by Alexia Purdy
Shade refused to answer, already fed up and done with his petty conversation. Lifting her chin, she stood her ground and glared at the Unseelie king.
I won’t wither… stand strong. He won’t know what to do with me and doesn’t even know the new magic I have now, she thought.
“What magic have… you… stolen!?” His voice echoed, vibrating in her ears as his anger melted the last of the ice on his face, leaving it steaming from his fury.
“I’m your prisoner. Nothing more.”
He’d had enough. He whirled around and stomped off to slump onto the throne. For an Ancient of Faerie, his temperament was frightening and unstable.
Waving his hand at the guards, he finally spoke with a calm, dead voice. “Take her to the prison cells. Now! Chain her up with spells, and take a witch with you. I won’t have her escaping again.”
The guards seized her arms, digging their fingers painfully into her skin. She tried not to yelp and turned toward the one stabbing her hardest with his fingers.
Familiar brown eyes stared back into hers, his face mostly covered by a helmet made of metal and iron. It was obviously made to burn the guards into submission, and many of them had taken theirs off in the commotion. Angry red lines crisscrossed their faces where the iron had melted their skin into jagged scars, branding them as Unseelie. It didn’t bother this one at all. He wore it happily to hide the face beneath. She turned away to hide her recognition of him, relieved to the bottom of her soul at this discovery.
Benton.
He’d made it safely, and now he was pulling her roughly toward the hall once more, down the stretches of dirty, mold-ridden walls, ascending to the towers high above which were the prison cells of the Withering Palace. He’d taken his place within the guard as easily as he’d done homework back home, and done it without discovery.
Shade relaxed a bit and let him practically drag her to the tower. With him at the guard post, their plan just might work. All was not lost. If Benton could fool them, she could most definitely play them for the fools that they really were.
“Into this one.”
“That’s the one with that Ancient Faerie queen filth in it. Find another one,” another guard hissed. He’d hopped along behind them as a way to get out of the royals’ sight. Shade threw him a dirty look and wished he’d wither into nothing for disrupting their plans.
“They’re all full. Didn’t our captain just say that this morning, you idiot? Pay attention. This is the only one left with some room.”
The other guard muttered under his breath about being the last to know anything and nodded as Benton pulled out a ring of keys and turned the lock. Giving her a nice hard shove, Benton pushed her to the floor and snapped her wrists into chains before turning toward the witch following quietly behind them.
“Bewitch them.”
She nodded and began her incantation, smearing the chains with her own blood. Shade groaned at the slick cuffs but made no further moves until the witch finished her job. Finished, the woman left the chamber, followed by the rest of the guards, including Benton.
Oh, he’s good. He never broke character, not once. Not even to forget to bespell my chains. Great.
She swept her gaze across the tiny cell, landing on the only other figure occupying the room.
A girl with long blonde hair sat there, twirling straw in her fingers and braiding it over and over again after she’d unbraided it. She looked like a child, or maybe it was her bony frame jutting out from under her thin linen gown and her dirty hair framing her thinking face that made her look so painfully tiny and frail.
“Rowan?” Shade shifted in her chains and crouched closer to the girl. Was this the Ancient Spring queen? Kilara’s sister? It couldn’t be. This girl was pathetic and such a tiny little sprite, there was no way she could be.
“Never speak a faery’s name in vain, child.” The girl’s golden eyes focused on her, her voice very much not a little girl’s tiny squeak but a woman’s commanding one. The grit from days of being unwashed clung to her youthful skin. “A true name o’ faery be ’eard of so rare, For pow’r ov’r ye, will get them your fare. No true faery giveth such treasure in light, for those with such pow’r, their good will be spite.”
Rowan hissed out the old faery song with a haunting vocal. Once done, she’d appeared to have forgotten Shade was even there and returned to plucking bits of twigs and hay from the floor to twirl together into decorated little bits.
“Rowan, Kilara sent me.”
“’Tis a name of ol’ of which has passed.”
“She sent me to you, to save you.”
“Save me?” Rowan remembered her then and turned a wicked glare on her once more. “No one can save me.”
“Here.” Shade pulled out the amulet, hidden in a secret pocket of her shirt. “Kilara told me to give it to you. It will help her find you and replenish your powers.”
The amulet dangled in the air, flashing colors across the cell. Rowan watched it in awe but didn’t dare touch it.
“A pretty little stone from a pretty little girl.”
“Kilara is not a girl. Don’t you know her? She’s your sister!” Shade’s patience was wearing thin. If Rowan didn’t touch the stone, Kilara wouldn’t know she’d been found.
She suddenly found herself on the floor, Rowan holding her down with an inhuman strength that no frail little woman could ever possess. “She’s not my sister. She is the scorching wind in the inferno of the earth. She is the death of life under her unrelentin’ burning sun. She withers me plants and steals da breath o’ water from me lands. Ya dare call ’er my sister? She’s fooled ya all.”
Rowan snatched the necklace with the amulet attached, careful not to touch the stone, ran to the barred window and flung it out into the great blue sky.
“No! Why did you do that? She wants to help you, not burn your lands.”
Rowan’s frame began to shake, at first looking like she was convulsing, but it slowly turned into a fit of laughter. Her unsettling cackle sent shivers down Shade’s spine.
What now? Shade thought. This wasn’t part of the plan, and this is no Spring queen. Rowan was as mad as a hatter, even worse, actually. What of the plan now? Kilara had a lot to answer for. Was she even aware of Rowan’s madness? With the amulet gone, there was no hope of escape before Kilara decided to destroy the palace.
Shade’s panic choked her up, and she slinked down onto the gritty cell floor as she watched Rowan transform from the insanity of a laughing corpse to the tiny, frail childlike girl picking up little pebbles and hay off the cell floor once more. She expertly tied the straw around a pebble, slowly knotting the rest of it into a hemp-like necklace.
What the hell is going on?
This was going so wrong. Shade was sure that under that frail exterior, Rowan was a superpower not to be trifled with, even scarier than Corb, Kilara and Arthas combined.
Chapter Thirteen
Kingdoms Crumbling
KILARA PACED THE floor of The Great Divide Palace, wringing her hands. Its frigid interior made her shiver, but if she brought forth the warmth of summer, the place would start melting. Corb would definitely not like that. The reasons they were here in the first place were frustrating her. She never did have patience for much to start with, so this was driving her mad, all this waiting. Corb had returned to his palace to gather power. The ice palace was magic unto itself, and as he sat in his statuesque pose on his throne, he pulled the power back into him.
There were other ways to use power in Faerie. You could pull power from others when your own are bound. You could also take back the power one has unleashed across the land, like the magic used to build palaces. So here they were, taking back magic spent, brick by painful ice brick.
He was clever, she had to admit. The years had hardened him, and he was a different faery than the man she’d known hundreds of years ago. In fact, talking with him was like getting to know a whole new stranger. Her curiosity about him had amplified, and s
he watched him as he drew more and more power back into himself. It was intriguing, yet frightening.
“How much longer?” Kilara’s patience was tested to the limits, and Corb had endless patience. It was strange how different they were. He’d changed during the time she’d slumbered. Had she changed at all? She didn’t feel any different, just irritated with having to wait as he completed his tasks. Maybe he’d changed for the better. She hadn’t had such a benefit, and it’d been her own fault. Even with magic to soothe her nerves, she felt twitchy and agitated even more than she would’ve been by herself.
“Not much longer.” He flicked his eyes to her. They still held a very human-looking blue iris and pupil, yet the longer the magic siphoned back into him from his palace, the more it morphed into a milky white and mother of pearl coloring, painting over the cool blue. “You really should rest. You’re looking weary. Can’t be good for your… complexion.” He broke his stoic trance to gift her with a wicked smile.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Enjoying what exactly?”
“My inability to end this now. I could crush you where you sit, but if it weren’t for Arthas and that wretched wench Aveta, I’d be in full power right now. And… I’d be done with you, yet again.”
A distant, deep, resonating groan echoed across the halls, and debris from chunks of ice breaking off the ceiling tumbled down like large bits of hail. Kilara stopped in her tracks and peeked up toward the large, jagged crack crawling across the ceiling, making its presence known as the place began to crumble under the strain of the drain.
“I doubt that, my dear Queen Kilara. Even bound like a dog, as you say, the years treading this forsaken earth alone and very much alive have made me stronger, wiser and more adept at handling the humans than you’ll ever be… my dear, sweet… love.” His voice hissed the words, drifting to her ears in a soft, echoing chill, making Kilara’s eyes narrow at his defiance. He was probably correct, but she was still very powerful. Clenching her fists, she stood her ground and tilted her chin up to defy him.
“Hurry. Shade must be with Rowan by now.”
“What of your little present for your dear sister Rowan? Wouldn’t you know if she had it by now?” he snickered. His defiance of her was like crackling static at her fingertips.
Kilara’s eyes widened. Was it fear that trembled her lips as she resumed pacing the throne room to hide her concern? “Yes, I would. Something is wrong. That’s why I don’t understand why I have none of her powers yet. I need them to take my position as sovereign over all of Faerie, even you. I’m sick of this wretched cold.”
“Patience, My Queen. There is more than magic at stake here. I’m pretty sure Rowan has seen past your little ‘gift’ and discarded it. You underestimate everyone, and that will be your very unexpected undoing. We’ll have to capture them in some other manner.”
Kilara stopped, wrapping her arms around herself and tugging at her long strands at what he’d said. He could be right. But what then? How would she control the other Ancients now? Without Rowan’s cooperation, nothing would work. Corb’s powers were bound, so he was of no use, especially since he couldn’t break the bond without severe consequences to him and Shade. Not that she cared what happened to either of them, but Corb was much too smart to fall for that. Arthas, well, he was just as insane as Rowan, but masked it a lot better. He was the major part of the problem as it was. She sighed, holding her head between her palms as a spark of pain flooded her brain.
Not again…this can’t be right. Her slumber should’ve stopped the progression of the disease crawling across her body. Her hands shook as she pulled them away from her temples, shaking off the sudden dizziness. She breathed in deeply and resumed her march across the room, hoping Corb hadn’t noticed her momentary lapse. No magic could heal her, and she’d hoped the slumber would’ve halted whatever it was doing this to her dead in its tracks. No one could help her. The throngs of witches, warlocks, oracles and other gifted beings had done nothing to stop her deterioration, let alone figure out why it was happening. None of the other Ancients suffered as she did. Hiding it was proving to be an exhausting task.
But defeat was not an option.
How did Corb tolerate being alive for so long without going insane as the others or withering like her? He didn’t appear to be, but it was always so hard to read him. He could very well be disguising it expertly. If she didn’t come up with something soon, she’d have to use her powers at maximum capacity to remain functional. She needed the other three Ancients’ powers to solve this mysterious disintegration of her body, even if it cost them their lives. She would risk everything before she would allow herself to become mortal, grow old and die, if not wither immediately. She wasn’t sure what the progression of this disease was… there weren’t any other cases. The thought of death made her feel nauseated and left a dreadful taste sticking to her mouth.
Wretched humans. Maybe Arthas was right to want to enslave them.
No. Kilara shook her head, wiping the wicked thoughts from her mind. Why was she acting this way? She was a Seelie Queen, a rare Ancient. Thoughts of destroying the harmony of Faerie and the mortal world were forbidden. Faeries may toy with humans, mock their humanity and have their way with them, but destroying or enslaving them completely was not something that should ever be considered. It was forbidden and would upset the balance of both worlds, leaving them to ruin. She gulped and turned back toward Corb who thankfully was absorbing so much power, he was in a euphoric state and oblivious to her internal struggle.
If they didn’t leave soon to destroy the Unseelie Palace, Rowan would escape her grasp. But if she could have Rowan under her control, all of Faerie would be in her grip as well. Nothing would get in her way, not even Corb or that halfling descendent of hers, Shade.
“Done.” Corb’s voice echoed across the room to her, breaking her thoughts. More chunks of ice fell from the ceiling, the whole place rumbling with an ominous undertone.
“Let’s go, then.”
“No. I have to stop by my son’s castle first.”
“What for?” Kilara grimaced at the mention of more waiting. This was endless.
Corb craned his neck to the side, his still face betraying nothing. “Ursad has an Elven-Pixie servant who teleports anywhere in the world. He can help us move Shade and Rowan and whomever else you’d like to drag along with us without using up our magic. I can only hold what I’ve retaken from my palace, but once it’s gone, I won’t have any more to use until Shade lets me use it. Enough with the questioning.”
An icicle speared the ground between them, shattering into a thousand tiny shards which slid across the slick ice.
“What’s happening?” Kilara screamed. Her eyes filled with horror as they flicked about, surveying the surrounding mess. The palace was crumbling, and large cracks riddled the once smooth ice dome above their heads.
“My palace falls. I’ve taken back the magic that sustains it. When I am released from Shade’s grasp, I will have to rebuild it.” He reached out for her hands, his lips tight as if it pained him ever so slightly to watch his home shatter into a million tiny pieces. “Let’s go before we end up buried under the remnants of it.”
Kilara nodded, slipping her warm hand into his icy, cold one. Alone, with his magic intact, he could’ve transported them both. Without power, Corb used what he’d drained from his home to teleport them to the Glass Castle, burning up much of his magical reserves in the process. It irked him to have to use it up for petty, little things like travelling, but it had to be done.
Moments later, the overwhelming gates of the Glass Castle stood high above them, reeking of iron, making Kilara cover her mouth and nose to hold off the tainted air filled with iron fumes. It was like a noxious gas burning down her throat, making her eyes water. She turned toward Corb and motioned for him to hurry. He was also wrinkling his nose at the iron smell but seemed less bothered than she was. He reached out to touch the keyhole in the gate, burning his finge
r in the process. He zapped it with pure, light energy, and the gate morphed as the rich casing of glamour melted over the wrought iron and the smell of metal dissipated.
His finger sizzled, but he paid it no mind, quickly cooling and healing it with his ice magic. “Follow me.” He pushed through the gates and continued on, Kilara staggering not too far behind.
“So this Ursad. He’s the son you had with that faery wench of a queen as I slumbered, correct?”
Corb laughed, shaking his head as he remembered the events of so long ago. “As I recall, you left me, my dear. You hid yourself so thoroughly, I couldn’t find you, no matter how hard or long I searched.” He halted in his tracks, and he moved so fast, only a blur could be seen before he cupped her fragile, soft chin in his hands. Such a soft touch, but full of questionable intentions.
“I loved you my entire existence, and you threw me away without a word, without even a goodbye or a good reason why. That ‘wench’ was a distraction. Her beauty kept me sane in an insane time. How dare you question anything I do? You chose to lose me. I choose what happens now.” He let go with a snap and bore his shell-colored eyes into hers.
“You’re right. I did throw you away. It was a long time ago, Corb. What did you want me to do? Stay, even though I didn’t love you anymore? I couldn’t live that lie. We had eternity, and I wasn’t going to do that anymore. Yet here we are, together again. Faerie has a funny sense of humor.”
Corb couldn’t help but chuckle as he waved his hand at the large entrance to the castle, opening the front doors without any guard, or anyone for that matter, bothering to see who was coming in. In fact, no one was about… a very strange occurrence in these war-torn times.
“We may be accompanying each other, and you will probably be the only one I’ve ever truly loved, but we are not together and never will be again,” he hissed. Storming into the castle, he stared hard down the hall, avoiding her surprised look, for he didn’t want her to know the pain she truly had caused him. It was a pain which even eternity could never heal. He focused on taking in the neglected hall, littered with dust, cobwebs and dried leaves, which had rushed in after they’d entered.
