I tear off a piece of my shirt and wrap it around my cut palm. Stupid Fairies and their stupid lagoon infested with stalagmites.
I squeeze my eyes and blink away the blur. Instruct myself not to waver, to remain focused. I love El and she loves me. Taking off the ring means nothing. She was upset and confused. Any other would have acted the same. It’s the Void in my brother clouding her judgment. I cannot allow it to win. I must be vigilant, attend to the task at hand.
Deliver rose. Take mirrorglass bottle. Acquire final ingredient. Serve Elixir to El.
I stifle a cough with my hand. When I pull it away, blackened blood drips from my fingers.
“You get used to it.” Gage cleans his knife on his pant leg. “Same thing happened to me when Crowe injected the Void. You either learn to control it, keep the symptoms at bay, or live with it.” He props a foot against a stalagmite and double knots his bootlaces. “I selected the latter, of course. Thanks to your girlfriend it didn’t make much difference. Whatever she did to Crowe unfastened the Void from my soul. Give her my regards next time you see her, will you? I doubt she’ll hear it from me.”
What I wouldn’t pay to punch him in his rotten face right now. “You know, I’m getting sick and tired of your moronic comments, Jonathan. Why don’t you go throw yourself off a cliff?”
Gage laughs. “We are more similar than you care to admit, my friend. Seems you’ve chosen the latter as well.”
I pick up a stone the size of my tape measure back home and chuck it at him. He dodges it, diving into the fountain at the island’s core where we entered.
It is several moments before I’m able to follow. My throwing hand shakes and I grasp my hair to steady the trembling. Whatever Jonathan has done, it is unlike me to lose control. Bile burns my throat and I swallow, bounding into the water after him.
When I reach the Fairy Fountain this side of the Second, Isabeau waits in human form, Jonathan assuming an at-ease stance to her left. This time she reclines on a throne fashioned from twisted vines, Mine Fairies attending her every need. I produce the rose, but the expression she bears is less than satisfactory.
Fury widens her gaze and levels her mouth. She stalks over, snatches her prize, tosses it to the ground, and stomps on it. Then she shifts and transforms, becoming the Troll she truly is.
I back away and draw my sword. The familiar sound of brandished iron never grows old.
Isabeau fills the space, taller and wider than the maple tree at the Fountain’s center. “Is it so difficult to decipher a true rose from an imposter?”
I glance at the treaded flower beneath her giant feet. Real? Of course it’s real. The petals are crushed and the stem is cracked in two. I blink away the haze that fogs my vision. This is more than mere exhaustion. Am I falling prey to illness? My chest is tight, as if an anvil rests there, pressing in and making it difficult to draw an adequate breath.
“I asked you to do one simple task. One.” Her too-long fingernail is shoved in my face. “Yet you are no more competent than this lowlife Jonathan Gage.”
My gaze shifts right. A pulsing in Jonathan’s jaw lets on he is less than thrilled about his title. Perhaps I can use this to my advantage. It is no longer a question what he traded for his sight—for the Calling that healed him. He meant to offer up El, but that plan fell through. He is the Fairy Queen’s slave. I want to ask him if it was worth it, but I refrain.
The Troll growls an exhale. Her nostrils flare with each breath. Then she’s shrinking and slimming, softening into her woman state once more. “But I am nothing if not gracious.” She turns away and adopts her place on the twisted throne. Her dress cascades around her like a black waterfall, reminding me of the Void oozing through my veins. “You will simply try again. And this time you will not disappoint me. Do I make myself clear?”
I narrow my eyes. “Crystal.”
“Be gone then.” She waves her hand.
I do not waver.
Her eyebrows arch. “Is there a problem?”
“Why does it matter so much?”
“Excuse me?”
“If this rose is so important, the least you can do is inform me as to its value.”
Isabeau leans forward. “You think it wise to push me, David?”
“Have it your way.” I feign a quarter turn. She may be devious, but I’ve always been quick on my feet. “I only ask because knowing its worth may aid in my attempt to recover it.” I count down in my head. She can’t fool me. If this rose is of any significance to her, she’ll relay why. And perhaps then not only can I find it, but I can also use the blossom to my benefit before returning it to Isabeau, the supposed rightful owner.
“Wait,” she says, just as I knew she would.
I face her once more, ears alert to whatever comes next.
“I will tell you, David, but on one condition.”
Striking another deal with the Fairy Queen is probably not the wisest of choices. “You name it.”
“In our youth, Countess Ambrose and I shared a Kiss of Accord.”
“Go on.”
“I promised her the rose in exchange for her silence on a certain matter. Which is why I cannot simply retrieve the rose myself, otherwise our deal would be broken and I would die.”
What’s she getting at?
“Requesting you steal the rose is a brilliant plan indeed, but I keep wondering . . . what’s to deter my dear old friend from taking it back? You transferring it to my possession does not make it truly mine again.”
Her words are irksome, turning my stomach sour. Possessing something does make it yours.
“Yes, yes. El belongs to you. She was your love first. You own her . . .”
Incorrect. She’s free to make her own choices. She only belongs to me if she wishes it.
“Give her the Elixir. Get your wretched brother out of the way. Only then do you have a chance at winning her heart once more.”
I am working on it. Now, silence. I must hear what Her Majesty has to say.
“Her Majesty, is it?”
What? No. I only meant—
“Pay attention, Joshua. Her Majesty is speaking.”
My regard finds Isabeau.
“Did you hear me?” Her tone has misplaced its calm. “Why will you not respond?”
“Apologies.” I shove the shadow voice away. “If you will repeat what you last said.”
Her hands clench the arms of her throne. The vines cut her milky skin, causing her to bleed. But just as abruptly as the wounds appeared, they vanish.
She is the Fairy Queen, an immortal. But then what purpose would my Ever blood serve? It’s obviously not intended for her. Could it be for another? Her own immortality doesn’t mean her blood heals. Then again, she restored Jonathan’s sight by bestowing a Calling. I am not quite sure how her powers function, or to what length they reach. Perhaps she only required my blood for her bartering collection. A valuable commodity if all the Callings revive. What would one pay or trade for my blood?
Need I even ask? A high price has always been placed on an Ever’s blood. It is the very reason I keep the seal behind my shoulder cloaked. Very few know the mark, and Evers would prefer to keep it that way. Not that I’ve met another like me. I’m a rare breed. Of course my blood would be valuable to Isabeau.
“I said . . . ,” the woman resumes, “the only way to ensure Ambrose does not come after the rose is to end her existence altogether.”
Kill her? Commit murder? “No.” I may have crossed a few lines, but that is one I am unwilling to trespass.
“Suit yourself.” Her shoulders lift. The Fairies fawn over her. Brushing her hair. Washing her feet. “You were the one who asked. It is not in my best interest to divulge the rose’s power.”
I weigh the options. Knowing the rose’s power could offer a clue as to where Ambrose might stow it. But am I willing to end another’s life for such information?
“Yes. Do it.”
No. Never.
I offer a mock salute, serves her right, then trudge back through the Fountain, thrusting my blade so hard into its sheath it rips a hole in the bottom. I heave and hold my breath as I hear Isabeau tell Jonathan, “Are you just going to stand there? Follow him.”
The water takes me under.
Commence round two.