Edge of the Knife

A Story by isa

A man gives a faerie his nickname.

“Oh, don’t do that, Sebastian.”

Bash jerked to a stop. His fingers grazed the knife. He was not naïve enough to think that he had been close to freedom -- not with his true name on the faerie’s lips and their eyes glittering golden with an arrogance that he would usually take as a weakness to exploit. On them, it was only the natural result of being infallible. He strained forward anyway, which the faerie seemed to find amusing despite there being no physical evidence of his efforts. They just knew. Bash glared up at them.

The faerie just shrugged, light and casual, the edge of a dagger trying to disguise itself as a piece of jewelry. “I will admit that diminutives are tricky things. With enough time, a name will shape a person, and after years of telling people not to call you Sebastian…”

That sent an involuntary shudder through Bash. He was beginning to realize that before meeting this faerie, he had never once in his life been addressed. Really addressed, the sound of his name winding to settle around his very being, like it meant everything he was. He forced himself to breathe.

The faerie smiled wide. Their teeth were too sharp. “Well, Bash has sort of become your name, too, hasn’t it? You certainly act like a Bash.” They cooed as if speaking to a child who had done something mildly impressive. “All strong fists and fight. Adorable. People also throw bashes to celebrate! I love celebrating, Bash, don’t you?”

Silence. Bash pressed his lips together, hopefully communicating every single ounce of loathing in his body for the faerie to see. If they could read him so well, they could probably feel the metaphorical middle finger being flashed.

“Answer the question, Sebastian.” The honeyed cheer leeched entirely from the faerie’s voice.

The answer was forced out of him like someone had decided to pry his throat open and rip it from his mouth. “Yes.” Bash lurched in place with the force of it. He wanted to deny it, if only because he was certain that no celebration the faerie was thinking of was enjoyable, but there had been no given specifics and the magic didn’t differentiate.

The grin returned so quickly that Bash knew it couldn’t be real. Like a mask. “Wonderful. I’ve never met a human whose name didn’t fit them, you know. Regardless of how they felt otherwise. Names cannot be controlled. Identities, however, can be molded to fit them.”

However useful the information was, having the information handed over so freely could not be a good sign. This was not Bash’s first encounter with fae; but this was the first time one had learned his name, and certainly the first time one had offered up anything about themself. Fae didn’t -- couldn’t -- lie, but they didn’t have to announce the truth, either. “Why are you telling me this?”

The faerie tilted their head just slightly too far to the left. “Doesn’t it give you a sense of empowerment? Like maybe you have a chance at escape because you know how my magic works?”

“If it gave me a chance, you wouldn’t have told me.”

The faerie blinked. Then they threw their head back and laughed, a harsh bark that scraped up Bash’s spine, grating. “Oh, you’re a smart one, bash! I don’t know if I like it, but it certainly is a novelty.”

“Why are you telling me anything?” Bash repeated, craning his neck to try and meet the faerie’s eyes. His legs were beginning to ache in this position, caught in a crouch and balancing his weight on the balls of his feet, one hand still outstretched for his only weapon.

“Pets that don’t fight aren’t nearly as fun to break in.” The faerie pouted, bottom lip jutting out mockingly. “And humans do get so desperate when there’s hope in the equation. I like to provide them some.”

Bash didn’t know how to reply to that. He wanted to argue, but he didn’t know what to argue against -- insisting that he wouldn’t be ‘broken in’ would only give the faerie the fight they were looking for. And claiming that he already thought all hope was lost felt a bit too much like surrender for his taste. It was a lose-lose. He snarled. “I’m not your--”

“On your knees, Sebastian.”

Bash dropped without a second thought. It felt a little bit like relief, knees finally hitting the ground, fingers curling loosely through the soil. More than that, it was both humiliating and terrifying. He gritted his teeth.

The faerie beamed back. “Down, boy.”