On one awkward turn her arm swung wide and crashed into a curtain of icicles. The ice careened downward. Sunlight hit the broken stubs hanging from the roof. Inside the cut edges shone images of her life: a child playing and laughing in the garden with Gram; a girl in high school acting silly with a gang of friends; a young woman graduating from college, heart swelled with pride.
Desperate to see more, she broke off a chunk. The spicy smell of cinnamon tempted her to lick the ice. She wept, overwhelmed by its sweet taste and the beautiful memories parading through her head. She saw her mother, face drenched in the sweat of childbirth, smiling at an infant she cradled. Her father stood proud and strong with an arm around her mother, both of them beaming at their new daughter. Walking through a field of wildflowers, the family of three held hands, with Esme toddling in the middle. The cinnamon taste in her mouth faded and so did the images.
Ravenous for more, Esme broke off another icicle and shoved it into her mouth. As soon as one melted, she ate another. She shivered with the ice inside her but couldn’t stop, craving happy memories from the past. Her head reeled as the ice froze her from inside and obliterated reality. A curtain of white, like the sleet falling in the yard, separated her from consciousness. Her body fell limp. A haunting winter tune played "Somewhere My Love." Her arm wouldn’t reach for her mother’s music box.
Chapter Eleven: Winter Savory Soup
Despite being awake all day to attend the market, Thayne tossed and turned in his bed. Fitful bits of sleep brought nightmares of Esmeralda’s beautiful face morphing into those of fanged vipers or snarling rodents. Cornered in a cave by one vision of her as a sharp-tusked wild boar, he thrashed and shot his most frigid bursts of wind frost, only to find thousands of frozen daggers jagged across the stone ceiling of his bedroom.
Grayson’s pinched face hanging overhead further startled Thayne into a fully alert state. The grim adviser touched his shoulder. “Only a nightmare, my King. Unless you suspect it as a sign and wish to discuss what appeared to you. Or entertain ramifications of making the dream reality.”
Thayne flung off that unthinkable notion along with the heavy wool blanket and sat up. The cold night air braced his jangled nerves and cooled the film of sweat over his bare chest and back to a slightly less uncomfortable clammy dampness. He pushed Grayson aside and rose. “If I need your help, I’ll request it.”
“It would be my honor.” The adviser snapped his spine straight and flared his nostrils. “You must have had an eventful day according to the scents about you, pizza and lavender mixed with carrion. Be careful what magic you bring to your court. If I may say, it would be wise for you—”
“Thank you for rousing me. You may return to your chamber now.” Lacking patience for the adviser’s interrogation, Thayne stomped into his bathroom and shut the door. He pumped icy well water into the basin and splashed it over his face, but a strange heat persisted inside him. Faeries generally didn’t dream, unless after a night of excessive wine or fermented berries. When sober, dreaming was considered with gravity, and usually analyzed by seers and keen-sighted faeries. During his short reign, he’d had few dreams, all about the past—his mother, sister, and father—which couldn’t be altered, even with his power as a fae regent. But he could breathe life into dreams about the future.
He needed to cast out the nightmare so he had no accidental chance of validating it. He wrangled off sweat-soaked briefs, stepped into the stone-walled shower corner, and closed the curtain. After he plunged the pump handle vigorously, water from deep within the limestone bedrock trickled over his chest and soothed the burning frustration. His element, winter’s chill, cleansed him of the fiery jumble of thoughts plaguing him. He relished the sensation a few moments longer until frost pushed to the surface of his skin, then toweled dry and dressed.
Happily, he found his bedroom free of the probing adviser. Thayne stowed his father’s journals into a safe. Had Grayson perused the marked pages and open notes to discover Thayne’s research on waywards? Hard to tell by the man’s suspicious manner since he always suspected Thayne of some misstep.
In the common entry to the royal chambers and advisers’ apartments, lamp light shone at the edges of Grayson’s deer-hide doorway cover. Night waned, and the adviser, as well as most older winter fae, had retired into their dwellings.
Thayne tiptoed over the wooden floor, avoiding the boards which squeaked. Although his own adolescence never permitted enough freedom for the slightest infraction, he felt like he was a boy sneaking out from under his parents’ noses rather than an adult ruling-king.
Maybe now was the time to replace Grayson. Or maybe not. His father had trusted the man. From scent alone, he’d been able to know Thayne had encountered dangerous magic while out of the court. A useful skill.
He stepped through the wide crack in the mighty oak and entered the Grand Ravine.
A personal sentry saluted.
“I’ll be walking the forest,” Thayne said in a hushed voice. “I’d like Captain Shade to accompany us.”
“Yes, my King.” The sentry gestured toward two others who stepped up to follow Thayne.
Shade joined the group when they reached the ravine’s crest.
Thayne strode fast with wide strides, challenging the heat of the nightmare to boil up inside him again. After a brisk mile, he slowed, satisfied. Frost spidered from beneath his boots, and crystals from his icy exhales trapped the night’s last moonbeams. At last feeling right in his own skin and in his own power as a king to put his court above all else, he examined and weighed the evidence about Esmeralda and her black amber.
Grayson accurately smelled carrion on him. Thayne had encountered Raclaw’s magic when Esmeralda had been driven off the road. But that happened just after dawn; the odor wouldn’t still be so noticeable nearly a day later. Thayne kicked a fallen branch, and it shattered into thousands of ice shards.
Initially, when winter came early, he considered Esmeralda might have some association with the winter fae. Her kinship with Grammy Flora, a long-time friend of his court, would support that.
Esmeralda’s black amber talisman exposed and connected to her powers. If her father was a wayward witch, then perhaps she was also. From the odor of carrion, what type magic seemed obvious and disappointing—Autumn Court.
Thayne shoved the personal consequences aside. His court must come first.
Could his nightmares be signs of Esmeralda’s true nature? Raclaw had made increasingly determined and violent attempts to gain the gemstone for the Autumn Court. Thayne now saw the blood ice incident from a different angle. That ice, as had pelted the region before the seasonal change, was known to only come from violent acts of vengeance. According to Shade and Cobweb, the murder had been committed by Councilman Burnhard. But who had created the magical ice, Burnhard or Esmeralda? Did it result directly from his violence? Or if she’d made the ice, did that provoke the man’s crime? Could her power be aligned with malevolence favored by the Autumn Court?
That thought provoked hot fury in Thayne’s head. He gritted his teeth and gusts of snow whirled around him and his sentries. The cold kept his mind clear. No entertaining conjectures. He must know the truth. And if his guess was correct, he must acquire that witch’s amber now.
Thayne clenched his fist, causing the snow to spin into tight cyclones in his wake as he sprinted to Holly Cabin. In seconds he stood at the hedgerow’s chestnut. He waited the few moments for the others to catch up to the speed of a faery king.
Shade appeared at his side first and had only time to adjust his pork pie hat before the three sentries arrived.
The glaze ice, recently applied by Winter Court patrol to protect the property, was so thick, it even masked smells of the foundation’s holly berries and abundant lavender stored within the cabin.
Thayne donned a glamour he’d used yesterday with a fresh change of clothing and then gestured to his group. “Stay with me. Use invisible glamour.” Although the first light of dawn cast a
pink glow in the air, he didn’t care if he woke Esmeralda. Intent on protecting his court, he glided across the lawn to the small front porch and rapped on the door.
Esmeralda’s cat yowled from inside and sprang into a front window, but she didn’t answer.
Thayne moved onto the walk, and the cat reared to its hind legs, scratching and clawing at the pane. Mouth open, it released an anguished howl. Thayne pressed his palm against the cat’s paw. Through the ice film and glass, Thayne detected desperation. He shot questions into the connection for explanation, although the cat possessed no means of magic to reply, and only wailed louder.
Thayne leaped back onto the porch and tried the door handle without luck. He pounded on the door. “Esmeralda? Are you there?” Upon receiving no response, he bolted in a fraction of a heartbeat to the back of the house. A curtain of icicles met the log porch rails and blocked his view. He rounded to the steps.
Esmeralda lay crumpled on the porch floor.
Thayne ducked under the icy valance and slid on his knees to her side. “Esmeralda,” he cried, but she didn’t respond. Frozen crystals clung to ringlets framing her pale face with lips blue and pure as a fair January sky. Like a Winter Court princess, she took his breath away.
Shade touched a hand to Thayne’s shoulder. “Is she still with us?”
Jostled by the contact, Thayne’s nightmare took shape, and Esmeralda’s lovely face transformed into the wild boar. He blinked, and she appeared beautiful as before. He reached for the talisman on her chest. If evil dwelled inside her, as one of the Autumn Court, he should take the crystal and leave her to die. He swallowed hard against the decision best for his court. The nightmare’s not reality, not magic. Only my own mind. My own weakness. No matter what she is, I have to save her. There’s a chance.
He pressed a hand to her neck. Even with his acute senses, her pulse registered weak for a faery and dangerous for a human. With an ear to her chest, he listened for her heart, which also beat with a dim and sluggish rhythm.
Dozens of broken icicles lay scattered around her. He picked one up and viewed the scene of young Esmeralda playing on a swing with what looked to be her father. “Dark magic. Esmeralda, what have you done?” Thayne moaned and tossed the ice chunk away. Pulling her into his arms, he nodded to his sentries. They helped him carry her inside and laid her on the loveseat.
The cat bounded into her lap and rubbed against her limp hands.
One guard snatched two cloaks, one green and the other crimson, from a washstand’s towel bar and held them out to Captain Shade. He accepted the red and offered it to Thayne. “My King.”
Thayne wrapped Esmeralda in the thick wool garment. “We need to get a fire going to warm her.”
The sentries lay kindling on the fireplace grate and opened the flue, then stepped back. While most winter fae, and certainly his staff, could create fire, none could do so quicker than Thayne.
He cupped a hand to bring a spark to life and touched it to the twigs until they crackled with blue flames.
A guard worked a bellows to fan the flames, and Thayne checked on Esmeralda. “Captain, keep watch on her while I work in the kitchen.”
Shade took his place and bent his lanky body over the young woman.
Thayne scanned a wall of jars containing dried herbs and canned goods. “Please let them be here. Yes.” He snatched jars of winter savory and pinto beans. Into a large saucepan from a cabinet, he added four handfuls of beans, one of the herb, and covered them with water. He spread his hands over the pot, until the broth warmed and vaporized the frost on his fingers into steam. He ladled the charmed soup into a bowl and found a spoon.
Beside the loveseat, he nodded to his captain. “Help her sit up.” Thayne knelt, touched her cheek, then pressed a spoonful to her lips. “Esmeralda, taste this. It’s warm and will heal you.” The shred of life within her had to take over now. He could do no more. If she was a wayward, like her father, she’d likely respond to the soup’s magic. If not, the chances were slim.
With her neck tilted to one side, Esmeralda’s beautiful white face remained unchanged.
Thayne struggled to keep his hand holding the spoon still and he begged, “Esmeralda, please wake up. Taste this soup.”
Her cat, perched on the back of the loveseat, helped with a sharp meow.
Still, the frozen princess’ face remained unresponsive.
“Esmeralda, please taste the soup.” Thayne’s voice cracked and a tear leaked from one eye. He didn’t try to deny his connection to this woman, despite the nightmares and other negatives.
A soft tinkle from the holly berries outside spoke to her, “Esme, wake up.”
Thayne glanced up at Shade. “Open the front door so she can hear them better.”
“But the cold outside—”
“Do it!” Thayne barked.
A gust of winter swept in along with a loud jingle from the berries. “Esme, you must eat the soup.”
“Esmeralda, listen to them.” Thayne parted her lips with the spoon’s tip. “Take this.”
The full, blue lips twitched.
Thayne inhaled sharply and nudged the spoon closer.
When her lips separated, he deposited the magic-laced beans into her mouth.
He handed the bowl to Shade and held her limp shoulders close to him. He longed to send his magic into her, to heal her directly. Not knowing her inheritance from her father, he couldn’t take the chance. His winter magic might kill her.
A soft moan rewarded his patience.
He leaned back and her blue eyes blinked at him. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”
“Not good. Head hurts bad. I’m shaking inside.”
“You’re going to be okay. This soup is magical. It’ll heal you.” He smiled, reached for the bowl, and rewarmed it before feeding her more mouthfuls.
Pink color returned to her cheeks and lips. “It’s good. What is it?”
“A family recipe to treat extreme cold exposure.”
“My legs feel like ice.” She glanced at the back door. “I was out there, hungry for icicles, the images in them of when I was little.”
Thayne nodded. “I know. Dark magic got inside them. You can’t eat those. They’ll kill you, both from the cold and the memories.”
She accepted the bowl from him, and he propped her up with pillows. “But I wanted the memories. They told me about my father. I didn’t know him and I want to know more.”
“I understand. But not that way. Icicle memories, movies of the past, are dangerously addictive. They make you crave the past and forget the present.”
“How did the dark magic get there?” she asked.
His lips flattened. “I don’t know. We need to find out. What did you do this morning? Any magic?”
“I appealed to the goddesses and gods, asking them to recognize me as a witch.” She rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead. “All I remember is their answer shook through me with horrible fever and nausea.”
“What made you eat the icicles?”
“I don’t know. I was hot and needed to cool off. How can those icicles seem so good but be bad? I saw myself, barely able to walk, between my parents. They held my hands and we were in a …I can’t remember.” Her brows pulled together. “It’s gone.”
“Yes. The soup makes you forget so you aren’t living in the past.”
Tears dripped down her cheeks, and she handed him the empty bowl. “All that I saw in the icicles is gone. I wanted those memories. I never knew him.”
“I’m sorry. Those memories would trap your mind, make you insane…if you were able to survive the cold.”
She hugged a throw pillow to her stomach as tears continued to spill.
Thayne motioned to Shade to take the guards outside.
Esmeralda looked up and sniffed. “Thank you for saving my life. I would’ve died.”
He touched her hand. “How do you feel now? Any better?”
“Yes. I can move my arms and legs, fingers and
toes” She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Still shaky inside and have a pounding headache.”
He kissed her hand. “I’m happy you’re better. It’ll take time to feel one hundred percent. There’s more soup, which will help.”
“At least I have bits remaining from what I saw in the icicles.” She released his hand and stretched her legs and worked her joints. “Will eating more take those away or will they stay?”
“I don’t know. The soup affects everyone differently.”
“I don’t understand what magic you used.” Her eyes scanned his face. “Grammy never made anything like those beans.”
Faced with her direct question and all the new concerns about the alignment of her hidden magic, Thayne didn’t have many choices. And he must gain her talisman, maybe for more reasons now than before.
He rose and added a log to the fire. In case he needed to make a quick exit, he wanted her to be warm. “I need to tell you who I am.”
Her gaze followed him as he moved to sit in the rocker.
“I’m the king of the Winter Court of Faerie.”
Eyes wide, she tilted her head. “The Cousins? Like Relic and Shade? But you don’t look odd like them.”
“They are of my court and have been protecting you. I’ve chosen to use a more human glamour mask than them.” He released his disguise and appeared before her in his true form, with metallic silver streaking his iridescent black hair and pupils that would resemble the northern lights. Khaki pants turned to black leather like his jacket. His height extended a couple inches as his joints lengthened. Silver and garnet rings appeared in sharp contrast against the now paler skin on his slightly longer fae fingers.
She gasped and pulled at the corner of the pillow in her lap. “Oh! Your eyes…at the car dealer those colors appeared for a second, and I thought it was a trick of the light.” Although shocked, at least she showed no sign of repugnance or horror.
“Sometimes being around you makes me forget my glamour.” Under her scrutiny, fern frost crept up the back of his neck.
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