King of the Mountains

by Elizabeth Frost

  She would make sacrifices if he attacked. But a shield was no simple spell. Or rather, it was a simple spell, but it came at a great price.

  Morgan would very much like to keep all the hair on her head.

  She skidded to a stop in the clearing and paused. No sounds echoed through it, not even the song of the birds. They had sang so prettily before the king sensed her presence.

  Some assassin she was. The first time she saw her prey, he’d run from her like a gazelle from a lion.

  Oh, she quite liked that image. Baring her teeth, she stalked toward the cabin with single minded intent. It was time to catch a king.

  She rounded the back and approached the front door. Even that was simple in this strange little hut in the middle of nowhere. Just a regular wood door. No window, no glass, no markings. Just oak with a wrought iron bar as a handle.

  Could he not lock it? Strange. She would have thought a king would at least have a lock on his door.

  Curiouser and curiouser. Somehow she felt as though she were going down Alice’s rabbit hole.

  Morgan stepped onto the path to his home. The grass at the base of the door shifted and then a small garden snake reared up, mouth open and hissing at her.

  She lifted a single brow. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  Now, she didn’t expect the snake to respond. But she should have guessed it might. She was, after all, on faerie lands.

  The garden snake hissed again, “You are not welcome here. State your reason for being.”

  She let out a soft snort before she caught herself. “Uh, existing to annoy creatures like you, I suppose.”

  The snake snapped its mouth closed. If it could furrow its brows, it seemed to do so now as it stared back at her in confusion. “Pardon?”

  “You asked what my reason for being was.” She shrugged. “I supposed it’s always been to annoy.”

  “I don’t-”

  “Understand?” Morgan interrupted the creature because, frankly, she didn’t have time for conversations with a snake. “That’s all right. I need to go inside the cottage now, so please slither aside.”

  It straightened at her order and bared tiny teeth. “I will not! The master wishes to be alone, and you will not disturb him.”

  “And you’re the one he sent to stop me?” This time she laughed. Cruel it might be, but the snake was the length of her forearm. Not to mention, garden snakes weren’t poisonous.

  The snake tried to make itself even larger. “My name is Arcane! I am the familiar of the Mountain King, son of the Earth, and Commander of green magic. You will not laugh at me!”

  “My greatest apologies if I insulted you, Arcane the familiar.” She leaned down, pinched her fingers just underneath his jaw, and lifted him into the air. “But you won’t stop me. Besides, I thought only witches had familiars?”

  Hissing and spitting curses at her, the snake whipped its tail in her grip. He clearly wanted to bite her, mouth opening and closing with urgency. Considering her grip on his hinged jaw, he couldn’t do anything but wiggle in her grasp.

  “Hold that thought,” she muttered, reaching for the door handle. “I’m sure your master will want to hear all your opinions on my fidelity or birthright.”

  She grabbed onto the iron bar, only to feel magic pulse through her body as though she’d touched a live wire. She dropped the snake. The poor thing didn’t need any residual magic coursing through it simply because its master was a fool.

  Magic like that shouldn’t be in doors, damn it! Had he no sense at all?

  Gritting her teeth through the pain, she closed her fingers more firmly around the iron. “You must do better than that,” she ground through her teeth.

  Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest of threats to snarl at a faerie king. The magic surged through her body. She lost her grip on the door and the power sent her flying backwards ten feet. She landed hard on her back. All the breath squeezed from her lungs at the impact and her ribs ached.

  Stones pressed against every inch of her body, as if they too were attacking her. The grass blades were sharp against her hands and the back of her neck.

  Was he using the earth against her?

  She rose onto her elbows, staring at the door and breathing hard. He used green magic against a hedge witch?

  Anger made her power spark at her fingertips. If he wanted to play that game, then she’d play the witch card.

  The grass was good enough for a sacrifice. She left handprints of dead earth as she pushed herself upright. Each footstep left a mark in his well watered soil, a black smudge of darkness approaching his cottage.

  Let the faerie king feel fear. He should quake behind the door wondering what kind of creature had walked into his made-up realm.

  She lifted her hands, power crackling between her fingertips. The visible magic looked vaguely like lightning arcing between her fingertips, although it was a lovely shade of pale green.

  Morgan focused on the door and directed all her energy toward it. No incantation was necessary to release the snapping energy, sending it hurtling forward.

  The lightning struck the wood and blasted right through it. Energy took the door right off its hinges, sending it three feet into the cottage before it fell with a giant bang. What Morgan hadn’t expected were a hundred clay pots filled with plants on the other side.

  The wood struck the ground with a sound like a canon, and the following shatter of wood-fired clay was the ratta-tat-tat of a gun.

  She flinched. That might have been a little aggressive, and he definitely knew she was attacking him. It might have been smarter to sneak in rather than break down his door like a troll. So much for seducing him.

  Morgan stepped onto the broken door and into the room. Shattered clay crunched underneath her heels, and she felt a moment of sadness for the plants upended on the ground. Or worse, crushed under the weight of the wood.

  “Sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll fix you once I’m done with him.”

  A door at the back of the small cottage opened. She would have sworn a mere wind pushed it open, only to lock eyes with the bearded man beyond. Every inch of him revealed was just as lovely as she feared.

  From a distance, the man was attractive. Pleasant to look at and without a doubt fit. All faeries were, however, so that was nothing unexpected.

  But this close? The faerie was too much to look at.

  His shoulders were broad and still glistening with cooling sweat. His abs were perfectly chiseled, although she didn’t know how it was possible for them to look so much like a washboard. And even worse, the muscles over his hips created a perfect “v” dipping into the waistline of his Victorian era trousers.

  Damn, he would be difficult to kill.

  Long, tangled brown hair fell in front of his eyes, concealing what color they were but not quite hiding the rage pouring off his body. His unkempt beard stuck to his chest, and in his hand, he gripped an axe.

  She could have sworn she saw that leaning against the side of the building. Where had he gotten another one? Did he just keep them lying around for the moment a wayward witch wandered into his home?

  “Who are you?” he snarled.

  “Does it matter?” Morgan didn’t think telling a faerie her name was smart, anyway. They knew how to use names to control and the old ways were still strong.

  “It very much matters who you are, woman.” He took a menacing step closer and tightened his grip around the long handle of the axe.

  Careful, she reminded herself. He’s still a faerie and they love their tricks.

  She could only imagine what he could do with that axe. Let alone magic.

  As the Mountain King, he had to have one of the greener magics as far as faeries went. That could translate into talking with plants, making things grow, or forcing mountains to move at his bidding. Perhaps even all of those.

  Morgan widened her stance, preparing herself for a battle. She held her hands out to the side, fingers relaxed and power bubbling b
eneath the surface of her skin. “You won’t need to know anyone’s name where you’re going.”

  He arched a brow and tilted his head. His hair shifted to the side, revealing more of the chiseled face beyond the waterfall of chocolate color. “Have you come here to kill me, human?”

  “I have.”

  “Better people than you have tried, and they always failed.”

  “Perhaps they did.” Morgan took a deep breath and centered herself. The well of magic deep in her breast stilled its bubbling into a smooth, glass-like surface in her mind. It was ready and so was she. “But no one like me has ever attacked you.”

  Talking had no purpose when the man was about to be foaming at the mouth. Morgan reached for all the plants around her and pulled hard at the life force growing in their roots. She didn’t kill them, not yet. She didn’t want to feel anything else die unless she had to.

  With a swift flick of her fingers, she sent crackling balls of energy shooting toward him. He side-stepped her attack and twin holes burst through his wall.

  The faerie stared at the holes in shock before his wide-eyed gaze met hers. “You’re a witch,” he said accusingly.

  “I am,” she replied. Without hesitation, she pulled from the surrounding land again. This time, she was smarter. No more energy he could dodge. Instead, she pushed the magic into the ground.

  The earth underneath the floorboards rolled. Wood cracked underneath their feet and sent the remaining pots whirling as she tossed aside them. The faerie slapped his hand against the wall to steady himself.

  She’d turned the floor into the waves of the ocean. Her only advantage was she knew where and when the waves would occur.

  He didn’t.

  Morgan scurried to the side of the room where she could see a wall of darts hanging. Once, her mother had told her about such things.

  Faerie darts weren’t real, even though the legends claimed faeries used them to their advantage. They didn’t. Darts were only made by trolls, who gathered magic dust deep in their mines. Once they hit a target, the affected person would fall into a deep sleep.

  She wouldn’t mind fighting the faerie fair and square. But if he was asleep, he sure would be easier to kill.

  Thunderous footsteps approached. She didn’t want to distract herself, but Morgan couldn’t stop her head from turning and staring over her shoulder.

  The faerie ran like he was part bull. The ground threw him off, but he righted himself every time it caught his leg and sent him stumbling in the wrong direction. Grunting, he widened his steps and charged forward.

  “Damn it,” she muttered, changing course and giving up on the darts. Morgan bolted to the other side of the room and tugged on the plant life harder. She widened the stretch of her magic.

  This time, when she pulled on a life force nearby, she heard an answering scream. It split through her skull like he’d hit her with the axe.

  The distraction was just enough for the faerie king to get the slip on her. One second, he was a safe distance away at the other side of the room, then the next he was standing in front of her.

  Morgan gasped, “Teleportation?”

  His tangled beard parted and revealed a blinding smile. “Faeries are capable of far more than that, witch. But you won’t know for much longer.”

  Like lighting, his hand snapped out and grabbed her neck.

  If he thought that would kill her, he had another thing coming. Snarling, she grabbed his wrist with her hand and poured all her power into his skin. Bone deep and soul shattering, the witch magic would course through his body like poison.

  He tried to fight through it. She gave him credit for his stamina. His hand tightened painfully around her throat and he bared his teeth in a snarl as he tried to overcome the sudden pain in his body.

  No one had ever suffered through witch magic. Morgan only had so much power, but enough so they would remain at a standstill until one of them let go.

  She would not be the first. He had his hand around her throat. This was life or death. If she let go, he’d kill her. If she didn’t let go, then she might still die, but at least she had a fighting chance.

  The faerie king cursed and released his hold. The axe dropped onto the floor with a clatter. He stumbled back while clutching his wrist. A bright green handprint glowed where she’d held him.

  “Serves you right,” she snapped. “You should know better than to grab a witch.”

  “What infernal magic did you put in me?”

  “Infernal?” The laugh shaking her shoulders wasn’t a pleasant sound. It was the ancient call of a thousand women who had burned at the stake and a million faeries who never helped them. “Oh, because borrowed magic is all infernal to your kind.”

  The floor rolled under his feet, sending him tumbling further from her. “That magic is not yours to use.”

  “No magic is anyone’s to use. You faeries have never understood that.”

  “I can use whatever magic is gifted to me!” he shouted. “Your magic always comes with a price. Faerie magic is free to use and to give.”

  She scoffed. “That’s so like a faerie. You think none of your magic has a price? Witches have paid your price for centuries. A faerie uses magic to take a baby and flames lick a witch’s ankles. A faerie heals human crops, and a witch pays with rope burn around her neck. You want to tell me your magic is free? Try a better lie, faerie.”

  The rolling floor sent him to the ground. He knelt, one knee on the shattered planks, still holding his wrist. A faerie king on his knees before her. What a strange way to end her day.

  “Do you want me to apologize?” he asked. His eyes were painfully green. They looked like rolling emerald hills and glowed with so much magic it overwhelmed her senses.

  Fresh cut grass teased her nose and the taste of rose petals burst on her tongue. She could hear leaves rustling in the breeze and feel autumn crunching beneath her feet. Green magic unfurled, growing all around her. It filled the roots of every plant, large and small.

  The roots underneath her feet were visible, somehow. She could see them all tangling and reaching deep into the ground. They glowed bright green and strong in this place, all of it reaching back to the Mountain King. He was the source of their power.

  Every plant in this hidden realm drew from him, sipping at his magic like he was a well deserved rain. He fed them from his life force.

  A particular root caught her attention, long and thick. It pulsed with glimmering verdant energy. Small sparks seemed to shower off it, all leading back to the Mountain King in the center of the room. Like an umbilical cord.

  Morgan’s gaze found him again. Her eyes locked on his hand pressed against the floor, which wasn’t rolling anymore. It wasn’t even moving. How was he doing that?

  Dust motes floated just above her head, like pollen, except it wasn’t pollen at all. Her lungs breathed in air, but she didn’t want that air in her body. It was contaminated. She could see his power, but she couldn’t stop breathing it in.

  The room warped. The walls shimmered with sparkling green lights and the floor was rivers of roots all flowing back to him. To the man in the center of the room with his palm pressed against the revealed earth.

  “What are you doing to me?” she murmured. Her voice didn’t sound like her own. Her tongue was too thick to form words she’d said a hundred times before.

  “Sleep, witch,” he growled. His voice was a lullaby. So lovely to listen to and she wanted to sleep.

  She hadn’t slept in so long. Nightmares plagued her rest. She dreamed in painful memories of dark things reaching for her in the night. Things she shouldn’t know about people whose minds weren’t locked away.

  No, Morgan thought. He can’t know.

  “What can’t I know?” the Mountain King asked.

  “I will never tell you my secrets.” Morgan slurred the words at him. “Faeries should all burn as witches have burned for centuries.”

  He tucked a finger underneath her chin and tilted her
head up. When had he moved? She thought he was still in the center of the room, yet he was here.

  Heat spread from the single touch. Her entire body reacted to just the smallest of pets. Morgan arched toward him, seeking that green magic like a heat missile. But it wasn’t green magic making her stomach tighten and her heart race.

  The Mountain King grinned. “So you’re mad at faeries because you blame us for all the witches who have died? Is that it?”

  She would have spat in his face if her body would listen. But it wasn’t under her control anymore.

  It was under his.

  He tsked. “You should never have tried to attack a faerie. Let alone a faerie king. Sleep now.”

  Morgan watched his hand descend and pass over her eyes. Then she knew nothing but darkness.

  6

  Liam sat on the remains of a pot he’d flipped upside down. He braced his forearms against his knees and pressed steepled fingers against his lips.

  A witch. Here.

  When had witches discovered how to infiltrate faerie realms? He’d hidden this place well. The surrounding shields were still strong, he’d checked the moment she’d fallen asleep.

  No one should have been able to enter his home without faerie blood. The trees assured him there had been no blood on her when she entered. Unless she was a particularly savvy witch, and he doubted she was, she’d gotten into his home without violence.

  This led to an even darker thought.

  Had a faerie betrayed him?

  He stared at the woman wrapped in Monstera’s leaves. The large plant had insisted upon creating a prison for the witch who attacked him. Now, the woman rested within the large fronds wrapped around her like a straightjacket.

  The witch was still asleep. He wouldn’t wake her until he had some course of action. Unfortunately, that was proving to be rather difficult with a creature like this.

  Her magic was extremely powerful. If they’d been in the human realm, her trick with the waves might not have been so impressive. However, this entire place was his own creation. The floor wasn’t a floor, but magic and illusion.