Faedrah’s eyes slipped closed as the strength of her mother’s embrace tightened about her shoulders. The unbound sheets of the queen’s white tresses slid glossy and sleek beneath her palm, and Faedrah curled her fingers in their silky texture, hugging her mother back just as fierce. The slightest tip of her head and the scent of night blooming jasmine filled her senses, mixed with subtle warmth and the familiar perfume of her mother’s skin.
“Oh, that the Goddesses had granted us another way.”
The strike of her father’s boot heels continued their nervous pace under her mother’s bare whisper, and Faedrah squeezed her eyelids to thwart the budding threat of her tears. Chances were high, once her sorrow arrived, it would not cease, and she would not allow herself to assume the worst, regardless of the grim circumstances she and Rhys were about to face.
“The future has not yet been set. Let us not despair an outcome Rhys and I will strive our utmost to avoid.”
However much they had struggled to reject the truth…no matter the wrath of her father’s anger or Fandorn’s pursuits to aid in their quest, none could deny the path before them had been set.
She and Rhys had been offered no other choice but to return to his world and battle Gaelleod in the future.
Yet, with this decision, a bleak despondency had settled about them like an unshakable shroud. ʼTwas no guarantee the strength of Rhys’ powers would follow him through to his world and, in taking such a leap, the likelihood Faedrah and Rhys would never return had continued to grow thick and foreboding in the air.
Her father’s footsteps ceased, and despite the hopelessness Faedrah warred to keep from invading her heart, a gentle smile graced her lips as she envisioned the way he habitually raked his hair back from his brow. “Can we not delay this leave-taking but a day or two longer? Perchance, given more time, we can ferret out a more optimistic course.”
With the parting of a reassuring squeeze, Faedrah released her mother and withdrew a pace to find the king standing across the throne room, facing the vibrant magenta sky glorifying Helios’ descent through an open stained-glass window.
Several days had passed since their sojourn to Gaelleod’s crypt, and though they’d discussed the topic at length, tarrying long into the night, nary an alternative had made itself known.
She neared the window and slipped her hand around the king’s upper arm, leaning the side of her head against his shoulder. “To what end, father? We have delayed long enough and at our kingdom’s expense.”
Beneath the splendor of the radiant sky, the Austiere fields lay blackened beyond recognition. Leafless trees reached skyward amid tendrils of acrid smoke, their putrid odor wafting from fissures rent upon the barren ground. The once thriving forest beyond had altered to a hard black slash, vacant of all life save whatever vile spawn sought sanctuary in Gaelleod’s malicious fog.
“We cannot allow the dark lord’s plague to run rampant throughout the entirety of our lands.” Faedrah brought her other hand to her chest and fisted the golden key in her fingers. Lifting her head, she turned to better study the profile of her father’s face. Had it truly been less than a fortnight ago she had longed for escape? To cast aside his concerns in lieu of seeking her fate?
What a fool she had been.
Regret built as a heated weight at the base of her throat, and she quickly snapped her focus back to the inhospitable view. What a silly, spoiled little girl. How could she have ever regarded this white castle perched high atop the sprawling mountains as a prison? What manner of discourteous entitlement had she harbored to imagine her privileged life as a curse? If now given the choice, she would have happily agreed to remain sheltered within the safe haven of her parents’ home.
Unfurling her fingers, she stared down at the mysterious treasure cradled in the center of her palm. She’d once craved the forbidden fruits of the key’s enigmatic secrets and, in doing so, had opened a doorway leading to her fated half. Though her life would be lost without him, at what cost had she made such an impetuous decision? Only to become the figurehead guiding those she loved to heartache and ruin? To watch her kingdom fall to its knees before an enemy of invincible doom?
She had longed to be the savior of her people and, instead, she had led them straight into Gaelleod’s inescapable trap.
“Majesties. I’ve found something.”
Faedrah turned from the window, as did her father, to find Fandorn entering the throne room through a side door. His footfalls were hurried, his gray robes training behind him, his hair a wild mass of tangles about his head. He carried a large leather-bound tome in both hands and brought it to a decorative table along the wall, dropping it with a resounding bang. “Look here.”
The binding crackled with age as he flipped to the center, and Faedrah hastened to close the distance as he aimed a rigid finger at an illustration bound on the right-hand side. “Have you seen this dagger, my child?”
The queen strode up behind her, along with her father and Rhys as Faedrah stared, unblinking, at the page. Goat-headed forms writhed in ecstasy down either side of the diagram and, in the middle, a large silver blade dripped crimson with blood, an inverted pentagram cast in gold upon the hilt.
ʼTwas the same curved blade she’d seen in her nightly visions…and the same Gaelleod had cruelly plunged into her beloved’s chest.
Faedrah closed her eyes against the horrifying reminder and spun away. “Indeed. Yet, I’ve not the occasion to view it firsthand.” Blinking, she turned back to the table and locked on to Rhys, and her heart rebelled as an anguished understanding filled his gaze. “’Twas shown to me in a dream. You bring us the dagger Gaelleod employs to complete his rite of transformation.”
The king muttered a curse as the queen’s shoulders fell. She peeked askance at Rhys before addressing the aged wizard. “What does this mean, Fandorn? Have you found its location?”
“I have not, my queen.” One of the wizard’s bushy eyebrows rose, though he kept his attention pinned to Faedrah, and she shivered as a dire warning tempered his words. “I fear this instrument of the dark lord’s vile incantations has been secreted far outside our reach.” He reached down with one hand, and dust wafted into the air as he slammed the cover, shuttering the image from view. “Gaelleod’s knife contains a dark magic which spans far beyond the limits of our kingdom, and is the only blade promised to withhold the power and capacity to kill him.”
Faedrah snapped her focus to Rhys. He’d withdrawn to pace before the open armoire, the veil aglow with shimmering light, the dark-blue curtain crumpled aside in preparation for their leap. As if sensing her perusal, he stopped and met her gaze, and her heart skittered forward at the unyielding determination etched upon his face. “Well, then, we’d damn well better go find it. Based on Faedrah’s dreams, I’m guessing the bastard’s got it with him in the future.”
She would gladly offer her life in payment to safeguard those she loved, a sacrifice to secure the wellbeing of her kingdom and, deep within his eyes, she knew. Rhys, as well, was prepared to take what necessary steps to protect her people.
Yet, to pilfer the treasure Gaelleod valued above all other? To steal inside his lair and slaughter him with the very object meant to secure his rule? A harsh breath left her lips over the outcome of such appalling odds.
Perchance, if she and Rhys stayed true…if they stood united, their hearts forged by the purest of intentions, all would not be lost.
She had to believe as much. No other reassurances remained.
His chin lowered the slightest degree as he searched her face. Torchlight from the sconces set about the room winked off the silver vambraces encasing his forearms. Magic ignited to spark and sizzle along his hands. “Our time together isn’t over, Faedrah. Not by a long shot.”
A small smile came unbidden to her lips, and she nodded. “I know, my heart.” Still, the question remained. How many passings of Helios’ bright face were left them? How many tender moments before their time of reckoning drew nigh? “And there is much yet to be done.”
She stepped toward the armoire, but was waylaid as the king’s large hand grasped her shoulder. He spun her to face him and a breath left her throat as her father whisked her into his arms. “You shall return to us, daughter.” Cupping her head to the hard wall of his chest, he centered her cheek over the steady beat of his heart. “Swear it to me now. Swear to me you will return unharmed or I fear I shall order you remain in this realm.”
Wrapping one arm about his waist, she fisted the soft folds of his shirt. “I shall do my utmost to try, P’pa.”
His muscles tensed beneath her palm. Holding her tight, he placed a firm kiss upon the top of her brow and then thrust her away, his footfalls brisk as he crossed the room for his gilded throne.
Stamping down the urge to follow and request one last embrace, Faedrah pivoted back to her mother. The queen offered her hand, and Faedrah clutched it in hers as they joined Rhys before the armoire.
“No mother has ever been more proud, than I.” The queen grasped Rhys’ fingers, pausing a moment before relinquishing her hold on Faedrah and linking her hand with that of her betrothed. “The king and I owe you an unpayable debt. We love you both.”
Placing a tender kiss upon Faedrah’s cheek, the queen drew the curtain, shuttering Faedrah and Rhys within the magic of the veil. The strike of the queen’s footfalls faded against the high ceiling as she crossed the room.
Silence droned in Faedrah’s ears, at odds with the turmoil cascading through her heart. A breath stayed lodged within her chest as she lifted her gaze to the mirror.
Dim light cast the majority of the opposite room into shadow. Yet still, the corner end of a low, well-appointed sleeping pallet rested silently within a shaft of moonlight. A large, woven reed mat, much like those commissioned for use in the sparring room, lay centered upon a glossy hardwood floor. Two thick dressing gowns had been spread atop the blankets, awaiting their need, and Faedrah took heart her uncles had followed through on their promise to keep the veil well within the safety of their reach.
Rhys brought the back of her hand to his lips, the scruff of his beard prickling her skin. “You sure about this, Princess? It’s still not too late to change your mind.”
So that Gaelleod could reign victorious? So he could torment her kingdom throughout a horde of unending years?
Straightening her shoulders, she darted a firm glance at her betrothed. “Quite.”
A curt nod, and he firmed his grip on her hand. “Whenever you’re ready, then. I’ll follow your lead.”
With a parting peek toward the heavy curtain at her back, Faedrah filled her lungs to their capacity and they leapt.
“Are you kidding me?” Wizard Oliver smacked his palm to his forehead, crinkling the diminutive piece of parchment pinned to the lapel of his silk sleeping shirt. “Rhys killing Gaelleod equals suicide?” He sighed and rubbed at a spot between his brows. “This time travel business is such a pain in the ass. I swear to God, there isn’t enough wine in the world.”
“Psst.” Sir Jon drew Faedrah’s attention with soft hiss, nodding in Rhys’ direction. “What’s he doing?”
She glanced to where her beloved perched beside her upon the padded edge of a wicker settee and her nails instinctively dug into the stiff, woven reeds of the armrest. A single silver spoon lay before him on the low table, unchanged in form or function, Rhys’ eyes darting along the length as if the utensil withheld the secrets to the cosmos and all it contained.
Shaking her head at Sir Jon, she forestalled the urge to run her palm down the hunched tension of Rhys’ back and placed a silencing finger to her lips. Since the moment their unceremonious tumble through the veil had announced their arrival, her beloved had been like a man possessed. First waylaying all greetings in favor of demanding the use of a black writing instrument so he could scrawl the sigil of his signature upon every wall of her uncles’ island abode. Insisting no words pass between them until he’d scribbled that same protective badge upon slips of paper and commanded each person to affix them to their attire.
Ordering Sir Jon to bring him the nearest piece of silver so Rhys could disappear inside his mind and try to ascertain what, if any, residual powers had accompanied him into this realm.
Even as the witch, Violet, and Sir Todd had stumbled sleepy-eyed into the large, airy common area of her uncles’ home, Rhys’ had remained distant, his gaze devoid of the dangerous passion Faedrah had come to know and love. Though he’d cast an unruly glare toward the interruption and, as if seeing them for the first time, scowled toward the spotless glass panes doubling as the outer walls of the structure, once Sir Todd and Violet had found their seats, Rhys had mentally vacated the room.
The last item on Faedrah’s agenda was to interrupt her beloved’s meditations.
A dubious lift of his brows, and her dark-haired uncle levered up from his cross-legged position at Wizard Oliver’s feet. “Wine it is, then. As much as we can drink.” He padded to the far wall, the bottom edge of his loose cotton trousers flopping atop his bare feet, swung open a low wooden cabinet and selected a bottle from the latticed shelf. “And in case anyone cares, I’m cracking open the good stuff.”
Rhys muttered a curse; his gaze narrowed. A frustrated breath heaved his shoulders, and Faedrah clamped her jaw tight as he raked a hand through his hair.
The pop of a cork, and crystal chimed as Sir Jon slipped the stems of two wineglasses from an overhanging rack. After conveying his burdens to the table, he took a circuitous path back round to the cupboard and used both hands to bring forth four additional glass goblets.
Faedrah studied the cursive F etched into the sides of the delicate stemware as Sir Jon set about doling out the libation. Mayhap her uncle was right and a draught of strong wine would do them all good…particularly given the horns of her current dilemma.
Whilst she welcomed her beloved’s foresight in ensuring Gaelleod be kept unawares of their arrival…and the added benefit inherent in Rhys’ signature guaranteed his father would be powerless to hone in on the proximity of the key…unease had grown to the weight of a millstone around her neck. One that continuously increased in circumference and thickness the longer she occupied her seat.
Precious time had passed as her beloved stared, unspeaking, at the silver spoon resting upon her uncles’ table, and frustration all but simmered in the air about him as the utensil transformed not one bit. Moreover, with his distraction, the telling of their excursion to Gaelleod’s crystal crypt had been left to her, and she worried her explanations over the cause behind their subsequent failure had been somewhat marred in translation.
“So, from what I’m hearing, the bastard’s got you by the shorthairs.”
“Indeed.” She nodded at Sir Todd, the tension in her shoulders slackening a degree. Thank the nine, ʼtwould seem her account of their time in her world had carried the clarity she intended. “Our hair is decidedly short. Razor-shorn, in fact, and we are in sore need of any succor you may see fit to offer us. We must do our utmost to mask our incursion of Gaelleod’s domain if we withstand one chance at delivering the strike of our killing blow.”
“Hold on a second.” Wizard Oliver sprang forward in his seat, a sharp finger aimed at the plush rug tickling the soles of her feet. “What are you saying? Since you can’t do away with Leo in your world, the two of you are planning head to over to his place to kill him in this one?”
“That’s it precisely.” Faedrah paused, studying the array of stunned faces staring back at her as Sir Jon offered her a glass of claret.
The witch Violet paled, tucking her feet beneath the glowing screen propped open atop her thighs, the elongated width of her seat shrinking her stature to that of a dormouse. Sir Todd lifted his brows and expelled a short puff of air.
Rhys grumbled and shook his head, though his attention never wavered from his labors.
Faedrah frowned. “I fail to see the reasoning behind your hesitation. Does not your world wish to be rid of the nefarious nature of Gaelleod’s evil deeds?”
“Well, of course we do, sweetie.” Violet reached across the wide arm of her chair to apply a supportive squeeze to Faedrah’s wrist. “But in our world, this little discussion we’re having is known as pre-mediated murder. We have laws against it, especially since we can’t prove Leo McEleod has done anything wrong.”
Wizard Oliver fell back in his chair, eying the level in his glass as Sir Jon dispensed him a measure of wine. “There’s no way in hell any of us are walking into Leo McEleod’s house.” Reaching out with one finger, he pressed the bottleneck down until the red liquid had glugged to the rim. “Not to mention what could happen if you and Rhys are actually successful. Heaven forbid, you’re caught and the motive gets out. If the case went to court, any sane jury would lock you in the loony bin and throw away the key.” He snatched the glass from his lover and downed half the contents in one breath-stealing swallow.
“The operative word here being if.” Sir Todd squinted, one arm lying crosswise atop the thin cotton shirt encompassing the girth of his protruding belly, the other hand stroking two long, slender braids plaited into the wiry beard on either side of his lower lip.
“Todd.” Violet shot a warning glower at her mountainous other half. “Get serious. If Faedrah and Rhys went anywhere near Leo, there would be witnesses. The evidence against them would be stacked from here to Mars. We all know the guy has put the screws to half the Chicago police force. Not to mention the way he’s beefed up security ever since—”
With an abrupt jerk of her shoulders, she reigned in her tongue, and dread slid like an oily serpent through Faedrah’s stomach as the witch cast an uneasy glance toward the top of Rhys’ head.
“Ever since what has happened?” Edging forward on the settee, Faedrah set her wineglass upon the table. Full disclosure to any events that had passed whilst she and Rhys were absent from this realm was paramount. Hedging for the sake of civility was a luxury none of them could afford to take.
Sighing, Violet shook her head and tapped a series of lettered squares on the mystical portal balanced upon her lap. She spun the device and lifted it to the left arm of her chair, offering Faedrah full view of the screen. “Read it and weep.”
Faedrah’s brows shot up the same distance her heart plummeted in her chest. The glowing display depicted a picture of Rhys’ beloved Grady, smiling with as much warmth and acceptance as the first time Faedrah had looked upon the butler’s face. Yet the element which sent alarm tingling through the hair at her nape, was the accompanying image of a hale and hearty Leo McEleod, shown slightly lower inside the screen and to the right.
She peeked askance at Rhys before her snarl of outrage had the chance to escape. ʼTwould seem her love had been correct in his assumptions regarding the black plague invading her kingdom, the same as he’d rightly deduced Gaelleod’s connection to the key. Whilst the beauty of her lands all but withered and faded, Leo McEleod had reaped the rewards. He’d grown stronger in this world, revived. The strength of her kingdom had been stolen in exchange to reverse the deterioration of his bodily form.
She gathered the apparatus from the arm of Violet’s chair to better read the small lettering surrounding Grady’s likeness, her grip growing tighter about the frame with each passing of the vile lies unfurling before her eyes.
Though the recanting did its fair part in relating the truth of Grady’s death, the details behind his murder had been skewed to a story of infuriating madness. The broken glass found scattered around his body, followed by her and Rhys’ fateful disappearance, put the onus of culpability squarely on Rhys’ shoulders.
Lifting her eyes from the screen, Faedrah firmed her jaw. Gaelleod had named Rhys as Grady’s executioner, stating the horror over Rhys’ violent outburst at the McEleod estate had been too much for Grady’s age-worn heart to bear. In the days since, Leo McEleod had employed a regiment of mercenaries on par with that of the royal guard to safeguard his immoral dealings, and requested any news of Faedrah and Rhys’ whereabouts be sought by the authorities with persistence.
She closed her eyes. How like Gaelleod to twist the events to better suit his needs. How cunning to play the victim, subverting his wickedness in trade for placing the blame at his son’s feet. Yet this distortion of the facts did not hinder her desire to rid both worlds of the dark lord’s degraded mongering. If anything, it only heightened the bitter tang of hatred which thickened and soured upon her tongue.
“Heed my words well.” She blinked and settled her gaze upon each member of their entourage, in turn. “Rhys and I go forth with the blessings of Austiere’s devoted king and queen. Regardless of the dangers inherent in our task, neither he nor I shall renounce this last chance we’ve been given be rid of Gaelleod’s infestation. By the blessed tears of the nine, we shall endeavor until we are no longer able, and concede what end the goddesses have preordained as our fate.”
She offered the all-seeing portal back to the witch. “Help us or not, our goal here remains the same.” Yet, with this exchange of hands, as Violet met Faedrah’s gaze, a quiet understanding passed between them, and Faedrah swallowed hard at the telltale breaking of her heart.
What that she could save her friends the weariness of such a troubling decision. What that she could turn the tide and spare them all this perilous harbinger they faced.
Not one soul in either realm should be made to bear the burden of her responsibilities. Least of all, the loyal companions she’d called upon in this room. “But, be it known, we shall respect whatever verdict you choose to offer, and accept with grace and thanks the aid you’ve granted us thus far.”
“Well, hell.” With a roll of his eyes, Wizard Oliver tossed his head. “When you put it that way, how are we supposed to say no?” He muttered a curse before lifting his wineglass in her direction. “Of course, we’ll do whatever we can to help you. For God’s sake, doll, you should know that by now.”
She smiled softly and nodded, adoration for her uncle growing stronger with each beat of her heart.
“Yay!” Jon grinned, softly clapping his hands. “I’ll call ahead and make sure the plane is fueled and ready to go.” He popped to his feet. “Oh, and we’ll need something to wear.” He frowned, tapping a finger against his lips. “What does one wear to stop the apocalypse?”
“I’ll handle communications.” Violet’s fingers flew across the black board on her lap and she tapped once, twice, thrice as her focus darted across the screen. “Ollie, I’m gonna need your credit card. We need to set up a base of operations. Someplace deep underground.”
Faedrah eased back in her seat, shaking her head. Now that they’d consented to join the campaign, ʼtwould seem her friends’ enthusiasm had formed a mind of its own.
“Leave that to me.” Sir Todd’s gravel-laden voice cut through her musings as he slapped his hands against the armrests and stood, and Faedrah squinted at the colorful runes encasing his forearms as the first inklings of an idea sprang to mind. “Several of the boys have been grumbling for a while now it’s been too quiet. I’ll place a few calls, put out the word whoever’s interested in raisin’ a little hell should meet us at the bar.”
Faedrah smiled, nodding her thanks. ʼTwould seem she’d been correct in her assumptions regarding Sir Todd’s allegiance to a steel-horsed gens d’armes. Their support in facing Gaelleod would provide an added benefit, indeed.
“Make sure they know how to keep their mouths shut.”
Everyone froze; Sir Jon’s eyes enlarged to the size of saucers.
A slow swivel of her head, and Faedrah’s jaw came unhinged as Rhys held up the silver spoon, twisted and bent beyond recognition. She placed a hand atop her chest in stunned amazement, yet her joy over her beloved’s accomplishment wilted as quickly as it had bloomed.
Something untoward glinted in Rhys’ eyes. A troubling storm which bespoke his anxious discomfort.
Faedrah held a breath, biting her bottom lip.
A twitch of Rhys’ brow, and the light chime of silver echoed against the rafters as he tossed the warped utensil to the table. He collapsed against the settee and his chest rose with a heavy sigh. Raking both hands through his hair, he linked his fingers across the back of his neck. “Shit, Faedrah. That took everything I got in me. Looks like we’re in for one helluva fight.”