by Anthea Sharp
With a wave of her hand, the queen restored MeadowRue to her true form. The handmaiden gave Jennet a glance full of pity, then turned away.
“The riddle remains,” the queen said. “Answer it.”
Jennet squeezed her eyes closed, blocking out the shadowy glade, the fantastical figures, the wicked curve of the Dark Queen’s smile. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest, and she tasted the metal edge of fear on her tongue. Think. She had to figure this out.
“Your time has run, Fair Jennet. Speak your final answer.”
She opened her eyes, to see that the Dark Queen had risen to her feet. A single candle burned between them.
“I…”
Panic banged through her, like a hundred doors slamming shut. The watching creatures grew still and silent. Even the wind quieted, waiting. She had to answer.
“Is it ... a dream?” The words floated from her mouth and hovered there, just beyond her lips.
In the silence that followed, Jennet felt shadows gathering closer. Dread crawled through her, carrying the awful sensation of failure.
The last candle died. A high, wailing music started up, the keening cry of pipes swirling through the air. Slowly, the queen shook her head. Diamonds sparkled like frost in her dark hair.
“No,” she said. “You have lost. Now, mortal girl, I take my due.”
The queen held up a hollow crystal sphere in one hand. With the other, she scribed strange gestures in the air. Her fingers left glowing streaks of silver against the darkness. Then she pointed straight at Jennet.
“Ahh!” A sharp pain speared through Jennet, as though the queen had stabbed her in the chest. She doubled over, gasping, while agony iced her blood. Oh god. It hurt.
“Behold, Fair Jennet,” the queen said. “The answer is Life. Your essence is captured here. It will serve us well.”
Jennet looked up, tears clouding her vision. The queen held the sphere aloft. It wasn’t empty any more. Inside was a bright swirl of color, like rainbow flames. They pulsed and danced, trapped inside their crystal prison. Wavering, calling to her.
“How,” Jennet forced the words out through lips tight with pain, “how do I get that back?”
Every game had a second chance, a third. You kept fighting the last battle until you finally won. Failure wasn’t permanent. Not like in real life.
The queen laughed, and the sound carried a bitter chill. “You cannot. Without a champion, you are lost. Now go. Go! I send thee, defeated, from the Dark Realm.”
Pain wrenched through Jennet and she screamed. Golden light blinded her senses and she swirled through a sickening vertigo. Blackness waited, merciful and dark, on the other side. She opened her arms to it, and fell.
* * *
Jennet woke, aching, in the sim chair. Her hands were stiff inside the gaming gloves, and when she sat forward, fire exploded in her shoulder. She could barely lift her arm, but it was impossible to take off the helmet one-handed. Trying not to whimper, she gritted her teeth against the agony and pulled off her gear.
She had lost.
Feyland was more than just a sim game. The clues had been there all along, but she hadn’t paid enough attention until now. Now, when it was too late. And she’d done worse than lose the game.
There was a frigid hollow in the center of her chest. The Dark Queen had taken something from her—something she feared she couldn’t live without. Bright flames trapped inside a magical sphere. Her mortal essence, the queen had said.
She had to get it back.
Jennet stumbled to her bedroom. She swayed at the edge of her bed, trying to pull the covers back. No use. She toppled forward onto the blue coverlet, and let the blackness of sleep take her down.
* * *
Call an ambulance! Now!
…unusual symptoms, Mr. Carter. No signs of external trauma…
--still unconscious?
…as soon as she wakes up we’ll notify you. Now get some rest…
(sobbing)
* * *
“Dad?” Her voice was creaky, the word sticking in her mouth like it was coated with tar.
Jennet thought she’d heard him, his voice taut with panic. And later—crying? What was going on?
She couldn’t open her eyes. And then she could, the lashes parting gummily. Unfamiliar white walls surrounded her, and the antiseptic smell hit her nose the same time her brain registered hospital.
What was she doing lying in a hospital bed?
An IV fed into her left arm, and she was dressed in a dun-colored gown. The gridded lights overhead made her want to close her eyes again, but she had to figure out what was going on.
“Dad?” she called again, fear lending her voice a wavery strength.
The door opened and a blue-smocked nurse bustled in, her hair tied neatly back.
“Awake at last,” she said. “And how are you feeling?”
“I really don’t know.” Jennet took a deep breath. Nothing hurt, but her throat was blazingly parched. “Could I get some water?”
The nurse nodded. “I’ll be right back. But if you need anything else, press the call button.”
“I need my dad.”
“Contacting him is the first thing on my list.” The nurse gave her an encouraging smile and left, closing the door softly.
Jennet stared around the room. There was a big vase of hydrangeas—blue and purple and green—the only real spot of color in the place. Thick white curtains were drawn over the window, the light a bright smear behind.
The door flew open, and her dad rushed in. His hair was rumpled and he looked exhausted, but as soon as he saw her, a smile transformed his face.
“Jen! Oh, honey. I… I thought I’d lost you, too.”
He caught her up in a hug, careful of the tubes stuck in her arm, and Jennet clung to him. He smelled like sunshine and safety.
“I’m here, Dad.”
“I know.” His voice was thick with emotion. “The docs say they want another day of observation, and then they’ll let you come home. I can’t believe I didn’t realize you had walking pneumonia—I’m so sorry.”
“I did?” She didn’t remember being sick.
What she did remember was the Dark Queen taking her mortal essence—but that must have been a dream. Right? She had been feverishly ill, after all. The strange, hollow feeling in her chest was just an after-effect of her illness; nothing more.
“We’re through it now,” her dad said. Tears lurked in his eyes. “Let me get some light in here.”
He went to the window and pulled back the curtain. Afternoon sun poured into the room, as though it had just been waiting for an invitation. The branches of a tree were visible from the bed, dark green leaves moving gently in the breeze below the cloud-spotted sky.
Returning to the bedside, her dad sat and took her hand.
“I have some bad news,” he said, his voice strained. “It’s… I don’t know how to tell you this, but—Thomas is dead.”
“What?” She clutched his hand, her mind buzzing in circles. “How could he be? What happened?”
Dad shook his head. “He died at home, the doctors think from a stroke. It was fast, and probably painless.”
Tears choked her throat. “But I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
“None of us did.” Her dad blinked, hard, but a drop of moisture still rolled down one cheek. “I’m so sorry to have to break this to you while you’re still in the hospital, but I thought you’d want to know right away.”
Jennet pressed her lips together and nodded, forcing back the tears. If she started crying, she didn’t think she could stop. She had to be strong—for both of them—but it was so hard to believe that Thomas was gone. His loss echoed in the hollow of her chest.
“The funeral is the day after tomorrow. You’ll be home by then.” Her dad leaned forward again and wrapped her in a tight hug. “I love you,” he said against her hair.
“I love you too, Dad.” She hugged him awkwardly back, mindful of the IV.
She felt cold and empty inside, but at least she was alive, and with her dad. Thomas’s death was horrible—but she and Dad had gone through worse and come out the other side, even though just then it felt like the sun would never shine again.
They would heal. Eventually.
* * *
The Dark Queen paced the length of her court, her dress a shimmer of smoke and shadows, her midnight hair stirred by the ever-present night breeze. In one hand she held a crystal sphere where a small flame flickered. It was the barest ember of fire—but it was enough.
She had made a bargain, and she would remain true to it. The fey folk were ever bound by their word. But bargains were tricky things, and she had centuries of experience. The poor mortal who had thought to negotiate with her had gotten what he wanted, but at a price few would pay, and for a far shorter time than he believed.
The queen smiled, as bright and sharp as the stars overhead. In a swirl of night, she mounted her throne and settled into its tangled black depths. To one side stood a knot of musicians: a long-fingered creature with a wooden flute, a squat goblin holding a skin drum, and a sad-eyed man with a battered guitar slung across his back.
“Music,” she said, gesturing to the players. “I would hear a song from my new Bard—something pleasant to pass the time. A tale of treachery and deceit, perchance.”
The denizens of her court laughed, their cackles and gibbers echoing off the trunks of the tall oak trees. Pale moths fluttered away from the sound, wings beating like panicked hearts.
“As my lady commands.”
The man set his fingers on the strings of his guitar, bowed his head, and began to play.
* * *
Jennet’s adventures continue in The Dark Realm, where inside the game she discovers a world of magic, dangerous adventure, and a hint of romance...
Also by Anthea Sharp
Thanks for reading The First Adventure. I hope you enjoyed it!
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* You’ve just read the prequel to the bestselling FEYLAND series. Other books in this series are listed below. I hope you enjoy them all!
The Dark Realm
The Bright Court
The Twilight Kingdom
Spark
Royal
Marny
About the Author
~USA Today bestselling, award-winning author of Fantasy-flavored fiction ~
Growing up on fairy tales and computer games, Anthea Sharp has melded the two in her award-winning, bestselling Feyland series, which has sold over 200k copies worldwide.
In addition to the fae fantasy/cyberpunk mashup of Feyland, she also writes Victorian Spacepunk, and fantasy romance. Her books have won awards and topped bestseller lists, and garnered over a million reads at Wattpad. She’s frequently found hanging out on Amazon’s Top 100 Fantasy/SF author list. Her short fiction has appeared in Fiction River, DAW anthologies, The Future Chronicles, and Beyond The Stars: At Galaxy’s edge, as well as many other publications.
Anthea lives in Southern California, where she writes, hangs out in virtual worlds, plays the fiddle with her Celtic band Fiddlehead, and spends time with her small-but-good family. Contact her at [email protected] or visit her website – www.antheasharp.com
Anthea also writes historical romance under the pen name Anthea Lawson. Find out about her acclaimed Victorian romantic adventure novels at www.anthealawson.com.
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