Dedicated to the wonderfully talented H4Y13Y, who painted my cover for me (yes, that's an original painting).

Tesni had never seen the Wilde until they appeared in her front parlor.

They didn’t look like she’d expected. The Wilde were supposed to be savages, and these men looked like, well, men. Their hair was ragged and their faces were covered in dirt and too much beard, but Tesni had seen her father, the General, look much the same when he came home from battle. Only the chains around their wrists and ankles distinguished them from her father’s men.

They must have had her father worried, these Wilde. There were six of them, and eighteen of the General’s soldiers to guard them. It seemed excessive to Tesni—what harm could they do in chains without the rays of the blue sun? On Oldfall soil, they were as ordinary men.

Gareth, her father’s first lieutenant, stepped in front of the smallest of the Wilde and inspected the chains that bound his wrists, running his fingers over the metal links. The Wilde beside him, a large man with straggly carrot-colored hair, growled menacingly.

Gareth ignored him and continued his inspection. The large Wilde shifted in his chains, and then butted the lieutenant with his head.

Gareth screamed, clutching at his face. “My nose! The bastard broke my nose!”

Perhaps not so ordinary, these men.

“Take him outside and kill him,” her father ordered. Tesni winced at the harsh command. Death did not sit well with her, but the General only had Oldfall's interest in mind. He had not become the king's first general through indecision and regret. When he donned his military cap, he was a man to be respected and feared. Even by his own daughter.

Especially by his own daughter.

Three soldiers moved towards the red haired Wilde, approaching him as they would a rabid dog. One gripped him by the left elbow, another by the right, and the third soldier held the Wilde’s head still.

“Na muk man, Bavol!” the smallest Wilde cried out. His voice cracked, like a boy on the onset of becoming a man. He twisted his neck, watching the Oldfall soldiers drag his friend outside. With his head raised, Tesni could see that he was a boy, of maybe fifteen or sixteen. Not any older than she.

Her mother crossed her arms under her breasts and glared daggers at the General, but stayed seated on the settee next to Tesni. A tray with freshly brewed tea and several porcelain mugs rested on her lap—Mared Kendrick was ever the good hostess, even in the worst of circumstances. “Andras, why have you brought these heathens into my home? And with Owen away, too!”

The General pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dearest,” he began. Her father had faced thousands of enemies in battle without trembling, but Tesni’s mother terrified him. “It is only for a short while, until the gaol is ready for them.”

Her mother sniffed. “Really, Andras, you couldn’t have brought them elsewhere? They’re getting blood all over the carpet.”

Tesni rolled her eyes. Five of the North’s greatest enemies stood in the parlor and her mother wanted to complain about the carpet? “Is it true?” Tesni asked. “They are without magic in Oldfall?”

Her father nodded at one of the soldiers. “Show her. Careful, now.”

“Yes, General.” The soldier pulled a palm-sized, translucent orb from the pocket of his trousers. Tesni gasped. A yag! The fire-making devices were contraband north of the border. Anything touched by magic was. It must have belonged to one of the Wilde.

The soldier shook the yag vigorously. A small blue flame formed in the center and shot out through a hole in the top. Holding the yag out in front of him, the soldier inched forward until the flame reflected in the smallest Wilde’s eyes.

Tesni held her breath. The Wilde could bend light and fire to their will and even the hottest of flames didn’t burn them. They could coax a spark into a raging inferno. Her father risked much bringing the fire of the yag within a Wilde’s reach.

Nothing happened.

Why was she disappointed?

“Without the light of the blue sun, they must rely on their muscles for strength, same as we.” Her father smiled tenderly at her. “You are safe from their magic here, my Tessie.”

Her eyes found the Wilde boy, though he did not return her gaze. His shoulders were slumped and his head bowed. He was no different than her, or perhaps it was that she was no different from him. “What will happen to them, Father?”

The General shuffled his feet. “Until the king decides what to do with them, they will spend their days in gaol.” Raising his voice, he added, “They are of no use to us if they cannot speak Commons.”

Tesni shuddered. King Neirin was not known for his mercy, but she might prefer his brand of justice to the gaol. Though she’d passed the gaol countless times, she’d been inside on one occasion, on her tenth nameday, as was tradition. “Look at this,” Oldfallian fathers said to their daughters and sons. They’d point to the fat rats that scurried between their feet and the filthy cells that smelled of piss and worse. “Behave, or you’ll end up here.” It scared most children into obedience, at least for a little while.

“What of him?” she asked, pointing at the smallest Wilde. He stared at her extended finger and then turned his face away. “He’s just a boy.”

The General crossed the room to her and ruffled her hair. “So softhearted, my Tessie,” he murmured. “Do not think him harmless because he is young. The Wilde train their boys from the cradle. He is as ruthless as the rest of them.”

“Of course you are right, Father,” she said. To voice her sympathy for the boy had been a miscalculation on her part. She had to play her father very carefully; she had one chance to get this right. “Will you grant me a boon?” She smiled her most winning smile, and the General visibly softened. It was her special gift, her smile. With it, she could bring a grown man to his knees. It was a tiny, permitted magic, where no other magic could exist.

“If it is within my power,” said her father.

Tesni hid her nerves behind perfect teeth. She would give no one reason to doubt her intentions. “Will you let me visit with him in the gaol? Just until King Neirin decides his fate.”

The General’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Why would you want to do that?”

She stretched her lips until her cheeks hurt. “You know I have a facility for languages, Father. Perhaps I can learn something of the Wilde that you can’t.” She could never tell him the real reason. But when would she ever again encounter a Wilde in Oldfall? She had waited five years to meet one, since the incident almost ruined her life. She let her cheeks crease into dimples. “I want to help you, Papa.”

“Andras, no,” said her mother. Tesni just continued to smile; the General couldn’t say no when she called him Papa.

“You will take Gareth with you,” he said sternly.  Behind him, Gareth groaned. “If I hear you have gone to the gaol without him, I’ll tan your hide until you can’t sit for a week.”

Tesni giggled in spite of herself—an easy win. She would worry about Gareth later. “I love you, Papa,” she said for good measure, and threw her arms around his neck.

Most men would have been embarrassed by such a public display of affection, but not her father.  The General was famous—or infamous, depending on who you asked—for his passion in love and war. He could be affectionate or cruel in tandem. He was a man to be feared and loved. And she was his Tessie, his favorite child (Owen lacked her smile). It made her powerful in her own right. But her father's emotions changed direction like the wind, and he could hate as easily as he loved. She did not trust his affection for her to survive the truth.

The General pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you too, my Tessie.” Over his shoulder, Tesni could see Gareth scowling, his nose still dripping blood.

She grinned. It wasn’t her special smile, but a different blend, just for him. Gareth kicked at the floor and turned away.

Not everyone loved the General’s Tessie.

***

Gareth came for her at dusk. Normal visiting hours were during daylight, but the warden made an exception for the Wilde prisoners and the General’s daughter. It was out of paranoia, really—in their homeland in the Wildelight, the Wilde were at their most powerful when their sun shone overhead. But the blue sun didn’t shine in the North, so day or night made no difference.

“Miss Kendrick,” said Gareth, sweeping a bow. He wore a black bandage over the bridge of his nose. Gareth probably thought he looked debonair; Tesni thought he looked like a pompous idiot. Gareth had his charms--he cut a fine figure in his gray military uniform and his features were formed well enough--but they'd been lost on her for years.

Tesni clucked her tongue in mock sympathy.  “Your poor nose!” she exclaimed. “Are you sure you’re up to escorting me?”

“I’m sure,” he said through gritted teeth. “Thank you for your concern.”

Neither of them ever spoke a single truthful word to the other. Their mutual hatred was encased in politeness and decorum. Tesni couldn’t remember a time when Gareth didn’t hate her; her very existence bothered him to the core. He would never be the General’s favorite so long as she lived. Gareth's father had died when he was a child, and he looked to the General as a surrogate. But the General already had a son--her brother Owen--and she was the daughter of his heart and blood. Gareth would always play second fiddle, and he knew it.

“Let’s go,” she said.

He nodded and reluctantly offered her his elbow. She ignored it and brushed past him, opening the door of the old state house to the outside. “Hurry up then.”

The gaol wasn’t far from the state house where Tesni lived with her mother and the General and Owen, when the latter two weren’t off to war; in fact, it was walking distance. Anyone who knew Mared Kendrick would have thought she’d have thrown a fit at living so close to those filthy criminals, as she called them. But no one ever escaped from the gaol, so there was never an issue of safety, and the building wasn’t such an eyesore from the outside. The interior was a different matter entirely.

Tesni curtsied at the tall, heavyset man in front of the gated door. “Good evening, Warden.”

“Evening, Miss Kendrick,” said the warden. “We’ve been expecting you.” He dipped his head, facing Gareth. “Lieutenant.”

She turned the full force of her smile on the warden, and he blushed beneath his beard. “Right then. I’ll show you to the prisoner, Miss Kendrick,” he said, stumbling over his words. He fit a key into the padlocked door and ushered Tesni and Gareth inside.

Tesni was temporarily surrounded by pitch black until the warden lit a torch, flooding the room with light. A desk littered with papers and books and a stool were the only furnishings; it must have been the warden’s office. At the back of the office was another door, made entirely of metal. The warden pulled down on a lever in the wall next to it, and the door slid up. “Stay close to me, Miss Kendrick,” he said, grabbing another torch. “The prisoners can get rowdy, especially with a lady in their midst.”

Tesni swallowed, her nails biting into her palms.  She hadn’t been inside the gaol in six years, and she had no pleasant memories of this place. She followed behind the warden as close as she could without actually running into him.

The stench of the gaol was exactly how she remembered it. It reeked of waste and rotting food and death. Most of the criminals who went into the gaol never came out again. They died of dysentery or starvation before they ever came up for parole. It didn’t matter whether you stole or cheated or killed—to be sentenced to the gaol was to be sentenced to the grave.

As they rounded the twisting hallways, Tesni’s feet sloshed through liquid, an inch or so deep, and she had to hold up her skirts with her free hand.  She didn’t want to know what the liquid was, although she doubted it could be worse than what her imagination conjured up. The prisoners stood and slept in it daily. No wonder they seldom lived long.

True to the warden’s warning, the inmates were restless, banging on the iron bars of their cells and hollering lewd insults at her and Gareth, most of them sexual in nature. She didn’t remember the inmates being quite so perverse when she last visited, but she’d been a child then. She’d since grown a woman’s body and most would call her beautiful. Though if her father had been anyone but the General, she would have been mercilessly teased over her flame red hair. To the prisoners in the gaol, however, who her father was meant nothing.

“Woo-ee, girl!” shouted an inmate. “I love me a redhead. Tell me, girl, are you a real redhead?” He made an obscene gesture.

The warden kicked the inmate’s cell. “Quiet, Francis!” His expression mournful, he turned to Tesni. “I’m so sorry, Miss Kendrick.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Are we almost at the Wilde’s cell?”

“Just a little farther, Miss Kendrick.”

The Wilde were held in the darkest part of the gaol in separate cells far enough apart so that they couldn’t see or hear each other. “The boy’s cell is at the end of this hall,” said the warden, handing her one of his torches. “I will return for you in half an hour. There’s a bell pull just over yonder. If he tries anything funny, ring it and I’ll come for you immediately.”

“I will protect her,” Gareth said stiffly. “The General’s daughter will not come to harm under my watch.”

 “Of course, Lieutenant.” The warden bowed and turned down another hallway.

Once she no longer heard the warden’s footsteps, Tesni spoke sharply to Gareth, “You will stay here while I talk to the Wilde boy."

Gareth snorted. “That is ridiculous on so many levels, Miss Kendrick, that I don’t even know where to start.”

“You will do as I say,” she said, “or I will tell my father about that night.”

Gareth’s face went white under the light of the torch. “You would not.”

She ignored the bile rising in her throat. “I would.” She felt downright dirty, resorting to such a low threat, but it was necessary. She had to speak with the Wilde. Alone.

Gareth spat on the ground. “Fine.” I despise you, his eyes said.

She glared back at him. And I you. Though, for this once, she felt guilty where Gareth was concerned. Shoving her guilt aside, she walked to the end of the hallway.

The Wilde boy crouched in the middle of his cell, hugging his knees to his chest. He lifted his head from his knees, squinting as the light from her torch filtered through the cell bars. Seeing her, his eyebrows rose slightly, and then he dropped his head back into his knees.

Tesni cleared her throat, unsure of how to begin. “Boy!” she called. “Excuse me, boy!” He paid her no mind.

“Boy, can you understand me?” He remained silent, his head still tucked into his arms.

“I should have known,” she said loudly. “The Wilde are too stupid to learn Commons.”

The boy’s head shot up at that, and he glowered at her. She grinned. “So you do understand me then.” Tesni grasped the cell bars and pressed her face in between. “Ja nie te damag,” she said in Wildish. “I mean you no harm.”

“You speak our language?” the boy said in his native tongue, surprised.

She shook her head. “Just a few phrases,” she said, switching back to Commons.

“I should have known,” said the boy, in lightly accented Commons. His lips twitched. “Northerners are too stupid to learn Wildish.”

She scowled. “I got you to speak, didn’t I? You’re not as clever as you think.”

“Maybe not.” He pushed to his feet. He was tall; she hadn’t realized it before when he stood next to the other Wilde, who were even taller. “What do you want, Northern girl?"

Tesni licked her lips nervously. “I must show you.”

“Show me?” His eyebrows drew together. “I recognize you now.  You were there today, when they killed Bavol. You are the daughter of that kokot.”

“Coh-cot?” she repeated.

“It’s Wildish,” said the boy. “It’s not a nice word.”

“I gathered,” she said dryly. Tesni couldn’t afford to be offended on her father’s behalf. “I need to talk to you.”

“I have nothing to say to the daughter of my enemy.”

“Please?” She gave him her best smile.

He chuckled. “You are very pretty, Northern girl, I will give you that. But that will not loosen my tongue.”

She stamped her foot, frustrated her smile had not been enough. She had not forced her way into the gaol to come away with nothing. “Let me at least show you. I have no one else to ask.”

“This isn’t a trick of your father’s?"

“No. I swear it.”

The boy sighed. “You must be desperate, to ask a favor of the Wilde.”

Tesni allowed her mask to slip and let him see her desperation. “Yes,” she whispered. “I am desperate.” She'd borne her secret alone for too long.

“Alright,” said the Wilde boy. “Show me whatever it is you came here to show me.”

“You must come as close to me as you can,” she said. She jerked her head to the right, in Gareth’s direction. “I cannot risk my companion seeing.”

He huffed another sigh. “If this is a trick, you’ll pay dearly for it.”

“It’s not. I swear by your sun and mine.”

The Wilde boy walked towards her, until he was close enough to touch her through the cell bars. She blinked back her surprise. He was handsome, this Wilde, his eyes the brightest shade of blue she had ever seen, brighter than her own. “Your face is dirty,” she said stupidly. His hair was a mess, too; black threads had come loose from the long braid down his back and tangled together in matted clumps.

“I would clean it for you, Northern girl, but my jailors seem to have forgotten to give me soap.”

“Right,” she said. She clasped her hands together. “Well, this is it, then."

The boy raised his eyebrows. “Well?”

Drawing a steadying breath, Tesni cupped her hands and closed her eyes. She focused on the energy centered in her chest and imagined it flowing through her veins, down her arms, to her hands. She concentrated, envisioning heat tingling in her palms and spreading outwards and upwards. She opened her eyes.

A blue flame, no larger than the flame of a candle, flickered in her cupped hands.

 The boy stared at her. “How did you do that?"

“I don’t know,” she said. “I thought you could tell me."

 “It is impossible. And you, a Northerner…” His face took on a look of incredulity. “Even I cannot do what you just did. Not without the light of the blue sun.”

“But I thought…” She bit down on her lower lip. “The Wilde cannot do this?”

“We can, and more. But in Wildelight, not in Oldfall.” He reached through the bars and touched her cheek. “What you are, Northern girl, is a miracle.”

Tesni shook her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m not.” She closed her hands, smothering the flame. “In Oldfall, I’m an abomination.”

 A/N Apolgoies, ladies and gents, but this is on hold while I sort out edits for Paladin. Here's a blog post that explains why: http://sallyslater.blogspot.com/2013/04/slamming-on-breaks.html

And just a friendly reminder to follow me via Twitter @sallyroseslater and my blog sallyslater.blogspot.com if you aren't already :)