Dark Embers

by R. L. Giddings

  Then we went back into the inn. We found a leather sofa in a quiet alcove where I curled up and proceeded to get a few hours’ fitful sleep.

  *

  I woke up to find the room transformed by the sunlight streaming in through the high windows.

  Macrory had found a low table on which he had arranged a breakfast of oats and soft fruits, generously topped off with a honey liqueur. I hadn’t realised how hungry I’d been and quickly ate my fill, all washed down with a glass of sparkling apple juice.

  Arcadia was run as an autocracy with Aleena as the ultimate ruler but an interesting side-line to this was that people with power and influence could gain access to the queen through a system known as Requilim. Basically, this was a paid audience with her majesty which was good for us because money wasn’t something that Macrory was short of.

  We arrived at the palace and were taken to a notary’s office. The conversation was conducted in Arcadian so I was unable to follow most of it. There was the usual back and forth of a deal being made. The notary’s tone was quite peremptory and dismissive, that was until Macrory slid a small package across his desk.

  The man, who had been quite brusque up to this point, looked down at the package and then up to Macrory and I thought for a moment that we were going to be arrested. But then he scooped the package off the desk and into a desk drawer and the whole atmosphere changed.

  By the time we left, the two of them gave every indication of being the very best of friends. The notary even managed to give me a little nod of acknowledgement as we left.

  “That seemed to go well,” I said. “What happens now?”

  “The level of corruption in this place is phenomenal. And that’s just the first stage. So now we get to go and bribe another civic dignitary.”

  “And then we get to see the queen?”

  “Not necessarily. We can’t enter the palace building without the permission of the Purser’s office and even then we have to wait to be granted entry.”

  My fingers brushed against the knife hidden beneath my dress. This was taking too long.

  “We will get to see her today,” I asked. “I mean, we must, surely.”

  “I’m trying my best. I can’t do much more.”

  As we rounded a corner, we came face-to-face with the Dandelion Tower. Up-close, it was clear that the clock face had more in common with a sun-dial than a conventional timepiece. It looked completely out of place amidst the more traditional architecture which surrounded it. A tall, delicate construction, it appeared to have been fabricated by some alien technology.

  “We need to get up there if we’re going to turn this around,” Macrory said.

  “I thought we were here to reason with the queen?”

  “If such a thing were possible,” he shook his head. “According to doctrine, the Dandelion Tower was built by Serengal to contain all the wisdom of the Elder Races. Its influence is extremely far reaching but the queen found a way to stop it. That way she can extend her reign indefinitely.”

  “I thought you said that all the magic was gone. ‘Seeped away’, you said.”

  “If all the magic had gone this place and everything in it would be gone too. The clock regulates the ebb and flow of all magic and, by stopping it, the queen has interfered with the natural rhythms of the land - the seasons don’t change, the tides don’t exist.”

  “So, if the clock began working again Aleena’s reign would end.”

  Macrory gave me a look of simple longing. “We can only hope.”

  “But how are we going to accomplish that?”

  “With a little forward thinking, perhaps?”

  We emerged in a small piazza. Several officials dressed in blue and gold were dealing with the various appellants. Most were wealthy businessmen, though there was also several family groups dressed in their finery. I wondered what they hoped to gain from this.

  An exotic looking official came over to talk to us. He was about my age but wore a full beard which made him look older. The medallions pinned to his chest looked slightly ridiculous. All the time he was speaking with Macrory, he kept glancing across in my direction. Then, when their business had been completed, he made to take my hand. I was a little thrown by this but went along with it for the sake of good form. He led me across to a small antechamber.

  “I have explained to your father that the queen is over-run with state appointments. She will be seeing several appellants today but we have no idea how long this will take. In the meantime, can I offer you some tea?”

  *

  Several hours later we were still sitting in the same ante-room. I’d studied every item in the room’s display cases at least twice and had a good working knowledge of the palace grounds from the map on the wall. The throne room was located inside the Great Hall and that was where the audiences were held. We’d had three cups of tea and had just been presented with an array of delicacies, none of which I recognised.

  “This is not good,” Macrory said, examining what looked like a pickled pepper. “They’re feeding us.”

  “Why? Do you think it’s poisoned?”

  “They only poison you once you’ve finished paying. No, this just suggests that we’re in for a very long wait.”

  “Is there nothing we can do to speed things up?”

  “Nothing I can do. You, on the other hand, could try using your charms on that fellow with the beard.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would he be interested in me when he’s surrounded by all these gorgeous creatures?”

  “Well, there’s no accounting for taste.”

  But I wasn’t listening.

  I had been distracted by the tea-trolley.

  It had begun to vibrate so violently that it had started to propel itself across the floor. The other appellants had noticed too. Except it wasn’t the only thing that was moving. A silver dish crashed to the floor right behind me. An exquisite glass sculpture followed.

  It was at this point that I noticed the crack in the wall. It started at floor level but quickly crept up to the ceiling.

  Macrory started bustling me out of the door.

  The others in the room weren’t quite so quick and, as they stumbled out onto the piazza one of them was struck by a block of falling masonry.

  The ground began to shake and it became difficult to stay upright. All around us, we could hear the crash of brickworks. The sound of glass shattering resounded all around us. At one point, there was a huge upheaval at the centre of the piazza. One whole tiled section was lifted into the air as if mounted on a pneumatic hoist and water started pouring out of a fractured pipe.

  Macrory stumbled and almost lost his footing. He looked around him at the devastation that had been wrought in only a few seconds. “Things are starting to come to a head.”

  The quaking was slowly beginning to subside. The ante-room we’d been standing in only minutes before had been reduced to rubble and there was similar signs of destruction all over the palace.

  “Where are you going?” he said as I started to pick my way through the debris.

  “The Great Hall. I’m going to find the queen.”

  *

  It was quite a long walk to the Great Hall but no one paid me any attention. As I’d expected, everyone was too busy dealing with their own problems to give me a second glance. It was only as I entered the central court that I encountered any kind of opposition.

  Three guards stood about wearing bronze helmets and carrying halberds. They were obviously shaken by what had occurred yet they gripped their weapons with a grim purpose. As I walked out of the shadows and into the sunshine of the courtyard, one of the men pointed at me and shouted. I was too angry to be easily discouraged, the earthquake had not only cut a trail of devastation across the palace, it had also released the pent-up energies inside me. I wasn’t sure how Sidhe magic worked but I knew one thing: disturbances in the environment always have a significant influence on my magical energy levels and, at that moment, I couldn’t h
ave been more energised.

  There was something comical in the way that the guard angled his halberd in my direction, as if he were about to charge. But I was looking beyond him. Part of an upper casement window had started to come away from the surrounding stonework, its wooden stanchions exposed to the air for the first time in years. All I had to do was give the whole thing a bit of encouragement.

  The section of wall must have been in a more fragile state than I’d imagined as a large part of the building simply came away with it, dumping several tons of masonry into the courtyard. Either that or my spells were much more powerful in Arcadia than they were at home. Subsequently, the two guards at the back were lost in a cloud of brick dust.

  Before anyone had a chance to challenge me, I had skipped up the steps and entered the main building.

  Inside, things were a whole lot worse. A marble staircase had collapsed into the foyer and I could see people on the upper level panicking about how they were going to get down. Injured members of the royal household were everywhere, many of them heading out through the main doors I’d just come through. Complete chaos. Just what I needed.

  “Bronte!” it was Macrory. “Wait up.”

  He must have followed me through the courtyard and was covered in dust from head to toe. If that was what he looked like, I imagined that I looked somewhat similar. But I had no time to worry about that. I needed to work out where I was going.

  The first door I tried led into a gallery where most of the statues were strewn across the floor. I turned to leave, only to be confronted by Macrory.

  “We’ve got to talk about this. We can’t simply rush in.”

  But I just stepped round him. I was in no mood to be reasoned with at this stage. The less I thought about what I was about to do, the better.

  The entrance to the throne room was further along the corridor. One of the gilt doors had come away from its hinges and was hanging at a perilous angle allowing me to slip inside.

  The room itself was enormous. Hand carved wooden chairs lined the walls on either side and the few people who were sitting there appeared to be in a state of shock. There was no telling how long they’d been waiting for this opportunity and now it looked like all audiences would have to be cancelled. The walls were panelled in oak, and everywhere you looked there was evidence of fine stone carving. The floor at this end of the room was richly carpeted but the far end was uncovered, the floor constructed of what looked like pure black glass. A carpeted dais was set against the far wall, with an arched throne at its centre.

  Two guards were all that stood between me and the gaggle of advisors who surrounded the queen. Only two! I’d expected much more. In my experience, this was a common mistake: an over-reliance on tough outer security inevitably resulted in lax internal security. The person under protection invariably preferred it that way: not having their every move scrutinised. But it was a compromise and one which served my needs now.

  As I approached the edge of the carpet, a niggling fear swelled inside me. It was more than just being in the queen’s presence, more than just the threat posed by the guards. It was a base fear, the sort of thing you experience upon waking from a nightmare. Yet this was real and, with every step, the feeling grew until I could physically go no further.

  Beneath me, the black glass seemed to ripple. There was something down there.

  When I next looked up, Macrory had just entered the room, a look of profound sadness and loss on his face.

  I studied the floor again, trying to make sense of what I saw. It was like staring into a black mirror, reflecting, as it did, the vast hall surrounding me. Only it wasn’t exactly the same. It was acutely different and my guts churned at the disparity. There were other figures down there. Richly dressed women, three of whom appeared to be looking back at me. Staring. Pointing. Moving in slow motion.

  Macrory approached, stepping lightly.

  “Down there,” I said, blankly. “What is that?”

  “Can’t you tell?”

  “It looks the same as here, only it’s not. It’s different.”

  “That is the Seelie Court. The winter queen has trapped them down there like a fly in amber. They rail against her, at the injustice of what she has done but she won’t listen. She is dead to all sense of duty. Her path is set and she is intent on pursuing it, whatever the cost.

  Someone said, “Who are these people?”

  A man in a coat of purple brocade, completely bald but with a fine white beard, stepped down off the dais and approached, his shoes clicking on the glass.

  “Have the throne room cleared immediately.”

  When no one responded to his command he strode over to us as if intending to eject us personally.

  “Her majesty is indisposed. You will all have to come back tomorrow.”

  Macrory stepped out to block his path, “I’m afraid that’s impossible. Our business appertains to the safety of the nation. We must be granted an audience immediately.”

  The bearded man was dumbfounded by this.

  “Macrory?”

  “Malachi,” Macrory performed a perfectly executed bow.

  “Can it really be you?” the white bearded Malachi extended his arms. “We had lost hope of ever seeing you again.”

  Macrory made no attempt to return the man’s affections. He simply stood there.

  “I had not thought to find you here,” Malachi continued. “But then, you always did have a knack for surprises. You’re going to tell me next that this earthquake was some of your doing.”

  Macrory struck the glass a glancing blow with his staff.

  “What unspeakable arrogance. You stand by while our world is brought to the brink destruction and yet still refuse to recognise your own part in it.”

  Macrory brushed past him, heading straight for the dais. Malachi looked at me for some sort of clarification but I simply shrugged.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  The group on the dais turned in a desultory fashion as Macrory approached them. As he dropped to one knee, I felt the breath catch in my throat.

  The queen, in a shimmering green and gold dress, sat at the centre. But it wasn’t the simple sight of Aleena which had taken my breath away.

  A magnificent wolf, which had been lying on the floor, slowly climbed to its feet.

  Be careful, I told myself. It might not be him.

  Only I knew it was.

  “Silas?”

  The wolf turned its head in my direction, nostrils flaring.

  I looked again. It hardly seemed possible that this could be the same animal I’d seen in Salazar’s video. That wolf had been a pathetic, malnourished, mangy looking thing, whereas this...

  This was a wolf destined to sit at the feet of a great queen. He had been reinvigorated to the extent that I couldn’t think when I’d seen a healthier looking specimen. He was also much heavier than the last time I’d seen him and the excess looked to be all muscle. As his head turned to scrutinise me, his neck and shoulders coursed with sheer animal power.

  For weeks, I had been entertaining thoughts about what I would do if this moment should ever arrive, if we were ever to be re-united. And yet, now that it was here and we were standing opposite one another, I was completely clueless as to how to proceed. I stood rooted to the floor, totally befuddled, my mind a froth of questions.

  “I’m surprised to see that he still recognises you.”

  A woman’s voice, as rich as cream and honey.

  Queen Aleena stretched out one lithe leg and stepped down from the throne. She looked to be no more than eighteen or nineteen years old and retained that fullness of flesh in her arms and neck of a healthy teenager. But she moved with the grace of a panther, her toes gripping the rich carpet, every aspect of her appearance perfectly composed.

  Her hair was pulled back from her face accentuating the strength of her jaw.

  But it was her ice blue eyes which held me.

  Her irises shaped like those of a cat.


  A physical characteristic that she shared with her sister Silesia and no one else. I’d heard it described as the very epitome of physical beauty. But that’s not how I saw it. To me, it spoke eloquently of her marked lack of humanity, reminding me of the threat she posed, both to me and to anyone else she came into contact with.

  As she bent to run a hand along Silas’ neck, I glimpsed the great Queen’s Key which hung at her neck.

  She indicated Silas. “Would you like to pet him? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

  Macrory touched my arm to dissuade me. Probably just as well. The temptation was almost too strong.

  “Perhaps later,” my tongue, suddenly so dry, stuck to the roof of my mouth.

  What should I do now? Where was my plan? I’d thought that seeing Silas again would be the happiest moment of my life. Funny how life has a way of surprising you. The Winter Queen had been manipulating me from day one and now, standing in her presence, she was doing it again.

  “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

  She beckoned me forward then and it took all my reserves to resist her. My eyes skipped over to Silas. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting from him: some sign perhaps, a hint of recognition? Whatever it was, it wasn’t forthcoming.

  I was brimming with self-pity. Why had I come here? Was I hoping for some kind of redemption after what had happened to Silas in the first place? I was about to betray everyone’s trust in the hope that I could win Silas back. I didn’t care about the war or what was happening to the people of Arcadia. I didn’t care about Edwin. Not really. I was just thinking about myself and my own happiness.

  I’d been incredibly naïve. The Seelie Blade was much more than a weapon. It was possibly the only thing that had ever caused Aleena to pause, to consider the consequences of her actions and now, if I surrendered it - if I gave Aleena the knife - then she would be simply invulnerable.