Wildest Dreams

by Faith Ellis

  Malor looks down in silent agreement.

  Finally, we reach a clearing where the forest breaks and daylight peeks through the large tress. It is like a dream, but both the joy and dread of the progress in our journey are at a constant battle inside of me. I un- derstand the pull of the clearing and the desire of the light to touch me. It is so beautiful and inviting. I get the urge to sprint toward that sunshine, in need of a

  mood booster and sick and tired of the gloomy, bitchy forest. But I force myself to hang back with the males, wary about what lurks on the edge of the forest as we break the threshold. There is no one or nothing beyond the trees.

  Far in the distance, covered in snow, we see it. The queen's castle and her court look like a small, shiny city all of its own. The massive, well-manicured castle of stone and ice is so clear it looks like glass as the sun glints off it.

  Chapter 15 Andryad

  Right at the forest line, the snow is inches thick. We all pull leather-lined gloves from our packs. As I slip my hands into my gloves, I marvel, "This is crazy. The air feels fine here at the forest."

  Aiden crosses the line of the forest, placing one foot into the lush snow. He sinks in up to his knee. "Yes, but right here, the temperature drops tremendously."

  I step into the snow too and realize how right he is: the air is painfully cold, well below freezing. I snug- gle into my leathers deeper and breathe in the air as it burns my lungs. Looking around, I note how Aiden ap- pears different in his own court. The cold is his home, a part of him. It makes his eyes clearer, and his ice re- sponds by illuminating under his skin, casting him in a beautiful blueish glow.

  Malor comes up behind me, wrapping a thick scarf around his neck. "I’m starting to wish we were back in the dirt of the forest."

  Aiden turns toward him. "How you ever made it as your father's son is beyond me."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Malor's voice heightens with offense, but Aiden just shakes his head. I face what lies ahead of us. The glistening city in the distance, with us having to travel to it in the open, makes me queasy, the cold already heavy in my limbs, turning them stiff and achy. We look at one another one last time before trudging forward through the soft

  snow.

  I sniff the air: it is still. "Odd, there's no smell at all. The air is completely neutral. How is that possible? Not even the scent of the earth."

  Aiden seems to move quicker in the snow. He is pacing himself to hang back with us. Smoothly he an- swers, "Queen Mable likes to control the scent. She be- lieves it keeps her and her fiends protected." He raises a shoulder. "If you can't smell them, you have less of a chance of knowing they're nearby."

  The castle appeared to be quite a distance from the borderline into the Second Court, but as we walk, it seems to move farther away, as if it doesn't want us to reach it. My stamina slows, and my stomach protests hungrily. My feet are heavy in my boots, plow- ing through the deep, fluffy snow. My senses are wired, but there are no sounds aside from our movements. The air doesn't even feel as if it is moving. The clothes on my body are too warm, though the temperature is well below freezing; they feel heavy, nearly suffocating me.

  As we finally break some ground, we find a secluded area alongside the court’s borders, where we decide to

  rest and eat before entering the Second Half Seasons Court. We are going to need every ounce of energy we have to fight whatever waits for us.

  The sun sets and darkness falls, making the gloom turn into a deep, dense, ashy gray. Malor takes the first sleep while Aiden and I take the first watch and force ourselves to eat some of the dried meat, fruit, and nuts that are still in our packs. My belly grumbles, but the desire to eat eludes me while my nerves continue to climb. The moonlight mixes with the bright snow, pro- viding plenty of light as Malor's low rumble fills our ears, a sure sign that he is unconscious. The dangerous fae male finally turns those shining emerald eyes on me, and when he speaks, his voice is clear and smooth. "What are you feeling, princess?" He grabs a water- skin from his pack and tilts it against his lips to drink

  deeply.

  My eyes catch on a drop lingering on his lower lip, and my mouth goes dry. I look away. "Soon we will see Mable, and I doubt she will hand over her throne to us. I think there will be a lot of death."

  He pauses. "We could die."

  Suddenly the waterskin in his hands becomes of great interest as he turns it this way and that. The wa- ter sloshes against the sides. Uncertainty weaves its way through my mind. I stare at the food on my lap for a moment before turning my attention back to him.

  He raises his eyes to mine.

  "We have no choice. We must do this—I must do this—for my people. They need me, and I wouldn't be a very good princess—" I remember my parents' fate Aiden spoke what seemed like worlds ago. "Queen. I wouldn't be a very good queen if I deserted them again." The fruit turns bitter on my tongue. "I already did that once. I should've been here, Aiden." My voice takes on a hard edge. "I would be stronger. I could've protected them."

  Aiden's eyes darken. "You would be, An." The look he gives me is laced with sorrow. "I regret not giving you a choice, I do. But if I did and you stayed, there's no doubt you would be dead. Then where would your court be?"

  I do not have an answer.

  "They'd be right where they are now, except in that scenario, there are no lost princesses in the shadows trying to save them."

  I know he is right, but it's a harsh reality that in order to save my people, I had to first abandon them. Taking a deep breath, I focus on my hands. "I need to meet with them, to see them and let them know I'm here and why I was gone, so they don't feel alone."

  Aiden rolls his head. The tension in his shoulders is clear. "You can't. We need to go to Queen Mable imme- diately—there's no time."

  I stand abruptly, the remaining food in my lap falling into the snow. "Why? It can't wait just one more day?"

  He rises to meet my stance, towering over me, so close that the heat from his body is prominent. It's odd that he can radiate warmth as a child of the Second Court. "You said you trusted me."

  "It's not about that, Aiden."

  "But you're questioning my plan of action."

  "So if I am, what? I don't have a right? I can't trust you and still question that?"

  He scoffs at this. "I'm trying to protect you. She could have spies anywhere, any member of the First Court or Second could be within the midst of the rebels, waiting for you to show your face."

  "If you don't trust that I can handle a rebel, how ex- actly are you planning to win against Mable?"

  He goes rigid, staring at me.

  "Is it all based on surprising her by walking straight into her home?"

  He quickly shakes his head. "Of course not."

  "Then please, share your plan on that." I wrap my arms around my middle and sniffle. The cold makes my nose run.

  "I plan on protecting you," Aiden shoots back.

  "I'm not a child, Aiden. Maybe I'm not as strong as I could be, maybe I am. But none of that matters if you don't even give me a chance to show you." My blood pumps with frustration.

  Malor stirs, stretching overhead as he rolls up the mat he laid across the snow. He straps it to his back and regards us calmly as I stomp around him and use fire to melt a patch in the snow to curl up in. As hard

  as I try, it's doubtful I will get any sleep. But I close my eyes, listening to Aiden rustling in his own area, and try to focus on oblivion.

  When I wake, I don't feel much better. My aggra- vation continues to get the best of me as we gather our things to move out again. I stomp ahead, trudging at a tiresome pace through the thick snow. Malor and Aiden soon come up behind me, the snow crunching beneath their boots. I slow down as my anger wears off from fatigue and my legs grow numb with plowing through snow and the cold.

  We stop behind a small area that offers more seclu- sion with heavy, thick evergreens. Their foliage is weighed down by the snow, with stark bursts of bright gre
en peeking out in spots. Each of us dons thicker leathers, typically those used in battles. We lace dag- gers to our boots. Aiden keeps his sword low on one hip, and Malor secures his twin blades across his back. I might die with these two, and all I can think about is how incredibly loyal they are to me. I close my eyes and exhale out through my nose.

  My hand catches Aiden's arm to turn him toward me. "I'm sorry, back there, for acting like that. I just want you to know, I've got this."

  Hestudies my face. "I know." He grimaces. "And I've got you."

  "Are you okay?"

  "Yes, let's just get this over with." He gives me a small smile and wraps me in a quick hug. He feels cool.

  The field breaks into civilization: an ice city that envelopes the ice castle overlooking everything below. Slipping through the front of the borders into the court is fairly simple.

  "Is getting in always that easy?" I ask Aiden.

  He side-eyes me. "Not exactly. They allow traders, negotiators, fae of all sorts within the gates during spe- cific times and only for allotted increments, depending upon their business here." He looks at us. "Maybe we were assumed tradesmen."

  I cock my head in disbelief; we don't particularly look like tradesmen. We look more like crooks—I wouldn't have let us in. But we move through, heads low and steps quick as though on an errand. Few guards roam the front of the luxurious city made of ice and stone. Aiden was right: many must be at the First Court. There is no way the queen has enough warriors to cover both courts yet, none loyal enough, at least.

  Other fae muddle about, minding their own busi- ness, with a few gremlins causing a ruckus here and there, their cackles bouncing off the glass and stone buildings. Their short bodies jump from roof to roof, and their red eyes are piercing and out of place against the clear perfection of the Second Court. Malevolent fae who are not aristocrats—the redcaps, gremlins, goblins, and brownies, typically servants—are not al- lowed here unless by order of the queen, so they must be here to do her dirty work.

  As we walk by a building that reads "Tabitha's Tai- lory" on the front in fancy lettering, a perfect shop

  matching its neighbors in ice and stone, I recall a story from when I was a small child. Keeping my voice low, I ask Aiden, "Once I overheard our guards talking about a tailor here. Apparently, she did not have a specific fabric in stock with which to sew the queen a dress for a next-day event. The fabric was said to take at least a setting sun’s time to arrive."

  Aiden keeps watching, alert as we make our way through the streets.

  "The queen said she understood perfectly. She sug- gested she could use something from her current wardrobe. The guards whispered that by the next day, the tailor had been killed. Word was redcaps mutilated and strung the tailor up by her own fabrics. They sewed pendants and jewels into her skin." I watch Aiden closely. A stiffness settles in his shoulders. "Is that true?"

  He doesn't look at me when he answers. "I remem- ber that story. Its truth would not surprise me; Queen Mable has an awful temper and ridiculous expecta- tions. But I wasn't there when it happened. I think we are safe to assume there's at least some truth to it."

  I pull my attention away from Aiden, taking in our surroundings. All the buildings are a whitish stone with ice panels as clear as glass on the fronts for win- dows and doors. Even the streets match the buildings, emulsifying everything in a smooth white finish. The streets are clean and clear and glisten in the same icy perfection but bubble up, similar to cobblestones.

  "She sure does enjoy the nicer things," I mumble be- neath my hood. "Even with all this activity, all these Folk, goblins for Mother Nature’s sake, and still, there's no smell." The air doesn't even seem to move.

  Aiden eyes me from beneath his own heavy black hood. "Like I said, protection. She also considers it a luxury. Along with covering any smell, she has en- chanted the air within her borders to remain forever still. There's no wind, not even a gentle breeze."

  "I get masking the smells for protection, but why wouldn't you want to feel a breeze on your face?"

  A small laugh vibrates from Aiden's throat. "Con- trol, perfection—who knows, really."

  "Only one with so many enemies would go to such extremes as to cover the scents of the world," Malor adds.

  I snort. "That is purely against everything Mother Nature intended."

  "Indeed." Aiden raises his eyebrows.

  The massive castle sits a little higher than the city, giving the queen a bird's-eye view of her court below. The structure is overwhelmingly magnificent, with steeples and battlements throughout the curtain walls. Constructed mostly of ice, the entire form feels like a fragile yet monumental snowflake that could disinte- grate at the touch of a finger.

  Aiden notes the look on my face. "Looks can be de- ceiving."

  We wrap our cloaks and hoods tighter around us. We move closer to the gates. Aiden leads us through

  a path that runs the length of the fence to establish more cover and get off the main streets.

  "Will the rebels meet us here?" I whisper at Aiden's back.

  "No." His voice is low. "There's no time."

  Malor and I glance at each other. The uncertainty rolls off Malor in waves, but I don't dare say a word. Aiden questioned my trust previously, and I don't want to add doubt to Malor's mind. The truth is, I trust Aiden wholeheartedly. He is Mable's son, and I expect he knows exactly what we are walking into. He vowed to protect me.

  Still, low enough for only me to hear, Malor says, "Doubtful any rebels ever existed. If they're on the in- side, I will kiss the prince's boots."

  But I pretend not to hear.

  We make our way around the main entrance, fol- lowing the fence, and come to a heavy stone door at the very back of the castle. Aiden yanks it open, and it swings quietly on its hinges. "We can sneak in under the castle by going through the kitchens."

  Concern burns in my eyes. "Is that safe?"

  "I'm confident the fae there will ignore us. Few have true loyalty to the queen, and they've all suffered some sort of ill fate by her hand. Most of the servants remain here because they have no choice. Doubtful they'll help us, but chances are they won't ring any alarms."

  Uncertainty curls in my gut, and I struggle to rein it in. I shift my eyes back and forth, calculating. Malor watches me, waiting for a command.

  "Aiden, if Mable already knows we're here, she very well may be waiting for us. We should reconsider."

  We stand around the door, our voices rushed but low.

  "We came all this way, and now you want to turn back?"

  I shake my head. "Something doesn't feel right. This doesn't make sense. It was so easy to get into the bor- ders, to get through the fence. You were right—looks can be deceiving. It's all too easy. Why?" I cross my arms over my chest, waiting for a solid response. Malor shifts, positioning himself closer to my side.

  Aiden's eyes darken. "If we turn back now, they won't let us through the gates."

  Silence surrounds us. Malor steps toward him, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "What do you mean?"

  Aiden looks at the ground, and then his eyes flick to me. "It was easy to get in, but they won't let us leave. Our only option now is to get inside and at least fight to take Queen Mable down."

  Malor's lip curls. "You tricked us into coming here and now we can't turn back, is that it?" His voice rises, and by the way his knees flex, I fear he's about to lunge for Aiden. I step forward.

  "Stop it. If this is where we are, then we move for- ward." I turn to Aiden. "Guide us through the quietest, most solitary areas of the castle for us to stay under the radar. Once we're in, we stay low, search for Mable, and we take her out. Got it?" My eyes snap between both of them. Aiden nods, but Malor only narrows his

  eyes. "Aiden, I know you have the best intentions, but Malor and I should have been filled in on everything. " Aiden’s mouth sets in a thin line, and Malor grunts his agreement. "Hey," I say to Malor, fighting for his atten- tion.

  "Got it," he confirms
.

  Aiden leads the way through the door and into a dimly lit, narrow pathway. He maneuvers around bar- rels and crates with Malor on his heels, and I tail be- hind. No scent greets us, and there are no sounds, just utter stillness. Aiden stops at a wooden double cellar door that stands wide.

  I ask urgently, "Why would the door be unguardedly open?"

  "Servants come and go throughout the day to re- ceive deliveries and throw away garbage. It's always open," Aiden answers.

  Aiden ducks into the cellar first. It is brightly lit by candles adorning the walls and clean. Fruits and veg- etables sit in baskets neatly stacked on high wooden shelves with racks of various crushed herbs. Jars of all sizes are displayed among them with a variety of colored jams full of purple, red, and orange contents. There are no servants as we walk across the gray tile floor to a set of stairs that take us up to the main floor.

  We climb a short set of stone steps to another set of double doors. These take us into a large kitchen, bustling with many faeries, all of them servants: cooks, maids, and butlers. They sprint around the large bub- bling pots that hang heavy over burning flames, steam

  curling up from their wide yawning mouths. Pixies flit about carrying pewter trays decorated with an array of decadent desserts or fruits. Female brownies balance armfuls of garbage or laundry, strutting down the steps into the cellar from where we had come. A tall redcap stirs one of the pots steadily, adding things every so of- ten from a tray nearby.

  Everything here is spotless and bright, almost homey and cheerful if I didn't know better. An ex- hausted-looking fae with delicate hooves for feet scrubs relentlessly at the already-sparkling tile. Her bark-brown hair is limp, and her skin is ashen, but her movements remain steady. The white tiles shine so brightly, when I look down, I see my own reflection.