by Faith Ellis
The walls are white stone on one side and ice over- looking the castle grounds on the other, letting in a stream of natural gray light. Not a single faery pays us any heed. It makes me nervous; goosebumps break out along my arms, and my skin goes clammy. Each of the fae keeps their attention on their duties until suddenly, so naturally that I almost miss it, a small young female sprite slicing bread glances up quickly with large doe-brown eyes and catches my gaze. Her heart-shaped lips set in a tight line as her eyes flick to the right and immediately go back down to her work. My hair stands on end with a warning, and my blood hums ominously in my veins. The fire warms in my core, but I keep it at bay.
Something isn't right. My stomach turns sour, and I reach out to touch Aiden's arm. I raise my chin to the
girl. His emerald gems glide to her and to the door. Not saying a thing, he moves through the busy kitchen, and I curse myself for not turning back when we had the chance. Sure, maybe they would have caught and stopped us at the gate or at the border, but maybe they wouldn't have.
Hesitating, my eyes find Malor, and his face holds something I don't understand. My chest heaves with the deep inhale I take as I follow Aiden, Malor close to my back.
We pass under an archway and find ourselves in a large common room. Aiden whispers, "This is typi- cally used as a meeting place between the queen and less distinguished guests. Queen Mable rarely uses this part of the castle—"
The clink of armor catches our ears, cutting him off, and we stop in our tracks. Pouring into the room, trapping us, surrounding us, are the queen's warriors. My face drains of all remaining color. There they stand, about ten of them, clad in red and black leathers with an M embellished in red directly over their hearts. Each brandishes a sword of intricate detail carved in the pommel with an impressive guard extending upward from the hilt.
The warriors split down the middle, equal numbers on each side, and there she comes. The way she com- mands the attention of the room, one might think she is Mother Nature herself. Queen Mable of the Second Half Seasons Court.
Chapter 16 Andryad
Mable sashays down the aisle in a layer of red body- con silks that spill onto the floor. Her warriors line her on either side, waiting at attention. She is more beauti- ful and colder than I remember from our betrothal cer- emony ages ago. Her gown is framed in what looks like lace, but, on closer inspection, I realize is an intricate detail of very fine ice. Her raven-black hair, the same shade as Aiden's, is braided in an elegant style and cas- cades down her back. The crown she wears is an elab- orate piece of varying heights of icicles that lies on her shoulders, wraps up around her neck, and rests on her brow, standing high on her head. Dark eyes hold a cold stare that her smiling red lips do not touch.
Yes, she is beautiful, as many of the fae are, but she seems so cold it radiates from her even while she stands five feet away. The fear in the room from the warriors, and probably me, is palpable.
"My son." Her voice is sweet and lyrical, but I hear past that to the threat ringing clear underneath. Mable opens her arms at Aiden as if welcoming home a long- lost child. "You have returned at last."
Aiden doesn't move. He remains locked by my side. He stands strong and solid while Malor flanks my op- posite side, rigid and ready.
When Aiden fails to respond, Mable drops her arms, but her smile doesn't falter. Her eyes give nothing away if she feels rejected by her son. She shrugs lightly. "Well, this is really no way to greet your mother after disappearing, hiding out for a long time, and then traipsing through my court as if you own the place." Her smile is broad. "Marching through my streets and spying on me in my own gardens." Something cynical glints behind her eyes. "What do you have to say for yourself, my son?"
The air in the room is thick, and the temperature drops even more, making it difficult to breathe. Aiden squares his shoulders before he responds. His face ap- pears strange, sick even. "What did you do?" His voice is dangerously low.
"Ah, so now it's becoming clear." Mable inclines her head toward me, speaking about me as if I’m not stand- ing in front of her. "This really is going to be inter- esting. Are you going against your own mother?" The queen places a hand on her heart, mocking feelings of hurt and offense. "I can show mercy at times. Do you think she will?" Mable inclines her head toward me.
"What did you do to me?" he snarls with a hand resting on his sword. Mable either does not see or does not acknowledge the movement.
"My boy, my sweet son, do not make this mistake. You turned against me once—you are lucky you're still
standing." Mable straightens her back. "As soon as I found out what you did, that you sent the princess to the human realm and tried to save her, I should have torn you apart. Do not think I will not spare you if you side with the First Seasons princess again."
I finally cut through their arguing. "Wait, what did you do to him?”
My head is high as Mable finally slides her eyes over to me for a moment before moving back to her son. Her full chest rises with a deep inhale as she smooths back a raven lock, tucking it behind an arched ear.
The room warms a little. The heat ignites under my layers of leather and fur. The queen takes a step closer to her son, her warriors nearing her as she does to be at her aid in case of a surprise attack. Mable ignores my question, but her dark eyes slide to me as she ad- dresses her son. "Aiden, tell your pet to rein in her power.”
"She makes her choices," Aiden replies stiffly. "Hmm. One last chance, darling. Are you choosing
this mistake over your queen? Your own mother?" Her eyes narrow at Aiden.
Aiden is relentless. "Andryad is my queen. She has been and always will be. This is my choice." Aiden draws his sword and displays it to the evil ice queen. "Step down and relinquish your throne to me or die by my hand."
The queen leans her head slightly to one side, re- minding me of her son with perfect cheekbones sharp- ening at the angle, and for just a moment she frowns,
and her lips thin. "And will she still accept you when she learns the truth?"
Aiden's eyes widen. Frost glitters on his pale skin that twinkles like snow in sunlight. "Andryad is the rightful queen of the First Court and is taking back her throne and her Folk. In her ruling, we are to be wed and will join the courts. I again ask you to step down and relinquish your rights. If not, I fear the only way to put your tyranny to an end is by death."
"My own son would murder me?"
I think there is a twinge of regret in the queen's voice, but I must be mistaken.
"It's no less than what you did to thousands of Folk. Only, I am giving you a choice unlike what you gave to them."
Mable glances down, a single slender finger lifts, and that is all it takes. Things progress quickly; I barely have time to register and react. Warriors lash out around us, closing in, slashing their swords. Turning to have each other's backs, we form a circle. I look around, but Mable has disappeared as the warriors push in on us. My blood speeds up, and it's too warm, hot even under the frigid Second Court air. Malor's breathing beside me is even and calculated. Metal sings as metal meets metal and strains under the pressure.
We separate, and I focus on four warriors in front of me and lose sight of Malor and Aiden. I become un- aware of their closeness and tune out the sounds of their movements dancing across the floor. A warrior slashes toward me, and I raise the sword from my hip,
blocking his deadly arc. My muscles hold up against the pressure as he backs off, and another warrior jabs straight at my stomach. I spin out of the way and hear the sharp slice of air as another arc comes down where I just was. My arms strain as I lift my sword again, grunting and swinging straight across, cutting one’s gut wide open. Red flows as thick intestines spill with a heavy, wet thud that fills my ears as the body falls to the hard ground.
The remaining warriors growl, one moving toward me, the other two watching his back. I whip my dagger from my boot, lunging at the first one's neck. Sweat makes my hands clammy, but I hang on tight and p
lunge the dagger into the side of his throat. There is a sickening squishy sound as the blade delves deep into flesh. He yowls in pain and attempts to staunch the wound as the other two rush forward to pull me off. I grunt and push harder, deeper, dragging the blade down until he falls to the floor.
I bring my fire up and wrap it around myself, pro- tecting me from the other two, who try to pull me off their brother-in-arms. I jump up, their eyes following my every movement, and blast fire out of both palms. It consumes the warriors. Their cries make my ears feel as though they bleed while the fire engulfs their bod- ies. They scramble to pat out the fire, dropping their weapons and falling to the ground in an effort to put it out. They fail—it soon ravages them, leaving little more than cinders in its wake.
When the warriors are all slain, blood streaking into the once-shiny white tile, we look at each other, breathing heavily, blood splattered across our clothes. The cloying scent of sweat and the metallic scent of blood—they send chills across my sticky skin. Many of the warriors’ eyes remain open. I step around them, shutting them so they can sleep peacefully. It pains me to not know who died for something they believed in and who died due to a forced pledge to Mable.
I pant slightly as I finish. "Were those common sol- diers or her Elites?"
"They were a few of her common warriors. She wants to see what you can do." Aiden wipes his sword across one of the warriors’ bodies before sheathing it.
"Great," I mumble, scrunching up my nose. "A test.
What do we do now?"
"Well…" Malor runs a hand through his curls, streak- ing them with the blood on his hands before he realizes it. "Ugh!" He looks at his hands with disgust. "I guess we search the castle for Queen Mable. These warriors were weak, a front, but the queen has Elites. She wants to test you, I agree. But I think she also wants to wear us down."
I nod and move toward the door, but Malor holds an arm to Aiden's chest. "Hey, what'd Queen Mable mean? She talked as though there's something we don't know about." Malor nods to me.
My feet move, and I stand beside Malor, looking up at Aiden, waiting. "What was she talking about, Aiden?"
He shakes his head. "She assumes I didn't tell you about the events at the ceremony and putting you in the human realm."
Malor's blue eyes narrow. "Yeah, see," Malor says, licking his lips, "I don't know if you're telling us every- thing."
"Malor," I warn.
"Well, I can't lie about it, so why don't you just ask me straight, Malor," Aiden challenges.
Malor stares at him, eyes burning. "Annie." He looks at me. "It's your call."
Something twists behind my heart. "Aiden, are you telling us everything you know? What was Mable talk- ing about when she said I wouldn't trust you once I learn the truth? The truth about what, Aiden?"
Hurt flickers in his eyes, and his lips purse. "I am. It was an odd comment. I have been wracking my brain to understand, but there is just blank space."
I nod curtly. If Aiden is uncomfortable, he reins it in. He simply moves forward, stepping over the bodies and through the blood, which sticks to his boots, mak- ing squelching noises and leaving partial red prints be- hind. I grab his arm, and he cradles my hand in his as we exit the common room into a large, empty foyer, in- tricately decorated. It is icy, like everything else, and contains elaborate sculptures of exotic fae sporting horns and wings and engravings of nature—snow- capped mountains and frozen waterfalls—in the walls that frame the room. It is eerily beautiful in a way that
feels lonely but looks stellar. I hug myself to ward off the lingering phantom feeling.
"Here." Aiden motions us through another doorway. "She won't expect us to take this way, and I imagine she's in the throne room."
Mirrors, one right next to the other, line the walls, the ceilings, even the floor. No matter which way we turn, it is a muddled mass of confusion of what is up and down, real or reflection.
"What is this place?" I ask in fascination.
"It's the Corridor of Reflection. It will reveal to its visitors who or what they have the potential of becom- ing—but the very worst of their potential. It can be disorienting, and it's long, so just be cautious." Aiden leads the way with me behind him and Malor bringing up the rear. Overall, the space is silent save for the tap- ping of our boots as we walk across the mirrored floor. The cold here frosts the edges of the glass, cracking the delicate structure in some places. I imagine step- ping just right, causing the glass to shatter as it throws us into oblivion.
At some point, a flash of darkness whips through my peripheral vision, and I swing around to meet it so quickly that Malor rams right into me with an "Oomph!" that echoes throughout the gallery. Aiden's head tilts, a sign that he's heard us, but he continues forward, noting no one around me aside from Malor.
"What the—" Malor grabs both of my shoulders, spinning me to face him completely. "Annie, you
okay?" He gazes down, but my eyes are still looking at where I saw that movement.
"Yes, I just thought I saw something. Did you see something move?"
Malor's eyes rake around, and he shakes his head. He lets go of my shoulders, and I show a small smile for his sake.
"It was probably just paranoia."
"Okay, well, keep your eyes open. Let's keep mov- ing."
I wave my hand out for him to pass me.
He nods his eyes, stern. "Stay close to me."
I stay near his back. A blur catches my attention again, and I stumble, putting more distance between the males and myself. I look at the mirrors underneath my feet. A darkness that starts as a little black dot be- gins to spread, like blood soaking through a bandage. The blackness parts down the middle to reveal a young woman. A queen, I realize, with pale silvery hair and a crown of flames adorning her head. As I move closer, crouching down on my hands and knees, I see: she's me. Perhaps the future, another version of who I could become. She reminds me of the queen version of my- self from my dreams. The ones that jolt me awake in a panic.
The image changes and reveals the queen, myself, slaughtering her own fae court and burning them be- yond ash. An array of images flash by, showing the queen laughing triumphantly and wickedly, her follow- ers and courts bowing to her in fear, not respect. Even
the queen’s consort—Aiden, I notice—is afraid of his ruler. His wife. He is sickly pale and gaunt, kneeling at her feet. Pain slams into me. My stomach turns, and my head spins, but I cannot pull myself away. The queen version of myself laughs at Aiden on his knees, begging her, but I can't hear his words, just see the des- peration clouding those once-striking eyes, now dull with sorrow.
I am so engulfed in the horror that it takes me a mo- ment to realize the queen, my evil self, is materializing in front of my eyes. She steps out through the mir- ror, standing toe-to-toe with me, her eyes brighter than mine, something dark behind them, holding mine and unmoving.
Coming to my senses, I stand straight, rigid, and glare at the smiling future of myself I fear to become. The being stands proud and regal, smiling with blood- stained lips that remind me of Mable. Fire dances at her fingertips as I call for my own. Somewhere down the hall, I hear the two fae males shouting and the clicking of heeled boots on the mirrored floors, run- ning closer, but my attention is wholeheartedly di- rected to the version of myself that I never want to become, still smiling at me. My dagger clinks as I pull it from my boot, and my fire scorches my veins. If I take my throne, will this be what I would become? Just as bad or worse than Mable? A killer. Someone to be feared and hated.
The queen's voice is different than my own. It sounds far away and echoes along the hall, ricocheting
against the mirrors. "I won't hurt you, Andryad. Do you like your potential? The power you can possess over the realm?"
If the males hear her, I'm not sure; I am hypnotized and fixed solely on her. I crouch, preparing to lunge at her. "I don't want to be anything you just showed me." "Come now, you are still young and unlearned." Her willowy arms spread wide
. "You will find that to rule takes only the best and the strongest fae. To do so suc- cessfully, sacrifices must be made." She stares at me
expectantly.
"On whose end? The courts? Or my own?"
The queen's smile remains as her arms lower to her sides. "Both." Her voice rings emotionless, matter-of- factly. She is sure of herself.
"Being a successful ruler does not require brutality. It requires emotional strength, not the physical strength that you speak of, and fairness," I argue.
"How can you admit fairness among hundreds of thousands of fae? When parts of the species live for blood? Can you guarantee the redcaps will have their violence? If so, whose lives will be sacrificed? If not, how will they see you as a just ruler for their kind? One does not agree with all, and vice versa. It is nature. This will be your downfall: your goodness. Unless you choose to sacrifice the lives of others, you will lose your throne." Her head lifts slightly. "If you choose not to heed this advice, if you choose not to sacrifice some, not only will you risk your throne, but you will also suffer your parents’ fate."
I clench my fists as anger blinds me, and I pounce at the being, but when I reach her, I go through, slam- ming against the mirrored floor as her form dissipates into dark shadows. I wince and push to my feet. Turn- ing around, I see her materialize behind me, piecing her shadows back together to create her physical form. She smiles, satisfied, as I grit out, "My parents were fair- minded rulers, loved by their Folk."
