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MOLLAC, FALLADA
Her wings beat against currents of snowy wind, her vibrant, multi-colored plumage the only splash of color against the harsh, wintery landscape. There had been a time when Mollac—the Western region of the realm of Fallada—proved to be one of the loveliest places in the universe. With soft, powdery snow, icicles catching the light of the sun and reflecting them in rainbow prisms, and winter flowers in full bloom, it had been a crystal wonderland. Princess Desdemona Ravenmoore had grown up watching white roses bloom from her balcony, while observing the Fox and Bear shifters at play, and the Werewolf packs on the hunt.
Now, as she flew toward the castle known as Semran Hall, none of the familiar sights could be seen. No flowers, no Shifters playing or Wolves hunting. No sun—as gray clouds had long since blotted it out, leaving a dingy stain upon the hard, icy snow. Jagged icicles hung from the barren limbs of the trees.
There were, at least, still the roses here and there—the enchanted blooms her parents had planted in the castle courtyard to commemorate her birth. They’d spread to adorn Mollac from corner to corner, the white flowers blossoming constantly. Nearing the castle gates, she noticed several clusters of the red roses her father had planted to celebrate bringing her adopted sister, Jocylene, into their family. Having been found abandoned among the Delelm Mountains, Jocylene had been brought to live at Semran Hall. It was a time in her life that Desdemona hardly remembered, having been little more than a baby herself.
For years, not a single red rose bloomed in Fallada. They’d all shriveled up and died the moment Eranna had sent Jocylene to the realm of men, where she’d stashed the other five royal daughters with hopes that they’d never be found. However, her sister’s return had heralded the resurgence of the vibrant blossoms, which now grew alongside Desdemona’s white blooms.
Hope lifted her spirits at the sight. When last she’d seen her sister, Jocylene had been dying from the poison of a Werewolf bite. Her only hope had been the healing powers of the Fae, yet they’d remained the captives of Kalodan, the Dark Fae leader who held the underwater city of Zenun captive in her mother’s name. They’d been separated just before Desdemona was killed for the second time, her blood drained to use in some nefarious ritual. She’d closed her eyes in a dungeon, and opened them again as her body rose from her burial site—reborn, and renewed.
If the red roses still bloomed in Fallada, then perhaps all hope was not lost. Her sister might still live. Desdemona could only hope that Jocylene had somehow found her way to Goldun, the realm of the immortal Fae, and remained safe there. Perhaps it was not too late for her to start being a real sister to Jocylene. So much time had been lost, while she hid away from the world and avoided becoming involved in the conflict between her mother, Queen Eranna, and the Fae Queen, Adrah.
It could not be too late. Her part of the prophecy had yet to take place. She was the Phoenix that had been foretold—the one who would rise from the ashes and turn the tides of the war brewing in Fallada. She could not say how she knew for certain, but somehow Desdemona realized where her destiny lay. The stronghold of Mollac had been an asset for her mother thus far, her iron-clad fortress impenetrable by the Fae. The allegiance of many of Mollac’s Shapeshifters had bolstered her defenses, turning the west into a dangerous place to be found if you did not swear allegiance to Queen Eranna.
Not anymore, Desdemona decided as she began to descend, swooping toward the castle and the balcony jutting out from her personal chambers.
Morphing back to her usual form, she stood on two legs just outside the double doors leading into the room she’d once inhabited. In truth, it had been a prison—a place for her mother to keep Desdemona beneath her thumb. She had sworn that no one would control her that way ever again. She had returned home to claim it for herself, not to go back to a life of ignorance and fear.
Despite having emerged from her ashes without a stitch of clothing, Desdemona remained heedless of the cold. The flames living within her were enough to keep her warm no matter the climate.
She was fire, and fire was her.
Finding the doors unlocked, she pushed them open and strode into the dark room. She lifted both her hands and produced flames from her fingertips. Extending a hand to her left, she threw a ball of fire into the hearth, setting the wood and kindling there aflame. Another wave of her hand lit every candle and brazier, suffusing the room in light and warmth.
Everything remained just as she’d left it—including the white, fur-lined robe she’d draped at the foot of her bed. Taking it up, she quickly slipped her arms into it, knotting the belt at her waist while striding from the room.
The corridor stretching away from her chamber loomed empty, but she’d expected this. With her mother away in the human world, the castle defense would be concentrated on the first floor and outer courtyards. She descended the curving staircase on swift feet, hands balled into fists at her sides.
She found the great hall filled with her mother’s soldiers—various Shifter species, dressed in fur to ward off the cold despite a fire roaring in several hearths. She had arrived during their morning meal, as evidenced by the platters lining the long, wooden tables. Dotting the room here and there, the Minotaurs stood guard, long-handled axes held in their meaty fists.
“Hear me!” she called out, striding into the room with her hands braced on her hips. “For those who do not recognize me, allow me to introduce myself. I am Desdemona Ravenmoore of Mollac ... once your princess, but now your queen. I hereby denounce my mother, Queen Eranna, and lay claim to the throne she has tainted with black magic and corruption. As her followers, you are no longer welcome in my castle. Leave now, or be destroyed.”
Her words had the desired effect. Mindless underlings of her mother, the soldiers here would never bow to her. The sound of growls, snarls, and profanities became a cacophony as they all seemed to converge on her at once, drawing weapons and shifting into their animal forms.
A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth as she sparked fire from her hands.
“So be it,” she murmured, just before unleashing the flames in a rush more powerful than the breath of a dragon.
The Fox and Werewolf Shifters became engulfed first, their speed putting them within close range. Holding both hands out to her sides, she allowed the fire to spread, streaming from her like rushing water as her attackers fell to the ground in writhing, screaming heaps. She began to ascend, floating above them, and extended her hands forward, hurling balls of flame toward the Minotaurs ambling at her from the perimeter of the room.
Behind her, the heavy front doors of the castle flew open, the sound of them crashing against the walls drowned out by the screams of those being burned to death. Turning to face the doors, she found her mother’s most favored subjects—the Witches.
“Turn back now, or perish,” she threatened, raising her voice to be heard above the carnage taking place behind her.
Lowering her hood, the Witch who led the charge glowered at her with narrowed eyes peering out of a leathery face. The creatures looked more akin to walking trees than anything else, their unnatural hideousness a side-effect of practicing black magic.
“You think you can defeat Queen Eranna?” she snarled, producing something from within the folds of her robe.
It turned out to be a round sphere—one of the explosives the Witches used as weapons. Hurling one of her fireballs, Desdemona incinerated the explosive device.
“Yes,” she retorted, “I do. It’s too bad you won’t be around to see it.”
Unleashing the entirety of her fury, she sparked the Witches all at once, turning them into piles of ash upon the ground. Once she had floated back to the ground, she stepped over their charred bodies, putting the carnage in the great hall behind her. Arms still outstretched, she continued through the courtyard, destroying anything that moved. Not one of her mother’s cronies could be trusted, and none deserved redemption as far as Desdemona was concerned. Mollac and Semran Hall needed a good purging, and who better to perform the task than her?
After she had finished within the courtyard, she stood back and surveyed the damage done by the fire. The great hall and courtyard would need a good cleaning, and there were tapestries and furniture that would have to be replaced. Yet, as she approached one of the white rose bushes growing at the center of the courtyard and plucked one of its blooms, she could not help but smile. The cleansing had begun. Nothing cleansed like fire.
Pressing the blossom to her nose, she inhaled its sweet fragrance, and turned to re-enter her castle.
Hours later, Desdemona sat before a blazing fire in the chambers which had once belonged to her mother. She had decided to take it for her own, now that she was queen. After clearing the entire castle of Eranna’s forces, she had made her way straight to the dungeons beneath the keep. Finding only a few guards there, she quickly got rid of them, then went about unlocking the cells holding many of Mollac’s residents hostage.
They cowered away from her, eyes wide with fear. Forcing a smile, she’d done her best to reassure them. The fire inside of her had abated a bit, but its embers still simmered with anger. She wanted nothing more than to seek out the rest of Eranna’s dark army and take them all out—yet knew there were other priorities to see to first.
“You have no reason to fear me,” she’d told them, looking each one in the eye as she opened their cells. “I have come to liberate Mollac ... not terrorize it.”
Sighing with relief, a young woman—a Fox Shifter from the looks of things—stepped forward and bowed to her. She possessed the same fair skin, pitch-black hair, and dark, half-moon shaped eyes the rest of her kind had. Slender in build with broad, strong shoulders, she stood a bit taller than Desdemona.
“Your Majesty,” she’d said. “If it pleases you, I offer my service. I am yours to command in any way you see fit.”
Placing a hand on the female’s shoulder, Desdemona had looked her in the eye, finding a depth of sadness there. It broke her heart.
“I appreciate that, very much,” she replied. “But I cannot imagine how long you’ve been trapped here. Wouldn’t you rather seek out your family? Many have taken refuge in Goldun, and I’m certain—”
“They are dead,” she had insisted. “My father, my mother, my husband, and son. Gone. My home, burned to the ground. I have nowhere else to go, and nothing left, but my fealty and honor—which I pledge to you, if you will have me.”
Desdemona’s throat constricted as the weight of this woman’s pain fell on her like an avalanche. This was what her mother had done to Mollac and its people. She lamented the fact that she hadn’t been strong enough to do anything about it before now.
“What is your name?” she managed, choking back tears. If this woman could be so matter-of-fact while speaking of the loss of her home and family, then so could Desdemona.
“Mindirra, Your Majesty,” she answered.
“Mindirra, can you fight?” Desdemona asked.
A soft smirk pulled at the corners of her mouth. “In both my human, and animal forms. I am proficient with many weapons, and though I have not practiced in some time, I don’t believe I’ve lost the skill.”
“Good,” Desdemona replied. “Now that the entire castle has been cleared, there remains only myself and my mother’s prisoners within these walls. I will need defense. Perhaps, as an experienced fighter, you could assist me in this.”
Mindirra gave her an emphatic nod. “Yes, Your Majesty. There are many of my kind—as well as others—who have gone into hiding to avoid the reach of Queen Eranna. If someone were to inform them that she has been overthrown, they would come to Semran Hall. I believe they would fight for you.”
“You and I will determine how to go about finding them together. In the meantime, I want you to consider Semran Hall your home. You are free to remain here under my protection.” Turning to the others who had gathered outside their cells, she raised her chin. “That applies to all of you. Many of you have lost your homes and families and have no place else to go. I invite you to remain here, so long as you are willing to work or contribute to the running of Semran Hall. With all its former occupants banished, I find myself in great need of help with its upkeep.”
A Dwarf woman wearing a filthy rag of a dress stepped forward, clutching the hand of another similarly dressed girl. “I am Grimra, Your Majesty, and this is my daughter, Maeris. We worked the kitchens in Skel’gar before being taken hostage. We have family and friends there, but as they do their part in the effort against the evil queen, so must we. If you’ll have us, we’ll take over your kitchens.”
Realizing she hadn’t eaten since before she’d been killed, Desdemona thanked the gods for the gift of Grimra and her daughter.
“I would be honored to have you both,” she’d declared.
Before Desdemona knew what was happening, all but three of her prisoners had offered their help. After meeting and speaking with each of them, she found herself fortunate to have gained a handful of maids, three scullions to assist Grimra and Maeris in the kitchen, a young boy to serve as her messenger, two lookouts for the watchtower, and a handful of bodyguards.
Within an hour, Grimra and her daughters had prepared a fine meal for her. She’d eaten her fill, then taken a long, hot bath in a tub filled by her maids—who had also emptied the room of her mother’s things and replaced them with Desdemona’s. Now that those needs had been tended to, she’d sent her maids to tend to other chores about the castle, indulging in a bit of much-needed privacy.
What had she done? Overthrowing her mother and taking over Semran Hall were the bold moves of the creature that lived within her. Yet, a part of her could not forget the simpering, weak girl she’d been just one year ago. Before breaking free of her mother’s oppression and mind control, she hadn’t possessed the strength to fight for herself, let alone a kingdom full of people. Now, the people of Mollac would look to her to protect, defend, and provide for them. By taking her rightful place upon the throne, she had placed herself in the very position she had been avoiding from the moment it was revealed that the first lost princess of Fallada had returned home.
Upon learning that she was the Phoenix from the prophesies, Desdemona had cringed at the thought of being fought over. It hadn’t taken long for her mother to seize control of her, attempting to use her in the Battle of Skel’gar against the Dwarves, and her own sister. Since then, others had attempted to cajole her to fight for him. She had been killed for the use of her blood—the purpose of which she had yet to determine. All of it made her want to hide; the prospect of having so many people rely on her too much to bear.
Yet, she had realized that there was no place for her to hide, no matter how much she might wish to be free of it all. Death and darkness had arrived on her doorstep, invading the quiet, peaceful life she’d carved out with Malachi and Leven.
At the thought of the Bear Shifter who had so deeply invaded her heart, Desdemona rose from her chair and crossed the room to her balcony. She must not think of him, not now. It hurt far too much to remember watching him toss and turn in a fevered sleep brought on by a Werewolf bite, calling out for his dead mate. Knowing he could not help the words coming from his mouth hadn’t stopped her from feeling each one like the lash of a whip. He’d been hallucinating, seeing his mate’s face, in place of hers.
I didn’t want to, he’d insisted, referring to allowing himself to develop feelings for Desdemona. Forgive me, Danore ... you are my only love.
His only love. Which meant there could be no room in his heart for her, no matter how much she might wish there to be.
After his recovery from the bite of the werewolf, he’d invited her to live with him and Leven in his small, one-room cabin for as long as she wished. Even though setting eyes on him every day only exacerbated the pain, Desdemona found she could not leave. Malachi and Leven, in mourning for the mate and mother they had lost, had needed someone. So, she’d stayed—keeping herself busy by ensuring the cabin stayed tidy, and that Malachi and Leven ate three hearty meals a day. For a time, she had fooled herself into believing they were like a family. Yet, she had soon come to realize that she’d deluded herself. There could be nothing for her out in those woods, in a home that Malachi had made with another woman.
Her place was here, in Semran Hall, among her people. She could only hope that Malachi and Leven had found someplace safe to take refuge. The last time she’d seen them, they’d been traveling together with Jocylene, her mate, Eli, and the Brothers Grimm. An attack had torn their party apart, with she, Jocylene, and Eli staying back to fight, while the Grimm brothers helped Malachi whisk Leven off to safety. The Dark Fae had overpowered them, taking both Desdemona and Jocylene hostage.
Kalodan, the leader of the Dark Fae, had murdered Desdemona, slitting her throat and draining all her blood, before she had woken up in Mollac. She couldn’t be certain how many times she would rise from the grave, but counted herself fortunate to have been able to do so twice now.
There hadn’t been time to consider going after her sister or ensuring that Malachi and Leven had reached Goldun safely. Now that Semran Hall had been secured, she could ease her own fears before she returned to easing those of her people.
Frowning, she turned in a slow circle, searching for her mother’s mirror—the Eye of Goldun. Every kingdom within Fallada had one Eye, which allowed its kings and queens to see events taking place all over realm as they occurred. Only the Fae Queen, Adrah, possessed an Eye that could peer into the future.
Finding the bell cord to summon a maid, she gave the tasseled rope a tug. She didn’t hear the chime of the bell, but she knew the maids would be alerted and come to her straightaway. She walked, pacing for a full five minutes before one arrived, looking as if she’d run the entire length of the castle.
“My queen,” the girl panted between rushed breaths. “How may I be of service?”
“Send for Mindirra,” she commanded. “Tell her I need her now.”
With a swift curtsy, the girl retreated, the sounds of her running steps echoing down the corridor outside Desdemona’s room. Almost immediately after, a knock sounded on the door, announcing Mindirra’s arrival.
“Come in,” she called out, forcing herself to stop pacing.
“You sent for me, Your Majesty?” Mindirra asked, brow knit in concern as she took in Desdemona’s nervous behavior.
Clearing her throat, she forced herself to square her shoulders and act like a queen. “There is an ornate mirror that once belonged in this room, and it is now gone. It is vital that the mirror is found and returned here, immediately.”
Frowning, Mindirra looked at Desdemona as if wondering whether she’d lost her mind. However, she did not give voice to whatever she might be thinking.
“Right away, Your Majesty. We will begin a search, and comb the castle from top to bottom.”
Nodding, she sank back into her chair. “Very good. As well, I will need one of my bodyguards to accompany our messenger to the moors.”
Mindirra’s eyes grew wide and she gasped, realizing what Desdemona was asking. “The moors? But, Your Majesty, the moors are a dangerous place. The sorceress who lives there—”
“She is not to be feared,” Desdemona assured her. “The Prophet, Zara, is a friend to Fallada, and a close advisor of mine.”
“As you wish,” Mindirra relented. “What message would you like delivered?”
Staring into the flames dancing in her massive fireplace, she sighed. “Tell her I need her to come to Semran Hall. I find myself in need of her counsel. Tell her to come now.”
After executing a swift bow, Mindirra turned to leave. “It will be done as you’ve asked, Your Majesty.”