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ERANNA PACED THE SMALL anteroom connecting to the larger chamber holding her growing group of captive girls. With so many Dark Fae at her command, it had taken no effort on her part to find them. She’d simply stood back, nursing her wounded pride in private while her Witches and Eendi hunted and captured the young women whose souls would go a long way toward restoring her power.
In the corner of the room, a pulsing sound thrummed, drawing her attention to the ornate mirror she’d brought from her penthouse—the Eye of Mollac. Biting her lower lip, she ignored the call, certain it must be Kalodan attempting to make contact. Few people knew how to call to her through the mirror, a fact that Eranna was grateful for. She couldn’t be seen like this—robbed of both her beauty and her power.
No, Kalodan would have to wait. She knew that the time had come for her own daughter, Desdemona, to fulfill her part of the prophecy concerning the royal daughters of Fallada. However, there was little she could do to stop it in her current state. It had been several centuries since she’d been so weak, and she abhorred the feeling.
“Patience, Kalodan,” she murmured, breathing a sigh of relief as the pulsing of the mirror stopped, indicating that he’d ceased trying to contact her. “As long as you’ve carried out your part of our plan, all will be well.”
Since it had become quite obvious that her daughter couldn’t be controlled or killed permanently, she and Kalodan had hatched a different plan. If they could not hinder the power of the Phoenix, they would simply harness it for their own uses. Before going after Princess Brione of Damu—the girl they had referred to as ‘Gretchen’—Eranna had ensured that her Dark Fae lover had Desdemona under lock and key. He had smugly assured her that all went according to the plan, and she had no reason to worry.
All that remained was for her to regain her power so that she could return to Fallada and continue in her efforts to stop the enemy’s progress. She realized now that coming to the Earth realm had been premature. In her desperation to get to Princess Brione before General Rothatin and his group, she had lost sight of the largest threat to face: her own daughter.
The door swung open to admit Ushma, who shuffled in on heavy feet. The Witch could hardly contain herself, cackling with glee and rubbing her hands together as if she couldn’t wait to deliver her news.
Behind the mask, Eranna raised her eyebrows. “Well?”
“There was an attack on your Earth home, my queen,” the Witch began.
Eranna’s hands curled into fists at her sides. “Rothatin Longspear. That Faerie is going to be the death of me, Ushma, I swear it.”
“All is not lost, Your Majesty,” Ushma continued. “They managed to escape with one of the girls, but your Dark Fae proved their dedication to the cause and have brought four more to take her place. And ... one of them will be of particular interest to you.”
Her curiosity piqued, she followed the witch into the room which contained the ten cots. Lying in a row from left to right, she found four young women lying on their backs, as still as death. The girls were pretty enough, but it wasn’t their looks that interested her. It was the vibrancy of their spirit and youth that would restore her power.
The fourth girl caught her attention, and Eranna’s lips curved into an amused smirk. Her long, thick black curls lay fanned out around her angular face, matching eyelashes lowered, hands folded against her stomach—the very image of her mother, Queen Xyla.
“Well, well, well,” she murmured, stepping closer to the cot. “Princess Phaedra of Zenun. Whatever did you do to end up here?”
“Murdered dozens of your Witches by drowning them,” Ushma replied. “She put up quite the fight, but they managed to subdue her.”
“Very good,” Eranna murmured. “This is a most pleasing development. Tell them to hurry and find the other six so we can get on with it. And send for more essence of Pixie. I want to ensure they are all kept subdued until the time comes—particularly the princess.”
Ushma bowed, then backed away. “As you wish.”
Striding back into her smaller chamber, Eranna felt better than she had that morning ... better than she had in days. Things were working in her favor again, ensuring she would be able to re-enter the fight in no time.
Facing the mirror, she decided it couldn’t hurt to at least determine how things might be progressing. The beauty of the Eye remained that she could observe others without being seen. First, she would look in on Kalodan in Zenun ... then, her daughter.
Removing her mask, she cringed at being forced to confront her reflection.
It’s almost temporary; the end is in sight!
Squaring her shoulders, she called upon the power of the Eye. “Mirror, mirror, show me Kalodan Longspear.”
The mirror grew foggy, and then the mist-like substance cleared, revealing the familiar throne room of Eridell Castle in the underwater kingdom of Zenun.
Kalodan sat upon the high throne of Zenun—a place once meant for the underwater kingdom’s ruler. The throne now belonged to Eranna, but he seemed to have forgotten that as he perched there, preening with a smug smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“Bring them in,” he commanded, waving an imperious hand through the air.
Two Werewolf servants moved to do his bidding, opening the massive, floor-to-ceiling doors giving access to the room. A unit of Minotaurs entered, their heavy steps echoing across the marble floors, the staffs of their long-handled axes held in meaty hands. They surrounded a bedraggled group of creatures that had been taken captive in Fallada’s forest—two Woodland Nymphs, three Satyrs, and a Faun. Bound with shackles and chained, they trembled and clung to one another, most likely frightened out of their wits. Unlike many of Fallada’s other creatures, those who inhabited the woodlands were not fighters or warriors. They relied on the Faeries, Elves, and Dwarves for protection, many taking refuge in the cities of Goldun, Inador, and Skel’gar.
“When in the presence of your future king, you are required to kneel,” Kalodan murmured, his voice like the silkiest of caresses, mingled with the hiss of a snake.
All of them complied, save for one of the Satyrs, who remained standing on his goat-like legs. He was a small creature, barely taller than a Dwarf, with large, curved horns protruding from his forehead and curling back to his ears.
“You are no king of mine,” he spat, nostrils flaring. “King Endroth is the High King of Fallada ... I will bow to no king except him!”
Exchanging a glance with one of the Minotaurs, Kalodan sighed, snapping his fingers in a silent command. The Minotaur lifted his axe, ramming the butt of its staff into the Satyr’s stomach. The creature cried out, crumbling to his knees on his ground and clutching his middle. Lowering his head in shame, he wept, shoulders trembling uncontrollably.
“You pitiful creatures always kneel,” Kalodan said, rising to his feet to stare down at the cowering Satyr. “Whether to one king or another, you will submit, because it is in your nature. Now, I have heard that you were apprehended fleeing the woodlands. Where were you going?”
The woodland creatures exchanged glances, but remained silent. One of the Nymphs glared at Kalodan as if wishing her gaze could kill. If such a thing were possible, he would have burst into flames.
After a long moment of silence, Kalodan lifted his eyebrows. “No one? All right then.”
He gave the Minotaurs another silent command. This time, two of them came forward and took one of the Woodland Nymphs from her place among them. Unchaining her, they each grasped one of her arms and slammed her facedown onto the floor. A third Minotaur approached, raising his axe and resting its blade just above her neck.
The other creatures reacted predictably, shouting their horror and crying out that they would tell Kalodan whatever he wanted to know if he would only spare the Nymph.
“Now,” he crooned, pacing back and forth in front of the prostrate Nymph and her captors. “Let’s try this again. Where were you going?”
The group hesitated only a moment before the Satyr spoke up again. “Mercy, I beg you! We were heading for Inador.”
Stroking his smooth jaw, Kalodan eyed the Satyr with a gleam of interest in his eye. “Inador, you say? Interesting. I had heard the place was under heavy guard—with no one allowed in or out since the hybrid attack.”
“Aye, Your Majesty,” one of the Minotaurs rumbled. “Not since the princesses of Zenun arrived in Fallada has a single soul entered or left the Elf realm.”
“Yet, you creatures thought to seek refuge there,” Kalodan mused. “Could it be that you sought a secret path ... a way inside that others know nothing about?”
Silence greeted him, but Kalodan seemed to have expected that. He continued pacing in front of them, hands clasped behind his back.
“Yes, that’s it,” he said. “Many woodland creatures are fleeing their homes, but we haven’t been able to determine where they’ve been going. They cannot all get so far as Goldun or Damu without us being able to track them. Inador is the only other likely place. I want to know how you’re getting inside.”
The Satyr turned to glance at the remaining Nymph, who wept at the sight of one of her people on the other end of an axe. Still, she shook her head at the Satyr, as if to urge him to keep silent no matter the cost.
“This Nymph’s life is on the line!” Kalodan bellowed, pointing at the Minotaur waiting for the command. “Unless you want to watch her die, speak! Tell me how you creatures are finding your way into Inador!”
“We will not endanger the lives of our families and friends, even if it means we must die!” the second Nymph wailed, tears streaming down her moss-green cheeks.
A wide smile spread across Kalodan’s face, but not a spark of humor lit in his eyes. He laughed, the sound chilling, even to Eranna’s ears.
Coming forward, he retrieved the key to the shackles. The creatures cringed away from him as he approached, but found no escape. He unlocked the Nymph’s shackles and took her by the arm. She squirmed in his hold, but his strength proved superior, keeping her subdued. He threw her to the ground beside the other Nymph, who remained pinned to the ground by the Minotaurs. Pushing the Minotaur aside, he retrieved its axe and shoved it at her.
“If you are so willing to sacrifice each other’s lives, then you must be prepared to do the deed yourselves,” he declared. “Very well ... behead her.”
The second Nymph glanced down at her kinswoman, her eyes wide. Her gaze jerked back up to Kalodan, and her chin trembled.
“You cannot mean it.”
He scoffed. “Oh, I can assure you that I do. You’ve declared your willingness to die for the cause of saving Inador from peril. You pathetic creatures have no notion of what it means to die in war, but you will learn today. Lift that axe and behead her, or I will kill every single person you came with while you watch, then take my time killing you. You will know pain unlike anything you’ve experienced in your miserable little life. Now, do it!”
Trembling from head to toe, she gazed down at the other Nymph, another tear escaping her eyes. The first Nymph turned her head, gazing up at the other female—who might be a sister, a cousin, a friend. They stared at each other for a moment, before the first Nymph nodded.
“Just do it, Eaphia,” she whispered. “Make it fast.”
Shoulders shaking as she sobbed, the sound interspersed with hiccups, Eaphia gripped the handle of the axe with both hands and raised it. Her cries echoed from the high ceiling of the throne room, the noise giving voice to her despair. She sounded as if she’d rather fall on the axe herself than behead the other Nymph.
“Please,” she begged, pausing with the weapon raised, arms trembling. “Please don’t make me do this.”
“You will do it!” Kalodan thundered, his face reddening with rage. “You will do it, or by the gods, I will tear the flesh from your bones myself.”
Eaphia screamed, raising the axe high as if prepared to comply. Before she could swing it down, the Satyr called out.
“Wait!”
Kalodan held up one hand, halting Eaphia, who seemed relieved by the interference. “Yes?”
“There are caves,” the Satyr mumbled, lowering his eyes. “Caves opening into tunnels ... tunnels that lead through various points of the woodlands. They all converge on Inador, ending at the four main waterfalls at each corner of the realm.”
“Tunnels and waterfalls, he says,” Kalodan said aloud to no one in particular. “Yes, that would explain how so many were able to escape right under our noses.”
Reaching out, he plucked the axe from Eaphia’s grasp. She deflated, her shoulders slumping as she sighed in relief.
“Very good,” he murmured. “You may return to your friends now.”
Eaphia moved to do as he commanded. Muffling more sobs, she collapsed against the Satyr, who held her close and attempted to soothe her.
Suddenly, Kalodan raised the axe, bringing it down with swift precision on the other Nymph’s neck. The dull thud of the blade striking her neck, was followed by the metal striking marble as it went clean through and hit the floor.
Eaphia’s scream rose to echo from the rafters as she fought against the Satyr’s hold, the sound a mingling of grief, disbelief, and rage.
Arching one eyebrow, Kalodan tossed the axe aside. “Let that be a lesson to you. In the future, do as I ask the first time.”
Turning to Minotaurs, he waved a dismissive hand toward his prisoners.
“Take them to the dungeons. Then, send scouts into the woodlands—our swiftest and stealthiest Werewolves and Fox Shifters. I want these caves and tunnels into Inador found.”
The large black beasts bowed as one.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” one of them rumbled before turning to help the others lead their captives away.
Not waiting for them to leave before him, Kalodan stood and made his exit, stepping over the Nymph’s headless body without so much as a glance in her direction. Striding swiftly down a winding corridor, he retrieved a slender silver chain from around his neck, from which hung a large key. He used it to open a rough wooden door, which led down a set of spiraling stone steps. He found and lit a torch, and used it to light his way down, moving on swift feet.
At the bottom of the steps, a dark, cavernous room seemed to loom empty. Yet, as Kalodan lifted his torch and moved farther into the room, Eranna spied a large shape huddled in the corner.
A chill raced down her spine as she recognized the form of a massive bird. It squawked as Kalodan ventured closer, belching a stream of flames. The fire lit up the room for a few seconds, and Eranna got a full glimpse of the Phoenix created by blood magic.
It took her breath away, its body covered in silky black feathers. Its wings were tipped in orange and red, with matching plumes flowing from its head and tail. It lumbered toward Kalodan, spewing another ball of fire, but was brought up short by the shackle and chain keeping it trapped in its corner of the room.
Kalodan grinned as he beheld his creation. “Hello, my love. Are you ready to be set free? Soon, my love ... soon. The woodlands await your ravaging fire. Our queen will be so pleased, will she not?”
Turning away from her mirror, Eranna furrowed her brow, thinking over all she’d just seen. Kalodan had done well—collecting Desdemona’s blood for her Witches to use in the blood magic rite, creating their very own Phoenix. He was closing in on Inador, which had been the next part of their plan after capturing Zenun and spreading their strength to the human realm.
Yet, something about the way he’d taken charge in her absence did not sit well with her. He spoke of her as if he thought her beneath him—a king to her queen. Even when Eranna had been married to King Enrak, she had never been beneath him. Mollac had always bowed before its queen, the true ruler of the winter realm.
Kalodan was forgetting himself, becoming too comfortable in his position of power. Eranna needed to finish her business in the Earth realm and return to put him back in his place.
The sooner the better.
Turning back to the Eye of Mollac, she shifted her thoughts to another pressing problem.
“Mirror, mirror, show me my daughter.”