SML Ch 90

Chapter 90

“Prince Arun!”

Reynald seized the arm of the prince just as he swung his glasslike blade toward another fae’s neck. Intercepting such a strike was no small risk—even for Reynald. One false move, one slip of timing, and his own disciple’s sword might have cut him down by accident. But thankfully, Arun retained enough presence of mind to recognize his teacher’s grip.

“Sir Reynald? You came all the way here as well.”

Arun spoke calmly, even tilting his head slightly—showing no anger at being restrained. Perhaps more troubling than rage was that eerie serenity, unnervingly at odds with the carnage around him.

“Yes. We must recover those who were replaced.”

Reynald studied his eyes. Once blue like his royal brothers’, they now shimmered faintly purple—like the hues that lived in the fae. His expression too was changed: not the placid, stoic calm of the true Arun, but the vacant, neutral mask fae sometimes wore when unsure how to mimic human feeling.

Still, Reynald judged—it was not too late.

He drew breath deeply, then spoke.

“Tell me, Prince—did you forget what I taught you?”

“…What do you mean?”

“That it is ill-mannered to mock another’s body or flaws. I drilled that into you as a boy. Have you forgotten already?”

From childhood Reynald had hammered such etiquette into him, nearly to the point of brainwashing. At once, Arun blinked slowly, dazed. The violet glow in his eyes flickered, waned.

“I… I did not forget. I even told Serna as much once…”

“Then why say what you just did?”

“…I was in haste. No—I… I…”

His mask cracked. Confusion rushed in, like panic under flesh. The glassy expression fractured. His own—Arun’s—emotions showed again. His blade shattered to shards with a sharp clang, collapsing between them. Weaponless now, but Reynald was relieved.

“…Forgive me, Sir Reynald. I’ve disgraced myself.”

“No. You’ve returned. That is enough. It was worry for our steward that drove you here, was it not?”

Arun’s voice steadied. “Yes. When I heard Heide lost in the fae realm, I could not treat it as someone else’s concern. Were he to end like me…”

“End like you? Prince, what do you mean?” Alex demanded, bewildered. Neither he nor Volant understood, grasping only scraps from Reynald and Serna’s grave tones.

Serna sighed, answering:

“Not yet. But if our steward lingers too long… if he wanders these lands without guide, if he bathes in fae waters, or loses himself to beauty—he too may change.”

“Change? You mean… into a fae?” Alex stammered.

“Yes. Every fae here was once such. ‘Replacement’ is only their method of spreading faedom further. Those turned—never unhappy. They live in curious peace here. But still…”

Volant and Alex blanched pale. Whatever fae might feel, they could never leave Heide to suffer that fate.

And Heide had no fae key—not even the protections they held. He would be blind in illusion, stumbling as if in darkness. One misstep into golden pools, and disaster.

Reynald looked over the gathered fae. They no longer quailed under Arun’s frenzy; relief softened their manner. Yet if they dispersed now, Heide would vanish completely. He addressed them directly.

“You fae… will you not help us find him? We must bring him back to the human world.”

“Why should we?” one asked lightly.

“You have our records already. Enough payment, isn’t it?” another snickered.

“One of your kind wandered into a gate on his own. Not our fault. He stepped himself. Should we interfere?”

“If he lingers, he’ll become one of us. Would that not please you? Another friend for us?”

Of course—they were indifferent. To them, conversion into fae was no corruption, only continuity. Motivation to help was absent.

Reynald’s heart chilled. Argument would not sway them. Violence might. He considered briefly following Arun’s earlier bloody path—when—

“…If we do not return your friend… will you kill another fae king?”

It was the fae who had earlier mimicked Volant, asking blankly.

“What?”

Every fae’s eyes at once locked upon Reynald. Their gaze contained no hatred, but his spine prickled. Expressionless still, but heavy with curiosity—ghastly curiosity. The same raw hunger he had seen in them pressed against windows like moths before flame.

“If another fae king dies—would you do it? Fifteen years ago, our last died. This one’s only ruled since then. He hasn’t lived long yet.”

“Wait—no, that’s not my—” Reynald began.

“Or perhaps—you die? Always victory is boring. Sometimes win, sometimes lose. Balance is joy.”

If balance required, they would gladly strike him down.

Some blew eerie horn-calls with cupped hands, summoning others. Soon, swarms streaked toward them, faces alight with glee.

Reynald reached instinctively for his waist—but no sword at hand. Even if he had one, mortal steel might fail. Only Arun’s fae-born blade could cut them.

But—fortune shifted.

“What… is that?” Volant suddenly pointed skyward.

Above the merrymaking fae, veils of cloud thick as silk waved like curtains. Through them streamed rainbow light.

From the glow emerged a fae of rare radiance—delicate as if woven of pure light. In its arms, limp—

“Heide!” Alex cried.

Eyes rolled back, unconscious but breathing. Volant and Alex stiffened with fear—yet Reynald’s heart lifted. He knew. If Heide were becoming fae, he’d burn healthy, not pale and faint.

This was collapse, not transformation. Relief.

And the fae bearing him—Reynald recognized. One who had once stood in attendance when he fought the fae king—fifteen years ago.

“The fae king’s garden was breached. An intruder strayed. I come to return him…” The fae’s tone flat, displeased. Then it spotted Reynald. “…But a familiar face.”

Expression soured, it descended, laying Heide down. Normally, such lieutenants would never bother carrying mortals back. They would leave them, or change them, or slay them for soil. That it carried him out—unusual.

Reynald asked coldly: “So. Are you here because of Selection? Or just to stop me killing your kind again?”

“No reason to answer you. The king’s will only the king can know.”

Vague, evasive; whether ignorance or unwillingness, Reynald could not tell. Still—it had not slain Heide. Hope remained.

“…If you’ll return him, we shall leave. We do not seek conflict.”

“That too is not your choice. The king chooses. If he wills battle—we battle.”

Still vague, but it lowered Heide into Reynald’s arms alive. That at least was mercy.

Serna, unsettled, asked carefully: “…Forgive me—but do you not understand your own king?”

“This fae king is… different. For reasons I do not know.”

Stranger still, it turned to Arun.

“…And I have words. Not for me, but from him. I do not understand them. But perhaps you will.”

“…For me?” Arun whispered.

The fae nodded. Reynald too was included by its glance.

“He says: Soon I will come for revenge, against the butcher who slew my father. I will reclaim what was mine, stolen parts of me, the fae’s essence looted and fled. And what lurks beneath your land—that allure—that too is mine.”

“What…?” Reynald stiffened.

“I know not meaning. I only pass the message. And now—return.”

Clapping gloved hands once, it snapped a sound. Darkness crashed across their sight. Nausea spiraled them down—same as when they first crossed into mirror-world.

When Reynald’s eyes opened once more—they stood again inside the library of mirrors.