Chapter 13
Thirteen
FRESH TIDES
Propelled out of the maelstrom, I caught myself before I slid out of the king’s arms, and the phenomenon dissipated behind us with a fizzle, its brilliant light blinking out.
He braced his hands on his knees, coughing.
I made a face. “What happened?” I was reaching out to pat his back when I looked up, and my jaw dropped. “Oh, my…”
We were surrounded by a lush green rainforest. Ancient ferns and towering banyan-like trees tangled together in a dense canopy, their gnarled roots twisting through a damp, uneven floor.
Slick moss and rotting leaves carpeted the soft, sinking earth.
The air hung heavy with the rich, cloying scent of wet soil, decaying wood, and resinous sap.
Way in the distance, the ominous haze above the flowing river was a fluid-like opaque ribbon churning beneath the sky, an impassable barrier between that side of the land and this.
I looked around again, bewildered, astounded. “We really have crossed the river, haven’t we?”
My desert was always dry. Tulgey Woods was a lively, well-regulated ecosystem. This forest seemed more marshland than anything else.
I glanced back down at the king, who was still bent down, catching his breath, and wrinkled my nose. “Are you not well?”
He didn’t answer right away. He clutched at his chest. “My insides feel as though they’ve been squeezed.”
I blinked. “Odd. I don’t feel anything.” Looking down, I patted myself over to check. “Are you injured?”
His hands were still braced on his knees, his head down.
I frowned. “Maybe you need to lie down, see a doctor. I am sure you recall I am not that sort of doctor. We must hurry to Lucerne and get you some help.”
His tone was resolute. “I’m not entering another kingdom when my powers are drained like this. It won’t be safe.” He took a deep breath, his gaze off toward the horizon. “Besides, I’ll be fine once the overnight tides replenish my magic. It should be soon.”
I looked up at the quiet night and forest. “How do you know?” I didn’t carry a timepiece. I had no idea what time it was. Based on the position of the moon, I could only guess an approximation.
His eyes slid to me for a moment. “You don’t feel it coming?”
“Feel what…?” I looked around slowly.
It must have been the exact stroke of midnight.
A hush fell over the forest—and then the magic came, rolling through the trees in a slow, luminous tide.
Mystical silver-blue fog swept between trunks and over roots in a shimmering surge, pooling in hollows and spilling across moss and stone, bending branches in its wake. It swept over us, swirling around my ankles and climbing up my body—cool, silken, weightless.
I’d always heard about this phenomenon, but had never actually seen it before. This was the source of all magic on Wünder. I couldn’t help the smile of absolute wonder and awe on my face as the entire world sparkled.
It was glorious.
The moment the tide reached the king, the air around him softened and glowed, rising in a glimmering swell from the ground.
It curled around his form in quiet, graceful ribbons, lifting the edges of his coat and stirring his hair.
Eyes closing, his silhouette was lit from within by the pale, living light that pulsed beneath his skin.
He stood at the center of it all as the magic moved through him—untouched, unshaken.
When he lifted his gaze to mine as he straightened, the brilliant light in his blue eyes made my heart pound.
He was majestic—devastatingly beautiful.
He held his hand out to me. “Shall we?”
I forcibly blinked out of my fluster. “Right. Of course.”
It didn’t help my racing heart when the king scooped me up in his arms, because—why bother walking when he could simply fly over the landscape toward Lucerne?
We flew amidst the rapidly dropping temperature, the beginnings of a fine, white flurry gradually growing thicker with the increasing altitude.
The king shifted, tightening his grip as we coasted along in mid-air, and I accidentally kneed him.
“Stop fidgeting.” He grumbled, “I told you it would be so much easier if you let me shrink you and carry you in my pocket.”
“No to that,” I declared. “In fact, never to that.”
My legs were just starting to cramp when the clouds parted, revealing the first glimpse of the grand structures atop a mountain peak.
I held my breath.
The Kingdom of Lucerne was carved from the hard, black basalt of the mountain, built upon a sheer, rugged cliff face that dropped a treacherous two thousand feet into a perpetual fog bank.
Thick stone walls were twenty feet of solid rock, veined with a complex vascular system of polished iron and shimmering brass, seamlessly integrated with copper embellishments. Steam billowed from vents placed along the castle’s exterior, blending with the mountain’s mist.
Searchlights swept across the frozen snowfields below, the pockets of sprawling villages clinging to the rock face, slate roofs and copper-sheathed chimneys belching plumes of smoke into the air.
We approached the bridge crossing the trench and the massive timber-and-iron gates, both dusted with a thin layer of snow, gleaming white in the dim night.
As the king put me down, my boots settled against the frigid stone. It seemed to hum faintly beneath my weight, as though the very ground had been engineered to sense intrusion.
I was still marveling at the coiled copper pipes winding along the ramparts—clearly used for carrying geothermally heated water to keep the battlements clear of ice—and the spectacle of steam and technology evident in the castle’s architecture.
I almost missed the impending danger.
Above us, the parapets bristled with archers, silhouettes dark against the overcast sky, bows drawn.
Between the crenellations, ballistae stood with their steel arms drawn taut and aimed squarely at the bridge.
Soldiers stood in disciplined ranks beyond the courtyard, unmoving as fine snow drifted steadily around them, but unmistakably ready.
I could feel the others—the hidden watchfulness behind narrow slits in the stone, the faint shift of movement in shadowed alcoves, the subtle alignment of weapons tucked behind reinforced shutters.
A muffled chaos layered over the din in the back of my mind, my chest heavy with several dozen auras as I felt their indignation, their courage.
The cold air itself tightened with the quiet tension of a kingdom prepared to defend itself to its final breath.
My breath puffed visibly in the worsening weather. Rubbing my hands up and down my arms for warmth, I forced my mind into a rational calm. I had done nothing wrong.
Except perhaps bringing the lion to slaughter the lambs. And I was a lamb in a lion’s cloak. I would be targeted on the sole basis that I stood unharmed beside the Wicked King.
Walking beside me, the king seemed less than perturbed.
His gaze traveled over the weapons, the walls.
No doubt he was keenly aware of everything too.
But he did not slow his breathing, nor did his posture yield.
If anything, there was the faintest shift in him, something like recognition, like interest, as though he had stepped not into danger, but into something worthy of his regard.
A strong, confident voice calling out from the ramparts drew my gaze.
“It is late, Your Majesty. I cannot imagine what business you might have that brings you to our kingdom’s gates.”
I squinted to make out his figure. He was tall and broad-shouldered. His golden-blond hair glinted beneath the moonlight filtering through the clouds. Cool and composed, he was perfectly aware of the threat we posed, but he was also quietly confident that his castle’s defenses were at the ready.
Brushing delicate flakes of ice off one shoulder, the king gave a slight tilt of his head. “Prince Gregory, I presume.”
“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” Gregory replied. “It might be in everyone’s interests if you were to turn around and leave.”
“That doesn’t sound very hospitable of you,” the king mused. He cast me a prompting look. “What do you think?”
The heart in my chest beat steadily, ready to serve its purpose.
I took a deep breath. “I…” I kept my assessment low, careful, steady.
“I don’t feel any substantial threat from any of them right now.
They are apprehensive.” Frowning, I strained to sense through the thick multitude.
“Some are scared, furious, and possibly rightly so, but mostly they are cautious. They are baffled by this visit.”
“Ah, so the rumors are true,” Gregory sneered. “The Wicked King has acquired a mystic to seek out and punish traitors.”
My eyes bulged. “No! I—”
The king cut me off. “Mind your tongue, Your Royal Highness,” he snapped. “This witch is the only reason any of you are still breathing right now.”
Witch? My jaw dropped in offense, but I shut my mouth. The prince was being obstinate enough for both of us.
“You will forgive us, Your Majesty, but to offer the word of a dubious witch under the devil’s command seems mighty flimsy in terms of assurances.”
With an exasperated sigh, the king drawled, “For god’s sake, let us in. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Of course, Prince Gregory was too brave for his own good. “What happens if we refuse?”
I gritted my teeth. If the king deemed the prince “unreasonable”, I already knew what was going to happen next. “Please, Your Highness—”
The king cut me off again, all manner of self-assurance in his tone as he called out, “Your army appears robust, your castle defenses impressive. I would hate for you to lose them all in one night.”
Biting my bottom lip in alert, I scanned the archers along the parapets, atop the towers, on the bridge, and across the courtyards one more time—with a sick, sinking realization.
It was almost unnoticeable under the cover of night.
Each and every one of Lucerne’s mighty forces were being held captive, secured by dark tendrils of shadows. Many had a ghost of a grapple hold around their necks, or wrapped around their weapons, poised to strike at a moment’s notice.
They were a terrifying and treacherous formless legion recently rejuvenated by the fresh mystical tide, ready to mangle or slice each one of Lucerne’s soldiers into many bloody pieces.
At the Wicked King’s command.
I let out a long, slow breath in dread.
The king did say he could have simply sent his shadows to annihilate everyone, even from within the comfort of his own castle. It was that easy.
I stared up at him in alarm, but his sharp gaze was focused on the blond prince.
He wasn’t really going to do this, was he?
Could I stop him? No. It was utter madness.
How could I have possibly thought I could do anything to stop the most powerful tyrant king sorcerer of Wünder from doing whatever the hell he wanted to do?
If he wanted to slaughter this entire kingdom, he damn well was going to slaughter this entire kingdom.
The same realization must have dawned on Gregory.
Tension coiled thick in the air, so sharp and suffocating, a single breath could have sliced it open.
The blond prince cursed under his breath and waved his hand.
The massive stone doors began to creak open, sweeping snow aside that had gathered on the ground.
Heart pounding, my knees almost gave out in my relief.
A corner of the king’s mouth turned up ever so slightly. He shot me a triumphant sideways glance. “I rather like this negotiation idea of yours.”
I couldn’t help rolling my eyes.
If I weren’t still suffering the dregs of panic, I would have laughed.
The king crossed the threshold of the outer gate with measured, unhurried steps, the iron-banded doors yawning open behind him like the jaws of some great mechanical beast.
Gregory descended the stone steps from our left to meet us. Fur cloak about his shoulders, his hand still on the pommel of his sword in readiness, his forehead creased.
Noting the same thing I had, the king met his steady gaze. “Your Highness, you have my word that you and your kingdom shall be safe for the night.” He couldn’t help but add, “At least, from me, that is.”
Gregory’s eyebrow rose.
“I swear on my witch.”
Wholly annoyed, I hissed at the petulant king. If he intended me to mediate between the two kingdoms, he was doing a fabulous job by tearing down my credibility.
Not relenting his guard, Gregory inclined his head. “It is much too late to discuss politics right now. I shall have two rooms prepared. I hope you find them comfortable during your short stay.”
I didn’t miss his emphasis on the word “short” as we were whisked away by no less than eight fully-armed soldiers and led into the closest structure, the furthest from the heart of the kingdom.
We stepped into the warm welcome of indoors just as my teeth started chattering. My gaze darted around surreptitiously. There were even more stiffly-uniformed guards lining the hallways we passed.
I turned to one side to murmur, “He hates you so much.” It was more than a feeling. The prince’s contempt surrounded his physical presence, a carefully tempered pent-up coil waiting to snap. It thickened the air, much like the distinct sense of suspicion and distrust that followed us.
The king’s response was flat. “I killed his sister. You remember. You were there.”
My heart stopped.
Oh god.
When the king was a mere assassin, he had once slaughtered an entire kingdom at a wedding right before my eyes.
That once-radiant, youthful bride whose heart he’d torn out, the look on her face, the stench of blood that frigid night, the paralyzing fear—all of those shattering memories washed over me once again like a living nightmare.
At the time, all I could do was hide.
There was nothing I could have done.
The king was even more powerful now.
I clenched my jaw.
He won’t hurt me.
Of course, the assurances made by the traitorous whisperings of my own heart were just as flimsy.
One of the soldiers led the way toward a room, gesturing for me to enter.
Poking my head through the doorway, I took a tentative step inside before turning to meet the king’s deep blue gaze—always pinned on me.
“My shadows will guard your door.” His words were murmured low by my ear. “You might still be in danger. Those rogues who kidnapped you are likely from this kingdom.” As the guards ushered him on, he started to turn away—then stopped.
“Unless…” He lingered, the heat in his penetrating gaze searing all the way through me. “Perhaps I once again need to make sure you get some sleep tonight?”
“No!” I jumped in alarm. “I-I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
I shut the door in his face.