Wildest Dreams

by Faith Ellis

  I loll my head against the captain's chest, which is broad and bulky with the leathers, and smoothness meets my cheek when I turn into him. A huff rises from his throat, almost a sound of disbelief, but he doesn't say a word. My arms and legs become heavy and limp. He carries me through the iron bars, and he releases a held breath as we walk out of the iron cell, down the dark hallway, and up the steps to Carla's small room. There is a shift in his arms as he gently lays me on top of the bed behind the door.

  My eyes are heavy and flutter closed while the cap- tain steps away. A rustling catches my ear. More candy? An opening and closing of the door tells me the captain has walked out. I open my eyes, and Carla's

  thin form nestles down by me, her cat ears pressed against her horns in worry.

  "You poor thing, I heard about what she did to you." Her voice is quick and low but doesn't sound as timid as yesterday. "The captain’s gone, but he came in ear- lier today. He told me what she did."

  I groan and rub my eyes. "Why would he tell you? Is it the castle gossip now?" I scoff. I'm sure the aristo- crats of the Second Court are enthralled with Mable's new experiment.

  Carla smiles a little. "He hoped there might be something I could do for you." She rushes to her many jars and bottles. "I can make you look and feel better. I’ve some healing ability that should help you regain your strength quicker."

  My eyes narrow. "Why would you help me, Carla?" I prop myself up on my elbows as Carla walks back to me, sitting near my feet.

  Her freckles mesh together as she scrunches her nose. A sad smile appears on her thin face. "Things aren't always what they seem, miss. I’ll always side with my queen." Those brown eyes hold mine strong, unfaltering, and I nod with understanding. Her admit- tance leaves me breathless. "Here, relax. This’ll make you feel better."

  Carla rests her small hands on each of my shoulders and closes her eyes in concentration. She shimmers, and an aura of light gold like sunshine floats around her as she pushes her power over me. Almost immedi- ately, it's as though the iron is purged from my body.

  My limbs feel stronger and more stable. My breathing becomes easier, and my mind, clearer.

  Carla opens her eyes. The glow fades away, and she holds my gaze.

  "That's incredible. You have healing abilities." I am in awe.

  She smiles and breaks our stare, quietly strolling over to the washtub that once again sits in the center of the small room. No steam rises, and the thought of another cold bath makes my skin crawl. I pull myself up from the bed but wait for her to motion me in. Her hair hangs in a single plait down her back, swing- ing over her shoulder as she adds oils to the water, and her apron tied around her small waist is freshly starched and newly bleached. It stands out against her drab brown button-up dress. Once I am stripped and seated in the tub full of freezing water, the aroma of subtle lavender tickles my nose while Carla rinses my hair.

  "You know, I wasn't always a servant," she starts. "In fact, my father was a rather well-off merchant. My mother stayed home with my sister and me and saw to our education. They’d hired a governess to guide our knowledge in proper etiquette. We’d a tutor as well." Carla's voice is confidently laced with the dreaminess of a memory. "As you know, presentation and knowl- edge are valued in the highest classes of fae."

  As Carla continues softly, I close my eyes, lean into her hands lathering my hair, and listen carefully to what she is telling me while I pry my focus to anything

  but the cold water. I relish in the newfound energy she gave me. Her fingers are deft, quick, and certain. "Some time ago, my family was killed by intruders, mercenar- ies paid by the Second Court is my guess, but no one knows for sure. I’d nowhere to go. When I attempted to seek out my rulers and beg for a place within the court, I came to find that they, too, had fallen."

  "My parents," I admit thickly.

  Carla inhales. "Yes, unfortunately. That's when I was found by some Second warriors. I was scared at first, but the queen with them offered me shelter and food. I didn't know much about Mable then. She seemed nice. It struck me as noble that she was traveling with her warriors, which I later learned was because they were invading the First Court. She promised I’d be safe and she’d keep me busy, give me a home, food. If only I did everything she requested. I couldn't refuse. I’d no other options, no other family. You'd be surprised at how many of us are actually foreigners to the Second Seasons Court."

  Her voice lowers a few pegs on the last sentence. My eyes open to the dull, white-painted ceiling. Cracks zigzag along the edges. Just because people are here doesn't necessarily mean they follow Mable. They may simply have no other choice. Whether by force or by not having another available ruler, some of the Second Court members are, in fact, of the First Seasons Court. The air sends another shiver through me. I turn my head to face Carla straight on. "How do you bear their

  cold?"

  Carla laughs, and her fuzzy ears perk up. "Furs mostly, and special drinks laced with magical embers that warm our cores."

  My head tilts, and Carla explains, "One of the aris- tocrats here, from the First Court, has the ability of warmth. He can craft small embers from a heat source, and when we drink them, they warm our bodies. It's fascinating, really."

  The fact that Carla has shared so much with me gives me new strength, knowing that I am not alone here. Her truth and experience, her loyalty, revitalize my ultimate goal to save my Folk and beat Mable. Carla is a part of this; I feel it, note the conviction behind her words. My only concerns lie with Captain Chasal. How close are they? If I confide in her, will she turn around and confide in the captain? I can't be certain what his intentions are yet.

  "Can I trust you, Carla? To keep everything we dis- cuss between us."

  Her small mouth turns up at the corners. Her voice is low as she leans in. "You’ve my word, miss."

  I return her smile as satisfaction hums under my skin.

  After the freezing bath, Carla helps dry and dress me and style my hair. The dress is a fitted red velvet, clinging to my curves, with an attached skirt of satin that hangs from my waist and whispers over the floor. There is a daring slit on each side running dangerously high, showcasing my hips. My legs are bare, fully ex- posed and freezing. Carla hands me a pair of thick

  stockings that match my skin tone, and I slip into them. She pulls out a pair of matching red stilettos to slide onto my feet. The queen definitely isn't skimping on her decor at this event, not even for her little doll.

  A white fur muff sits to the side, and ice-colored gems hang from each earlobe and lie against my throat, trailing down into my cleavage, past the sealed hole. The stones are heavy and cold against my skin. While Carla dries and does my hair, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My thoughts navigate back to the captain and understanding his loyalty.

  "You and the captain seem close," I say noncha- lantly, feigning interest in my ensemble. Carla's hands nor expression falter while she works.

  "He’s always been nice to me since I've been here. Being a young female, especially an outsider, one can't be too careful. The other warriors can be brutal. Es- pecially those who you might bump into in a hallway late at night. But the captain—" Carla breaks as she puts the comb aside to wrangle my hair into elaborate braids on either side. She ties them back and allows the rest to hang down my back in ringlets. "He's their commander, you know? They listen to him. Many turn to him before the queen. When he showed me kind- ness, that was a clear sign to everyone else." Carla takes a curved needle and begins weaving more of the ice- colored gems in and out of my braids.

  "So the men he has influence over, they are cruel?" Carla shrugs. "They listen and respect Chasal be-

  cause he's strong—smart. But the fact is, most of

  them’re Second Court members, raised in brutality. Things happen that I’m sure Chasal isn’t aware of."

  "Are you two…involved?"

  For the first time, Carla's expression changes, and her already large brown eyes grow wider. "Good
ness, no! That’d be, well, preposterous. He's like a brother I never had."

  "Why is he so kind to you, then?"

  "In truth, Chasal’s kind naturally, in general. But I think when he looks at me, he sees his niece." She sees the question on my face and frowns. "He hasn't shared that story in detail, but I know Queen Mable had a hand in whatever it was. Besides..." Carla finishes the beads, tying off the ends of the string, and steps back to admire her handiwork. "I have someone back home." The young girl's expression shadows in doubt. "Con- sidering he's okay."

  For a long moment, the room is silent as Carla puts her brushes and extra jewels away in the drawer of the vanity. We are both reminded of everything, everyone, we have lost.

  Straightening her back, Carla smiles a little. "Well, we'll just have to wait for the princess to return and reign with justice." The girl says this quietly, carefully, in case other ears are listening.

  "Indeed." I stand and spin for Carla, the silk skirt flaring around me in a sigh of fabric. "How do I look?"

  "Like royalty, ma’am."

  Truly, I feel as such too. "It's a little ridiculous." The elaborate style Carla did on my hair, the heavy dress,

  and the gleam and sparkle of jewels surrounding my every inch… "Is this all part of her game? Treating me like a little girl's doll—it's insulting. I swear she's mock- ing my position."

  Carla's eyes roll back. "It's very likely. Guaranteed, it's not from the goodness of her heart. Just be care- ful."

  A second later, a tap sounds at the door, and Cap- tain Chasal enters, making me wonder if he was out- side this whole time. He looks at Carla with a lightness in his unmasked, handsome face, and when he turns to me, I think, for a moment, that I see something proud in his eyes. Then, so quickly it must have been my imagination, he returns to his usual pose, eyes over my head as if I don't exist.

  He extends his arm. "The queen requests your pres- ence."

  Straightening my back, I put my hand in the crook of his elbow, absorbing his warmth. "Yes, I believe that has been established."

  Chasal's jaw tightens at the retort. I nod to Carla with a smile, and she replies with a low, respectable curtsy as the captain leads me out of the room and to- ward the queen.

  The captain guides me through the halls, but not the same way as to the throne room. The halls all look similar, but we take different turns, and this time we enter a small, private parlor where Mable sits perched on the edge of a powder-blue chaise lounge with clawed feet, sipping a glass of burgundy wine as a ser-

  vant stands off to one side holding the decanter, his face expressionless, back straight. He has a long, thin tail that hangs to the ground and winds around his an- kles, ending in a tuft of black-and-gray fur.

  Captain Chasal bows at the waist, holding the po- sition for a few beats as Mable takes her time to ac- knowledge him.

  "Captain, you look handsome this evening. Be sure to save a dance for me later, won't you? You may rise." She turns those wide eyes to me. "Good to see you again so soon, my pet." Her red lips smile in a drip- ping curve, wine leaking down one corner of her mouth like blood from a wound. She wipes at it delicately. "I hope you are excited for tonight's festivities. You can be quite the beauty, can't you?" Her eyes rake over my body, and I fight the urge to squirm beneath her pierc- ing gaze.

  There is no denying Mable's own sharp beauty. Her strapless red silk sheath dress clings severely to her full curves and fans out on the floor with a mermaid- like appeal, demanding space. Her crown sits on her bare shoulders—it makes me shiver to think of the ice against her skin. The square neckline of her dress pushes up her breasts, giving her flawless cleavage. White silk gloves adorn both arms to the elbows, and her dark hair is curled and elegantly gathered to tum- ble down her back. Her dark eyes sparkle like the ice- colored choker encircling her neck, held together by a strip of raw flesh.

  My mouth goes as dry as sandpaper, and I fight the urge to gag. Mable stands and approaches me with the grace of a swan. The captain stiffens at my side, mak- ing me even more uncomfortable. I focus on the light dancing on the walls where candle sconces decorate between each window. They cling to the walls, dripping in multiple levels, reminding me of icicles.

  "Yes," she says, looking down at me, towering over me by a solid four inches. Her finger swirls around in her wine, and then she sucks on it lightly. "Tonight will be quite the night. The captain here will be your chauf- feur. To ensure your cooperation." Mable straightens and backs away but continues to look down her per- fectly straight nose at me. "And your safety. After all"—she feigns an exaggerated pout and arches a man- icured brow—"my Folk are not too happy about you being here. I would hate for something...unfortunate to happen to you. Or for someone to take advantage of you."

  Her full lips return to a smile. Somehow, I doubt she really cares.

  "Now enjoy yourself. Mingle, drink, eat. The real fun begins after dinner." She waves us out of her way and takes a long sip of her wine. Beside me, the agitation coming from the captain is thick. Apparently, he is as happy about playing babysitter as I am with being here. Captain Chasal leads me to the main ballroom, where a throne sits at the back to allow for Her Majesty a full view of the room. Warriors line the walls, their backs straight, eyes forward, faces frozen in that du-

  tiful way. Vhaerath Elites are sprinkled here and there for precaution too, their dominance and deadly hands heavy.

  The room is already full of aristocrats and Second Court members, from the richest to probably a few of the poorest. There are High fae, like the nymphs with their long, lean bodies and delicate features and the elves with their gorgeous gossamer wings tucked be- hind them. Brownies and fawns, some of the Low fae, are clearly uncomfortable and stay out of the way of the aristocrats. Even a few of the First Court aristocrats are in session, their darker skin tones standing out against the overwhelming number of bodies. The fae in the middle of the room lean into each other, oddly in- timate, whispering and snickering behind ridiculously large fans with colorful feathers and oversized hats with too-large brims.

  The ballroom is massive, and sounds bounce from every direction. The decor in here is the same as most of the castle: white and spotless and frigid and beauti- ful in a preserved kind of way. Still, even as full as it is, it feels empty and lonely.

  A monstrous chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling. It is layers upon layers of clear blue icicles dangling down daintily. Inside are thousands of tiny twinkling lights. No, not lights—devas, their orbs still bright but their twisted, frozen bodies still as death. I twitch with the eerie feeling of spiders crawling up my spine.

  My stomach rolls, feeling queasy. The urge to turn back and run screams at me, but the guards would im- mediately shoot me down. Why am I here? Why does the queen want me involved? Is it to show her people that she prevailed in taking down the First Court? That she has captured the heir to the throne and finally has complete rule?

  I turn to the captain at my side, but he continues to look straight ahead, his jaw flexing as if he, too, wants to make for the nearest exit. Searching the crowd, I am anxious to see if Malor is here. My heart speeds with the thought. If they still have him, if I can get to him, at least we could try to escape. Even on my tiptoes, I cannot get a good look over or through the crowd.

  The chatter is overwhelming, and the instrumental music lulls on, a variety of harps and horns enchanted to play of their own accord. It makes me lightheaded and unsteady. As the captain pushes us through the room to stand near the shadows at the far wall, my skin prickles with eyes piercing me, unabashed. We take a space off to the side with a view of the crowd. The fae are all laughing obnoxiously, speaking loudly, and con- tinue to look our way before turning to whisper behind feathered fans.

  "The princess—it's her. She's alive." "She doesn't look very powerful to me." "The prince threw away his life for her?"

  My blood boils, fire searing my belly as it crawls up, spreading through my veins. A Second Court Shadow fae loo
ks at me, and I hold his gaze. His shadows swirl

  about him in a cloak of smoky gray, shifting as he grins in amusement. His mouth moves, and I read what he says, although he doesn't voice it. "You will succeed, but the path you choose will not be a familiar one. Come find me when you do." He tilts his head before his shadows wrap around him, and he's gone.

  Chasal looks at me strangely until I realize the heat is radiating through my hand and into his elbow. Breathing deeply, I coax it down. Not yet, not now. Build. It continues to simmer low inside of me. When I release my fire, it needs to be strong and all consum- ing.

  The sight, the insufferable celebration they are par- taking in, is unacceptable. Servants roam back and forth carrying large pewter trays and keeping their at- tention on the floor. Some faeries laugh at them and taunt them, urging them to look up so they can have a reason to put them in their place. Many don't need a reason. They trip, push, and pull the servants as they pass.

  "Carla's lucky she is assigned to groom me, I sup- pose," I whisper lowly, thinking out loud as I watch the foolishness. Partying, elated while their queen manip- ulates and kills.

  Captain Chasal stands rigid beside me. "You don't understand the half of it." It surprises me so much that as I spin toward his words, my neck hurts with the in- tensity of the motion. His words are barely audible and spoken with still lips.

  "Why is Carla different for you?" It is an obvious ob- servation.

  The captain looks at me from his peripheral. "She's young. Plagued by unfortunate outcomes in her life." He swallows hard. "She reminds me of someone." I stare at him for a long moment, waiting for him to go on. But bringing out his truth will be a challenge. He is careful and closed off. He doesn't trust anyone, and he is in a scrutinized position. Although, he is also in a position that speaks volumes of the queen's trust in him. He can make a tremendously important ally, and I need him.