Nahtaia

Chapter 1 The pine chair Nahtaia slouched on needed a good sanding. She would definitely have to replace her stockings after an hour of sitting on it. I’m in trouble now, she thought to herself, eyeing the larger chair on the other side of the desk—the desk belonging to Moriel, the Faery Forest’s Minister of Fae Assignment. It was the second time in four days that Nahtaia had been called for a meeting with Moriel. Last time, it was a scuffle with a local squirrel earning her the seat before the rather intimidating minister. She was not looking forward to his scolding gaze as she had already lost too much sleep to nervousness the memory of it caused.” The door creaked open behind her and Moriel entered. With a lump in her throat, Nahtaia watched as he made his way to the seat, his long white hair cascading down his back, smooth as silk. After taking his seat, he folded his hands, interlocking his slender, lengthy fingers and raised ivory eyes to hers. The heart palpitations began. Those empty white eyes could bring anxiety up from the bravest of hearts. That’s why they sent the bad little fae to him—because he could guilt trip a person just by making eye contact. It was his gift. “Nahtaia,” he began in a strong voice of composure. “Must I remind you at every meeting to bring your manners?” Her brows raised with dumb curiosity. “Ahem,” he cleared his throat and sat up straight. “Oh,” she squeaked, straightening her back and pulling her feet together. “Sorry.” An exhausted sigh came from his pale lips. “Nahtaia, I called you here for a reason. It seems we’re running out of—” “It wasn’t my fault!” Nahtaia blurted in defiance before he could go on. The all-knowing abysmal eyes of the minister were just too much. “That half-witted bull stepped into my ring!” she continued. “He ruined the perfect composition! I put so much hard work and focus into growing those mushrooms and he comes prancing about like a dunce!” Moriel’s jaw slowly dropped and his eyes widened. Nahtaia thought she even saw one of his eyelids twitch. “You charmed a minotaur?” he croaked, nearly choking on the words. Nahtaia paused and narrowed her eyes. “What exactly am I here for?” she asked, biting her nail. Moriel dropped his face into his palms with a moan. “Oh, by the Highest. I was worried about the dog you turned into a pig, but this?” Nahtaia’s eyes brightened and she furrowed her brows. “Hey, that wretched animal nipped my wings! I had every right—” “You shouldn’t be in human territory in the first place! Just because you can use magic of such sorts does not give you the right to! Nahtaia, you...” Moriel stopped short. After taking in a deep breath of resignation, he continued. “Nahtaia, these meetings have become a habit I do not care to entertain. Your assignment was to keep watch over the forest’s edge, not to go meandering into the neighboring farms. You know how much the humans detest faeries.” Nahtaia’s wings flinched. That was not altogether true but she couldn’t very well tell the minister that. He’d stare the truth out of her in a matter of seconds, and everyone knew what happened to faeries who wandered too far into human territory. Banishment. Goosebumps rose all over her body at the thought of being denied any contact with Lyra. But even worse than that was the risk of losing her wings. Banishment wasn’t simply cutting off a faery from her people; it was cutting off a faery from everything she was. No more magic. No more flight. Banishment was indeed harsh, but believed to be necessary when dealing with threats to the species. And approaching humans was practically inviting a threat. After all, history proved that humans caused the vast majority of faery deaths and homelessness. “Nahtaia,” Moriel snapped, drawing her out of her hollow gaze. “Are you listening to me? We have a final assignment for you, and if you fail or cause trouble of any sort, you will be punished most severely.” The seriousness in his eyes was also in his tone. Nahtaia swallowed hard. “What is the assignment?” she finally asked, tucking a long lock of blue hair behind her pointed silvery ear. With that, Minister Moriel’s lips curved into a contented smile and Nahtaia could feel the tension in the room lighten. “Something not even you can ruin, Nahtaia. Pine collecting.” There was only one reason he would suggest such a thing, and it boiled Nahtaia’s blood to the surface. Her moon-pale face turned every shade of rose, from pink to blood-red. She jumped to her feet and clenched her fists, knowing in the back of her mind how ridiculous Moriel thought her reaction. “Oren put you up to this, didn’t he?” she accused, irritated by the very thought of the man with whom she’d knocked heads since childhood. Moriel eyed the girl attentively. “With so much emotion coming from you, some would think you like the man,” he said. Nahtaia gasped in disgust, her hands curling into even tighter fists at her sides. “Blasphemy! He is an immature, selfish, poor excuse for a pine faery! I’d take up the company of a toothless goblin before liking him!” “Oh, stop it, you’re flattering me,” another familiar voice spoke from behind. Nahtaia turned. She hadn’t heard the door or footsteps, but there was Oren with green goatee and snooty demeanor sitting in a chair behind her. His sleek, dark-green-tinted hair was pulled up into a ponytail, the bottom of which brushed against the rim of his brown tunic pants. A bow and quiver of arrows was slung over his bare back—obviously unused for quite some time as the arrows were neatly organized into a tidy bunch. The moment her eyes set on him, her nostrils flared in fury. “What’s he doing here?” Nahtaia asked Moriel, though her spiteful glare remained on Oren. Most girls were quite taken with Oren. He was not lacking in good looks, but his horrid personality and spoiled behavior greatly ruined that aspect. The chiseled lines and sharp angles of his face were often snuffed from thought when he opened his mouth. “I’m here to take you to work, Bluebird,” he said with a coy grin. “Funny how the world turns. I kept you out of trouble as a child, and here we find ourselves again.” Heat spread through her body as Oren spoke. Her bones showed through the knuckles of her fists, which she found difficult not to fling into his little olive nose. “I refuse to do anything with this man,” Nahtaia declared, turning back to Moriel. “This is absurd! You know very well, Minister Moriel, that nothing will get done if he,” she jabbed a tiny finger at Oren, “and I are within sight of each other. I will not, nor will I ever, accept any assignment when—” “If you’re done with your tirade, Miss Nahtaia,” Moriel cut in as he rubbed the inner corners of his eyes, “I have much work of my own to attend to. This is your assignment. You are to take direct orders from Oren Spindle from this moment on. Thank you. You know where to find the door.” He rose from his seat, took up some books and papers, then gracefully headed for the exit before he stopped and turned. “Oh, and don’t think I’ve forgotten about the minotaur.” With a deep sigh and shake of his head, he turned and disappeared through the door. “Minotaur?” Oren snickered. “By the Highest, what have you done this time?” Nahtaia stood, her eyes searching the wooden floor as if in it were hidden all the answers—and weapons—she desperately needed in this moment. “Shut up,” she snipped in reply. Why was Oren always there? Since childhood, she couldn’t seem to escape him. But at least he was never given any level of authority over her...until now. Now she was to take direct orders from him? Impossible. Inconceivable. “Well, Bluebird, let’s go,” Oren continued, speaking closely into Nahtaia’s ear. If she didn’t know him so well, she would have recoiled at his closeness. But it was nothing new. When they weren’t throwing punches or pinning one another down in a show of strength, their time was often spent just trying to make each other uncomfortable. And yet his voice sent a jolt of ice down her spine this time. Nahtaia said nothing in return. “All right, then. Take your time,” he went on, taking a step back. “Honestly, Bluebird, this may not be so bad. We may actually have some—” Without looking up, Nahtaia pushed past him with a puff. “I need some air.” “Fun,” he finished. ––––––––