CHAPTER TWELVE
“What are we doing?” I demand as we go deeper and deeper into the depths of the palace. “Where are we going?”
The walls, which up higher were made of smooth, rectangular stones, have morphed into mismatched, flat rocks of all shapes and sizes. I haven’t seen a window in almost ten minutes, and though we haven’t passed a single fire, the cool air seems to stay a constant temperature.
I’m not sure how far underground we are, but I’m quite confident we’re not in the palace anymore.
Instead of answering my question, Ambrosia launches into a dry speech about Elsland’s grand history. Even she sounds bored, so I know she’s just evading my questions.
Fifteen minutes later, the air begins to warm, and it grows steadily hotter as we continue down the passage.
Again, I ask, “Where are we going?”
“Here,” she says as the narrow hallway ends at a series of five steps that lead up to a door. It’s a massive thing, with iron braces and a heavy lock. The chamber ahead looks ominous, like the kind of place a troll would take a human to torture her.
Without hesitation, Ambrosia tosses the door open, and we’re hit with a curtain of hot air.
A forge burns in the middle of the room, and flames dance over red-hot coals like a living creature.
Apparently, it’s less a torture chamber and more a smithy. A chimney tops the forge, and it disappears into the rock above, taking smoke with it.
“Johan!” Ambrosia calls as she saunters into the room.
And that’s when I see him. The troll. The troll who looks like a troll.
The troll who’s…not that bad, actually.
He looks up, probably as startled to see me as I am to see him. His eyes are a smidgen too close together, and his shoulders are slightly hunched. His skin is smudged with soot, but to my great surprise, it’s not green as I’d always been told.
“New pet?” he asks the princess, looking leery.
“She’s cute, isn’t she?” Ambrosia bops me on the head in a patronizing fashion. “I’m thinking of keeping her. She’s a tame little thing—hasn’t made a fuss. It will all depend on how much she eats.”
The troll at the forge grunts. I glare at Ambrosia, but she only smirks and produces the golden apple from the folds of her gown. With a flick of her wrist, she tosses it to the smith.
With surprisingly quick reflexes, he catches the apple with ease. He narrows his eyes, studying the golden fruit, turning it over in his palm before he throws it back. “It’s tainted.”
Ambrosia catches the apple mid-air and scowls. “It’s gold.”
“It’s fairy gold,” he says, practically spitting the word.
Apparently, there’s no love lost between the two races.
The princess points to her nose. “Do you see this? It’s larger than yesterday. I need you to melt down the apple!”
Shaking his head, the smith refuses. “Too dangerous.”
“You can do it.”
“The timing is impossible.”
“Johan, it’s not a request.” Apple in her palm, Ambrosia sets her hands on her hips.
After several long seconds, Johan meets her eyes. “Fine,” he says, perhaps not daring to defy his princess. “But if we go even a moment too long, the forge will explode. You best send your pet out.”
I ignore the pet remark and step forward. “How long is too long?”
Johan watches me for a moment, perhaps trying to decide if he’s going to answer a human. “I have four minutes to extract the lingering fairy magic from the gold—and not a second more. If I go over, my magic will merge with the fairy’s, and the results will be catastrophic.”
A slow frown builds on Ambrosia’s face. “Johan’s probably right,” she finally says.
The smith begins to nod, glad Ambrosia has come to her senses and realized she should leave well enough alone.
“You should probably leave before we begin,” she finishes, looking at me.
Johan’s face falls.
I turn to the princess, standing my ground even as she attempts to shove me toward the door. “If I help you, will you let me see Henri tonight?”
“Help?” She laughs like I’ve said something truly amusing. “What could you possibly do?”
I’ve never been proud of my gift. In fact, I tell as few people as possible. But right now, I’m grateful for it.
“Every moment of the day, I know exactly what time it is; therefore, I know—down to the second—how much time has elapsed. I can tell Johan the very moment he must finish his task.”
Ambrosia narrows her eyes, studying me. “That’s a strange gift for a fairy godmother to bestow.”
I wrinkle my nose. “My family ended up with a fairy godfather.”
She looks momentarily perplexed, and then she nods. “Fine then. Stay here, help if you can. But I simply cannot be held responsible if you die a horrible, fiery, excruciating death. Is that clear?”
I gulp but find it in myself to nod. “And Henri?”
Sighing, she says, “I don’t know. I’ve grown rather tired of the game. It was amusing at first, but I have no desire to make a habit of sneaking you about the palace.”
Without hesitation, I pull the golden carding comb from the deep pocket stitched in my gown.
The lovely troll’s eyes go wide, and she immediately reaches for the comb.
Making a tsking noise, I pull it back.
“All right,” she says, her greedy eyes still on the comb. “I’ll sneak you in again.”
Nodding, I hand her the comb. “And you’ll keep your mother from slipping Henri the sleeping draught?”
The princess gives the comb a loving stroke and says in a chiding voice, “You should have asked that before you handed me the comb.”
I give her a disbelieving look, but she only smiles.
Do I dare trade away the spinning wheel? It’s the only thing I have left.
But what choice do I have? It won’t do me a bit of good if Henri falls dead asleep again tonight.
Making up my mind, I pull out the tiny spinning wheel.
Ambrosia gasps. “Just how much are you hiding in your skirts?”
“I can hold her upside down and give her a good shake,” Johan offers ever so helpfully.
Taking a cautious step away from the smith, I clasp the spinning wheel to my chest. “This is the last of it.”
And the princess wants it. With her eyes trained on the golden tool, she nibbles her lip.
“Promise me you’ll prevent your mother from giving Henri the sleeping draught tonight,” I demand.
Her expression flickers with indecision. Then, rolling her eyes as if she thinks I’m a bore, she finally agrees. “Yes, all right. Now give me the spinning wheel.”
She holds her hands out like a greedy toddler.
Nervous I used my gifts foolishly, I give her the spinning wheel. Once it’s in her hands, she clutches it, the apple, and the comb to her chest, holding them like they are precious.
“I’ll be beautiful for at least a year with this much gold,” she says, her voice thick with gluttonous satisfaction.
Johan mutters to himself as he prepares the fire, and I cross my arms. “What does the gold do?”
Ambrosia rubs the comb against her cheek. “In its molten form, we are able to use it as an amplifier for our magic.”
“Once we strip the fairy magic,” Johan gripes to himself as he stokes the fire.
The hot room becomes sweltering, and I wipe my brow with the back of my hand. Johan collects the golden items from Ambrosia, and then, using only his hands, breaks them into small pieces.
I watch him, vaguely disconcerted. Gold’s soft. But still.
Sweat rolls down his forehead as he melts the gold. Once it’s in its molten state, he says, “Begin the time now. We have four minutes—not a second over.”
Then he begins the arduous task of pulling the fairy magic from the metal. His arm muscles bulge, and his jaw is clenched so tightly, a vein throbs in his forehead.
My task is as simple as breathing. I merely watch, waiting.
Johan growls several times as he works the metal. At first, the gold turns green, and then it shifts to a silver color as the troll magic fights the fairy’s. Excluding the time Henri’s troll-mother had me writhing in pain, I’ve never witnessed their magic. I don’t know if it’s because the task in front of him is particularly difficult, or if troll magic is simply crude in nature, but it looks far more taxing than the fairy magic I’ve seen all my life.
“Fifteen seconds,” I warn, growing slightly nervous. “Fourteen.”
The smith growls as he fights with the silver, viscous liquid.
“Five, four, three—” I glance at the door, wondering if I should have left when I had the chance. “Two…”
Before my eyes, the metal returns to its expected golden color, and Johan steps back, filtering a purple, minuscule cloud of magic into a pewter vial by his side. He corks the top and lets out a long sigh.
“Well?” Ambrosia prods, eager to hear whether Johan was able to remove all the magic.
Personally, I consider the fact that there was no explosion a success.
Johan nods and waves a sooty hand to the molten gold. “Go on then.”
With a girly squeal that shouldn’t leave a grown woman—much less a grown troll, Ambrosia leaps forward and extends her hands, sending her magic into the metal once more. This time, instead of turning silver, it glows white like a diamond. She bounces on the balls of her feet as she works. When it looks like she might be coming to a finish, Johan uncorks another pewter bottle, this one scrolled and lovely, and holds it for her as she sends the diamond-colored magic into it.
With a satisfied grin, Ambrosia casts the remnants of the enchantment over her body. She glows for several seconds, and then the magic fades.
“Well?” she asks, turning her head so I can see her profile. “Is it smaller?”
Her nose is perfectly pert, quite human, and as pretty as a nose can be. Still, it’s a lot of fuss for a troll snout.
I nod, and she clasps the newly filled vial to her chest. “Oh, how marvelous!”
More interested in the cooling gold than the princess and her nose, I stare at the metal. It still hasn’t returned to its golden color. It’s white, and it shimmers in the light. Quite beautiful.
“What do you do with it now?” I ask. “Can you use it again?”
Johan takes a pair of iron tongs, picks up the entire pot, and tosses it in a bucket of water. The hot gold hisses when it makes contact with the liquid, and an angry cloud of steam rises. After it cools, he pulls out the hardened metal blob and tosses it into the corner of the room as if it’s nothing more than scrap metal.
I didn’t notice the pile of discarded precious metal before, but now I gape at it. The rounded, uneven lumps look nothing like they did in their previous state—nothing like gold at all. Indeed, they look like they were made from pearls, if pearls were somehow transformed into a meltable, maleable metal.
The troll gives me a grim smile when he catches me staring. “It takes a good deal of gold to keep Her Highness looking beautiful.”
Ambrosia, in a move that finally convinces me there’s a troll underneath that lovely exterior, cuffs the side of his head.
Johan winces, rubbing his ear. As the two bicker, I have an epiphany.
“Your mother wants Briadell for its gold,” I say out loud.
The princess looks over. “Well, of course. Why else would we want it? I hate to break it to you, since you’re probably fond of the little kingdom, but it’s infested with humans.”
Ignoring her, I point to the pile. “Is it worthless now that you’ve used it?”
Ambrosia sighs, realizing I don’t intend to move on. “It can’t be used twice, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I mean, it’s still gold, isn’t it?” Gingerly, I walk to the pile and pick up one of the opalescent blobs. It’s cool to the touch, a bit cumbersome, and warms in my hand.
“I suppose.” She doesn’t look terribly interested.
“What do you do with it?”
Ambrosia shares a look with Johan, as if she’s thinking her pet human is a bit daft. “We toss it out. It’s no use to us now.”
“It’s beautiful. Have you ever tried to craft anything out of it?”
Johan scoffs, but Ambrosia steps forward, her eyes narrowed.
I offer her the metal, hoping she’ll take a closer look. “If you can work this, people will buy it. If you have smiths willing to experiment with crafting, you could sell it and purchase all the regular gold you want.”
And not try to steal my husband’s kingdom.
“Do you think so?” the princess asks, though she sounds skeptical.
Johan shakes his head, dismissing the idea, and grunts, “Who would do business with a troll?”
“Briadell will,” I immediately offer, knowing Henri likely won’t be pleased I’m making business ventures in his stead. “Free Henri, let us go, leave Briadell be, and we will trade with you. In fact, we’ll buy all that discarded gold in your pile there—a pound of gold for a pound of your pearl-gold creation.”
It’s a lot of money—more than I’ve ever seen in my life, but Briadell is known for its mines. Surely Henri won’t mind me buying his freedom.
Well, he might, but I’ll deal with that later.
Ambrosia purses her lips, thinking. Finally, she says, “Pound for pound?”
I nod.
“Fine. You have one night to convince Henri.” A radiant smile spreads over her face, her eyes already dreamy at the thought of all the gold I’m offering her. Then her tone cools as she meets my eyes. “If he agrees, I will deal with Mother.”
Despite the heat of the forge, I shiver at the ominous tone of Ambrosia’s promise.