Ransom

“That is part of it,” he says. “You should always get to know your enemy as well as possible. Eating with someone provides a great deal of knowledge. You can learn their preferred diets, their allergies, what appeals, what perhaps kills.”

“So you agree they are enemies? I don’t like them.”

“You barely know them,” he says. I do adore that I have forced Blackmane into giving reasonable advice.

“You want me to go off and become the queen of the faye?”

“I think that sword fits you.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Why not?”

“It just doesn’t. I don’t know why. It felt wrong. I know my mother was allegedly one of them, or part one of them, but they let her die in my father’s castle, and they let me suffer until I became convenient to access.”

“I am hardly what one might call convenient,” Blackmane says, slightly offended.

“Of course you are. They knocked and you opened the door and invited them in to see me. My father would never have allowed them such access. He knew something you and I don’t.”

“Perhaps. But they are surrounded by my warriors.”

“Oh yes, the very same I have been turning into parts for weeks now, with very little indiction they have learned to fear or respect me.”

He growls softly. He doesn’t like me being proud of my terrible achievements, though I am sure he is proud of his.

“Come,” he says. “It’s time.”

I pull on the first dress that comes to hand, an offering from Blackmane’s treasure hoard which contains a great number of fine examples of tailoring from other cultures. It looks perfect. Of course. It’s so hard being beautiful.

“Welcome, honored guests,” Blackmane says.

This is my first banquet on the Dawnhammer. I have heard them feasting and carousing in the past, of course. But I have never seen the great dining hall. There is very little in the way of decoration. It is a very large, riveted metal space that rings with the sounds of heavy soldier boots as they file in, wearing what I suppose must be their best armor. They all gleam in a shining, pale-blue set of attire that must be made of plate of some kind. It covers their necks and their backs in a tight and muscular, yet jointed fit. The lower half is also plated all the way down to their knees, where it is met by very heavy boots. It looks faintly formal, but mostly it looks secure.

“What are they wearing?”

“It’s a new design. We call it our Astaria blues. It has been designed to thwart the way you kill. Pretty enough to attend a princess, but strong enough to survive her.”

“I can see that,” I frown. “Is that fair?”

“It’s not unfair,” Blackmane says.

And here I was already in a bad mood.

The faye delegation has arrived. They are wearing the same clothes they wore to meet me, so they must be their very best. They’re even more shiny than Blackmane’s troops with their pants and their vests and their cloaks flowing over it all. No part of their dress remains the same color for more than a few seconds. Their faces are the only things that stay the same: large, deep, dark almond-shaped eyes, sharp noses, long curved ears. Humans would call them elves, but that would be missing the point. They’re not elves; they’re bigger and they're more dangerous, and when they speak, they flash fangs that can only be for tearing flesh.

They stare at me. I stare at them. I know I am expected to react to this as some long-lost joyful reunion, a completing of my story, as it were. But they can very much fuck off if they think they can show up to a ship where I am being held captive and tell me I’m their queen. They’re stupid if they think Blackmane will just let me go, and I am sure they are not stupid.

I am seated between Blackmane to my left, and Savork to my right. I am significantly shorter than both of them, and almost immediately they begin having a conversation over my head as we are served dinner. I can tell Blackmane is trying to learn something from the nature of the repast, every plate looks like a universal sampler platter.

“Do your men always dine in full armor?” Savork asks the question in a pointed fashion.

“These are in honor of Astaria,” Blackmane explains, while explaining nothing. “We must all dress our best for a little queen, must we not?”

Savork smiles and glances down at me. He is supposed to look refined and kind. Instead, he looks predatory, especially when his lips part and those sharp fangs flash. Blackmane is also covered in sharpness and roughness, but he was designed by nature and will to be intimidating. The faye are trying to appear as if they are my allies and that makes them far more creepy looking.