Page 54 of Sincerely, Secretary of Doom

“I want to go back to work,” was all she said. She slid off the bed, dragging over Mor’s-Kate’s slippers and sliding her feet into them.

Mor breathed a silent sigh of relief. He glanced at the window where the stars were beginning to show. “This late?”

“Writing about facts is how I relax. I just want to read some mindless information for a while.” She brushed past him, the scent of her garden house going with her. Mor’s gaze was left on the bottle of cold iron pills. Pills that made her a weapon against fairies.

Pills that had been the only thing stopping him from making an utter fool of himself this evening. He might have held his secretary against his chest like a real faeborn lover until the ache left her voice. He might have clung to her all night if she hadn’t mended fast enough, or any number of other disastrous things. Thank the sky deities for those pills.

Though, it was strange how putting one little object in her mouth could give her so much power.

“Violet,” Mor said before she reached the hall. She turned back. Mor stared hard at the pills on the bedside table as his head blossomed with another thought. A great, wild, heavy idea. He tore his gaze away and landed it on her, though his attention was long gone. “I’m going out in the morning. I may leave before you’re awake. Don’t open the door foranyonewhile I’m gone.”

24

Mor Trisencor and the Ruby

The first time Mor ever saw Luc’s sparkling red ruby was on a cold day when the Shadow Army division was training in the forest. The overcast had made it almost pitch black, but fairies, especially Shadow Fairies, often saw best in the dark. Fairies were sectioned off into pairs to battle, and in some cases, to release all the anger and fury they had bottled up since the beginning of the day. Night training had transformed into the thing the most vicious fairies looked forward to.

Mor, on the other hand, despised the evening battles. Fairies from across the Shadow Army came through the forest to challenge him. Ever since Mor had joined High Prince Reval’s division, he had become a target; the strong village boy who the Prince had selected to join his ranks. Sometimes he won against the Army’s great war fairies. Sometimes he was left hardly breathing, unable to move from where he’d fallen until sunrise after his bones had melded.

But on this night, Mor had overheard whispers of Westra—a newer, terrible war fairy that had recently transferred to Prince Reval’s division—who was salivating at the chance to battle the village boy the rest of the fairies were lining up to fight. Mor waited for the fool to emerge from the woods and challenge him. But it wasn’t Westra who spoke over the division and made a challenge.

Luc sat high upon a large rock, his knee propped up, his arm draped over it. The moment Westra appeared, Luc stole him. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said to Westra. Luc’s lush hair glittered in the muted moonlight. “Forget the village boy. Fight a real war fairy this eve.” Luc slid off the rock and approached Westra with all the sly movements of a fox. “Unless you’re afraid of the Dark Prince’s son?”

Westra’s thick arms flexed. “I fear no fairy,” he said in a horridly deep voice.

Seconds later, the pair stood across from each other in the clearing. Luc turned away, seeming to take a look at the foggy stars. Mor caught sight of him sliding a red gem into his mouth. When Luc returned to face Westra, something strange came over the ruby-haired fairy. It was like Luc could see Westra’s strikes before they happened. The nine tailed fox blocked before Westra struck.

Luc left Westra a broken-boned mess in the grass in exactly eleven seconds.

Afterward, the notorious fox sauntered through the division as they marvelled at his brutal, fast success. No one had seen Prince Reval’s son enter a night challenge before. War fairies became respectful in his presence in the days that followed. Only the bravest dared to challenge Luc beneath the stars. And he always won, leaving his opponents with snapped bones and teeth, and sometimes killing them outright.

Night after night, crowds of Shadow Fairies gathered to watch the battles where Luc hungrily stole the attention of his father’s division. Mor saw more fairy blood in a single faeborn week than he had in his whole lifetime. He knew the challenge was coming; Luc would challenge Mor before the Army, and possibly kill him. That’s what this was all leading up to. Yet, Mor didn’t run away.

But every eve that came, Luc fought someone else, and Mor watched from a distance. At first it was a relief. Then it became mildly frustrating.

Finally, on an evening where the stars struggled to peek through the toiling haze above, and the forest beasts hushed in unison, Mor challenged Luc himself. Luc had been drinking silver water from a crystal vase at the woodside. The Shadow Fairy slowed his chugging, staring off into the darkness of the forest. He lowered the vase and wiped a bead of silver from his lips.

When he turned to Mor, his gaze was sharp. “You wish to challenge me, Trisencor? Haven’t you seen what I can do?”

“Let’s get it over with,” Mor said. He stretched his arms as he headed toward the clearing. He rolled his black fairsabers in his grip.

When Luc appeared across from him, the fairy’s feet seemed sluggish. He eyed Mor, tapping a long finger against the fur tails hanging from the chain around his throat. His chain was down to only eight tails now. The fox stared until Mor crouched into a ready position. And finally, Luc drew his fairsabers. He lowered himself into position, too.

Mor looked at Luc’s pocket. Then back to the fairy’s face.

“Where’s your ruby?” he asked.

Luc’s broad smile appeared, growing slowly. “I don’t need it for you, Trisencor.”

Mor grunted. “Very well. I’ll challenge you again tomorrow since I’ll still be alive. Perhaps you’ll change your mind by then.” He lunged, and Luc blocked, beginning what would be a three-hour battle late into the gloomy night. It ended with Mor on his back in the grass with Luc’s fairsaber at his throat. “Do you have a death wish, Fairy?” Luc asked when it was over, his chest pumping, fae sweat glistening on his scarlet brow.

Even though his faeborn bones felt weak and his body threatened to faint, Mor cast him a gloating smile from the ground.

Three faeborn-cursed hours. No one had lasted that long against the fox.

Mor challenged him again the following evening. And the one after that.

Night after night went by. Luc never used his ruby to face Mor, never pulled it out again for a fight. And it seemed he was right about not needing it.

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