by Anthea Sharp
“All right?” she asked.
“Yeah.” No.
He wanted them out of there, back in the real world, the faeries defeated, his brother returned. But the only way out was to keep going forward.
Tam touched her cheek, then made himself turn and head down the tunnel. His footsteps clanged against the stone, the light and heat growing stronger with every step. The air itself felt thicker, viscous and sticky, as if he was wading through honey. A drop of sweat trickled down his back.
Jennet let out a gasping breath. Tam caught her hand and together they pressed through the hot, thick air. The orange light took on a searing edge, and he blinked at the brightness. If they didn’t get to the end of the tunnel soon, he and Jennet would end up collapsing into little wet puddles of humanity on the floor. His throat burned, acrid and dry.
Suddenly, the tunnel opened out into an enormous cavern. The terrible pressure surrounding them eased, although the heat remained, scorching his skin. Tam halted, pulling Jennet to a stop as the path turned into a ledge. A drop-off of hundreds of yards plummeted at their feet, molten rock seething below in a lake of orange fire.
“Look,” she said, her voice a bare thread of sound.
A dark island rose in the middle of the lake, steep-sided and made of shining midnight stone. The peak ascended to their eye level, and something lay there.
Something sinuous and winged. Something black-scaled and clawed. Its head was turned toward them, its eyes lidded closed. It lay perfectly still on its bed of stone, only the twin trails of smoke rising from its nostrils to show the creature was alive.
“Now what?” Jennet whispered.
Tam swallowed.
“Now,” he said, “we wake the Elder Fey.”
“The Elder Fey are dragons?”
“Apparently.” It didn’t surprise him, as though the knowledge had been there, waiting all along for him to recognize it.
Jennet glanced down at the fiery lake. Tam judged the distance to the sheer sides of the island across from them. Though the Elder Fey slumbered frighteningly close, there were roughly twenty-five feet separating them. Way too far for them to jump.
The ledge they stood on didn’t lead anywhere, except back into the tunnel. There was no stairway or bridge, no way he could see to reach the island.
“We can’t fly,” Jennet said, “so how do we get over there?”
“Maybe we don’t.” Tam peered at the black dragon sleeping out of their reach. “Can you think of any way to wake it up?”
“Shoot magefire at it?”
He didn’t like the idea. What if the dragon woke and attacked them? But they didn’t have a lot of other options. He slid his sword out of its scabbard.
“Alright,” he said. “Give it a try, but be ready to run back up the tunnel.”
He didn’t think the Elder Fey could pursue them into that small space, though he didn’t want to put it to the test.
Jennet lifted her staff and fired a bolt of blue magefire at the dragon. The bolt hit, sizzling against the dark scales beside one wing. Tam braced himself for an attack, but the dragon continued to slumber.
“Try again.” His fear began churning into frustration.
She struck again, aiming for the wing. The creature didn’t stir. Another bolt of blue lightning glanced off its head, to no effect.
“I guess it’s immune to magic.” Jennet lowered her staff.
“Worth a try, though.”
Tam squinted across to the peak, judging the distance. He hefted his sword, finding the balance point, then lifted it like a huge metal dart.
“Careful,” Jennet breathed.
Taking a deep breath of overheated air, he drew his arm back. This had to count—it was the only sword he had. He took three long steps into the tunnel, then lunged forward to the very edge of the precipice, propelling his blade point-first toward the slumbering dragon.
“Tam!”
Jennet caught him around the waist and pulled him back to safety. His sword flew, the gleaming silver blade flickering with orange light. Yes… yes….
No.
The sword clattered to the stone, a hand’s breadth from the creature’s head.
“Damn,” he said.
Sweat dampened his neck, and the thickness of the air choked his lungs. Jennet slumped against the wall, a strand of hair sticking to her face.
Tam cupped his hands around his mouth, drew in a lungful of red air, and yelled, “Wake up!”
The words echoed in the cavernous space—but the sleeping dragon didn’t stir.
“We can’t have gotten this far, just to fail,” Tam said. “There has to be a way.”
“I keep waiting for Puck to show up. But I don’t think he’s going to.” Weariness smudged Jennet’s eyes.
“Now would be a good time.” He pushed through the thick air to join her against the rock wall. “It’s getting hotter.”
Jennet nodded. Then a curious expression crossed her face. She drew her hand out of the pocket of her robes.
“Look,” she said. “I’d forgotten.” A white stone sat in her palm, glowing faintly. “From Puck, remember? To use in a time of despair.”
“I think this qualifies.” Tam picked the stone up and turned it between his fingers. “But how do we use it?”
“Throw it?”
“No. We can’t risk losing it if we miss. Or wasting our chance, if we hit the dragon and it doesn’t wake up.” He handed the stone back to her. “Puck gave it to you. Which means you can use it.”
“I don’t know!” Frustration sent her words spiraling into the air.
Oh, oh, the syllables echoed back at them, magnified.
“Do that again,” he said.
“What?”
Ut, ut.
Jennet looked at the bright stone in her hand, then closed her eyes. She hummed, low in her throat, and the sound amplified, filling the cavern. On the peak before them, one black wing twitched, and Tam caught his breath.
She opened her mouth and began to sing.
“Sleep, O babe, for the red-bee hums
The silent twilight’s fall.
Aoibheall from the Grey Rock comes,
To wrap the world in thrall.”
The song curled through the cavern, the rocks vibrating with overtones. Jennet’s voice was clear and thin. As she sang, the melody gathered strength, growing more piercing and lovely.
“A leanbhan O, my child, my joy,
My love and heart’s desire,
The crickets sing you lullaby
Beside the dying fire.”
The heat that had been pressing heavily against his lungs, his thoughts, lifted. The lake of molten rock dimmed, the waves cooling to a sullen red while Jennet sang on.
“Dusk is drawn, and the Green Man’s Thorn
Is wreathed in rings of fog.
Siabhra sails his boat til morn
Upon the Starry Bog.”
The midnight dragon stirred, one huge dark wing rising, flexing. Tam wished he had his sword. He took a step in front of Jennet and raised his shield.
“A leanbhan O, the pale half moon
Hath brimmed her cusp in dew,
And weeps to hear the sad sleep-tune
I sing, O love, to you.”
One eye slitted open, brilliant gold. Tam’s heart pounded, his head filled with the haunting, twining melody.
The dragon raised its head, a quick, sinuous motion, and fixed its impossibly ancient gaze on Tam and Jennet. Fear, icy and primal, sliced through Tam as though he were a mouse, transfixed in the shadow of some huge raptor.
The Elder Fey had woken.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - THE TWILIGHT KINGDOM
Jennet took another breath of fiery air and kept singing. She stumbled over a couple of the words, but the song poured from her mouth, haunting and lyrical. Her mother used to sing to her at night, a forgotten lullaby she’d buried deep, along with the pain of her mom leaving. Somehow the song had resurfaced when she most nee
ded it.
“Jennet,” Tam whispered.
Her name was a thread of sound, barely audible over the echoes of the song. She opened her eyes, then shrank back, pressing her shoulders against the hot stone behind her.
The dragon stood, obsidian claws scraping the peak it had slumbered on, and unfurled wings so dark they seemed to suck all the light into their shadowy folds.
*Who wakes me?*
The Elder Fey did not speak, not in human fashion, but the meaning sounded in her head, sibilant and displeased.
Tam cleared his throat and stepped to the front of the ledge. His right hand was fisted, knuckles white.
“Greetings,” he said, bowing to the huge creature. “We are mortals, sent here by those in the Realm of Faerie.” He paused, clearly searching for words.
The dragon blinked, slowly, rainbow lids coruscating.
*I am not concerned with your tiny, transient lives. Leave, so I may return to dreaming the worlds into being.*
Jennet pushed herself away from the rock and went to stand beside Tam.
“You are needed to restore the balance,” she said, her pulse pounding in her veins, hot and panicked.
*The balance is not at risk.*
“It is.” Tam’s voice rose. “My little brother is captive in the Dark Court.”
*Mortals are taken by the fey. It is the way of things.* The dragon opened its mouth in a huge, dangerous yawn, its teeth serrated and sharp as diamonds.
“Listen,” Jennet said. “The faerie courts are trying to find a way to open a permanent gateway into our world—and they almost have! Doesn’t that count?”
The dragon regarded them a moment with its unreadable eyes, then lifted its massive black head and let out a deep, crooning cry. The sound vibrated to the soles of her feet, and she clutched at her mage staff, fighting for balance. Tam stumbled back against her, then straightened, his hand going to his empty scabbard.
A bolt of blue hurtled into the cavern—a smaller dragon, gleaming like polished sapphire. It hovered in front of the black dragon, wings moving in graceful arcs, and dipped its head. If the two creatures were conversing, it was in a way not meant for mortal understanding. A moment later, the blue dragon was gone, disappeared through some invisible passageway.
The black dragon lowered itself onto the rock, as smoothly as oil gliding over water. It gazed at Jennet with its golden eyes.
*Sing once more, while I await the messenger’s return.*
She glanced at the white stone, still glowing in her hand. Melodies swirled through her, half-forgotten, unbidden.
“Jennet?” Tam touched her arm.
The look in his eyes made her heart spill over. She took his hand and began to sing.
“The water is wide, I cannot cross over,
And neither have I wings to fly,
Give me a boat that can carry two,
And both shall row, my love and I.”
The dragon let out a low sigh that blended with the ringing echoes. It was a sigh edged with old sorrows, brightened with hope. It was a sigh thousands of years old.
*Enough.*
“Do you think the dragon didn’t like my song?” Jennet asked Tam in a low voice.
“I don’t care.” He squeezed her fingers. “It was perfect.”
The blue dragon streaked into the cavern again and hovered in front of its leader.
“That was fast,” Jennet said.
“I’m guessing time and space don’t mean a lot to the Elder Fey.”
“Is it getting warmer in here again?” She pushed a strand of hair behind one ear.
“Yeah. Look at the lake.”
Jennet peeked over the side of the ledge, to see the molten surface shimmering bright orange once more.
The black dragon hissed, a sound like death. She shuddered, and Tam pulled her into his arms. The air grew harsh and thick, and gouts of lava fountained from the lake, spattering dangerously close to the ledge.
Was this it? They woke the Elder Fey, then died inside the Twilight Kingdom? She held tightly to Tam, fright battering her breath.
*The fey have overstepped. Mortals, attend.*
“We’re listening,” Tam said.
The blue dragon turned and came straight at them. Jennet flinched, but before crashing into them, it halted. It was small, compared to the black dragon, but still big—at least fifteen feet long. It fixed them with the same eerie golden eyes, and Jennet had the feeling it found them amusing.
*Collect your blade, earthly knight.*
The blue dragon held out one clawed foot. Nestled in the cage of sharp talons was Tam’s sword. He reached for it, his face pale.
“Ow.” Tam winced as the edge of one talon touched his skin. A single line of blood welled on the back of his hand, bright crimson, as he took his sword.
*Collect your blade, fair maiden.*
“I don’t have a blade,” Jennet said.
*The Blade of the Elder Fey is in your keeping until the balance is restored. Once drawn, the blade will not rest until it tastes blood. Unsheathe it only when true battle is upon you.*
The blue dragon held out a slim silver casing, presumably housing the deadly blade. Jennet glanced at Tam, fear pushing up through her throat. She really didn’t want the thing.
“Everything here has a reason,” he said, setting his hand on her shoulder. “Take it.”
Slowly, she reached out. Her fingers looked tiny and fragile in contrast to the deadly elegance of the blue dragon’s claws. Just before she touched them, the dragon released the scabbard, dropping the Blade of the Elder Fey into her hands.
Heat rushed over her, and the molten lake seethed. The black dragon rose, wings beating like thunder. She choked on the air, too hot, too hot.
*Fate is set in motion. Return now to your place.*
The solid rock tilted under her feet, then disappeared. A hundred pairs of golden eyes, ageless and unpitying, regarded her. She heard Tam shout, as if from a distance. The blade seared her left palm—the one that still bore the scars of Feyland—until she screamed from the pain burning into her flesh.
The Twilight Kingdom whirled around her, and was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - THE TWILIGHT KINGDOM
“Jennet!”
Panic clawed through Tam. Her scream still echoed in his ears as he was plunged into a heavy mist. A moment later, he stood alone on a flat plain, silken wisps of grey surrounding him in all directions.
“Jennet!” he called again.
He turned in a circle, straining to see something. Anything. The light lay tranquil and heavy about him. His pulse beat loudly, like a broken clock in a place time didn’t exist.
“Jennet?” This time it came out a whisper.
There was nothing but empty solitude in reply.
After a minute, or an eternity, he saw a figure coming toward him through the mist. A woman! His breath turned leaden when he realized it wasn’t Jennet. Just as quickly his disappointment pivoted to fear, heart clenching when he recognized who it was.
The Dark Queen of the fey.
Her midnight hair flowed like silk around the beautiful, dangerous planes of her face. Her dress swirled behind her as though it were part of the landscape, all shadows and fog. She met his gaze, her eyes fathomless and deep, with an expression that cut him to the heart.
“Bold Tamlin,” she said in a voice like smoke. “What have you done?”
He didn’t want to answer—couldn’t answer, his mouth dry, his senses stunned.
In the real world, his memories of her were pale recollections of the dangerous radiance of her eyes, the yearning she conjured up in his blood. The true Dark Queen, standing before him, had the power to ensnare his mind. If he let her.
Swallowing hard, he conjured up Jennet’s image and tore his gaze away.
“My knight,” she said. “You have meddled where no mortal should go.”
“I’m not your knight.”
Cold washed over him, the ice of her displeasu
re. “There is still time to turn aside.”
“I don’t think so.” He made the mistake of looking into her eyes again, and was caught, snared in promises and mystery.
She reached one delicate hand to trace his jaw, leaving searing frost in the wake of her touch. Tam shivered, senses clamoring with panic and need.
“Would you consign me,” she said, “indeed, my entire Realm—to death? Would you deprive your own world of all traces of magic? Without you, we shall wither and die until there is nothing left but black emptiness. Is that what you truly desire, Tamlin?”
“Give me back my brother.” He forced the words out through lips gone numb.
“Ah, bargains.” She smiled, starlight and the darkness between.
“No bargains. Just return him to me.”
“There is a cost to everything.” Her voice dipped, resonant with promise. “What would you give me to restore your brother to the mortal realm, unharmed? Once, you offered yourself.”
His lips shaped the word no.
Chill crackled through the air, and she narrowed her eyes. The mist blew in tatters about them.
“Everything beloved will be lost to you.” Her words were a blade slipped beneath his ribs.
Could he do it, trade himself to the faeries again, to keep his brother safe?
He clenched his fists, fingers burning with cold. The only reason the Dark Queen wanted him was as a sacrifice to open the gateway between her world and his own. Once that happened, no one would be safe—not his brother, not anyone. It was a hollow hope she offered.
“No,” he said, putting force behind it.
“Thrice you have denied me.” The fury in her voice was like black ice, treacherous and deadly. The rising wind whipped her hair into a dark tangle. “I abandon you here, once-knight, to the fate you have earned.”
A frigid gust made Tam close his eyes. When he opened them, she was gone, but the wind remained, cold and fierce. He wrapped his arms around himself, surprised to find he wore his jeans and long-sleeved shirt. No armor. No protection from the bitter air.
