8. As Pretty As A Picture
Nothing lived forever. I didn’t need my degree to know that much. It was nothing more than some elaborate lie designed to trick and tempt me into going along with their crazed plan. They had to think I was stupid.
I risked a surreptitious sideways glance at my companion.
Pansy walked half a step ahead of me. Though she maintained her silence, anticipation poured from her in waves. She was obviously dying to assault me with a barrage of questions, and if I spoke, it would open the flood gates.
I pressed my lips together. Too much scattered and tangled information weighed down my brain. I needed time to think, to process it myself before I could even consider answering somebody else”s questions. Curses, magic, immortality…
Pansy claimed to be centuries old, yet she could have passed as fresh out of school. She’d said Granny was old, and the High Priestess certainly looked it. Forever clearly wasn’t in her future. Was it only the fae who could claim immortality? Or maybe their curse breaking stooges.
It was all a load of shit. It had to be a lie, or a hallucination, or something. But if it was real…
What would it be like to live forever? To not have time stalking every step, waiting for its chance to claim me? The things I could do. Would it be possible to learn all there was to know about everything? To master every art, every science? There was so much I half-fancied doing, but would never have the time for, so many things that didn’t make the cut when it came to planning my years. Places I would never go, information I would never learn, things I would never experience. What if I could do it all?
My heart rate sped up at the possibilities, but it was just a fantasy, and one with a dark side at that. What good was a head full of facts when it came hand in hand with a heart full of lost love? I might be able to win gold on the ice with my perfect triple axels while simultaneously becoming an elite violinist and winning a Nobel prize for my scientific studies, but I would outlive everyone I’d ever known. My life would fizzle into emptiness, and I’d be left alone in the bleak vastness of eternity.
I shivered. The corridors had grown gloomy and chilled while I’d been lectured in Granny’s chamber, and my legs pricked with goosebumps. The cold of the stone floors seeped into my bare feet, making me think longingly of all the fluffy socks in the bottom drawer in my bedroom, back in the real world. The few narrow windows we passed revealed glimpses of shadowy landscapes, too dark to make out any details. I’d have to wait until morning to compare my surroundings to my memory of the emerald map. Mum and Dad would have to spend another night fearing the worst. My guts curled in shame. They didn’t deserve the hell they were going through. If only I’d been smarter. If only I’d never gone on that stupid camping trip.
A flame flickered to life in a nearby sconce, completely by itself. My feet fell still, muscles tense, as one by one, more flames sputtered into existence, filling the corridor with dancing, orange light.
“It’s alright,” Pansy said, turning to see where I’d got to. “It’s just a spell.”
The magical version of streetlights, I supposed, coming to life at dusk. I rolled my shoulders, peeling my gaze from the nearest sconce. “I can’t make myself believe any of this is real.”
Pansy gave an understanding nod. “It can’t be easy. Is it true there’s no magic at all in your world?”
“Yeah.” I gulped. What had the witches said? That fae magic was weaker on my side? Weaker, but not non-existent. Were all the old wives tales and superstitions founded in a shred of truth? Had magical creatures once walked among us?
“Bizarre. I couldn’t live without magic.”
“Pansy?”
The witch turned her round, chocolate button eyes on me.
“What exactly is a fae?”
“You don’t know?” I’d been accused of a lot of ignorance since my arrival at Sage’s door, but Pansy’s words didn’t carry any judgement, only fizzing excitement. “Mother above, no wonder you’re quiet. Come with me.”
She seized my hand and tugged me down the now glowing corridor.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Down a flight of stairs and into another hall we went. The scent of something delicious cooking hung in the air, and witches milled around, talking amongst themselves. One did a double take as Pansy and I passed. Silence spread from her like a wave, blanketing the entire hall. My pace slowed as I glanced around. Every set of eyes was trained on me. My ears heated at the attention, at the mouths hung open in surprise, at the expressions of blatant awe.
“Ignore it,” Pansy hissed at my side tugging me along. “It’s been a long time since they’ve seen a human. Some of them never have.”
My face was burning by the time we emerged into another corridor. My chilled feet sank into a long plush rug carpeting the length of the passage, and the tension in my muscles eased in response.
“This is the gallery,” Pansy announced. “There are paintings of all our most exceptional witches, dating back thousands of years.”
What did this have to do with anything? I thought longingly of the cloud-like bed waiting in my suite, of the solitude that would allow me to form a plan. The witches had thoroughly rejected my arguments for going home, insisting that I had to wake the princes and marry the eldest brother. Become an immortal queen of the fae. Their reward was almost as off putting as the task they’d set me. I had no desire to marry a stranger, however rich and magical. I would have to form my own escape plan, and the sooner I began, the better.
Pansy dragged me along the corridor, pausing to admire the witches gazing haughtily down at us.
“There’s Granny,” Pansy said in a hushed whisper, as though the old bat was hanging from the rafters, listening to every word we said. “When she was young.”
I studied the painting, wondering how such a bright eyed, round cheeked beauty had withered into such an intolerable heap of crêpe.
“And there’s an empty space here. That’s for Sage.”
“Sage? Why?”
“Well, it’s not confirmed, but everyone says she’ll take over as High Priestess when Granny… dies.” Pansy swallowed audibly.
I could just picture Sage in Granny’s chair, passing judgement over all the world.
“But look at this one, this is what I really wanted to show you.” Pansy seized my hand and led me further down the corridor, past several paintings. “There.”
I followed her pointing finger.
Two young, handsome faces stared down at me. Identical twins, and the only men I’d seen in the gallery. Both had matching shocks of dark, floppy hair, and piercing pale green eyes. Both faces looked as though they’d been carved by angels, but my attention snagged on the silver circlet perched atop one dark head. A crown.
“Are these—”
“The fae princes.” Pansy gave me a sly smile. “Handsome, aren’t they?”
Damn her, but they were. Handsome was an understatement. They were… breathtaking. If this was an accurate representation of the fae, it was no wonder droves of women had gone to their deaths for their chance to marry one. They were almost human in appearance, but their ethereal beauty and pointed ears marked them as other. Had such creatures once walked in my world, enchanting unsuspecting humans?
“That’s Anwir.” Pansy indicated to the crowned man. “He’s the rightful king.”
My promised reward. Anwir smiled down at me from under his crown, his grin slightly lopsided, but all the more alluring for it. His eyes were bright with what I imagined was mischief. He looked the sort to have a sharp tongue and an even sharper sense of humour. Trouble, in other words. I shifted my gaze to the younger one.
“What’s his name?”
“Idris.”
Idris, in contrast to his brother, looked sullen. His head was angled in a way that had him staring from under a frown, but he was beautiful all the same. My eyes slid back to the spellbinding elder prince.
“Wow,” I breathed, all the confession I was going to make. “They don’t make men like that where I come from.” They didn’t make anyone like that where I came from, not even princes.
“Males,” Pansy corrected. “Fae prefer to be known as male, or female. Man and woman are human terms.”
With a face like that, I’d call him anything he asked me to.
He possessed an other-worldly beauty, like some higher being. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the princes sprouted feathered wings and stripped to loincloths. A blush crept up my neck. What would I look like on the arm of Anwir? Like a pig fresh from a sty, no doubt. I’d never lacked confidence, content with my looks, but next to such perfection… No human stood a chance, especially not me. Every little flaw would be magnified to a hideous deformity.
It was a good thing I had absolutely no intentions of marrying anybody, least of all a fae runway model. An angel, or perhaps a demon if that smile was anything to go by. A heartbreakingly beautiful demon. I tore my gaze from the painting.
“I’m a bit tired.”
Pansy looked crestfallen. “Oh. Of course, follow me.”
I followed the witch back through the castle, my thoughts of escape warring with mysterious, pale eyes and lop-sided grins.
Back in the solitude of my fairytale room, Pansy lit the candles before disappearing through a door. The hiss of running water drifted through the gap, and when the witch reappeared a few minutes later, she came in a cloud of fragrant steam.
“Is it alright if I check your wounds before I go?”
I blinked, flexing my fingers. Apart from the slightly annoying bulk of the bandages, I’d almost forgotten my cuts and bruises. No pain, not even the slightest sting or ache, answered the movement. And my knee… when I bent it experimentally… nothing. Just a normal knee, stiff only due to the dressing.
Dumbfounded, I sank into the nearest chair, stretching out my leg. The witch knelt, tiny, warm hands brushing my skin as she unravelled the bandage. It fell away, and she procured a cloth from inside her apron pocket, gently wiping away the thick green paste Sage had made.
Smooth, pink skin was all that lay beneath. No grazes, no bruising, just skin.
“Impossible…” I muttered under my breath, straightening my leg.
I could see where the cut had been; the skin was definitely new, soft and pink like a newborn’s, but otherwise, it was perfect.
Pansy glanced up at me. “Do you not have anything like this in the human world?”
No, we certainly did not. I shook my head, my mind reeled. The things I could do with that paste. Would it work on surgery wounds? Take away the need for the cone of shame? And humans. The hospitals would go mad to get their hands on this stuff.
“Your hands?”
I shoved both hands at Pansy, keen to see what miracles had been worked on my ruined nails. The bandages couldn’t unravel fast enough, but lo and behold, within minutes, I was admiring my perfectly uninjured hands, complete with neat, strong nails.
“What’s in that stuff?” I breathed.
Pansy laughed, rising to her feet. “It’s Sage’s own recipe, but it’s all natural. Your bath should have run by now. You’ll find everything you need laid out. Get some rest.”
Pansy headed out into the corridor, half closing the door but continuing to talk through the gap. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“See you later.” I wasn’t exactly sure how my foggy, battered brain managed to string the words together when it was so full of that painted map, magical healing creams, and handsome princes with crooked smiles.
No sooner had the door clicked shut than I darted for the desk tucked under a tall window, tripping over my feet in my hurry. Dragging open the drawers, I laughed in relief at the sight of crisp sheets of paper laid within. I snatched up the black quill and unscrewed the ink pot. I couldn’t pretend I’d ever used such outdated writing implements before, but I’d seen enough movies to have some idea. Dipping the quill, I began to draw.
When I was finished, I leaned back in my chair and admired my work. I was no artist, and geography wasn’t my strong suit, but my map was a passable copy of the emerald one. I’d drawn as many landmarks as I could remember, but the western portion was sparse due to my inattentiveness. It didn’t matter though; it was The Blood Gate I needed. I stared and stared at the little black blotch that would lead me home.
When I finally padded to the bathroom, intent on washing away the grime of my ordeal and the new splotches of ink staining my miraculously healed fingers, I was once more stunned into silence. It wasn’t a bath, not like the ones at home. It wasn’t white, or porcelain, or even really a tub. An enormous half-boulder of palest pink crystal glinted by the light of countless candles scattered around the chamber, its edges raw and unpolished. Curls of steam rose from the carved hollow, large and deep enough to comfortably hold two people. Tentative feet carried me closer, and I peered inside. Milky water, dotted with rose petals, swirled gently inside the smooth centre of the crystal. I dragged my fingers through the hot, silky water, as an alluring scent drifted to my nose. Jasmine, I guessed, or something like it. On the thick sides of the bath, a stack of fluffy towels and an assortment of glass bottles waited. I didn’t need telling twice. Stripping off my filthy garments, I sank beneath the waters.
The heat dragged a gasp from me as I stretched my legs. It was a luxury I hadn’t experienced for many years. I’d grown too tall for the little bathtub back home at approximately ten years old, and since then, I’d been forced to fold my long legs into increasingly uncomfortable angles, never able to fully submerge myself. Eventually, I’d given up altogether and settled for showers.
Taking a deep breath, I sank beneath the surface. Hot water hugged every inch of my body, and my hair wafted around my head, as light as air, drifting like seaweed. It would have made the perfect photograph; a pastel rainbow wafting in a tub of pink crystal.
It was heaven. No bath I’d ever had could compare. Even my pulse, beating steadily under my skin, had slowed. Dramatically, actually. I scowled, counting. The faint throbs came dangerously slowly. I surged upward, setting water sloshing against the crystal and spilling onto the tiles with a slap. My fingers went straight to my wrist. The last thing I needed now was to finally succumb to the death I’d narrowly avoided, not when I was hatching a plan of escape.
A few seconds of counting confirmed that my pulse was normal, if slightly elevated. Certainly not the sluggish funeral beat of impending oblivion I thought I’d felt…
As the disturbed water stilled, the lazy thrum returned, a faint rhythm humming over my submerged skin. Not my pulse at all. My eyes grew wide, and I held my breath, my attention narrowing to the sensation. If not me, what was it? Could it be… magic?
Only this morning, I would have rolled my eyes at the notion, but with my miraculously healed skin glaring up at me, with the memory of Sage’s portal, and fairies, and creepy, wispy shadow men fresh in my mind, I wasn’t nearly as dismissive as I should have been. Was it some sort of potion mixed into the water, making it hum, or even the magic of the crystal tub? I couldn’t pretend I’d paid much attention to the crystal craze that had swept my world, seeing vending machines full of pretty rocks spring up in the unlikeliest of places. Was it normal for crystals to have their own pulse? If I hadn’t been frozen in wary disbelief, I might have laughed at myself for thinking such nonsense, but…
Magic was real. Witches were real. Curses were real. Was it that far-fetched to believe that crystals had powers?
Whatever it was, the minutes ticked by, and the odd sensation did nothing to harm me. In fact, the tension in my muscles dissolved into the water. Who cared about magic and crystals when heat seeped into my bones, easing the knots and aches away?
Unable to resist the lure of a full body soak, I sank back, resting my head against the smooth innards of the crystal. Water lapped at my jaw. God, I needed this. I drifted for a while, my relaxation so complete that barely a thought crossed my mind, but eventually, the bottles Pansy had left beckoned, each one filled with thick, pearly liquids. More of Sage’s recipes? The bottles gave little away, though I found one with the consistency of shampoo, and rubbed it into my hair, breathing deep the luxurious floral scent.
At last, clean and obscenely relaxed, I left the magic tub, dried myself and wrapped my hair, before donning a silk robe trimmed with lace and heading back to the main room. It seemed a shame to put my dirty clothes back on when I smelt like an expensive bouquet.
To my surprise, I found a dinner tray and a neat little pile of clothes laid on my pristinely made bed. Had Pansy returned while I floated in a bath fit for a queen?
My stomach grumbled loudly.
“I know, I know,” I muttered, massaging the deep ache in my belly. “Give me a minute.”
The clothes laid on the bed were not my own, but I lifted the soft fabric, and the folds tumbled away to reveal a nightdress of palest lilac. Where had it come from? It certainly smelled new. I glanced at my grimy shorts, then stripped off my robe and donned the dress. It fit perfectly, hugging my curves as though it had been made for me alone, the skirt skimming my hips and falling elegantly to my calves.
I turned my attention to my dinner. A cloche covered plate, cutlery and steaming pot of tea awaited me on a tray, along with a dainty cup and saucer. I thought sadly of my enormous mugs back home. Nothing was right in this world. Still, tea was tea, and I was in dire need of it after the day I’d had. I lifted the cloche, freeing a plume of fragrant steam. My heart sank at the sight awaiting me.
Steak.
A beautifully cooked one, to be fair, but steak nonetheless. I’d been a vegetarian since the age of seven, roughly around the time I’d made the connection between the chicken on my plate and my feathery little friends at the farm Mum took me to visit. Maybe I should have mentioned something to the witches, but it had slipped my mind amongst all the saving the world stuff.
Thank God for side dishes. A hearty stack of new potatoes and a mound of green beans and roasted tomatoes would ease the ache in my belly. When had I last eaten a real meal? Had it been the barbeque at the campsite, the night before we visited the caves? Sage’s jam and bread didn’t count, and those blackberries definitely didn’t.
I ate my dinner right there on the end of my bed, wolfing it down without pausing to taste it. By the time my plate was clear of vegetables, my stomach was warm and heavy, as were my eyelids. I transferred my tray to the coffee table in the sitting area of my room and began the seemingly endless task of blowing out the candles. No doubt the witches could have extinguished them with a snap of their fingers. When only the one on my nightstand remained, I crawled into bed. The cool, crisp sheets against my freshly bathed skin dragged a soft sigh from me as I nestled into the pillows. With one last puff of breath, I was plunged into darkness.
The nostalgic scent of candle smoke drifted up my nose, reminding me of birthday cake and happier, easier times. My birthday was still two months away. I had plenty of time. I’d find a way to escape Neath and get home with weeks to spare. Maybe I’d have a party. Twenty-five wasn’t an important milestone, but I wasn’t going to miss a single opportunity to spend time with the people I loved. I would take nothing for granted.
My eyes drifted closed, the knots in my muscles easing as I envisioned the celebration. I’d have an enormous cake. Maybe even party hats, for old times’ sake. Metallic cones topped with coiling ribbons and pom poms. I’d wear a crown…
My crown was much heavier than I expected. It made my neck ache with the strain of holding my head aloft. The weight lifted, easing from my scalp, and I breathed a sigh of relief, rolling my head from side to side. A heavy clink sounded nearby, but before I had time to look for my expensive headwear, a set of large hands closed around my trapezius muscles, kneading and rolling the tension away with body melting pressure.
I moaned into the mattress. Had I been lying down the whole time? Naked?
Those clever hands swept down my slick spine in heavy, lazy strokes, unhindered by any hint of fabric. Whose hands were they anyway? I didn’t care, actually, as long as they kept working their magic. When they reached my waist, they veered off course, dragging over the tickly spots below my ribs. I squirmed, flinching away. I hated being tickled.
Teeth clamped between my shoulder and my neck. Sharp teeth, threatening pain, like cat claws primed to pierce flesh. With a gasp, I fell still. Something loomed over me, hovering over my back. What? Who? Warm breath fanned over my skin, pinned between the clamp of vicious jaws, but then the pinch disappeared, replaced by a hot, wet tongue, lapping away any hint of pain. The contrast of sensations had my eyes rolling back in my skull, and I stopped caring about anything at all.
A hand slid around my throat, large enough to cover my entire neck as it arched my head back with gentle force. The teeth returned, nibbling at the lobe of my ear. My skin burst to life in an explosion of tingles that robbed me of my breath. Every inch of my body thrummed in response to those teeth, to every nip, to the tiny licks and kisses that interspersed them. In my peripheral vision I glimpsed skin as pale as moonlight and hair black as the night, topped with a silver circlet. I knew him after all. I’d seen him smiling down at me with his lop-sided grin. I was supposed to be his. Why had I ever resisted the idea?
The hand around my neck tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to claim.
I didn’t need to be claimed. I wasn’t going anywhere.