Updated Apr 11, 2026 • ~9 min read
They had six days left.
Ember sat in the palace gardens—the private ones, hidden deep in the Fire Court—reviewing their list of potential allies.
“Spring Court is our best bet,” Phoenix said, sprawled on the grass beside her. “Queen Thornweave has always been… less enthusiastic about the mortal trade.”
“Less enthusiastic isn’t the same as opposed,” Blaze countered. He paced nearby, restless energy radiating from him. “We need someone who’ll actually commit.”
“What about Lord Rowan?” Ember suggested. “The Spring Court noble you mentioned? The one who spoke against the trade before?”
“He was silenced by his queen. Publicly humiliated.” Phoenix sat up. “But that doesn’t mean he changed his mind. Just that he got better at hiding it.”
“Can we approach him privately?”
“Risky. If he’s loyal to his queen now, he’ll turn us in.”
Ember chewed her lip, thinking. “What if we don’t approach him directly? What if we… arrange for him to overhear something? Give him the choice to act without forcing his hand?”
Blaze stopped pacing. “That could work. Make it look like an accident. If he’s sympathetic, he’ll reach out. If not, we have plausible deniability.”
“How do we arrange an accidental overheard conversation?” Phoenix asked.
“Very carefully.” Ember’s mind was already spinning with possibilities. “There’s a garden gathering tonight. All the courts will be there, including Lord Rowan. If we position ourselves correctly, have the right conversation at the right time…”
“It’s manipulative,” Blaze said.
“It’s strategic.”
“Tomato, to-mah-to.”
Ember grinned. “You’re learning mortal expressions.”
“You’re a bad influence.”
“The worst.” She stood, brushing grass from her gown. “So are we doing this?”
Blaze looked at Phoenix, who shrugged. “I can’t think of a better plan. And we’re running out of time.”
“Garden gathering it is.”
That evening, Ember wore a gown of deep green—a calculated choice that evoked Spring Court colors without being presumptuous.
The gardens were magnificent, filled with flowers from all four courts existing in impossible harmony. Fire lilies bloomed next to ice roses. Shadow vines wound through sunshine trees.
Fae from all courts mingled, political alliances forming and dissolving like smoke.
And in the corner, exactly where Phoenix said he’d be, stood Lord Rowan.
He was younger than Ember expected—maybe four hundred years old, which was barely adult for fae. Handsome in the way Spring Court fae were, with golden hair threaded with flowering vines.
“He’s alone,” Phoenix murmured from beside Ember. “Now’s your chance.”
Ember and Blaze moved through the crowd, timing it perfectly. They ended up near Lord Rowan, close enough to be overheard but not so close as to be obvious.
“—still think Spring Court would be our best option,” Ember said, pitching her voice to carry just far enough. “Lord Rowan spoke against the mortal trade once. He might be sympathetic.”
“Or he might be loyal to his queen,” Blaze countered, playing his part. “We can’t risk exposure.”
“We also can’t succeed without allies.” Ember sighed, making it sound frustrated. “Nyx wants proof of support. If we can’t deliver—”
She let the sentence hang, unfinished.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Rowan stiffen. He was listening.
“Then we’ll find allies elsewhere,” Blaze said. “Winter Court, perhaps. Or gather enough Fire Court support that—”
“Excuse me.” Lord Rowan’s voice was quiet but firm. “I couldn’t help but overhear. You mentioned Queen Nyx?”
Ember turned, making her surprise look genuine. “Lord Rowan. Forgive us, we didn’t mean to bother you with our discussion.”
“It’s no bother. But I’m curious—why would Queen Nyx require proof of support?” His green eyes studied them carefully. “Support for what?”
This was the moment. The risk.
Ember exchanged a glance with Blaze. Through the bond, she felt his uncertainty matching hers.
They could lie. Deflect. Play it safe.
Or they could take the leap.
“A proposal,” Ember said carefully. “One that would change how the courts handle mortal acquisitions.”
“I see.” Lord Rowan’s expression revealed nothing. “And this proposal—does it involve ending the mortal trade entirely?”
Silence fell between them.
Finally, Blaze asked: “Would you support such a proposal?”
“That depends.” Lord Rowan glanced around, making sure no one else was listening. “Are you merely talking about it? Or do you actually intend to act?”
“We’re acting,” Ember said. “Building a coalition. Gathering evidence. We want to present a unified case to the courts—show that ending the trade is morally right and practically beneficial.”
“Ambitious. Also suicidal.”
“Probably,” Blaze agreed. “But necessary.”
Lord Rowan was quiet for a long moment. Then: “I spoke against the trade once. Twenty years ago. I called it barbaric. Cruel. A stain on our courts.”
“We know,” Ember said gently.
“I was humiliated for it. My queen made it clear that such opinions were unwelcome. I’ve been silent ever since.” Pain flickered across his face. “But silence doesn’t mean I changed my mind.”
“Then help us change things.” Blaze stepped closer. “We have allies in Fire Court. Shadow Court is waiting for proof of wider support. If Spring Court joined—”
“My queen would never support this openly.”
“What about unofficially? What if there were Spring Court nobles willing to speak in favor? Enough to show the queen that opinion is shifting?”
Lord Rowan looked between them, clearly weighing his options. “How many allies do you have in Spring Court?”
“Including you?” Ember asked. “One. Maybe.”
He laughed, surprised. “You’re honest, at least.”
“We’re desperate,” Blaze said. “But also determined. This is happening, Lord Rowan. With or without Spring Court. We’d just rather have you with us.”
“Because you need the numbers.”
“Because it’s the right thing to do. And we think you agree.”
Lord Rowan’s expression softened. “I do. I’ve watched mortals suffer for four centuries. I’ve hated it every day.” He took a breath. “If I help you—if I identify other sympathetic Spring Court fae—what’s your plan?”
“Present the case at the summit’s closing session,” Ember explained. “Request a formal vote on ending the trade. If we can show unified support across multiple courts…”
“The traditionalists would have to take it seriously.” Lord Rowan nodded slowly. “It could work. If you have enough support.”
“Will you help us get that support?”
He looked at them for a long moment. Then extended his hand. “I will. For the mortals who deserve better. And for my own conscience.”
Blaze shook his hand firmly. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We still have to convince my queen. And she’s… complicated.”
“Complicated how?” Ember asked.
“She doesn’t oppose the mortal trade philosophically. But she does oppose practices that cost more than they generate. If you can make an economic argument…” He smiled slightly. “Queen Thornweave responds to practical concerns more than moral ones.”
“Then we’ll make it practical.” Ember’s mind was already racing. “The cost of acquiring mortals, the resources spent on security, the political tension it creates between courts…”
“Versus the benefits of mortal innovation, art, and potential transformation.” Blaze added. “If we frame it as improvement rather than abolition…”
“She might actually listen,” Lord Rowan finished. “I’ll gather the other sympathetic nobles. We’ll present a unified Spring Court position.”
“How long do you need?”
“Three days. Can you prepare your economic arguments by then?”
“Yes,” Ember said confidently. “We have people working on exactly that.”
Lord Rowan nodded. “Then we have a plan. I’ll contact you discreetly when we’re ready.”
He moved away, disappearing into the crowd.
Phoenix materialized beside them. “Please tell me that went as well as it looked.”
“Better,” Blaze said, relief in his voice. “We have Spring Court. Or the beginning of it.”
“Three days to build an economic case,” Ember said. “Can we do it?”
“We have to.” Blaze took her hand, the bond humming between them. “This is our chance. Maybe our only chance.”
They spent the rest of the evening circulating through the party, carefully noting reactions to various topics. Who seemed uncomfortable with mortal slavery. Who defended it enthusiastically. Who might be swayed.
By the time the gathering ended, they had a fuller picture of the political landscape.
And it was more hopeful than expected.
“There are cracks in the tradition,” Phoenix observed as they walked back to Blaze’s chambers. “Fae who are uncomfortable but afraid to speak up.”
“We give them cover,” Ember said. “Make it safe to oppose the trade. Show that they’re not alone.”
“Three days,” Blaze murmured. “Everything depends on the next three days.”
Ember squeezed his hand. Through the bond, she sent reassurance and determination.
They could do this.
They had to.
The next seventy-two hours were a blur of preparation.
Lady Kindle and the other Fire Court allies helped compile economic data: the cost of mortal acquisition, the resources spent on security and housing, the complications of managing resistant captives.
Phoenix reached out to his contacts, gathering information about mortal innovations—art, music, architecture, technology. Things that proved their value beyond servitude.
Ember worked with the freed mortals, documenting their transformations. Three more had undergone fae-touching, triggered by trauma or strong emotion. Each one was proof that mortals could become more.
And Blaze coordinated it all, managing the resistance while maintaining his facade for his father.
King Inferno suspected nothing. He was too busy posturing for the other courts, proving Fire Court’s dominance.
He had no idea a revolution was brewing right under his nose.
On the third night, Lord Rowan contacted them.
“I have five Spring Court nobles ready to support the proposal,” he reported in a secure meeting. “Including one of the queen’s advisors. If we present it right, she’ll at least consider it.”
“And if she doesn’t?” Ember asked.
“Then we go forward anyway. But with her support, our chances improve dramatically.”
They reviewed the arguments one final time. Economic benefits. Moral imperatives. Practical improvements. Proof of mortal potential.
It was solid. Compelling.
Maybe even enough.
“We present tomorrow,” Blaze said. “At the closing session. All four courts in attendance.”
“This is really happening,” Phoenix breathed.
“This is really happening,” Ember agreed.
She looked around at the gathered faces—fae and mortal, working together. Fighting for something bigger than themselves.
This was what Queen Nyx’s parents had dreamed of.
This was what they’d died for.
And tomorrow, Ember and Blaze would finish what they started.
Or die trying.
But at least they’d die fighting.
And that had to count for something.
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