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Tabby
Even my tutor didn’t know what to do with me, at times. On a particularly beautiful day, he sent a messenger with instructions to take my lessons out to the garden to study for the test I was due to take, so he could meet me out there when he arrived, but then he was terribly upset when he found me kneeling on the ground beside the lounge chairs, studying intently.
Grandfather fired my teacher when he overheard him speaking sharply to me, and I received my lessons from either my Grandfather or one of my cousins for several weeks, until Grandfather found someone he said could be trusted to teach me with respect. It was yet another reminder I’d likely never be whipped again.
So, I dove even harder into my lessons. I’d been taught proper grammar and etiquette as a child, destined to be sold to royalty, or at least someone rich enough to afford me. My time in the pleasure parlor was supposed to be the equivalent of post-graduate work, so I could pull in the highest price, which I suppose I did, when Kalonymos purchased me. It was important I speak and act with decorum, and these things had been drilled into me from a young age.
However, I’d only been taught the basics of how to read, and it was determined I needed to learn reading and math skills, as well as history. I actually didn’t mind the history lessons so much, though it bothered me someone had to read the book to me, since I struggled to do so at first.
This only propelled me to learn to read faster, and before long I’d graduated from children’s books to the kind without pictures. I tried to focus my sexual energy into learning, but I snuck a cucumber from our kitchen gardens into my bedroom when I was desperate for relief. Unfortunately, nothing worked, and I eventually stopped trying because it only left me more frustrated.
The guard my Queen had sent to watch over me left after the first month, and made my bank account available to me before he took his leave. My Grandfather hadn’t known about it, and seemed dismayed at first, but didn’t explain why.
The loss of the guard hit me hard. I thought it meant my Queen had forsaken me, and my tears started again. In my mind, the guard had represented her, as if she were watching over me. His presence was proof she still cared for me, and his leaving made me think she was gone from my life for good.
It also meant my Grandfather started teaching me more about money, and about how to shop, bargain, and make sure no one took advantage of me. He continued to pay my expenses, but he let me see how he did it, so I could one day do so myself, should I choose to move out.
With the loss of my ever-present guard, I awoke earlier and ran longer, until my body hurt and I could fly with the pain. I took cold baths instead of warm, to prolong the feeling, but then I had to don a fancy dress and shoes so I could look the part of an Amethyst.
Eventually, I began to understand what Her Majesty had wanted me to know. I gradually became my own person, not owned by anyone, but with a family who accepted and cared for me simply because I was related to them. The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, my cousins and I grew close, and it changed everything. Her Majesty had wanted me to feel the cocoon of a family, and I finally did. We had things in common because we were related — not just our hair and nails, but the shape of our toes, the angle of our chin, and our extra-thick eyelashes. Even my male cousins, who were larger, had our hair and nails, and enjoyed similar food.
My cousins took me shopping, took me out to eat, and taught me to ride a horse. My days were full, and I was often so tired at night I fell straight asleep — but I always awakened a slave and had to remember I wasn’t.
Even when merely walking down the road, my instinct was to avoid eye contact because to do so had literally been beaten into me as a child. Slaves don’t look free people in the eye. Slaves aren’t really human. They’re less than. Something between an animal and a person, though many animals have more rights than slaves, so perhaps slaves are even lower than some of the beasts of Faerie. I remembered wanting apples when they were fed to the horses during the trip from my former owner to Her Majesty’s castle. I’d been lower than even the beasts of burden.
In my mind, I wasn’t a human, I was only pretending. However, it was important to keep up the façade, because my cousins and Grandfather were terribly uncomfortable when I reminded them of my former slave status. They were never upset with me, but I hated making them feel bad, so I avoided it at all costs.
Also, the trick with the hat and sunglasses at the carnival had shown me the wonders of sunglasses. When wearing them, no one knew if I was looking at them or the ground, and I didn’t have to be so conscious about eye contact as long as I held my head straight. Grandfather didn’t fully approve of me wearing them, but he only occasionally told me to remove them before I went out. I purchased them in a variety of colors, so they’d match most of my outfits. When combined with a matching hat, I felt hidden, and it was easier to greet people I met on the road or the woodland trails. I tried to plan my outings on sunny days, and stay home on cloudy ones, so I’d have the protection of my sunglasses.
My Grandfather took such good care of me, I felt I should contribute to the household in some way, but all I knew how to do — besides sex — was laundry, and my Grandfather insisted he paid people to do the menial work. When I tried to do it anyway, he told me his employees depended on their pay, and if I took their job from them, they might not be able to feed their families.
So, I concentrated on my studies and eventually began showing my cousins how to do yoga.
My Great-Grandfather lived in the biggest house on our lands — a castle, though not even a tenth the size of Her Majesty’s castle. My Grandfather, numerous great uncles, and a myriad of aunts and uncles lived in less substantial manor houses — though even the smallest was gargantuan compared to the homes in the nearby village. I had too many cousins to count, many of whom lived close, but some who’d moved to their spouse’s family estate. Still, I got to know all of them — some I liked more than others, but I was told this was normal. A core group of eight of us spent time together at least once a week, and I grew to love them as I imagined one feels about siblings.
My family didn’t seem to care that I was mostly human and had no magic of my own. I made an offhand remark to one of my cousin’s about it one day when I asked her to please light a candle for me, and the next day my Great-Grandfather arrived as Grandfather and I finished breakfast. He sat with me in the garden and showed me how to access my magic. I’d been told all my life I didn’t have it, but he coaxed my power from a part of me I hadn’t known existed. I didn’t have much, but I could turn the pages of my book, produce a small flame on the tip of my finger, and charm small woodland creatures into coming to me.
This, once again, changed everything. My entire self-identity flipped during the three hours my distinguished, ultra-proper Great-Grandfather sat with me and introduced me to a part of myself I hadn’t known about. I went from being a slave pretending to be a human with a little pixie blood, to being a pixie with some human characteristics. Somehow, it made me less slave and more freeperson, in my head. I still avoided eye contact on the street, and I still had to remember I wasn’t a slave every morning when I awakened, but there were times during the day I felt like an actual person. It was no longer a pretense twenty-four hours a day.
My cousins set me up with men, but they were so nice and courteous, it was a nightmare. I faked my orgasms to keep from making them feel bad, and I never went out with anyone more than once. Finally, I told my cousins I didn’t think I was ready to date, and they stopped setting me up with men.
Her Majesty had ripped out a piece of my heart by sending me away. I eventually became convinced nothing would repair the damage. It would always be an open wound, but I found ways to fill my days so I didn’t focus on my pain.
However, I spent the entire Summer Solstice in the woods, far from anyone who’d see me crying. I’d been given to her Majesty on this day the year before, and my heart broke all over again, wishing I still belonged to her.
The following day, I remembered the books she’d packed in my trunk. I could make my way through grown-up books by then, so I looked in my closet and found them on a shelf near the back.
One of the books was on magical theory. I was determined to get through it without help, but eventually asked my Grandfather to help me with some of the concepts. I read a chapter a week for twelve weeks, because reading it from beginning to end non-stop would’ve been too much, and I wouldn’t have grasped each theory as I’m sure Her Majesty wished. I wasn’t sure why she’d wanted me to learn about it when — as far as she knew — I didn’t have my own magic, but I was still following her wishes.
One of the books was a fiction book, contrasting a brother who made good decisions with one who didn’t, and a sister who refused to decide anything and let fate decide her lot in life. Her Majesty had known this would be a challenge for me, and I supposed this was her way of helping me through it. The moral of the story, it seemed, was the fates are fickle bitches, so you should carefully think through the outcome of all choices before picking one over the others.
There was also a book on gaming strategy, and she’d put a note into the front of the book with a list of games she thought I should play with my family. I loved her for gifting me this book, because the games provided hours of fun with my Grandfather in the evenings, and with my cousins when we had nothing else to occupy our time — but they also taught me so much about life that I’d never considered. Playing cards, and little marbles on a board. Who knew these things could provide so much fun, but also illustrate concepts and strategies I’d never needed to know while a slave.
And finally, she sent a children’s tale of a boy who was sold into slavery by a jealous uncle, but who one day became King as an old man. It was long and wonderfully sordid in places, but I wasn’t sure why she sent it. I’d never be Queen. I didn’t want to be Queen — I wanted to belong to Her Majesty.
Little did I know, my biggest lessons and challenges were yet to come, and I wouldn’t be able to hide behind my sunglasses when I faced them.
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Keep reading for a sneak peek of Lady, the second book in the Dark(ish) Faerie Tale quadrilogy.