EL Official BK5 Chapter 9 - Leúchtend les Gueux du Bas Château (Leúchtend and the Lower Castle Filth) (Patreon)

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I stood, still and quiet. Holding my breath as blood rushed in my ears, deafening me with every terrified heartbeat.  I didn’t understand what was happening, or why no one was saying anything. Before us sat High Lord Ælferic Klein. His eyes were lime green, like serpent eyes, and they glistened with interest as he sat forward in the throne. Surveying us one by one.

It’s rare for a Fae to have green eyes. He, and the young man standing beside him, were the only two I had ever seen, and I won’t pretend it didn’t make the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. When his gaze came to rest on me cold dread trickled up my spine and I swallowed hard. I wanted to hide behind my father, but he had already warned me not to show fear.

The minutes passed with agonizing slowness as Ælferic cast his judgment. Only four of us had made it to Leúchtend. My father, Emmerich, my mother, Adélaïde, my aunt Peronne, and myself. We had been ambushed by humans along the way. Our carriages burned and our belongings thrown into the sea… What we arrived with was all we had and now our fate resided with these strange Fae from another land.

At last Ælferic sat back. A smile cracked across his face and he laughed heartily. The sound echoed off the chamber walls, ricocheting off the steel if guards armor and rebounding in the high ceiling above. 

“So this is the esteemed Bellerose family, set upon by humans and chased from their home lands. Reduced to little more than common travelers seeking refuge. I can’t imagine how embarrassing that must be,” he spoke with a bemused purr. As if our suffering brought him some deep joy. 

“Yes,” Emmerich responded, kneeling, “We have met with many misfortunes, and we have come in hopes that you might show us hospitality.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” he mused, “Perhaps then you wish to test your strength against mine? Arriving under the guise of needing help is quite the way to gain entry.”

My father delayed, but kept his gaze low as he responded, “No, your Lordship. I have no intention of challenging you, for I know I will surely lose. We offer service and servitude in exchange for asylum.” 

Ælferic chuckled, “Is that so? Tell me, what services would you have to offer? It looks to me as if you’ve arrived with nothing of value.”

I swallowed hard, I didn’t understand more than half of what he was saying. But the tension between my father and this strange hostile fae was dizzying. I was beginning to tremble against my will, afraid for what would happen

“We have brought ourselves,” Emmerich answered calmly despite my anxieties. “If rumors are to be believed, you wish to expand your territories. I have served and led dozens of wars. If you should want it, my military experience is yours,” he began, and to my surprise Ælferic listened as he continued:

“My sister is of pedigree. Born to two fae, she carries the gene and is fertile. Our lineage is extensive, and if it pleased you, she would make an ideal match for your son,” he gestured her forward and she moved casually to disrobe for inspection.

Like livestock sold at market she stood still with her gaze fixed across the room in nondescript purpose. When Ælferic was content he gave a slight nod and Peronne moved to redress. 

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Lazarus commented. He was a snide young man even back then, but if he hoped to cause discomfort it was a wasted effort. The unclothed body is nothing unusual for our culture, nor is it a source of shame. It is simply a part of life and Peronne obeyed without any fuss while my father continued to his next point.

“My wife is skilled in textiles, and likewise fertile with many years of use left-” 

Ælferic held up his hand and my father stopped, “What of the boy?” he demanded instead and my skin tingled as dozens of eyes focused on me. 

“Markos represents the complete gene and he is young. Shape him as you will, and he will be invaluable,” Emmerich explained. 

“Does he speak our language?”

I did not, or at least, not more than basic phrases and my father delayed, glancing down briefly to where I stood beside him. “He is intelligent, he will learn fast,” he assured.

The span of silence that followed seemed to stretch an eternity. I understood little of their culture then, and even less of the game we were playing. But I knew that if this man decided we were of no value, there wasn’t another option. We would die and the world would know no difference.

“Very well then,” Ælferic announced at last, “I accept your offerings. I will provide you with housing in the outer castle and in exchange, the pedigree bride will be wed to my son, presuming she passes the fertility testing. The other will work, although where I care not, so long as my halls are not tainted with her presence.”

Emmerich nodded, but remained silent as the man continued.

“As for you, your military background is impressive, but troublesome. Therefore, if you wish to remain with them, you will acknowledge my terms: you are hereby stripped of all titles and status. You will serve as my personal servant, and never again receive any titles of notoriety.”

“It would be my privilege to serve, I have no need for notoriety,” my father agreed in a sedate manner. He was never one for confrontation, and his wavering nature was that of weakness. 

Ælferic narrowed his eyes, but smiled, “Good. As a final condition, your child will train to become a servant for my family, and like you, he may never hold any title.”

“Yes,” he agreed, but my heart raced. I didn’t fully understand the significance of titles or status. But I knew that it must have had value, or else it wouldn’t be worth taking.

“Papa, qu'est-ce qu'un titre..?” (Papa, what is a title?) I whispered.

“Chut!,” (be quiet,) my father answered without looking over.

“Mais, Papa…-” (but, Papa-) 

His hand enclosed around my arm, and he forced me to the ground, knocking the air from my lungs before I could finish speaking.

“Arrête de parler!” (Stop talking!)

Sprawled on the ground and gasping for breath, I didn’t argue any further. Had I understood how my father’s submissive compliance would affect my future, perhaps I might have tried harder. To be a noble and never be granted a title was an obtuse insult. It meant we would forever be seen as lesser, despite our family heritage.

***

The habitations we were given were maisons de rapport. Simply put, it was a multistory Parisian style building made of stone with fenêtres à petits bois—windows that had small wood frames and balcons en saillie—small projecting balconies. They were the kind of buildings intended to house the pauvre—lower-class filth, and were as dirty as one might expect.

Places like this were neglected architecture. Severely outdated and a far cry from the grandeur I was used to, it was almost hard to believe these revoltant—repulsive buildings were part of the same castle. Even humans were beginning to build similar structures. Putting us in such a place was an outright indignity.

“Markos, did I hurt you earlier?” my father asked, crouching beside me as I scrutinized our small unfurnished room with distaste. 

“...No…” I mumbled, too afraid to ask again what I had before.

Emmerich delayed before pulling back my sleeve. His hand had left faint bruises and he sighed to himself. “I’m sorry, mon petit (my little one), I hope you can forgive me,” he spoke softly, setting a big hand on my cheek as he did.

“It’s just a bruise…” I mumbled. 

My mother had once held my hand in flame after I accidentally dropped and broke one of her perfume bottles. The blisters had taken months to heal, so a bruise was nothing to me. 

“Still, you have my apologies,” he insisted, ruffling my hair as he stood again, “Come, there are only two rooms. Your mother will take the one upstairs, we will have this one.”

“Okay…” I agreed without argument. Not that it would have done me any good if I had. 

When he said there were only two rooms, he meant in total. One small bedroom, and the main area. There were rudimentary amenities against one wall under a speck stained window, but that left little space in the rest of the room. We slept directly on the floor the first few nights, until my father commanded my mother to sew bedding. A task she completed poorly.

***

In the months that followed I traveled with Emmerich to the inner castle gates. The guards allowed us through and while he went to work with Alferic, I was expected to begin training. 

“Markos,” Emmerich called my attention, “Remember to keep to yourself. This is a dangerous place, and not everyone can do what we can. Don’t show anyone up.”

I shuffled, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, “Oui, Papa.” (Yes, Papa.)

“Good, go now, don't be late.”

With a hand on my upper back he pushed me toward the direction of the training fields, and I stumbled as I took a step forward. The way ahead was daunting, and I was expected to make the journey on my own. He wouldn’t accompany me, not even on the first day. Taking a deeper breath in, I set my shoulders and marched forward. 

The inner castle streets were nothing like the outer castle filth we lived in, they were instead lavish. Filled with pristine tall buildings with elaborate designs carved into every edge lined the street. Noble fae meandered with relaxed purpose, going about their day without any urgency. Their clothing was a wash of bright pastels, rich brocade patterns and shimmering fabric. 

In comparison, my garments were dull. I wore the same linen top and plain blue waistcoat with matching shorts that I had been wearing the night of the fire. They were my only set of clothes. My mother had washed them, but they were worn from travel, and it was immediately noticeable the moment I arrived for training.

There were few other children waiting on the grass for our lesson to begin. Ages ranged from some years older, to some years younger than I and all eyes turned to me as I made my way up the steps to the field, but I delayed at the top. My heart thundered as anxiety crawled up the back of my throat.

Leúchtend was a relatively new settlement from Germany. Some of these others may have been born here as the first generation, and they would grow to become the next generation of leaders while I was little more than a refugee from an almost extinct lineage.

“Why is he so dirty?” 

“His hair is wavy…”

“Do you think he can understand us?”

The whispers flooded my cheeks with warmth as embarrassment took hold. I wanted to leave.

“You’re too loud, he can hear you.” It was a tall Fae girl who spoke up. She was perhaps the eldest of them, and her teeth were sharp. 

She approached in two long strides, before cartwheeling to land directly before me, “Do you speak the common tongue?” she asked as her hair fell back into place.

“A little…” I murmured uncertain, worried I was using the incorrect tense. 

“I’m Ávila, hi,” she offered her hand, but I declined it. 

Staring back blankly, I asked instead, “Why are you here?” 

“Training,” the girl smiled.

“Girl’s supposed not to fight…” I stated, and her expression soured as the others burst into laughter behind her.

“She barely counts as a girl,” one of the younger boys assured, Mathéo, as I would later come to learn.

“Shut up!” Ávila hissed, her energy immediately flaring, and in response Mathéo gestured with his fingers as if they were fangs. Taunting her for the length of her teeth I can only assume.

“That’s quite enough,” a new voice spoke.

Hesitantly I turned back to see two men approaching. One was tall and slender with sleek waist length hair. He was another of the green-eyed ones and his beautiful features were rare, even among Fae. He carried a parasol, as if the sun were too much for him and smiled when he noticed me staring. It was a kind expression, I assumed without giving it any more thought. Still, it was the other man beside him who had spoken. Slightly shorter in stature, his hair was braided and his bright purple eyes were less gentle.

The pair moved past me, and when the other children knelt, I followed suit.

“Ávila, leave,” the shorter man demanded.

“But-” she began in protest.

“Now.”

Sucking in a sharp breath she glared back, but under the command of an adult, she had little choice. Her body moved and she walked away with reluctant stiffness.

“You don’t think you were too harsh?” the other man spoke ethereally. 

“Go back to your arts if you have a problem. This is no place for her.”

“Oh no, I’m interested to see the young talent, these boys are the future after all.”

The shorter man didn’t respond, instead, he stepped forward to address us, “Children, gather,” he ordered, and when the others began to line up, I copied them. 

“I am Wenzeslaus Jaskólski of the West and Head of the Guard. I will be your instructor until you are ready to progress. Observing is my close associate, Hasan Abatescianni, Master of the fine Arts and Curator of Ancient Artifacts. Class will begin routinely each morning, do not keep me waiting. Understood?”

“Yes,” those beside me echoed in unison, while I struggled to string together what he was saying. The man was speaking too quickly, and using words I had not yet learned. But I dared not ask him to repeat himself.

We were each handed a wooden weapon, and divided into sparring pairs. I was partnered with another boy close to my height, but older: Oskar Baltzar. He didn’t speak, nor even look at me… and he wasn’t good at fighting. I beat him in all three rounds, and by the end of it he seemed to have taken a disliking to it.

His canine teeth weren’t as long as mine, and his frame wasn’t as broad. He was probably some nobleman’s son, and forced to train for appearances. Still, the way he glared back at me was unsettling, and I stepped away awkwardly when Wenzeslaus called time. 

By the end of the day, we had been sorted. We were ranked according to skill and I hadn’t lost a match… that did me no favors. The others didn’t appreciate that I had  shown them up, and I wilted under their resentful glares. I hadn’t meant to beat them, it was simply that my father had trained me from the time I could walk. 

I left rapidly the moment we were dismissed. I wanted no more part in conversations I couldn’t hear well or in being ranked. However, as I melted into the street, a hand fell on my shoulder, “Young Bellerose, is it?” Hasan asked, stopping me.

“..Yes,” I answered uncertain. 

“Tu es vraiment doué, est-ce que ton père t’a enseigné?” (You’re really gifted, did your father teach you?) he continued, catching me off guard. 

He spoke informally, as if we were acquainted, but I disregarded it. It was relieving to have someone know the language. 

“Je vous remercie, cela fait longtemps que je m'entraîne." (thank you, I’ve practiced for a long time.) 

“C'est très bien. Si toi ou ton père avez besoin de quoi que ce soit, n’hésite pas à me considérer comme un ami vers qui tu peux te tourner.” (That’s very good. If you or your father should ever need anything, consider me a friend to turn to.)

“Merci, c'est vraiment gentil de ta part.” (Thank you, that’s very kind.) I answered softly.

Hasan smiled, “Of course, the Bellerose family are legend, it would be my honor.” 

His hand dropped from my shoulder past the small of my back, and he was gone as smoothly as he had come.

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