Wildest Dreams

by Faith Ellis

Suddenly the room goes extremely cold, covering everything in a thin layer of frost. Everyone stops, and Malor and Aiden turn to find me as they each drop their swords with a loud clatter, hands burning from the cold. Blood covers their hands, streaks their clothes. Sweat mats Malor's curls, and Aiden's hair is

  loose tendrils breaking free from the leather binding them. Malor's blue eyes are wild and bright, and Aiden's gems are deep and dark.

  Mable breaks the silence and cracks through the ice. "I would say well done." Her voice rings out over the throne room. "But I have grown rather tired of your messes and destruction of some of my best Vhaerath. We are finished here." She motions toward Malor and Aiden. "Get the irons."

  The Elites rush out the double doors to do as she orders. Malor and Aiden act as though they are going back for their swords, but Mable throws out glaciers to block them, sharp and dangerous.

  Mable's long fingers smooth down that ridiculously formal gown that hugs her so tight I am impressed she can breathe. She steps down to Aiden, and he tenses, ready to pounce and anticipating her next move. All she does is lean down close to his face, and her lips barely move to tell him something only he can hear. Aiden inhales sharply and audibly as his eyes widen and glaze over. Malor and I stare with confusion, and my heart pounds hard in my chest. Tension coils up in Aiden's muscles as they bunch, and his throat con- stricts, fighting against him with the urge to resist. It's as if his body and mind are battling one another.

  My eyes dart from Mable to Aiden to Malor. I squint back at Aiden and note Malor moving closer, similarly unsure of what Mable did. The queen has her eyes on her son and whispers, but everyone in the room hears

  her next words echoing off the empty walls and bare floor.

  "Kill her."

  Everything moves at high speed. The queen points at me, and Aiden's body picks up the sword he dropped to the floor as his struggle is revealed in his face. Mable knows her son's true name, and she has used it to force him against us. His mind realizes what his body is doing, but he is helpless to stop it. The pain in his eyes signals an inward battle. Instinctively, fire dances down my arms to my hands. I still need to con- serve my essence.

  Aiden raises his sword, and I know in my soul I do not have the will to lash out at him; I'd kill him. I would rather be killed by his hand than to kill him by mine. But as his sword swings down, I kneel for my own and bring it up just in time to block his blow. He is so much stronger than I am, and my kneeling position has me at a disadvantage.

  Grunting under the pressure, I release a single flame up my blade to keep the distance between us. It travels up through his and singes his hand. He hisses and draws back, giving me the moment I need to stand and face him. He cannot stop or help himself, and there's no way I can beat him in a sword fight. The only way for me to survive this will be to injure him enough with my fire.

  My eyes find Malor being held back by two Elites fighting to clasp him in iron chains. Aiden rushes at me again, yelling with a battle cry and dealing a power-

  ful blow. I jump back but not quite fast enough, as his blade skims my stomach, opening a wound that sends fire through my belly. My breath catches with the pain, and I use my hand to staunch the bleeding that seeps through my fingers before my skin closes up.

  "Aiden." My voice is weak and raw. "Please, this isn't you. Listen to me, stop this. I can't kill you, you know that I won't."

  He doesn't answer me. His eyes are dim as though he doesn't really see me. Raising his sword, he releases another war cry and charges me again, but this time, I don't raise my sword. Bracing myself for a blow, I shut my eyes, squeezing them tightly. There is a grotesque ripping sound, a squelching that causes me to gag. Un- sure of what I might find, I tentatively open my eyes.

  The room spins, and my saliva turns sour in my mouth. "NOOOOOOO!!!" My voice rings out, bouncing off the icy walls, but it sounds far and foreign to my ears.

  Aiden's eyes lock on to mine, and the pain quickly shifts in those emeralds to a stark realization. Blood leaks from the wound as a sword pulls from his chest and he is gently laid onto the cold, hard tile. Malor stands over him as I look past Malor to the other Elites, unconscious on the ground. Mable regards us silently, her brow knit together, but she says and does nothing. I kneel in the blood that spills over the floor, staining my clothes, and pull Aiden's head into my lap.

  His blood, his precious blood, flows freely from his body. I scramble in my brain, thinking of ways to push

  the blood back into his body. Magic is something I have never practiced, and I've never set foot in an infirmary. Malor's sword must have iron, because the wound isn't closing—his body should be healing itself.

  Aiden's brow dampens with a sheen of sweat, but his eyes no longer hold the same glazed look they did moments ago when his sword was ready to swing down on me.

  "WHAT DID YOU DO?" My scream is directed at Malor.

  I do not break away from those green, sparkling jew- els. Aiden attempts to push himself up to his elbows and reach for a knife in his boot. I shake my head at him, reaching for his hand. "Aiden, no—stop, you're too weak."

  His skin is cold. Blood bubbles from his lips, chok- ing him when he tries to speak. He coughs. Mable’s power is still fighting for control and forcing him to carry out her command. I look up to a pain-faced Malor, his sword slack in his hands and dripping with blood. Aiden's blood.

  Aiden continues to push me away and reach for that stupid knife. I lift his leathers to examine the wound. It's nasty and deep. Blood continues to seep out, and it definitely isn't sealing itself together. I touch it tenta- tively, and Aiden hisses at me and grabs my wrist. The only thing I can think to do is press him against me in a hard, desperate kiss. He attempts to turn his head, but I force him still, and that's when the memory slams into me.

  Behind a large holly bush, I am wrapped in Aiden's arms. He's dressed more leisurely than usual: a simple white linen shirt and black breeches, the curved sword tied around his hip. His head is nuzzled in my neck, tracing kisses along my earlobe down to the hollow that doesn't yet carry the opal stone.

  "You have all of me, An—my trust, my love, every- thing I am. You know that, don't you?" he growls into my neck.

  I giggle girlishly. "Hmm, if I said prove it to me, what would you do?" I tease him.

  He pulls himself upright and looks into my eyes, turning serious. "I'd give you my true name. I trust you that much."

  The memory fades. Aiden twists himself out of my kiss and gets a grasp on his knife. While he's raising it, I whisper, "Tanathan Aiden Majory Kingsten, heir to the Second Half Seasons Court, you are released of Mable's control." The knife clanks to the tile, and Aiden simply blinks, pain playing over his features.

  Relief crashes in me mixed with panic from the wound in his back. "What did you do?" I scream again, facing my best friend standing idly by.

  How could he? He won't look at me. Aiden takes my hand in a loose hold, and my eyes flick back to him, swirling past Mable, blurring her in my vision. "Don't worry, love, just hold on for me."

  I sniffle, tears pouring from my eyes and falling onto Aiden's face, but he just smiles. Why is he smiling? He

  reaches out for Malor, offering his hand. I look between them as Malor accepts it.

  I whisper, "It wasn't your fault."

  Malor squeezes his hand but doesn't say anything as the Elites holding the iron chains rush in and pull Malor away. He bucks against them and liquid forms in his palms, but the iron wraps around his wrists and brings him to his knees, groaning in agony.

  Briefly, I notice Mable motion to someone, but my focus moves to Aiden's unnaturally pale face. The glit- ter in his eyes fades. My pants stick to my skin where the blood has soaked through. There is nothing I can do for my love but hold him close to me.

  "I have always loved you, Aiden," I breathe low in his ear. "I can't do this alone. I don't want to." I fight back the tears that build in my eyes again. I need to be strong for him, my prince. All the nights w
e had to- gether could never amount to enough. I regret that I denied him when I had the chance; right now, I would give every piece of my soul, body, and mind to him if I could. Please, Mother, this can't be it, I just got him back. "I need you with me. We have to make our dream come true, remember?"

  I can't help it—more tears escape and drop onto his cheek. He looks at me. He strains against the blood in his throat.

  "You ca-can." Aiden's chest rattles as he coughs. "Finish this for us, for our world we dreamt together. I lo—" A horrible cough chokes him and cuts off the rest

  of his words as I make hushing noises to help soothe him.

  His hand goes limp in mine, and his eyes stare at me, glazed over as two pixies fly in, carrying a stretcher carved from ice. The two pixies are small and dainty with powerful wings. Their slivers of cloth hanging around their hips and breasts barely conceal much of anything. They slide Aiden onto the stretcher with sur- prising ease and lift him between them as they rush out. I run after them, everything and everyone else completely forgotten. There's a roaring in my ears, blood pounds in my head, and I'm not fully aware of what's going on around me.

  An Elite catches my arm, his thick fingers sinking deep into my flesh and bringing me back to the throne room. He clamps heavy iron chains on each of my wrists. Something uncomfortable shoots through me, but the intense burning and affliction the iron should have on me does not amount to the anguish in my heart. What splinters my soul more is knowing fae do not have a soul that lingers in the afterlife. When we die, we just die and return to dust.

  My eyes lift toward the throne to find Mable dining from a server's back, enjoying wine and grapes. I find my anger and snap back into the present. The poor server is on all fours like a dog with the bowl of fruit and the delicate goblet balanced on top of her still fig- ure. At what point had the servant come in? Her face is downcast and hidden by long green locks. Thick horns

  curve up slightly from either side of her head, up out of her hair.

  Mable picks up the goblet and swirls her wine, chanting words too low for my ears. My eyes move around the room, absorbing everything else. Malor is no longer in the room, just the Elite that clapped the irons on and currently holds my elbow in a vice-like grip.

  I notice it isn't wine that Mable drinks but blood. Worse still, another servant, the same sprite from the kitchen with the doe eyes and heart-shaped lips, has a thickly woven towel and is bent on the floor to sop up Aiden's blood pooled there. She stands and rushes back to Mable, who holds out her glass as the sprite wrings out the towel, and Mable sips delicately, blood staining her already ruby-red lips. Tuning in with my fae hearing, I discern her chant is some sort of ritual. I try to shake myself out of the fog wrapping around my mind, my heart, my very being. My limbs feel tight and constricted. The large throne room is way too small. Mable watches me with her dark eyes.

  "You have little knowledge about spells, don't you?" she asks conversationally, but my mouth won't open even as my mind races for words, a way to respond.

  Suddenly a faint golden glow outlines my body. I stare, holding my arms out in front of me, the iron clanging lightly as I rotate my arms and inspect them. It is so bright, so immediate, that it shocks me into so- briety as the brightness makes my eyes and head ache. Mable's lips are moving faster, but no words or sounds

  are uttered, and she stares at that glow along my body. My skin tingles and grows fiery hot, white-hot, as what I realize is my essence begins to shred away from my skin. My entire body tenses, and I lift my head, letting out an unnatural shriek. The pain is indescribable, like nothing I could ever imagine, as though an inner piece of me is ripping away and leaving behind nothing but a hollow shell.

  But then Mable cries out and clenches her chest as the glow around me fades, and my body relaxes, gasping for breath from the shattering pain I experi- enced. Mable falls to her knees and slams her fist that holds the goblet down against the tile. It disintegrates in her hands, glass stuck in her palm as her body heals around it.

  "What just happened?" I flip my hands over and back as they continue to shake, causing the chains to rattle. The iron is settling against my skin and seep- ing into my bloodstream. Nausea washes over me, and everything spins as I rebalance myself. Burning roams through my veins as if my fire has turned on me, but I know it hasn't—it's the iron.

  Mable wipes delicately at her mouth. "I, my dear, thought I could rip your essence out of you." She frowns slightly. "Pity, I thought I could bypass the magic of the wraiths, but no worries." Mable stands on wobbly legs. The sprite rushes to help her, but Mable glares at her in warning. "There is more than one way to peel the bark off a tree, and you won't be going anywhere." With a snap of her fingers, a new swarm

  of warriors rushes into the room, their boots clunking quickly against the floor before two of them grab me roughly under my arms, hauling me off my feet, which I am almost grateful for. My body is about to collapse. My eyes roll and struggle to focus through the pricking and stabbing running over me.

  "In the meantime, it looks like there is a cell with your name on it." Her smile returns as she motions for the still-kneeling horned servant to leave.

  "What will you do to me?" My voice is low and sounds foreign to my ears.

  "I think you know." Her eyes narrow, and she tilts her head to the side, a motion that achingly reminds me of her son.

  "Where is Malor?" I gasp out as I force my eyes to meet hers.

  She doesn't falter beneath my wary gaze.

  "What about your son? Because of this, he is dead!" Tears clog my throat, choking me, but I bite them back. I will not show her tears.

  "Malor is…removed. I may have need for him yet. As for my son…" She bites her lip thoughtfully. "He is no longer your concern." She shoos her hands at the guards. "Take her away."

  The Elite still holding me by the arm guides me out of the throne room, and I stumble to follow him until he lifts me up high enough by one arm that I am nearly off my feet. We pass the place where Aiden died; the servant has wiped up most of the blood, but someone will need to mop, or else it will stain.

  The Vhaerath leads me roughly down a series of hallways and stairs that creak under our weight. Every- thing goes from luxurious and well lit to damp, dark, and freezing cold. The polished tile floors transition to old stone, chipped in places, lying unevenly. The win- dows that once lined the walls disappear, transform- ing into solid walls on either side of us. The air hangs heavy, and I fear I might die from the cold before Mable even has a chance to drain me of my essence, and the thought brings me so much satisfaction that I smile.

  The Elite stops in front of the iron bars of a cell and sets me down on my feet. I feel the iron’s cruelty weakening me and notice the Elite is decked out in thick leathers, including gloves and a mask over half of his face. He gingerly opens the iron door with an eerie creak. Tugging the iron chains, he releases the door and pushes me inside without a word. The element has drained and sickened me, and I fall helplessly to the stone ground, catching myself on my hands before my face slams to the floor.

  The door closes, iron mechanisms and bolts clink- ing together as it relocks itself. Looking back through the bars, the Vhaerath leaves swiftly without a word, and I am alone in the icy stone cell with only the clothes on my back and the tears that soon rip through. Hard and fast, they shake my body so much it aches. My brain races to process everything that hap- pened.

  Was it really just a few hours ago when we could have turned around and gone home and none of this

  would have happened? How the hell am I ever going to be able to defeat Mable now? The loss that crashes over me pushes me further under a cloud of despera- tion and sears my soul.

  "MALOR?!" I call out in the dark, hoping that maybe if I'm down here, he might be too. Silence is my only answer. Wherever they took him, it's not here. The iron from the cell door continues to seep into my skin, pain strikes through my head sharply, and my stomach quivers with a sick feeling. Aiden's face swims
through my head, and the tears come in fresh waves. I push my hand against my chest in an attempt to staunch the hollowness and make me feel something more.

  Soon sleep claims me, and I pray to Mother Nature that I will either never wake up or that this is just a hor- rible nightmare. Unconsciousness sweeps over me, but vivid images visit all night as everything replays in my head. Slowly, graphically, I relive every horrible second and see the life die in Aiden's eyes over and over and over again. The last thing I remember is succumbing to that dark queen version of myself, but this time Mable still lives, and I burn her slowly. Then the nightmares drown out, and blackness takes over.

  Chapter 18 Andryad

  My maids cinched my light summer dress to an alarming tightness in order to enhance my curves, which were still coming in slower than I liked. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon filled the room, clinging to my hair and clothes.

  Today was the day, and my stomach was already in knots with anticipation as some of our best maids flooded in and out of my room, bean sidhe females with beautiful faces, peppered here and there with fine lines and wrinkles. They tugged at my long silver hair, dressed me, applied cosmetics to highlight my fea- tures, and scurried about preparing.

  The entire court was abuzz with this event. It could mean major things for both courts involved. Today was the first time I would officially meet the prince of the Second Court. Mable of the Second Court had suggested a betrothal, at the shock of everyone, but my parents had taken it into careful consideration. Of course, they would not see it through if I raised any concerns today.

  I had seen the prince around events, but I had yet to meet him. I knew his mother had an unsavory feel about her and was concerned it bled into her son, so my expectations were set low—considerably low. But I couldn’t ignore the excitement brewing in my belly. This was my first courting event, and I was alive with questions and nervous energy flowing through- out me. Was I pretty enough? Would I say something stupid? Would he have a sense of humor? Should I be polite and stiff, or could I be myself with him? I sighed outwardly, concluding that I would soon find out. I grunted and groaned as the maids continued their plucking, cinching, and prodding.