The First Day of Summer, three seasons later.
Names were important. Everyone had several names. Names and titles, indistinguishable at times. What did one do, Daniel wondered in the darkness, when the title had grown so much into you that it was a part of you? What to do when that title is pulled away?
“Elswith.” He muttered his old harbor name. But the name was heavy and dead. It contained no power anymore. “Lordling Elswith is mere memory. All that is left is me.”
Names held power. Literally held power. The realm of fae was a place where words and actions were remembered, and influence and authority were granted to those who completed mighty works and services. The magic of the fae was generated from such things as brave rescues, daring deeds, and completing promises.
The former heirling laid there, his blue gray eyes open into the darkness. He hoped he had slept, but he doubted it. He wasn’t dreading today. He wanted it to happen already. Let the insults hit him. Let the barbs and the jabs gnaw him already.
Lordling Elswith, only Heirling of the Great Red Sword, son of the High Fae Red Lord; that name once held power and influence. But, as he had realized over the last month, like a planter with a liner inside, his Lordly Father had been allowed to lift all the influence attributed to that name Elswith, even favors and authority that Elswith had earned independently. Now Elswith was a hollow name.
The weeks of isolation after his position reassignment had done nothing but make him more and more anxious. The toil and mistreatment had certainly taken a toll on his body, his ash blond hair seemed closer to actual ash than ever before, his skin from pearlescent fair to pale and tired. This was the beginning of the hardships, anyone could take a beating, but who could rise above? The Game would soon begin. The wait was over. Others may shy away from the inevitable, but not Daniel. He had rather a fatalistic look on life. He wanted to live, but if he clung too tightly to life, some of his new “Betters” would tear that last thread of hope from him. Therefore, the best approach was to be loose. Find what ground he could lose, find what he needed to keep no matter what, and make sure his former allies never found which was which.
He arose from the cold quilts into an even colder room. He had had windows before, many windows. He’d never appreciated looking out of them before, but at least he could still close his eyes and imagine the vast forest to the east and the turbulent waters of the ocean to the west. The city swelled south of the castle keep, overgrown from original borders time and time again before the forest again appeared in the distance. He envisioned the mountains far in the distance to the north, pale and shining with eternal snow.
Daniel looked at the dark room, barely enough magic left in his eyes to make out the shapes of the old furniture and the claustrophobia-inducing alcoves. There were oil lamps centuries old made of metal once thought rare but now common, so long neglected that the oil had congealed into a beast blood-colored rubbery substance. There were old trunks and boxes filled with clutter that made strange shadows when Daniel cast a faint lighting spell the first day of his arrival. The air brought with it a dank musk . The only thing that looked like it had been changed in the last century was a new door, strong, cold and iron. It was the kind of door that could be easily barred from the outside, turning this old servants suite of rooms into a prison.
Nevertheless, it could only threaten imprisonment. The door had never been barred, but it could. He would be trapped here, but he saw the bigger picture. He could be trapped anywhere. The door being barred or left unlocked made no difference. He bore the real trap inside his body.
Daniel was his real name. His true name. He learned it In the Realm of Fae, names held power, and they could also be used against you. The very powerful high fae could use your real name to twist your insides, summon you, influence your very thoughts, or place a binding. Daniel felt the terrible binding around his heart. That had been placed with his real name. The other four, one for each limb, were placed with the name Elswith, so at least he had a hope of breaking them.
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Bindings, like a servant contract, were enacted when someone of much lesser status was employed by someone of a higher status. Most of the time, from what he knew, they were loose and would dissolve by the end of the contract period. His were tight and grotesque. He’d never been a bound servant before, so he was a little unsure about the particulars, but he knew enough magic to realize that his bindings seemed like they were made of iron and thorns. For him to disobey the holders of his bindings would hurt. Considering how mouthy the servants could be, he doubted very much they shared the same binding.
He went to pegs near the entrance where his clothes hung. He had left them so close to the door on purpose. He retreated further, then sat on one old crate and pulled out his clothing. He had worn many uniforms in his life, but this was the first he would wear of such a station. Daniel started pulling on his socks, thin silken things that were glaringly out of place here in such frigid air. He pulled on the first, then paused before he placed the second.
His still face twisted as he held the spell pretending to be a sock. “Clever,” he muttered, and with what little remained of his magic, he could feel the copious little spells merely pretending to be a sock. Sometime throughout the day, the spell would come undone, and then suddenly thousands of little spiders would crawl out, racing from his boots up into his clothing.
He considered who would have the motive to change one sock into spiders. That was the game after all. Spiders were one of his pretend weaknesses, that he had only shared with a few “Trusted” allies. He could afford to insult those. But it might have a second nature to it. A closer person, more equal in station to his former rank, might be subtly jabbing at him, a taunt saying, “I know this isn’t really a weakness you have, and I know you would find this, and I want you to know that I will find a true weakness”. Those people he could not offend, yet he could not allow them to have victory over him.
Fae games were like that. Even if you win, you lose.
He considered opponents and motives for several moments more before putting on the second sock. His former subordinates may think he had a dislike for spiders, but they wouldn’t be so bold as to think he couldn’t see the makings of magic. This was an opportunity. He could wear the sock, and be ready to diminish the magic. If the spell was too strong, he’d know that it was a high lordling contesting him. If the magic was too weak, he could pinpoint which of his trusted allies were so petty, and devise a strategy to sabotage them.
He had no mirror, but his hands knew the actions to pull on his correct garments. He had no attendant. He chuckled. He was now lower in rank than his former valets. He laid over the vestments, the pale blue shirt, the gray vest with copper buttons instead of gems. The breeches that ran straight down his leg like a dagger, meeting over the socks. One of which may turn into an army of spiders if he wasn’t fast enough to stop it.
He pulled on his outer coat, straightened the lapel, then tied his cravat. It wasn’t the complicated one he preferred, intricate and delicate. Instead, the knot came out looking like a joint of a noose.
Standing, he fetched his boots. Since the time he had begun dressing to when he went back for his boots, one had been changed to an iridescent purple. He considered the boot carefully as he recognized the rough texture of the magic, and snorted derisively. The high lordlings and the adherents of the court needed minding, but for a low fae to dare mock him was testament of foolishness.
This insult, he would find and end. He had fallen in rank, but not in quality. If he allowed a mere minion to perceive a victory over the former heir, then Daniel’s life here in servitude until freedom was earned would be misery. He casually dispelled the magic, ripping it from the boot and then he gathered the little bit of formless magic, preparing to disperse into the air. Instead, he changed its direction and absorbed it. He felt the gentle energy join his, and he smiled.
Today was the day he had lived for, as the last terrible month had come, as he had been stripped of his holdings, each day a torture as they pulled out the magic that had coiled around his bones and veins to be recollected, it had all come down to this. They’d stripped him of his power, but they couldn’t take his experience. They couldn’t take his mind. He would show them. He would bow his head when he needed to bow. He would bite when he needed to bite. Like a stone cutter scoring the lines, he would prepare to break himself where he decided he could break while leaving the essential structure of himself protected.
He imagined the mountains to the north again, and the danger that would descend from the mountains; the storm that would follow that danger. He needed to escape before that danger grew strong enough to completely swallow him. That danger would darken the horizon before eventually sweeping the Citadel like a force.
He needed to play the game.