A White So Red

by Krystle Jones

  The faery lay on the ground, still as death.

  Natalia dropped to the ground beside him, feeling his wrist for a pulse. His cold, long fingers grasped hers suddenly, and she gasped, not expecting him to still be alive. He pulled her closer so her face was next to his. Blood soaked through the skirt of her dress and in patches along her sleeves, making it stick to her arms.

  “Your… name…” he rasped.

  She searched his eyes, weighing her decision. “Natalia,” she said at last.

  Fear fluttered in her chest. Why did I give him my real name?

  He stared at her for so long without blinking that she thought he must be dead. Finally, he inhaled another trembling breath. “Natalia,” he murmured. “The princess of Thesperia… the true heir…” His grip tightened. “I thought it was you… when I first sensed your aura… that day at the river…”

  It took her a moment because that day seemed so long ago, but then it finally clicked into place in her head. “You’re the stranger who pulled me out. You saved my life.”

  A ghost of a smile spread across his bloodied lips. “Fey aren’t supposed to interfere with the order of life, but you… I knew the land would suffer greatly if… if… you died.”

  He started to reach beneath him with his free hand, trying to tug something loose. “Here,” Natalia said, gently prying her hand free so she could help. As carefully as she could, she pulled at an exposed piece of string, freeing a small, curved ivory horn. She held it in both hands. It was smooth and lightweight, with a black string attached to either end, forming a strap.

  “I couldn’t use it in time, but –” He coughed, spitting up more blood. “Perhaps it will be of use to you… in the… battle that is… to come.”

  “What does it do?”

  “It awakens the sleeping forest,” he said, wonder filling his eyes. “Blow it and the forest will answer your call, but… beware, for you can… only use it… once.”

  A violent cough raked his body, and her brows came together. “Let me heal you,” she said, setting the horn down. She positioned her hands over his chest, but he reached up and clasped her hands in his own, squeezing with the strength of a mouse. “You are… weakened already from… battle. I am lost.”

  She shook her head. “No. No, I can still save you.”

  He looked her directly in the eyes. “Save Thesperia and you will have saved me,” he said, each word growing softer than the last. “Fey are the land, and the land… belongs to… the… Fey…” The last word was sighed, and what light remained in his eyes faded as his head lolled to the side.

  Tears stung her eyes as his hand went limp, and she gently laid it across his chest, then reached over and closed his eyelids. Heaviness filled her, making her feel as if she suddenly weighed as much as a whale.

  A small hand rested against her shoulder, and she looked up through her tears to see a grim-faced Wormwart staring at the faery. “I know him. Knew him,” he corrected himself.

  She waited, not sure if she could speak because her throat was getting tighter by the second.

  Wormwart sighed. “He was the faery prince, Lorean. I came across him one day in the woods when it first started turning into silver. He was cornered by a flock of wraiths.” He shivered. “I hate wraiths. They’re all red eyes and bones and rotting teeth. The prince was fighting valiantly, but I knew it would only be a matter of time before he was overcome. That’s always how it is with wraiths, if they’re hungry enough. Yeh could maybe fight off one, but not several.”

  “What did you do?” she asked quietly.

  He glanced at her, grinning smugly. “What do yeh think I did? I helped him. And between the two of us, we beat them back until they went away. Yeh see, there’s only one way to deal with a wraith.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Light. Glimmer rock, to be exact.”

  She was only vaguely interested in what he was saying. For the most part, she felt dead inside, not even able to muster up enough curiosity to ask him what glimmer rock was.

  “Remember how I told yeh that if yeh save a faery’s life, it has to grant yeh a gift?”

  She nodded, recalling their first trip into the cellar, when her back had been raw and he’d opened the vial of –

  “Faery blood,” she said, finishing her thought out loud. “You asked for some of his blood. I remember.”

  He nodded. “Better than whiskey.”

  His humor was lost on her. She stared at the faery, still and thoughtful. “When I went outside I could feel his pain, so sharp as if it were my own.”

  “Ah,” Wormwart said. “Blood ties. Yeh had shared his blood. Faery blood has magical properties, since their race was born of the forest’s magic. Yeh could feel him because part of his soul was literally inside yeh.”

  She stared at Lorean. A slight smile was on his lips, and despite the fact his body was badly mutilated, he looked peaceful, as if he were having a good dream. The leaves above murmured as a breeze went by, lifting her hair. The smell riding the air snapped her out of her misery-ridden haze. It was sharp and musky yet sweet, a smell she would have known anywhere.

  Roses.

  “Do you see…?” she started to ask but Wormwart nodded.

  “Yes,” he said, looking around. “The sky is taking him home.”

  The wind picked up as Lorean began to shimmer with a blanket of golden lights. The lights dissolved his body, scattering and lifting on the breeze like dandelion seeds. They spiraled up, soaring high over the forest canopy. When the last of the stream vanished from sight, Natalia let out a breath.

  “Good-bye,” she whispered, saying a silent prayer for him. She didn’t know if faeries had souls, but it had been her mother’s belief that every living creature had a soul, even the plants, trees, and insects.

  Her gaze dropped to the horn, which she retrieved from the ground. Lorean’s last words played through her head.

  “Save Thesperia and you will have saved me.”

  She gripped the horn. “I swear it,” she said under her breath, feeling the dark caress of anger. “I will avenge you.”

  She secured the horn to her belt, and Wormwart supported her by the arm as she rose. “Thank you,” she said, giving him an odd, wary look. She wanted to ask why he was here and why he was suddenly being so nice when she thought he hated her, but she pressed her lips together, deciding it could wait.

  Her body was starting to feel stronger, though her knees still trembled. She looked around at the grave faces of the men and dwarves. Caspar even looked more downtrodden, the first time she had ever seen the twinkle gone from his eyes. Malachite stood nearby, gaze sharp.

  “We should return to the safety of the Den,” he said. “It’s not safe to stay here.”

  “My pack won’t be going anywhere with yeh, marauder,” Wormwart said, eyeing Malachite with suspicion.

  “They saved our lives, Wormwart,” Natalia said, glaring at him.

  “Ha! Then he’s a noble thief, but a thief all the same.”

  “We didn’t do it for you, dwarf,” Malachite said, a sneer to his voice. “We came to aid the girl.”

  Natalia blinked. “Me?”

  “My son told me how you helped him,” Malachite said, walking toward her. “You saved his life not once but twice, and for that I am eternally in your debt.” He hesitated, looking as if he wanted to say more. “And if I may say so, my Lady, I would not recommend going back to the cottage, at least not tonight. The wolf may tell his Host where you are…”

  Her eyes narrowed. She knew he was speaking of the Queen, but that wasn’t what nagged her. “What do you know about me?” she asked, keeping her voice down.

  Malachite inclined his head, lowering his voice and holding her gaze. “I know what you’re facing,” he whispered. “And what you’ve lost… Princess Natalia.”

  Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of her true name.

  “How do you know that name?” she asked. It sounded more demanding than she mea
nt.

  “My history runs parallel to yours,” he said, smiling nostalgically. “My dear, I have known you since your birth.”

  She examined his face, trying to place it with some lost memory. “Are you sure?”

  “Age, coupled with hardship, can transform a man’s appearance. It does not surprise me you do not recognize me. But I can assure you,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it with a bow of his head, “that I am loyal to the true crown.”

  “All right,” Caspar said, stepping between them so Malachite was forced to drop her hand. “I can appreciate you saving our lives and all, but I think whatever it is you have to say can be said before the rest of us.”

  Malachite looked from the prince to Natalia, a knowing grin spreading across his bearded face. “Young love,” he sighed. “I was the same way with my wife.”

  Natalia and Caspar both turned the same shade of deep red.

  “That’s absurd,” she sputtered. “I’m not, we’re not –”

  “She’s not my wife. Er, wait, we’re not. That is –” Caspar said at the same time.

  Malachite chuckled. “Calm down,” he said, holding up his hands. “You’ll figure it out, in time.” His face turned serious. “Back to your question, lad. I don’t mind at all sharing my secrets, but I stress again we cannot stay here. If you’ll come with me to my camp, I will gladly tell you everything.”

  Caspar glanced at Natalia, a question in his eyes.

  She looked back at Malachite, eyes narrowed. “How do I know I can trust you? The last time we met you almost had me killed.”

  Caspar growled low in his throat, but she laid a hand on his arm, holding him at bay.

  “I am sorry,” Malachite said, holding her gaze. “But if the only family you had left were in danger, how would you behave? Wouldn’t you do anything to protect them?”

  Rose’s face immediately came to mind. Natalia paused, thinking and weighing her options. Something in her gut told her Malachite was trustworthy, despite their rocky start. “All right. I believe you.”

  “Oh, come on!” Wormwart howled. “He’s a stinking thief!”

  “And you forget you were almost a murderer,” Natalia said, rounding on him. “How can you judge him for that when you almost committed a far worse crime?”

  Wormwart crossed his arms, scowling. “Would have served him right.”

  Natalia sighed, rolling her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, turning back to Malachite.

  Malachite looked from her to Wormwart, his upper lip rising in a sneer, before he turned around and raised his voice. “Start making for the Den.”

  The men cast wary looks at the dwarves but began melting into the darkness. Malachite turned back to Natalia. “I want to help you, but I cannot be gone from my tribe for long. I will return, either with or without you. What is your decision?”

  “We’ll go,” Natalia said without pause. “Won’t we?” She steeled her voice, looking at Wormwart, who mumbled something under his breath she was pretty sure was a curse.

  Malachite bowed, one hand at his abdomen, the other holding back his cape. “Then this way, my Lady.”

  They wove through the woods, too tired and troubled to speak. Somewhere along the way, Caspar’s fingers laced with hers and she blushed, giving him a small smile.

  She let him hold her hand as they walked, squeezing his hand in appreciation of the gesture. Something, like running water, hummed in the distance, growing steadily louder the farther they walked. Ahead, the forest floor suddenly dropped away, revealing a cliff overlooking a roaring waterfall. White spray misted the air, making it feel damp and cold.

  Malachite stopped at the cliff, gazing over the ravine and the swirling black waters of the river below.

  “Where are we?” Natalia asked.

  “The Whispering Falls,” Malachite replied.

  “They’re doing a little more than whispering,” Caspar said, practically yelling to be heard over the noise.

  Malachite shrugged off his comment. He pointed at the waterfall. “The Den is behind there.”

  Natalia followed his finger. “You mean behind the waterfall?”

  Malachite nodded. “We’ll have to climb down. Be careful. The rocks are slippery.”

  He wasn’t joking. She nearly fell several times, sending her heart racing, but within a few minutes, they all managed to climb down safely. Malachite showed them the hidden path behind the waterfall, and they filed behind the screaming torrent of water one by one. The rocks, unfortunately, were even slicker behind the waterfall, and Caspar gripped her hand to keep her from falling.

  She was grateful beyond words when she stumbled into a black cave that looked like it ran clean through the side of the hill. Torches were lit up along the walls, stuck straight into the mud. “What is this place?” she asked, looking around in wonder. The dampness in the air was starting to make her skin feel sticky. Already, her hair was clinging to her face and neck.

  “Welcome to the Den,” Malachite said, sweeping an arm about regally, as if it were some grand palace.

  Water dripped in streams from the ceiling, catching the light on its way down and hoarding it away in the many puddles along the floor. With the waterfall at her back, it was still impossible to hear much of anything without straining to listen.

  “This way,” Malachite said, walking forward, or at least, that’s what she thought he said. She more or less had to lip read.

  Malachite strode forward, a king entering his castle. His posture changed, relaxing somewhat. She watched him curiously, how the slope of his shoulders slackened and the wrinkles around his mouth smoothed out. Coming home, she decided. That’s what this must be like for him.

  Deep inside her heart, a tiny question full of hope surfaced: Would she ever feel like she was home?

  “The caverns were carved out by the underground rivers centuries ago, long before any of us were born,” Malachite said. “They’re ideal for those seeking to hide from something, as the waterfall masks any sound we might make that would alert someone searching for us.”

  “So are you all Thesperian?” Natalia asked. The air, though moist, was crisp and fresh, reawakening her taxed senses.

  “Yes,” Malachite said bitterly.

  Natalia cast him a wary glance, biting on her lip to suppress the questions dancing along her tongue.

  The tunnel was growing brighter, lighting up orange where the floor dropped out. She could see faraway walls across the expanse of whatever lay below. A multitude of voices – women, men, and children – grew louder as they approached the edge. The scent of the earth was underscored by something sharper, like smoke.

  Malachite’s pace quickened and he frowned.

  A man met him, torch in hand. “We didn’t know what else to do,” the man said, sounding somewhat out of breath. The bags under his eyes suggested he had not slept in a while. “They just poured out of the forest like a band of stray animals.”

  Natalia missed Malachite’s reaction, because at that moment, the ravine came into view and she lost all train of thought.

  Hundreds of people, all wearing tattered rags, stood below, some clustered together while others argued or grieved with one another. Their pale, haunted faces were filled with terror, their dark eyes empty with loss. Ashes covered their skin, blackening their hair and clothes with ugly smudges.

  “Good lord,” Natalia breathed, taking them all in. “I didn’t realize there were so many of you.”

  “There aren’t,” Malachite said, his voice significantly tighter. The look on his face chilled her blood.

  She locked eyes with him. “What is it?” she whispered.

  Malachite swallowed. “Refugees,” he said. “They’re all refugees.”

  “Refugees? From where?”

  A long pause.

  “From Thesper, my Lady,” Malachite said. “The city has been destroyed.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Color of Sadness

  It took a long time before
Natalia could figure out how to speak. “What? When did this happen?”

  “Exactly what I would like to know,” Malachite murmured, storm clouds rolling over his eyes. He looked at the man who told them the news. “Walk with me and tell me everything.”

  The words still hadn’t sunk in. They occupied Natalia’s thoughts as they walked, making her gait clumsy. More than once Caspar had to catch her, glancing at her with worry. She shrugged him off, too caught up feeling as if someone had punched her in the gut, leaving her body with that “shocked, out of breath” sensation.

  They didn’t travel down into the ravine where the crowd was gathered. Instead, they walked on a path to the right, skirting the edge of the cliff, and approached a landing of sorts that was occupied by a handful of shabby “dwellings” in the form of tents, worn-out pillows, armor, and weapons. Malachite spoke with the man in hushed tones, walking briskly, but Natalia didn’t hear or see much of what was going on around her. All she could think about was that Thesper, the city her ancestors had worked so hard to build, was gone.

  Malachite led them to a tent with a red overhang eaten up by holes. Strings hung from its frayed sides, tickling her nose as she passed under it. Orange light from the several torches and lanterns lit within the tent flickered all around the walls, pitching their shadows at different angles.

  Malachite nodded and the messenger left.

  He turned, looking much older than when they first entered the cave. “You may wish to find a seat,” he said gravely. “You’ll probably need to be sitting down for this.”

  Her heart stuttered, and she found it difficult to swallow, but she did as he said, walking over to a heap of sacks. Caspar helped her down, taking a seat beside her and keeping a hand at the small of her back. His head was bent toward hers, scanning it with a frown.

  Malachite sat across from her, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He clasped his hands together, looking at her.

  “Havesh told me that right after the sun set and darkness descended upon the town, fire fell from the sky as thousands of lit arrows rained down like hellfire.”

  Natalia stared at him, growing more hollow and cold inside as she listened.