Chapter 33 #2
Eris chortled, head shaking. “Mortals. What can I do for you, Pixie Rae Magdalena of the Eastern Cliffs?”
Magda took her foot off Kaelan and reached down to retrieve the manticore sack. “Not me. Him.”
A young man entered, carrying a golden tray with a slender decanter and three goblets.
He stopped by Magda, holding out the tray. She waved him away, keeping her gaze on Eris.
“No,” Kaelan growled at the servant who knelt to offer Kaelan a drink. The servant moved on to Eris as Kaelan pushed up, slowly. Magda didn’t look at Kaelan directly, though she could see the fiery flush of his skin and feel the searing waves of fury breaking off of him.
“And who are you?” Eris asked Kaelan.
“He’s an Elf Prince,” Magda said for him, afraid of what he might say to Eris in the heat of his rage. “But he’s being hunted by his father.”
“Ah,” Eris said, taking a goblet from the tray. The servant moved off, out one of the shadowy doors at the back of the room. “The Prince of prophecy.”
“You know of it?” Magda asked.
“Certainly,” Eris said. “So few prophecies ever come this close to fruition. Most wither before they’ve even sprouted.”
“So there’s still a chance it won’t come true?”
Eris took a sip, lips changing from wide and plum-hued to thin and pink. “Always,” Eris said. “But you didn’t come here to talk about prophecies. What do you want?”
“I want you to change his appearance, so that anyone who knew him before would not recognize him, but he still must appear a Pixie Prince. The magic must not be detectable or easily broken.”
“So you wish for him to be permanently altered?”
“Is there another way?” Magda asked.
“There are ways more numerous than you can imagine,” Eris said, setting the cup down on the floor and rising. Once standing, height too became relative. From afar, Eris appeared towering, lithe as a willow branch, but moving closer, Eris remained the same height, defying perspective.
This close, Eris’s hair was slicked back, black, face dramatic and copper skinned, full lipped, light scents of gardenia rolled around the silken flows of robes.
“It all depends,” Eris purred like a panther. “What do you offer in return?”
Magda hefted the blanket up. “The venom of the manticore.”
As Eris’s head cocked, the hair grew long and white, the face aged, darkening even more. “Interesting.” Eris stroked a long finger along a thinning lower lip. “Manticore venom can produce one of the most powerful forgetting potions in this world. Very . . . interesting. How much?”
“I will give you one.”
Eris’s lips puckered. “For one, I can turn him into a toad. Or perhaps a rat, like the one on your shoulder.” Eris trailed a finger in front of Kaelan’s face. “You would make a very handsome rat.”
“Hardly,” Hero muttered.
Kaelan’s jaw flexed. His gaze never strayed from Eris.
Oh, now you listen, Magda wanted to snap at him. Another faint shudder passed through her, the ghost of lingering desire.
“And for two?” Magda asked.
“For two, I can transform him as you wish, but the effects will not last long. A few weeks at most.”
A few weeks . . . that might be enough time, but what if it wasn’t? And what would he do after?
“For three?”
Eris tapped a finger against a jaw that had grown longer and softer as they spoke.
“Tell you what. For three, I will change the small important things, enough to fool even the keenest, and I will give you the means to change them back or not, but only once. For three, plus the ichor-gold glove in your pocket, I will give him the ability to change however he likes, at will, whenever he wants, within the confines of his mass. No bigger, no smaller, but anything he wishes.”
“I don’t like being spoken of as if I’m not here,” he said.
Eris’s brows arched. “I can’t change his personality though, sorry.”
Magda chewed her lip. “What do you think, Kaelan?”
“Being able to change my appearance at will could be quite useful,” he said.
She nodded. “You would be safest that way.”
“But it’s not necessary,” he said. “The glove might prove just as useful. They’re not easy to come by.”
“No, they’re not,” she admitted, “which is probably why Eris is willing to give you such a great power in exchange for it.”
“Oh, he’s right,” Eris said, lip curling. “It is aggravating being spoken of as if I weren’t here.”
“You can’t give up everything,” Kaelan said. “Didn’t Damion say you’d need some of the venom when you reach the Spire?”
She nodded. “To buy provisions and favor at court. The elders will expect tribute, or they might choose to side with Lavana, which could lead to a duel, even though I have the Enneahedron.”
Eris’s head cocked, inspecting Magda with eyes deepening to violet.
“It’s a test of greed,” Kaelan said. “I don’t need to change my appearance at will, only once. Everyone already thinks I’m dead. To ask for more is unnecessary.”
“Yet, you seemed so cupidinous a moment ago,” Eris said to him.
“Ravenous. But I see you’re more interested in gluttony of the flesh.
And just imagine, you could be a different man every night and who would know?
Sorry, you don’t have the capacity to change gender.
That requires a certain transcendence of the soul which, I’m afraid, you don’t possess, little Elf Prince. ”
“Can we be done with this, please?” Kaelan asked, nostrils flaring as he glared at the witch.
Magda watched Eris, but her mind was elsewhere. Was it a test of greed? Or something else? Perhaps it wasn’t a test at all. With Eris, it seemed more like a dare.
Yes, money was useful. She would need it.
But money could be gained by many means.
What Eris was offering Kaelan was much rarer.
Changing Kaelan’s appearance only once might be sufficient, but what if he was found out again?
The thought of him dying . . . of that cold hollowness consuming her again . . .
He would never really be safe so long as underneath he remained, as Eris put it, the Prince of prophecy.
“All right,” she said, tossing the sack down beside the pooling ivory folds of Eris’s gown.
“Prudence in the face of love,” Eris said in a tone of disappointment. “How very—”
Magda tossed the glove down on top of the sack too. “Do it.”
Eris smiled an alluring cat smile.
Kaelan grabbed her arm. “Magda—”
“You’ll be safer this way,” she told him, still keeping her gaze fixed on the witch.
“You know,” Eris said in a conversational manner, pulling what appeared to be a hen’s egg, slightly bluish in color, from the gown’s folds.
“I thought that when you came here, Magdalena, you might be searching for some way to remove those pieces of stray heart you’ve picked up. Messy business that.”
Confusion passed over Kaelan’s face.
“Wait—” Magda started.
Egg tucked in palm, Eris cracked it against Kaelan’s forehead—releasing not yolk, but a blue-tinged mist—and then gripped his head between both hands.
“Oh, it’s too late now,” Eris said. “I know you don’t have anything else of interest. Unless you’d be willing to give over those pieces to me once I extracted them . . .”
Kaelan’s eyes remained open, but went blank. The mist twined around him, rippling, as though he were submerging under cloudy water.
“Is that possible?” Magda asked as the mist began to tendril around her, making her eyes heavy and her thoughts sluggish.
“But you wouldn’t do that, would you?” Eris said. “No . . . But maybe . . . you’ll change your mind. You know where I am if you do.”
Magda struggled to stay focused. “You can take the heart away . . .?”
Eris began to speak. The arcane words wove drunkenly through Magda’s head, dizzying her, sweeping her away, until she was lost in the mist.