The Withering Palace

by Alexia Purdy

  *****

  Cranston sat and studied the tiny entrance to the cavern from which Aveta would always emerge. It’d been far too long. Surely she’d died? He couldn’t be sure in any which way what had happened to her. All he knew was that entering the cavern would bring certain death in a vast labyrinth made of dark, withered things. If he could survive it, maybe he could find her. But he remained here, on the other side of the wall that held his beloved from him.

  She was alive. He knew it. There would be no separating them for he loved her with all of his being and knew he would feel it if she’d died.

  That cursed queen! How dare she keep them apart like this? He was sure she had something to do with it, but wasn’t sure. What could he do to stop it? He was but a farm boy from an uncharted Faerie territory, surely his powers were nothing compared to that of the dark queen’s?

  He picked another petal of poppy flower and rolled it in between his fingers, letting the juice stain his fingertips with its scent. The tiny fluid that emerged was poisonous, but he, his family and Aveta were immune to it. He could poison the queen somehow. That could work.

  The labyrinth. It was still the first obstacle and he had no idea how to get through it like Aveta did. She was different, powerful, and strong. He was nothing to compare himself to her. There would be nothing but death for him if he entered the labyrinth.

  So he waited and stared day after day at the darkened entrance, his heart breaking ever so slightly as the days, months, years went by. Aveta needed him, but he was trapped here, with no recourse on how to fix this. He’d wait forever for her to return, and she would return. He knew that was the only certainty of this life.

  Chapter Eight

  Elisandra looked at the rising sun, searing her eyes as it rose over the eastern mountains. This day was tainted; she could feel it in her bones and down her spine. Something was going to happen today, but she could not put her finger on it, no matter how hard she tried to meditate and listen to the powers of the land around her. They shunned her, like the royal power had done so long ago. It still writhed with her, driving her mad after centuries of fighting it. Was her time near? Could that be what it was trying to tell her?

  No. it could not be. She’d made sure Aveta was imprisoned forever in her chambers, never allowed to leave. She’d make sure that girl would rot and wither in her room, never to be queen. So what else could it be? What was bothering her so on this cold November day?

  Walking through the hallways, she rushed down the darkened corridors, past the main ballroom, and down the steps to the soldier’s quarters, and right past that to the dungeons. Here, she stood, a gathering of her guards behind her, ready to pummel any soldier who got out of line. Nothing was down here but a retched stench and derelicts being tortured for all eternity. She briefly flicked her eyes into the cells and wondered if any of them had anything to tell. Most were lost in their own minds, maddened by the constant barrage of pain and tormented curses that’d been thrown onto them for endless deprivation.

  Her eyes landed on one figure, sitting near the edge of the bars to his cell. His long hair covered his face and the filth stuck to his skin like it had embedded itself into it. He didn’t look her way, but she could feel his consciousness listening to her. He would do. He was the closest to alive that this place could produce right now.

  “You,” she approached the bars and stared at him as he refused to look up. With that, she motioned some of her guards forward to grab him. They entered his cell and jerked him to his feet. He groaned and shoved back, chains raddling back against the bars as he sucker punched one of the guards, sending him flying to the ground and stilled.

  “Stop!” She commanded, sending a rush of magic to stall him in his movements. He yelped and crumbled to the ground grabbing at his stomach as she twisted it with her magic. “You will answer to me anything I ask you, understand?”

  He nodded and let out a breath of air as she released him. He huffed, gasping to catch up breathing as he turned his head into the bars and stared out at the Unseelie Queen.

  “Now, tell me, how long have you been here?”

  He spat on the ground and cleared his throat, never removing his glare from the Queen. “I’ve been here ten years.”

  Another yelp as the guard next to him kicked his side. “You will address the Queen as ‘Your Majesty’, Seelie scum.”

  Elisandra held her hand up, motioning the guard to stop. “Now, tell me. Have you ever seen the princess down here?”

  The prisoner rubbed at his side, the chains rattled louder as they clanked against one another. “Yes, Your Majesty. I’ve seen her many times walking down here, though she has not been here for a very long time.”

  “How long ago did you first see her down here?”

  “I—I believe not long after I became a prisoner here, ten years or so.”

  “Did you know where she went that day?”

  He nodded, looking curiously at the queen and up to her soldiers with disdain. “I believe she was headed toward the labyrinth. Though she’d always come back. No one survives that thing, so I heard.”

  Elisandra rubbed her fingers together, turning down the long hall to the end, where the cavern to the labyrinth stood. The hairs on her back stood up like static and her fear ebbed up toward her throat, choking her breath off. Why would the girl go toward the labyrinth? She would surely die. Maybe she went to the entrance and never entered. Yes, she wouldn’t be so stupid would she?

  “Very well. Anything else you noticed strange down here?”

  The prisoner stared at the queen, feeling the pressure of her power pressing against him. He was stripped of his powers, but he could still shield her from his deepest thoughts if he fought hard enough. And this he did, for the beautiful Eladril had always brought him some food down here in this pestilence of a place. He would never give her up, even if it meant death.

  “No, Your Majesty. Nothing unusual besides a little girl playing about.”

  Elisandra kept her gaze firmly on his, never relenting as she probed at his mind. It made him wince at the pressure, but he did not collapse under it. After a few minutes of this, Elisandra let out a long sigh, waving her guards to drag the unconscious guard out of the cell and locked the prisoner back up.

  As they walked away, the prisoner watched with lucid eyes as the Queen disappeared down the way. Leaning his back against the wall, he closed his eyes, exhausted from the invasion and tired of fighting. One day he would wither, if they let him, for the chains that bound him forbade him such a pleasure, to join the afterlife. Maybe, just maybe, one day he would find his way back home and out to the poppy fields again, where his son was surely a man now and the woman who held his heart probably still awaited him.

  Chapter Nine

  Aveta focused on the shield, sending another jolt rumbling through the barrier in hopes of destroying it. Another pulse, the shield still standing as it had before, easily absorbing the power hurled at it. No changes, not even a crack.

  She groaned and threw her hands down. Angry that her powers, however different they may be, couldn’t penetrate the shield, leaving her effectively imprisoned here. What could she do? Would she be stuck here forever? Even Eladril was no longer able to visit her. This angered her, for she was restless and fraught with loneliness. She felt like she was going mad. She would make her mother pay for this…for everything.

  If she could only get out of this place. She would then have a fighting chance to challenge the Queen for position of power.

  But was she ready to end her mother’s life? She sank down onto her bed, rocking herself back and forth as the minutes ticked on by. She loathed her mother, yes. But she didn’t want to see her dead. It was so final, so unforgiveable it made her blood run cold. It would be the end of innocence for her, the end of everything a young Aveta was made of.

  It would mean the start of the new Aveta, hard and unforgiving. Unrelenting as a ruler of the Unseelie Kingdom should be. And what of love? What of C
ranston? She’d spent her days daydreaming of seeing him, hearing his voice, touching his skin and holding his hands. How many hours had she laid there on this very bed and wondered how he was doing, what he thought might’ve happened to her. What if he’d felt betrayed because she had not visited in so long? What if he no longer cared for her? And what, Faerie forbid, what if he had moved on already?

  She shook her head, shaking off the dread with one final swoop. She couldn’t let the darkness win. She had to keep the hope alive that he remembered her and knew she would eventually return. One day, she would see Cranston again.

  With that she stood, walking to the barrier and taking a good hard look through the drying tears in her eyes. She pulled her dark inky black hair away from her pale face and tied it with a leather string. Cracking her knuckles she stood tall and closed her eyes, feeling with nothing more than her senses, the world outside the barrier.

  “Withering Palace, hear my call and come to my aid. I know you hear me, my trusted companion. Please help me, for I am in need of your assistance. I am trapped, prisoner within your walls. I know you would not allow this if you could hear me. I know you would let me go for this is your domain and only your power supersedes the ruler of this realm. Please…help me right the powers of the Land of Faerie and grant me justice. Let me go.”

  A pop distracted her and the walls began to shake. She stepped back and spun around to see that the room was morphing into something else. The wall against the fireplace crumbled, revealing a door behind where the fireplace had been. Her mouth hung open for she’d never known the door existed behind there. How could she not have known? The Withering Palace had never mentioned it to her either. It was unsettling to know the palace held more secrets than she could ever have in a lifetime.

  Working past the shock, she stepped forward, reached for the door and turned the ancient knob. It creaked opened and rained down a shower of dust and cobwebs onto the princess. She coughed and swiped at the muck as fast as she could. She wasn’t a fan of spiders, but they were tolerable. Of that she was glad as she entered the darkness beyond. As she cleared the door, it slammed behind her in an ominous thud. She shook at the fear pulsating through her now, but crept forward as ancient light torches flared to life before her, and she made her way further and further down the slope.

  What would be at the end of this hall? She didn’t have long to wonder, though it descended deeper and deeper into the guts of the castle, she began to wonder if it was leading her to the very place she wanted to be—the poppy fields.

  The hall began to straighten and then another door appeared, laden with cobwebs and unused for what looked like centuries. She smiled as she swiped them away and turned the knob, excited to get out of her room for the first time in three years.

  The door revealed the cavern, the very one she had treaded through many times. As she stepped into it, the door behind creaked shut, but not loudly as the other had. She stared back at it and wondered if it would open for her again. It didn’t matter though. She would not go willingly to her prison again.

  With that she turned into the cavern, stepping out of it for a moment to get her bearings. The long hall of cells greeted her as before, where prisoners of long term confinement laid and could barely lift their heads to acknowledge her. For some reason, the cells called to her. She stepped forward when one of the torches next to the cell on her right flared to life.

  The Withering Palace wanted her to do something, she knew it did. Though its whispers had been silent with the infernal barrier around her room, she could slowly hear them chanting their malevolent banter and get louder as she approached the cell.

  The man laid against the bars, weakened and in dire need of nourishment. His clothes were in rags on his body and the filth clung to him like a film. She wrinkled her nose at the stench, but remembered that this man had to be freed. She stared at the lock and reached for it and gasped as it clicked open and the door slipped open by itself.

  Take him home, take him to Cranston.

  Aveta jumped at the voice so clear and crisp in her head. The Withering Palace was desperate for her to hurry and she did, running into the cell and pulling at the prisoner.

  “Come on, we have to go.” The prisoner moaned and took some coaxing until he did look up, crisp blue eyes like a bright summer day stared back at her. She paused, transfixed on those eyes. They looked exactly like someone she knew. She had to scan her memory for the right person, but they matched exactly, to her utter surprise.

  “Cranston?”

  The person stared at her and smiled, but shook his head. Under the grit and film of dirt that clung to his beard and marred his face, she could see a very distinct resemblance.

  “No, but we met once. Long ago.”

  She scanned her memory, wondering where they could’ve met. If he was Cranston’s relation, he reminded her of…his father?

  “Your Cranston’s father.” She could not recall his name, but the smile blooming on this stranger’s face confirmed enough for her. “Come on, we need to go now. Can you walk?”

  “Slowly, but yes. I’ve not eaten for weeks.” She slipped her arm around his waist, slipping his arm over her shoulders. She wasn’t super strong, but strong enough with the continued sword practice she would do in her room by herself. That was one thing a Faerie Royal was always taught, sword fighting and weapons knowledge. It was the one thing keeping her strong now.

  The smell was atrocious, but she bit her lip and pressed on, nearly dragging him out of the cell and into the small cavern that aligned with the entrance of the Labyrinth.

  “We don’t have much time.”

  “I won’t survive the cavern again.” He mumbled.

  She groaned, staring at the foreboding darkness ahead.

  “You won’t have to, I can get through quickly, and I know all the shortcuts. You’ll have to keep your eyes closed, the entire way, no matter what you hear. Understand?”

  He nodded and limped along with her until the entrance of the cavern, where he cringed and shut his eyes.

  “Ready?” Aveta heard the guards yelling behind her and they jumped into the doorway behind her as she readied to step through the threshold and into the inky darkness of the Labyrinth, where the soldiers did not follow.

  The trek through the Labyrinth was short, but still took a lot out of Aveta as she dragged the man along with her. She pulled and tugged, and through the screeches of the wraith’s and darklings within, they limped along. She could ignore them, but many times the man screamed in horror as things grasped at him or called his name. She could’ve called up the stone statues, but her power had to be reserved for healing if she was to help this man.

  “Ignore them.” How long it’d been since she had trudged through here, yet she was as confident as ever and kept strong to the short trail she’d found through the massive rock labyrinth.

  The man tripped, sending them both to the floor, into a puddle of water, collected surely from the recent rainfall. Aveta scurried to lift him back to his feet, but the water made him slippery and she struggled to gain a grip on him.

  “Come on, you need to get on your feet.” She felt the creatures building around them, watching, waiting to be acknowledged, but she refused. “Come on, Cranston is waiting for us.”

  The man struggled to his feet, keeping his eyes pressed together and took her embrace for assistance. They were both filthy now and the mud stuck to her dress like a formidable grit. She carried on, having lost a shoe in the mud.

  “Almost there.”

  “Thank you.” He whispered, sounding close to exhaustion as they finally made it through the labyrinth and Aveta breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped into the light of the opening to the poppy fields.

  It was a sight for sore eyes and she felt the tears streaming down her dirty cheeks as they limped on, slipping down onto the poppy flowers, where the red dirt beneath them stained their clothes and fingers and the poppies powdered them in a welcoming puff.


  “Cranston!” She yelled, her voice echoed in the desolate field and she hoped he could hear her now. “Please,” Aveta pulled herself up to stand and spun, searching the field for him. The cherry blossoms swayed, silent and unknowing of their plight. “Cranston! Help us!”

  Chapter Ten

  Cranston washed his hands, full of grit, old blood and other unmentionables. Aveta sat on the meager kitchen table, dressed in one of his sister’s dresses. Her hair was neatly brushed, but still soaked from the recent scrubbing she’d given herself. Cranston’s cottage was small, but quaint, and it felt oddly more like home than any place she’d ever been.

  She stared at the bottom of her mug, watching the remains of her tea swish around, wondering how things had gotten so bad. She was happy she had made back into the safety of the poppy fields and Cranston’s arms. He was relieved to find her, but the fear that he was hallucinating immediately turned to fear for his father, Ceric. His father had disappeared ten years before, after Aveta had arrived to the poppy fields. No one knew what had happened to him or where he’d gone off to. All they knew that he was here one moment and gone the next.

  No one asked Ceric what had happened that long ago day, or how he’d entered the Unseelie world only to end up in the dungeon. No, there would be time for that later, when things were more settled and Aveta had taken care of Queen Elisandra. It’d be the only way any of them could live in peace.

  “Thank you,” Cranston sat across from her and slipped his hands into hers. He’d changed some since she last saw him, he was huskier, thicker and his face had lost any baby fat he’d had from his growing years. They’d both reached their maturity and now appeared as they would for all eternity, for as long as they remained alive. Faeries were immortal, though many did not make it past three to five hundred years. The years caught up to many of them and they chose to wither instead, a chosen death where the faery would start to waste away until one day, they turned to ash and returned to the earth.