Page 27 of Fae Tithe

A green flash came from the golden Truth-teller.

“That is not the information I am seeking. Where do you and your mother live in the Clusters? Which island?” Gavson asked, all the curated kindness having left his voice.

Eleanor raised her chin slightly. “I live in Portson,” she replied. It was not an outright lie. She did live in the provincial capital most of the time.

Red, and then green, from the contraption.

“Half-truths are obvious, Miss Neycur. This is your last chance. Where do you live, when not in Portson?” he growled.

“I live in the province of Archipelago of Sol,” she replied, meeting his steely gaze.

The Truth-Teller flashed green. Eleanor’s lip quirked upwards gently at the emerald light. After all, there was no lie in her answer.

“Miss Neycur,” Gavson tutted and waved a lazy hand in her direction.

Immediately, burning began at the fingertips of her right hand, as though she had put the pads of her fingers on a wood-burning stove. “Ow!” she cried. “Stop!”

“When, and only when, you tell me which island of the Clusters?” the Interviewer pushed again.

The thought of the Fae finding Eleanor’s home, of them hurting Rose and taking back the boys, hunting down her mother and Lance, sent a sweep of dread through her. Eleanor knew if the Fae really wanted to, they could track down that her home island was Majora, the biggest island of the Clusters.

They aren’t getting this information from me. She raised her chin. “No.”

Eleanor gripped her right wrist with her left hand as the needling pain migrated up to her elbow. She gritted her teeth, ready to take more. Eleanor would never be the one to unleash the Fae onto her home.

“Enough,” a velvet voice growled softly from the dimmed half of the room.

The needling pain under her skin immediately ceased. The man rose from his lounging position. Eleanor squinted into the shadows as he stood to his full height. The dim outline moved with a feline grace, lithe and supple, as he stepped into the illuminated half of the Interview Room. He was taller even then Lance, who until that moment, was the tallest person she had ever seen.

Danger! Eleanor’s instincts screamed.

It reminded the teenager of the day a mountain lion, nearly as big as a pony, crossed the path to the village. Helena had been walking Eleanor, then five years old, to lower school. She remembered so vividly how the lion swaggered across the road and turned its lazy head to the mother and daughter. Eleanor recalled how Helena shoved her behind her legs and spread her arms defensively to hide Eleanor from view. The feline blinked lazily at them and continued on its way. It strode into the long grass, its pelt blending into the vegetation scorched by the Seelieland summer sun.

That was what this Fae was. He was a lion, a predator. Her eyes tracked up until they met his. They were a rich brown. A sunburst of swirling red writhed in his irises. For Eleanor, he was both the most beautiful and the most terrifying person she had ever seen.

On his white-blonde hair sat a spider web of gold. The crown had ensnared several blood-red rubies that shimmered in the light given off by the hovering Fae Lights. On either side of his head peeked out pointed ears that escaped his immaculate curls. Eleanor took in his perfect face. She recognised it from the portrait that hung in the foyer of Portson Finishing School for Girls. The pure power that emanated from the Seelie Fae, the first she had met, forced her to bow her head.

“King Rian,” she fumbled to find the title. Refer to the Seelie King as Grace and The Seelie Lords as Lordship, that’s what that book said. She licked her dry lips. “Your Grace,” she murmured, eyes on her lap.

Eleanor trembled with shoots of terror travelling down her limbs. The fear clenched her stomach, and she fought to maintain control of her bladder. Just as the teenager had learned at school and at the manor, King Rian was, unquestionably, the ruler of the Seelie Court. She remembered that he was relatively new to the throne, having ruled for forty years or so, as Miss Taylor had taught them. The thought of the teacher strewn across the floor sent a stab to her gut.

Eleanor tried to rein in her spinning thoughts and emotions, a spider web of them clogging her head. Facts, she needed facts that would help her in this situation. The Seelie King rules over the Seelie Court, she recited. The Seelie Court is made up of five Seelie Lords and the King. Her heart rate slowed. Each Seelie Lord rules a province. The six Seelie Fae of the Seelie Court are the only Seelie in the Kingdom… She felt calmer after she retrieved this fact from her mind …and under each Seelie Lord are several Fae Lords, each with their own small courts in their given lands.

King Rian must have made his way across the room as Eleanor calmed herself, as she heard his purring voice above her bowed head. “Your hand, Miss Neycur?”

Eleanor, trembling, lifted her previously burning hand. She kept her face downcast to her silken lap. To her terror, the Seelie King took her hand in his, and then with his other, tipped her chin to meet his gaze as he pressed his soft lips to her hand. The King’s eyes wandered across her face, then angled to her neck and bodice as his mouth lingered on her skin.

The King straightened, towering over the seated Eleanor and Gavson. His eyes still studied the teenage girl’s face. Her forehead and chest grew hot with irritation, as though an invisible palm had taken a handful of coarse, wet sand and rubbed it across her skin there. Then, as the Seelie King continued to stare down, the irritation prickled into pain. Eleanor felt as though a fishhook sliced through the skin of her forehead and chest. The invisible hooks pulled her towards Rian on an unseen line. She found herself squirming in her seat as the line grew taut.

Eleanor’s pain dissipated as she saw the King open his mouth to speak. “I respect your loyalty, Miss Neycur. It is an important quality of character, as is the ability to recognise when information should not be shared.” He smoothly offered Eleanor an arm. The sleeve of his red overtunic was embroidered with gold, the thread detailing images of wings and flames. “There are lovely gardens here. I believe you have not had a chance to stroll through them properly yet. Take a walk with me.” There was no request in his tone. It was an order.

Eleanor could not control her trembling. The teenager stood and managed to link a shaking arm through the crook of Rian’s elbow. She managed to stay on her feet despite feeling her head spin. She looked up at the King and he gazed down at her with a faint smile on his lips. Eleanor watched as he turned his head to the Interviewer.

“You may call in the Seelie Lord of Archipelago. It is his turn to witness the interviews,” he ordered.

“All the Tithe girls have now been interviewed, Your Grace. I will have to start the process over,” Gavson explained with a downcast face. Eleanor wondered if he, too, sensed the power of the King’s gaze and felt compelled to lower his head.

“Then do it, Mr Gavson.” The Seelie King laid a hand upon Eleanor’s and guided her from the Interview Room.