The huge double doors that led outside were flung open with a crash. The orchestra stopped, and Isolde stood in indignation at the vulgar disturbance.
It was Corann, flanked by ten of her finest guards. Isolde pursed her lips in annoyance. To make such a scene, and then to not even wear the requisite white? Corann’s burgundy blouse stood out like spilled wine on a white tablecloth.
“Why do you disturb the festivities, Corann?” Isolde raised her voice, so it carried across the ballroom, but Corann made no answer. Instead, he jerked his head and the accompanying guards swiftly crossed the ballroom. The dancers parted like breaking ice on a river.
“What are you doing?” Isolde demanded. “Is there urgent news? You may request a private audience, there is no need to halt the dance.” She waved at the orchestra, but none of the musicians picked up the instruments from their laps.
The guards reached her. They should have stopped, bowed, and asked permission to speak. Instead, their tall boots thumped softly onto her dais and surrounded her. Two at her side took her forearms in firm hands.
Outrage flashed across Isolde’s face. She flung her arms toward her body to dislodge the hands, but they clung remorselessly. She looked at each guard in turn. They stared forward and would not meet her gaze.
“Unhand me at once! How do you expect to get away with this? Your punishment will be grave, indeed.”
“They act on my orders.” Corann had followed the guards slowly, and now paced to the foot of the dais. He gazed at Isolde evenly with calm green eyes. “There will be no punishment.”
Isolde’s eyes flashed with anger, and she balled her fists. Sparks ran along her arms and the guards flinched but held firm. Isolde stared in shock at the hands still encircling her arms. Her magic had failed. Corann’s expression grew sad.
“I’ve been trying to tell you for months. The restoration spell was never meant to last. As the spell fades, the defenses weaken. As do you.”
“Nothing is wrong with me.” Isolde raised her chin in defiance, the effect rather dampened by her captive state. A bead of sweat slid down her forehead.
“And yet you could not prevent the guards from seizing you. A few months ago, they would have been obliterated for their impudence.” He stepped up on the dais a few paces from her and the guards let go of her arms.
“I should have no need to protect myself from my own guards.” Isolde raised her voice and addressed the crowd. “What say you, my people? Will you allow this indignity to your queen?”
The silence was absolute. No one stirred, no dresses rustled, no feathers trembled. Instead, a sea of pitying faces gazed upon Isolde’s.
“No one will speak,” said Corann gently. “Everyone can see what you are blind to—that your rule is failing.” He grabbed both her hands in a firm grip and looked in her eyes. His were filled with tender pity, love, and firm resolve. “I can’t bear to see you fall into sickness and ruin, not again. You almost died before the restoration spell was cast.”
“I’m not dying now,” Isolde said firmly, but she glanced at her trembling limbs.
“It’s only a matter of time. And you can’t even protect yourself—how can you safeguard the realm?” Corann’s face crumpled in worry. “You’re fading away, I can’t watch you destroy yourself and this realm we’ve worked so hard to preserve. I love you too much to stand by and watch without acting.”
“What are you saying?” Isolde whispered. Her hands were cold in Corann’s warm ones.
“I will take your burden, my love,” he said gently. “You needn’t worry any longer about the cares and responsibilities of the realm. I will rule in your stead.”
Isolde’s face was frozen in shock for a long moment. Then she threw her arms down to release them from Corann’s grip. He did not resist, but a resigned expression swept across his features. She stepped back, and the guards wrapped their strong fingers around her forearms once more. Her eyes blazed.
“Release me at once,” she shouted, attempting to imbue her words with as much authority as she could muster. Corann nodded at the guards and they let go. Isolde stepped closer to Corann.
“Betrayer,” she hissed, long and low. Corann paled. She swept past him and down the dais, her white skirts swishing behind her. The dancers parted like frothy waves on a pale sea and silently watched her passage. She met none of their eyes and stared only at the open ballroom door to the snow-clad forest beyond.
No one stopped her, no one spoke. The castle behind her appeared as a ruinous edifice of crumbling stone and moss. The forest was silent and the snow dull, with the bright illusions held in place by the restoration spell broken now that Corann had taken over. Before long, Isolde stood on the path out of sight of the castle. She was queen no longer. Her breath came faster and faster, and she swallowed.
“Queen Isolde,” a voice said from behind her. She whirled in a windstorm of white silk skirts. Loniel stood before her, the green man swathed in silver furs above his usual green attire. The fur and his glossy brown hair covered the tattoos that crept up his hidden throat. He gazed at her. “Or perhaps not a queen, given your state of dress outside. Did Corann finally carry out his plan?”
Isolde’s eyes flashed.
“Everyone knew but me, it would seem. The betrayer did a cowardly action.”
“You brought this upon yourself, Isolde. Deep down, you know this. You relied on the restoration spell. It could never last, and yet you did nothing to change. I applaud that you gave up the locket that was used to power the realm, but to not provide an alternative?” He shook his head. “As I said, you are the designer of your own doom.”
“Did you have any other purpose in confronting me besides your reprimands? I neither need nor care about your judgement.”
“Just this: the decay of the restoration spell weakened more than yourself. The fabric between the worlds is growing thin and tearing away entirely in places.” Loniel’s face grew grim. “It will do neither Breenan nor human any good to have free passage between the worlds, and I fear that the tearing will not stop.” Loniel waved at the frozen trees. “Even though the spell no longer powers the realm’s illusions, the ill-effects continue to wreak havoc.”
“You closed the portals centuries ago, didn’t you?” Isolde tossed her head. “Why don’t you do so again, if it worries you?”
“It should worry everyone here,” Loniel said sharply. “The destruction this may cause… you cannot begin to imagine. The world you know will cease to be. I have tried to close the portals, but it is far beyond my abilities.”
“No spell should have an effect this far-reaching.”
“I can only guess at the cause. It is obvious that the queens who designed the restoration spell used some forest-folk magic to create permanency in their spells. But I fear that the restoration spell was not meant to be performed by half-humans. Somehow, their spell involved both worlds, and now that it is decaying…” Loniel grimaced.
“And what do you expect me to do about it?” Isolde snapped. “As you so bluntly pointed out, I am no longer queen here.”
“The realm must be whole again. Until it is whole, it cannot heal itself against the power of the decaying spell. You must seek out the only one who can remedy your mistake.” Loniel looked forlorn. “These tidings will not be to her liking, but the fate of both our worlds may depend on her. There is an open portal through the nearest old way. Good luck.” And with that, Loniel melted into the forest, leaving no trace of his passage.
Isolde stared after Loniel with a thoughtful expression. Then she nodded decisively and paced along the snowy path. Her whispering skirts carved a wide swath through the drifts. Onward she strode, heedless of the cold, until her steps brought her before a crumbling archway. The stones were rough and covered in moss and a blanket of snow. The view through the archway was not of snow-covered forest, but instead showed soggy fields of shorn grasses. Isolde smiled faintly and stepped out of her world.
Chapter 3
Aidan pu
shed the back door of his mother’s house open with his foot. Cold air poured into the kitchen, and he slammed the door shut with his hip.
“It’s a cold winter this year,” said Aidan. “I swear it dropped ten degrees while I was out there.”
“Did you find the decorations?” his mother Deirdre called from the living room.
“Yeah, they’re all here. Even that musty little elf I made you in nursery school.” Aidan kicked off his boots and moved to the living room, where Deirdre was stringing colored lights on a short Christmas tree.
“Oh, that lovely little elf. That’s essential holiday décor. You were so proud when you gave it to me.”
“What time is Aunty Lucy coming on Christmas day?” asked Aidan. He opened the box and passed Deirdre a roll of tinsel.
“Mid-morning, I believe. She’ll stay for the day. I hope she remembers the pudding—she said she’d bring it, but you know how scatterbrained she can be.”
“Call her.” Aidan hung a snowflake ornament on an upper branch. The tree wobbled.
“You know, I might.” Deirdre held the tinsel in her lap and regarded her son. “Will you play us some Christmas carols this year? I’d love to hear how you’re progressing.”
“Sure,” said Aidan. He looked confused but gratified. Deirdre grabbed his hand.
“You know how proud I am of you, don’t you?” She squeezed his fingers. “No matter what you do. Especially because of what you do.”
“Yeah, I know.” Aidan gave a little shrug. Deirdre patted his hand, then released it and stood.
“I made Grandma’s old recipe for eggnog. Would you like some?”
“Would I ever,” said Aidan. “Christmas doesn’t come often enough.”
Deirdre walked to the kitchen. The sound of rustling from the fridge floated toward Aidan, then a loud tutting.
“Someone’s let their dog sneak into the back garden. It’s huge. Some sort of husky? It had better not damage my roses.”
Aidan followed his mother to the kitchen, where he found her peering through the window over the kitchen sink. His eyes followed hers, and they widened.
“I don’t think that’s a dog, Mum. It looks like—a wolf.”
“Don’t be absurd. There haven’t been wolves in Britain for centuries.”
They stared at the pacing animal, whose gray fur was dusted with snow. There was none on the ground.
“How did it get in here?” Aidan said slowly. “The gate is closed. And I’ve never seen a dog in here before.” He pulled out his phone and searched for something while Deirdre kept an eye on the animal. He shoved the phone in front of his mother’s face. “Look, Mum. Tell me that isn’t what’s outside.”
Aidan had found a photo of a European wolf online. Deirdre’s eyes flickered back and forth between the photo and the animal.
“This is mad,” she breathed. “Did it escape from a zoo? I’ll call the police, see if they can send someone to capture it.”
Deirdre rushed over to the phone. Aidan watched the wolf with an expression of growing comprehension. He ran upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. In his mother’s bedroom, he wrenched up the window sash. A cold blast of air greeted his face. He grabbed a tissue box and lobbed it at the unsuspecting wolf. His aim was true, and the box hit the animal with a thwack. The wolf yelped.
“What are you doing?” Deirdre yelled. “Don’t antagonize the creature!”
“Just making sure it’s…” Aidan’s voice trailed off, and he spoke quietly to himself. “Real. Not magic.”
The wolf looked up at him with a long gaze that held no fear. Aidan held his breath. Finally, the wolf turned its head with supreme indifference and sauntered behind an apple tree in the center of the garden. The trunk of the tree was no wider than Aidan, yet the wolf did not appear on the other side of the tree. Aidan swallowed.
“There’s a portal,” he whispered.
Back downstairs, Deirdre craned her neck to look through the window. Aidan clattered into the kitchen.
“Where did it go?” Deirdre said.
“Must’ve escaped the way it came,” said Aidan. He waited a moment, then said, “I forgot to bring the lights in. I’ll run and grab them.”
“You can’t go out now!” Deirdre clutched Aidan’s arm. “There’s a wolf in our garden.”
“I threw the tissues at it—must’ve scared it off. It’ll be long gone now. I’ll be quick, I promise.”
“Aidan!” Deirdre said with exasperation, but Aidan darted past her and out the door.
“Won’t be a minute. Christmas must go on,” he called out over his shoulder.
Aidan’s eyes raked the apple tree as he approached. Sure enough, a ragged hole in the world’s fabric opened to a snowy forest, out of place in Deirdre’s rain-soaked garden. Aidan watched it for a moment, frowning, but the portal did not shrink at all. Aidan continued to the shed for appearance’s sake and rummaged within for a string of lights. A minute’s searching yielded a string that he knew didn’t work, but it would do for an excuse. He turned and stepped out of the shed.
A deep growl made him freeze. The hairs on his neck lifted and his eyes took in the scene before him. The wolf was back. And this time, it wasn’t alone.
Aidan’s eyes darted between the three wolves. The central one bared its teeth in a throaty snarl, and they all took slow steps toward Aidan. A sharp rapping on the kitchen window revealed Deirdre’s terrified face shouting soundlessly and waving at Aidan to back into the shed. When he didn’t move, she burst out of the door with a carving knife held aloft.
“Get in the shed, Aidan!” she screamed.
“Mum, stay back!” Aidan shouted. The wolves had turned at the sound of the door and now stared at Deirdre. Aidan raised his hands, squared his shoulders, and narrowed his eyes. Blue flames poured from his outstretched fingers in a fiery jet. The wolf closest to Deirdre was thrown off its feet with a high-pitched yelp. Its fur danced with blue fire. Still yelping, it tore off through the portal.
The other two animals faced Aidan with a snarl. He raised his hands. Blue fire danced around his fingers. The wolves lowered their lips and backed away, then scampered after their burning fellow.
“And stay out!” Aidan yelled after them. The flames died from his hands and he ran his fingers through his hair in relief. He sighed explosively, then glanced at his mother with wariness.
Deirdre was staring at him, hand over her mouth, an unreadable expression on her face. Aidan shifted from one foot to the other.
“You—you’re still doing that?” Deirdre said finally.
“Yeah.” Aidan set his jaw. “I’m still doing that.”
“That was―” Deirdre shook her head slowly and Aidan held his breath. “Incredible.”
“Incredible?” Aidan blinked. “What does that mean?”
“The fire—and the way the wolves simply ran—I suppose I never realized what your abilities could do. Just incredible, love.”
As if remembering the peril they had both faced, she ran toward Aidan and hugged him fiercely.
“Come back inside. My brave, brave boy.” She caught a glimpse of the portal and her jaw dropped. “What is that?”
Aidan studied his mother for a moment. Then his expression cleared, and he put an arm around her to steer her into the house.
“I have something to tell you, Mum. About how I met Gwen. About somewhere I went last May.”
***
Alan placed his fork and knife on his plate and sighed in contentment.
“Delicious dinner, Aunty Ada. You’ve outdone yourself again. I haven’t been so well fed in years.”
“I hope you’ve left enough room for my shortbread. The recipe was from my grandmother on my father’s side—that would be your great-great-grandmother.” Ada nodded to Gwen.
“There’s always room for dessert,” Gwen said, and bit into one of the crumbly, buttery cookies. “Yum, these are great,” she said after she swallowed her mouthful. “Shortbread cookies and Christmas almos
t make the early sunsets worthwhile.” She gestured at the window, whose curtains were drawn against the black evening sky.
“Bearable, at least,” said Ada.
Before Gwen could finish her cookie, they were interrupted by a knock on the front door, which echoed from the sparsely furnished hallway.
“That’s odd. I’m not expecting anyone.” Ada made to get up, but Gwen stood and pressed her gently back down.
“I’ll get it, Aunty Ada. You finish your tea.”
“Thank you, dear.” Ada settled back in her seat. “I wonder why our visitor didn’t ring the bell. If it’s someone selling something, send him on his way as quick as you can.”
Gwen nodded and ambled to the hall. She was pleasantly full and sleepy after dinner and felt no rush. The door unlocked with a simple deadbolt and swung open with Gwen’s pull.
A woman stood shivering on the stoop, her white silk gown not nearly enough protection against the chill wind that rustled her long skirts. Her dark hair, pinned back in a chignon that highlighted the white stripe at her temple, was falling out of its trappings in messy wisps that danced in the breeze. Relief washed across her face at the sight of Gwen.
“Gwendolyn,” Isolde said quietly.
Gwen stood frozen and let shock pour cold waves over her. Her Breenan mother Isolde, here in the human world. The human world of her existence and the newly discovered Otherworld of her heritage were completely separate in Gwen’s mind, and she hadn’t realized how much she relied on keeping them apart. It felt bizarre and abnormal for Isolde to trespass on Gwen’s life here. Every previous encounter with Isolde had resulted in dangerous adventuring, and Gwen preferred to keep Isolde at a distance.
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