“Fine,” I said. “The longer the better. As long as it does not tear my arm off.”
Merlin furrowed his brow. “Perhaps we should work on a dismemberment healing potion just in case.”
“I would laugh, but I doubt you are joking,” I replied.
“You know me too well.”
He held the door open for me and I strode out, feeling a bit lighter than when I had gone in. Being in the potions lab brought me joy. Using what I had created brought me joy. My work was getting better as I was getting better.
These portable potions were as diverse and strong as the very team of friends I associated with. I had seven creations in my arsenal now—the six I had just used, plus the much more powerful Realm Tearer potion, which could open quick portals to another realm.
While lately my work in the peace talks had been my intellectual contribution to society, developing these potions had been my physical contribution. I knew both aspects were important, but it was easier to feel fulfilled with potions. At least those were based on solutions I had complete control over.
Merlin and I began taking out supplies for brewing—cauldrons, beakers, forceps—when my Mark Two magic compact mirror started buzzing. I pulled the enchanted communication device from my pocket and opened it.
“Queen Belleny?”
The queen’s face shone joyfully in the looking glass. “SJ, dear. It happened! It happened just as we hoped! Your friends have been successful!”
It took two seconds for my brain to make the connection. It was a shamefully long time given the importance of the matter, but I had so much on my mind.
“Mark woke up?” I asked excitedly.
“He did! Barely a few minutes ago! He simply sat up in bed coughing. I tore myself away for a moment to let you know, as I promised I would if such a miracle occurred. Praise the Author that it has, and praise you children as well. This is because of you, and your friends, and I just—” The queen’s voice cracked as her eyes welled with happy tears. “I shall have Mark call you later this afternoon if he is feeling up to it.”
“No need,” I said firmly. “I am on my way.”
“Are you certain? Are you not otherwise preoccupied with the peace talks?”
“Yes,” I said. “But I will be there in a few hours anyway. See you soon, Your Majesty.”
She nodded and we hung up the call. I looked up at my wizard mentor.
“Merlin—”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll tell the others about Mark. And I know those diplomats you’re dealing with at the peace talks can be testy, but I’m sure you’ve earned enough credit with them to take a personal day. I’ll speak to the Godmother Supreme myself.”
“Thank you, Merlin.”
Potions sack and slingshot secured to my belt, I strode across the room. Before heading out the door, I gave the jar of sugar cubes on the table a good shake. Yes, that will do.
The journey out of the castle had never seemed longer. I was used to the elaborate, golden place by now, but today it felt like a maze as I wormed my way to freedom. I was nearly at the exit doors when Ivy Lynn Darling stepped out of a connecting hall, a mug in her hand.
“Where do you think you are going so early in the morning?” she asked.
“To check on a friend,” I replied without slowing down.
“At this hour?” asked the black-haired princess as I continued up the corridor past her. The green streak on one side of her hair was abrasive like her voice. “Nice to know that you still have the reliability of a lap dog, SJ—doing as other people ask and coming when called no matter what. It is almost as cute as you pretending to be some big boss princess at these peace talks. Adorable like a terrier in a sweater vest.”
My boldness, which came and went like a breeze, passed through. I paused and sighed, then turned around to look at the princess leaning against the doorway. “Ivy Lynn, can you take two steps back for me please?”
“Why?”
I grabbed my slingshot with one hand and drew a potion with the other. Ivy Lynn raised her eyebrows. Before she could speak, I had fired the silver potion. She leapt back in panic. The ice exploded on the floor in front of the doorway, sealing off the room.
“SJ!” She pounded on the ice angrily from the other side. “Frosty!”
I ignored her shouts and continued on my way. Of all the Darlings, Ivy Lynn was my least favorite. Several of the Darling children had bullied me when I was younger. Their nickname for me was “Frosty” because of my mother, Snow White. I believed in picking your battles, but lately I also believed in fighting them too. Shying away from conflict did not always deter it. Sometimes that was the wise move; other times it only encouraged people to push you around further. As such, I had occasionally been sniping back at others when they sniped at me, particularly the crueler Darling kids. I had taken their abuse for too long on the judgment that I should be the bigger person, be more forgiving, and practice kindness at every turn. Not every person deserved that type of treatment. And when I felt more fiery than usual, I did not have the tolerance to pretend like they did.
I strode out of the castle. The sky was streaked with light pinks, cold blues, and obstinate grays as daybreak neared. A brisk morning wind blew against my face. The castle sat at the peak of this mountain and connected with the village at its base by a long road full of switchbacks. Thankfully, to the left of the large runway ahead where flying creatures and carriages landed, there was a shortcut that the Darling family utilized.
I walked toward the elevator. Guards stationed there opened it for me and seconds later I was plummeting in a quick, controlled descent through the mountain.
Orange light illuminated the inside of the elevator. The box’s interior was steel. Despite being refurbished following an attack about a month ago, I did not feel comfortable in the lift. I did not care for heights, and I did not imagine anyone cared for tiny elevators surrounded by rock.
Minutes later, the doors slid open to reveal a tunnel lined by guards. Outside the tunnel, the village seemed like a ghost town. Only one café had its lights on. I headed toward the forest beyond the houses and shops, passing a number of guards on the path before reaching a wide-open area with barns and stables. Gamekeepers and other staff were already up and about. They waved when they saw me. A girl with pigtails named Susie came jogging over, eager to assist.
“Princess SJ,” she said, curtseying. “We never see you this early. Is something wrong?”
“Actually, it is quite the opposite,” I said. “I need to take Betsy to meet a friend.”
To get to the peace talks in Gallant my friends and I took a magic enhanced carriage flown by a selection of Pegasus horses. I, however, had a flying steed of my own that I had brought from Camelot and used for solo ventures. Susie opened the doors to a barn set slightly apart from the others.
My previously slumbering Griffin cracked an eye open. When she saw it was me, she loyally stood, ruffled her wings, and stamped her taloned feet excitedly.
I smiled. “Good morning, Betsy. Fancy an early ride?”
Betsy cawed a bit. Susie went to get me a saddle as I drew near my creature. Betsy had the body, back legs, and tail of a lion, but was triple the size of such a creature. Her white eagle wings looked like they had been brushed with gold glitter.
I scratched her thick, muscular neck, looking up at her large, eagle-like head with horse ears. Betsy had been a gift from King Arthur—a sign of respect for my service to him and Merlin. Gifted to me as a baby, the creature had grown fast and fiercely. I reached into my magic potions sack, concentrating on the jar of sugar cubes in the lab. The magic, miniature wormhole within the bag activated and I pulled out several cubes, which I offered to Betsy. She happily ate them from my hand.
After adjusting Betsy’s leather collar, which spelled out her name in jewels, I climbed aboard my steed. I never liked heights, and as a result for years I had been averse to flying creatures, like Pegasi. However, I had worked to overcome t
his fear and I was very glad that I did because I truly enjoyed riding Betsy. A Carrier Griffin, she was a reliable ride and a smart animal bred to deliver people, packages, and parchments like a professional. These marvelous creatures even had a telepathic ability that tuned in with their masters, which made intrinsic navigation their sixth sense.
“The others will be down at the usual hour,” I told Susie.
“Yes, princess. Safe travels.”
“Thank you.” I maneuvered Betsy out of her private barn—the other animals were skittish around her—and we trotted into the open. The grass on the field swayed. The sky’s cold collection of colors called us forward. I held the horn on Betsy’s saddle and with a calm breath and eyes trained on the horizon, gave my creature the signal.
“Betsy. Onward.”
My Griffin spread her glorious wings, glitter sparkling on every tip, and broke into a sprint. With a running jump, she bounded into the sky toward Dolohaunty, Mark’s kingdom.
Travel to Dolohaunty took just over four hours since Betsy and I needed to stop for a quick rest and refuel. My creature ate a lot of meat and sugar—the two major food groups, as Jason would say. I had never been much of a breakfast eater, but by mid-morning I was famished. The two of us must have looked like quite the pair sitting on the outdoor patio of a café as she ate a dozen hamburgers and I had some oatmeal and berries. I tried to hide a smirk as the other patrons somewhat fearfully watched us from inside the restaurant.
Conversely, my smile grew unabashedly wide and relieved when I finally laid eyes on Mark’s castle in Dolohaunty, innumerable spires poking the sky. Mark’s castle was not constructed on top of a mountain like Chance’s, but within a cluster of them—all glittering uniquely with veins of white powder that filled the cracks and crevices of rock. At first glance it may have looked like snow; I knew better. This was magic dust—the most powerful fuel source in our realm. Dolohaunty was one of few regions abundant in the stuff.
Betsy and I dove in a tight and controlled plunge, landing on the far side of the stone bridge that spanned a wide chasm to reach the castle.
Having checked in with Queen Belleny during our rest stop, she knew Betsy and I were inbound. Still, I thought it more acceptable to make the final approach to the castle on foot so as to not overly excite the guards, or exert an attitude of entitlement or disrespect for protocol. We landed smoothly and I slid off my steed. Betsy tucked her wings and cawed. I fed her a few more sugar cubes then motioned for her to follow me across the bridge. Her talons clicked on the stone.
Guards in crisp white pants and navy military jackets were spaced across the area in front of the castle. A few of them marched over to meet me as Betsy and I stepped off the bridge
“Princess SJ,” said the guard in the lead, his tall hat somehow staying on when he bowed deeply. “The king and queen are expecting you. Please follow me through the main entry. These men will escort your, uh, steed to the stables.”
Two guards attempted to grab Betsy by the saddle, but she growled and flared her wings aggressively. They backed up.
“Here.” I pulled out additional sugar cubes and handed them to the guards. “Feed them to her.” I patted Betsy on the neck. “Easy, girl. Be good. Follow these nice guards and I will come find you later.”
Betsy cawed lightly, lowered her wings, and followed the sugar-cube wielding men.
The lead guard took me through the grand entrance; my footsteps echoed on the beige marble of the foyer. I had been to Dolohaunty Castle a couple of times to stay with Mark during past summer vacations, but it had been years since my last visit. Lady Agnue’s was dreadfully far from here, and my kingdom of Dobb in the south was even farther. It made visits, whether for pleasure or my parents’ diplomatic purposes, difficult.
Dolohaunty Castle was a study in stylish arches that bridged the ceiling and connected every hall. Lit candelabras radiated warm light. The ceiling over the foyer was decorated with a spiral of a thousand different pieces of stained glass that let the morning light grace the marble in colorful soft streaks. Meanwhile, an enormous stained glass window above the main doors held an artistic depiction of Queen Belleny and King Thames Durand in his beastly state, a lovely representation of their Beauty & the Beast fairytale.
“SJ?”
I glanced up. At the top of the elegant staircase to my left stood the elegant Queen Belleny Durand. She looked surreal in the candelabra and stained glass light.
“Your Majesty.” I curtseyed.
“Come, dear,” she said kindly. “Mark is waiting for you.”
I climbed the stairs, sliding my hand along the smooth marble of the banister. When I reached the queen at the top landing, I was surprised by how much taller I was than her—at least five inches. I must have grown since the last time we had seen each other in person. It really had been a long time. I decided to curtsey again for good measure.
“How was your flight, dear?” Queen Belleny asked, leading me up the hall. Her wavy brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, held together by a black silk bow that matched her gown.
“Fine, thank you. How is Mark?”
“He is still rather weak and is resting in bed now. But he is unharmed and in good spirits. Honestly, I cannot believe he is awake.”
The queen looked at me with glassy hazel eyes, tears of joy in their corners.
“How much have you told him regarding what happened?” I asked.
“Just the basics, dear. He knows he was in a sleeping curse since September. He knows that several of your schoolmates went to Dreamland to break his curse. But in truth our time this morning has been devoted to intervals of him resting intermixed with his explanation of what led to his affliction.” The queen furrowed her brow. “I must say, if we were not so thankful for his return, and he had not already gone through such a dreadful ordeal, my husband would surely insist on grounding him for a year. The things my dear boy has gotten into . . .” She shook her head. “But he has always been the adventurous, fearless type. You know that. I find it endearing as I am sure you do.”
“I do,” I said. And I truly did. Mark and I were good friends. For years he was to me what Jason was to Blue before she developed romantic feelings for him. We fit the way adjacent puzzle pieces might.
I wondered what kind of predicaments and mischief my friend had gotten into that had the queen and king so bewildered.
We arrived at a set of doors—Mark’s room, if I remembered correctly. They abruptly opened inward to reveal King Thames Durand towering in the doorway. He was not in his beast form, but he was intimidating as a man too. His essence radiated power and a low tolerance for nonsense.
The king’s skin was dark, but his eyes were light and warm like the queen’s. He had a midnight black, well-groomed beard that did not detract from the sharpness of his jawline. Despite the layers of his kingly ensemble, you could appreciate his large muscles. For a moment, I felt frightened—an instinct that his build and general air probably inspired in most people at first glance. Then he smiled kindly and that fear dissipated.
“Ah, the princess is here. Please enter.” He moved aside and I curtseyed before stepping past him into Mark’s room. When the king no longer blocked my view, I saw him.
The smile that escaped my lips was incomparable. My face had never stretched so far. The eighteen-year-old prince sat propped up on a navy couch, facing his bedroom’s balcony. He wore a black silk robe over his pajamas. It was the most casual I had ever seen him, like he had just woken up. Which he basically had.
I rushed halfway across the room before I remembered my decorum. I paused feet from the prince and swallowed. “Mark . . . I am so glad to see you.” I gave a small curtsey.
Mark returned the enthusiasm of my smile, though his eyes were tired and he seemed quite weak, like Mauvrey had been last night. “Hi, SJ.”
“We’ll leave you kids to get caught up,” King Thames said. “Call if you need us.”
The king and queen shut the doors. At that, I
did what was least in my nature and abandoned decorum completely. I strode purposefully to the couch then knelt so Mark would not have to get up as I hugged him. My friend warmly returned the embrace. He smelled like I remembered. I realized that was a silly thing to notice, especially since I could not even describe what characterized his specific “scent.” But it was nice and I had missed it. I had missed him. After a moment, I stood and dusted myself off, smoothing out the wrinkles in my outfit.
“May I sit?” I asked, gesturing to the couch.
“Oh yeah, sure. Sorry.” He lowered his legs to make room. “I should have offered.”
“I shall forgive your rudeness this one time,” I teased.
We sat there in silence, taking one another in. Mark had his father’s dark skin and his mother’s soft features. Not to say he was not muscular and manly like the king; he just had a more approachable look to his face, like sympathy would always be available in his eyes if you required it.
“I appreciate you coming,” Mark said. “My parents told me about the commons rebellion, and the peace talks. I’ve missed a lot.”
“You have,” I responded. “But it is not anything we cannot catch you up on. Simply let me know where you would like to begin.”
“I know the antagonists put me in a sleeping curse. I know that I’d still be in one if not for you, Crisa, Jason, and Blue.”
“There are quite a few other people who contributed to the endeavor,” I replied. “Our tightknit group has strengthened as surely as it has expanded this year.”
“I hope there’s still room for me?”
I lightly put my hand on his for a second. “Always.”
We exchanged a warm gaze, then I sat up straighter. Before beginning further exposition, I hoped he, like Mauvrey, may have information my friends and I were missing.
“Your mother mentioned that you had gotten into some mischief prior to being affected by the sleeping curse. Last month, she also told Crisa that there was a failed attempt on your life made by antagonists before you were cursed. I assume there is more to the story. Why did the antagonists go after you, Mark?”
Midnight Law Page 6