Chapter 123: Jezalin, Anvanil, and gender

Jezalin pulled her hand back from her last patient. Their face, which had been pale and clammy from fever, was now relaxed in their sleep.

Her job was finally finished here.

Coming out of her healer trance always took some period of transition. Her eyes shifted to the window, noting the fading light, the last rays of sunset touching the open-air windows. Most of the light in the infirmary now came the light stone lanterns, their warm glow lacking either the flicker of torches or the brightness of sunlight.

Standing with a sigh, she stretched out the knots in her back and shoulders from sitting for so long. Two full days of healing. In a way, it was impressive. Whatever had gotten into the huntress’s bloodstream had gotten into them all. For most, the experience was painful but would eventually be expunged, even if it made their kidneys work overtime. The redcaps, however, were in far worse condition. Not just the extensive wounds and damage to their caps, but the addition of the same powder had corroded any open wounds, some which had already begun to fester.

Jezalin had never been more invested in a weapon in her life.

Which was one reason of many as to why she had cleared her schedule for tomorrow.

Exhausted as she was, her whole body still thrummed in excitement any time she thought about meeting the huntress. But there was more she needed to do first to make sure she could give the huntress her full attention. Small chores.

Including one she was bound to do every few months.

The other healers gave her grateful bows as they continued about their days. Turning to one of them with her practiced serene smile, Jezalin asked, “Would you happen to know where I might find Anvanil?”

Ten minutes later, she knocked on a door in a quiet section of the Keep. There was a short beat before the door opened, revealing another greenling.

For the smallest flash, Jezalin’s heart raced. Only, the greenling was too tall, their jaw too wide, lacking the petite adorableness of the badass huntress even if they were dressed exactly the same as she.

Falling back on her practiced smile, Jezalin said, “Is Anvanil here?”

The greenling glanced over their shoulder, and a moment later, she heard the tired, monotone voice of Telos in a trance. “Is that Jezalin’s voice I hear?”

“It is.”

The greenling opened the door, bowing to allow her entrance to the jumbled office space.

The room was a study in barely contained chaos. A large rectangular table took up most of the center of the space, several stools providing uncomfortable yet functional seating. Every wall was covered with functional, unadorned bookshelves that were overflowing not just with books, but a jumbled jigsaw of jars, boxes, and satchels. While each was labeled, there was no organization to them, their balance as precarious as it was absentmindedly purposeful.

The room was well lit, the glow lamps highlighting the sheets of specialized, slightly shimmering parchment, bowls of materials, gold dust, and feystones haphazardly threatening to tumble off the edge of the table with the wrong shift of an elbow.

Telos was leaning over the large stretch of shimmering parchment, carefully drawing lines, their focus intense. Jezalin noted the combination of masculine and feminine notes in their outfit rather than their feminine identity from the summer, their normally impeccable image slightly disheveled.

Opposite of Telos was Anvanil, his burgundy eyes wide with mild surprise and edged in magical exhaustion.

Jezalin studied the young man, waiting until the door was shut behind her before she spoke. “Another expansion?”

Telos spoke in a smooth, easy cadence of their trance. “Yes. For the greenlings. They’re getting their own space.”

Jezalin frowned slightly, mulling over this. There were two greenlings in the room, both waiting opposite each other in the corners of the room far enough away from the magic to not risk disturbing it. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she might have caught a subtle hand movement, but when she glanced over, the greenlings were both standing perfectly at attention.

Letting her thoughts shift back over to the upcoming expansion, she studied the plans. She’d never taken courses on architectural planning for a titled fey’s domain, but she’d been around enough titled fey to know the basics of the process. She could read the vague outline of the design even if she didn’t understand the specifics. A series of rooms. A large central community space. A mini village within the larger town.

In isolation, this development made sense.

But this wasn’t in isolation. Annabelle had mated a greenling, and after the incident a few days ago, the cult of the Righteous Ones knew it.

That had been another chore on her list she’d already finished, informing Bartos of yet another spy they had caught red-handed. Another devotee for the outdated ancient ways that had been radicalized by the damnable cult that insisted they were simply “returning to the way of the gods.” How they would use that knowledge was still up in the air, leaving her with a general sense of foreboding.

Then again… what else could they do? The huntress had said they were currently in the carriage storage. Fey needed homes.

They would just need to combat whatever devious plots the Righteous Ones used next. Hopefully Annabelle’s unique background would have an idea for some kind of counter rumor that would keep the masses from rioting in indignation.

Her eyes were drawn up by movement. Anvanil fidgeted with a fist sized feystone in his hand, waiting.

Jezalin gave him her usual soft, practiced smile, her own feelings on the subject buried deep in her soul. “Your mother sent me.”

The edges of Anvanil’s eyes creased, his expression tight. He already knew why she was here.

Jezalin’s eyes flickered to Telos.

Anvanil shifted before whispering, “Telos knows.”

“Hm?” hummed Telos.

“Don’t worry about it. Stay focused.”

“Hm.”

Jezalin stepped closer, reaching into a pouch on her belt to pull out a mana recovery potion. Wordlessly, she handed it to Anvanil, who took it with a grateful smile. Waiting until after he’d finished drinking it and handed back the empty vial, Jezalin murmured her usual platitude. “There’s no judgement, Anvanil.”

As usual, he didn’t believe her. “Not from you, no.” Pushing up his glasses, his eyes glinted with a hint of envy. “No one cares about Telos’s choices.”

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“What choices?”

“Don’t worry, just focus.”

“Hm.”

Anvanil’s brow remained furrowed, considering the feystone in their hands. Several quiet moments passed before he spoke again. “I’m not ready yet.”

Jezalin had known the answer before she had entered the room. The same answer she had gotten from the last twenty years. Still, she was duty bound to make the same offer every few months by the boon invoked by Anvanil’s mother.

A mother who couldn’t understand why her son was hesitating to fully transition.

Changing gender was simple. Easy. Poor fey might have to save up for it for a decade, but rich fey could and sometimes did fully transition whenever they wanted. Telos was a rare high fey who kept their body regardless of their gender.

For most, the idea of not changing one’s sex to match their gender was a sign of poverty.

Anvanil’s mother had always cared more for public image than her child, no matter what she said.

Jezalin shifted a stool out to take a seat next to Anvanil. Reaching between them, she held onto Anvanil’s hand, murmuring a spell under her breath and establishing a mental connection.

She sent, There’s nothing wrong with your choice.

His shoulders curled in on himself, his expression carrying the weight of years. I just wish mother would understand.

She loves you even if she doesn’t understand. It wasn’t a lie. She did love her child. She just loved politics more.

I’m just not ready yet.

I know.

The connection remained, but no more messages were exchanged. Jezalin waited for long enough to know that her vow was maintained—both to Anvanil’s mother, and her vow as a healer to do no harm.

Telos pulled back, sitting heavily onto a stool. Delicately, they took out a handkerchief, dabbing at the sweat on their forehead. “And done.”

Jezalin pulled her hand away, severing the connection. “Need you a potion?”

“No, I’ve already had one. Lord Everwinter and I have been pouring our mana into the central stone for the last week.”

“You need rest.”

“I will.” They blinked at the cup of water that appeared at their elbow, their expression softening. Taking the cup, they drank deeply, then let out a satisfied sigh as they set the cup down. “But tomorrow I need to do the rounds again.”

Anvanil asked, “Again?”

“Again.”

“But the huntress said that this time of year, the villages are safe from surges.”

“They should be.”

Jezalin said mildly, “Something tells me it is not the beasts that we have to fear.”

Telos frowned. A brush appeared on the workbench next to them so smoothly, they barely registered grabbing it and brushing out their messy tawny hair streaked with sweat. “I have the same feeling. I keep sensing gaps in the country border.”

The border, of course, having magical backing to keep out the average interloper.

Jezalin folded on hand over the other. “Oh?”

“Nothing large. They come and go in flickers and starts, and by the time I get there, the border is restored.”

“And the lord?”

“Doesn’t even sense it.”

Jezalin fell into thought, her eyes sliding over to one of the two greenlings refilling Telos’s water. “Doesn’t even sense it,” she repeated, lingering on the words as she did.

The greenling dropped their eyes down, replacing Telos’s cup and backing up silently into the wall. The other approached Jezalin’s elbow, and she wasn’t sure when, but they had somehow procured an entire tray of food portioned into easily munchable snacks. Perfect for mages in the middle of intensive crafting. Both Telos and Anvanil reached for the snacks, munching in the silence of a job finished, neither seeming to register who had put the snacks there.

It seemed the huntress was not the only one easily able to slip past notice.

She blinked. “What if the interlopers had so little mana as to be nigh undetectable?”

Telos considered it. “Doubtful. Skye is even harsher than Fer’ich on lowmag fey.”

Anvanil’s eyes softened. “What? Even worse than…”

His voice trailed off, his eyes turning with imploring sympathy to the greenlings in the corner. Jezalin knew that look. Knew that he was thinking of the huntress on the floor of the dungeon, her lips tinged blue and her back flayed open.

Though they didn’t ignore him, per se, the greenlings’ eyes were fixed on the ground, not responding to his gaze beyond looking ready to jump to any order he gave. They lacked the defiant fire that had drawn Jezalin to the huntress. The fire she’d seen from the first moment the huntress had jumped down onto the bone whale from the sky, a pint-sized warrior with the heart of any Valkyrie.

Jezalin murmured, “Skye has done many strange things that the past several thousand years of history don’t account for. And it would be hardly the cruelest thing they’d done in the last year.”

Anvanil asked, “Should I let the lord know?”

Telos answered wearily, “He knows. We’re already stretched too thin. He’s got border patrols of scouts watching the mountains where these anomalies have been happening, but the only thing that’s come of it is missing scouts.”

“Surely that’s—”

“It’s the Wylds. I’ve seen beasts the likes of which you’ve never even imagined. Not just the feybeasts, but divine beasts of old that live amongst the lowlands at the base of the mountains. We can’t assume anything, nor can we spare more personnel.”

“Not even the huntress?”

To Jezalin’s amusement, Telos seemed straight offended by Anvanil’s innocuous question. “After Annabelle dumped a hundred dependents on her, you want to dump more on the poor woman? Give her a break.”

“Sorry. I didn’t think.”

“No, you didn’t.” Telos huffed in their seat, shifting somewhat, their lips turned down in a frown more worn and weary than angry. “Would that we could have a hundred of her.”

Jezalin’s eyes flickered to the two greenlings standing at attention, the wheels in her head turning.

That was an intriguing proposition.

Jezalin said softly, “I’ll be speaking with his lordship on behalf of our Queen tomorrow. Perhaps we can provide more.” They had spoken today, briefly, but the more in depth discussion had needed to be scheduled.

Telos nodded, the weariness weighing more heavily with each passing second.

“As your physician—”

“I know. To bed I go.” Telos stood with a stretch. “Come on, Draft. I’m sure Velna has procured some more cookies for you by now.”

Though the greenling that then attached themselves to Telos’s side kept their eyes down, Jezalin swore she saw an excited gleam in their expression at the mention of sweets.

It seemed the huntress was not the only one enamored with sugary confections.

Jezalin stood. “I’ll be off as well. I have a few more stops to make. It is late, but is the quartermaster still at their post?”

Anvanil answered, “She never leaves. She has rooms the lord set up for her behind the shelves.”

“Then that is my next destination.”

Heading for the door, the second greenling opened it for her, the timing so perfect her stride didn’t falter until Anvanil said, “Jezalin?”

She paused in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder at the mousy, small shifter fidgeting with a feystone.

“I like that you always offer and never judge me for saying no.”

Jezalin turned fully to face him. “Your gender is your choice. You’re no less of a man for wanting a child any more than a woman is less for not.”

Anvanil nodded, his eyes unfocused on the table, nodding vaguely. The placating kind of obvious disbelief.

Jezalin focused on her breath and smile, and not her frustration. She was duty-bound to offer, even if it always soured Anvanil’s mood. She’d never understood his hangup. He wanted to transition. He didn’t like the feminine body he’d been born with. But he was also holding out hope for a child born from his body. She’d been to the orphanages. Though rare, there were children in need of parents. She knew it. He knew it. Had it not been for his horrid, judgmental bitch of a mother, he’d never have been embarrassed to hide his desires from the larger world.

It was bad enough she’d convinced the entire court Anvanil had already finished his transition. He couldn’t take any lovers from anyone connected to the Capital courts. No one that could possibly ever directly confront his mother’s cover up and use it against her.

For her part, Jezalin had never spoken further than the offer with Anvanil. She had buried her frustrations with his mother time and time again to prevent it from causing further strife when the gap between mother and son was already so vast.

It vexed her.

Maybe it was that frustration, years in the making, that had her saying more than she normally would.

“The procedure will be there if and when you want it. It will only take a week. But even if you never do it, all that matters is that you are comfortable in your skin. You’re no less of a man for having a womb and waiting to transition than a woman is lesser for having no womb.”

Anvanil glanced up, his eyes actually considering her. She held his gaze as he hedged, “Even if I never do?”

“The only one who can answer that is you. I’d think Telos would be proof enough that gender has little to do with biology.” And that the courts could get fucked with their biases.

Anvanil’s expression soured slightly. “They don’t have to deal with my mother.”

“And this far from the Capital, neither do you.”

The words took a moment to sink in for Anvanil. Several seconds passed before he reacted, and when he did, it was in small increments. His shoulders relaxed. His spine straightened. His expression eased the furrowed brows into softer contemplation. “I’d… never thought of that.”

Jezalin gave him a beat before a devious idea came to mind. Her frustration eased as her smile returned. “I have a feeling that Queen Annabelle will find herself in desperate need of your efforts far from the Capital. What a shame you won’t be there for the mid-winter feast.”

Though it was too dim of an emotion to be happiness and he lacked a smile, there was something brighter in his eyes. “I won’t?”

Jezalin shook her head, exiting out into the hallway. “A shame. Until next time, Anvanil.”

The door slowly shut behind her, meaning that only one fey saw the smallest smile curling up the edge of Anvanil’s lips as they repeated once more, “I won’t.”