by Violet Grace
I clutch my head. It feels like I’m caught between a vice.
Tom tries to pull me up towards him, but moving makes it worse, so much worse. The ground around me sizzles; cracks snake along the rock and moss.
‘Run,’ Tom urges as he pulls me around the deep chasms that are beginning to form in the ground.
But I can’t move, much less run. The shimmering dust has returned to my hands.
He picks me up and carries me back the way we came. We reach the top of the steps and we manage to scramble back through the opening and out into the butterfly house.
The mass of butterflies has fled, the few stragglers rushing to conceal themselves behind leaves and flowers.
My throat constricts, blocking my oxygen supply. I’m being assaulted from within.
‘I can’t breathe,’ I splutter as Tom lays me on the ground.
Tom’s watchband is gleaming, as is the wand he’s pulled from his boot. He’s chanting, cursing, apologising.
And calling for help.
I look up, my vision clouding. A second figure comes into view.
Gladys.
She’s kneeling beside me. She grabs my wrist, lifting my hand towards her, inspecting it. I follow her gaze and see the impossible. My hand has completely gone, replaced by a cloud of shimmering dust.
I’m disintegrating, disappearing.
Stony coldness creeps up my arm.
I look to Gladys, pleading with my eyes for her to stop it.
But she yells at me. ‘Is this the price you paid for rescuing this useless boy?’
‘It wasn’t her magic,’ Tom says gravely. ‘It was mine.’
The vision in front of me is switching.
One moment I see Gladys’s face, her eyes wide, her teeth clenched.
I blink and she’s gone.
Everything is quiet.
I’m in a school hallway.
It’s deserted, deathly quiet.
I’m starving.
In front of me stands a row of pegs on the wall with school bags hanging off them.
I watch my hands taking a sandwich from a lunchbox that isn’t mine.
I feel bad. Stealing is wrong. But my body aches with hunger.
I take a bite; it’s jam.
I can’t taste anything except shame.
I blink again.
The lunchbox has disappeared.
I’m trying to walk. I’m about to fall, but just manage to stay upright.
I look down at my feet. They’re tiny. Baby feet.
I’m clinging to the finger of a man. My whole hand wraps around one enormous finger.
‘You can do it, Chess,’ the man is saying, pride in his voice. I look up and try to make out his face, but the sun streaming through the window behind him blinds me. A woman is clapping encouragement.
Another blink.
A woman’s voice.
‘Stop pretending. Try harder.’
We’re seated on an upholstered bench seat. A glass case is in front of me.
A cup. It’s pretty.
But I’m scared of it. It’s alive, but not like a person or an animal. It’s aware.
There’s something I’m supposed to do.
I don’t want to be here.
The woman sighs. ‘This is pointless,’ she says, and stands to leave.
Blink.
A dank, featureless room.
My bedroom.
Larry and Sue’s house.
I’m crouched in the corner; the door is shut. I’m staring at the closed door, wishing – willing – it to lock.
Someone’s trying the handle and there’s yelling on the other side. But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get in.
I’m begging and hoping to die.
But I don’t really want to die. I just want the pain and fear to stop.
Blink.
‘I want to live, I want to live,’ I hear myself splutter.
‘What did you do to her?’ Gladys says, but her voice is oddly distorted, slowed. ‘Tell me you didn’t barter her life with the Art.’
‘I did.’
The cataclysmic spell.
I’m going to die.
‘Fool! She’s our one hope.’
My feet are numb, the cold slithering up my thighs.
‘It was my fault,’ I say through the fog. ‘Larry. He saved me from Larry.’
My vision clouds again. The view in front of me is blurring, fading to white. But I can just make out Gladys’s face turning pale as she peers at me through haunted eyes.
Is it guilt? In a fairy?
And at that moment, even through the haze, I realise that she knows what I went through. I had wanted to believe that she didn’t, but now I can see that she knew all along. She was supposed to be my protector but she did nothing.
Gladys’s face hardens as she grabs my shoulders with both hands. ‘Do not let anyone distract you from your true purpose,’ she implores. Her eyes bore into Tom and then flick back to me. ‘Or you will ruin everything we hold dear.’
Springing to her feet with the litheness of an athlete, Gladys clutches her hairpin. She spins it above her head like a drummer spinning a drumstick. The hairpin becomes a blur, and her chanting becomes louder and louder, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. It sounds like some ancient language transmitting through a detuned radio.
The air prickles with static. Hard droplets of rain pelt from above us through the broken panels in the roof. The wind rumbles, slowly at first, then building to the roar of a jet. As the storm gathers speed, every pane of glass in the butterfly house shatters, and shards of glass rain down all around us. I can barely make Gladys out for the leaves and flowers and rain spiralling around her. She is the eye of a cyclone, summoning the fury of nature to her. Lightning shoots upwards from the ground. The leaves and flowers and rain explode.
And then … stillness.
Quiet.
My lungs fill with air. I suck it in.
The pain recedes.
The chill subsides.
I grab my hands together; they’re fleshy and whole.
I’m not going to die.
I let out a little cry of relief. She’s freed us; me and Tom. She knew how to fix the cataclysmic spell. She didn’t save me when I was a child, but she’s saved me now.
‘Gladys,’ I say, leveraging myself up on one arm. I know we can’t put off the conversation about my past for too much longer. I’m going to have to confront her at some point. But for now, I just want to thank her.
Tom gets to his feet. He must have been knocked over by the force of Gladys’s spell too. His eyes are wide, his features taut with horror.
I follow his gaze to where Gladys lies in a crumpled heap on the ground.
‘Gladys! No!’ I stagger towards her.
The realisation slowly dawns. She’s rebalanced life and death.
‘Take it back, take it back!’ I scream. ‘You will not die for me!’
I roll her towards me. Blood leaks from her nose. Her eyes are glassy.
‘A power unbridled can only be unlocked by a power unbridled,’ she says with a raspy breath. She closes her eyes and her head falls back.
‘Gladys! Don’t leave me.’
I cradle her in my arms, tears streaming down my cheeks and begin to chant the words of the cataclysmic spell. I don’t care about the cost of this magic. I will pay anything to bring Gladys back.
I make this vow upon my soul
Life and death I will control
No return, and no remorse
As I alter nature’s course.
The path of Gladys be undone
Leave unfinished what has begun
Cataclysmic, I pay the price
My most desired, I sacrifice.
Nothing.
‘It’s not working!’ I scream at Tom. ‘Why isn’t it working?’
I frantically chant the cataclysmic spell one more time. And then another.
Tom’s hand is on my shoulder. I can
hear him saying my name but I chant the spell again, this time louder and faster. I do exactly what Gladys taught me: focus my mind, channel my energy. It must work.
‘Chess.’ With firm hands, Tom pulls me back from Gladys. ‘Chess! She’s gone.’
I push him away and turn back to Gladys. ‘It has to work. I just have to try again.’
Tom lifts me off the ground and drags me back. ‘She’s gone,’ he says again, taking my face in his hands. ‘Once a life force has crossed over, it cannot be enticed back.’
I look at Gladys, her body now a shell, devoid of life, light and energy.
I flop onto the ground and howl, wrapping my arms around my legs and rocking back and forth, sobbing hysterically.
What have I done?
Death follows me, surrounds me and destroys anyone close to me.
Tom is beside me, silent, holding his head in his hands.
There’s a crunching sound of broken glass behind us. We turn towards the door of the butterfly house.
Wynstar approaches, his black, red and gold kilt drenched from Gladys’s storm. A group of Protectorate unicorns gather behind him, swishing their manes and sending droplets of water flying.
Wynstar’s eyes are cold, hard malice. ‘She should have let you die. It would have saved me the trouble.’
Tom is on his feet.
I stare at Wynstar for a moment, trying to process what he’s just said.
‘There will never be a mongrel on the throne.’ He spits in my direction. ‘Your mother was a whore and a disgrace to the Fae. If she had any sense of duty she would have executed Samuel Maxwell. Instead, she contaminated sacred Fae blood with an abomination – you. There is only one man remaining who is worthy of the Crown.’
Damius. Wynstar is in league with my uncle.
‘But … but … the pycts. You saved me. Why didn’t you just let me die?’
As soon as I ask the question I realise the answer.
‘The key. Damius wants the key. You had to keep me alive to get it.’
In an instant, his contempt is replaced my amusement. He chuckles to himself, as if enjoying a private joke.
‘You just lost your great defender, Princess. With the old woman gone, there’s no one to protect you.’ He levels me with a calculating stare, then gives a brief nod to the pack of unicorns behind him. ‘Get the girl. And kill her pony.’
chapter 29
Tom’s chest and thighs expand, straining against his shirt and kilt.
Just when I think the fabric will surely tear in two, it vanishes in a cloud of iridescent dust.
Emerging from the shimmering haze is Tom, transformed into the form of a hulking unicorn, towering above me. I stare up at him in awe. His horn glows and his nostrils flare as the Protectorate unicorns close in.
I take a running leap, grabbing his shoulder and swinging my leg over him in one practised move. I’ve done this before, many times. Muscle memory kicks in and I wrap my legs tightly around his body.
We rear up, and I see golden light shoot from his horn. Tom’s fiery blast stuns and scatters the Protectorate unicorns long enough for us to bolt out of the butterfly house and into the grounds of the castle.
Tom’s powerful legs pump the ground faster and faster. I shift my weight to match his stride, and turn to see the Protectorate unicorns storming after us.
If they’ve noticed Gladys on the floor, they don’t seem to care. Loxley stomps right on her face, and it almost looks deliberate.
‘Gladys!’ I scream above the thundering of hooves. ‘Tom, we’ve got to go back!’
‘We can’t,’ Tom says as we continue to gather speed. He veers right, dodging the scorching blaze coming from the horn of a unicorn behind us. It’s as if he has eyes in the back of his head. My thighs press into his body, and my fingers dig into his mane to keep from slipping off.
He parries again, this time finding cover behind a thicket of trees.
A barrage of fiery bolts narrowly misses me, hitting the trees ahead and exploding into flames. Fire races along the leaves and branches, igniting the neighbouring trees.
A perfect ring of fire blazes around us.
Tom snorts, circling around, taking in our flaming prison.
We’re trapped.
Heat and smoke snake down my throat, making my eyes water. Tom snorts again and then we’re sprinting towards the flames. I feel a tickling flutter on my thighs as his wings sprout from the sides of his body. They beat rhythmically and, just when I’m sure we’re going to be consumed by the flames, his wings fold back, catching the air, and we’re rising off the ground, soaring sharply up and over the burning trees. I bite back a cough and rub at the soot stinging my eyes.
A blast collides with my shoulder and I slam forward, screaming in pain as I tighten my grip on Tom’s mane. With my other hand I reach around to feel where I’ve been hit. My bodysuit is scorching hot but not burnt and, aside from the pain, I’m unharmed. I’m going to have an impressive bruise there tomorrow.
If we live that long.
Tom swears as he flies towards the Temple.
Turning back, I count twelve fierce unicorns swooping towards us like eagles hunting prey. More bolts fly from their horns. Tom lurches to evade them, weaving in and out of trees. But even with his speed and aeronautics, there are just too many blasts. And they’re coming so quickly.
As we reach the outer walls of the Temple, Tom’s breathing becomes laboured. I feel the heat from his body and his sweat dampening his coat.
I swivel further around on Tom’s back to face our attackers. My eyes lock with Loxley’s. The image of him trampling on Gladys ignites a primal heat within me. It tears through my veins. My whole body vibrates with delicious energy. The Art calls to me, begging me to unleash the full fury of my power. But Gladys’s words hold me back: You are not yet disciplined enough to cope with the power you have.
Untamed, my magic could kill me. I can’t risk incinerating myself like I almost did when I was fighting the pycts. It takes all my self-control to contain the power coursing within me. I stretch out one hand, clutching Tom tighter with the other. The air ripples with heat around my fingertips and, warps for a moment, before forming into a pulse of air just powerful enough to deter rather than destroy. The blast of air collides squarely with Loxley’s horn and knocks him to the back of the pack.
I fire another, and another.
More blasts rain down on us from the unicorns and I do my best to deflect them, but one hits Tom’s back. He groans and his body shudders as the bolt burns through his coat into his flesh. I reach forward and smother the blaze with the sleeve of my suit.
Tom spins around as wildfire erupts from his horn, forming a protective dome around us.
I swivel back to see the blasts from the Protectorate unicorns collide with Tom’s blazing shield and then ricochet off. But each impact nudges us backwards until Tom is trapped up against the wall of the Temple.
‘I can’t hold much longer,’ he shouts, the strain fracturing his voice. ‘Jump onto the roof of the Temple and get to the castle.’
‘What about you?’ I yell back over the roaring blasts.
‘Do it!’
‘I’m not leaving you!’ I scream. I won’t let anyone else sacrifice their life for me.
I climb to my feet and somehow balance on Tom’s back. I spread my arms wide and summon hate.
Hate for Larry, for giving Tom a reason to cast that cataclysmic spell.
Hate for Damius, for destroying my parents and stealing my childhood.
Hate for Wynstar, for calling my mother a whore.
Scorching, insatiable rage ignites within the core of my being, streaming into my chest, and rising into my throat.
And I welcome it.
It feels rapturous.
After years of silence – with social workers, teachers, police, everyone – I can finally let out all the pent-up feelings I’ve never been permitted to express.
The delicious heat courses along
my arms to my hands, waiting to explode.
‘Chess,’ Tom warns. ‘It’ll consume you.’
I ignore him. I’ve made my decision.
‘Gladys died so you could live. Don’t make her sacrifice count for nothing.’
Blue flames dance along my fingertips, begging to be released.
‘No, Chess,’ Tom pleads. ‘Don’t make me live without you.’
‘You won’t have to,’ I yell back as I rip my mother’s pendant from my neck. I steady my breath and still my mind. Holding the pendant above my head in one hand, with the other hand outstretched, I release an intense, controlled spike of magic straight into the ruby.
The gemstone comes to life, each particle absorbing and multiplying my power. The power builds and builds until the ruby can no longer contain it. A magnified blast of molten energy propels straight out of my mother’s pendant and through Tom’s protective field.
Lightning surges and flickers across the sky. The Protectorate unicorns yelp like wounded dogs, cowering as my flames lick their bodies.
In the panic, smoke and confusion, Tom launches us skyward once again. We swoop over the castle. The Windsor grounds recede into the distance. I clutch Tom’s mane once more, scanning the air behind and the ground below us for any more of Wynstar’s unicorns, but for the moment we’re safe.
Adrenaline rushes through me. I’m tipsy in the knowledge that I saved us.
It doesn’t last long, as the image of Gladys lying dead on the ground of the butterfly house crashes into my mind, smothering every spark of joy. I fix my mother’s amulet back around my neck and flop onto Tom’s mane. I don’t hold back. My whole body shakes with gut-wrenching sobs.
Yes, Gladys was prickly at times. Yes, she let me down when I was young. And she was not always truthful. But she gave me sanctuary. She was my friend, my guide. And she’s dead because of me.
I’m sucked so far into the abyss of despair that I barely notice when, in mid-flight, Tom channels the Art through his horn and carves out a portal in a cloud.
Then we’re in London, in Volgaris, joining seamlessly to where we were in Iridesca. The buildings are familiar in their triumph over nature. The air here is thicker with smog and the smells of industry. I nuzzle my face back into Tom’s mane until he lands softly and whispers my name.
