Chela grew up bathed in her parents’ love, but on the day she turned eight, her great-grandmother deemed the moment ripe. She took the child to her workshop—to tell Chela about the purpose a McFarlane heir with elf blood must fulfill.
“Do you know what this list of names is, Michela?”
Chela was seated at the table, and the ancient witch unrolled a scroll before her. Looking at the list of names inscribed upon it, Chela crooked her head. All she could tell was that these were likely all male names.
“These men all have reservations on your womb. In time, you may have a child with them. Commit their names to memory—you’ll meet each in turn soon.”
The witch’s tone was as measured as that fate was harsh. Chela considered these words, trying to match them with what she knew.
“…You mean fiancés? One of them will be my future husband?”
That was the best interpretation she could manage. At her age, that was an admirable grasp on things, and in another household—that would have been the right assumption. But her great-grandmother shook her head, chuckling. This was the McFarlane household, a place far removed from norms.
“What an adorable mistake, Michela. I’m afraid this list contains no partners. If you take a liking to one, you can snare him if you wish—not many would refuse you,” the witch said. “But simply put, you must share your blood with them. These are children of households chosen to help spread elf blood in the world of man and ensure it lasts. Naturally, we’ve taken their individual behavior into consideration. From this list…you’ve already met the Andrews boy, yes?”
Chela remembered a boy her age she’d met not long ago.
She’d tried talking to him a lot, hoping to be friends, but after they’d compared spells before the watching adults, he’d grown very stiff. She didn’t get why, and it made even less sense that she’d make a child with him one day. But her great-grandmother wasn’t waiting for it to sink in.
“There have been very few half-elves in history, but you are not the first. Yet, none of those previous mages were able to leave a lasting bloodline. There are several reasons for that, but simply put—they never managed to make their blood set in. Very few humans are able to get an elf pregnant. It requires a high level of magical aptitude for their aspects to properly mingle.”
Chela was aware of this history already. Including the fact that she was the only complete half-elf known to exist in the magical world. Elves and humans could not easily breed, and even if they succeeded, the children were often functionally lacking—and incapable of reproducing.
The higher the magical potential of the human, the milder those issues became; Theodore met those conditions, and so he and Mishakua had managed to produce Chela. She understood that she was being asked to do the same thing. And thus, she at last realized what this list meant.
“Most old houses would try to keep the blood to themselves and repeat the errors of the past. But not the McFarlanes. Mindful of those failures, we renounced our claim on the blood and elected to aggressively loan out your womb. Process this fact and prepare yourself. Be ready to bear a child for every man on this list.”
This witch was not hiding anything. She told her great-grandchild that quantity would compensate for the likely rate of failure. For this reason, she would need to have as many children with as many promising young mages as she could. A purebred elf could bear very few children in their long lives, but half-elves had human advantages and were not limited by that. She made it quite clear Chela was ideal breeding stock.
It added up. The logic of it was sound. Understanding it as best she could, Chela nodded, far too young to imagine the toll it would take on her.
But despite her youth, she had concerns. Specifically, every name on this list hailed from a house of some repute. Even if not all succeeded, odds were high that many would produce offspring. That would leave her with husbands and children outnumbering the fingers on her hands. Even if mages had no rule against polygamy, these seemed excessive.
“I understand, Great-Grandmother. But I do have one question.”
“What is it? Ask anything.”
“With this many, I don’t think I can love them all. I think that will make the children very lonely. What should I do about that?”
Such an innocent question—the witch could not stop herself from laughing. Not at the child before her—but at the parents who had raised her.
They’d coddled her far too much. Teaching her kindness and consideration would only make her suffer later.
“You don’t yet understand, Michela. Love has no part of this. Each house will handle such trivialities on their own, and frankly—it doesn’t matter. We must establish elf blood in the world of man. No other concern can compare,” the witch explained. “If this doesn’t make sense, look at how your father lives. Men and women have their differences, but his path is much like yours. Watch him close, and you will work out how you should comport yourself.”
Baffled by her great-grandmother’s words, Chela nodded. Nothing she knew of her beloved father matched this speech at all.
✦ ✦ ✦
Her great-grandmother swiftly made arrangements, and the opportunity soon arrived. The day prior, Chela’s father had grimly told her to accompany him, and so Chela visited an ancient home at his side, unclear as to what this visit meant.
“Now this is a surprise. I did not imagine you bringing the girl on everyone’s lips.”
Chela and her father were seated across from a witch in a parlor that spared no expense. A strong incense tickled her nose, but not unpleasantly; the herbal tea and tarts on the table before her, too, gave off a scent that was excessively sweet. Chela felt out of place here. This was no ordinary welcome—a fact that she sensed, even if she could not discern the nature of it.
“It was not my decision, but my grandmother forced it on me. She’s a smart girl and won’t make a scene. Assume she’s here to learn the ways of the world.”
“Naturally, she’s a welcome guest. Though, I cannot guarantee this is an appropriate education… Heh-heh, what a darling child. I imagine you’ve taught her things, but I can tell she does not yet understand. How long as it been? Since anyone this innocent set foot in this house?”
Eyes on Chela, the witch smiled enchantingly. Odd how she was not remotely tempted to smile back, Chela thought. She took a sip of tea, and the flavor of it made her frown. Theodore silently took the cup from her hand and set it back on the table—not wanting his daughter to drink a brew designed as a functional aphrodisiac.
Wetting her lips with her own tea, the witch stared long and hard, as if searching for how to entertain this company. After a moment, she asked the obvious question.
“…Do we show her everything? If that’s why she’s here?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Like I said before, I don’t plan to stay long today.”
“Such a shame. And here I was all prepared. Still, I’d rather not take her into the bedroom with us.”
With that, the witch stood up, moved around the table, and sat down on the other side of Theodore. This seating arrangement befuddled the child. But as she watched, the witch ran her hand up Theodore’s neck and smoothly placed her lips on his.
Theodore did not budge. Chela’s eyes went wide, and after a long kiss, the witch pulled away with an alluring smile.
“Then let us talk a while,” she said. “If you’re not staying long, can we at least share a drink?”
She pulled a hand from her hip and a set of a liquor bottles and glasses flew from a shelf in the back. She placed three glasses on the table, uncorked a bottle, and filled two of the glasses with liquor. The third, she filled with grape juice, a modest consideration. Her father began talking to the witch, wearing a masklike smile—and Chela watched them as if this was a scene from a far-off, distant land.