by Jim C. Hines
“If your stepsisters have magic enough to conjure a Chirka, they’re strong enough to cloud a man’s mind.” He closed the book. The silver waterfall reversed direction, flowing back into the cover with a ringing splash. “The treaty protects your nobles. No fairy would dare aid your stepsisters. But if Armand thought he was acting of his own volition . . .”
“What about Brahkop?” Danielle asked. “He tried to murder us.”
“Brahkop’s an exile,” Trittibar said. “Casteless, and cut off from the power of the hill. By our law, he’s no more of fairy blood than you, Your Highness.”
“So why take Armand to Fairytown?” Talia asked.
“That’s something you’ll have to ask his kidnappers,” Trittibar said. Setting the book on his chair, he led them back toward the door. “Peter should have recovered and finished with the birds by now, I think.”
Danielle glanced at Snow and Talia. “I don’t understand. Will you help us or not?”
“I am Armand’s friend, Highness,” Trittibar said. “I would be yours as well. When you reach the wall of Fairytown, speak the word ‘Diglet’ three times.”
“Diglet?” Talia rolled her eyes. “That’s the password to get into Fairytown?”
Trittibar was already pushing through the feather curtain, into the stone hallway. “Come, ladies.” He chuckled as he walked. “Your ride awaits.”
Trittibar hadn’t restored them to their normal size, as Danielle had expected. Instead, he had climbed up the ivy to the spot where the roof of the mews joined the wall. The roof sloped at an angle which made climbing difficult, but not impossible. Talia strode like a cat along the cedar shingles, but Danielle and Snow moved more cautiously. Danielle’s muscles were still sore from yesterday’s exertions, and this climb left her cringing and rubbing her arms.
Trittibar crawled to the peak of the roof and cupped one hand over his eyes as he scanned the courtyard. He nodded, then hopped down to the second row of shingles. He touched one, and it fell inward like a trapdoor. “There she is,” he said. “Her name is Karina. She’ll get you to Fairytown by late afternoon.”
“This is madness,” Talia said.
“Nonsense,” laughed Trittibar. “She’s far faster than any horse or ship, and she’ll keep you as safe as a dozen of your guards.”
“If she doesn’t eat us first,” Talia retorted.
Danielle stepped around Talia to peer through the hole in the roof. The smell of straw and bird droppings filled her nose. She knew at once which bird was Trittibar’s.
Karina was smaller than the other falcons, though she was still large enough to snatch all three girls in her claws. Her feathers were white as newfallen snow, tipped with red along the wings. She shrieked excitedly at Trittibar, shifting on her perch and spreading her wings. Her chest was mottled with red, and as she hopped to a closer perch, Danielle could see an amber crest on the top of her head.
“The splash of red on her brow is called the fairy crown,” Trittibar said proudly. “They say it’s proof that Karina is a descendant of the first falcon brought here by the fairy king, back when this world was born.”
Most of the other falcons were still on the floor, ripping apart the remains of their breakfast. Trittibar put his fingers to his mouth and gave a low, warbling whistle.
Karina leaped into the air, flying directly toward the spot where Danielle and the others stood. Danielle flinched and stepped back. The hole was too small. The falcon would snap her wings if she didn’t turn aside.
Trittibar hastily tapped a second shingle, which began to open outward.
Karina burst through the gap, knocking the shingle so it banged against the roof.
“Quiet, you,” Trittibar scolded, but he was grinning as he spoke. Karina landed and ducked her head, tucking her beak beneath one wing. Trittibar reached up to scratch the feathers of her chest. She twisted her head still further, and the neck feathers poofed out so he could reach the skin.
In the open sunlight, Karina was even more impressive. Though smaller than the other hunting birds, something in those pearl-black eyes told Danielle that this was a bird who knew nothing of fear. Both the energy of a child and the wisdom of a grandparent spoke to her from those eyes. “You’re beautiful.”
Karina bobbed her head.
“I’m not riding a fairy bird across this island,” Talia said.
“Of course not.” Trittibar gave the falcon one last pat, then walked over to close the shingles. “You’ll be harnessed to her chest.”
He led them down the other side of the roof. There, a stone gutter drained rainwater into a barrel on the ground. Trittibar stopped at a cluster of ivy which grew near the end of the gutter. Shoving aside the leaves and vines, he pulled out a large leather harness and an enormous basket.
“Dried willow from the elven forests,” he said, tapping the basket. “Light as air, and strong as steel.” He set the basket to one side and began tossing the harness straps over Karina’s back and wings.
Karina took a playful nip at Trittibar’s beard. He yanked it free and used the end to swat her on the beak. “None of that now,” he said. “It’s time to work.”
He pulled the harness tight, buckling the straps so they crossed in the center of her chest. Then he lifted the basket. “Could you hold this, my dear?” he said to Snow.
Snow grabbed the basket, which was twice as tall as she was, and held it steady as Trittibar threaded more straps through the back of the basket. A heavy sheet of white leather covered the top, beneath Karina’s chin.
“This can be buckled from the inside or out,” he said, showing them the brass buckles along the top of the basket. “Make sure all of the buckles are pulled tight. Otherwise there’s nothing to stop you from tumbling out if Karina goes into a dive.”
“I’m walking,” Talia said. “I’ll meet you in Fairytown.”
Danielle was already moving toward Karina. Trittibar smiled and laced his fingers together, providing a stirrup to boost her into the basket. He was stronger than he appeared, hoisting her over the edge as if she weighed no more than a feather. Which was close to the truth, really.
Cushions and blankets lined the bottom of the basket. Danielle scooted to one side to make room for the others. The basket hung at an odd angle. Resting with her back against the far side, she sat facing Karina’s chest, which seemed the most comfortable. She tried to find a position where her sword wouldn’t catch the holes of the basket, and finally ended up removing the sword and belt altogether.
Snow slid down beside her, giggling. As soon as her feet touched the bottom of the basket, Snow was twisting around and pulling herself back up to peer out at Talia. “Hurry up, fraidycat. It’ll be fun.”
Talia threw one of their bags into the basket, knocking Snow down. Danielle watched as Talia turned back to Trittibar and asked, “How do we get back to our normal size? I’m not hunting the prince like this.”
Trittibar grabbed a large pouch from his sash. One side was white, the other black, and Danielle could see that it was divided in the middle, like two sacks sewn together as one. Trittibar retrieved three black objects the size and shape of walnuts. “These spores will change you back to your normal, oversized selves. I trust I don’t have to tell you to wait until after you’ve landed?”
Talia tossed the rest of their belongings in with Danielle and Snow. Ignoring Trittibar’s offer of assistance, she jumped to grab the upper edge of the basket. She swung one leg over the edge and dropped lightly down beside Snow.
With three people, even shrunken as they were, the basket was fairly crowded. Danielle tried to squirm toward one side to give the others room.
Talia stood and began tugging the buckles tight. Danielle did the same on her side, working the thick, stiff leather through loops woven into the basket.
“Are you ready?” Trittibar asked.
Talia lay back, closing her eyes and muttering, “I suppose it’s too much to expect that this thing is just going to run really fast a
long the ground?”
Trittibar chuckled. He walked around to pat Karina’s wing. “Take them to Fairytown, swiftly as you can. And, Princess?”
Danielle hesitated, not sure which princess he meant.
“Bring your husband home safe. And yourself.”
Trittibar whistled, and the world fell away. The falcon turned sharply to the left, away from the mews. Danielle fell against Snow, who slid onto Talia. Wind rushed through the basket as Karina soared past the top of the wall. She circled over the palace, climbing higher and higher until the people below were little more than specks.
Danielle gasped as the ocean came into view. Sunlight sparkled on the water. Frost tipped the waves nearest the cliffs while, farther out, the sea appeared as rippled blue glass.
Talia groaned. “If we survive this, I’m taking a horse back from Fairytown.”
That if stuck in Danielle’s mind long after the palace shrank from view.
CHAPTER 6
DANIELLE HAD NEVER realized how large the kingdom of Lorindar truly was. She lay on her stomach, hands folded beneath her chin as she stared through the cracks of the basket at the land below. Though the initial launch had been terrifying, now she barely noticed the faint tremor when Karina flapped her wings, or the shifting of the basket as she curved this way and that, following the whims of the wind.
Talia, on the other hand, sat with her knees to her chest, taking deep, slow breaths. Sweat dampened her skin.
“Don’t worry,” said Danielle. “I’m sure we’ll be there soon.”
Snow shook her head. “It’s a two-day ride on horse-back. But see down there, where the King’s Road splits off to the east? That heads to the Coastal Highway, and it means we’re making much better time. We should reach Fairytown later today.”
“Fairytown,” Talia muttered. “What a stupid name.”
“That’s not the true name,” Snow said. “The fairies’ name means something like ‘Home away from home, trapped between two big rocks and surrounded by tasty mushrooms that make you feel like you’re turning into a puddle.’ But ‘Fairytown’ is shorter.”
Talia caught a tuft of down that had slipped into the basket. She used both hands to shove the feather through one of the cracks, then brushed her palms on her trousers. “I’m never going to get the smell of bird out of my clothes.”
Danielle rolled onto her side. “What did they do to you, Talia?”
“Who?”
“The fairies.” She had wanted to ask since they left the palace, but it had taken until now to work up the courage. “I’ve heard the tales, but there has to be more to it. You’re the one who told me stories don’t tell the whole truth.”
“I don’t like to talk about it,” Talia said.
“I understand. But we’re going to be in Fairytown. From what Trittibar said, we might be the only humans for miles. I thought—”
“I’m not going to go into a berserker rage and start ripping the wings from pixies or tossing dwarves into the chasm, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Talia grabbed a skin of water and took several deep swallows. “Don’t trust them. That’s all you need to know.”
“Trittibar helped us,” Danielle said. “Most of the fairies in your story tried to help you. Even after you were cursed, the last fairy did her best to protect you. Or is that not how it really happened?”
Snow had been deliberately moving away from them, digging through a bundle Trittibar had thrown in at the last moment. She pulled out an irregular ball the size of her head. The skin was clear on one side, white on the other, and filled with a thick red fluid. Snow pulled her knife and poked a hole in the skin. “Pomegranate seed,” she said, sucking out the juice. She wiped her chin on the back of her wrist. “You should tell her, Talia.”
“You should stay out of this.”
Snow reached over to put a juice-stained hand on Talia’s arm. “‘Knowledge ranks first among all weapons.’ King Phillipe the Second said that. The more Danielle knows, the better prepared she’ll be.”
“Phillipe. Isn’t he the one who took a cloth yard arrow to the throat?” Talia pulled away from Snow’s touch. “Knowledge might make a good weapon, but it’s lousy armor.”
“I don’t mean to upset you,” Danielle said.
“Of course not. Everyone always has the best of intentions.” Talia snorted and tucked a few sweaty strands of hair behind her ear. “Sure, the fairies gave me their ‘gifts.’ Some of them take great pleasure in ‘improving’ us lowly humans. They gave me grace, beauty, the voice of an angel . . . everything a princess needs to satisfy her future husband.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out the spindle-shaped zaraq whip she had taken from the palace. “Then there was the curse, that I would die by my sixteenth birthday.”
“But you didn’t,” Danielle said. “The last fairy saved you. You can’t judge all of them from—”
“The last fairy destroyed me,” Talia said. Her dark eyes were numb and empty. “She perverted the curse. Instead of death, the spell brought unending sleep. Not just to me, but to everyone in the palace. She raised a hedge of thorns around our home to shelter us from the world. For a century we slept.”
“Until your prince came,” Danielle said.
Talia slammed the whip’s handle against the basket hard enough to elicit a squawk of protest from Karina.
“With our palace gone, my uncle claimed the throne. For years they hacked their way through the hedge until they broke through. My ‘prince’ was the great-great-grandson of the man who ordered the murder of my parents, my brothers and sisters, everyone who might one day awaken and challenge their rule. The only reason they allowed me to live is that they didn’t know what my death would do to the fairy’s spell.”
Danielle wanted to reach over and offer some kind of support, feeble and worthless though the gesture might be. But she doubted Talia would appreciate it. “What happened next?”
“The prince awakened me,” Talia said. “The tales got that much right, at least.” She rubbed her hands together, like she was trying to clean them. “A hundred years I slept, and not once did those fairies return to see how my family fared. The one who cursed me did it out of spite. But it was her companions, through their blindness and apathy, who destroyed us.”
Danielle turned toward Snow, who had set the pomegranate seed aside and was staring out the side of the basket.
“Is that how it was with you?” Danielle asked. “Your life sounds so awful in the stories, but they say you found happiness in the end.”
“For close to a year, I lived with the hunter my mother had hired to kill me,” Snow said. “But then she learned of his betrayal and tortured him to death. I destroyed her for that.” Snow shrugged and reached for another bag. “Did we bring anything else to drink?”
“Are all of the tales like this?” Danielle asked. “Did Jack Giantslayer fall into despair and poverty? Was Red Riding Hood murdered by wolves seeking revenge for the death of their kin?”
Talia snorted. “No, Red survived. But that kind of thing changes a woman.”
“Changes her how?”
“The Lady of the Red Hood is one of the most feared assassins this side of Adenkar,” Snow said.
Danielle stared, trying to read their faces. “You’re joking.”
“It’s true.” Talia rolled up her sleeves and touched one of the scars on her forearm. “Bitch nearly killed the queen a few years back.”
Danielle lay back, trying to absorb everything they had said. Look at how much her own story had grown and changed in the past months. The only common thread was how perfect life was supposed to be, once she had married Armand. Her hands went to her stomach.
Talia wiped her face. “I don’t mean to argue with old King Phillipe, but in my experience, the best weapon is a good weapon.” She grabbed Danielle’s wrist and slapped a knife into her hand. “Normally I’d start with footwork, but this isn’t exactly an ideal training circle. Your sword’s almost as li
ght as this knife, but you hold it like a drunken woodsman with an ax. You’re too tense, and it slows you down.”
Danielle tried to relax her grip.
“Not that loose,” Talia said. She rapped the blade with her knuckles, and the knife spun out of Danielle’s hand. The blade jabbed a hole in one of the blankets. “Use the thumb and forefinger to guide the tip. That’s where your control comes from.”
She demonstrated with the knife, then handed it back to Danielle, who tried to imitate Talia’s movements. She flicked the tip of the blade back and forth.
“Small movements. You’re not strong enough for a brute force, hack-and-slash approach. Fortunately, you don’t need one with that sword. A light kiss with the tip in the right spot will kill a man as dead as a broad-sword through the heart.” Talia touched her throat. “Here’s your best target, if you can hit it. A feint at the groin is good, too, if you’re fighting a man. The sight of a blade coming for their jewels will make most men leap back and lower their guard.”
“I don’t want to kill anyone,” Danielle said, staring at the knife.
“I’m sure your stepsisters will be delighted to hear that.” Talia caught Danielle’s wrist and twisted the knife from her hand. “It means they’ll have a much easier time killing you.” She gestured for Danielle to draw her own knife. “This time when I lunge, bring the blade across your body to knock mine aside. Take it slowly. First learn the movements, then worry about speed.”
For close to an hour they practiced. Danielle suspected it was as much for Talia’s sake as for hers, something to distract Talia from her discomfort. By the time Karina began to circle, Danielle’s hand was cramped and sweaty, and her shoulder ached from trying the different lunges and parries Talia had made her do again and again.
Danielle put the knife away and turned over, studying the ground below. Awe swept all other feelings aside as she gazed down at the chasm that split the island in two. Malindar’s Triumph, some called it. The canyon ran the width of the island, an ugly gash that seemed to stretch on forever. Even so high in the air, she could see no sign of the ocean.