by A. K. Koonce
There is an end to the wild here. A long meadow dotted with blooms comes to a point and abruptly disappears at the edge of a cliff where I stand. I swallow, hard.
Jump. This bitch wants me to jump.
Maybe I shouldn't refer to my mother as a bitch, but goddamn.
A tremble travels through my legs. My vision blurring at the edges. There could be sweat building on my forehead and gathering in my palms but the ocean clings to me so fiercely I can't decipher the difference. I lean as far as I can, looking down over the edge. It's nothingness. It's rock that falls into darkness with no sounds of running water below. I have no guess for what comes next but I know that I can't leave this spot until I find the same direction.
I turn, my gaze running over anything and everything. The sky is clear, the sun not near as demanding as the desert. I'm trying to make letters out of petals and flower stems. They'd gather into beautiful bouquets but they don't spell anything out.
With a frustrated hiss, I ring out my shirt. I crouch down, pinching at my pant-legs to dispel any water that I can. Grass is bent at odd angles from my entrance to the meadow, and if the decision was up to me this would be a perfect spot to hide a word.
A great caw carries over to me as a bird flies across the sky. The first I've seen of life in either of the three scenarios. My attention is quickly drawn to it as I watch it circle down closer to me. It has long dark feathers that grow to a light shade of brown closer to its face. Its beak shines the off-white color of bones.
Clamped between its jaws dangles another animal, limp in death. A tail hangs down, long and skinny, reminiscent of a rat’s. I frown at the sight. Frowning more deeply the closer the bird comes. I don't move though, because where would I go? Back into the ocean? On to the next place with no direction of how to move on?
I mean, 'swim', was pretty self-explanatory but 'jump'.... no sane person is going to find themselves at a cliffs edge and automatically think 'I should jump.'
The bird opens its beak and caws again around the carcass of the mangled animal. It chomps down splitting the animal in two. One end falls from the sky and splatters against the ground at my feet. Hot blood splatters against my pant legs.
I shriek. Or more so I groan and try not to think about it too hard. Blood still has a way of taking me back to Cordelia's castle. Of haunting me with the memory of Harley and everyone else that's suffered at their queen's hands. In a way, it gives me new strength.
I look down. Whatever the animal had once been, it no longer is. All that's left is a skin bag that holds crumpled bones and torn unidentifiable features. I want to wipe the splatter from my pants. Glancing at the plants around me none of them have leaves wide enough to use as napkins. Even wiping it away with my hands would be better.
Moving to drag my hands over my shin, I quickly stop when I realize. Three swirling letters written in an eloquent cursive drip down my leg.
LIE.
To who? What about?
I nod to myself. Okay, I can do this. Now, all I need to do is jump. So I stand, leaving the blood as it is on my pants. The earth tilts in a dizzying way as I look down into the abyss I'm about to leap into. I squeeze my eyes tight, bend my knees, and jump.
Air rushes by, sending my hair above my head as I fall. My feet land together on a worn grass walkway, my hair swinging from the momentum of my landing. I'd slammed against the earth so hard that pain shoots up my legs. Voices carry around and I look over my shoulder to watch a pair of people strolling toward me.
The moon is high in the sky and beyond the couple are lights and cheering Fae. I turn and find a brilliant mansion and a glowing garden with a sparkling Reminints tree. The Shadow Court. My father's memory. Or is it my mother’s?
The friends laugh as they pass me, giving me weird looks as they carry on their conversation.
"You're so gullible. Always doing everything you're told." One slaps the other on the shoulder turning them away from me and the judgment they try to pass on. I'm sure I look insane to them. I'm more surprised though that they can see me.
"I'm just following my commands," they whine in response.
The friend shakes their head. "Stop. Next time they try to tell you to do something, do the opposite. I dare y—oh! It's the king."
The couple bows together. King Rihst storms by them without acknowledging their presence. He stomps right up to me. There is anger in his dark eyes. Still, I marvel at him. The father I never had. There are patches of red in the beard that grows on his chin, his skin is flushed over his cheeks, and though his ears lift to a point at the top it's remarkable how they stick off his head just as mine do.
"Who are you?" He demands stopping in front of me.
"Me?" I point to myself and look around as if he could be talking to anybody else.
"You." He narrows his gaze.
"Briar Anders."
Oh shit. I was supposed to lie. I remind myself.
His eyes soften but all other judgment and fury still remain in his features. King Rihst lifts his chin. "Why are you here?"
Lie. Say a lie.
"I've just come for the fair." I point behind me to the merriment and games just down the small sloping hill.
He sighs, his lip curling in disgust. "I think you need to go for a walk." And he clamps his hand on my shoulder and pushes me. His strength propels me forward.
"No!" I cry with confusion as the blinding sun replaces the midnight moon. My father's image, the familiarness of the Shadow Court, the twinkle of lanterns, all fades like a dream.
I tilt my head up to the sky, screaming with frustration. I don't know what to think. I don't know what to do. Lowering myself to the sand, I lay sideways as I was when the ocean brought me back with a violent cruelty. My shoulders shake with a shuddering breath.
How? How am I going to do this? How?
I want to scream. I want to throw my fists into the dirt and kick my legs like a toddler. Never once did I ask for a hard life, I didn't ask to be an orphan or ask to have to find my way back to the magic that belongs to me in the first place. Yet here I am. These are the cards that I've been dealt. And if I don't fight, I could die. Shadow Fae will die.
Cordelia Nightwaters should die.
The only reprieve from the sun is cast by the rocks. It still spells out swim. I don't need the reminder with the taste of the ocean still stuck to my tongue. I fist my hand and hit the ground just once with a growl. It's all I allow myself before I stand and step into the wicked waves.
This time I don't pay attention to the waves. I don't look to the clouds. Tropical air, cooled only by the storm that rages above, fills my lungs. I surge forward fighting the waters as I arch my arms over my head and then send them forcefully below the dark surface.
I stumble forward into the meadow. Broken weeds and stems catch on my wet socks. Behind me I hear the flapping of wings. The blood that was splattered on my pant legs before, now gone. Even the weeds where my body had fallen the first time are no longer flattened against the earth. It's as if I'd never been here at all.
Run and jump. Jump from the fucking cliff, Briar.
This is the worst part, in my opinion, the purposeful jumping. Next to not having any clue what the hell I'm supposed to be doing here. Still, I leap. Even if I can't bring myself to open my eyes until I'm standing in the grass once more.
It's here. Whatever it is, it's here in this scene with my father where I'm going wrong. I'm not answering him correctly.
Context clue. Context clues.
A familiar breeze passes carrying the voices of the fair. The voices of the friends that bump against each other as they walk, talk, and laugh. I can see as they sway this time that perhaps they've visited the Reminints tree far too many times this evening. I look beyond them to the lighters flicking. Something somewhere has to tell me what to do.
The meadow, the blood splatter, told me to lie. Maybe saying my name in truth had been where I'd gone wrong. What false name should I give? Does it matter?
/> Nothing in the movement of the Fae, nothing in the lights and fun at the distance, nothing on their clothing so much as suggests a word or a prompt.
It was my father's last sentence that suggested what I should do in the desert. "You need to go for a walk." Replays in my mind. And I listened.
Maybe I should just listen.
Together the pair chuckles. Both their gazes travel wearily down my clinging, wet clothing. They judge but don't give me enough of their attention to put a pause to their conversation.
"You're so gullible. Always doing everything you're told." The first grabs his friends’ shoulder, pointing them away from me.
"I'm just following my commands," they complain.
The friend shakes their head. "Stop. Next time they try to tell you to do something, do the opposite. I dare y—oh! It's the king."
I'm so gullible. They're talking to me.
My mistake is doing everything I'm told. So... I should disobey? Do the opposite?
King Rihst is already hustling toward me, his robe flying behind him. What does he tell me to do? I'm racking my brain thinking back to the first conversation. He asks me some questions but his only command is to walk. So what if I didn't walk in the desert? What if I didn't swim in the ocean? What if I didn't jump from the cliff?
What if... I didn't lie?
Two polished boots stop in front of me. He disapproves of my attire, so clearly, his scowl only deepens as he takes in my ragged state. King Rihst balls his hands up, keeping his arms straight as his side. It reminds me of the frustration and the way I wanted to throw a fit like a child.
"Who are you?" he spits.
"Briar Anders," I say with certainty. I'm telling the truth. I won't follow the commands of the amulet any longer.
The scrunch of his brow lifts ever so slightly. No other tensions leave his body, still he lifts his chin. "Why are you here?"
"I've come for my powers."
Rihst brings one of his large hands up to his mouth. His eyes shine as he watches me with a new sort of scrutiny. "Are you," he clears his throat, "Are you the child of Amelia Nightwaters?"
To hear Cordelia's last name is a shock. Though I suppose it's really the king’s last name that she's then carried. Slowly, I nod my head.
"Say it out loud," he whispers, closing his eyes. "The magic won't work if you don't say it out loud."
"Yes. I am your daughter. I am the child of Amelia Nightwaters."
He covers his entire face now. A loud whimper caught in his grasp. I give him a moment, trying to calm the shock of my own body. Goosebumps travel over my skin as he lowers his hands, showing me the torment that lives within him. His lip quivers.
"Briar Anders." He tastes the name. "We've waited a long time for you."
Thirteen
Spellbound
King Rihst steps closer, lifting his hands then dropping them with uncertainty back to his sides. He cocks his head. It's clear he is fiddling, not really knowing what to do with his own body. It's odd for me to see. Kings, as I've known of them, are quite certain of themselves.
"May I?" he asks, his voice hardly louder than the breeze, lifting his hands to my face.
"Yes." I still.
Carefully, he runs his thumb over the apples of my cheeks, cupping his hands on either side of my face. He watches me, then slowly brushes back my water logged hair. "Let me fix that." He waves his hand and I can feel the wetness lifting away from my skin. My hair pulls over my head only until he drops his hand again and it falls back to my shoulder in loose curls.
"You look so much like your mother." His strong arms wrap around my shoulders, tugging me into his chest. My arms remained pinned at my sides. My father holds me tightly. Slowly, I let myself breathe him in and relax against him.
"I'm sorry," he whispers into my ear. "I'm sorry I didn't protect myself from that witch's spell. I'm sorry I couldn't protect your mother. I'm sorry I never got to see you grow up."
I clench my teeth. Tears well in my eyes. I try my best to hold them in, to keep myself from the place of vulnerability that still feels raw and wounded. But as he squeezes me tighter, as he presses the lightest kiss to my temple, my body shakes a release, a quiet sob. A few tears spill over my eyelids and dry on my cheeks. I step away from him, wiping them away.
I have nothing to say. Was it okay that all of these things happened to him, to my mother, to me? No. Was he in control enough to have prevented them from happening? No. So, I can't bring myself to accept the apology but I bob my head in acknowledgment.
"Come now." He offers his arm. "Let me take you to your mother."
Looping my arm in his, the skin on my face feels tight from the drying tears. The king walks but he doesn't take his eyes off of me, staring like he has to memorize my face.
"Gods, I can't get over how much you look like Amelia." He sniffles. "You're beautiful. And currently very human, I see. We'll need to fix that."
My father and I move toward the garden. When I step onto the stone path that loops between the plants, I realize not only has he dried my feet, but my boots are on and laced back up. I look down, in admiration of his magical abilities.
He truly is a powerful, powerful Fae clearly.
"Thank you," I say.
"You'd catch a cold running around dressed like that all soaking wet. It’s the least I could do. I will add that the quick change of scenery was all your mother's idea. She's a brilliant one, I'd say. And I have her to thank for bringing me here in my death."
"Excuse me?"
King Rihst laughs as I subtly lean away. "We are very much real, Briar. At least our souls, not so much the magic that is currently making up what you see as our physical bodies." He brushes away the waving strands of the Reminints tree. "When your mother had you taken from her womb, she had your Fae half removed and placed for safe keeping in what I'm told is my mother's necklace. But she also had my soul and hers tied to the very same piece."
"Even though she knew that you were putting her to death?" I chew on my lip watching the moon above us.
"She loves me as I love her and she saw the deception for what it was, in thanks to our dearest friend Lylix."
"So, you're real?"
"Mostly, real." A female voice says with certainty.
My attention snaps to my mother. Her curls are brought up on top of her head, making it easier to see the blush of her cheeks, and the joy in her gaze. She holds her arms out for me and walks toward me. My father lets me go. I stumble forward and crash into her arms. Her sweet scent washes over me, the lavender smell that the Wishing Spirit had tricked me with. It's indubitable now. She's alive now.
Everything is comfortable in her arms. Homey even. Is this what a true mother is supposed to feel like? I suppose I've seen glimpses of this love in fleeting moments with new foster families. Those moments always came to an end. Does a mother's love truly ever have an end? Here it doesn't feel like it.
"I don't understand how this is you, really you." I hold her at arm’s length. She looks as she did in my father's memory. Young. Too young to die. "You look so much younger than me."
"I mean… I am. I was, physically. My soul is older now." She reaches a hand up to run over my cheek, much like my father had. "This place is only held together by the ties of your magic. Once we gift it to you, we'll be gone. Our souls released to the after world."
"You've just been here? This whole time? My whole life?" Living inside the silly necklace that I'd stuffed in my jewelry box on top of my dresser and swore I'd never wear because it was so gaudy. I gesture toward this false world, the night of the fair that has been frozen into an eternity. "Is the night always the same?"
"Yes." The queen guides me to the bench she had risen from, offering me a seat. The king glides behind us, content with watching us interact.
"Sometimes it's maddening," he adds.
"But mostly, we're just thankful for all these years we were still able to spend together. We've waited for you, Briar." The queen holds b
oth my hands in hers. "We only have a short minute together but I couldn't move on without getting to meet our child. I've mourned for many years never getting the chance to watch you grow or hold you and rock you to sleep. There were so many motherly moments I've missed out on but it's all worth it to know that it's kept you safe."
Safe. I'm not safe. My half-sister wishes me dead, she's killed innocents on her hunt to end my life, to protect her throne. But I suppose in some ways... what she did... it got me here. I'm alive. I've found my home. I've found my people. Is that enough?
"Cordelia," I start, "holds the crown. She's terrorizing the people, killing their babies, killing innocent Shadow Fae that find themselves in her court after wandering in from the human world. I've got to stop her. I've got to make a claim for the throne."
King Rihst looks down at his feet. He wrings his hands together without speaking.
“You do us proud to seek justice as you do,” Queen Amelia speaks softly, her eyes sparkling with her smile. "Cordelia was born with trickery. She was bred by her mother to one day take the crown and make their bloodline royal. But..." She looks up to her husband. "She was once a little girl who loved her dad. And despite it all, he loved her too. This is a hard topic for him. Understandably."
"She's technically blood. But if I don't end her, she'll end me."
"I know." He sits gingerly down next to me on the bench. "What happens in your world now is out of our control. It's past our time and we have no say. I know this. So I won't try to sway you in any sort of direction. I found my death at her hands and I still can't bring myself to hate her. For you, though, it's different."
Folding my hands into my lap, I fiddle with my thumbs and pick at my fingernails. King Rihst may have love for Cordelia in his heart, but I do not. We may share a father but that’s where the similarities end.
“Tell me about your life.” My mother sits up straighter, her tone full of curiosity and more certainly a sense of hope.
“Well, I was working…in the human world, as a teacher’s assist before I stumbled into The Shadow Court—”
