The Fairest (Book #1)

8: Immediate Fate

"No," Mageia muttered on and off, in and out of consciousness as night drifted into midnight and crept into dawn.

A nightmare came over her in her pained distress. She was with her family in the encampment, eating around the Pit under a calm night sky. Everyone was so happy, thanking her for her bravery and compassion to help those condemned. Then arrows whizzed from the trees around them from all directions. They were trapped, but by who, she couldn't tell.

She screamed in horror as children and teens dropped dead one after the other. Cries of agony and victory chorused the air, and the sky thickened with black clouds of death. A hole grew within the clouds and began sucking up the dead, followed by the commander's malicious laugh.

Mageia jerked awake from the strong pull towards the Hall of Souls. Her heavy panting echoed about the dimly lit room.

"Rise and shine, lassy," said a Taefo guard preparing a basin of water. At some point during the night, they had brought in a small table. "Time to bandage you and freshen you up for the Court."

"Did they find them? The children?" she asked the guard.

"I have orders to tell you nothin'," he grunted.

Her stomach churned and bile spewed into her mouth. She coughed it up and vomited onto the floor.

"Yuck, you damn Strange." He pulled out his keys to unbind her from the chair.

A fisican dressed in the silver robes of a master healer scrambled in, his nose turned up, seeing that he had to aid a Strange. He placed his fancy silver leather bag on the table and shook his head, which was wrapped in a forest green and gray turban. His dark brown skin glistened with sweat, and his round eyes appeared full of knowledge and distrust. As he took out what he needed, Mageia observed the emerald silk stole hanging from his shoulders. It had the Ardanian sigil, a tree within a hexagon. This fisican did not come from a local infirmary.

"Hurry, Master. We don't have all day," the guard bellowed. "She needs to get to the palace by eight in the mornin', or the palace authority will deny her access."

"You mean I won't get a day in Court?"

"Oh, you'll get it, but whenever it's assigned," he said. "It may be months until then."

"I have it from here," the healer said with a dismissive hand.

The guard scrunched up his nose at the man before taking his leave. Once the door was partly closed, the fisican stopped what he was doing to stare at her. Mainly at her eyes.

"Don't worry, fisican. I don't bite," she said.

"Mhmm. I'm Joras Thrand, Master Fisican of Medicine in the Royal Court."

"Royal Court? You're from the palace," she frowned. "Did you leave the comfort of your cushions to come and see the notorious Strange known as the Purple Thief for yourself?"

"Are you a Soother?"

"I am flattered, Master Joras," she grinned, knowing her teeth were capped with dry blood.

The fisican scrunched up his stubby nose and grabbed what he needed. He took a seat in the chair in front of her.

"Answer my question. You may be pardoned—"

"I'm not going to be pardoned for my crimes just because I am mystical."

"Are you a mystical? A descendent, perhaps?" His eyes narrowed with pure curiosity.

Mageia shrugged. "Most likely a descendent."

"So, you are not a Soother?"

"I am not, as I told the Fiisen," she said, to her dismay. She knew that if she was a Soother with a special power, the fisican may be right about receiving a pardon and becoming a noble servant to the Crown like the commander. She'd rather work in the Runes until old age to avoid kissing the boots of the Fair throne.