PET? PET! SPEECHLESS WITH indignation, Allory did not raise a peep as the long-legged Princess of wherever they had said strode through the castle’s cool halls as if buffeted along by storm winds of her own manufacture, muttering forebodingly beneath her breath in at least two, if not three different languages. The few words her captive did catch were neither the most ladylike nor even civil. This alone kept her silent. Felidragons had whiskers. Faerie had antennae. Both sets of senses would have told her the same thing. Something about this saccharine royal reprobate did not add up. The course of wisdom was clearly to shut her tiny trap until she learned more.

What language did she even speak? Why was she garbed so differently to the other Humans, in a dress that flowed like water? The girl moved like water. Quick and lithe and strong.

Barely had she drawn breath to reflect upon these matters, when the birdcage swung sharply and a heavy door banged shut nearby, changing the air pressure. Allory scented dry incense and petals perhaps placed in a bowl, and a stale undertone of old, thick carpets. This stone castle must be desperately chilly during their winter. Immediately, a second pressure change, this one far more subtle, vibrated against her eardrums. A woodsy scent of honeysuckle, jasmine and peppery orange made her inhale sharply. Nice! Despite the thick cloth covering the cage, Allory’s skin prickled at the presence of unfamiliar magic as the girl spoke briefly in a soft, melodious tongue. A magic user?

More and more intriguing.

Next, an impetuous bronzed hand flung back the covering.

Those green eyes pinned her with a mesmerising and, quite frankly, petrifying glare – despite the arresting physical beauty of that face, it was set in planes so hard she resembled a stunning sculpture.

Instantly sweaty of palm and short of breath, the girlfae found she had to break the connection. She darted several glances about the space she found herself in, bounded to one side by a massively thick stone wall and to all others by a seamless five-part wooden screen that to her untrained eye offered no crevice via which to escape, neither sideways nor high up toward the light wood beam ceiling. Not even for a dinky Faerie. She returned her gaze to her handsome captor, examining her through the thin but Faerie-proof cage bars.

Suggids, that girl could outstare a Dragon. Any Dragon.

Folding a pair of sinewy arms across her chest, the other snorted, “Father most doting, you are lovely, but I fear every Elven ancestor I ever had is screaming in mortal anguish right now. A Faerie. You gave me … a Fae … for a pet? How many ways can I spell ‘idiot?’ At least a dozen, I’d warrant – do you speak, little one? Are you hurt? Let’s just see about this lock. Bunch of dimwits! Suggid-sucking morons! Fancy capturing a Fae – what kind of Faerie are you, anyways? Those eyes! Extraordinary. Do you have a name, sweet butterfly girl?”

She says suggids just like me.

“A real miniature person,” the other girl mused meantime, scratching her definite chin with one perfectly manicured fingertip. “Phew. Father definitely shot for rarity this time. I wonder what she cost … and what he wants of me? Intriguing.”

Despite her wariness, Allory had the oddest suspicion that given different circumstances, she might actually grow to like this strange … this Elven Princess? Of course! How could she have missed the obvious? This girl must be half Elf, given that she referred to Durc as her father and therefore, her mother must be the full-blood Elf Yaarah had mentioned. Besides, the girl had upswept, pointy ears, she observed. That had to be a recommendation. Nor did anything about her look remotely Human – a second recommendation.

Quite besides the fact that she appeared to be vastly irritated with her birthday gift.

Encouraging? Maybe.

In a patronising lilt, the Elf murmured, “Is that a stroppy pout, cutie? Blink those pretty eyes if you understand me.”

Ooh. Now a taunt from the vile tyrant?

Allory pointed mutinously at the lock. That first, would-be pet-keeper.

Palming a flat leather case from somewhere beneath her long, split skirts, the girl selected a metal tool and picked the lock with one dexterous twist of her wrist. Oof. Who felt silly now?

Minor sulk of the day.

The Princess of Perfection levered the door open and beckoned impatiently. “Come on out. No free creature should ever be kept in a cage, tor-amxui arboran! Most certainly not a Faerie. How came you to Durhelm Castle, little – wait, slow down!”

This was as Allory shot out in a blur and headed for the screen. Far too heavy for her. Besides, it was infused with protective Elven magic of a character she did not understand. The girl simply followed her flustered flight with those large, lustrous eyes. Larger than Human? True. She made no attempt at pursuit despite the close space. Taking up a station near the ceiling, hopefully out of reach of a limber Elf, although she recalled tales that suggested they climbed like monkeys and jumped better than cats, Allory hovered briefly and then, with a sigh, shrugged in wordless frustration.

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Still trapped.

Meantime, offering a swift bow, the girl said, “Introductions, perhaps? I am Ashueli, Princess of Ahm-Shira and Durhelm Castle, at your service. Please call me Ashueli, or more simply, Ash.”

No way out. Allory eyeballed the pet-keeper guardedly.

“I will not harm you.”

Harm? Oh, she’d promise no harm to her new plaything? Before she knew it, Allory found her hands waving and her voice hissing, “What is this, a larger cage for your pet? Oh, a very happy birthday to you, pretty Princess.”

The corners of the girl’s mouth quirked upward as she folded her arms across her torso. Too strong on the sarcasm?

She folded her tiny blue arms in return. “Aye, I speak. Ha.”

Ha from on high! Sure told her off, didn’t I?

Wetting her lips slightly, the girl replied in a steady, musical cadence, “I am indeed a titled Princess of Ahm-Shira, daughter of Zinueli of the eminent Sylvanchild line. Although I am a twenty-seventh generation descendent of the great Queen Yashueli Sylvanchild herself, I’m afraid my line is rather minor and inconsequential in the greater scheme of things. As a young and ambitious man, Father fancied himself a real Princess to wife and it suited Zinueli’s loving parents to trade their valuable daughter – my mother, that is – plus title to a rich foreign ruler in exchange for a guarantee of a comfortable living for the rest of their lives. In full gratitude for the … perks, shall we say, of my station, I am therefore the most obedient daughter who ever lived beneath Centresky.”

Ouch.

Her wingtips buzzed in recognition.

“Aye, a tad more truth than expected? Forgive me for sharing my tale of woe.” She muttered darkly in Elven once more. “I am grateful for all I have, aye; nor have I often been mistreated, yet I am trapped in a cage more gilded and subtle than that which you arrived in, Faerie girl. Tell me, which of us around here is the true pet?”

She opened her mouth. Shut it.

Opened it again and … no. Talk about an epic misjudgement. Whatever had possessed the Princess to slit open a vein and drain her life’s sap like that?

Ashueli levelled one of those dramatic eyebrows at the Scintillant Fae. The girl was not half beautiful. Take a guess at why a man like Durc might have desired to marry her mother? Even a Faerie from the deep jungles could draw the obvious conclusion. Trophy wife.

Politely, Allory offered, “Suggids?”

“Wow. That’s your name? I’d never have guessed.”

Gasp! A shared chuckle shattered the tension between them. How improbably refreshing!

Delicately, never more aware of a growing sense of connection with this Elf, she said, “O Princess, I am called Allory Fae. You may call me Allory, but I do not answer to ‘little one’ or ‘pet.’ Nor will I live in any cage.” The eloquent eyebrows danced at her defiant tone; Allory told herself, very firmly, to grow a spine and act like she had one, too. “I am a Scintillant Fae, hence my sapphire colouration, and I am also the runt of my pupae-siblings, so the diminutive size comes with the territory. My family and indeed, my entire colony were captured by Marakusian Slavers a few weeks back. Those who fought back were brutally slain, including three of my siblings. I am the only one left.”

The silence screamed.

Ashueli rasped, “I’m sorry, Allory. Words fail me.”

This was the moment she knew the girl was true. She sensed the pulse of her heart, the genuine grief underlying her response.

Unsteadily, Allory added, “You Elves are said to have something of the Fae in you, are you not?”

“That’s the rumour. Touch of the old sylvan magic, pointy ears, different bone structures and so on. While I’ve met many Faerie back in Ahm-Shira, you’re my first Scintillant – oh, don’t glare at me like that!”

She eyed the hovering girlfae with a gaze that missed nothing. Aye, that giddy Princess was all mask and no actuality. As intense as one of Yaarah’s stares at his most fiery. Allory would have shrunk further backward, but she had nowhere to go.

Nowhere but down.

Perfect.

“I’m not some collector or slaver, if that’s your fear,” the Princess added in scathing tones. “Quite enough of being flogged on the open market for a profit knocking about in my family closet, thank you kindly. Nor am I bosom buddies with any Marakusians. Indeed –” her fingers flexed in ways that suggested a grim fondness for snapping evil green necks “– most certainly not.”

“Why this space, then?”

A shrug accompanied a curtailed, frustrated gesture. “I prefer private conversations to remain private, that’s why. Father may think trapping tiny, helpless Faerie in cages is quaint, but he’s also notoriously paranoid about his favourite possessions – like me. That’s why you and I are getting out of here. Tonight. Going anywhere fun?”

“Your dungeons, actually.”

With a disbelieving chuckle, the girl prompted, “You Scintillants know just where to throw a party, don’t you? Tell me more?”

Whatever she had expected of a Princess, this reaction was not it. The girl acted as taut as a bowstring, now. Why? What tensions did the song of her body communicate? One Allory Fae had clearly stumbled into a deeper and murkier jungle than she had imagined.

Still, since fate or destiny or whatever happened to be seriously belting her about the pointy ears at this point, she should also listen. Life tended to be less painful that way.

Deciding to open up in the hope of gaining an ally, Allory said carefully, “Well, my companion and I came to Durhelm Castle in search of information relating to the Marakusians, as in where they might be or have taken my family. Anything at all, really. Unfortunately, my friend sort of invited himself to visit Durc’s dungeon – unintentionally – so I am planning to break him out.”

“He’s …”

“A Golden Purrmaine Felidragon.”

“A Purrmaine? Suggids! That’s unfortunate timing.”

“Quite.”

“The plan being to throw yourself into captivity in order to penetrate the secrets of Durhelm Castle?”

The eyebrows invited her to crack a joke. “Absolutely the plan,” Allory agreed heartily. “Foolproof and realistic are my personal watchwords, barring incident.”

“Ooh.” With an appreciative wince for the terrible pun, Ashueli chuckled, “We’ve long suspected the two were in cahoots – the Marakusians and the Felidragons, that is, or at least that the Dragons are their new and favourite clients – but had no proof until a couple of months ago, following which Father kicked out all the Felidragons in a fit of well-founded temper. I fear you walked slap into a wall of trouble.” Minor shoulder shrug of major frustration. “Aye. Alright, I think I know where they’d be keeping him, but we should ask my mother to be sure. Want a hand breaking him out?”

“Uh … sure?”

“This new plan comes with one condition – you take me with you when you leave.”