SWNOVELS Chapter Chapter Eight - Ether
A gritty sponge scrapes along my bare back, up and down, down and up, repeatedly. I stare at the sudsy gray water undulating with the bending of my back, searching for my reflection. Maybe if I see how putrid I look, I’ll understand why such force is being used to clean me up.
The ashy surface of the bath reflects my rounded ears—changed by magic to resemble a human’s—and my teeth grind together.
I’ve been tricked.
My lip curls in on itself as I continue to stare into the opaque bathwater, thoughts swimming in my head but never surfacing. What am I supposed to think about this situation? Do I run? Do I use the last of my magic to express the anger raging in my heart?
The maid stops scrubbing my back. “Ether, dear, do you want to talk about how you’re feeling?”
Yes. I curse this thought, because I also don’t wish to talk about it. She thinks I’m upset about Xavelor. Sure, he’d been my one hope, my dream, and now he’s... dead, but—
“You may grieve, dear. Loss is never easy for anyone,” the maid says softly. I can tell she’s a kind woman—she smiles with her eyes. But she misunderstands.
“It’s okay,” I say, but I’m not sure she hears it. “I never knew the prince. I have no reason to grieve.”
Her warm hand rests on my small shoulder. “You don’t need permission to grieve, my dear.”
But that’s just the thing—I’m not exactly sad. I’ve been lied to. Lured in by a deceptively charming prince. I’m mad. Xavelor’s passing is indeed sad, but my tears had been shed mostly for my frustration.
“Tell me about Ramiel.” I need more than just his lies as a basis for this rising hatred.
The maid sighs. Can she sense my indignation?
“There isn’t much to say, I’m afraid,” she says, removing her hand from my shoulder. She fills a small bucket with bathwater and dumps it slowly on my back to wash away the soap. “Ether, did you know Ramiel even existed until today?”
As a matter of fact... no. It never struck me that there even existed a second prince. Xavelor’s name has always been broadcasted, despite his face remaining unknown. I shake my head subtly, allowing her to continue.
She just sighs, then reaches for my braids. Her fingers run along my scalp, pulling out woven strands as she goes down—the rewarding and relieving feeling of unraveling the braids overshadows the soreness now stretching across my back. Pluto usually helped with my hair, complaining about how much I have. He’d always ask if it was burdensome...
The maid pauses. “My dear, are you crying?”
Tears pang into the water’s surface, making small ripples. Pluto. My heart aches.
She suddenly drops my hair and wraps her arms around my shoulders. I freeze. Is she hugging me? The feeling is odd. Not even Pluto and I have hugged, and I consider him the closest to me. How does one react to a hug? My tears stop hot on my cheeks as confusion sets in.
“Consider this your welcoming ceremony,” the maid says warmly. She releases me, then continues to brush carefully through knots and tangles. A moment later, she continues talking about the phony prince. “Ramiel is a good man. He studies well, respects the nobility, and obeys the king’s orders.” Her voice stiffens. “His mother was an amazing woman. Feeble, obedient, and kind. But he was kept a secret from the kingdom due to her position.
“Despite this, I think he was rather happy living peacefully here in the palace, without carrying the heavy burden of princeship and having no reputation to uphold. But with Xavelor’s sudden and unexpected death, he’s... expected to pick up the pieces.” She sniffs and gulps, then brushes my hair once more.
“Ramiel is weak,” I say matter-of-factly. “Which is why he recruited me to teach him how to use magic, correct?”
The maid stands and I turn to watch her. An expression of disappointment flickers over her wrinkly face and her lip quivers. “He’s strong. But he’s different from Xavelor. He won’t disappoint you.”
Can a prince be considered strong when he has no military experience? She couldn’t mean emotional strength; not with his unbecoming breakdown earlier. He’s no different from me in this regard.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I say curtly.
The maid’s eyebrows angle in over her small gray eyes, offended. “I have no intention to treat you differently, miss. You’re my maid, first and foremost. I don’t care that you’re an elf, and I don’t care that you’re Rami’s master. I want to make this clear.”
My jaw tightens when I realize that she’s not my enemy—Ramiel is. If I must live and work in the palace to cover up my role as Ramiel’s master, so be it. But I won’t make it easy on him.
The maid bends over the large stone tub, a long towel tight in her hand. “And you mustn’t let others know of your identity. I’m afraid they won’t react as cordially as we have.”
My thoughts flash to the men outside the castle and their brutal way of confirming my consciousness, their grins of amusement widening as they’d heard my wince. The negative energy wafting from Ramiel’s servant as he ignored the abuse I’d suffered.
I tighten my fists under the water and try to react peacefully to her comment. Nodding, I shoot my hand from the water and grab the towel. She helps me out of the basin and begins tucking the cloth gingerly around my small frame, careful not to touch my skin. She’s very skilled at this.
“Thank you,” I mutter. She flicks her head toward me, clearly surprised by my gratitude. A small smile awakens her eyes, and she nods.
“You will be safe,” she promises, backing away to observe me. Her smile is still there, hovering naturally above the wrinkles in her chin. “But work hard for me, okay? I’m getting old and could use the extra hands.”
I can’t help but feel a sudden, genuine desire to help her. To hide my elven nature and play human. The feeling rises in me, almost overwhelms me. I must be meant to pledge loyalty to her if my body reacts so dominantly.
Elves obey their emotions—another hex we must suffer as beings banished from the kingdom. Controlled by the powerful magic of the forest.
“I’ll do my best,” I say weakly. The maid blinks slowly at me, her expression filled with acceptance.
“Take your time drying off, now. I’ve set your clothing on the stool just there,” she says, pointing across the room. I follow her short finger to a small wooden chair leaning against the stone wall, a small stack of blacks and whites nestled neatly in the seat. My dagger sits atop the garments, glinting in the soft candlelight. “I’ll be outside preparing your room. We share the same quarters, I hope that’s alright.”
Before I can tell her I don’t require a place to sleep, that no bed would comfort me, she dismisses herself and I’m all alone.
A few seconds pass, and I hesitantly look down at my feet. Normal-sized and now clean, one might really mistake me for a human. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, a spark of excitement making my heart leap. Perhaps a remnant of my desire to live without fear, as a human, has resurfaced.
No. I breathe in slowly. I’m an elf. No pill is going to change that.
The energy in the bath room quakes, a similar negative energy to that of—
My head whips around and he’s there, just inches from my face. Golden brown eyes and long lashes stare into mine, different, now, from his previous nondescript features. He’s hovering a few feet from the ground, his body smaller and dressed in rags. The bones of silver wings twitch on his back, weak from a lack of energy.
“So you’re a fairy. How’d you manage to trick the prince so easily?” I make sure there’s a bite to my tone, enough to invoke fear in this lowly creature’s frail body.
He chuckles, and instead, I’m the one struck with unspeakable terror. His laugh is dark and gurgled like he’s choking on blood. Unnatural.
“It’s easy to play into human emotions. I’m sure you’re aware of this by now... oh wait. That’s right. You’re an elf. What do you elves always say again? ‘Plagued by our emotional burden...’ or something like that?” His words are flint and steel, striking again and again, and adding to the fire roaring in my heart.
I reach forward and take his neck in my hand. His tiny, fragile neck. I can break it, the hollow bones weak from the absence of magic in the kingdom. He has no strength, so how dare he provoke me?
As I tighten my grip, he just smiles. Then, I feel the sound of his distasteful laughter vibrate in his throat and I retract my hand quickly. My body trembles with fear.
“You’re insane.”
“And?”
I cross my arms defensively over my chest. “What makes you think I won’t tell the prince?”
“Ah, ah, ah,” he says, shaking his head. “That wouldn’t be wise.”
“Why bother revealing your nature to me, when you know how we feel about your kind?” A smirk lifts the corner of my lips as I hiss the words out, but the emotion behind it is far from amusement. “We both know who the stronger one is here. I have every reason to kill you for what you are, and no one would bat an eye.”
His wings twitch and he hovers closer to me, the tantalizing smile never leaving his thin, pale lips. “That also wouldn’t be wise.”
We are exterminator and vermin, both fated to despise one another for what the other is. Hatred for his kind runs thick in my veins. Still, I raise an eyebrow, allowing him an explanation.
“You see,” he begins, eyeing me with a glint of a challenge in his golden browns, “Ramiel is in a vulnerable state. His brother’s just died. I’d been his aide for years. But he just... couldn’t take the weight of magic any longer. No human can, as you’re well aware. Even with my intervention, he—”
"You intervened?” I don’t bother to hide my rage. He blinks at me, surprised. Intervention means invoking the power that fills this kingdom with an abundance—dark magic. “That breaks the laws of nature, Ronan."
He recovers from his surprise, then grins. “So what? Fairies are at the bottom of the food chain anyway. I did what I could for a meal and a friend. So what."
I stumble backward, not sure of what to say or how to react. He’s beyond all morals, acting for his own sake and no one else’s.
“You’re vile,” I growl. But as soon as my insult is out, my head suddenly spins and I collapse to my knees, palms hitting the hard ground. My vision is all over the place, swirling like messy paint. The fairy starts to laugh.
“You are in no position to call me anything, wretched elf. Not when that magical lozenge is melding with your body as we speak, and you’ve been reduced to the position of a mere maid.” His words are filled with venom, charged with hatred. “You’re in my control now. I’m stronger than you, can’t you see that now?”
His boot crushes my hand, much stronger than I anticipated. I cry out, then cut back to a growl. It would be bad if anyone heard us.
“I need to hear that you understand our hierarchy here.” He twists the heel of the boot, winding it further into my hand. My mouth opens, letting out a nonverbal cry of pain. I try to steady my breathing, though my hand burns.
“Fine,” I say between breaths. “I won’t tell the prince.” He lifts his boot, satisfied.
But I’m not.
I twist upwards, my vision still fuzzy but not so inhibiting that I can’t see the shape of his body slinking above me.
My leg twists up and around, knocking his body to the ground. My damp hair drapes around his body in a spindly black curtain of wet, shading his pale skin to a sickly gray. I pin him at the wrists with the heels of my hands, digging them in until he squirms.
He simply laughs.
“What do you want with Ramiel?” I say through clenched teeth. “Why are you tricking him?”
“I didn’t think you cared,” he snorts. Then, there’s that wince I’m looking for. His eyes flit up to where one of his wings struggles to straighten underneath his body. I quickly draw one of my hands away, striking the joint in the middle of his wing. He gasps loudly, then grunts.
“I didn’t. But now I do. So tell me why, or your other wing’s next.” I raise my hand and his pupils shrink into little dots. Now we’re talking.
“Spare me,” he squeaks, his eyes squeezing closed.
“Speak,” I order, pressing my hands into his wrists once more.
He grunts again, then looks at me with pain in his eyes. “Self-preservation,” he spits. “Once the crown prince became immune to the suppressant in my pills, he finally collapsed under the surge of magic plaguing him.” His head tosses to one side to avoid eye contact. “As for my servitude toward Ramiel, well, simply put: if I don’t serve royalty, my family will have no use for me.”
“Why’s that.”
“You ask too many questions.”
I press harder and he winces again.
“Unlike elves, fairies can help reduce the burden of magic on humans. Xavelor only survived this long using magic because of my supplements.” His words flow like an open wound, runny and filled with haste. “He knew I was a fairy from the start, but Ramiel doesn’t. He only knows I’m here to help him withstand the magic you’re going to teach him. My family matters are none of your concern.”
My hands relax, but I still keep him pinned beneath me. “Fairies are notorious liars.”
He laughs, this time nervously. “I guess elves are naturally skeptical.”
I squint at him. Is he really telling the truth? There’s no way to tell, though his words sound genuine. “Okay, promise me one thing, on the condition that I don’t spread around your identity.”
His eyes brighten at this, though I’m unsure why. He seemed to ardently believe he’d had the upper hand just moments ago. Could he be persuaded so easily?
“Leave me out of your schemes. Take your foul magic out of me.”
He sighs, and for some reason this makes me fill with anger again.
“It will pass. After about a week, you’ll regain your ears and... feet again. Until then, you won’t be able to use magic. And just so you know,” he says, his lips daring to tug upwards, ”Ramiel asked me for the pills. It wasn’t my idea to hide your identity.”
“Yeah, sure,” I scoff, pushing off the ground. I head to the stool where my clothes sit waiting for me. His words are meaningless now. I’m sure I’ve expressed my dominance. A silly piece of fairy magic can’t control me.
I snatch up the apron, skirts, and blouses, wrapping the dagger snugly between the fabric. Then, I storm out of the bath room without looking back.