Metanoia

Chapter Five

The trees began to thin as the forest gave way to rolling hills covered in mist. Nael pulled his cloak tighter around himself, shivering a bit from the chill in the air but something tells him that he’s getting close to the Faelands. Star padded silently beside him, the quiet broken by Pepper’s loud huffs and the click of its hooves against the rocks.

Then, from a distance, he catches sight of something glimmering over the horizon—the border; it was right there. Nael could almost feel himself deflate with relief, his earlier tension melting away. He was halfway there.

He clicked his tongue, leading Pepper into a light jog. But then he heard a whizz pass by him, then Star growling, snapping Nael’s focus back to the present. He whipped his head just in time for another arrow to cut through the air, merely missing him by inches.

Men in black emerged from the treeline like specters, their dark cloaks blending seamlessly with the gloom. From what he could see, there were at least five of them, their arms heavy with weapons and pointed directly at him. Nael cursed under his breath, Pepper whinnying from beneath him with panic, and he pulled at the reins a little harder to keep them both steady.

Standing in front of the group, and clearly their pseudo-leader, was a man Nael recognized instantly; with his sickly pallor and blonde hair—inhuman golden eyes piercing through him like a blade, his smirk doing little to soften the effect.

“Nael!” He called, in an overly sweet lilt. “There you are. You really had to make this difficult, didn’t you, dear cousin?”

Nael gritted his teeth, hand flying to the handle of his sword. “What do you want, Oran?”

Oran’s smirk widened. “Isn’t it obvious? Your uncle sends his regards.”

“Go back to your master, and tell him he’s a coward for not facing me himself.” Nael snapped.

Oran laughed, the sound cold and grating. "It’s not cowardice. It’s efficiency. And besides, I’m more than enough to handle you."

Without warning, Oran raised his hand, and a pulse of energy shot towards Nael. It struck the ground near Pepper’s feet, sending dirt and debris flying. Pepper startled, neighing in distress and bucking Nael off its back, sending him crashing to the ground.

The force knocked the breath out of his lungs, black spots framing his vision for a moment before snapping out of his daze with a choked sound. Pepper had run off, the sound of its hooves growing further and further away, and Nael struggled to make sense of his thoughts.

Magic. That was magic just now. The kingdom despised it—feared it, and yet here Oran was, wielding it with ease. The men took advantage of his shock and charged, and he struggled to his feet, drawing his sword in time to parry a blow. Another attacker circled behind him, aiming for his back, and Nael twisted to block, the force of it rattling his arms.

He quickly grew overwhelmed, trying to fend off the men, but then one of them yelled, and Nael looked to see Star weaving through the fray and snapping his jaw at their ankles. Its presence proved as a distraction, and Nael was able to fend them off for a little longer as their focus split.

But he was still outnumbered.

A blade slashed across his arm, drawing a sharp cry of pain from his throat. Blood seeped through the sleeve, but Nael gritted his teeth and fought on despite the sting.

Then a mercenary lunged for Star. The fox dodged, but the man’s blade came dangerously close. “Leave it alone!” he shouted, rushing over. He drove his sword into the attacker’s side, but the motion left him open, and soon enough, a blade sliced across his ribs, leaving behind a deep, searing pain that stole his breath.

He staggered, blood dripping onto the grass, the world tilting around him as he collapsed to the ground. From the corner of his eye, he could see Oran raise his hand, his palm glowing with energy, ready to unleash another spell.

Then, a shadow, moving faster than his failing sight could track; a blur of silver and pale light. Oran’s spell dissipated as something struck him, forcing him back. He staggered but remained standing, his expression shifting from smug confidence to disgruntled anger.

The other mercenaries turned, their confusion quickly giving way to fear. The shadow—a figure—moved through them with inhuman precision. One by one, the mercenaries fell, their cries silenced as quickly as they began.

The clearing grew deathly quiet, and all Nael could hear was the wind and the blood rushing through his ears. He blinked, and saw the figure stand over him—but like before, his vision swam, and he couldn’t focus on their face except for their eyes; impossibly vivid, like shards of violet glass shimmering in the dark. A hand reached for him, and he felt a strange, comforting warmth before his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he passed out.

When Nael awoke, he was on his back and lying against soft moss, his chest and arm bandaged with strips of cloth that smelled faintly of herbs. He looked from where he lay prone and realized he was in a cave with sprawling flora. On his right, he could see from the opening that the sky was an unusual shade of cerulean, and the trees glimmered gold in the sunlight.

The Faelands. He was here, but how…?

He tried to sit up but winced as pain flared across his ribs. A soft voice spoke, startling him.

“i***t. Don’t move too quickly. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

A pair of hands pushed him down, glowing over his body, and Nael felt the pain leave him slowly with each pulse. He turned his head to the side, breath catching at the sight—silver hair, stark violet eyes that were impossibly familiar.

“Star?” he rasped, his eyes squinting.

“Vesper,” the man groaned, face flushing. “My name’s Vesper, so you can stop calling me that.”

“Vesper,” Nael parroted, his tone airy. “You’re… you were…”

“Don’t think too hard about it. You’ll hurt yourself,” Vesper smirked before it melted to something softer as he ran his fingers through Nael’s hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Fox,” was all he could manage, drawing a snort from the other man.

“Yes, fox. By the way, I haven’t said thank you for saving me from that trap. So, uh—thanks, really,” Vesper mumbled, his nails digging slightly into Nael’s scalp and making him almost keen aloud. “You could’ve left me all alone, but you still helped. I owe you my life.”

“I… what?” Nael drawled, and Vesper stifled another snort.

“Go to sleep, Nael.”

“Okay,” he acquiesced, his eyes sliding shut to the soothing motion of Vesper’s hand in his hair, gently massaging his scalp.

When he woke up again, the sky outside was dark, and Vesper was nowhere to be seen.

Vesper, he tested the name under his tongue, repeating it once—twice, before nodding his head, smiling. It fits him better than Star.

Slowly, he sat up, the pain dulled to a considerable amount. He looked around the cave they were in, noting the unique vegetation that lined the walls in loopy vines. His attention side-tracked, he didn’t notice someone step inside until he felt hands on his hair once more, making him jolt.

“Sorry, just have to check something,” he glanced, and oh—he wasn’t dreaming. Vesper bent down by his side, running his hands over his body, leaving a subtle glow in its wake, the formation of a sigil melting into his skin. “Okay, it’s healing well. That’s good.”

And as if burned, Vesper looked up and suddenly pulled away, Nael mourning the loss of his warmth.

“How’s your head?” Vesper asked, avoiding his gaze. Nael couldn’t help but frown at the gesture. It’s a familiar sight.

“Fine. Thank you, for helping me back there.”

Vesper shook his head, waving his comment off. “Like I said, I owe you my life. It was only right that I helped.”

Nael was supposed to ask him what that meant, but Vesper turned his back on him, crouching to the ground to look through the sack he brought, filled to the brim with different kinds of herbs.

Nael tilted his head, watching Vesper sift through the herbs with deft fingers. The silence between them stretched long enough for Nael's curiosity to outweigh his better judgment.

“You said you owe me your life,” Nael started, testing the waters. “Why?”

Vesper paused mid-motion, his hands stopping on the bundle of dry leaves he was bounding with string. He didn’t look up, but Nael could see how his shoulders tensed. “You freed me,” he said after a moment. “Back in the forest—that trap, it was enchanted, designed for someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” Nael prompted.

Vesper finally met his gaze, violet eyes boring into Nael’s. “A fae. You’ve probably already guessed, considering the ears and magic.” It’s embarrassing, the way Nael just realized that the other man’s ears were sharper than a normal human’s.

“But, why the trap, though?” he asked, flustered at the way Vesper stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Do you live under a rock?” Nael balked at the question.

“I—” Vesper shook his head dismissively, resuming his work.

“Let’s just say there are plenty of people out there who don’t like my kind, which is an understatement, really. Fae blood’s worth more than gold to the right buyer, especially if they know how to use it.”

Nael frowned, a sick feeling churning in his gut. “That’s—”

“Cruel?” Vesper cut him off with a bitter laugh. “Yeah. Welcome to your kingdom.”

The words stung, but Nael couldn’t deny them. The court’s disdain for anything remotely magical was no secret. SVesper, hearing it spoken so plainly, from someone who had suffered firsthand, left him at a loss for words. He wasn’t sure if Vesper would appreciate his sympathy.

Vesper returned his attention to the herbs, busying himself with sorting them into neat piles. “Anyway,” he said, his tone lighter, “you breaking that trap gave me a second chance. It’s Faerie law to return a debt anyway.”

Nael shook his head, still trying to process everything. “But I didn’t even know—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Vesper interrupted, sparing him a glance. “You didn’t have to help, but you did. That’s enough.”

They lapsed into silence again, the only sound the soft rustling of Vesper’s hands as they busied themselves. Nael’s mind spun with questions, but he didn’t know which one to ask first, but before he could decide, Vesper spoke again.

“You should get some rest,” he said without looking up. “We’ll need to get a move on soon. That weirdo is still out there, prowling around.”

Nael winced as the memory of his last encounter with the man flashed vividly in his mind. “Right. Oran.”

Vesper’s hands paused again, just for a second, before resuming their work. “What’s his deal, anyway? He’s got this whole ‘angry noble with a superiority complex’ vibe. Makes me want to punch him.”

Nael let out a soft laugh. “You wouldn’t be the first.” He sobered quickly, though, his expression darkening. “He’s the duke’s adopted son. I guess my dear uncle sent him to finish the job if I survived the journey to the Faelands, and managed to break my curse somehow.”

Vesper raised an eyebrow, finally looking up. “Breaking a curse? That's why you’re risking your neck out here?”

Nael hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, I figured it was worth a shot. Even if I stayed, my uncle would have just killed me sooner than later.”

For a long moment, Vesper just stared at him, his violet eyes unreadable. Then he leaned back, crossing his arms. “Well, that’s just shitty,” he began, frowning. “He sounds like a huge asshole.”

Nael smiled grimly. “You have no idea.”

Vesper sighed, shaking his head. “Guess that makes two of us with people who want us dead. Great. We’re just the perfect duo.” He said dryly.

The faintest smile tugged at Nael’s lips. “At least we’re consistent.”

Vesper snorted softly, the tension between them easing just a fraction. “Yeah, well, don’t think this means I trust you completely, princeling.” He pointed a finger at Nael. “But if we’re going to survive this, we stick together. Got it?”

Nael nodded easily. “Got it.”

“Good.” Vesper stood, brushing off his hands. “Now lie down before you collapse again. You’re no use to me half-dead.”

Nael chuckled, easing back onto the bed of moss with a wince. As Vesper turned back to his herbs, grinding them into power, Nael allowed his eyes to drift close, the weight of exhaustion finally pulling him under.