“With a single glance and a stiff shot of flame,” Gorman continued on his own.
Halton frowned, interjecting, “Nay, that’s not right. Dragons do not tame sprights. We’re renowned for taming dragons. All the realms speak of our prowess as warriors.”
“Aye, that’s what we said. Sprights snort fire and dragons do they tame.” Gorman nodded smartly only to hiccup.
“We snort fire?” Halton asked, his eyes wide in wonderment.
“Of course, we do.” Gorman paused, scratching his head thoughtfully. “Though, I have never tried it, have you?”
“Nay.” Halton matched his friend’s expression.
“Well, there you go.” Gorman pointed his finger high into the air in declaration. “We could if we wanted, but—”
“We do not want to.” Halton nodded once, pushing out his lower lip.
“Exactly.” Gorman drew his finger down with another hiccup.
Merrick cleared his throat, lifting an irritated brow as he got their wandering attention. He’d been waiting for them to get back from Rivershire with his supplies so he could try to call forth the right spell to free his wife from her prison. Finally, he’d sent Bevil and Volos to fetch them and escort them back.
Desperation set in since Juliana scratched her words into his flesh. Had something happened? Was her life in danger? Their child? He felt her rounded stomach and had assumed it was part of his memory. But if she was trapped somewhere other than the stone… He took a deep breath, forcing the worry from his mind. Already the goblins were looking at him curiously. He did not want them feeling his distress.
“Ah, your, ah…” Gorman gulped, swaying on his feet as he looked at Merrick. His wide eyes became even more so.
“Your kingly supreme omni, hiccup, presence,” Halton filled in, bowing regally at the waist. He waved his hand in circles before him, tapping a foot to keep balance. “We brought your provisions.”
Merrick held out his hand, his muscles stiff.
“Ah, right, the supplies,” Halton glanced at his friend. “Gorman?”
“Aye?” Gorman asked.
“Give the king his supplies,” Halton ordered.
“But you were in charge of acquisitioning the supplies.” Gorman tried to smile and meet the Unblessed King’s piercing eyes.
“Was not!” Halton growled out of the side of his mouth.
“Was so!” Gorman hissed back.
“Was not!” Halton’s voice grew by degrees as he faced Gorman, his fists tight.
“Was—”
“Quiet!” Merrick bellowed, shooting to his feet. “Did you acquire any of what I asked for?”
“Ah.” Halton gulped, digging into his pocket. “We have this.”
Merrick frowned as the spright ran forward. Halton held up a small stick wand.
“But, that’s mine! A muse came to me and said I was to wield it.” Gorman gasped, running after his friend in dismay. He tried to hop on Halton’s head, but the spright darted to the side at the last minute. Gorman tumbled over, rolling across the floor to land at the king’s booted feet.
Merrick leaned down, glaring at him. He waved his hand, building a soundproof wall between them and the goblins on the other side. Now that they had some privacy, he growled, “I will tell my lady wife when she gets back that it was your incompetence that kept her locked away so long in her prison!”
The sprights paled, just as Merrick knew they would. They had bound themselves to his Juliana and being her sprights meant their very happiness was tied to her being pleased with them. They lived to serve the Unblessed Queen and would give their lives for her.
“Take the wand, if it will help.” Gorman crawled back on his hands to get away from the king’s anger. “But it is not our fault that you do not free her. She told you how.”
Halton crawled across the floor, only to lay the wand down by Merrick’s feet, pushing it closer with the tip of his long finger, so as not to get too close to the dark elf. He backed up slowly, still on his hands and knees. “If you want her free, you’d free her easily enough. It is not our fault you fight this war.”
“This war?” Merrick took a deep breath. He still felt the ache on his chest where Juliana had scratched him. Knowing she was out there, alive and very much aware, ate at him. “What do you mean this war? What do you mean she told me how to free her? She told me nothing.”
“She did it to stop the war,” Gorman said.
“She hated the fighting. We heard her cry at night when you were away,” Halton added. “She worried you would be killed.”
Merrick couldn’t move.
“She wanted the deaths to stop. She didn’t want her baby born feeding off the darker power of the unblessed or feeling death and destruction.” Gorman reached a hand out to Halton, who helped him to his feet. They huddled together, backing toward the invisible wall. Pressing their backs against it, they stared wide-eyed at the king.
“She said this?” Merrick smelled their fear and tried to block it.
“She didn’t have to,” Halton said.
“We are hers and we are loyal to our queen,” continued Gorman. “We know her pain. It is our pleasure to help carry the burden of it.”
Merrick knew the sprights, being as they were so small and of lesser magic, couldn’t carry much of his wife’s burden, no matter what it may be.
“Already we say too much,” Gorman said.
“We will not betray her,” Halton added.
“You know how to free her, don’t you?” Merrick forced himself to be calm. If he continued to yell, like he wanted, the two sprights wouldn’t tell him anything. If he was calm, if he didn’t strike them until they were bloody masses on his main hall floor, they would tell him what he needed to know.
“Aye,” Gorman said.
Halton slapped his palm over the other spright’s mouth as if to quiet him, even as he said, “She left you a missive. You know as well as we.”
“Missive? What missive?” Merrick had searched the entire castle for word from her.
“With your witch,” Gorman whispered. “The evil one that lives in the darkness. She came from the bowels of the palace to help Juliana. We dare not speak to her, but the queen did. They talked softly and fast as we hid around the corner.”
“The witch?” Merrick felt sick to his stomach. The crone he kept locked in the dungeon had been set free to help Juliana? He hoped the sprights were wrong. The witch could not be trusted.
Throwing his senses out over his palace, he felt her evil presence still locked away where he kept her imprisoned. It had been a long while since he went to her for help, for doing so came with a heavy price. He’d used her powers to save Sir Thomas’ life, bringing him back from the dead. The deed had cost him two drops of his own powerful blood and a promise that almost caused him to lose his wife. But when he’d asked her for help to locate Juliana’s brothers, she’d refused, saying she got more pleasure out of his misery, for he’d have to tell Juliana that he couldn’t find the Bellemare men.
Juliana’s brothers were now safe, their lives never really having been in as great of peril as he’d thought at the time. Had the witch been talking about something else? What had she said exactly?
I get more from not helping with this—much amusement.
She’d been talking about Juliana’s brothers, but perhaps she meant his whole situation.
Oooh, broken, the witch had said about his heart when she had tried to speak of Juliana to him.
She’d been enjoying his pain. The evil harpy belonged more to Lucien’s magic, the power of complete and utter darkness, but for Merrick to release her from her prison would be to send her back to the side of evil. Doing so wasn’t an option. Evil had enough power as it was. So he kept her locked away where she could do little harm.
“The witch,” he whispered, gritting his teeth as he thought of the old woman touching his wife. His body instantly dissolved into mist as he drifted out of his hall to a small crack in the floor. It
was a place only his magic could pass through. If Juliana, in having his power, somehow found a way to change the prisons below, who knew what kind of madness she could have unleashed on the world. The witch was bad, but by no means the worst.
Going to the deepest pits of the castle, the Unblessed King solidified, standing near his dungeons. The curved ceilings of the passageways were low and he ducked his head under the arched doorways. The place felt the same, for all of Juliana’s tampering with it, but he couldn’t help the bit of anger that arose as he thought of his wife scheming with the witch. If she rearranged his castle enough to let the crone out, she could have released any matter of evil into the world. The few prisoners he did keep locked behind his walls had been there since before he’d become king and were too insane to be set free. They were to remain where they were for all eternity.
“I warned her of this,” he fumed quietly, before summonsing the small, portly goblin who served as the prisoner’s caretaker. “Werdan!”
Almost instantly, the goblin wobbled leisurely around a dim, stone corner. Without breaking his pace, he came along the passageway. His eyes were completely white, unseeing in the way other creatures knew. Instead, Werdan felt the walls and sensed the prisoners. The goblin knew every brick and stone by heart.
“My king?” the caretaker inquired, shuffling to a stop before him.
“Account for all the prisoners.”
The goblin’s white eyes glowed, swirling with dark rings of smoke before clearing. “All here. Only the witch’s power shifts.”
“More than usual?”
“Nay, not so much more.” Werdan’s gruff tone rasped over each word.
Merrick strode past the caretaker, toward the far end of the passageway. He didn’t bother to knock against the metal door before slamming the flat of his hand against it. A loud whine sounded over the hall before metal crashed against stone. His gaze instantly searched the round chamber, half expecting the old crone to be gone.
The large brick walls were overgrown with moss. The witch had lived beneath the castle for centuries, surviving in her little round room of magic. Broken bottles littered the hearth. A stone ledge wound around the walls, filled with jars of herbs and vials of other mystical concoctions.
In the center on a raised stone pedestal sat the witch. Her gown was pretty, sparkling abnormally in the candle glow. She turned her wrinkled face toward the door, sniffing in his direction. He took a deep breath, not stepping into the room as he waited for her to speak.
“My king.” The old woman’s tone was frailer than he knew her to be. “What honor is this after so long that you deign to grace this tiny dwelling? Or have you a need of my services?”
Merrick wasn’t surprised that she knew who was in her doorway. In her blindness, she saw many things. Though she could not be trusted completely, she was very powerful and worth keeping around—not that he could kill her if he wanted to.
“Anger replaces the pain,” the witch said. “Have you finally discovered more of the truth? I daresay it took you long enough, for I expected this visit long before now.”
“Then give me what I seek and be done with your games,” Merrick ordered. He resisted the urge to beat the woman. It would do no good, she’d only enjoy it.
“Tell me what you seek and I shall give whatever I can.” The witch slowly pushed to her feet, shuffling toward the herb-filled ledge.
“End the spell that traps my wife in stone,” he ordered.
“Is the queen in stone?” The woman smacked her lips, only to cackle.
“End the spell,” he enunciated. “At once.”
“I cannot end it,” she laughed, “only you can do that, my king, and I’m afraid you no longer have the means. It is too late. You waited too long to discover the truth.”
“How did you do it? How did you trap her?”
“You did it, my king. It was your blood that cast the spell. And she did it. Queen Juliana’s will bound the magic.” She again cackled, the hard, grating tone echoing over the hall. “You traded your blood to me for the life of Sir Thomas the Mortal and now that blood payment has sent your wife running away.”
“Give me the missive,” Merrick stepped inside the room, feeling a dark chill wash over him by crossing the short distance. He detected power—old, evil power. Lucien. A thin barrier trapped her in her prison. It was why there was no lock on her door. But the barrier also locked her magic in.
“Missive?” the witch asked, her voice tight.
“Now!” Merrick’s voice darkened. “Give me the missive from my wife!”
“Mm,” she moaned in pleasure, lifting her hands with palms toward him. “Or what? You will shower me with more of your anger and pain? Both equally as sweet. Will you set me afire like a naughty goblin in your hall? Banish me from the palace like an impudent warrior?”
“Nay,” Merrick walked toward her. Gripping her bony face, he squeezed hard. She began to smile at the rough hold, until his words stopped the joyous expression. “I’ll give you to my brother, King Ean. You’ll be in a pretty dungeon in the Golden Palace at Tegwen, living in ugly rags, surrounded by pleasure and love for all eternity.”
For the first time since he’d known her, the witch appeared shaken. She stumbled back, pressed into the circular wall.
“Should I summons the Blessed King?” Merrick motioned as if he would go. “He would be bound by duty to take you from me.”
“Nay, but I cannot give you the missive,” the witch said. “I destroyed it.”
“What did it say?” Even as he asked, he knew he had no wish to hear Juliana’s words spoken by the horrible woman. It turned his stomach even to know his wife had been in the crone’s presence. Being more specific, he asked, “How do I break the spell?”
“I will tell you if you give me your word as king you will not send me to the Golden Palace for speaking it.”
“Fine.” Merrick crossed his arms over his chest, waiting. “But it better work.”
“Only the blood of brothers will free her, given willingly.”
“I have to get the blood of William, Hugh and Thomas?” That wouldn’t be too difficult of a task. Her brothers would freely give their blood to help her. It was no secret that Juliana loved her family. Did she do this to get them together? “Easily done.”
“Nay, the blood of royal brothers on opposing thrones.” The witch’s cackle again rang over him. “You must make peace with King Ean and use his blood with your own to free your wife. She feels the bond between you and King Ean and thinks to mend it so as to end your pain. The curse is until both blessed and unblessed royal blood unites to free her. If you do not join with Ean, she will be lost for all eternity. Or until two more such brothers sit on the two thrones.”
Such a thing was a near impossibility. Two brothers, one king of the unblessed and the other of the blessed? The seats of power did not turn over so quickly. Then, there was the fact they were at war. Ean owed him nothing. Why would he help him free the Unblessed Queen? The last time he saw his brother, he’d said some very cruel things. Ean would not trust him enough to help him. There might be one way, one thing he knew for sure Ean would want besides possible peace. Mayhap, he could promise him to free Wolfe or die trying. Merrick glared at the old woman, willing her to continue.
“There is more,” the crone said. “The ritual has to be done with Queen Juliana’s jeweled dagger. The one given to her in love from her family.”
Lucien had Juliana’s dagger. Hugh had seen it. “You gave her dagger to the Damned King.”
“Me?” she shook her head. “How could I? I am locked away here in the dungeon.”
“Juliana let you out and you discovered a way to escape. That is how you got the new gown you wear. I smell the Damned King all over you.”
The woman didn’t move. Merrick could detect a trace of her fear, calling his power. He began to feed off her, growing stronger as she grew weaker, though she tried to appear brave.
“You’ve been very wi
cked, haven’t you, crone?”
“I’m inherently evil.” She gave a feeble laugh. “Is it really a surprise?”
“If my wife and child don’t come back unharmed, you will be inherently trapped in the happiest place I can find. I’m talking children and laughing and true love, eternal happy.”
“I should not be punished for the actions of Queen Juliana,” her voice dropped to a whine, “for who am I to question the order of the Unblessed Queen?”
Merrick arched a brow, not believing her act of loyal servitude.
“There is nothing I can do.” The witch’s tone hardened once more. “I told you how to break the queen’s spell. If she dies, the fault will be yours. Not mine. And if you dare to punish me for it, consequences will be had.”
“Aye, consequences.” Merrick nodded, letting his eyes fill in black. “For without my wife, you will face happy consequences indeed.”
Merrick lifted his hand, stripping her of her pretty new gown. She screeched in irritation. “Stop taking my gowns! Is that all you can do, high king? Steal an old woman’s clothing?”
“You enjoy my misery, witch,” Merrick said as he strode away from the naked woman huddling on the floor, “and I shall enjoy yours.”
Chapter Seven
Mystic Forest, Kingdom of Hades Border
King Ean felt the heat of the Fire Palace, even from his distance in the forest. Though he wanted to, he didn’t dare go any closer. Lucien would feel him the moment he entered Hades and, magical cloak or not, they would lose their only chance at freeing Wolfe from the dungeons.
The war had not spread into this part of the forest. Along the borders to Hades, the trees did not thrive. The trunks seemed to choke on ash, the leaves pale and gray. Animals did not come there willingly lest they be devoured by the demons who lived within the woods—terrifying man-beasts who turned to uncontrollable, bloodlusting wolves nightly with the passing of the silver moon.
“We should hurry. I don’t want to be caught here when the lycanthropes rise,” Adal said, as if reading Ean’s thoughts. Behind them the unicorns pawed the ground. They’d been uneasy, their anxiety growing with each closer step. He did not want to bring the majestic creatures and knew, if it came to losing them to Lucien, he would order them all killed first. The unicorns were there because of their quick flight of foot and the magical senses that would warn them before danger arrived.
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