Working in a dead-end, post office job in the heart of a primarily-Human city, Arya Salcrest cannot let her secret out else she loses her rights and her safety. Norren Sterling, a member of the Council whom she met after a failed museum trip, is det...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The bustle of the city faded in Eliott's ears as he walked. Didn't even bother to take a horse from the stables. Just walked. And walked. The desire to get lost into the winding alleys and dangerous lanes in the town had never been this strong in his gut. He wanted to punch something or scream until his lungs exploded, but he couldn't do either one because he had a reputation to protect. A family to uphold. An office to establish.
The same things that couldn't even get him what we wanted. Or needed.
Since that day when he saw the enslaved fae in exchange for humans' entertainment, Eliott had looked into the issue and discovered there's a whole industry behind them. These people would hunt fae, mostly those around the age of a child, stuff them in cages, and parade them around the kingdom in exchange for a few measly coppers. Then, once the fae were old enough to get rid of the hunters with their magic, they were sold to mines or to random houses as a keeper.
Sometimes, when the fae wasn't subservient enough or had made a mistake inside the house, the owners or their bosses could have them be tortured and killed. Eliott had read so many case files reported by the Palendral about domestic and corporate abuse. Most of the victims were fae.
It sickened him, poked shame into his gut, and told him enough. Something had to change with how much this empire let its citizens get away with. If they're going to be worth anything else in the lifetimes to come, this wouldn't be what they want to be remembered as.
Eliott refused to live not doing anything just because some buttheads in fancy robes told him he couldn't.
A shadow fell over him and he craned his neck up to gaze at a frame of a belltower looming above him. It easily dwarfed the shops and houses at its feet. He shielded his eyes with his hand, driving most of the sunlight's glare from his vision. From his place on the ground, he spied a golden bell the size of a cow hanging by the tower's ceiling.
In all honesty, he had never known what this belltower was called, but seeing as how it was positioned in the town center, where everyone was sure to see it and hear its tolls, it must have been important.
So, he did the most sensible thing ever known to mankind. He climbed it.
Not the vigilante type he once read in children's tales. He found a door at the side of the prism-like body, opened it with a creak, and tackled the steps he saw leading towards the bell.
And by the gods, he had climbed for what felt like hours. By the time he reached the only landing in the tower, his knees felt like jelly and his stomach grumbled. Sweat poured in buckets against his back, drenching his shirt and vest. It's a good thing he hasn't even bothered wearing a coat or something.
Still, it was worth it.
What's left of his breath was knocked out of his lungs at the sight beyond the room's arched windows. Through the four of them, Eliott saw the rest of the town and more spread into an expanse of colors and shapes. Rosewall's edge could be seen from the north, the characteristic fortress of Balronet visible through a fine veil of low-lying clouds and dots of green. Silhouettes of curving mountains sloped up and down the farther horizon. From Eliott's vantage point, they looked like big hats more than actual mountains.
