by Shyla Colt
I study the landscape as the horses plod along proudly. White rabbits dart along the hills. Fae magic vibrates on a much higher level. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. The powerful connection turns the surrounding environment into a sentient being. I can feel its awareness. I admire the woman across from us for being powerful enough to command it.
“You sense the magic, witch?” Sebile directs the question toward me.
“Yes.”
She hums. “You’re more powerful than I ever anticipated. I thought your line had seen the best of its day. Perhaps I judged too quickly.”
I exchange a confused look with Sacha. I know she’s baiting me. What I’m uncertain about is her motive. What is she searching for? Sandwiched between Marcellus and Ada, I’m aware of the additional shielding of my mind that keeps my thoughts private. I don’t feel an attempt to tamper with my mental space. “Is she trying to get into my mind?” I send the question through the link, carefully studying Sebile. If she’s aware of the communication, she’s not letting it show.
“No, we’re precautionary. The best defense is a good offense,” Marcellus says. I can’t fault his logic. Cristobal sends him with me for a reason.
As we ride onto the property, I admire the ice sculptures of Faeries, wings open as if they’re ready to take flight. Their flowing gowns and tunic and breeches are a throwback to a different time. The detail of each face is exquisite.
We finally come to a stop across from a grand stone staircase that reminds me of an entrance to a cathedral. The thick railing is covered with a glittery layer of fresh snow.
“Alston will bring your bags up to your rooms,” Sebile says as he helps her down. We follow suit, and I take everything in as we ascend the stairs. A heavy, rounded, wooden door is decorated with elaborate carvings and words in a language I don’t recognize. It swings open for its mistress. The sound of laughter, orchestral music, and conversation spill out to greet us. Crossing the threshold, I’m immediately swallowed by merriment. Servants walk by carrying trays of frosted glasses with purple, pink, blue, and green drinks, and an assortment of hors-d’oeuvres. The scene mimics an elite cocktail hour, except the guests aren’t human. I try not to gawk at the beautiful range of skin tones and humanoid forms. Tree Fae with bark-like skin and leaves for hair, blue water Fae with white hair, and red-skinned Fae with hair the colors of a sunset are just a few of the unique beings mingling in the crowd. I knew Faeries were inhumanly beautiful, but this is a sensory overload.
“May I present Louella Esçhete and her esteemed entourage. Once they have a moment to freshen up, the feast will begin in the dining hall.” She’s brilliant as she rules over her subjects, and lords the honor of hosting us over the other courts. I can spot the stillness among the flurry of activity. Power radiates from certain individuals in visible waves. I know instinctively these are the rulers of the other three courts.
Sebile stops a young, dark-haired Faerie with a pixie haircut and over-sized amber eyes.
“Magena, escort our guests to their rooms, and guide them back down when they’re ready.”
It’s a whirlwind of faces, hallways, and rooms that are fit for royalty. I’m sharing a suite with the other three girls done in gold and emerald with ornate four-poster canopy beds, high ceilings with crown moldings, and furniture older than the three of us put together. Our luggage is waiting outside each assigned room. I want to explore, but it’s not polite to keep people waiting.
“She’s not letting us have time to gather our thoughts at all, is she?” Sacha asks as we meet in the main room.
“No. I’m sure it’s a tactic,” Ada says softly.
“If she wanted to keep me off-kilter, she’s succeeded.”
“Be careful what you eat and drink,” Ada cautions.
“We’ll be checking everything with our magic,” I assure her.
“Two or three times,” Sacha adds.
A knock sounds at the massive double doors.
“Come in,” I call.
“If you ladies are ready, I’ll lead you to the dining room. The men are waiting.” Magena clasps her hands in front of her as if she’s praying. Back ramrod straight, and eyes trained on the floor, you can tell she’s been doing her job for some time.
“Lead on, Magena.” I smile.
We follow her outside where Marcellus, Larkin, and Percival are waiting.
“Are your rooms as luxurious as ours?” Marcellus asked.
“Yes. I’m thinking of asking for upgrades to the mansion now,” Ada says.
I roll my eyes. “Snobs.”
“Privileged is the word we prefer,” Marcellus drawls.
“Children, can we get along, please?” Percival asks dryly.
Larkin smirks. It’s all bravado. We’re using the familiar banter to settle our nerves. What once showed animosity had become a sign of genuine affection. By the time we reach the main hall where people are gathered with drinks and curious gazes, I’m rock steady. Sebile slinks over with a wicked smile.
“May I present the soon to be Lady of the Cortez Court, and the matriarch to be of the Esçhete family, Louella Esçhete.” All eyes are on me. I hold onto my skirts and curtsy, grateful for the stringent training from the court of courtesy rituals long past.
“This one has manners,” Sebile purrs.
Laughter fills the space. I’ve passed my first test.
“One never knows what you’ll get when dealing with humans. Perhaps this one will be tolerable.”
Perhaps I should bite my tongue, but being meek won’t win me any points with this lot, and I have to stand up for my stations. “She is right here, and sufficiently trained to rub shoulders with royalty like those who are now before me.”
“Oh, this one will be amusing,” a tall Faerie with long, black hair, and golden-eyes all but purrs. His voice is reminiscent of Alan Rickman in the role of Severus Snape.
“Artagan. Always a troublemaker,” Sebile says with a laugh. The woman beside Artagan has wild chestnut curls, olive skin and high cheekbones, and full red lips that stand out in her heart-shaped face. The same startling gold eyes are full of amusement and kindness. It’s not what I expected from any of them.
“It’s been so long since we’ve had proper visitors. Can you blame us for being excited?” Her voice is a soft as the velvet of my dress, and full of warmth and mischief.
“Morag, taking up for your troublemaking mate again, I see? I should stop expecting better from you, sister.”
“Bitter because the Fall Court likes to have fun?” Morag taunts.
I glance at the Faeries. I’d never say it out loud, but they’re two sides of the same coin. They’re darkness at different stages. I can see the family resemblance, but it’s clear they’re twilight and night.
“You forget which court you belong to.”
Morag’s eyes spark, burning a molten gold. “Believe me, sister, I know I’m a member of the Unseelie. You’d do well to remember it doesn’t mean you have to be an utter bitch.”
“Ladies, save the family disagreements for later,” Artagan scolds, stroking his wife’s wild hair.
“Introductions would be most prudent,” a man with a full-bodied voice says. He’s the very definition of a good-looking man. Golden-blond hair ends at his collar, and he has a masculine, square face with a dimpled chin. His light green, almond-shaped eyes are full of disdain.
Sebile’s violet eyes flicker with annoyance.
“Louella, meet Tarinde, King of the Spring Court, and his wife, Friesal.” The petite woman with delicate features, grass green eyes, and bee-stung, pale pink lips smiles. She seems like a strong wind could blow her over, but I know better. Her white-blonde hair is baby fine and cascades to her waist in an impressive waterfall of shininess.
“Your Highnesses, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintances.” I curtsy and they
greet me with a small regal bow.
“You’ve already heard from Artagan and Morag, King and Queen of the Fall Court.”
I repeat the motions. “Your Highnesses honor me with your presences and invitation. I thank you.”
Morag chuckles. “Oh, she’s good.”
“You may survive us unscathed,” Artagan says jovially. The muscles at the base of my back tense. Is that a warning or a joke? I sense irritation coming from Sebile. If it’s related to her sister, or the fact that she’s yet to trip me up, I can’t say. I came into this game playing to win. I refuse to fall into the trap of owing a Faerie.
My court presses in close to me. The brush of their psyches against mine brings me comfort. I draw strength from their nearness, keeping the faux smile plastered on my face and my eyes blank.
“King and Queen of the Summer Court, Oighrig and Evander.” Tall and sleek with sky blue eyes, thick, red hair, their sun-kissed skin glows. Oighrig is broad-shouldered and muscular, with hair the color of blood he’s pulled back into a low ponytail. He peers down at me with a curious expression. His wife is willowy with wavy, auburn locks that scream beach hair, and a perfect up-turned nose. They stand out against the most against the wintery environment.
“It’s an honor to be in the presence of the honorable Summer Court.”
They give small nods of acknowledgment.
“Tell us who you’ve brought with you,” Oighrig instructs.
“This is Larkin, Marcellus, Percival, and Ada. They are members of the Cortez Court. Sacha Morel is a member of my witch community.”
“How interesting that you should hold two conflicting roles,” Evande says. “It’s light and darkness.”
I nod my head. “Yes. But we are all creatures with the aptitude for dual qualities, are we not? No one is truly one thing or the other.”
“Fascinating,” Oighrig says. I can feel him press against the barrier of my mind. I keep my walls high.
His eyes widen. I don’t like his interest.
“Tomorrow we will conduct our business. Tonight is for celebration.” Sebile claps her hands. The doors swing open to the dining hall. “Now we dine.”
***
I curse the heavy black velvet skirts that skim the snow as we trail behind Sebile. A scarlet dress hugs her curvaceous frame, and dips low in the back, showing flashes of her back when her hair sways. An ornate crystalline crown rests on top of her head. She appears to glide as she leads us up the path toward a snow-capped mountain. A woman on a mission, her pace is relentless. We reach the top of the trail that dead ends into a mountainside.
Sebile waves her hand. An opening appears carved into the rock.
“This is as far as I can allow anyone other than Louella to go. What’s beneath this mountain has been revealed to a select few. Each must prove their worth. Should you agree to enter, it must be of your own free will with this knowledge.”
“Wait, you expect us to allow her to go in there alone?” Marcellus asks.
“Are you questioning my integrity?” Sebile counters.
“When it comes to my lady there is nothing I won’t do to guarantee her safety. Since we’ve been here, you’ve spoken no words defining our protection in your kingdom.”
“You want an oath then?” she asks slowly.
“I do. That she will be unharmed by you or anything else you encounter while you’re inside that mountain.”
Sebile tilts her head to the side. “That’s a lot to ask.”
“Only if you’re planning on doing something less than honorable,” Larkin says.
“Clever vampires,” Sebile crows. We’re sport to her. A fun interruption of the monotony that is immortality. “I swear that no harm that befalls her inside will be due to me. I refuse to take responsibility for actions she takes which may bring things upon herself.” It’s as good as promise as we’re going to get from her.
Marcellus’ clenches his jaw. “Fine. Lady, proceed.”
“I agree,” I say solemnly.
“The mountain is alive. It chooses who shares its secrets.” She steps into the cave. Shrouded in shadows, she could be death’s handmaiden. I follow quickly before I give myself a chance to overthink things.
“Oh.” Ice coats every inch of the stone. Icicles hang down like fringe.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asks.
“Yes.” I pull my cloak closer to my body, relishing the warmth as the temperature drops. My heels click over the cobbled stone.
“Not many can see the beauty in the darkness.” Purple Faerie lights hover in the air, illuminating the area. There’s an inviting quality to the darkness. Black roses grow out of the ice―large, vibrant, and fragrant. The sultry smell of dark spices and orchids. Here there are no limitations to what can exist.
The tunnels branch off into three separate entrances. We veer to the far left. Passing through the rounded arch, we enter a forest. Trees sprout up tall and curve inward on either side of the narrow path, covered with silvery snow. The light from the full moon in the night sky above us is brighter than the one on earth. Tilting my head back, I study the differences. The stars are so much closer and crisper here. As we move deeper into the forest, the trees close in around us, and the path becomes a thin ribbon of stone. The sound of running water reaches my ears.
“Is their water ahead?”
“Yes, we’re coming to a stream. Here you’ll face your first test.”
“Test?”
“I told you, the mountain judges who’s worthy or not.”
It’s not an outright lie, but the omission is splitting hairs. We wind our way around a bend, and I see the stream in the distance. A stone bridge leads to the other side.
“Peer into the water and tell me what you see.”
I kneel cautiously, never feeling the cold. Bending over hesitantly, I hold my breath. My reflection stares back, warped by the flowing water. I relax. A movement beneath the surface and a flash of white and blue catches me off guard. Aquamarine-skinned water sprites with long, white hair swim on their back. Their frosted white eyes latch onto my gaze. The glint of metal catches the moonlight. I lean in closer, narrowing my gaze. The water is lit from within, a soft blue that’s easy on the eyes. A rusted copper key rests on a pile of large gray stones. The top of the key has a Celtic knot woven into its design.
“What do you see?” Sebile asks.
“Water sprites. And a key.”
“They’re the guardians of this waterway. If your intentions are as pure as you claim, they’ll allow you to remove the key. Providing they find you fit to wield it.” Her tone lacks certain confidence.
“And when was the last time that happened?”
“The years all blur after so long.”
I lower the cloak and push up the sleeve of my dress. Waiting won’t change the outcome. My hand trembles as I sink it into the icy deeps. The cold sinks bone deep. My teeth chatter. The sprites circle my hand. Their hair brushes against my skin. Like synchronized swimmers, their tiny legs work in tandem, keeping them moving in a hypnotic display of graceful shapes and formations. My fingers brush the key. They tighten their ranks. My throat dries out. Are they going to attack?
I pick up the key, ready to fend off an attack. Their tiny hands brush up against my skin as they wrap their bodies around me. I lift my arm out carefully. I clear the water, uncertain if a battle with them will anger Sebile. The minute they feel the air, the sprites let go. Their wings are iridescent, glowing in the moonlight. They move in to caress my face as they pull my hair gently. I don’t understand the significance, but it’s a far sight better than the tiny teeth ripping into my flesh as I’d imagined they might.
“They’re giving you their blessing and thanking you for their freedom. They’re bound to protect the key, but while it’s in use, they can do as they please.”
“Thank
you,” I whisper. I smile as they flit away, skimming the top of the water while they disappear from view.
“You’ve passed the first test. Come.”
Clutching the key like a talisman, I trail behind her over the bridge. The trees grow larger and flesh out. A trail turns to the right. The light lessens as the trees grow together above us. My stomach knots. Glowing yellow eyes watch us from deeper in the forest. I imagine the hungry beasts that possess those luminous gazes. Branches rustle. My instincts kick in, adrenaline pumping. I’m in fight or flight. There are things stalking us. Plenty of lore describes the being with teeth, claws, and ill intentions among the Unseelie.
I glance over my shoulder and catch wispy white apparitions trailing behind us. Spindly fingers appear on the edge of the walkway. Goblins? I’m grateful when we enter a clearing. Three tall oak trees reach for the evening sky. Their branches like fingers spread as they worship its majesty. In the center of each thick trunk are doors. I study the key. It gives no indication which door it will unlock. The door in the middle is made of pale wood, lovingly sculpted into a giant owl. Its eyes are carved deep and seem to follow you. A navy-blue door, which has a rounded top with an embossed pattern of swirls, is at the right. On the far left is an ornate black door with a gold frame with an odd cutout design.
“What am I supposed to do?” I ask.
“Each door leads somewhere. But only one will take you to the hall of mirrors.”
“What keeps me from opening every door?”
“You may only use the key once.” She smirks. It felt too straightforward. I want to ask, ‘Where’s the catch?’
“May I touch the doors?”
She nods. “You may. Take as long as you like to make your decision.” There’s no kindness in her words, only a blatant arrogance, and mockery. Her high-handed attitude presses my buttons. I move to the black door, close my eyes, and place my hand on its cool surface, opening all of my senses. Dread forms in the pit of my stomach. Fear, anger, and darkness fill me until I’m ready to explode. Images of curved nails, and bared teeth dripping with bloody saliva, fill my head. There’s nothing but pain and suffering behind the pretty packaging of that door. I snatch my hand back, shaken by all I’ve experienced. My body trembles. I wrap my arms around my waist. “What is that place?”
