminded of who I really am. Of what I really am.
I might act all tough in the face of dragon shifter patrols, but as soon as I’m with other fae, with my own people, my bravado crumbles and I revert back into this. And I hate it. But I don’t know how to stop it.
Drawing in a bracing breath, I raise my hand to knock on the door.
After about half a minute, the door is opened and a fae man with blond hair becomes visible on the other side of the threshold. His turquoise and silver eyes are soft and friendly for all of two seconds. Then they fix on my face, and disappointment briefly flickers in them instead before he manages to hide it.
He presses his mouth into a thin line.
“Hi, Dad,” I say.
“Selena,” he replies, but he doesn’t move from his place in the doorway.
“Can I come in?” I ask when he still doesn’t step aside.
The fact that I even have to knock on the door and then ask if I can come inside, into my own childhood home, makes a tiny fragile part of my heart crack. But it has always been like this. Ever since I moved out when I was eighteen. Or rather, ever since I was asked to leave the day I turned eighteen, I have always had to act as if I’m just an uninvited guest every time I want to come back and visit my parents.
After an extended moment, my father finally steps aside with a sigh.
I carefully walk inside. Fabric rustles from the kitchen. I move towards the sound and find my mother sitting at the kitchen table, mending a pair of pants.
She looks up when I walk into the room, and uneasiness flits across her face for a second before she too covers it up. But I’ve seen it so many times now that it’s impossible to miss it. Another piece of my heart still cracks at the sight of it.
“Selena,” she says.
“Hi, Mom,” I reply.
Footsteps come from behind me. I quickly move farther into the kitchen so that I’m not blocking the doorway. Dad arrives a few seconds later and takes up position in front of one of the wooden counters. I hover awkwardly by one of the sturdy kitchen chairs, wondering whether I should sit down or not.
Dad crosses his arms and remains standing, leaning back against the counter, while Mom is sitting down. Indecision flashes through me as I try to decide if they would feel better if I sat down or if that would just make them think that I was planning on staying long, which would just make them more uncomfortable.
In the end, I gently pull out a chair at the other end of the table and sit down. But I sit on the very edge of the seat, so that they will know that I’m just sitting down for a few minutes and will be leaving soon.
A small clock on the shelf behind me ticks loudly into the oppressive silence. My parents simply continue looking at me. Mom’s silver hair has been pulled back in a braid, and there is an impatient look in her lavender and yellow eyes.
I clear my throat. “I, uhm… I just wanted to tell you that… uhm… Yesterday, I did something exciting. Important, I mean.”
Dad furrows his pale brows. Mom just looks like she wants me to get to the point.
Dropping my gaze, I start wringing my hands before I remember myself. With a soft breath, I force my hands flat against my thighs and then look up to meet my parents’ eyes.
“I registered as a contestant for the Atonement Trials,” I blurt out before I can change my mind.
All of last night, and most of today while I was gutting fish, I was debating whether or not to tell my parents that I signed up. We have a complicated relationship, and I didn’t want to burden them with any upsetting news. But a small part of me, the desperate child still inside my heart, wanted them to be excited for me, or worried about my safety, or wish me luck, or all of the above. And that part of me won.
“Why?” is the first thing my dad says. He sounds angry.
Swallowing, I suppress the urge to wring my hands in my lap again. “Well, I just… If I win, I will be able to leave the city. Then I could go anywhere and do… things. I could make a change. Help make your lives better and?—”
“Do not say things like that in my house,” Dad cuts me off, his eyes flashing with both anger and panic. He flicks a quick glance towards the windows, as if to make sure that they are truly closed. “That kind of talk is dangerously close to treason.”
They don’t know that I’m actually an active member of the resistance, and I intend to keep it that way. Because I knew that this is how they would react.
“It’s not your house,” my mother snaps before I can reply. Irritation pulses across her beautiful features as she locks eyes with her husband. “It’s our house.”
“You know what I mean,” he huffs. Then he throws his hands up and blows out a forceful sigh. “By Mabona, you always do this. You always twist my words into something else.”
“Twist your words? Those were your exact words!”
“Please,” I interject, trying to mediate. “You have every right to feel upset, but I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that. Right, Dad?”
“Don’t,” both of my parents growl, whipping around to lock hard eyes on me.
“Don’t meddle,” Dad warns.
Mom blows out an angry breath. “You’ve done far too much of that already.”
Pain pulses through my heart, and I shrink back on the chair. Not because of the harsh words, but because they’re right.
I know that my parents resent me. I can feel it every time they look at me. And the worst part of it all is that they have every right to.
When I first manifested my powers, my parents were excited. Neither of them was born with magical abilities, so to have a child with magic was supposed to bring them great benefits. Instead, I only brought them pain.
As a child, I couldn’t control my powers. Which is normal. It takes years for any magic user to gain full control of their powers. But because of the nature of my magic, it caused more destruction than usual.
My powers would randomly activate without me even realizing it, making me manipulate my parents’ emotions. I tried to control it. I tried to master my magic faster than any fae had ever done before, but it simply wasn’t possible. It takes time. And training. So my parents continued to be influenced by my magic for years. It made them question what was real and what wasn’t, and it led to problems in their marriage that still remain to this day.
They didn’t want me near them. They didn’t trust me not to mess with their emotions. And they started resenting each other too because of all the fights that their magically increased emotions led to.
So their dream of a happy family was destroyed by me. Not only because of the problems in their marriage that I unwittingly caused, but also because they couldn’t simply try again. Since we fae have such long lifespans, we can only give birth to one child. So my parents wasted their one shot at having a perfect family by having me. The daughter who ruined it all.
So I sit there on the chair and quietly wait for my parents to finish arguing.
Once it has died down, I look up from my lap and meet their frustrated eyes again.
“I… I just wanted to tell you that I registered, so in a few weeks, I will be in the trials,” I say before trailing off.
Mom puts the pants and the needle and thread down on the scratched wooden table in front of her while Dad shifts his weight by the counter.
“Thank you for informing us,” she manages to press out, but the words come out sounding stilted and unnatural.
I just nod in reply.
“If you win, don’t contact us,” Dad says, turning eyes full of warning on me. “We don’t want the dragon shifters to think that you’re some kind of rebel. That we are some kind of rebels.”
“She’s not going to win,” Mom interjects with an impatient sigh and an annoyed look at Dad. “She’s a fish cutter with emotion magic.”
“You know damn well the damage she can cause.”
“To a relationship! Not to an opponent in battle.”
“Who says it’s going to be a battle?”
“What do?—”
Their arguing is interrupted by the grating of wood against wood as I quickly stand up and then push my chair back in underneath the table. My heart aches and I need to leave before I drown underneath the weight of it.
“I just wanted to tell you that,” I repeat uselessly before clearing my throat. “I need to go and eat now before all the food places close for the night.”
“Right,” Dad says, still sounding flustered. “Yes.”
Mom nods.
I wait for them to wish me luck. To tell me to be careful.
They don’t.
So I lick my lips, swallow, and then walk back towards the front door. Only silence follows me.
Once I open the door and take one step across the threshold, I can hear their argument start back up inside the kitchen again. I close the door behind me and try to keep my heart from fracturing as I walk away from my childhood home and the family that I ruined.
I had planned to go to my usual tavern, but I only make it a few streets before I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take one more second of simply walking alone with my thoughts, so I duck into the nearest tavern.
Just like most of our city, it’s in desperate need of repair. But at least it’s warm and brightly lit by a hearth and several faelights along the walls. The faelights are white gemstones that glow and produce light without giving off any heat.
I scan the dark wooden tables as I step across the threshold. The room is packed with people. Some of them sit alone, but most are crammed together around the tables in pairs or groups as they eat and drink. I note an empty table by the wall while I head straight for the bar.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the meal ticket that I received at the end of my workday. I stare at that piece of paper while I wait for the tavern keeper to finish up with the customer before me.
The dragon shifters control everything. Even our ability to eat. We’re not allowed to own or produce money, so we can’t simply buy the food we need with our wages. Instead, we receive one meal ticket at the end of each workday. One ticket that can be exchanged for one meal at any tavern in the city. Even the people who work in those taverns only receive one ticket. Though I’m sure they’ve figured out some kind of system to stealthily eat some more while they work.
But the rest of us have to make do with one meal a day. The hunger is meant to keep us weak and to keep us so distracted by our empty stomachs that we can’t find the energy to resist.
“What can I get you?” the tavern keeper asks from behind the counter.
I look up from my meal ticket and open my mouth to respond.
“The fish stew,” replies the woman who has suddenly appeared next to me.
My gaze flits from her to the tavern keeper. It was my turn to order. Not hers. For a second, I consider saying something. But in the end, I just let her order first. No point in being difficult.
Once she has received her meal, I finally meet the tavern keeper’s eyes.
“What can I get you?” he asks.
“The mutton stew, please,” I reply.
Since I work with fish every day, I’m usually sick of the smell and taste of it, so I always order the beef or the mutton stew.
He nods distractedly, one eye on the long line that has started to form behind me, before he heads over to the massive pots that contain the different stews. I roll the corner of the meal ticket while I wait for him to come back. My stomach grumbles, but I’m so used to it that I barely notice it anymore.
“Alright, here we are,” the tavern keeper says. A thud sounds as he sets down the bowl on the dark wooden counter before me. “One fish stew.”
I reach for it before his words register. Pausing with my hand halfway to the bowl, I meet his tired gaze and open my mouth to speak.
Indecision flashes through me. Should I tell him that he got my order wrong? I really don’t want the fish stew. But I also don’t want to cause any trouble.
My hand hovers in the air. The tavern keeper raises his eyebrows in question before his distracted gaze once more flits to the long line of people waiting impatiently behind me.
Anxiousness slithers through my stomach.
“Thank you,” I press out, and take the offered bowl while handing over my meal ticket.
Deep inside, frustration rips through me. I should have said something. I wanted to say something. Because I didn’t want the fish. I wanted the mutton stew. But I just… I didn’t want to annoy him. People already keep me at arm’s length, and I don’t want to give them any more reasons to dislike me.
Blowing out an exhausted sigh, I take my bowl of fish stew and head straight for the table I spotted earlier. It’s a table for two, so I slide into the rickety chair and immediately pick up the spoon from the bowl.
The fish tastes like… fish. But I eat it anyway.
While I eat, one of the waitresses comes by and places a mug of ale in front of me. I watch her flowing brown hair sway across her back as she walks up to the next table and does the same. At the third table, she swaps out the empty mugs for full ones.
I shake my head. We only get one meal ticket per day, but all alcohol is free. Another cruel but effective tactic to keep us all on our knees. Drinking alcohol eases the hunger and numbs the pain and depression that most people feel. It also makes people addicted and keeps them too drunk to fight back.
With another sigh, I shake my head once more. We need to change this. I need to change this. And once I win the Atonement Trials, that is exactly what I will do.