by Gwynn White
Ildrim shot them through the mist into blinding whiteness. Surrounded by cloud on every side, she lost all sense of direction. She couldn’t tell if they were soaring upward or plummeting to the ground.
Ivan yelped, and even Feral Fox squawked toothlessly.
“This cloud is awful,” Klaus said in a strained voice. “Are we almost there?”
She caught Trystaen’s muffled reply. “Give it a minute, and we’ll be through it.”
She held her breath and counted off the seconds. She hadn’t reached thirty when Ildrim soared them into eye-searing sunshine. She blinked against the glare, then shut her eyes. Only when the red flares quit dancing on her eyelids did she risk opening them.
Brilliant blue sky stretched out forever in every direction.
Averin leaned into her. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” His smile suggested he’d been waiting for this moment.
She nodded, turning her head to drink it all in.
Big as Ildrim was, he was a mere dot in infinity. Yet as small and insignificant as they were, they were flying. With no fairies to mask the Tiyanak, or brooding cloud to snatch at her, she was as free as the air. Tears that had nothing to do with speed or the buffeting wind spilled down her cheeks. Even if she lived for the billion years Averin joked about, she’d never forget this moment of unbridled freedom.
“It’s thanks to all this”—Averin waved his hand at the sky— “that I bargained with the two-faced god for my wings.”
That’s how he became a shapeshifter. Through yet another bargain. Was there no other way of getting things done in the world of fae?
She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, then turned to him. “Why a raven? You could have been anything. Even an eagle, like Ildrim.” She chuckled. “Imagine how that would scare the crap out of your enemies.”
Averin snorted a laugh. “Just a tad big, don’t you think?” He cleared his throat. “You didn’t ask what I traded.”
“Stasha!” Klaus’s fingers dug into her shoulders. “Look! The palace. And–and those other buildings.”
“Hold that thought,” she said to Averin as she peered over the side of the sleigh.
Stretched below, the cloud island was divided into three distinct sections, each joined by gleaming blue-green roads. At the island’s tips, wispy clouds curled. There wasn’t even a railing to stop careless fae from falling to their death if they took one step too many.
In the center of the island, a colossal blue-green building glinting with windows of every shape and size rose out of a sea of windswept grass and colorful flowers. All soaring towers and curves, it was easy to see that wind had been the building’s craftsman. The Zephyr flag, a mountain peak straddled by feathery wings, flew on the highest tower.
“The palace.” Averin sounded smug, as if they hadn’t all noticed how extraordinary the palace was. Show-off fae.
She nudged him a little harder than necessary. “And that… wave?” There was no other word to describe the blue-green stone monolith to the left of the palace. Frozen in time just moments before the wave broke, the rocky crest overshadowed a parade ground dotted with fae soldiers dressed in black Zephyr fighting leathers.
“My military headquarters,” Averin said. “And home to the Azura.”
“And having your head in the clouds helps wage war?” It was a lame jibe, but she couldn’t resist.
“Worked for the last two hundred and seventy-five years.” Now Averin didn’t just sound smug; cockiness oozed from every pore. He’d been twenty-five when he’d taken over control of the military. Probably considered an infant in the world of the fae. It robbed the truth that the war had gone on for a millennium of some of its sting.
“And that?” She pointed at the collection of buildings to the right of the palace. They consisted of a tent-shaped structure, also hewn from the same rock, surrounded by unremarkable individual turquoise buildings.
Averin looked away.
This time she put some force behind her jabbing elbow. “I know you heard me, so stop being evasive.”
He shrugged. “We call it the carnival.”
“Sounds like fun. What happens there?”
“The Zephyr court goes there to relax.”
Another vague answer. No doubt the carnival was also wrapped up in all the questions she’d sworn not to ask. That didn’t stop her taking another dig at Averin. “No wonder Darien is offering such a stupidly outrageous reward to the fae who brings it down.”
Averin stiffened. “Never going to happen. Nobody enters or leaves the palace without Ildrim’s permission, which, I think you’ve noticed, he doesn’t give lightly.”
She swallowed a rock-sized lump in her throat. If the Zephyr king commanded Ildrim to refuse her free passage, she’d be little more than a prisoner here. Just as she’d figured. How different would that be to what awaited her in Pyreack if King Darien ever got his hands on her? The only difference was, she’d walked into Zephyr somewhat willingly.
Ildrim turned on a wing and arrowed straight down. Through her wind-whipped hair, she saw one of the palace’s many towers rise up to meet them. Ildrim’s speed didn’t falter. She gripped the fur with both hands and squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart pounded so hard, she was sure it would crack her ribs.
Moments later, they stopped.
Silence wrapped around her like a cloak, a cloak so thin, it couldn’t keep the wind at bay.
She let go of the fur and opened her eyes.
Stasha and the team had landed on a pale stone floor, similar in size and purpose to Ildrim’s platform at the Crossing, if the gouges in the flagstones were any indicator. It was ringed by saffron-gold rock walls that corkscrewed together way above her head. Blue sky sparkled through a hole at the apex. Ildrim must have dove through it.
Averin tossed the fur aside, opened the low door, and hopped off the sleigh. “Welcome to my home. If anyone other than Klaus needs help dismounting, speak up.” His voice sounded reedy in the thin air.
No one, not even Klaus, asked for aid. In fact, none of the battalion moved. She also stayed sitting as she tried to absorb their new location. Neither the pinprick of light above nor the richly colored walls gave her a sense of geography. It was almost as if they’d fallen into a new dimension. Zephyr looked like nothing she’d ever seen before. So obscure and strange, it felt very out of place in Zathryth. It was like the war that had ripped every other kingdom on the continent apart hasn’t even scratched the surface of Zephyr. She found it strangely unsettling.
Averin stalked around the sleigh on silent feet and stopped in front of Ildrim. “Mightiest of birds and guardian of the Trysael palace, your prince thanks you.” Hands cupped, he puffed another stream of magic at Ildrim.
Expecting some reaction to the gift, Stasha scrambled out of the sleigh. Her boots hit the floor with an echoing thud. She swung around to help Klaus dismount and was just about to ease his bad foot out of the sleigh when a black-and-red light slipped between them. Although no denser than smoke, it had a solid presence that forced her back. She stumbled on the slick floor. “Hey! Do you mind?”
Just inches from Klaus, the light morphed. Twisted bloodred spikes grew out of a narrow head that gleamed like the molten gold she’d seen in Angharad. Next came a vaguely humanoid body. Its nakedness was wreathed in a wisp of red light.
Klaus’s eyes widened, and his face paled at the terrifying creature. He opened his mouth, but no sound come out. Stuck on the sleigh, he’d never manage to escape.
She lurched forward and shoved the creature to get it away from him. Her arm passed straight through its body.
It loomed even taller over Klaus, who cowered before it.
Fire seared across her skin. She picked out a yellow flame and tossed it at the specter’s back as a warning to leave Klaus alone. It struck but instantly fizzled out. The apparition didn’t move.
Punching a ghost wouldn’t work, so she plucked up another handful of fire, not bothering to exclude blue and green flames. Trystaen stepped b
etween them before she could toss her ball.
“Move! That thing is going for Klaus.” She tried to dodge around him.
Trystaen brushed the fiend away with a gentle hand.
So not an enemy then. Her fire crackled once before stalking back under her skin. It left her burning with embarrassment. Why had she assumed the worst? Then again, why not?
She looked around for Averin, the fae who’d fueled all of her fears with his maddening silence mixed with heavy hints of troubles to come. He was busy with Ildrim.
“You’re in Zephyr now.” She caught a smile in Trystaen’s voice and turned to him. “Even your fire will struggle in this suffocating world.”
“Suffocating? Strange choice of word.” Her voice sounded strangled. It didn’t help that she’d measured herself against King Seph’s power and found that unless she had both her fire and water magic at full capacity, she would be sorely lacking.
“I’m merely saying that even the lowliest fairy in Zephyr will attempt to suck the air out of your fire. It’s called self-defense. Here, Pyreack fae are the enemy. One sure way to put fire out is to smother it.” Trystaen dipped his head at her and Suren. “Present company excluded.” He turned to Klaus. “I’m sure you’d prefer if I helped you.”
Klaus gulped. Trystaen must have taken that as a yes. He lifted Klaus out of the sleigh and put him on the ground. Klaus shuffled to her side. Feral Fox and the boys climbed out. They stood in a separate huddle, gawping at the creature who’d caused all the trouble. Golden face expressionless, it flickered back into a ray of light and drifted across the cavern, only to vanish through the rock wall.
How wonderful. Not.
She’d get no sleep in this palace if its creepier inhabitants could slip through walls.
Klaus shifted closer, only stopping when their arms brushed. Eyes guarded and watchful, Suren shuffled next to Klaus. “Scholar Klaus, I’ve got your back,” he murmured. Not that Suren’s fire magic would help if hers had failed, but his protectiveness still warmed her heart.
“What in all the darkness was that thing?” she asked.
Trystaen came up behind her and draped an arm around her and Klaus’s shoulders. “I get it. Honestly, I do. Arriving in Ilyseryph for the first time can make any grounded fae—” He cleared his throat. “Person question their sanity. I certainly did.”
Klaus laughed nervously. “I thought it was just me.” He held up both hands. “I’ve only been here an hour, and I’ve more questions than fingers.”
“You and all of us.” She grinned at Feral Fox and the others to encourage them to join their conversation. Until Averin finished with Ildrim, no one could leave. They might as well use the time to quiz Trystaen about Zephyr. The battalion moved as one… a united force that, hopefully, would find a place in the war against Darien. She shifted to make room for them.
Trystaen let go of her and Klaus’s shoulders to step into the circle. He rubbed his hands together. “More questions than fingers, you say. Where to begin—”
“Sylphs,” Averin interrupted. His voice came from the opposite side of the cavern. He’d moved silently. She glanced around expecting to find Ildrim, but he’d vanished. How could she have missed all that movement?
“And explain quickly,” Averin added. “My bath’s calling.” Covered from head to toe in soot, not to mention his other grime, he looked like a laborer who spent his evening climbing up chimneys. “So’s food. My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”
Her stomach rumbled in sympathy. She thought Averin might comment, but his eyes were fixed on Trystaen. They danced with laughter.
“If you insist.” Trystaen waved self-deprecatingly. “The fairy that upset you is called a sylph. They’re found nowhere else but Zephyr.” He grinned at Averin, who now rocked with silent laughter. “On my first night here, Averin convinced me that sylphs were soul-sucking parasites. He said they steal souls while fae are sleeping.”
“I can believe it,” Ivan muttered under his breath.
Trystaen chuckled roughly. “Then you can imagine how I felt going to bed that night. Eventually I fell asleep, only to wake minutes later with three sylphs hovering over me.” He slapped Averin on the side of the head. “Bastard had set them on me. Can’t imagine why I’m still friends with him.”
She and everyone else joined in Trystaen and Averin’s laughter. As cruel as Averin’s joke seemed, it must have given Trystaen something other than the loss of his family and the betrayal of his queen to think about on what had to have been a very tough first night.
Klaus’s laughter broke off. “Trystaen, I suspect you’re leaving out the best bit of that story.”
“You mean did I soil myself?” Trystaen rolled his pine-green eyes. “Only me and the sylph who laundered my clothes know the answer to that.” He gave a mock bow. “Let’s all take a moment to appreciate just how young and impressionable I was.” When he straightened, he and Averin locked eyes. Wave upon wave of comradery, affection, and respect passed between them.
Averin punched Trystaen’s arm. “Still one of my better pranks. C’mon, everyone, let’s get out of here.” He headed to a line of shadow in one of the walls. His boots didn’t even rasp in the echoing emptiness.
With Klaus on one side of her and Suren on the other, she followed, conscious of their heels clicking on the stone. Averin slipped through the shadow and vanished. She took Klaus’s hand and hurried. Where had Averin gone? Closer now, it was obvious the shadow was really an opening in the rock wide enough for them to pass through in single file. Klaus and Suren both stood aside for her to go first.
She snorted. “The last of the brave ones, I see.” Her voice sounded unnaturally loud. She dropped an octave or two. “I won’t be calling on either of you if I’m attacked by sylphs tonight.”
Klaus flicked his overgrown bangs out of his eyes. “Just trying to be a gentleman.”
“Sure you are.” She stepped into the shadow, which turned out to be a short passageway cleaved through the golden rock. It opened into a scallop-shaped room with striated saffron, ruby-red, and eggplant-colored rock walls. Ever upward they soared to create a dome lit by soft light without an obvious source. An exquisite pale-gold, shimmering carpet was the only furnishing.
Mouth hanging open, she took a hesitant step onto it. Her boots sunk deep into luxurious pile. Back in Askavol, she’d woven wool for the girls on the looms to weave into carpets. Nothing they’d made even came close to this silken masterpiece. If Averin hadn’t been walking a few steps ahead of her, she’d have thrown herself down and rolled on it.
Klaus and Suren stepped out of the passageway and sidled up on either side of her. The rest of the battalion followed them. No one said a word, although their heads twisted and turned in every direction.
“Nyx!” Averin called. He was halfway across the carpet but didn’t stop for her and the others to catch up.
No one answered.
“Nyx Neverwhisper!” Averin yelled louder. He stopped and looked around peevishly. “What kind of welcome home is this?”
An iridescent green light zoomed around a wall as rounded as a melon. Averin smiled. “Oh, there you are.”
The beam zeroed into the carpet and then exploded into a shower of green sparks. As if caught in a small tornado, they swirled together to form a young man clad only in glittering green feathers and curl-toed green leather boots. Pistachio-green hair framed his—also green—feathered face. Although he floated a foot above the carpet, Averin still towered over him by a good couple of heads. She didn’t need to look at Klaus and the others to guess that their eyes were as wide as hers.
Nyx Neverwhisper’s apple-green lips split into a wide grin. “Averin, I’ll thank you to not give me a rollicking about shoddy welcomes since you couldn’t be bothered to send me word. And, oh my word, have we had some excitement while you’ve been gone. The magic—”
“We’ve got company,” Averin interrupted, waving in her general direction.
Eyes as y
ellow as any spring daffodil peered around Averin at her and the rest of the team. In a kingdom of blue-eyed fae and eagles, yellow eyes set Nyx apart, just as the vortex fairies’ black eyes had. But what he was, she couldn’t even begin to fathom.
Averin snorted, then half turned so he faced both her and Nyx. “Believe it or not, this rascal is my messenger, my writing table, my personal secretary, my—”
“Friend,” Nyx said in a tinkling voice that Averin didn’t dispute. Eliezar and Trystaen fitted so well with Averin that she’d never even considered questioning their friendship. What Averin had in common with Nyx Neverwhisper was anyone’s guess.
Head cocked, Nyx asked, “And just who have you dragged home this time, my prince?”
Smiling enigmatically, Averin shoved his hands into his pockets and left Nyx to assess her. Not sure what to expect, she stiffened as Nyx’s disconcertingly yellow eyes flitted from her to Suren and back again. She glared at Averin. “You’re not winning any friends here. Thank your carpet. It’s the only reason I’m not shooting flames at you.”
Trystaen and Eliezar strode into the chamber. They must have heard her.
“Console yourself, Stasha,” Trystaen said. “He does it because he cares.” He shot a quick look at her stormy face as he and Eliezar walked past, then whistled. “Averin, this might be too much care, even for you. You sure you want to do this?”
Averin gave him a lazy smile but said nothing.
“On your head be it.” Trystaen patted Nyx’s feathery back. “Go easy, buddy. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.” He and Eliezar followed a curve in the wall and were lost from view.
Nyx’s feathers ruffled, and a cloud of sparkle showered around him. It vanished with a tiny poof. Feathered head still canted, he floated through the last drifting flakes toward her. His upturned nose—human, although also feathered—sniffed.
She bared her teeth. “Black cherries and almonds. Like sweet, sweet wine. That’s what I smell like. Or so I’ve been told….” By the Tiyanak, when she’d traded Tarik’s ribbon for information.