Holly
warming my back, I take the fastest route to the edge of the Black Forest, stopping and slipping out Gade’s knife at a ditch where mauve flowers sway above the hairy leaves of comfrey.
As I stuff cuttings into my pockets, laughter peals from the direction of a copse of tortured willow trees. Stilling, I listen for a moment, check that the stone in my pendant remains cool, and then pad closer to the sound.
Two voices murmur from behind a moss-covered stone obelisk surrounded by a ring of rowan trees and partially hidden by gnarled willow branches. Recognizing Mern’s voice, I creep closer as a second fae answers her in a deep, scratchy rasp. It’s Terra, the earth mage.
“If I were you, Princess,” she says. “I would not fret over a little scrap of a human. Do you think old Mab cared overly for the welfare of her mortal playthings?”
“No. Mab delighted in their downfalls,” replies Mern. “But this is different. Holly is my friend, and without her help, my brother may have died alone in a shepherd’s hut. We owe her much, and at the very least, she deserves our protection.”
“Then the answer to your query is simple—don’t tell the girl Nestera is in the Spike Tower. What use has a mortal for this knowledge?”
“Holly made a bargain with Nestera to provide the exact items that will help her escape from a high tower. Nestera doesn’t do well in captivity, and it won’t be long before her mind disintegrates. I’d like to prevent that.”
“If necessary, we mages can release her,” says Terra.
“Of course, but there are mysterious forces at work here. By the terms of the bargain, it is clear Holly is destined to release the changeling, but I fear involving her.”
“Well then, you must view the matter from a different angle, Mern. If you don’t tell the girl, will you be obstructing Fate?”
“Yes, I believe I would be. But the magic in the forest encircling the Spike is unstable and dangerous to a human. Gade would have my head if I told Holly about Nestera and she did something reckless and went there alone.”
“Does she not wear the Morgana pendant? It should provide some protection,” says Terra.
“But it may not.”
“That is true. Whoever imprisoned Nestera is blocked from my sight. But mark me, strong magic is involved.”
“Who do you suspect?” asks Mern.
“’Tis likely my sister. Who else has the power and thrives on hostile machinations?”
“Aer? For what purpose?”
Terra snorts. “The threads my sister weaves are complex and impossible to unravel, but they never fail to attempt to wrap around and entrap your brother. No doubt she seeks to use the girl to harm him. But fear not, Princess, Aer may wound, but my other sisters and I will always be here to heal him.”
Gadriel. Must he always be involved in everything that happens in this city?
“For that, my family is most grateful. Now, I’d best find Gade without delay,” says Mern. “He needs to know about Nestera, and he’ll want to keep Holly safe, no matter her role in this mess.” She takes a step backward and bows, her horns catching on branches and tumbling golden willow leaves around her. “Thank you for your counsel, Terra. I’ll leave you to enjoy your earth retreat.”
Before the princess finds me eavesdropping in the bushes, I creep away, then hurry back to my room with the terms of Nestera’s bargain racing through my mind.
When I arrive, I go straight to the desk, grab a quill, and write out the ingredients I promised to obtain for the changeling on a piece of blank parchment.
Twenty-three arm lengths of the orb spider’s web, the same of the weaver’s golden twine and her silken rope—one of which will hold Nestera’s weight—a crested pigeon, and a biscuit soaked in the old queen’s favorite honey.
Already, a plan forms in my mind. If the tower has a well-placed window, with the assistance of Nestera’s magic and the items on my list, it might be possible to break her out. There must be a way to get the rope up to her, and if there’s something inside the tower room to tie it to, then all going well, she can climb down to safety.
To be sure, the scheme is patchy, but I owe it to Nestera to supply the materials that I swore I would, and I have my necklace to warn me of danger.
For a moment, I consider requesting help from Mern or even Gade, but quickly dismiss the idea. They’d no doubt take over and wouldn’t allow me to accompany them to the tower. The terms of the bargain were clear—it is my duty to help the changeling. No matter the outcome.
I think of my mother as I dress warmly in the fine leather trousers Mern gave me, a thick woolen tunic, and the heaviest cloak in my wardrobe. Then I tuck Gade’s blade into a sheath in my boot where it will be more secure. I’m not particularly skilled with a fighting dagger, but having it will be better than being unarmed.
Since I’ve been gone, I’m certain Rose is keeping Mother comfortable. And even though I cannot bear the thought of never seeing her again, a promise is a promise, and I would never shame my mother by returning to her bedside a breaker of bargains.
First, I visit the kitchen at the bottom level of the castle and request the biscuit soaked in special honey. Featherlayne, the hobgoblin cook, huffs and puffs while searching for the old queen’s honey, but as she wraps the biscuit in stiff waxed cloth, she tells me that since I saved the life of her future king, I am welcome to anything at all in her stores. I carefully place the parcel in the leather satchel that’s strapped across my body.
Next, I call on the weavers and needle workers in the Bask Tower. They listen to my request, then send their swallows flitting through the air, dipping in and out of deep storage chambers set high into the room’s stone walls to retrieve ropes, golden twine, and three empty spools that barely look big enough to fulfill their task. Obviously enchanted, the rope and twine contract as the birds wind them around two of the spools, leaving the third empty at my request.
“Do you know where I might find a crested pigeon and orb spiders’ web?” I ask the master seamstress, a tall elf called Rhapsowen.
She speaks around a mouthful of thorn-tipped pins, blood flecking the edges of her lips. “Ask at the stores behind the tournament oval. They sell the pigeons for pie making and someone will direct you to the closest shrubs where the orb spiders live.”
I hurry down to the market and follow the chirping sounds to the bird seller’s stall. A hunched old woman with fiery eyes sells me a crested pigeon in a silver cage for the price of a dance at the next revel I attend, which may be tonight if Gade ignores my instructions and goes ahead with the feast in my honor.
I’ve already forgiven him for our argument earlier. I was partly at fault, and he was right about one thing—I often choose to find offense where none is meant, a result of growing up with not one, but two mischievous brothers.
The bird coos happily as we pass by row after row of stalls stacked with magical and handmade curiosities. Finally, I come across a woman spinning her own jet-black hair on a spinning wheel. It’s one of the strangest sights I’ve ever seen, her slim body upright and unmoving, and the section of hair she’s working on getting longer as she progresses. Even the pigeon seems in awe, growing quiet and watching.
“Excuse me,” I say, stopping in front of her table. “Do you know where I might find orb spiders’ webs?”
Glancing up, she smiles—the corners of her honey-colored eyes wrinkling. “I do,” she answers as she grips her hair and snips it away from the wheel with a pair of shears. “It’s not far from here. I will show you the place.”
The faery has a light step and a free tongue as we walk side by side along the forge behind the castle, passing livestock in large pens—four-legged animals that remind me of sheep and deer with coats of unusual colors and textures. She comments on the fae we parade past, gossiping like the women in my village do each morning at the well.
When we locate the white-barked zephyr tree, we find many orb spiders, identified by their striped, purple legs, resting in the center of their diamond-shaped webs.
“Take a piece of silk from the bottom of the web, wind slowly from the outside, taking care not to disturb the center or the spider. They are slumberous creatures and shouldn’t wake unless you jerk them with clumsy movements. Requiring no spinning, each thread is strong enough to carry the weight of a large hobgoblin.”
I place the birdcage on the grass, then step closer to the lowest web and begin winding it carefully around the last spool, magic condensing the thread as I work.
“Tell the spool the quantity you require,” the fae says.
“Twenty-three arm lengths, please.”
She laughs. “How polite and very human you are.”
I almost thank her, then remember that I shouldn’t.
The lady watches quietly for a few moments. “Good. Move a little slower. If one bites you, you have three thousand heartbeats to receive the antidote and not one more, or you’ll fall into a sleep that lasts three thousand moon turns.”
“Good grief,” I say. “I appreciate the warning. What’s your name, so I know who to repay with equal kindness if the opportunity presents?”
“The price to know it is too high for you,” she answers, disappearing into thin air before I can ask about the Spike Tower.
It takes a while before the spool stops accepting the glistening thread. Every time I take a break from winding to wipe sweat from my brow, the movement wakes the spiders who shake their long legs at me. One even dances about, gnashing its pincers, but a lullaby, softly sung, calms it instantly.
After I tuck the spool into my bag, I collect the bird and continue along the path toward the forest, studying a black spire that pokes through the treetops and is most likely the tower I seek.
At the bottom of the hill, a golden-haired girl sits on a stool out front of the dairy, milking a cow over a wooden pail.
“Good afternoon,” I say, pointing at my distant quarry. “Do you know the quickest way to the tower peeking through the trees over there?”
A pair of yellow eyes greet me as she lifts her head and fixes a steady, wizened gaze on me, an ill-match for her youthful, pretty face. I press my pendant against my chest, relieved to find the stone as cool as river water.
“If you wish, I can take you there myself.” The girl’s soft voice is hard to hear over the bird’s wings fluttering against the cage, but her smile is as gentle as the morning sun, dissolving any feelings of mistrust. “It’s not far, but the path is tricky to follow.” She whistles to the pigeon, and it stops fretting and settles peacefully on the perch.
“That’s very kind of you. And I accept your offer.” I wait for her to lay out the terms of a bargain, but she merely pats the strange cow’s side, then rises and ushers it into the paddock alongside the dairy, where a pack of similar striped beasts stand bellowing.
“They’re okapris,” the milkmaid says. “Quite harmless, unless you threaten its young. Then the female won’t hesitate to devour you whole, crunching on your bones until none remain.”
She studies my horror-stricken face, mistaking it for confusion. “Okapris can unhinge their lower jaws, allowing them to eat even large-sized fae and humans.”
“Useful information,” I say. “I’ll endeavor to always be sweet to their babies. My name is Holly. What’s yours?”
“All of Talamh Cúig knows what you are called, including the forest creatures. In Faery, there are risks in gifting names so freely, which is why I will keep mine to myself.”
Faeries have odd customs concerning their names, and many choose to go by aliases that refer to their appearance—such as Clawcaped and Mottlefeather—instead of the monikers their parents gave them.
We walk in silence through a thick, bramble-twined forest, the bark-rough heads of tree folk separating from trunks to peer at us as our movements wake them from their slumber.
Whispers sough through leaves, and birds call to each other from the treetops as a gold-tinged dusk falls around us. Oddly, the crested pigeon hasn’t made a sound since the faery whistled it into calm.
Finally, the smooth, black surface of the tower shows itself, its thin spire spearing through the fir trees above us. The girl guides me onto a narrow path that winds through scrub and menacing-looking blackberry bushes.
“Your fragile human skin will likely bleed, but that is the quickest way through. I’ll remain here a little while in case you attempt to find your way back to the castle.” Which is a polite way of telling me that if I take too long, I’m on my own.
“You’re very kind,” I say, squaring my shoulders. “I don’t plan to be gone long.” Which is perhaps overly optimistic.
As the velvet night settles around me, I check my boot to make sure the knife is still snug in its sheath and stride forward, humming to the pigeon to suppress the nagging thought that something wasn’t quite right with the faery who brought me here. Why didn’t she inquire about my purpose?
To calm my nerves, I think of Mother, then Gade, my breathing slowing.
I’m not afraid, though deep down, I know I should be.
Stepping over an evenly spaced line of crystal geodes that circle the tower, I crane my neck until I spy a dark, shuttered window halfway up. I snatch a stone from the ground and throw it, thankful for the games I played with my brothers when it hits its mark and thuds against the shutter, Nestera immediately peering out of it.
“There you are, little human,” she says. “I’ve been listening for you. The spiders said you would come.”
The spiders told her? Seems unlikely, but who am I to question the mysterious skills of faeries and hairy arachnids?
“Quickly, unpack your bag, for he will kill me soon. Did you bring all you promised?”
I swing my satchel onto the ground and place the birdcage next to it, wondering who this nefarious he is. I have my suspicions, but I want to hear her confirm them. “Who did this to you?”
“The darkest one. There is no time to waste. I’ll explain later. First, tie the orb spiders’ thread to the pigeon’s leg, then put the biscuit in its beak, and let it loose. I will call it upward with an enchantment. Hold the spool and allow it to unwind carefully as the bird flies up. When it has nearly unraveled, tie on the golden twine, then the lighter silken ropes, and after I’ve taken up all of the spiders’ thread, attach the heaviest rope for me to climb down on.”
“You’re unchained?” I ask.
“Yes, but much weakened. The room is lined with iron panels, but I have saved a store of magic for your arrival.”
Nestera sends three luminous balls of light to bob around me while I work. It takes some time to unwind enough web, but my fingers work deftly and nothing snags or breaks, making me wonder if the changeling’s magic assisted me.
After I prepare the pigeon, I cup it in my hands, noticing tiny, glowing insects darting inside the translucent globes that bob around me. With a squawk, the bird pecks a hole in one, and the fireflies escape, a trail of sparks spiraling into the trees.
Nestera chants indecipherable words in her cracked voice, and the pigeon takes flight, the silver thread flowing behind it. She plucks the pigeon from the air, then the biscuit from its beak and pops it in her mouth, smacking her lips together happily.
“A queen’s honey has magical properties,” she explains, cackling as she winds the thread up while I busy myself attaching the twine and ropes as she instructed. “Also, I am very, very hungry. Even you look appetizing to me right now, girl.”
Sudden applause comes from behind me, and I turn to see my pretty faery guide clapping her hands together, her skin shining as if lit from within. “Well done, human.”
I grab my pendant, which still lies cool and dormant beneath my clothing.
The lady laughs, pacing a slow circle around me. “For your information, that wretched, mortal-made device does not work on a mage.”
Without a sound or complaint, Nestera disappears into the shadows of the tower.
This girl is a mage?
“You must be Aer,” I say.
She inclines her head. “Also sometimes known as the Sorceress of the Seven Winds.”
“What do you want? You cannot harm me in the bounds of the city, this forest included.”
“What you say is true. At present. However, I can do this…”
She raises her arms and forks of lightning arc from her fingertips, sizzling and crackling. She directs them at my boots, and I shoot into the air, spinning from head to toe until I cannot tell which way is up or down as my body travels some distance.
She screeches out a command, and I drop onto wet grass, the landscape around me dark and lit with an eerie purple glow. My hands search blindly around me, feeling high stone walls on either side of what appears to be a narrow pathway. A heavy silence permeates the space, not a bird or night creature peeping or calling from nearby.
As I stumble onto my feet, the pendant flashes, sizzling against my skin, and the back-lit figure of a man walks toward me along the passageway. When the long robes and face of Gade’s uncle come into focus, relief weakens my knees, replaced by shock and fear the moment I notice the cruel twist of his mouth and frenzied glint in his eyes. With a sinking despair, I understand my predicament all too clearly.
Aer glides from the shadows, her gaze lit with delight, but she keeps her distance, stopping several steps away from me.
Despite the fact they had different-colored hair and clothing, the fae ladies who helped me today all shared the same distinct eyes of burnished gold, filled with an intensity I can now identify as hate.
Each time, the girl was Aer, glamored to deceive me.
Fyarn and the mage must have locked Nestera in the tower to entrap me. But why? How could such powerful, magical creatures view a mere human as a threat?
“I see you have met the lovely Aer,” Fyarn says, striding toward me, his gray braids slapping rhythmically against his legs.
“What is this place?” I ask.
The mage smiles proudly. “It is a maze protected by my magic, not easily breached.” As she floats upward, hovering in the air, her shimmering body and golden hair are thrown into stark relief against the dark sky above the maze. “This entire forest sleeps under my enchantment, not even a sylph will bear witness to tonight’s events and run to your precious prince to tell the tale.”
I stare up at her. “When I first saw you today, why didn’t my pendant warn me?”
“I am an Elemental mage, tied to the land and nearly as old. I warned you before; devices created by the pitiful conjurings of a mortal sorceress do not affect me. Lord Fyarn is another matter.”
Fyarn stands silently, now an arm’s length away from me.
“Why did you lock Nestera up?” I ask.
“The changeling discovered I am not quite as benign a presence at court as I hoped to appear.”
“But you cannot lie, so when Gade seeks your advice about her disappearance, he’ll learn of your betrayal and turn you into a pool of blood and bone shards.”
Fyarn laughs. “How delightful. It seems the little mortal hides a taste for violence beneath her mild exterior. But don’t worry about me. By the time Gadriel understands my role, his opinion will be of no consequence.”
Shock at how deep his ambitions run shakes me to the core.
“Will you at least send me back to my village?” Unlikely, but if they want to be rid of me, it can’t hurt to present them with the least violent solution in case they haven’t considered it.
“Personally, I’d like to trade you to the Unseelie king. The Merits are foolishly obsessed with your kind, and he would pay a great deal to possess you. As would my nephew. But Aer believes Gadriel might attempt to rescue you from their court, and that wouldn’t suit my plans at all.”
“You’re going to steal the crown from your own nephew?”
“Isn’t that the ambition of all those close to a throne, whether they admit it or not?” he asks.
Aer calls from above. “Fyarn, kill the girl now and Gade will die. The throne will be empty with Elden the next first-born son in line. So do not tarry. I would do this deed myself. But as the curse maker, if I end her life, Gadriel will be free from the curse with his power and strength immediately restored. Finish her now while you have the chance. Kill your son, and I will rule by your side as your queen.”
While Fyarn is distracted, I duck around his legs, withdrawing my blade from my boot as I run along the passage, my body bouncing off the walls in the dark and wicked laughter chasing after me.
My heart leaps and pounds as I run for my life, refusing to listen to the voice inside me—the one that says there is no way out of this magical maze and that I couldn’t defeat one, let alone two supernatural opponents.
The voice may be right and my outlook bleak, but still, I refuse to die without a fight. Another trait I can thank my dearly departed, boisterous brothers for. Silently, I vow to make it as difficult as possible for Fyarn and the mage to kill me. It’s better to die a nose-punching, rib-stabbing annoyance than an easy mark.
At least then, they’ll never forget me.
Filling my lungs with air, I pump my arms harder, flee faster, slamming into walls whenever the maze turns sharply. A distant roar starts up behind me, growing louder as the air crackles with heat.
The air thickens, and I struggle to breathe.
My movements slow, then with a deafening whoosh, fire breaches the corridor, rushing toward me. As I scream, it engulfs me, forks of orange and blue licking my limbs and clothing.
Disappointment fills me. It won’t be easy to punch some noses while I’m burning alive.
But at least there’s no pain. Only heat and noise and the cold comfort of fury. Then Fyarn is upon me.
He tugs me from the flames by my throat, dragging me against him.
“Before I give you to the fire, girl, I have a mind to taste what my nephew has been enjoying.”
“I’d sooner burn.” I stamp down on his boot, drawing back enough to point my knife at his ribs. A violent, unseen force deflects the blade downward. I stab, and the force intervenes again. Gade’s uncle has fire magic. How can he control my knife?
Fyarn laughs. “Silly girl, wondering why your weapon fails you. It is not my doing. Given that is the knife Gade’s mother gifted him, he must have warded it against use on members of his retinue or family. It’s useless. What shall you do now?”
Wriggling and twisting, I tuck the knife into my boot. I can’t use it on Gade’s uncle, but if I survive him, it may still prove useful. I think of my sister, Rose, teasing me for being an optimist. Better that than a coward who gives up without a fight.
“My nephew is a fool and makes decisions with his heart. When his parents died, I believed I’d cleansed our bloodline of kindly fools, but alas not. Gadriel isn’t worthy of the Crown of Five. What I do now, I do for my people.”
“No, you’re a terrible man who will find a way to justify the horrible acts you commit before I die. And I can’t stop you. You asked me before what I’m going to do without a weapon. Let me tell you: if you kiss my mouth, I’ll bite your tongue off. Defile my body, and I’ll curse your breeding organs to never bring you pleasure again. Will you take the risk?”
“No, witch. You shall burn,” he roars and shoves me back into the fire.
Heat engulfs me, and my body spins like a pig on a spit through the flames, round and round and round.
As I die, sounds grow distant. Swirling, high-pitched laughter and the staccato thud of hooves beating the earth dissolve into the forever-night that swallows me in one great big gulp.
Then it is over.
Holly is gone.
The end.
