The first time I'd been beaten, it'd been at the hands of the Master.

It was a small act, a simple thing - a backhanded slap. It was a sharp crack that rang throughout the room. Who knew hitting a seven year old could be so loud?

It turned my head so forcefully that I'd landed on my stomach. My vision had darkened around the edges and before I knew it, I was dry heaving onto the floor.

I could never quite remember why I'd been slapped so suddenly. It had come without warning, without a reasonable enough time to help me brace myself for impact. Had I made an offhand remark? Did he notice a mistake in the way I'd poured his wine? Maybe he'd been bored and felt the need to lash at the creature that tainted the air around him.

I did remember quite clearly that I'd started bleeding. His knuckles had split my cheekbone. If humans had backhanded someone with that much force, it probably would've fractured their hand but the Master showed no outward signs that it had hurt him.

I'd glared at that hand - the hand that was now reaching for his goblet like there was nothing amiss and I'd had the vivid desire to cut that hand off.

"Are you going to cry?" His back was still towards me, silver hair long and loose. The Master rarely let his hair loose. He deemed it an unworthy portrayal of the Si that commanded the full might of the Aeds forces.

I swallowed my anger and turned away. My eyes had started to blur and I tried desperately to shred the mounting frustration that threatened to boil out of me.

"Answer me, Little Ashling."

"No," I forced out. I'd meant it to come out neutral and soft but even I could hear the strain of resentment that colored that one response.

Fae were fast. I only heard the snap of a closing book before I felt the barest brush of a finger against my cheek.

Startled, I scrambled back looking straight into the Master's crimson orbs. I couldn't read the emotions that flitted across his face.

Surprise?

Curiosity?

Elation?

He was sitting cross-legged, his forefinger raised as an elegant prop. It was too dark to make out but I knew what he was showing, the point he was trying to make.

"I detest liars." He smiled. It was beautiful. It was serene. It was a promise that if I ever did so again, I'd find myself plucking my eyes out of my head and wrapping it neatly as a gift to him.

"You mean, humans." A wave of dizzying fear crashed through my body. Correcting the Master? It was the kind of thing that earned your tongue a knife against the cutting board - for the day if you were lucky, otherwise, you would have to rip your tongue from the cutting board yourself and hope you survived the shock.

"Aren't they one and the same?" he asked. "Humans," he trailed off, inspecting the tear that winked in the moonlight. "So fickle."

"Just because you can't lie, doesn't mean your kind are any better." I should've spat that with muster. Instead, what was meant to be a bold defense for my brethren came out as a weak stutter.

The Master was unnaturally still and for a moment, he painted the most striking picture. His linen robes were splayed about him elegantly, his hair a radiant halo. His face - pale, sharp, and delicate - concentrated deceptively on the lone tear that had started to trail down his finger.

"I never said we were better," he laughed. Then his eyes captivated mine and my fear magnified tenfold. "But we are better at it."

"At what?"

"What a dull question. At being fickle, of course."

I broke eye contact and hurriedly wiped at my tears, wincing as the pain screamed at me to stop. My left eye was starting to swell shut and my face throbbed even more. I wanted to leave but I hadn't been dismissed.

So I remained on that glass floor, staring at him staring at me.

Neither of us spoke.

Neither of us cared to.

~

There weren't many humans that were allowed in the Master's house.

Correction: There weren't many humans that lasted.

The Elder Tree was the life force of the Fae - not surprising as it was located at the center of the continent, it's roots holding fast and strong in the depths of the Ocean where the Selkies lived, its trunk spanning thousands of leagues above and across. Its canopy, inhabited by the Enyels, yawned from one coast to the next, the foliage barely visible so far up in the sky.

The Aeds in the east shared a tentative peace - and a tentative border - with the Jords on the west.

I don't know where humans lived in the other territories but I do know that here, where the Aeds lived, there were small human colonies that dotted the East. I used to wonder why we were allowed our own area to live and grow, why the Fae was never overwhelmingly oppressive to our kind.

Then the answer came to me in the form of a human woman, hunched and small . I don't know what her name was - I don't think I asked. She was stationed in the kitchen, to be used as an extra pair of hands.

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I frowned as the memory came into focus. One hand. She'd come to the kitchens with only one hand. I didn't ask how it happened. I didn't want to know.

What little small talk we made had been about her home - a colony just outside the city.

I'd asked her why she'd come to the house of a Fae.

She'd said she'd been hungry.

I'd looked at her incredulously.

She'd looked back with despair.

And I realized it didn't matter if humans had colonies or lives or a home because it didn't matter to the Fae. We imposed as much of a presence as an ant so why would a god bother to concern themselves with the doings of such inferiority?

The woman hadn't lasted long. The pixies had cut off her other hand. Their contract usually ended like that one way or another.

But death was kinder.

I examined the new help. There were three of them - all at varying stages of hunger, all at varying stages of desperation.

Was that what that smell was? Desperation?

The first was a man. At one point, he may have been a burly mass but without proper care, the only thing that was impressive was that he was still standing. His shoulders were caved in, his chin was tucked against his chest. I couldn't make out much of his features because it was hidden under a thicket of a beard. He was tall and gangly but he was used to staying small.

The second was a woman. Her face was young but severely gaunt, her hair matted in some places and shorn in others. She stared straight ahead but her eyes were dimmed to a hush. If it weren't for the face that she was standing in front of me, contracted with the Master, I would've thought she was dead.

The last was- I gently bit the inside of my cheek. He was a boy, around the age of three, four if his malnourished state was anything to go by. His tiny fingers were clenched, his wide eyes were startled and... I stared at his feet. They were bare, calloused, and bruised.

This was life, I reminded myself.

This was reality.

"The baths are behind you." The man flinched. The little boy grasped the woman's dress. She didn't seem to register it.

I gestured to the left. "There are two closets in the wall over there, boys on the left, girls on the right. You should find garments that suit your size but if you don't, you'll have to make do with the closest thing."

I pointed to the small table on the right, topped with three domes. "It's not much but there's water, fruit, cheese." I looked down at the boy, not sure if he understood. "Don't rush. It won't keep in your stomach if you haven't been eating regularly and this is all you'll receive today until you start fulfilling your end of the bargain."

I turned to leave.

"Wait." The voice was gruff, hoarse, panicked.

I paused, pivoting slowly. The man had looked away, seeming unsure of himself.

"I mean, are we- Is this okay?" he asked.

I could see the doubt in his eyes. A bath for the likes of humans? Clean clothes? Fresh food? It was too good to be true.

It was too good to be true.

"This isn't for you. This is for the Master." He despised an unkept appearance.

I finally left them to it. After all, they were likely going to savor that bath for awhile.

My thoughts drifted towards the little boy. It was the first time I'd seen a child enter a contract with the Master. Even the Master knew that human children were practically useless. The last time a child had entered the grounds on a bargain, it'd been me.

I was jolted from my thoughts by the appearance of Rowan. I scanned his face for any sign of life but all he gave me was a tranquil smile.

"The Master requires your presence."

I glanced at his palms. Though they were turned inwards, I saw the edges of sores and blisters. I didn't bother to respond. He was simply there to relay a message and make sure I followed.

I folded my hands and kept my eyes down, letting his feet guide my own. He made a series of turns that led me outside. I didn't have to look up to recognize that we were heading towards the gazebos. Rowan suddenly stopped and my head tapped his shoulder blade.

I immediately stepped back and waited but he didn't move. I peered up, curious. He smiled and said, "The Master requires your presence."

I looked down. It meant that the Master didn't require his.

I continued past him, keeping to the familiar stone path that led to the gazebo. Three voices suddenly rang with laughter and I halted. A reckless desire to dance had suddenly overwhelmed my senses and I gnashed my teeth, reminding myself that this was not me. Usually, the Master's laugher had a minimal effect on me but the fact that it was this strong meant that he was accompanied by other Si.

I took a small step forward. Then another. Then another.

Until before long, I'd knelt at the Master's side.

From what little I could see, the gazebo was a beautiful place. As the sun set, it remained lit with a warm glow. The floor was covered in a patchwork of pillows on a plum colored overlay. I could only assume it provided a grand view of Ceres Lake.

"Credit should be given where credit is due," someone joyously shouted. Auberon. I didn't know what he looked like but I could nail the light tenor of his voice in a heartbeat. "I'd expected the human to last half my initial estimate. Two days is more than impressive, don't you think, Alvar?"

"I always give credit where credit is due and it was not due here. How could you call it impressive when he couldn't even last the full three days? Almost is as good as nothing."

Auberon scoffed. "This is why your subordinates think you're a stuffy old man that's withered away any sense of humor that may have existed. Ever."

"Don't change the subject." I could hear the Master grinning. "You bet one day and one night. The human lasted double that. You think you deserve to claim Elouan's wine when your mark was so far off?"

I stiffened. They were talking about Rowan.

Auberon sat up. "Your estimate was three and he didn't make that either. You can't expect to weasel your way out of this one."

"My guess was far closer than yours."

"I knew you'd try to loophole your way around the bet which is why I brought dear Aeon with me."

There was a soft chuckle as the other two fell silent. I didn't recognize him. Neither the name nor the voice.

"Weren't your exact words, 'I bet he doesn't last longer than one day and one night.'?" It was a deep rumble, the sound silken and rich.

I saw the wave of a hand as Auberon responded, "The trifle of meaningless words."

"Meaningless? On the contrary, our words are what defines us. Don't you agree, Little Ashling?"

I almost looked up, surprised at the casual invitation to converse.

Auberon saved me from having to answer. "Of course she's going to agree with you, Alvar. They're all so dreary that I can feel an excruciating death-"

"I didn't ask if you thought she would agree," the Master interrupted.

"Then, do you want to make another bet?" Auberon countered excitedly.

I squeezed my folded hands together. Fear simmered gently under my mask of nonchalance.

"Are you trying to lose a bet twice in a row?"

"Ha!" Auberon stood abruptly, swiping at a bottle from the center. "Let's say we settle the matter of Elouan's wine with the outcome of this one. Aeon?"

There was a pause. Then, "I'm simply curious. I'll mediate."

I internally sighed with relief.

"Fine. I swear, you could pass for a human with how unwittingly dull you are."

The fear no longer simmered but was now bubbling to the brim.

"Our words are what defines us," the Master repeated. "Auberon?"

"She will agree with her Master. What silly idiot wouldn't?"

My heart started to beat a thunderous rhythm.

"You'd be surprised," the Master huffed, amused. "I think she's quite the silly idiot. Well, Little Ashling? Do you agree?"

I could hardly hear him. My blood roared like a raging river in my ears and the fear finally boiled over. Except it wasn't fear.

It was anger.

Before I could even wonder if this was a smart decision - making him lose this bet - I gave a small smile and answered, "Yes. Absolutely."