Bitter Frost Read online

  Chapter 8

  The dawn woke me before Kian did. It was a strange dawn, so unlike the sunrises in my world. First, a deep red light was cast over the mountainside – I thought at first that some creatures had set the woods aflame, for in the human world the only light that makes that color is fire. Then it faded into orange, a ripe, juicy color, before gradually turning into the bright, golden yellow that we in human-land associate only with summer days at noon – those rare, stolen hours on beaches, or in meadows, when the world seems as balmy and warm and delightful as a golden retriever's fur.

  I began to understand, and was not surprised when the light slowly turned green – a soft, melting color like the color of the fairy trees, and then blue, indigo, and purple – the colors of a rainbow. I was, however, surprised when red came again, faster this time, and then the cycle repeated, each time getting faster and faster until there was nothing but rainbow light in all its gleaming manifestations cast about the floor of the little lodge.

  “Oh, my head...” I could hear Pan moaning from upstairs. I had to admit I felt a little sorry for him. Plenty of boys at my high school got drunk and did stupid things, but they very rarely had the anger of a royal Prince to contend with afterwards.

  I continued staring at the fairy dawn, entranced by the sparkling sunlight. I peeked my head out of the window to see what would happen next. Everything in this world was so new, so wonderful and strange – like things in my old world, but better. I always used to imagine that I didn't “fit” in human world, that there was something wrong, that I as meant to be somewhere else and it was only by some accident in providence that I was a sixteen-year-old girl with scuffed shoes and my hair in a ponytail poring over Algebra homework. And now I had found my answer. For sixteen years my soul had been drawn towards this place, this alien homeland, towards its rainbow sunrises and whispering trees.

  It was almost worth it, I couldn't help thinking – to risk my life with pixies and minotaurs alike, if it meant seeing a sunrise like this.

  The sun – a great blazing mass – began to separate. One sun was orange and yellow, fiery and extraordinary, with tongues of hot flame leaping out. It settled far in the distance, in a piece of the sky that was bright and blue and vivid. The other sun was smooth and milky – like an egg, even like what in the old world would have been called a moon – and it settled among the white expanses right above us, providing a gleaming, bluish light.

  “Two suns here,” said Kian, coming up behind me so softly, my heart jumped. “The Winter Sun and the Summer Sun.”

  “So, my kingdom's over there?” I said, pointing at the blazing orange ball in the distance.

  “Yes,” he said. “That is the land of Summer.”

  I felt pride seeping into my heart. “I like it better than this sun,” I said. “I've always liked summer better than winter.”

  “As is fitting,” said Kian. “I do apologize I cannot escort you to your homeland. It is my hope that...you will arrive there eventually.”

  “It's fine,” I said. “You're doing what you have to do. I'm sure once we explain to the Winter Queen it'll all get sorted out. We'll get Shasta home, and then I can come myself.”

  “I hope so,” said Kian. His face was dark; his eyes seemed full of shadows. For a very brief moment, I thought I saw him tensed a little, as though he wanted to do something, but thought against it.

  We set out that morning up the mountain into which Kian's hunting lodge had been carved. The snow was not bitter; the cold was not painful. Rather, the flurries were gentle on my skin, like soft balls of cotton, and the wind was not sharp and biting but only invigorating – filling me with cool, fresh energy as my hair blew into the wind.

  “So, tell me more about Feyland,” I said to Kian. “While we walk. I want to know everything about it!”

  “I was never very good at history lessons when I was a boy,” said Kian. “I always found them very dull.”

  “Well, I don't find it dull,” I said. “I liked history when I was at school – and I think Feyland history is even more interesting than the normal kind.”

  “To be fair,” said Kian, “for me, this is the normal kind. Names and dates and Fairy Kings and Queens and Fairy Wars.”

  “Make it interesting,” I pleaded. “Start it with ‘once upon a time.’”

  Kian laughed. “Isn't that what your type says when starting ‘fairy stories’?”

  “Yes! Do you tell human stories here?”

  “Sometimes. They're usually...” He flushed a bit, his white ears turning pink. “Well, they're usually a bit rude – the sort of tales one tells in a pub. The denizens of Feyland find the absence of magic to be quite funny. I mean no offense. ”

  “None taken.”

  “For example – In the Land Over the Crystal River (for that's how we refer to humans), there was once a man and a woman. And the man was in love with the woman, and wanted her for himself. But because he had no magic, he couldn't feel whether or not there was a “pull” towards her or not, so he didn't know whether she loved him or not. So what did he do?”

  “What?”

  “He had to ASK her!” Kian couldn't help laughing.

  “I don't get it!”

  “Ask her!” said Kian. “It's funny – because he didn't have magic.” His laughter grew louder and less controlled, tinkling like bells in the winter snow. “He had to ask her!”

  I realized that there were some cultural barriers Kian and I might never transcend.

  “So how does one get from human land to Feyland?”

  “It's not geographic,” said Kian. “It's magic. And the greatest magic of all lies along the Crystal River. Which is why people go there – to use magic – and get to the other side. Pixies do it now and then, for hunting, but really nobody bothers. It's difficult, exhausting, and – no offense – there really isn't much of interest out there.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “So how does magic work, anyway?”

  Kian looked confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Like – what is it?”

  He shook his head. “I've never thought about it,” he said. “Magic just...is.” He reflected. “Like, that stone over there. It's got a shape, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And it's got a size, and a weight,” said Kian, “depending...”

  “Sure,” I said, wondering what physics had to do with it.

  “Well, it's also got magic.” Kian shrugged.

  “And you have magic,” I said.

  “Everything has magic. But it's not all the same magic. And magic lets us do things – how can I put it? Connect with other magic things. So because I have magic, and the stone has magic, I enter into a relationship with the stone. And so, if I close my eyes...”

  Suddenly, the stone started levitating.

  “What did you do?”

  “I don't know,” said Kian. “That's magic. It's hard to explain. I asked it to get up, so it did. Or rather, it asked the air beneath it to push it up.”

  “But if you're fighting, say, a Pixie, you can't just ask it to die?”

  “That would be stupid,” snorted Kian. “You ask your sword to find the heart – you ask the skin on the Pixie's body to split open” (I felt a bit sick at that) “You ask a stone to trip up the Pixie. And the Pixie asks his sword, his stones, and so on to do the same to you. The stronger the magic, the more likely the rest of Feyland is to obey you.”

  I reflected. It seemed sensible. “So are there just two kingdoms?” I asked.

  “In Feyland,” said Kian, “There are two fairy kingdoms – Summer and Winter. There used to be Autumn and Spring as well, but they've been conquered – they're now more like vassals, or city-states. Spring is the vassal of Summer, and Autumn is the vassal of Winter.”

  “And you don't have seasons, like we do.”

  “Not like you do,” said Kian.

  “So how do you mark the passage of time?”

  “The Crystal River's tide,” sa
id Kian. “It overflows the bank about once every one hundred separations of the sun, which is like dawn to you lot.”

  “And is that how you mark years?”

  “More or less.”

  I tried to calculate in my head. Assuming separating of the suns happened once every human day, there would be three and a half fairy-years, give or take, in every human year. “So I'm about sixty fairy years old,” I said.

  “Yes – the marriageable age,” said Kian.

  We heard a rustling in the leaves.

  “What's that?” I asked, my hand clenching around the dagger Kian had given me.

  “Stand with your back to mine,” said Kian. “If someone attacks, ask the dagger to hit home.”

  The leaves rustled again. I drew the dagger.

  “Breena!” came a familiar voice. It was Logan.

  “Logan!” I cried, rushing to him. “You're alive!”

  “No thanks to your friend,” said Logan, snarling.

  He looked different in Feyland. His figure was still human, but now, more than ever before, I could see the wolf in him.

  “How did you get here?”

  “With difficulty,” Logan said. “I'll explain later.” He turned to Kian. “Would you mind letting her go, please, so I can escort the Princess to the Summer Court, where she belongs?”

  “This is an affair of state,” said Kian, testily.

  “Werewolves have no political allegiance,” said Logan. “I am not bound by fairy laws or fairy contracts.”

  “I have no time to deal with the landless right now,” said Kian. “I have to escort her to the Winter Court.”

  “You can get me to the Summer Court?” I cut in. “You know where it is?”

  “Look, Bree,” said Logan. “Werewolves – the landless – as Kian insists on calling us – we go back and forth between the worlds. Half in human, half in Feyland...I know Feyland well.”

  I stepped towards Logan. I had been fine going to the Winter Court as long as there was no viable alternative; under the circumstances, however, I would much rather go home.

  Kian drew his sword. “I cannot allow you to remove her from my presence,” said Kian. “Furthermore,” he added, “Bree has sworn a fairy oath to stay with me.”

  “You did what?” Logan reared up.

  “Look, Logan...”

  There was no time to explain. Logan began a low, low, howl – the vibrations coursing through his body, his body which was changing, subtly and yet so quickly...

  The wolf jumped onto Kian.

  “Wait, stop!” I cried. We were still in the middle of a dangerous mountainside, and the last thing I wanted was two wounded allies who couldn't protect each other or me.

  Kian fought back, reaching for his dagger, his wings flapping beneath his cloak, sprays of silver falling onto the ground.

  “Stop it!” I cried again. “I'm not going anywhere, so you can quit wasting time!”

  “Oh, yes you are,” said a voice in my ear.

  I knew it all too well.

  It was the Pixie.

  Chapter 9

  I knew Delano's voice. It was cold, and cruel; it chilled my veins like ice water. I could feel his icy breath upon the back of my neck, feel his sharp, bony fingers enclose around my wrists.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” said Delano. “But I'm feeling particularly hungry right now.”

  Kian and Logan had broken apart, and were now both facing me, panting, covered in blood. I knew better than they did that they were in no state to protect me now. I tried to grab my dagger, but it was no use. Delano's hands were tight around mine, forcing my arms around my back.

  Magic, I thought. I tried asking the dagger to come to me, but to no avail. It remained firm in my belt.

  “Let's get rid of this, shall we?” Delano grabbed the dagger from my waist and tossed it aside in the bushes.

  “Let her go, Pixie,” cried Kian, “or you will have the wrath of the Winter Kingdom upon you.”

  “I'm a pixie,” said Delano. “I already have the wrath of both Winter and Summer upon me, and I don't intend to stop now. If you know what's good for you, you'll allow me to claim my prize.”

  Logan howled.

  “Come any closer and I'll kill her now,” said Delano. “But I'd rather you didn't. I prefer to dine at home. In private.”

  I shuddered.

  Kian and Logan were too far away, now. There was nothing they could do. I could not struggle, and I hated myself for my uselessness. I hadn't even been able to hold onto my dagger.

  “Time to sleep, Breena,” said Delano. He leaned into my ear and whispered something – some strange, hissing words that I could not understand. Suddenly everything started spinning around me – first Logan, who began flickering, turning back and forth into a wolf and a man, over and over again, and then the grass, which started changing color, and the sky – which went light and dark again and again.

  “What's happening?” I tried to murmur, but no sound came out. There was only chaos – light and dark – swirling around me. The last thing I saw was Kian's face – the look of agony in his eyes as I started choking, fading, wilting...

  And then everything went black.

  I woke up in a dark room. The floor was wet with mold and slime; I could feel beneath me some carelessly tossed hay that I imagined was meant to be my bed. I couldn't see anything, only run my fingers up and down the rough stone, feel where it gave way to wood – a door! A locked door. I began to bang on the door.

  “Let me out!” I cried. “You've made a mistake! You've gotten the wrong girl.”

  No answer. That wouldn't work. I tried again.

  “I am the heir to the Summer throne. I am a fairy princess of the Summer court, and I order you to let me out!”

  There came the sliding of metal, and a window in the door opened. Light came flooding into the room, stinging my eyes. A face popped into the window. I gasped. This was a pixie; I recognized it by the ears and the bony face, but unlike Delano this pixie wasn't beautiful. Rather, its face was contorted, savage, with a misshapen mouth and protruding hook nose, and a file of razor-sharp teeth lurking just beneath its fleshy lips.

  “I don't take my orders from you, Princess,” said the Pixie.

  I tried to keep calm.

  “How about bribes, then? Do you take those?”

  The Pixie grinned at me.

  “If you get me back to the Summer Court,” I said, “You will be richly rewarded. I will give you gold – silver – treasures beyond measure. Think how much fairyfruit wine that will buy.”

  “I can think of something I'd like to taste much, much more,” said the Pixie, sneering at me. He sniffed. “Smells delicious.”

  “I am a Princess,” I said. “At least let me speak to your leader! Do not leave me in this dungeon like some...some...common fairy!”

  “Oh, don't worry,” said the Pixie. “You were captured by the Pixie King, and he wants you all to himself.”

  I worried.

  “That was the Pixie King?” I asked him.

  “Poor princess. You'd be better off if it was one of us. King Delano likes to play with his food.” The Pixie cackled; my blood froze.

  I heard a voice, high and cold, entering the dungeons.

  “Speaking to the prisoners, are we, Coller?”

  “Just having a bit of fun,” said the Pixie. I could hear the fear in his voice.

  “For shame, Coller,” said Delano. “That was a Princess of the Summer Court you were talking to.”

  “Some Princess,” said Coller. “Just a fairy...”

  “Show some respect, Coller. Princess, are you in there?”

  My voice was shaking. “I'm there,” I said, as bravely as I could.

  “Good. Now, I do apologize for the behavior of my guard. Coller, I'm having you executed.” He laughed.

  “What? No.” Coller tried to protest.

  “That's what happens when you disrespect a fairy of the royal Courts. Guards!”

 
I heard Coller's cries drowned out by the stamping of feet, the clanking of metal. There was an atrocious wail and then there was silence.

  “You see, Princess; I don't tolerate disrespect in my court. Guards, let her out.”

  With a loud groan the door was opened. Delano appeared before me, clad now in what must have been royal pixie robes. His cloak was velvet, emerald green, setting off the eerie light in his neon eyes.

  “Your Highness,” he bowed and kissed my hand.

  “Your Highness,” I said back to him. My legs were too wobbly for me to attempt a curtsey.

  “I do apologize for these dreadful conditions. I'm afraid our guest quarters are not up to the same standard as the rest of the palace. Won't you come with me?”

  He took my hand, and for a moment I let my guard down. Then I felt his sharp nails digging into my palm and I once again began to feel afraid.

  He took me out of the dungeons and led me down a long passageway. I could feel the magic inhabiting the place, but this was not like the magic of the fairy courts – alive, intense, and vital. This magic was as still, even stagnant, hanging off the Gothic archways, the empty suits of armor, and the stones.

  Delano led me into a sumptuous antechamber. Everything was silver, except for the throne, which was studded with green gemstones. The design was exquisite and terrifying – as I stared, I thought I could hear the stones screaming, each one crying out in agony, its magic vibrating as it tried to rip itself out of the chair.

  “I see you admire the furnishings,” said Delano. “That's Classical King Illyrium Style – about three thousand years old – a masterpiece of the design. Characterized by torturing the gemstones – that scream you hear is part of the design. It's a bit unsettling for visitors to the Pixie realm. Not that many survive to tell the tale, of course.”

  “Are you going to eat me?” I asked him.

  I thought perhaps it was better to get that niggling uncertainty out of the way.

  “Well, if you insist...” Delano laughed.

  “Not particularly,” I said.

  “Why would I eat you?” said Delano.