Chapter Nine
Mrs.
It could have gone better.
In so many ways, I think. I made a terrible mistake bringing the bear to the Stormwarden, but how was I to know? There I was, fierce and proud, resourceful, and ever so clever. And then I remembered one little detail about the throne room I hadn’t stopped to consider before.
The full size bear rug in front of the elaborate marble fireplace.
Full-size.
Bear.
Shit.
The Axe of Stormjen lay on the throne seat of the First Warden at the top of the Stormrage See dais. I could even see the weapon glimmering from far across the banquet room, through an open door.
“No.” I said very quietly. He looked at me, gauging the distance, Could he make it to the throne and get the Axe before I could? Probably.
His eyes calculated a thousand more secrets while I flatly declared, “No.”
Holding up one hand, I whispered across the truth magic, caressing the Axe’s power like a lover would. I think? It was obvious to me: the Axe pouted. A lie had been told. I broke the connection. I lied.
I was a truth slut.
And the weapon knew it. Lingering just beyond the grasp of my mind, the power of the Axe hung in the shadows of magic at the edge of my reach. It was sullen, angry, but not yet malicious. I had to act quickly or lose that precious connection.
Magic was an eternally three year-old child.
Hand held out, my open palm faced the throne room. Standing on the top of the dining table, I did not have time to give up the high ground.
I didn’t want to anyway.
Every man at the banquet was a better warrior than I was or ever could be. And probably most of the ladies were as well. Archery, darts, killing with playing cards: survival in the courts always included such fine arts. Poisoning was the only thing I was certain they did not use. Poisons were banned ever since the apple famine over a century ago.
But that’s someone else’s story.
“You. Will. Not. Touch. Him, “ I began with my demand as any rude peasant would. “No. He is not yours. I have claimed him and he is mine by right under the most ancient of truths: the Celestial Seat.”
Grumbling, the Axe of Stormjen grew more irritated by my delay. I had to make it right or the mercurial magic would fix my actions into a curse. I knew that. The Axe knew it as well. And so did the First Stormwarden.
So did each member of the Stormrage See. That’s when I realized the trouble we were in...
Only now, did I see the fae.
Only now did I realize there were thirteen lords.
Only now. A bit late.
I had not eaten any of the food. But the bear had. Every fairytale warned of the same fate: anyone who ate the food of the fae folk was under their power forever.
At this very moment, Bear owed them a lifetime of servitude for the pheasant he currently crunched to juicy bits.
Already their magic formed unbreakable chains around his furry, muddy, bloody body while he ripped apart the stolen meal.
If he swallowed any of it, he was lost.
“Stop!” I commanded the animal, my shout echoing across the chamber.
The stormlords and ladies all paused, entranced at my bravery. Or possibly marveling at my stupidity?
“There are many magics under heaven and Earth,” I spoke with an arcane knowledge that lightning had unlocked in my memory, “...and you own the powers over nature, the weather, and truth. But I know the secrets of defeat for the fae. Be warned, I will turn the Axe of Stormjen to iron before I let you touch that bear!”
My words were an affront.
They rang and echoed across the polished black marble tiles, amongst the fine crystal ware, and the tinkling of the chandeliers of diamonds. My words halted the First Stormwarden for a brief span of time. He considered my threat. Curiosity bound him more than anything else. But not for much longer...
“You know who my family is.” I spoke the simplest truth.
The First Stormwarden nodded his ancient head as my understanding cleared.
“You know who I am.”
He nodded again.
“You’ve always known?”
His face went very still.
“Ahhh… You could not find me.” All the secrets, the magical recipes concealed in fairy tales, the training I never received because she died so suddenly—so many different bits of my childhood clicked together. “My mother and her mother’s people before them—They hid our power from your sight.” The Axe shined as I spoke the truth. Liar that I was, the Axe forgave me, but only a little.
That was something, at least.
Emboldened, I continued, “My blood does not answer to you and yours. My body is the difference here. This prince,” and that’s when I realized in that exact second with absolute certainty that the lost Prince Benjamin of the Gilded Seat was there in the fae kingdom with me. The missing Prince who was saved from a traitor kingsman only to be betrayed by my own foolishness.
If he was lost to the living world, the magic held in the Gilded Seat would be gone forever.
***
In fact, he sat there, confused, hungry, and impatient.
On my command, the enormous bear waited with the remains of a pheasant dangling from his mouth. Slobber dripped onto the floor in a disgusting pool as the bear ceased chewing on the delectable bird.
“Put it down,” I spoke to the animal.
Pointing my finger at the floor, I said nothing else. Either his pea-sized brain could hear me or he couldn’t. Never had two paths in life diverged so very far.
“Drop it.” I commanded the cursed nobleman, “Drop it now.”
With the gathered eyebrows of a remorseful dog, the gigantic bear slowly opened its sharp and pointy teeth and snuffling sadly held out its tongue. Bigger than a dinner plate, the remains of the cooked bird were completely ruined. Not that anyone would touch it after it was covered in bear saliva anyway.
With the plopping sound of a dead sailor being dropped overboard, the half-eaten meal fell onto the black, polished marble floor.
Bear looked round the room. Nearby there was a mountain of pastries and two fresh-baked berry pies. Just a few feet away from the bear’s location. Bear obediently sat on his haunches. But drool dripped from his mouth and his eyes kept wandering to the desserts.
Then, he looked back at me, waiting for me to turn my gaze away. Waiting for his chance at the free food. Overwhelmed, the bear could not stop from foraging, not for much longer…
Time ran down to the last few sands before I lost Marcus… or whatever his name was.
Frankly, the temptation was too much for a primal animal. Perfectly cooked, surpassingly sweet, and savory—fae food was made to drive men mad. Every second he stayed a bear, was one moment closer to losing him forever.
Bear kept looking at me, sniffing the air, and pawing ever so gently at the wreckage of pheasant that lay in front of him.
Bear waited for me to be distracted.
An animal has only a few needs. And a bear’s nose was a powerful tool.
There was only one answer for it.
I walked over to the beast, calm in spite of my fear. Certain in a world of wonders and nightmares. Laying my hands on either side of his enormous head, I shoved his nose into the nape of my neck. Right under my hairline, I stubbornly held his furry face against my shoulder.
“Me,” I whispered in his ears. “Smell my tears, the salt of my skin, the blood from the arrow, the blood you spilt saving us. Remember me. Remember.” I begged the beast to save us both, to make the choice that might let us live.
“Benjamin,” I whispered, “Come back.”
His nose was bigger than my jawbone, and it was wet from blood, mud, spit, and pheasant remains.
“Look at me. See me. Remember,” I whispered. “I’m here, with you. There is still a chance for us—but you must come back. Right. Now.”
All the while, I kept my eyes on the Stormwarden.
He didn’t appear to move but I didn’t trust him even a little. The Stormwardens were no friends of mine. Allies? Yes. Under certain conditions. But I knew enough of tales under the hill to start to see beyond their exquisite costumes. Only now that I wanted to see the truth did I notice the way their wigs hid the top of their ears.
Their king, Oberon, the stories I remembered told of him. He could move faster than I could see. And he wasn’t to be trusted. But there were ways to distract him, ways to bind him. I concentrated on remembering that simple story. Something about grains, or was it salt?
But the Axe still called to my mind, nagging at my concentration. I could feel it, there on the distant throne, waiting for me to fix what I had done.
The fae lords were done with the entertainment my abrupt appearance had provided. Superior predators, the fae watched me now, deciding whether I was prey or a force of magic to be respected. From the hardened looks on their painted faces, I was not impressing the crowd.
Meanwhile, a gigantic, hungry bear sniffed my shoulder. And then, he licked my skin, tasting me. Coarse sandpaper against my collar bone would have been more pleasant.
“Benjamin,” I whispered one last time. “I’m here. I forgive you.”
As I spoke those last words, the huge beast began to shrink and change. His fingernails diminished. His nose flattened. Each step was just a second or two long. At my call, one cursed bear transformed into a man.
A miracle. And it was also odd beyond any fairytale I had ever heard. This couldn’t be my life?
Yet there he was, standing there next to me, clothes ripped, hair a mess. When the werebear looked at me, his eyes filled with a passion that blazed from his animal-core right into my very soul.
“Briarthorns,” Benjamin spoke my name. I had never heard anyone call to me the way he did: softly, brilliant with longing and an undefinable emotion I couldn’t quite name. “Y-you called me back. You saved me.”
My heart leapt.
Across the room, Oberon, the First Stormwarden shivered.
That’s what it looked like to my human eyes. But magically? Oberon moved more like a bird dusting off its feathers, I could see the fae king spark into movement. One second, he was standing at the banquet. The next, Oberon was already halfway up the stairs of the distant throne room.
There was only one thing to do. If he reached the Axe before I did, the fae king would have the power to keep both of us there, his prisoners forever.
Our lives? There was only so much I could do to save us now. But there was one person who would never forgive me for this failure.
One who mattered.
Corinne would be alone. Worse, she would never know who she really was. She would never know the magic in her blood. And Groton? That wretched innkeeper would sell her as soon as he could. Corinne would be the toy of a rich and evil man. The kind that likes children. The disgusting kind that dances with the devil.
I can’t let that happen.
Right before Oberon reached the top of his throne, right before his hand touched the silver of the mighty weapon, I spoke in a loud voice, my words ringing off the polished marble, seizing every one of the fae s attention.
“I love you, Benjamin!” I shouted how I felt.
I gave back so much of the truth the Axe demanded. I acknowledged my feelings.
It was the lie that broke my bond with the mighty weapon.
And it was the truth that set us free.
“Y-you love me?” His eyes flew wide with wonder. “How? That’s not possible. My best plan to restore the Gilded Seat almost cost your life three times.” Benjamin shook his head. “Woman, I am too dangerous to love, as a man or as a beast,” he said slowly. “You must not, Briarthorns. You must not trust me.”
I held out my hand to Benjamin, freely, openly giving the complicated man my broken heart.
It was always frozen, for as long as I could remember.
My feelings.
My hopes.
My dreams.
All of that lay in ashes when Momma died at the hands of my drunken father. Everything that I was, all the stories she tried to teach me—all of it locked away tightly until the lightning freed my mind.
Then, determination freed my heart.
And now, somewhere in the blizzard of ice and snow, hail and sorrow, a tiny ember flickered to life, lit by love and the element of lightning.
The Axe felt it, the heat of my passion, glowing in the wasteland. Truth magic summoned the silver weapon from the distant throne. With the lightness of an angel’s wing, the fabled weapon flew to my open hand, fitting to my body like a knife to a scabbard. An errant chick to a hen, the warm metal came home. The Axe settled into my possession.
The sky cracked above Stormrage See. Lightning hit the flagpoles on the tallest tower. Oberon turned pale.
“Whoever holds the Axe of Stormjen rules the Stormrage See, isn’t that what you said, milord?” I asked the shocked king as if we didn’t both already know the answer.
“This is my kingdom now,” I declared.
Impossible. Completely, ridiculously, stunningly impossible. How could a servant girl rule the fae under the hill? Just like the night I stole Corinne and ran away from an empty hearth and the ghost of my mother’s love, there in the Stormrage See, I chose a different path.
Oberon howled like a timberwolf, loud and long, hungry, and reckless for vengeance.
Calming my racing heart, I tried bravery as a mask.
Speaking to the powerful fae, I said, “I will not be your queen. I will not.” The First Stormwarden’s eyes turned red and all the stormlords gathered in a circle around us. They locked arms and started chanting obscure spells. What would happen when they finished their incantation? No mortal wanted to find what lay at the end of the fae’s wrath.
“And, I promise,” I bargained, “I will not hold you to this term of your Kingship under certain conditions.”
Oberon turned his head a little toward me. If he listened, there might be a way out. If I could interrupt his fury long enough to bribe his pride. The fae lord’s face was frozen in anger. But slowly, fury was replaced outrage and surprise.
“One, you release Prince Benjamin of the mistake he made by breaking your formal list of manners, Oh lords of the underhill fae. Free and clear you let him go, human in his form and well in mind and body. Take the werecurse or not, you will pardon his interruption of your feast and bear no grudge against him or any of his line.
“Two, I will let you keep the Axe as a ruler of the Stormrage See as long as you swear your allegiance to me as your ruler first and above all. And, you must swear no vengeance upon me and mine forever more.”
Oberon’s face shook with fury, his skin blotched white and purple now. I could count the veins on his forehead. I did not know if he bluffed.
I didn’t dare stop.
“And three, the Axe’s power will remain in my hands, and those of my able descendants. You will hold the rule of the Fae Kingdom of Stormrage, but I will hold the magic itself. The truth of it is locked in my blood and those of my family. We will keep this hold over you in times of war and need. You can be summoned. You must appear.” I looked around the room as my list of demands grew.
Fairies were all lawyers.
Momma had always said that. ‘You mustn’t trust a fairy to do right by you. Always seal the bond with a kiss. And always expect the double cross.’
Smart advice from the ghost of a memory.
Finally, I whispered to the magic, asking for one odd coarse burlap bag. THe exact potato sack that lay in the back storeroom of the inn, unopened. ‘Mixed Seeds’ marked the top in red paint across the rough, woven jute.
With a sign from my hand, the weather magic spun a vortex of earth and sky, wind and rain, and picked up that distant bag, bringing it to my side. Out of thin air as it were, this massive bag of grains appeared.
The fae blanched, turning white. Their spells against me paused and their words petered off. Leaning over towards Benjamin, I whispered, “Do you have a dagger hidden somewhere?” Benjamin looked confused for a moment and then withdrew a slim blade from his boot. Stepping towards me, Benjamin held it in his open palm, “Careful there, princess, he remarked casually.
Which made my eyes roll.
I took the knife and couldn;t help a slight smile from escaping my lips. Even in a moment like this… Benjamin was priceless.
I extended the collapsed blade. Holding the silver metal up to the edge of the sack, I spoke one last time with the fae lords.
“Promise me, my lords and ladies. You are my fiefdom and I am your liegelady else this dagger will open the coarse burlap and you will be left here counting seeds and grains for twenty years. Seal your vow with silver and let us go.
Choose.”
Enraged, agitated, and offended, the fae wanted nothing more than to strike me dead.
Turn me to stone.
Seal away Benjamin behind a thousand rock wall.
The list of curses they could throw were only limited by their own imagination.
Desperate to control so many formidable warriors, I used their own weaknesses against them. I plunged the knife into the bag of grain.
There was an audible gasp as a handful of grains fell.
Immediately, three Lords bowed down, crouching on the marble floor, caught by their own compulsion to categorize and count.
They could do nothing until the spilled grains, less than a handful, were counted and left in specific piles.
Oberon looked at me, and at the long-lost prince.
“I will give you fealty,” he mumbled. “For one thousand years, I will swear allegiance to your blood. But you will only be able to command me if I break my vow. I swear to let you go, to not exact vengeance on you or the stupid man, to protect your blood and its magic from harm. This I, Oberon, King of the Fae Folken do swear.”
I gulped.
That was really more than I hoped for.
“In return,” Oberon solemnly said, “I must have three strands of your hair. Then you will be my queen. And I your servant forever.”
Oberon’s gaze was steady, his face was open. Even his words were generous. I didn’t need the axe to find the lie.
“Why three strands?” I asked, relying on the axe to help me see the truth.
“One for each sister,” he said, “Binding me to you and your family.”
“I accept.” I swore an oath with the fae king, knowing that Oberon was a weasel. Knowing that my blood was the only bit of safety I had from his compulsion to win every negotiation.
Grabbing Benjamin’s hand, I called out, “We are of an agreement, lords and ladies of the fae. And now, I must leave.”
“No. He ate the bird,” one fae stormlord suddenly cried out, denying any forgiveness Oberon might have agreed to. The gathered lords and ladies did not accept the conditions of the pardon their king granted.
“He is bound to us.”
“You cannot have what is ours,” another shouted, and the fragile peace that had hung like a sword over the court erupted into chaos. Oberon was bound, but none of the rest of them were.
Frightened, I dropped the little knife. Raising the axe above my head, with one swift motion I split the fifty pound bag from end to end. Millions of mixed grains spilled everywhere. And then the winds came at my summons, filling the court under the hill and scattering the contents of the jute bag across the hall and into the the throne room.
None of the fae looked at me now. Fairies were bound by natural law. Their instincts demanded each seed be gathered, counted and separated by type.
They were caught.
Grabbing Benjamin, I started running as a lighting storm spiked the Stormrage See. Sparks of white lightning filled the columns of truth.
I ran to them, dragging Benjamin behind me.
We got to the white stones just as the howling winds did. Catching us up as we sprinted, Benjamin and I were pulled into the storm. Lifted and spun up and out of the underhill fortress, we were caught in a maelstrom of magic.
He never let go of my hand.
Together we spun every which way in the grip of the mighty winds. Our hands stayed locked together. Regardless of the trees, chickens, shrubs, people, tools, and animals that spun around us in the storm, Benjamin’s grip held onto my own smaller hand, a lock holding a slender key.