Laelaps and the Vixen

The instability of the Fae Realms of Elphyne exploded after the assassination of the Summer King five years ago. Whatever peace might be wrought in blood and iron between the disparate Courts was shattered that night, along with his blade and his lone heir's heart.

The child Ruairidh had served as a puppet king for the entirety of his reign, but that would soon change. The boy was coming of age, ¡y caray! he would claim his father's throne and bring the Summer to glory once again!

But Myra, as a Thaumaturge of Penumbrae, had duties elsewhere: without the erstwhile king to save her from the dark affliction, she'd pursued less… conventional sources of knowledge. The Unseelie Court was a natural choice; they knew more than their share of shadow. But it was the order of things that the Unseelie should be opposed to Summer, as to all who served the light-- only the Winter Queen was tentatively in accord with them. Thus Myra was in this darkness with only Solina at her side.

The shadow drove them, to thirst, to hunger, and nearly to madness. Overnight Myra joined her friend as a thaumavore; a being who feasted upon the magical energies of others. As a Thaumaturge, Myra worked tirelessly to summon aether to devour, rather than preying upon the souls of others. Such was the shadow's curse.

It was for these sorrows that Myra had sought her friend. They were seated upon a green hill alive with wildflowers under the starry sky; the Penumbral Thaumaturge Myra and the Summer King Ruairidh, here simply My and Rue.

"When Aodh-- when my father --died defending the King, I thought that I would find no joy in Elphyne. But you and mami proved me wrong. Thank you for that, Rue."

"May he find eternal happiness in Tír na nÓg, My," he said, a sorrowful smile on his lips.

She nodded. Ay, Tír na nÓg. Myra wasn't sure if the place was something like Heaven, or Heaven on Earth. Maybe, even, a place in Elphyne? The fae kept that secret close to their chest. Perhaps it wasn't possible for her to reach, much like earth-- barring a Wild Hunt. The fae wouldn't say why, but she couldn't see her papá.

Some nights, like this one, she thought after him, but it was as papá always said (and Cormag agreed): curses are like chickens; they always come home to roost. No good would befall that man, nor those close to him.

"I'm sorry My," he said, breaking through her thoughts, "that my homeland has brought you such turmoil when it ought to have inspired joy. You deserve joy."

"As do you, great King," she replied, "but it wasn't your realm that stole my joy."

"Do give my regards to the Penumbral Archon," he snipped, ever annoyed by talk of her tutor and Court.

"I always do," she said. Both knew she could only visit if she sneaked away from Cormag, much to the Archon's consternation; she was, after all, his charge, despite their closeness in age. Cormag, or Muc, as she was fond of calling him, was less strict than most. The Unseelie did not look kindly on fraternization with the enemy: her crimes on that front were many, yet never reported. She was grateful; without Rue and mami, she had little left of the light.

The stars were indeed lovely. Myra and Rue took to naming the constellations as they gazed upwards, stretched out on their backs in the plush grass.

"Taurus; my favorite because it's mine."

"The stubborn bull. I'm not surprised." Myra quirked a grin.

He stuck out his tongue and winked. "But what about you?"

"My favorites are here, the Teumessian Fox-- the uncatchable Vixen --and there, Laelaps-- the hound that catches all it seeks --entombed in eternal flight and pursuit."

"The unstoppable force meets the immovable object. But why keep up the façade, even in the face of the impossible? Why not abandon the hunt altogether?"

"Because it's all they know."

A noise from the brush caught her attention. Rue jumped to inspect, but she caught his hand.

"Allow me," she hissed in response to his side-eye, "I'm the stronger of us."

He squeezed her hand. "Fine, but be quick, or I'll come for you."

"As you say, my king."

The bushes were surprisingly quiet, nary a chirp of cricket nor cicada's hum. That set her teeth on edge.

She'd waded deep past the tree-line when something warm pressed against her back, and before she could call out in surprise a hand clamped over her mouth. She slammed back against the presence with all the coldness of the shadow, seeking to steal its light, but there was precious little to be had. In fact, it felt more like a cold fire pushing back, encircling her own.

"Shh, shh, shh," a voice hummed, and the hand let up just so. "You shouldn't fly so far from home, little bird." It was Cormag. He sounded a little tense from exertion, which meant her strength was improving. She let her pride stoke itself some.

"Nor should you, Muc. You could get in trouble," she whispered, struggling to sound stern when she felt only relief.

"I see that," he said, chuckling as the corners of his fire flickered against her own-- more playful than menacing --before the two let their powers drop simultaneously.

"You always find me, no matter where I go," she allowed a little fondness to slip in, under the exasperation. "So what's wrong, you miss me?" Truthfully, she was terrified she'd be caught in absentia, and didn't know what'd happen if she were.

"And you always need to be found." He cleared his throat, dropped his hand, and stepped back. "It's dangerous to leave a growing Phoenix unsupervised. Some might see profit where they ought to find beauty."

Myra huffed. "Soli can protect herself."

"I've no doubt," he said, "just like you." She could practically feel the strong lines of his smirk-- could certainly hear it in the night's silence.

She finally turned. "Tch, really. You've no faith."

"When I've taught you well enough, I won't need faith." He waved his hand. "Enough. Bid your toy king farewell. The Watch is restless tonight; I fear for your secrecy. And…" he paused to sigh, "Scáthach asked after you."

"The Penumbral Queen? To what end?"

"I do not know. I said only that you were indisposed."

She blinked to clear her mind, but wound up rolling her eyes. "Muc," she said, her hand falling on his shoulder, "thank you."

"I hate when you call me that, Myna-bird."

"Why? It's your name. What you call me, it makes no sense. Like you can't spell or something."

He frowned. "When you arrived, I didn't know the new names given by men. I heard it 'round the camp in hushed whispers: Myra, always Myra. The chatter stopped whenever I approached. I truly thought they were speaking of a bird. But you, I can't help but imagine you're comparing me to the mud caked on the soles of your boots: ever beneath you."

Myra gasped. "Have you always felt this way? I won't call you by it anymore: it is my promise. ¡Qué triste! ¡Lamento haberte herido! I have never felt you lesser to me. Never. It was only the same for me; Cormag was a name I'd never before learnt."

"You know I can't understand when you speak that language." He smiled, extending a hand towards her cheek before abruptly drawing it back.

"Curses, My, you had me worried," Rue said, approaching at a brisk pace. Cormag and Myra took a step apart. "I thought some ill had befallen you," he glanced over at Cormag, who glowered in his direction, "or perhaps it has."

"No!" Myra peeped, "there's no ill here. I just... my people will notice me gone."

Rue kept looking over at Cormag. "It is a crime for the Unseelie to trespass into Summer territory."

Cormag gazed meaningfully at Myra. "Is it now," he said dryly.

"Without consent," Rue amended.

"Understood, King Ruairidh. We'll take our leave."

"Only by her will," Rue insisted.

Their antics were ridiculous, but the situation was serious and the repercussions grave. "It is my will, Rue. No te preocupes. I'll return when I can."

"I didn't hear that," Cormag grumbled.

Rue and My bid farewell while Cormag reclined against an oak. Myra knew from the tight crossing of his arms to the jut of his jaw that he was anxious. He frowned when Rue hugged her; the two men were never on amicable terms, but it worsened the closer they approached Rue's name day.

The road back to the Court was long and poorly traveled. She was particularly thankful for the latter. After a long stretch of thicket overtook the path, she stopped them with a hand on Cormag's shoulder.

"I'm truly sorry if I caused you pain, all these years," she said slowly, meeting his eyes.

He shook his head. "These machinations do not suit you. Say what you mean to say."

"Well," she said, nervously laughing, "I did mean that, thanks. But fine. I'll ask. What do you have against Ruairidh?"

"You mean besides the fact he's from a rival Court and sees my pupil stray from home at her own peril?"

"Yes, besides that. I know it's more."

Cormag tossed a dagger from hand to hand; he only did that when he was very anxious, or angry. He would not meet her eyes. "It is nearly King Ruairidh's name day."

"I know," she said, smiling tentatively, "that's a good thing, no?"

"He'll be king in more than just name. And he'll need a bride, Myna-bird. May I still call you that?"

She smiled. "Of course. But what's so bad about Rue marrying?"

Cormag sighed. "Surely you're aware of his attentions. But there are only two possibilities; one in which you two are wed, and one in which you are not. I fear them both, if I am honest."

Myra was hardly convinced Rue's affections ran that deep, but she knew better than to question Cormag on it now. "Why both?"

"I do not wish you pain, as you will have should he wed another. But were you two to marry, I--" he swallowed "--fear for your training. None in the Summer know your affliction. None could aid you, and I would not be permitted to do so."

She nodded, grasping his forearm. He took her elbow in response. "Very well. I will not leave your side until you deem it time," she said, earnest in her dedication, "I swear it. I will not risk lives by venturing into the world unsuitably trained."

"You are good, Myna-bird," he met her eyes only briefly, then whispered, "too good for this Court." He shook her arm once. "I'll not hold you beyond your time. I'll do my best to speed your training."

"Thank you, Cormag. You are kind beyond reason."

He gave a half smile. "Never assume so. And call me Cory, if it pleases you. Mam always did."

"Bueno. Cory," she smiled, the kind that crinkled the eyes and wrinkled the nose, but she didn't care how silly she looked, not around him.

He smiled back, and they parted. Per usual, he began to lead the way, but her voice stilled him, "You're full fae, yes?"

"What? No, not exactly."

"A changeling, then? What was your price?"

"The life of my wean brother. He had some ailment; a slow death. Instead, he died in the Succession Wars."

Myra knitted her brow. "I'm so sorry. That's unfair."

"It's Elphyne."

"What of those who lived in your stead?"

He shrugged. "I never cared to look."

Myra could read between the lines. He was afraid to watch the life he'd surrendered, like a picture book framed by a curious imposter. "Perhaps we'll check in together, sometime."

"Perhaps."

And thus they set off back to their Court, for all its fairness.