PART 1: STOLEN

Author's Note: Hello! So I've been posting this story on Wattpad and just thought there might be some people on here interested in it as well! If you'd like to read it with much better formatting (as this site doesn't allow for the best formatting) as well as videos and extra content, then feel free to check out this story on Wattpad (Deceit and Betrayal by ashyjade136). Otherwise, if you'd rather read it on here, then happy reading!

THEY COME IN THE NIGHT. Swords drawn, red cloaks vibrant and harsh. They cut through our huts and slice into our skin. It's so quiet one moment, everyone asleep and safe in their beds, and then the next….mayhem. Screams hurdle through the air, cries and desperate pleas accompanying them.

I cling to my little sister, hold her close, feel her tears seep into my night dress.

Maybe they won't find us. Maybe they'll walk straight past our hut and leave us huddled in the shadows.

It is wishful, naive thinking. The heat of flames rage outside and smoke begins to fill our small sanctuary.

"We have to run," I whisper to my sister, bundling her against me and standing. "We have to run."

We don't make it far, barely a few lengths, before she is violently snatched from my arms by a blood-splattered Paladin. I scream and wrestle him for her, but am quickly grabbed by another set of hands and yanked to the floor. Death surrounds me, my people being cut down and burned in every direction.

An older man, with snowy-gray hair and cold, beady eyes, approaches me. He looks down at my writhing body with such detachment that my fear increases tenfold.

I have lost my sister completely; she has disappeared into the chaos. At least I won't have to watch her death.

Smoke chokes me and burns my eyes, frozen wide in horror. The Paladin's fist in my hair tightens till I think he is going to scalp me.

"Is this her?" The older man before me asks.

A shadowy figure materialises out of the darkness behind him, stalking forward slowly, tall and imposing. His hood is so low over his face that I can't even make out a single feature.

From within that shroud of black, a low voice responds, "That's her," and I am yanked to my feet and dragged away kicking and screaming.

I manage to catch the Paladin in the face with my hand, scratching his cheek. Fury lights his eyes and he twists my hair cruelly before bashing my head against a tree trunk once, twice, three times.

Unconsciousness beckons me, but I manage to stay awake long enough to see a boy from my village have his throat cut. Then, blessedly, everything melts away.

~O~

"We have to get out. We have to find a way to get out. We have to-"

"Shut up. Sit down. You're just going to draw attention to us."

"We can't just sit here and do nothing! They're going to slaughter us!"

The panicked conversation happening a few lengths away rings my ears. I curl into myself further, my head throbbing with unbridled pain. I haven't yet managed to open my eyes. They feel glued together, possibly with dried blood.

"Be quiet! You're going to get us killed that much faster if you don't shut up."

I want to tell them all to shut the hell up, but my mouth is as dry as sand. I want to fall back into sleep but it won't come; the pain is too overwhelming. I unfurl my body in careful, slow moves. My legs straighten first, then I force my eyes open and use my hands to push myself up.

Five other fey surround me in this enclosure. It's like a hut, but the entrance is constructed like a cage door, with thick wood acting as long bars. Outside, in the camp beyond, are a dozen Paladins, all dressed in their blood-red robes. They wander about, completing jobs, not sparing us a word.

"Are you alright?" A Faun woman asks from beside me. She sits, cross-legged on the dirt floor, seemingly calm.

I blink blearily at her, unable to coherently answer. The world around me sways unsteadily and for a moment, I feel bile rise in my throat.

I flinch when the barred entrance to our prison is yanked open and a Paladin messily slams a bucket of clean water down, before closing the entrance and re-securing it.

All six of us stare at the bucket for a beat, before some rush forward, gulping in as much as they can.

I'm thirsty, but can't bring myself to move across the floor. My limbs ache too much and that bucket, though mere lengths away, seems impossible to reach.

The Faun woman beside me rises gracefully and walks to the bucket, picks it up and carries it to the middle of the floor, closer to me. I reach out a shaky hand and pool some cool water in my hand, bringing it to my dry lips and drinking in halting slurps.

After I've rubbed some over my face - my fingers returning covered in blood - and drank my fill, I feel better. Though the gash on my forehead still aches, the pain in the rest of my body recedes ever so slightly.

But this just gives way for emotional agony. Fear, despair, horror all invade me. Anger is there too, simmering and hot.

I do my best not to imagine the deaths of my family, of my friends, my people. But the things I saw and heard last night play in my mind endlessly.

"You're Sky Folk?" The Faun woman asks me gently. She has a kind face, with forest-green eyes that sparkle despite the dirt and blood smearing her skin.

I nod.

"I'm Duna. What is your name, my girl?"

Hesitating, I look around at the other Fey. There is a Tusk, and two who appear to be Snake-Clan. The other is a Faun like Duna; he was the one arguing before to make an escape.

I suppose all we have is each other, though I haven't interacted a lot with non-Sky-Folk Fey.

"I'm Eelie," I tell her, my voice raspy. I clear my throat and have another sip of water. The bucket is almost empty.

Duna nods, still serene and calm.

"Why aren't we dead?" I ask her and my voice cracks. There is a part of me, a battered part, that wishes I were dead. Would it not have been easier to perish on the same lands as my family rather than be dragged here to surely face an even worse death?

"I'm not sure," Duna admits. "I suppose we'll see." She nods her head toward the fast approaching Paladin, who marches toward us with pride and purpose.

He yanks open the entrance, sword drawn in hand, and snaps, "Get up, all of you." When we hesitate, he bangs the hilt of his sword against the wooden bars with a thwack and shouts, "Up! Now!"

We scramble to our feet and limp out in a single line. Other Paladins hover around us, all with their weapons out, ready to strike at any moment.

"This way. Hurry up," one of them barks at us and leads us through the camp. There are many tents set up and horses tied. A high, pointed, wooden fence encases the entire camp, secluding it from the outside world. As we make our way past a cluster of tents, I see the main gate, the one leading to freedom. It's manned by many Paladins, all armed and on high alert. There will be no easy escape from this particular hell.

We come to an open clearing, beset with only a cloaked figure. The setting sun illuminates the figure as he turns toward us and I realise that it is the same man I saw before, at my village.

Now, in the light, I can see him better. Dark markings sweep under his intense blue eyes, his cheekbones sharp enough to cut and his mouth moulded into grim indifference.

The Weeping Monk.

Stories have spread throughout many Fey villages of the cloaked Monk who comes and burns, pillages and slaughters without mercy. His brutality is the thing of nightmares and now here he stands, before us. Probably plotting our ruthless demise.

He surveys us with a carefully trained gaze, drinking each of us in. Moments pass as we stand there, waiting for something to happen. Beside me, the Tusk shifts and flinches in fear. In contrast, Duna, on my other side, is still.

"You're wondering why you're here," The Weeping Monk finally speaks, his voice hushed and caustic. "Why you were shown mercy where others were not." He takes a few steps closer and the Tusk beside me draws back, then is roughly shoved forward by one of the Paladins behind us. "You've been chosen...for redemption. For the chance to help the righteous cause."

My eyes narrow. He sounds insane.

"Overcoming what you are is an impossible feat. But this way, you will at least have the chance to help scourge the world of those demon-born," he continues.

"We will never help you," Duna says, unwavering and true. I look at her and will her to be quiet, for her own sake. "You will not force us to slaughter our own kind."

He eyes her, studies her. No ire flames on his face, no trace of emotion at all. "We'll see," is all he replies, so quiet I barely hear it.

He walks over to a small pile of weapons and picks up a sword, then throws it onto the ground in front of the Tusk.

"Pick it up," the Weeping Monk commands.

The Tusk stops and looks at us, but we can offer him no support. We are all equally powerless here. He slowly bends down and picks up the sword, hesitantly approaching the Weeping Monk, who draws his own glinting steel with steady hands.

The Tusk looks around at the Paladins surrounding us, then strikes forward at the Monk, who steps to the side and lets the Tusk stumble forward.

The Tusk strikes for him again, but is easily dodged. This continues for a while longer until it seems the Monk tires of their dalliance and, with one well-aimed blow, knocks the sword from the Tusk's grip and smashes him in the stomach with his fist, winding the Tusk.

I wince as he grunts and doubles over in pain and vividly recall how I saw one of my friends double over right before she was killed back in my village. The thought is sickening.

The Weeping Monk raises his sword to deliver a final blow, but before he can, Duna steps forward. I grab at her arm to try and pull her back into line but she shakes me off and instead swipes up another sword from the pile on the ground and moves toward the Monk, who turns his attention away from the Tusk and onto Duna.

By the way she moves, I can tell that she is a trained fighter. She is light on her feet and carries the weapon with precision and comfort.

She holds her own for several breath-catching minutes. But against the Weeping Monk, her skill falters. He spins and catches each of her blows with startling accuracy. She never truly lands a shot.

The Tusk stumbles to his feet and hurries back to stand in line beside me, whilst Duna and the Monk lock swords.

His strength overpowers her and she falls to the grass ground, her weapon flying from her hand. The Monk stands over her, head tilted. His foot rises and presses onto her chest, suffocating her. She scrabbles at his leg desperately but he is unmoved.

We all stand and watch as she fights for breath, for life. I look away...I can't watch.

I hear her sputter and struggle.

My hands curl into fists, my teeth gnashing together. He's going to kill her.

"Stop."

The word leaves my mouth unbidden as I step forward and face the killer. I have no desire to be some kind of hero or saviour. I'm not particularly brave or strong or fierce. But...I can't just watch another Fey die.

"Enough. You've proved your point. Now, let her up," I speak with strength, though inside I feel as weak as ever.

The Weeping Monk's eyes flick up to stare at me. He seems to look through me and into my very soul. Discomfort and fear sit heavy in my stomach, but out of stubbornness alone, I refuse to look pathetic. I meet and hold his burdened gaze until he finally lifts his foot.

Duna gasps in air, rolling over onto her stomach as she heaves.

The Monk's gaze darts down to the sword on the ground, silently urging me to pick it up. I don't want to. I want to disappear back into line with the other Fey, but it's too late now.

I suppose there are worse ways to die.

With great reluctance, I swoop down and grab the sword. Not that it will do much good; I've never been particularly skilled at fighting. My thin arms tire too quickly.

Duna manages to get to her feet and move back into line.

I face the Weeping Monk with all the confidence I can muster. From the look on his steely face, I can tell he knows I will be easily defeated.

With one swipe of his sword, I lose my grip on my own weapon and it tumbles from my hands.

"Gods," I mutter, backing up as he advances toward me. His arm twitches and, through the Earth beneath my feet, I suddenly feel where he will move next. I feel the steady ground guide me to the left and I duck that way. His quick strike misses me by less than a hair's width. The ground again guides me back just as he jabs forward. I continue to duck his attacks, parrying this way and that, with the earth leading me. It must be the Hidden, helping me to anticipate his every move. I have felt this few times before, never sharing a particularly close connection to the Hidden. There have been occasions where I have been able to sense a dangerous wolf off in the forest or my little sister creeping up behind me to try and startle me. The Hidden has not been completely absent from my life, but never have I felt them this strongly, as the Monk and I dance in a fitful game of strikes and evasions.

I sense his frustration grow, his attacks becoming stronger and more erratic, his dark cloak billowing out around him as we turn. I'm fast on my feet and with the Hidden's help, I feel every move he's going to make before he makes it. But I'm still only human and I quickly begin to tire. My chest constricts and my head spins from the wound there.

I can't keep this up for much longer. My legs wobble and sweat trickles down my temple and sears my open cut.

I duck under his arm, but his foot catches my ankle and I tumble to the ground, landing face-first.

It knocks the breath straight out of my chest and I gasp, flipping over onto my back.

The Weeping Monk towers above me, his hooded face blocking out the dying sun like my own personal eclipse. He raises his sword and presses the tip of it to my chest, just hard enough to break the skin. A drop of blood oozes out. He trails the tip of the sword past my collarbones and up my throat, making me arch my head back till the sharp point presses below my chin.

I swallow thickly and welcome death. All it would take is one push and the sword would ram straight through me. I'd gurgle on my own blood and be dead in seconds. I can imagine it in my head, can see my own death, right now and right here.

But he doesn't kill me. He pulls back, sheathing his sword.

Breath wheezes out of me, part in relief and, I think, part in disappointment. Deep down, I know it would be easier to die, to have everything simply stop. No more pain or fear. Just oblivion or whatever it is that awaits us on the other side.

But while I still draw breath, I will not give up. I shakily push myself to my feet, swaying dangerously but staying upright. The Monk and I lock eyes. I know many emotions play across my face, unable to hide them in my physical and mental exhaustion. It bothers me how stoic and unmoving his expression remains. Like that apathy is a victory in itself.

He nods his head to some of his Paladin brethren and my arm is roughly grabbed as I'm yanked back toward the other Fey.

"Alright let's go, the lot of ya," one of the Paladins spit. We're shoved and ushered back through the camp, away from the clearing and away from the Monk, then thrown right back into our cage, onto the floor. I land with a thud and turn my head to glare at the Paladin who shoved me.

"Keep looking at me like that, demon bitch, and I'll cut off your hand," he sneers. I'm not stupid enough to challenge him; I look away.

When the Paladins leave the six of us alone, bloodied and bruised, there is no relief, no comfort to be found. We sit together, afraid and uncertain of what wicked things lie in our collective future.

~O~

WE SLEEP HUDDLED TOGETHER. The night is not particularly cold, but without blankets, a fire or proper enclosed shelter, the chill reaches us all. So we come close together and share body heat. I sleep fitfully, my dreams twisting into nightmares, filled with red fabric, smoke-clouded skies and desperate sobs.

At dawn, we are forced out of our enclosure and put to work. We are made to scrub buckets and mend tents and wash robes. The Paladins stand and watch us, their hands resting on their swords the entire time.

They sneer and make crude comments, calling us demon-born and vile creatures. It's hard to stomach, so demeaning and dehumanising. When I accidentally knock over a bucket of water, one of the Brothers surges forward and slaps me across the face.

I hate them, I think as I go about my work with a split and bleeding lip. I want them all to burn.

I wonder if this is how they feel about us, if this hatred that burns inside me too burns inside of them. It's a disturbing thought; I don't want to be like them, in any way.

After a small meal of stale bread, we're led back to the clearing where the Weeping Monk awaits us. He's wiping blood off his sword when we arrive and are shoved into an orderly line by the Paladins.

He continues to clean his blade with a rag until it glints, wiping over the cross on the hilt and ensuring the blood is completely gone, all whilst we stand and watch. There is an undeniable arrogance in his silent, careful ways, one that whispers 'no one can best me, none is stronger nor more skilled'. Perhaps it's true, but it bothers me all the same.

After a short eternity, he looks up at us and nods to Jin, one of the Snake-Clan members. "You," is all the Weeping Monk says in his raspy voice. Jin moves forward and picks up a sword and the two fight for quite some time, until Jin tires and is struck down by the hilt of the Monk's sword connecting with his cheek.

The other Snake-Clan member steps forward to take Jin's place and battles the Monk until he too is struck down, in a more violent manner, with his shoulder sliced open by the Monk's blade. He hobbles his way back to the lineup as Duna advances. She holds her own against the Monk, better than any that follow her, but she too falls to his strength.

Finally, only I am left to fight him.

He turns his back when I am shoved forward by one of the Paladins, as if to say 'you are so harmless I needn't even look'. It infuriates me. I'd like to think I'm a rational person, but all the anger from the constant terror and humiliation over the past few days wells up inside of me and bubbles over. I swoop down, grab a long dagger from the pile of weapons, and rush toward the Monk.

It is an unwise decision.

He spins on his heel and catches my raised arm with one hand whilst the other shoots to my throat, long fingers wrapping around my neck and choking me. He lifts me in the air, then tosses me to the ground like I'm nothing. The fall hurts and I gasp in pain, but still I plant my hands on the ground and push myself up.

The Monk kicks my hands out from beneath me and I fall again. Once more, I try to rise but he kicks me down. Again and again. A dozen times I try to stand and he pushes me back each and every time. But I won't give up. Not because I'm brave or heroic or particularly intrepid. It's mere stubbornness that fuels me, that has me trying to stand over and over.

My arms begin to bruise, the gash on my head re-opens. But I don't stop. I roll away from him and try to swiftly land on my feet, but his foot connects with my lower back and he shoves me to the ground.

I turn onto my back, my chest heaving up and down, and I stare up at the sky. It ripples before my very eyes - a side effect of the head wound, no doubt.

The Monk walks into my line of sight and stares down at me impassively.

"Enough?" He asks.

I arch my back and scrub at my eyes, but can't bring myself to try and rise again. My whole body is aching and exhausted. He's stronger and more skilled than I am; I can't win.

I'm heaved up by a Paladin with rough hands and dragged back to the cage, along with the other Fey.

That night I dream of killing the Weeping Monk. I dream that I've escaped this cage and I sneak into his tent while he's asleep. I dream of drawing a silver dagger, crouching over top of him, my legs either side of his body, and pressing the blade to his throat. His eyes, surrounded by black, blink open and I dig in the knife until it draws blood. His hands grab at me, but it's too late. I slit his throat and watch him bleed and struggle until his body goes still.

I wake in a sweat, panting like I spent the night running from a wild animal.

Our days continue on in an endless cycle of rough handling from the Paladins and rougher beatings from the Weeping Monk. We are forced to train and work long hours, given minimal food and water.

The only solace we have is each other. In the quiet of the night, when all the Paladins are fast asleep, we share stories of our homes. The ones that are now reduced to ash and dust.

Duna tells us of her husband, who was strong and brave and taught her to be a warrior like him. The other Faun, Edwin, is from a neighbouring village to Duna and it seems they know each other in passing.

Jin and Aphid speak of their home with all the other Snake-Clan members, of how peaceful everything was.

Karn, the Tusk, is quiet mostly, but he does mention that he had a son who was funny and bright. The devastation in his eyes when he speaks of his son is heart wrenching.

I don't share much about my home. It's too raw, too private. I can't talk about my parents or my little sister... Just thinking about them hurts.

Remembering Mel's sweet smile and young, hopeful face just leads to reliving the moment she was yanked from my arms.

On the days where the Monk beats us viciously and the Paladins are especially cruel, I think about how Mel must have died. Was it quick? A swift slice of the throat and everything was over? Or did she suffer? Was it drawn out in unimaginable ways that put her through unnecessary agony?

It haunts me like a ghost, always there in the back of my mind. I hear her laugh in the rustle of the trees and I see her pale cheeks in the white coat of the horses.

The days begin to meld together in painful monotony. One afternoon, as I twirl my sword in my hand, I realise how comfortable it feels, how strong my arms have become. It's slow progress, but progress all the same.

I face the Monk with a semblance of confidence and call out to the Hidden in my mind to guide me. I feel, in the ground beneath my feet, which way to move to avoid his attacks. But this time I don't just evade him on the defence. I go on the offence as well. I strike my sword against his in strong hits that he easily wards off. We pick up the pace, each successive clash coming quicker and quicker. The Hidden push me harder, surging within me, and finally, as I advance a step forward and he steps back, my sword comes down and slices his arm in an attack even he can't stop.

Everything halts, the air stilling.

It's a shallow cut, more of a graze along his upper arm. But there's blood. In all our days of training, no Fey has managed to draw blood from the Monk.

Even the Paladins look shocked, frozen in place. From what I have observed over my time at this camp, all the Red Paladins seem to think of the Monk as invincible. Some are afraid of him, some admire him. I suspect most have never seen him bleed.

He looks down at the cut on his arm as I wait with bated breath to see what he does next.

His eyes flash up to glare at me and he slowly advances forward.

Oh shit.

I take a stumbling step back. Is he about to kill me?

He strides right up to me, till there's barely enough space between our bodies to fit a leaf. Eyes wide and afraid, I stare up at him, at his face shadowed by the hood. I won't look away. If he wishes to kill me, he won't see me cower or beg for my life.

His chest expands, nearly brushing against my own and for a moment - a heartbeat or less - I feel something. Something that mixes in with the fear inside of me, something exhilarating, something powerful. The voices of the Hidden swell and bellow in my head, vibrate through my body.

His hand reaches out and...snatches my sword from my loose grasp. He retreats a few steps and holds out the sword to Duna.

"Next," he commands in a low voice. Duna, as wide eyed as I am, takes the sword from him and I walk back to the lineup in a daze.

That night, as I sit in our enclosure and think about that small trickle of crimson blood that seeped from the Monk's wound, the other Fey discuss a plan of escape.

"When the moon is at its peak, the Paladins guarding the gate go to sleep and others come to replace them. That changeover is our best shot to fight our way out and escape," Edwin says. "We quietly grab a few horses-"

"Horses? They'll hear us coming and they'll have time to warn the others," Duna interrupts. "We need to wait. We can't get away from them so long as we're in this camp. When they take us out, then we'll have the opportunity-"

"Take us out? What makes you think they'll ever take us out of this bloody place?" Edwin demands.

"They're training us for a reason," Duna points out. "They want us to fight for them. We can't do that from within here."

Edwin shakes his head. He's agitated and fueled by fear alone. "We don't know how long that could take. We don't know how long they're going to keep us here."

"Where would we go?" Aphid asks in a small voice. "We have no homes to return to. No families to find. Everything's gone."

"Who cares where we go?" Edwin exclaims. "So long as it's far away from here. We-"

"Shh," I hush him, kicking his leg lightly, as I see two Paladins approaching with our supper. If they hear us talking of escape, we'll all surely be punished. Severely.

The entrance to our enclosure is yanked open and the Paladins hand our meals out to us. But this time something's different. The Paladin closest to me hands me a larger plate, with more food that looks considerably fresher. Without a word, they re-secure the entrance and leave us be.

I stare down at my plate of food. For the first time in so long, I am eager to eat. It looks good. But when I glance up, I see the others staring at me. Edwin glares, anger in his eyes.

They all have the same stale, old meal as usual. I'm the only one with nicer food.

"It's a reward," Duna speaks up, no malice or jealousy to be found in her voice. "For your accomplishment in training today."

"They're trying to turn us against one another," Aphid says quietly.

I look back down at the meal.

"It's likely that in the coming months, they'll try and rip us apart. They'll use jealousy, fear and our insecurities against us, trying to get some of us to turn toward their side," Duna explains.

My stomach rumbles. I want to devour the meal so badly. But there are more important things in this world than momentary satisfaction.

"Well that's not going to happen," I say. "We're stronger together." I may not have wanted to admit it at first, but it's the truth. The six of us, banded together, have a much better chance at surviving than all of us alone.

I evenly divide my food amongst the others and we all share. At the end, as I lay down on the hard ground to sleep, I'm still hungry and unsatiated. But I don't have to worry about threats from the other Fey or to sleep with one eye open.

At least, not yet.

~O~

THE WORST DAYS ARE THE ONES when the Weeping Monk is absent. He disappears for long stretches of time, no doubt to carry out various nefarious tasks, and we are left to the Paladin brothers.

The Monk always pushes us to our physical limits, always makes us ache and bruise and want to scream in frustration. But he never injures us so badly that we struggle the next day. He is careful, calculated in all his actions. He knows that hurting us permanently will make us worthless to his cause.

The Paladins have no such regard for us and no such forethought.

It's a cloudy day and the ground has turned to slush and mud from overnight rain. We stand in the clearing, a chill in the air, and Brother Odo calls Jin forward.

A light drizzle falls from the sky and has me moving closer to Aphid beside me for some warmth.

Jin goes to reach for a sword, but his hand is swatted away by Brother Odo. "You powerful Fey don't need man-weapons, surely?" Odo taunts. "Why don't you just use your magic? Come on, demon, show me those Fey powers of yours."

Jin goes pale, glancing back at us and the other Paladins, who snicker at Brother Odo's taunts.

"Show us, then! Show us your hell-born powers!" Odo is empowered by his brethren's support and strikes forward at unarmed Jin with his sword. Jin manages to duck out of the way just in time, but when Odo strikes again, he isn't so lucky. The blade slices along Jin's chest in a shallow, but long wound. Jin cries out and buckles forward onto his knees. "Get up!" Odo shouts and kicks him harshly in the side.

Aphid winces, looking away. I link my pinky finger with her own and squeeze it in support. I feel helpless - we all do - as we watch Brother Odo beat on Jin.

"Alright, enough," Duna steps forward. "I'll take his place."

"Get back in line, you filthy Fey," Odo spits at her. "I'm not done with him yet." He flips the sword around and bashes the hilt of it into Jin's face until his cheek collapses.

"Stop!" Aphid cries out. "Please!"

"Shut up!" One of the Paladins behind us snarls and shoves her to the muddy ground.

A ball of anger and despair forms in my throat. I want so badly to do something reckless. I want to sweep forward, pick up a sword and cut every single Paladin in this camp down. I wish I had the skills to do so.

I wish I was the Weeping Monk. Invincible and unbeatable. He would be able to put down all these Paladins with ease, without breaking a sweat. He could be a saviour, our saviour. Instead he is the villain.

"Do you think you deserve better than this?" Brother Odo sneers down at Jin. "You're a filthy animal. Worse than a pig or a snake. That's why you all hide away in your pathetic camps and caves. 'Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that their deeds will be exposed'." He quotes the Bible with righteous confidence.

"Hurting him accomplishes nothing," Duna insists, a note of panic in her voice that I have not heard before. It scares me more than anything else, to see her rattled.

"Shut her up," Odo commands and one of the Paladins grabs Duna's hair and yanks her head back violently.

Jin attempts to claw his way toward us but is dragged back by Odo, who stabs his sword straight through Jin's shoulder.

Jin's scream echoes around us. In the trees of the forest, visible above the thick, wooden fence, flocks of birds flee at the startling, agony-filled sound.

Odo pulls his sword from Jin's body. The blade drips with blood that mixes in with the mud.

"Take them back to their cage," Odo says dismissively. Jin is hauled up and dragged back to our enclosure as we walk solemnly behind.

We rip strips of cloth from our dirty clothes and try and bandage the wound, but it's no use. He bleeds through everything.

Aphid holds his hand, her tears splattering onto his cheek. They speak quietly in their native Snake-Clan tongue, a language I had never heard before.

It's beautiful. And heart wrenching.

His eyes close as the moon hits its peak. His breathing stops not long after.

I sit back, my head in my hands, and listen to Aphid cry softly as Duna comforts her.

This is the fate that awaits us all, I think. We will all die bloody and brutally.

Jin is the first to go. He will not be the last.

~O~

DAWN BRINGS WITH IT the harsh reality of Jin's death. As the sun rises, it illuminates his pallid skin and lifeless, open eyes. Aphid has fallen asleep on top of his unmoving chest, tears dry on her scaly cheeks.

"Born in the dawn," Duna murmurs, her hand on Jin's arm, "to pass in the twilight."

I recall my mother saying that to my sister and I right before she was taken from our hut and killed.

"We have to get away from here," Edwin says. The look in his eyes is unsettling. He looks so filled with terror, staring at Jin's body. He looks like a man willing to do anything to survive. Anything at all. "Jin wasn't even the weakest of us and he-"

"The weakest?" Duna interrupts. "Since when did we start measuring each other's strength?"

His eyes narrow at her. "Come on. Don't pretend like you haven't been keeping track of who's improving and who isn't. We all know who's least likely to make it." He looks at the sleeping Aphid. She's a more kind-hearted, soft soul than the rest of us. But I never considered that a weakness before, unlike Edwin clearly does.

"We're all going to make it. Together," Duna says strongly.

Edwin shakes his head and looks at Jin. "Clearly that's not true."

I dig my fingernails into my forearms. I hate that there is some truth in what he's saying, some sliver of rationality behind his rather bleak outlook.

Karn, the Tusk, stays silent. But I can see on his face that he agrees with Edwin, at least to a degree.

Across the camp there is some commotion and we hear the gates open. A few moments later, the Weeping Monk comes riding in on his big, black steed. He dismounts gracefully and runs a careful hand down his horse's sweat-glistening neck.

Then his attention turns to our enclosure and he pauses. Sees Jin's lifeless body.

He ties his horse to a post and slowly makes his way over to us. There's a small cut on one of his cheeks and blood on his hands. I wonder how many Fey he's killed in the past few days. A handful? Dozens? Hundreds? I suppose I'll never know.

He stops outside our enclosure and stares down at Jin. Just stares. There's no emotion in those charcoal encircled eyes, other than some slight annoyance. When the staring goes on for a beat too long, I kick the door of our enclosure roughly, making a loud banging sound, and his eyes bounce to me instead. I glare up at him and will him to burst into flames. If only I were closely connected to the Hidden; I could have vines shoot up from the ground and strangle him to death using just my mind.

I don't know why my anger burns so brightly for the Monk in particular. Brother Odo and the other Paladins; I hate them. Of course I do. But with the Monk...it feels different. More personal. I can't reasonably explain why, but the fire in my stomach also can't be denied.

My legs strike out at the entrance to our cage again and I am rewarded with his usually cool stare turning molten, ire lighting those lake-blue eyes.

It is a reward to get a reaction - of any kind - out of him.

He turns and walks away, cloak billowing around him.

I crane my neck to see further out of our enclosure. The Monk stops Brother Odo and talks to him lowly. Odo's face twists in annoyance, but he ultimately looks down at his feet apologetically.

By midday, Jin's body has hardened. We all sit as far away from him as we can, even Aphid, who keeps her face hidden in her hands.

We usually would be doing jobs by now or training in the clearing. But today is different.

The Monk approaches us, a bow in his hand and a quiver of arrows over his shoulder. He opens the barred entrance and says, "Pick up his body and come. Now."

We all exchange looks, but do as we're told. Duna, Edwin, Karn and I lift Jin's body and carry him out, Aphid trailing behind us. We follow the Weeping Monk through the camp and to the large gate, where two Paladins stand guard.

"Open it," the Monk commands. His voice, though quiet and dispassionate, holds power and strength.

The other Fey and I grow restless as we realise that for the first time in so long, we will be stepping outside of this hell-scape of a camp.

The Paladins pull open the gates with a groaning squeal of rusty hinges and we venture out into the surrounding forest. It is like gulping in the first breath of fresh air after drowning for months.

I look around at the peaceful foliage and gentle sway of trees, not marred by the sight of Paladins. For a moment, I am able to forget that I'm carrying the body of my dead friend.

We come to a leaf-covered part of the forest and the Monk stops. Three shovels lie on the ground, waiting for us.

"Bury him," the Monk instructs us, standing a few lengths from us with his hands resting behind his back, like a stern soldier.

Aphid makes a pained noise.

We carefully place Jin's body onto the ground and Duna, Karn and I each hesitantly pick up a shovel. I am about to start digging when I feel Edwin become particularly agitated beside me. I look at him and realise that he's preparing to run. I try and shake my head at him, but he won't heed my silent warning.

With one final glance at the Monk, Edwin turns on his heel and takes off in a sprint toward the trees, kicking up piles of brown leaves in his wake.

"Edwin don't!" Duna calls but it's too late. The Monk calmly raises his bow, nocks an arrow and, with perfectly precise aim, shoots Edwin straight through the leg. The Faun man cries out and crashes to the ground, gripping his leg in agony.

I wince and shake my head. He let his fear outweigh his rational thought and now - whilst he won't die from this wound - he's going to be in pain for days.

The Weeping Monk pushes off toward Edwin, brushing past me as he does so. "Start digging," he mutters as his arm skims my shoulder. He reaches Edwin, grabs him by the collar and drags him back toward us.

I push my shovel into the ground and start to dig.

~O~

It takes us a long time to dig a hole deep enough for Jin. The sun has started to set by the time we lower him carefully into the ground. Edwin whimpers, leaning against a tree and gripping his leg.

Aphid has picked a few yellow flowers from a nearby bush and she crushes them in her hand before dropping them onto Jin's body. The Monk watches from the shadows and though he is still and silent, I can sense him observing us carefully, paying attention to every movement we make.

There is a brief moment where I think that perhaps, if we all fought together, we may be able to overpower him and get away. But the truth is, we are yet to see the full range of the Monk's skills. He's shown no weaknesses thus far and I don't think I'd much like to see how ruthless he is when pushed. I think I'd rather fight a dozen Paladins than the Weeping Monk in a duel to the death.

Besides, with Jin gone, Edwin injured and Aphid emotionally tuned out, I don't think we'd stand a very good chance. Best to bide our time, I decide, and can see that Duna is thinking the same. She shoots the Monk small glances but carries on with re-filling the grave with dirt.

Finished burying our friend, we gather the shovels and begin the trudge back to camp, Karn and Duna assisting Edwin as he limps. The gate is opened for us and the others head inside. But I pause before the entrance and look up through the foliage. The Monk stops as well, watching me carefully.

"Move," he tells me but I don't. I close my eyes and I breathe. I know the air inside the camp is the exact same as out here but...it feels different. This is a small taste of freedom. It is such a luxury just to be out in the forest with no wooden fence encapsulating or imprisoning me. Before the Paladins destroyed my home, I took my freedom for granted. I regret that now. But I know that if I ever regain that freedom, I will never take it for granted again.

The ground hums beneath my feet as the Hidden surges within me. It connects me to the earth, to the trees and the forest animals twittering about in the underbrush and the fallen leaves. I feel the green vine-like tendrils - the mark of my people - crawl up the side of my face.

Feeling more grounded than I have in months, my eyes open and I see the Monk staring at me. He looks...haunted, for lack of a better word. It is the first time that I've seen his careful, stoic mask truly fracture. It's hard to comprehend the expression in his eyes, so disoriented, pained and confused all at once. Like he sees something in me that he himself has lost.

He looks away and his steely indifference is back in the time it takes me to draw breath.

"Go," he jerks his head toward the camp, his voice even rougher than usual. I walk forward, but stop before him, my shoulder so close to his chest that I can feel his body heat. I study those inky markings surrounding his eyes, dripping down his cheeks.

What are you? I think. What hell were you born from? What torment created you?

His absolute stillness betrays an apprehension that he should not have. He has no reason to fear me for I pose no danger to him. Smaller in stature, weaker in strength; I'm no threat.

So why does it seem like he has something to fear from me? Something he is guarding, something he is worried I will discover?

What secrets are concealed behind those weeping eyes?

~O~

"IT WAS QUIET," Duna explains. "Still. Everyone was asleep." She shrugs her shoulders. "Not much happened."

"At least you weren't stuck in here," Edwin sulks, his arms crossed over his chest.

At yesterday's training with the Monk, Duna fought particularly well, her stamina and strength having notable improvements since we first arrived. In reward, she was given a tent and bed, and allowed to wander the camp freely all night, not locked in the enclosure with the rest of us. Paladin guards still manned the gate, watching her carefully. But she wasn't as trapped.

Edwin is bitter about the favoritism. I, on the other hand, am skeptical. I feel as though we are integrating ourselves into this life, taking what we can rather than maintaining that spark that pushes us to look for an escape. I don't want us to become so accustomed to this that we end up turning into exactly what the Paladins want us to be; their trained soldiers.

Pure compliance is not an option.

~O~

THREE MONTHS LATER

My hands smooth along the soft, woolen blanket. I feel the supple material beneath my calloused fingers and pull it up to the top of my cot. I tuck in the sides and stand, looking down at my small makeshift bed.

Duna, Karn and I all share a tent. It's simple and plain, but ours.

I emerge from the tent to find Duna and Karn already working, cleaning clothes and mending broken equipment. My first job is feeding the horses, so I snatch up the buckets and begin preparing grain feeds for them all. As I feed each horse, I notice Goliath tethered to the furthest tree. The Weeping Monk must have arrived back at camp last night. He'd been gone for nearly a week this time.

I approach Goliath and hand feed him some carrots that I snuck away from the Paladins for the horses. His glossy, black coat shimmers in the morning sun. He's a muscled and tall stallion, but kinder than some of the other horses. He never bites or pins his ears back, always quiet and easy to be around. I stroke my bruised knuckles along his soft, pink nose.

The Paladins mostly pass me by without a glance. We have mostly grown accustomed to one another and though there is still hatred there - and disgust from their side - we have found a way to co-exist.

I look over my shoulder and see Aphid and Edwin being let out of their enclosure, the one we used to all sleep in. They haven't improved enough or shown fierce enough fighting skill to be allowed to live in the tent with myself and the others. It has created a divide between us that can't be easily remedied. Edwin glares at me from across the camp and I turn back to Goliath, tangling my fingers in his long mane.

The Weeping Monk approaches Goliath and I, running his hand along the horse's flank and stopping by my side. He looks even more solemn than usual. My eyebrows pull down as I study his expression; I've become better at reading him in the past months, better at interpreting the miniscule changes in his face as his mood shifts.

"Something's wrong," I say, worry expanding within me. He raises his hand and rests it on Goliath's neck, his elbow nearly touching my shoulder.

"Gather the others. Go to the clearing," he instructs quietly.

My feet stay rooted to the ground. "What's going on?"

I expect him to tell me to get a move on, to not ask questions, but instead he hesitates.

He breathes in deeply through his mouth, chest expanding. For a moment, I think he might confide in me, actually speak to me. But instead he jerks his head and roughly commands, "Go." He takes the bucket of feed from me and I reluctantly leave to get the other Fey.

We wait for him tensely in the clearing. Behind me, I notice the Paladins gathering to watch us. It's unsettling; they haven't been interested in our training for months.

I catch the eye of Brother Odo and a slow smile splits his face. It chills me to my core.

The sea of red parts for the Weeping Monk, who stalks toward us with a sword in each hand. The pile of weapons usually lying on the ground by our feet is gone.

Duna looks at me and I at her. Something is happening.

The Monk stops in front of us and we wait with bated breath.

He holds out a sword to Duna and she takes it immediately, ready to face him. But he does not prepare to fight her. Instead, he hands the other sword to Edwin and then comes to stand beside me.

Edwin and Duna stare at each other and then at the Monk, confused.

His hands rest behind his back, but he doesn't say anything, just looks at them expectantly.

In all our many, many days of training, we have never fought each other. Only the Monk or the other Paladins.

With a sudden battle cry, Edwin swings his sword at Duna in a harsh blow that she only just deflects. She's so shocked at this development that for a moment she freezes and Edwin is given the opportunity to whack the sword right from her hands. She stumbles backward to escape his next attack, then seems to regain herself.

She's a better fighter than he is - this, I know - but the look on his face is one of pure survival. He's desperate and desperation makes people dangerous.

A roundhouse kick from Duna knocks Edwin's sword away from him and they begin to grapple in hand-to-hand combat. They tumble onto the ground, clawing at each other messily. Her elbow connects with his face, but he manages to knee her in the stomach and climb on top of her. His hands go around her neck, strangling her. She slaps and hits at him, but he won't budge. The colour in her cheeks go from warm brown to purple.

"Alright enough," I try to step forward and intervene but the Monk's hand shoots out and grips onto my upper arm like a vice, holding me in place. Duna struggles for air, Edwin glaring down at her coldly as he continues to strangle her. "Stop! Let go!" I shout, trying to break free from the Monk, trying to make Edwin stop. Beside me, Karn looks away, a grimace on his face. I shove at the Monk's chest but he is utterly unmovable, like a sculpted statue rooted in place.

Duna's hands flail out and her fingers manage to brush the hilt of one of the swords. She reaches for it, reaches...she finally manages to grip it and swings it as strongly as she can. It lodges in the side of Edwin's neck and blood begins pouring out. His hands fall from around her neck and she gasps in air. With a dull thud, Edwin's body falls off her and onto the ground. Blood bubbles up from his mouth as he chokes, twitching. We all watch as he slowly dies.

The Paladins cheer and laugh, shoving each other and making jokes. It is a horrific sound to die to.

The Monk's grip finally loosens on me and I stumble forward to Duna, grabbing her and helping her up. She looks harrowed, eyes wide and in shock. I help her back to the line, my arm around her. The Monk moves forward and grips the sword in Edwin's neck. He yanks it out, picks up the other weapon from in the grass and then holds them out to Aphid and Karn.

Gods, no.

Both Fey hesitate at first, but are quickly shoved forward by the Paladins behind them. They reluctantly take the swords and face each other a few lengths away from Edwin's dead body.

Karn strikes first, softly, a gentle clanging of swords. His unwillingness is evident; he doesn't want to hurt sweet Aphid.

"Come on!" One of the Paladins shouts. "Get on with it or we'll come and finish the job for you." Their eyes are hungry for violence. Awful creatures they are, all righteous and irreproachable in their faith, yet undisciplined, blood-thirsty animals in practice.

The two Fey begin to fight with a little more passion, a little more fire.

My stomach knots with apprehension and fear, so much so that I feel faint. I don't want to lose Aphid or Karn. This is a no-win situation.

Karn drives Aphid back, her cheeks growing red beneath her scaly skin. He clearly sees her tiring because he pulls back, lowering his sword to let her catch her breath.

In that moment, the unthinkable happens. Aphid, seizing this moment of rest, swings her sword forward and stabs Karn straight through his stomach.

We all stare on in shock, my eyes prick with tears that I will never let fall. Even the Paladins are quiet as Aphid withdraws her weapon and Karn falls first to his knees and then onto his side.

It is an outcome that no one could have predicted.

Aphid was the weakest of us - was she not? I begin to question every interaction I've had with her in the many months since we were both taken hostage.

A cool breeze blows through the air, lifting my long, dark hair. I shiver as I watch Aphid throw the sword to the ground and then calmly take her place beside Duna and I.

~O~

We bury Karn and Edwin in the woods, near Jin's grave. But it's different this time. There is no more fraternity or camaraderie between us Fey. This experience has made me realise that, ultimately, we are all alone. There is no one I can rely on except myself. I look at the Monk as I dig and I see, through the shadow his hood casts on his face, he is looking at me.

That night, in bed, I lie awake and stare at the top of our tent. Aphid sleeps soundly a few feet away, in what was once Karn's bed.

Duna is more restless in her dreams, tossing and turning.

Every time my eyes close, I think about Edwin's severed neck and Karn's last few gasps of breath.

It reminds me of all the death surrounding my capture and, for the first time in a while, I think about Mel.

Her grey eyes, so different from my hazel ones, would shine and glimmer when she was happy. She was a fussy baby, always squealing and crying. I would hold her tight and whisper in her ear, "You're ok, little one. Your big sister has you."

I'm glad I didn't tell her that before she was ripped from my arms during the burning of our village. I would have hated if my last words to her were a lie.

Sleep evades my grasp and I eventually slip out of bed, pull on my boots and venture outside the tent.

Clouds gather in the sky, but the full moon is clear and bright.

Most of the Paladins are asleep, although a few man the entrance to the camp. They watch me as I wander toward the clearing. I stop and look down at the patch of blood still evident in the grass where my brethren were killed.

The crackle of a fire draws my attention away and I see the Weeping Monk sitting on a log, a small fire lit in front of him. His tent is secluded, away from all the others. Everything he does is by himself.

The lone wolf, the solitary sword of God.

I approach him and though he doesn't acknowledge my presence, I know he knows I'm there. The warmth of the flames are enticing and I sit beside him, a healthy distance between us. Logically, I know he has the ability to kill me at any time and that there's little I could do to defend myself. But most of my fear of the Monk has melted away, like snow at the end of winter. For now at least, I don't think my death is on his agenda.

I don't speak at first, just mulling over all the events of the day and letting the noises of the forest beyond the fenceline fill the air. Then, "This was the plan all along, wasn't it? For there to only be three of us left. There was never any chance of us all making it, was there?"

He stokes the fire with a stick. "No." His dark voice pricks at my spine.

A lump forms in my throat as I think back to that first day inside this camp, where all six of us huddled together in solidarity. "Why me?" I ask and my voice breaks, just a bit. "Why didn't you make me fight one of them?"

At this, the Monk tenses. "The other SnakeClan Fey was supposed to still be alive."

"His name was Jin," I immediately say. "And that doesn't answer my question. Why not pit me against Edwin or Aphid? Why did you choose Duna and Karn to put against them instead?" The real question - why spare me from having to kill one of my friends? - hangs heavy in the air, unspoken but undeniable. When he doesn't reply, I ask, "Was it because you thought I'd lose?"

"No," comes straight away, like the answer slipped from his mouth on an accidental breath. He speaks more measured, more controlled next; "You wouldn't have lost."

"Then why?"

Finally, he looks at me, eyes a hundred hues of blue all moulding together like a bottomless ocean. "You know why," he says, very quietly. And I think, somewhere deep down, I do know.

The shadows from the flames dance across his face and in them I see...something unexplainable. The markings around his eyes seem to glow a molten colour as the light from the fire touches them. So many things flash through my head; his unnatural fighting ability, the haunted look on his face when he saw me connecting with the Hidden, the self-imposed separation and isolation from the other Paladins.

The cyclical feeling that has run through me since the moment I saw him; he's different. Different than the others, different than the Red Paladins who torment and kill us.

Before now, I just didn't know how he was different.

My breathing stops entirely as I slowly reach out a hand toward him. Half of me expects him to pull away, the other half expects him to break my hand. But instead he stays perfectly still as my palm slots into place against his cheek, my thumb resting on the tear-drop markings under one of his eyes. Intense feelings spark up my arm with a direct line to my heart, which pounds like a stomping giant in my chest.

I call to the Hidden within me, around me, and I ask them to reveal the truth. The whispers begin, quiet at first, then louder as I concentrate.

Within those layered whispers, I hear the answer to my question. I feel it in my bones, in my blood: The Weeping Monk is like me.

He's Fey.

~O~

THE WEEPING MONK IS AN AMALGAMATION OF TWO VERY DISTINCT PARTS.

The first is the Monk; ruthless and unquestioning, the one who kills Fey in their sleep and watches them take their last breaths with utter impassivity.

The second is Lancelot.

Lancelot is different. He is not heartless or purely faithful. Lancelot is the one who can't bring himself to kill small children, who feels doubts about Father Carden and their supposedly holy cause. Lancelot is the one who watches Eelie, the Fey girl, when she is not looking. And sometimes when she is looking too.

Lancelot is weakness where the Weeping Monk must show nothing but strength. So everyday he kills Lancelot in his mind. And everyday Lancelot persists.

It is an exhausting dance but, as Father Carden once said, the road to salvation is not an easy one.

After months and months of training and discipline, the Monk's small army of three Fey warriors are ready to be presented to Father Carden. They can blend in with their brethren, infiltrate Fey strongholds and fight better than any Red Paladin is able. The only thing the Monk is unsure about is their obedience. Breaking them emotionally was harder than he had expected, their resolve and loyalty to their kind more powerful than he could have imagined.

And now, another issue has arisen.

Eelie has discovered the Monk is Fey. He can still feel the ghost of her hand against his cheek, gentle and careful. He hadn't been touched in that way by a woman before, at least not that he could remember. His mother, perhaps, when he was very young...but that was a lifetime ago.

If Eelie reveals his secret to his brothers in red, he knows they will turn on him. It's why Father Carden has never told another soul about the Monk's origins. The Monk isn't like Eelie and the other Fey; he's treated as an equal, a superior even, to the Red Paladins. They wouldn't be able to handle the fact that this entire time they've been taking orders from the very thing they've been trying to exterminate.

The smart thing to do is to kill her. It would be easy enough. He could have done it last night; grabbed that hand that rested so sweetly on his face and yanked her forward. One snap of her neck and she would be done.

But he's put months of training into her. She belongs to the great cause now, to God's cause, not him.

In the quiet of the early morning, the Monk allows himself to admit the real reason he didn't kill her last night; he couldn't bring himself to. She looked at him without fear, her hazel eyes round and true.

Everything about her - the slender shape of her neck, the long tangle of her hair, the curve of her pink lips - it all draws him in and bewitches him. He hates the part of himself that aches for her. It is the human part, the weak part, the part he wants to kill but never can.

Eelie knowing his secret is infinitely dangerous. It could shake the Red Paladins and distract them from their purpose, it could get the Monk killed before he has time to finish his mission. But, for some reason, when he looked at her last night, she didn't look ready to shout this secret from the treetops for all to hear. She looked as though she coveted it, would keep it to her grave. And perhaps that willingness to protect him scares the Monk more than anything.

~O~

I look back at the camp that has been my home for what feels like a small lifetime. The girl who was tossed in there is not the girl I walk out as today. I am stronger, faster, braver and more cautious than before. I am smarter, more knowledgeable. I have faced more tragedy, more heartbreak, more pain.

I was a child when I woke up, battered and bruised, in the enclosure after the attack on my village.

I walk out as a warrior.

Where Aphid, Duna and I are being taken is unclear. But I know it's at least three days' journey and that we'll be staying in an Abbey on the way.

The Monk rides ahead along the dirt road, disappearing into the trees. Red Paladins surround myself and the other Fey; escape is not an option and at this point, I think we have all accepted that.

The first night is spent in the Iron Wood, under the starlit sky. Though I have to share space with Paladins, it's still peaceful.

I rest back against a tree trunk, between Aphid and Duna, and look across our temporary camp.

Alone, in the shadows, the Monk sits and watches me. I have not stopped thinking about the fact that he is Fey since I discovered it.

It runs through my mind, jumbled in with a million questions that I want to ask. Why would you do this to your people? Why do you hate us - and yourself by extension - so much? How can you believe the Godly rhetoric that they spout about us being demon-born when all we want to do is live in peace?

I want to demand answers from him, to shove and shove at him until he snaps.

But I can't do any of those things.

So instead I stare at him, illuminated only by the moon, and I wonder what goes through his mind every time he justifies killing an innocent.

~O~

After riding for another full day, I'm exhausted by the time we arrive at Yvoire Abbey. The nuns lead us down a large hallway, their long, white veils billowing over their shoulders like capes as they walk. They throw confused glances at Aphid and Duna, who are easily recognisable as Fey from their respective snake-like skin and deer antlers. However the nuns clearly know better than to question the Paladins or the Monk, because they barely speak, simply showing us our sleeping quarters and leaving us be.

Aphid, Duna and I are given a room to share, with three proper beds. We can see the shadows of the Paladins posted outside our room from under the door.

I find little comfort in being around the other two Fey. I can't shake the image of Aphid killing Karn from my mind and even Duna and I have grown somewhat distant.

All along they wanted to drive us apart, to break the loyalty that we had to one another.

I'm afraid to say they may be succeeding.

~O~

We're woken up at dawn and all but dragged through the Abbey and out to the towering barn.

Lined up, our hands crossed dutifully behind our backs, we wait for...something. For someone.

We wait and we wait, the Monk not far from our sides, Paladins behind us. Then, we hear voices, and a new group of Paladins enter the barn. They're led by an older man, with graying-white hair and...and I've seen him before. Once, briefly, long ago. On the day my village was pillaged and extinguished. I remember his face; it haunts my dreams.

The Paladins behind us deliver a quick kick to our ankles and we drop to our knees heavily, hay and dust puffing up from the ground.

"My son," the old man says, laying a fond hand on the Monk's shoulder. I watch with morbid fascination. "The mission has been a success, then?"

The Monk nods and the old man looks at us.

"Three girls?" he questions as he wanders closer, studying each one of us in turn. "I'm surprised."

"They were the strongest," the Monk speaks in a hushed tone meant only for the old man's ears.

"I see. Tell me, girls, are you ready and willing to serve the Lord? To help us cleanse the earth of your demonic kind?"

Duna and I swap glances from the corner of our eyes. We all opt to stay quiet.

The old man smiles wickedly. "Well, no matter. We have ways of...keeping you all motivated." There is a joke hidden behind his grin that frightens me.

When I look at the Monk, he evades my gaze.

"You see, we have cleansed many villages of your kind over the past years. But we've noticed that when we attack, some tend to slip through the cracks and escape. Even one Fey left in the world is a failure of our sacred mission. But you three are able to go into their villages, to assimilate, to gather them all together in one place and ensure that no one is left behind or able to flee. The perfect, hidden soldiers." The old man looks rather pleased with himself.

The Paladins behind him seem more skeptical, shifting uncomfortably and glaring at us with the heat of a thousand suns. I suppose they don't like the idea of working with Fey, even if it does better their mission.

"Father Carden," another Paladin hurries into the barn, a letter in hand. "A message, from Rome."

"You'll have to excuse me," Father Carden says to us. "But it is a pleasure to finally meet my soldiers." To the Paladins behind us, he says, "Put them to work," then exits the barn to take his letter.

We're yanked to our feet and all led in different directions. I'm put in the kitchen and left there to the mercy of the nuns.

"I need you to start the soup. Cut the vegetables, boil the broth," a nun instructs me hastily, gathering ingredients and putting them out on the bench. I hover, unsure. I never cooked much in my village. Or ever, really. She pauses to take me in, pretty brown eyes curious. "I'm Sister Igraine. What's your name?"

I clear my throat. "Eelie. It's Eelie."

"You're one of them, aren't you? Fey, I mean. Like the other two that are here," she says and I expect judgement, disgust. But there is none to be found on her face. I slowly nod.

"Honestly, I can't believe the Paladins have kept you alive this long. I can't imagine it's for anything good."

Unsure how to respond to that, I turn to the bench, rest my palms flat on it.

"Sorry," Sister Igraine shakes her head. "Look, just make the soup...I'll find you later, alright?"

My eyebrows furrow, confused, but I agree and she leaves me to it with a list of what to do.

I'm chopping away at vegetables when I hear the wooden door to the kitchen creak open. I turn just as the Monk slowly makes his way inside.

We're alone for the first time since I discovered his secret.

Like a deer that knows it's being hunted by a hungry wolf, my fight or flight instincts immediately kick in, my heart pounding in my chest. But I don't run from him. Though I know a secret that could destroy him, one that I know he would kill to protect, I think if he was going to kill me, he would have done so already.

Besides, running from the Monk is pointless. If he wants you dead, you're dead, no matter what you do.

He comes close, towering above me, the cold look on his face utterly fixed. My lower back presses into the hard wood of the kitchen bench.

"You didn't tell anyone," his whisper is so quiet that I barely hear it, even though he's right in front of me.

I slowly shake my head. My stomach turns and I can't distinguish fear from...something else. Something darker, something I shouldn't feel.

"Why?" He asks and it is a loaded question.

I try to move further back but I can't, the bench digging into me. He takes a step forward and now I can see every detail of his blue eyes, every hard line of his face under that hood.

"Why?" He repeats.

"Because it wouldn't do any good," I breathe. "Because all it would do is get you executed and I don't see how that ultimately helps my kind. Our kind."

"I'm not like you."

"Aren't you?" I am emboldened with anger. I straighten up, my chest a hairbreadth away from his sternum. "You're Fey, like me. I assume you were taken at some point, probably when you were young, and trained to help the Paladins, just like me. The only difference between us is I haven't completely lost myself."

"You're faithless-"

"Faith?" I laugh. "Is that what you're calling blind obedience?"

His stare goes molten and it is the look of a killer. He takes one more step forward and I am forced to lean back against the bench, our bodies pressing together. My hand shoots to the knife I was just using to cut vegetables with. I grip the handle tightly, but leave it resting on the bench.

He quotes the Bible from memory, "Walk in obedience to all that the Lord your God has commanded you, so that you may live and prosper and prolong-"

"Don't you have anything to say? You have no words of your own? Are you truly just a vessel for them?" I jerk my head toward the door, where I know Paladins mill around throughout the Abbey. "Are you so broken inside that you can no longer think for yourself? Because I'm not. I know you want me - and Duna and Aphid - to be so twisted that we only listen to what you and the other Paladins have to say. But you're going to have to try a lot harder if you want to break me."

His body is firm and warm. Our chests expand at the same time in deep, halting breaths.

I see his hand is resting on his sword and I wonder if he's debating killing me. My fingers shift around the knife, ready to stab at any time.

But then he takes a step back, the tension and heat building between us shatters, and my grip on the knife loosens.

The anger in his gaze melts away and it is replaced by a sort of sadness. "You'll break yet," he says, in a way that suggests he knows something I don't and he pities me for it.

Before I can respond, he stalks out of the kitchen, leaving me flushed, confused and frustrated.

~O~

I abandon the kitchen and the soup and I stomp through the halls of the Abbey, upset and restless, glaring at every Paladin I pass. Some of them purposely knock into me or mutter things under their breath and it infuriates me because I could kill them. I could grab the sword attached to their brown belts and I could cut them down where they stand. I think I'd be able to kill at least four or five before I was inundated with Red Coats piling onto me.

It's a truly tempting thought. But, ultimately and unfortunately, illogical. It would only get me killed and those four or five that I managed to off would quickly be replaced by other vile men happy to rid the world of Fey.

I duck into a quiet hallway and lean back against the cool, stone wall. My heart hasn't stopped racing since I spoke with the Monk. I press my hands against my warm cheeks and just breathe.

Around the Monk I feel things that scare me, things I should never feel. And no matter how hard I try to make those feelings stop...they won't.

Creak.

My eyes pop open. Is someone else down here? I look both ways down the hall, but it's deserted.

Creak.

I straighten up; that time I definitely heard something. With quiet, measured steps, I move through the corridor and around the corner to a small, hidden alcove. There, in the shadows, is a hunched figure.

"Hello?"

The figure looks up at me. I suck in a sharp breath. Round, green eyes blink slowly, warm skin and small tusks evident beneath the cloak the young boy wears. A Fey boy.

I am in shock as I slowly crouch down to be level with him. He can't be older than twelve. "What are you doing here?" I breathe. "How on earth did you get here?"

"Please," he says quietly, accent thick like this isn't his primary language. "Please don't tell anyone. I was supposed to stay hidden."

"It's ok, it's alright," I reach out and touch his knee. "I'm Fey too."

His eyes widen further. "You are?"

I nod. "Sky Folk. How did you get in here? Who told you to stay hidden?"

"I did." A voice from behind startles me and I whip around, standing in front of the boy defensively. Sister Igraine stares at me cooly, calmly. She must have snuck up behind me while I was distracted.

"You?" I question.

"Me," she holds out her hand and the boy stands and goes to her side.

"I don't understand."

Her lips purse, her stare critical. "Can I trust you?"

It's a weighted question, but one I immediately know the answer to. "Yes."

"I use Yvoire Abbey to help funnel Fey to safety," she explains and, seeing the myriad of questions on my face, adds, "The roads are too dangerous for Fey to travel by. But beneath the Abbey, there's a river that leads out West. I send Fey through it and they meet a smuggler who can get them to a safe place."

"Why? Why would you do this? Help Fey?" I have not known kindness from a human in so very long that it has become unfamiliar to me.

She shifts and pulls the boy closer. "Because it's the right thing to do. Listen to me, I have to get him out now. If you want, you can go with him. You can get away from this place. But we have to leave now."

My indecision is short-lived and I know, in my bones, that I have to find a way to escape. If this is how I do it, then so be it. "What about my friends? Duna and Aphid - they have to come as well."

Igraine shakes her head. "I'm sorry, there's no time. We have to go now. If I get the chance, I can send them later on."

I hesitate; I don't want to leave them behind. But my staying doesn't help them. Maybe if I'm free, I can figure out a way to rescue them.

Igraine, the boy and I all hurry down the hall and through to the main part of the Abbey.

"Wait," I hiss. "Why are we leaving now? Paladins are everywhere, it isn't safe."

"They're all in having lunch. This is the only time of day where they all gather together," she whispers.

My skin pales. "They aren't having lunch. I never finished the soup."

Igraine's eyes widen. "What?"

It's too late. The doors to the main hall burst open and a group of annoyed Paladins exit, berating some of the nuns for not having lunch ready.

Igraine curses under her breath and yanks us back behind a pillar, hugging the boy close to her body.

The group of Paladins are coming this way. They're going to see us. We have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Igraine looks panicked, pulling the boy's hood further over his head. But there's no way the Paladins won't notice him.

"Get him to safety," I tell her. "I'll distract them."

She shakes her head. "You won't get to escape. You go with him and I'll-"

"I don't know where the entrance to the river is. There's no time. Take him and go," I insist, then push out from behind the pillar and into the oncoming path of the Paladins.

"Watch it, Fey scum," one of the Paladins spits.

I ignore his jab. "Brothers, I'm sorry about the delay on lunch. Please, go back and sit down. I'm preparing the food now."

"It's already taken too long. Clearly you need supervision. We'll accompany you," the Paladin says, glaring at me.

"Fine. This way," I lead them in the opposite direction to Igraine and the boy. The Paladins and I head down the corridor, away from them. I turn back just in time to see the nun and the Fey disappear around a corner and, presumably, to safety.

My fantasy of escape dies a swift death as the Brothers and I move into the kitchen. But I take some solace knowing that the innocent Fey boy will get out of here and hopefully survive.

As for me? I haven't given up hope quite yet.

~O~

THROUGH THE IRON WOOD WE GO, past thickets of bramble and crawling ivy, we ride well into the night to reach a large Paladin camp. On horseback at the top of a long slope, I look out over the hundreds of tents set up. They stretch and stretch for what looks like miles.

This is the main camp of the Red Paladins.

"Come along," Father Carden calls, riding down the hill in front of Aphid, Duna and I. A Brother smacks my horse's flank, startling her forward. I yank back on the reins, soothing the horse, and glare at the Paladin.

The Monk rides up beside Carden, a comfortable familiarity between the two that needles at me.

I didn't even have time to bid Sister Igraine farewell or to check if the Fey boy successfully escaped, although the lack of Paladin panic leads me to believe he did. I wish I had gotten to thank her for being a friend to the Fey, for being an ally when it seems the whole world wants nothing more than to see our demise. To be so hated is a frightful thing.

And to walk into the belly of the beast, killers on all sides with a thirst for blood in their eyes, is an even more frightful thing. But I do it, entering the Paladin camp with my head held high.

We dismount our horses and they're taken away by some of the Brothers.

"It's late," Carden says cordially, a smile on his face. "But the night is not over yet. We have a surprise for you."

Duna, Aphid and I draw closer, dread filling us. No surprise from a Paladin can be good.

I look at the Monk, but he stares down at the ground, hands behind his back.

Carden shows us to a large tent with two Paladins standing guard outside it. We hesitate. Is this where we'll be sleeping?

"Go on in," Carden encourages. The three of us push through the flap of the tent and stop in our tracks.

A Faun man and a SnakeClan woman stand tall in the tent and huddled between them...I gasp brokenly, my eyes fill with tears.

It's Mel.

Her hair's messy and she has a large cut on her cheek, but she's alive and well and right before me.

"Gods," Duna mutters before rushing forward and hugging the Faun man. Aphid does the same with the SnakeClan woman but I am frozen, unable to move, my feet rooted to the ground.

Mel's soft eyes meet mine and the relief that explodes in them, and in me, is glorious.

I drop to my knees, open my arms and she rushes straight into me. We embrace tightly, lovingly, with welling eyes and open smiles.

She smells like sunshine and wildflowers and every good thing I can think of. I don't know if I'm dreaming, but if I am, I never want to wake up. Let me live in this moment forever, let it be crystallized and remembered as one of the happiest moments of my life.

My precious little sister is alive. I don't know how and I know it can't be for a good reason, but in those seconds, I don't care. I don't care about anything in the world except her little frame against me, her little hands tangling in my hair.

"Eelie," she says, over and over again. "Eelie."

"I'm here," I pull back and stroke her face. "Thank the Gods you're ok, I'm here."

This entire time I've been imagining her death, imagining what agony she must have experienced before the Paladins ended her life and all along...she's been alive. Waiting for me.

"I thought they killed you," I try not to cry but it's futile. Tears stream down my cheeks.

She shakes her head. "They brought me to a different camp and then to here. I wanted to find you but I couldn't." She starts to sob and I hold her close. Duna and Aphid are each in their own world with their respective person as well.

The tent flap flies open and Carden strides inside, the Monk by his side. I immediately stand tall and push Mel behind me, holding her close to my back.

"Enjoying the reunion?" Carden asks.

Silence greets his question. My ecstatic euphoria at realising Mel is alive fades and in its place I'm left with such bitter resentment. They let me think my sister was dead to mess with my head.

It is infuriating.

I glare at Carden and the Monk with scorching heat.

"We spared your loved ones from the fire to help better...motivate you in your newfound mission. I assume moving forward all of you will be much more amenable to our holy orders," Father Carden's words are a threat wrapped in a bow.

But it's a sentiment that I can't argue with. If they threaten to hurt Mel...I'm not sure how far I'd go to protect her, but I can't imagine much that I wouldn't do to keep her safe.

"We'll give you a few days to become reacquainted," Carden says. "And then the real work begins."

~O~

In the early hours of the morning, Mel and I lie huddled under a blanket in the tent. The others are all asleep, but we talk in hushed voices like we used to when we were young.

I remember telling her ghost stories, trying to scare her, our mother and father sleeping a few lengths away. But Mel never scared easy. The ghost stories excited her; she always asked me to tell her more until I ran out of ideas or ended up scaring myself instead.

"I miss mama and papa," she whispers to me, playing with a strand of my hair.

"I know," I murmur. "I miss them too. So much. But we have each other."

The smooth skin of her face pulls as she frowns. "Do we?"

"What do you mean?"

"They want you to do something, don't they? To keep me safe?" She is smarter than any nine year old has a right to be. I slowly nod. "You can't do it, Eelie. No matter what they say or do, you can't help them." And braver.

"I can't lose you," my voice breaks. "Not again. You're all I have left."

"I know you don't want to lose me...but I don't want you to lose yourself," she murmurs.

"Everything's going to be ok." It's a lie and we both know it, but it's a comforting one.

We hold hands and eventually drift to sleep.

~O~

The next few days are filled with happiness and though I know that Carden is going to use that happiness as a ploy to manipulate us in the future, I enjoy it nonetheless. If I have learnt anything over these past months, it is to take the good moments when they come and cherish them, for they are few and far between.

The Monk disappears from the camp and I don't see him or Father Carden. I'm glad for it. My anger and hatred for them is an ever growing thing, twisting inside of me. At least with Carden, I understand it. He's afraid of us, of our powers that he can't understand, and he uses God as an excuse to kill us. But the Monk...he should be an ally to me, someone I can trust and fight beside.

He's one of us. But he's also one of them.

A traitor.

I don't share this information with anyone, not even Mel. It's not a burden she needs to bear and I don't trust anyone else enough to tell them.

Around the camp, we begin to overhear whispers of something...rousing. The Paladins talk of the Wolf-Blood Witch, a Fey girl who wields the Devil's Tooth. At first, I think it's nonsense, simply a tale they're telling one another to pass the time. It seems like a fanciful dream. A powerful heroine emerging amongst all this injustice and pain? Unlikely, though wished for.

But the story grows and spreads; the Monk is looking for her but she continues to evade him. My hope grows with it, that even if we don't survive the Paladins, perhaps this Wolf-Blood Witch will help other Fey survive. Perhaps she'll fight for us when we cannot fight for ourselves.

Duna's lover, Lucan, explains to me in a quiet moment that I need to keep an eye on Mel. He says that she didn't speak for the first week that they were in captivity together after the trauma of our village being burned. Mel puts on a brave face for such a small child, but I know she misses our parents desperately. I wish I could do more for her.

It's late afternoon when Father Carden arrives back at camp and comes for us. Duna, Aphid and I are taken away from the people we love and Mel starts to shake as I walk away. My heart breaks in my chest and I only find comfort in the fact that Lucan holds Mel close, supporting her.

We're led into a bigger tent with a wooden table set up in the middle. A large map of the land is laid out.

"There's a village of Tusks right here," Carden points on the map. "But we believe that there may be several encampments in the surrounding area of Fey who visit the larger village for supplies and...rituals every week or so. We need to know when the best time to strike is. We need all of them gathered in one area - within the main village - or we risk many of them escaping our grasp. You're all to infiltrate the village, posing as Fey fleeing from us who are seeking shelter. They'll take you in and you'll observe them until you figure out the best time for us to attack. We'll set a meeting time in a place not too far from the village so that you can inform us of your findings. If you don't complete this task," his head tilts, almost condescendingly. "Then I'm sure you can all imagine what is going to happen to the people you love."

It is a horrible trade off. Do I let countless numbers of my people die just to save Mel? I wish I were strong enough to say no, to say; no matter what you do I will never help you, I will never turn against my own. But clearly I'm selfish because my mind is already made up. I can't let Mel get hurt.

I would rather be consumed by guilt over the death of a hundred people than consumed by guilt over the death of her.

~O~

When Aphid, Duna and I show up at the Tusk village covered in dirt and leaves, our hair messy and our eyes bleary, they take us in with little to no questions. They give us food and water and fresh clothes to change into. They ask us if the Paladins were heading this way and we tell them no. That, for now, they're safe.

Their kindness is painful.

Wrapped in a warm blanket, my belly full and satiated, I watch a group of children play by the river.

Aphid comes up beside me. Traditionally, SnakeClan members and Tusks have not gotten along very well, so some of the villagers here are weary of her. Still, they showed her the same hospitality they showed Duna and I. Her black hair is free from tangles and leaves - I saw one of the Elders brushing it for her.

One of the children lets out a loud, joyous screech. I feel sick to my stomach.

"I don't know if I can do this," I murmur, very quietly, to Aphid.

Her shoulders tense. "You have to," she says. "We all do. Unless you want Mel to die screaming."

I look at her sharply, but she's already turning and heading back into the small hut we were given.

We stay with the Tusks for a week and it quickly becomes evident when the best time for the Paladins to attack is. At the end of the week, the Fey who live independently around the village - most no more than fifteen minutes away on horseback - gather together to hunt, trade materials and generally socialise. There is music and the children dance, with food put on for everyone.

My village rarely had days like this. From what I've observed, Sky Folk are generally more strict and reserved than other kinds of Fey. We focus more on tradition and strict rituals.

"I'll meet the Paladins in the woods tonight," Duna tells me as we stand away from everyone else. She looks how I feel; distraught at the idea of destroying this community.

Aphid is playing with some of the children, holding their hands and spinning them around. I don't know how she can do it, knowing that in a matter of days they'll all be gone. I can hardly look at them.

While everyone is asleep that night, Duna sneaks out to meet the Paladins. I toss and I turn, trying to think of any possible way to get out of this situation. But every scenario ends with either this village burned or Mel dead.

We stay with the Tusks for another week and they are infinitely kind to us, even those who can't speak our language.

On the morning of the attack, I wake up, I run outside our hut and I throw up into a bush. I heave and I cry until one of the Tusk Elders finds me.

"You're sick," she says. "I'll make tea."

I shake my head. "I'm fine, I'm ok."

"No, no, child. Come, come."

She takes me into her hut, helps me wash up and makes me warm tea over a small fire. If I were actually sick - with something other than crushing guilt - I think the tea would truly help. But it doesn't. If anything, it makes it all worse.

I stare down at the cup in my hands.

"What is it, child?" she asks. "Something troubles you, deeply."

For one breath-catching moment, I consider warning her. I consider telling her to get her people out of this village, as far away as possible, as quickly as possible.

But if I do that, Mel is dead. And I just...I just can't.

So I say nothing and, at dusk, when all the other Tusks have gathered in the main area of the village, the Paladins attack.

~O~

Bloodied and war-torn, I walk back into the Paladin camp with Duna and Aphid, accompanied by a few dozen Red Coats.

I have a cut on my shoulder, but I barely feel it. I don't feel anything, really. Numbness has taken over so that even when I see Mel and when she calls out to me and runs to hug me, I barely blink. I don't hug her back. There's blood, soot and death on my clothes and I don't want it smudging onto her.

"Here they are," Father Carden says, walking toward us. A man in black robes, with a large cross hanging around his neck, accompanies Carden. He has a defined face, with sharp, weasely features. "Distasteful, I know, to work with them. But sometimes doing God's work comes at a cost, Abbott Wicklow."

"A cost indeed," Wicklow says, looking at us with disgust, though his eyes are shrew with curiosity.

"Successful?" Carden questions one of the Paladins.

"Very," the Brother replies, smiling.

I should feel repulsed, but the numbness has yet to fade away. In many ways, I want it to stay, even if it means I never feel again. It'd be easier that way, wouldn't it?

"Wash up, all of you. We have another important mission for you to complete," Carden tells us. I can't even begin to react to that. Emotions sound exhausting right now.

I wash away all the grime from my body with a large tub of cold water. It's finally a moment where I get to be alone and, in that quiet, I nearly crumble.

My bottom lip trembles, my eyes well and my hands shake. Drawing breath becomes arduous as my chest slowly collapses.

But if I let myself fall apart, I'm afraid the broken pieces inside of me will never come together again. So I take in a shaky breath, I wipe my tears and I suck it up. What else is there to do?

~O~

SACRIFICE IS A NECESSARY PART OF LIFE. This, I know. I have known it since I was young. When Mel was born, I sacrificed my parents' attention. She became the light, the focus, and I was oftentimes left in the dark. When she turned five, I sacrificed my favourite toy and gave it to her to stop her crying after she grazed her knee. When she was seven, and we experienced a harsh winter that left little food, I would give her my portion of bread so she didn't go to bed hungry.

But now, it is not inconsequential things that I am willing to sacrifice. Instead, I'm now willing to give up my life, to give up the lives of others. To give up the whole bloody world if that's what it takes. And, if I'm being honest, I think it's at least partly because I just want something to fight for, something to ground me, something that I won't break from.

I kiss Mel on the forehead, feeling more myself after washing off the blood and dirt from my body. Aphid, Duna and I have been summoned by Carden for another mission. I reluctantly leave Mel behind and we head out into the open.

The sky above us is blue and clear and it's a warm day. The kind of day where good things happen. I wish I was optimistic enough to believe that was actually possible.

Carden exits his tent with Abbott Wicklow right behind him. Two guards stand nearby but they are not Red Paladins. They wear dark robes, like Wicklow, but with unsettling golden masks covering their faces. It is easier to imagine a soulless demon beneath a mask like that than it is to imagine an actual person. Their utter stillness is disturbing.

Carden approaches Aphid, Duna and I but before he can speak there is some slight commotion behind us. We turn to see the Weeping Monk walking through the camp toward us, leading Goliath. There is a man's body slumped over the saddle.

"You had us worried, my son," Carden says as the Monk gives his horse's reins to one of the Paladins. Carden puts his hands on the Monk's shoulders affectionately. I look away.

"Is this him?" Wicklow asks. "Is this the famous Weeping Monk?" He says it like the Monk is a fascinating painting or artefact rather than a living, breathing person.

"His Holiness has sent Abbott Wicklow to observe us in our campaign against the Fey," Carden explains. The Monk eyes Wicklow with distrust but reluctant respect, respect that has no doubt come from a lifetime of being forced to believe in the Church's power and sanctity. "So...what have you brought us?" Carden asks, going over to the Monk's horse.

"The Green Knight," comes the Monk's low reply. I have heard this name once or twice, in passing from the Paladins. Clearly whoever it is must be important, for the Monk to deliver him to Carden rather than cutting him down like he does to all the rest.

"God smiles on us today," Carden says with a pleased grin. Two Paladins heave the Green Knight off the horse and half carry, half drag him over to Carden. "This one..." The hatred in his eyes is unmistakable. "This one likes to hide up trees and shoot my men."

But the Green Knight is not looking at the Father. He is looking at Duna, Aphid and I, wide eyed and horrified.

"There's more of you?" he breathes and I shift uncomfortably. "You're Fey and yet you turn on your own kind? How could you?"

I want to tell him that it's more complicated than that, that we had no choice in the matter. But what good would it do?

"You're traitors, all of you," he looks from us to the Monk and my eyebrows furrow. Does he know that the Monk is Fey?

My stomach tightens and I turn my head to him, studying his face beneath that dark hood. His eyes meet mine and I can tell...The Green Knight knows his secret.

Father Carden seems to come to a similar conclusion because he hastily jerks his head to the Paladins and says, "Take him to Brother Salt."

They drag the Green Knight away.

Carden marches past us, commanding, "In my tent. Now."

We all follow behind him, obedient toy soldiers. Wicklow stays back, smartly, I think. Carden is in no mood for niceties.

With the wooden table between us and Carden, we stand in a uniformed line.

"The Witch has taken Gramaire. She slaughtered dozens of my men with her demonic powers and now she holds the city hostage. But enough is enough. By this time tomorrow, the Witch will be dead," Carden declares with a certain confidence that makes me wary. Even the Monk looks unsure; his Father mustn't have confided in him about this particular plan. Carden looks at Duna, Aphid and I. "You three are going to go to Gramaire and ask for shelter there, claiming to be Fey who were held hostage by us, but escaped. You'll seek an audience with the Witch, claiming to have overheard useful information in your time in captivity. When you're in the room with her, you kill her." Carden has made his way around the table and stares at us with cold eyes.

Duna shakes her head, bewildered. "It won't be that simple, she won't be alone. She'll have people with her, guards-"

A slap across her cheek makes Duna stumble back. I grimace.

"These orders don't come from me, girl. They come from God." The righteous, fanatical look on Carden's face is terrifying. The only thing scarier than a killer with no cause is one with a die-hard belief. "You will carry out this task. But before you do, one final test of your loyalty, to prove your allegiance to our cause and to the holy Father."

"What test?" I ask, glancing over at the Monk. But he can't meet my gaze.

"This task of killing the Witch is of the utmost importance. You proved yourself in battle against the village of Fey yesterday. But you must show complete, unwavering loyalty to God. And that means doing what is necessary, even when it is hard. That means sacrifice," Carden explains. "Sometimes, to seek salvation, you must give up what you hold most dear."

My blood runs cold, my breath hitches. No.

"You will each kill the person you love to prove yourself in the eyes of God. This is the only way to achieve true redemption and deliverance. After you have, your Fey brethren will never accept you back. You'll truly be one of us."

"No," Duna says strongly. "I won't. We won't. You can't ask us to do this."

"I am not asking, girl," Carden spits. "If you don't take the blade to them yourself, then they will each experience a far more painful death at the hands of Brother Salt."

This can't be happening. What I did to the Tusk village to keep Mel alive will be for nothing...No. It isn't an option. There has to be another way.

In desperation, I look at the Monk. But his eyes stay planted on the floor. He is no ally, I remind myself.

"We'll go and kill the Witch," I say, my voice shaking. "We've already proven ourselves, we don't need-"

"Enough," Carden cuts me off. "You'll be escorted back to your tents."

Three Paladins approach us from outside.

With no other choice, we turn and head toward the entrance of Carden's tent. But as I pass by the Monk, he grasps my wrist, stopping me. "Wait," he looks at his Father. His fingers press against my hammering pulse, his touch burning up my arm. "The Fey child - she doesn't need to die. She's no threat to us."

I look over my shoulder to see Carden's eyes darken at the Monk's suggestion. He stalks forward and I back away into Duna, the Monk's hand slipping off of me.

With a loud thwack, Carden slaps the Monk across the face.

"Out, all of you," he snaps at Duna, Aphid and I. We are ushered out by the Red Paladins, who grip our arms and drag us away, leaving the Monk alone with Carden.

We are separated and taken toward different tents. I hear Duna protesting and struggling loudly.

Brother Jon yanks me by my arm toward one of the tents then pulls me to a stop right outside it. "You have until sundown to kill the little demon," he says viciously, pressing a small dagger into my hand. "If she's still alive, she'll be taken to Brother Salt so he can have his fun with her." Jon pulls me closer till I can smell his reeking breath. "You know, I once saw him keep someone alive for four days, just slowly cutting them to pieces, bit by bit. Could hear the screams for miles around. I can just imagine how that little girl would squeal."

I flip the dagger in my hand and smash the hilt of it into his cheekbone. He stumbles back in shock, holding his face. Red Paladins inundate me almost immediately, coming to their Brother's defence. They wrestle me to the ground, kicking me and hitting me where they can.

"Enough. Let her up," comes the Monk's low but powerful voice. The Paladins immediately - albeit reluctantly - comply, backing up.

"Filth," Brother Jon spits at me, backing away to stand at the entrance to the tent.

I roll to my feet. I'm used to being beaten down and having to get straight back up, so I barely notice the pain in my ribs. But I'm still distraught over the idea that I'm going to have to kill my sister. It is unfathomable.

"Do you think a few words in my favour absolves you?" I hiss at the Monk quietly, my eyes aflame. "It doesn't."

He looks at me evenly, but I can see there is turmoil behind that steely gaze. He's utterly torn and I think, perhaps for the first time in a long time, his undying loyalty may be wavering.

Before I can say more, he pushes past me and walks away.

A shriek cuts through the camp, causing me to flinch. I look over and see Aphid emerge from her tent, covered in blood. My breath catches in my throat, horror on my face. She looks at me but her eyes are empty. One of the Brothers takes her away to clean up, her test completed.

As soon as they're out of sight, Brother Jon grabs my arm and yanks me into the tent.

"You hit me again, witch, and I'll kill you with my bare hands," he sneers before leaving to wait outside.

"Eelie? Are you ok?" Mel's soft, worried voice comes from behind me. I turn to her and she looks up at me, eyebrows furrowed, concern painting every one of her delicate features.

I slip the dagger into my belt and cup her cheeks. "Everything's fine, little one." But my body betrays me. Tears burn my eyes, my hands tremble and my legs quake. We sit down next to each other, settling in for a long wait. The dagger digs into my leg, a silent reminder of what my latest mission is.

If I don't end Mel's life myself, then she'll be tortured horrendously. But I don't know if I'm strong enough to do it. I don't think I want to be strong enough to do it. The soft parts of me are what remain of my humanity.

"Do you remember that day when me, you, mom and dad all rode down to the lake? You were six and it was a boiling summer's day, do you remember?" I speak more so to myself than to Mel, lost in thought.

"I remember," she whispers.

"Mom and dad were on the bank of the lake, relaxing, and you and I were out deep. I looked away for one second and when I turned back you were just...gone. Nowhere to be seen. And I called out for you, but there was no reply and I called out for our parents, but they were too far away to hear me." I remember the panic I felt in that moment vividly, as though it were yesterday. It is the same panic I feel now, the same panic I felt when Mel was ripped from my arms during the cleansing of our village. "I started swimming out further, shouting for you desperately. That was the first time I felt true fear. It was my responsibility to look after you and you'd just...disappeared."

Mel's hand reaches out and covers mine. She squeezes gently and I blink out of my reverie, looking at her with a small, sad smile.

"And then you surfaced, grinning like nothing had happened," I breathe. "Turns out you can just hold your breath for an unreasonable amount of time."

She laughs a little; we both do. But heavy silence quickly returns.

"It's ok," Mel eventually says, looking at me in earnest. "Whatever it is...whatever you have to do...it's ok."

I wish that were true.

~O~

Staring at the wooden cross on the makeshift altar, the Weeping Monk silently prays. He prays for forgiveness, for salvation, for strength. The scorching pain of the deep, fresh cuts on his back usually grounds him, usually reminds him of how far he's come in the eyes of God. But this time, not even a brutal lashing can undo this feeling inside him. It is one of doubt and indecision. He's doubting Father Carden, doubting their cause and doubting God.

He is supposed to be a weapon and nothing more, but today he is achingly human.

The feeling of the smooth skin of Eelie's wrist against his rough fingers plays in his mind, overpowering his prayers. His hands curl into fists on his thighs, the ghost of her touch haunting him. He cannot shake her. She sticks with him like a disease, following him no matter how far he goes.

As he tracked the Wolf-Blood Witch over the past weeks, he couldn't help but think of Eelie every time he drew his sword, every time he struck down one of the Fey. It was like her disappointment and judgement stalked him.

He recalls Father Carden telling him, when he was younger, about how demons take the most beautiful, enticing forms to try and lure good men into darkness. He thought he had adequately armed himself to resist all sinful temptation, but Eelie appears to be an exception to that resistance.

Perhaps it is time for him to stop pretending he is God's perfect soldier and instead time to accept his true nature for what it is; inescapable and ultimately consuming.

~O~

Darkness creeps into the tent. Time is running out.

I look at Mel and I can tell she is scared; she's feeding off my fear.

My hand inches toward the dagger at my waist and I slowly draw it.

"Eelie?" Mel asks shakily, eyeing the dagger.

"It's ok," I soothe, choking up. "Everything's going to be alright."

I stand, my knuckles turning white around the weapon. But I can't kill my sister. Protecting her is ingrained in me. There is no way I can purposely hurt her.

So I do the only thing I can do; I sneak out of the tent, silent as a mouse, and pounce onto Brother Jon. No one else is around and it's nearly completely dark. Before he can make a sound, I slit his throat and he falls to the ground, writhing and choking. I wait until he's gone still to reach back into the tent and grab Mel. I heave her up and hold her close, shielding her eyes from the sight of Brother Jon's body as we hurry away. I want to find Duna and Aphid, for them to come with me, but they aren't in their tents and there's no time. I have to get Mel out.

Trying to make it through the whole Paladin camp is almost certainly a suicide mission and it is likely that we will both die. But I will take that death - a fighting one - over any other. At least Mel and I will die side by side, hopefully quickly. It is the best option we have.

I hear a group of Paladins laughing and jeering at each other up ahead, walking toward us. I pull my sister down behind a tent, covering her mouth with my hand and holding my breath. Will they see us? Will they notice our hunched over figures, hidden in the shadows of the evergrowing night?

They come closer, getting louder...but pass by without a glance in our direction.

I let out a long breath of relief and rise, holding hands with Mel. We move forward and then screech to a halt.

The Weeping Monk stands a few lengths away, staring at us.

I freeze, completely unsure. Do I run? Do I try to fight him? How do I do that and protect Mel?

There are some footsteps and voices in the distance that startle me out of my trance and I know that running from or fighting the Monk is futile. Instead, I rush up to him, dragging Mel behind me. He is rooted to the ground, unmoving.

"Listen to me," I say, urgent and quiet. "No matter how hard you try and run from it, you're Fey. You were born Fey and you will die Fey, just like the rest of us. And all Fey are family. We help each other and I need your help. I need to get out of this camp unseen, please."

He stays silent, looking at me, his blue eyes a mess of indecision and conflict.

Desperation takes over and I start to cry, even though I hate to do so in front of him. "Look, I get it. You're the perfect killer; no morals, no mercy. But I know, deep down, that there is still a shred of humanity inside you. I need you to fight for it. Please. I promised myself I wouldn't beg, not to you, but I am...I'm begging. You don't have to save me - hand me right back to Carden, I don't care. But just take my sister and get her out of here. She's a child, she doesn't deserve any of this. Please." I reach out and I grip the thick material of his cloak, bunching it in my hand, pulling him closer.

We stare at each other, deeply, searching for something indescribable. There is, finally, emotion on his face. It has broken through the many layers of stoicism and I can see it, even in the darkness. Hope sparks in my chest.

And then dies a quick death when his hand goes to the knife that I know he keeps hidden beneath his cloak.

I back away with Mel, letting go of him, as he draws the knife with a steady hand. I can't believe it; after everything, he still remains loyal to Carden.

As his arm raises with the knife, I duck down over Mel, shielding her with my body.

There is a thud and I expect pain...but it never comes. Startled, I look behind me and see a Red Paladin, who must have been creeping up behind us, with the knife embedded in his eye. He falls to his knees and then flops onto the ground, dead on impact.

I am so shocked that I don't even move until the Monk reaches out and grasps my hand, wrenching Mel and I into a fast walk.

The Weeping Monk killed a Paladin. To save us.

It is something I don't really have time to process. We move through the camp quickly, sticking to the shadows and avoiding groups of loud Paladins.

We are close to the edge, close to the safety of the forest, when we notice Abbott Wicklow and his guards lying in wait for us. We slow down to a halt.

"I wouldn't," Wicklow says.

The Monk pushes me behind him, our hands still clasped together, and I hold Mel against my back.

"Tell me, is it love?" Wicklow asks condescendingly, his nose upturned as he slowly walks a few steps forward. "Love for this Fey girl?" He looks at me and I stiffen, uncomfortable and afraid. "Or do you just relate to her? Feel a sense of camaraderie, perhaps?"

The Monk's head tilts in my direction. "Take her and go," he tells me quietly.

My eyes widen. "What?"

"Get her to safety," his gaze flicks down to Mel briefly, then goes back up to mine. I shake my head, not wanting to leave him behind, needing him, but he pushes me back. "Go."

I want to stay. I want to fight by his side. Together, we could take them. But I have to put my sister first. He's giving me an opportunity to save her and I can't pass that up.

I bundle Mel into my arms and run toward where Goliath is tethered to a post. I quickly undo the reins, put Mel up on his back and then mount him myself. I look over at the Monk, facing all those guards alone.

"You do have a reputation," Wicklow is saying. "But this is the Trinity Guard. You know their skill."

I kick Goliath into a canter and we ride away, zipping through the camp and toward the treeline.

"Eelie," Mel says, her fingers tangled in Goliath's dark mane. "Eelie stop,"

I sit down heavy in the saddle and Goliath slows. He's a good horse, reliable and sturdy.

Mel looks back at me. "We can't leave him," she says and there is bravery on her face, steely resistance.

I am not the same girl I was before our village burned, but neither is she. She's stronger and more courageous and I have to stop pretending like she can't handle anything.

"We can't leave him," she repeats. "He's ours." Fey don't leave other Fey behind. Not ever.

My hand goes to the dagger I had slipped into my belt. I pull it out, gripping it tightly in my hand.

"Hold on," I whisper to her and she leans closer to Goliath's neck. With a tug, I pull him back around and urge him into a gallop. We race back to where we just left behind.

The Monk is on his knees, his hood being pulled back to reveal his face. Bloody and bruised, but still alive.

We gallop straight past one of the Guards and as I go, I lean down and stick the dagger into his neck.

Goliath pulls up a few lengths away and I am about to hop off to try and fight the rest when the Monk heaves himself to his feet, scoops up a sword and cuts down the remaining Guards with skill like no other. He stumbles over to one who writhes on the ground, heaves the Guard up and then snaps his neck with brutal efficiency.

Finally, he picks up his sword and points it at Wicklow, daring him to try.

Wicklow is not stupid enough to even attempt to fight the Weeping Monk. He backs away, then turns and runs.

As soon as he's out of sight, the Monk falls to his knees. I jump off Goliath and hurry over to him.

"Come on," I pant, wrapping my arm around his middle and helping pull him up from the ground. "Come on, we gotta go."

We stumble over to Goliath and I jump up, then offer my hand down to him. It's hard, but he manages to climb up, sitting pressed up behind me. He leans into me for support, Mel in front of me, and gathers Goliath's reins in his hands.

With a gentle click of his tongue, Goliath takes off and, together, we ride toward long awaited freedom.