Once Upon a Fairy tale: A Collection of 11 Fairy Tale Inspired Romances

by Danielle Monsch, Cate Rowan, Jennifer Lewis, Jeannie Lin, Nadia Lee, Dee Carney

  On the plus side, they’d found out in short order why the golden stallion was so valuable. It went over, under, and through obstacles.

  The first time the horse had dived into the earth, both Ivan and Wolf had nearly been thrown. Only the craft they’d used to hold them in place had prevented it. From that moment, they’d been very careful to maintain that connection. It was more than a bit unnerving to find yourself moving through solid objects on the back of a horse.

  When the sun was high overhead, Ivan pulled the stallion to a stop at a small settlement. He didn’t want to risk a larger village.

  They stopped briefly to eat and to rest and water the horse. Ivan worried that the horse would tire, but it hadn’t even worked up a lather.

  It was only when they reached the shore as the sun was making its final descent that Ivan realized exactly how fast the golden horse was moving. He knew this shoreline. He knew it because he knew every fishing ground, every inlet, every rock outcropping. This side of the shore wasn’t his usual stomping ground, but the other side was only a two day ride to his fishing cabin.

  “You’re certain of this?” He knew it was annoying to ask, but he couldn’t believe that he had somehow missed an entire island in the sea separating his father’s lands from the Rus and the Gallia.

  Wolf chuffed out a breath. “Yes. Certain. The pull is strong.”

  “Well, then, I suppose we’d better find a ride,” he said to himself. Numerous fae called these shores home, and several were able to transport others over water. They needed to find one and negotiate…or not.

  The stallion didn’t even balk at the shoreline. Instead, he’d simply continued forward and now galloped across the waves.

  Ivan was going to have to come up with a name for the horse. A stallion this astonishing deserved a name of equal value. Perhaps he had a name, but Baba Yaga had neglected to share it.

  The sun was only half visible, dropping below the horizon, when they found the island.

  “Cutting it close,” Ivan said in Wolf’s ear.

  “If we do not make it tonight, we will find it tomorrow,” Wolf replied.

  “If we don’t make the deadline, we are for the stew pot, Wolf,” Ivan reminded him.

  “We will make the deadline. I will not leave my wife to the sorcerer king.”

  That certainly made Wolf’s priorities clear. Koschei was Wolf’s focus, and Ivan was merely a means to an end. Since their goals aligned, it seemed they would use each other, and perhaps together they could kill the unkillable.

  They flew over the water, the horse’s hooves churning up waves in their wake. Even so, the sun slipped further, leaving only a sliver above the horizon. The island began to haze, the magic of sunset taking hold.

  Ivan cursed. “We aren’t going to make it.”

  Wolf swore viciously.

  The last edge of the sun disappeared, the half-light of twilight taking hold, and the haze around the island became a shimmer, so close Ivan could almost touch it. Gods damn it, to get so close and not make it.

  The island began to both fade and sink, the magic pulling it into whatever between state existed before sunrise.

  Without warning, the golden stallion leaped forward, diving into the sea. Ivan had a moment to be grateful he was fae and the water wouldn’t kill him.

  Then the horse’s hooves landed on stone and rang with the sound of it. Ivan jarred as they landed, the impact singing through his tailbone and up his spine.

  The horse screamed at the landing, and Ivan threw a cushion of air around them and let go of the horse.

  They rolled over the flat stone, coming to rest after several yards.

  Ivan released the air and leaped to his feet. Now that they were on the island, they had time. The stallion was priority.

  The golden stallion stood on three legs, one foreleg lifted from the stone.

  Ivan approached carefully. He was fully aware of how touchy injured war horses could be. He spoke soothingly, the words nonsense, but the tone gentle and calming.

  The stallion’s eyes rolled in his head, the whites showing in panic. It took several minutes to calm him enough to get a look at the leg.

  He’d landed hard on it, taking all the force of the misjudged landing. He needed a healer, and quickly.

  “Wolf,” he said quietly. “There are beings on this island, inhabitants. Go. Find out if there is a healer.”

  “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

  The deep, rumbling voice seemed familiar, and it was only as he turned his head he realized why.

  “Lord Stribog. I had not expected to see you here.”

  “Nor I you, Prince Ivan. Why have you come to this place, and with these companions?”

  “I will tell you, but first is there anyone who can see to the horse? He was injured when landed on the shore.”

  Stribog hummed. “I have little healing power. I can stabilize the leg and bring him to one who may heal him.”

  “That would be appreciated, Lord Stribog.”

  “Follow me, then.”

  Stribog flicked his wrist and a wave of power moved past Ivan to engulf the horse. The horse floated behind the sidhe lord, and Ivan followed, Wolf at his side.

  The island was beautiful in the way carefully arranged fae landscapes are beautiful. There were gardens and small cottages, the very definition of picturesque and lovely. Of course, Ivan knew that the insides of the cottages rarely matched the outsides, but that was beside the point. This was a retreat, a haven.

  He scanned everything as they moved across the island. He had the distinct impression that the sidhe here were more than elder sidhe. There was nothing specifically to indicate that, but the power and the magic felt old.

  Stribog stopped at the gateposts to one of the cottages. This one had a fence formed by a hedge, with gateposts of white aspen. The cottage was a dainty white box with pale green trim. The gardens surrounding the cottage were low hedges and flowers, with a large bed of herbs. It looked lovely and homey and sweet.

  The door to the cottage opened, framing a tall, lithe woman with pale green hair decorated with white flowers and wearing a lovely green dress.

  “Lady Zywie,” Stribog greeted, bowing. Ivan followed suit and bowed. A deeper bow than he’d given Queen Alina, but he had a feeling this lady deserved it.

  “Lord Stribog. I see you have brought the golden stallion to me. Is he injured?”

  “Yes, Lady.”

  “And how did he become injured?” She looked at Ivan when she asked the question.

  “He jumped through the magic onto the island when the sun set. He landed poorly and injured his foreleg.”

  “Leave him with me. He will be healed in the morning.”

  “You are generous, Lady Zywie,” Ivan said, bowing again.

  She smiled at him. “I would much rather you have him than the one who currently holds him.”

  “If I complete my service to her in a timely fashion, the stallion will belong to me.”

  “That is good, young prince. Perhaps you will treat him with the respect he deserves.”

  He heard the underlying order.

  “I will do my best to do so, Lady.”

  She nodded, taking the horse from Stribog. “In the morning, after sunrise.”

  Stribog bowed, and they took their leave.

  “Lady Zywie is a powerful healer, and she has a soft spot for horses.”

  “I appreciate you helping us, Lord Stribog. I am still surprised to find you here.”

  “Mmmm. I am here to negotiate with some of the sidhe on this island. If the tribute is late and you are not successful, Deathless will come for the Rus. We cannot resist him on our own, he is too powerful. However, there are some on this island who might make the difference.”

  Ivan nodded. He wasn’t insulted. It was a sensible precaution.

  “The golden stallion will aid us in getting to the palace proper,” Ivan explained. “Wolf and I have our own reasons for fighting, but we agr
ee that the sorcerer king must die.”

  Stribog glanced at Wolf. “What is your role here?”

  Wolf grinned, showing teeth. “Deathless cursed me to this form, and my wife to the firebird. The only release from the curse is his death.”

  Stribog stopped walking. “This seems at odds with your quest, Prince Ivan.”

  Ivan shrugged. “My quest is to bring the bird back. If Wolf’s wife is firebird, she can visit the court and my quest is complete.”

  “I see. That does fulfill the letter of the quest. Then the question becomes why are you determined to accomplish it if you don’t get the firebird?”

  “My reasons are my own, Lord Stribog. Would not the glory of defeating Deathless be sufficient?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Before I can complete my quest, however, I must complete the task set for me by Babushka.”

  Stribog blinked. “You are doing service for Babushka?”

  Ivan nodded. “In exchange for the horse and a bit more. My service task at this time is to bring her a box buried on this island.”

  “What box?”

  “She tells me it is an iron box buried beneath the only oak tree on the island.”

  Stribog rocked backward. “Oh, Prince,” he said softly. “What a risk you take. There is, indeed, only one oak tree on the island. Why don’t we go see it now?”

  Frowning, Ivan walked after Stribog, Wolf by his side. They shared a look of puzzlement at Stribog’s reaction. Clearly there was something about this tree that made the request more than it seemed.

  Nothing seemed different as they walked. One moment they were walking past cottages, and the next moment they were at the trunk of an enormous oak.

  Ivan blinked. How could he not have seen this tree as they approached it? It was massive. The trunk branched out into huge limbs, so heavy they shouldn’t have been able to support their own weight.

  Wolf whined, then said what Ivan had been thinking. “That is not just an oak.”

  “No, Wolf, that is something entirely more,” Ivan responded quietly. The magic pulsed off the tree, thick enough to make breathing difficult. This was one of the primal pillars of the fae, the seven trees said to support the magic of the realm. No wonder they went to such lengths to hide the island.

  “You see now why I tell you that to disturb this ground is to invite disaster.”

  “Yes. But I also know that if I return without the box, Babushka will dine richly and Deathless will not be stopped by my hand.”

  “That is a difficult position. The possibility of triggering an apocalypse against the certainty of your death and the probable death of thousands of others.”

  “That is the meat of the problem, Lord Stribog. Ask yourself. If I do not stop Deathless, and he is not stopped by the Rus, who will be able to stand against him? How long before he finds this island and uproots this tree simply because he can?”

  “He is the reason the island moves.”

  “What?” Ivan was sure he’d heard incorrectly. “How is that possible?”

  “No, I don’t mean he causes the magic. I mean that just after he eliminated the Evenki, he came here. He is under a death warrant. Unfortunately, even the powers here could not kill him, but he could not overtake them, either. He left, promising to return. That is why they chose to institute the magic of the relocation.”

  It took a moment for that to sink in. The powers on this island could not kill Deathless. If the beings that predated even the elder fae were not powerful enough to end him, what chance did he have to do so? And yet…

  “There is no one else who can do this. One step at a time. I need the box so I can fulfill the terms of my service to Babushka. After that, I will worry about the sorcerer king.”

  “You cannot dig under this tree. There is one bound in the roots who is older than any on this island.”

  “If that’s the case, how did the box get under the tree? No, never mind,” Ivan said, waving a hand. “No digging. We don’t know exactly where the box is, so Wolf will try scrying for it. If we can locate it that way, I’ll pull it up using a retrieval spell.”

  “What do you use to scry, Wolf?”

  “Blood and bone.”

  Stribog winced. “I’m not sure we can find what you need.”

  “It can be any bone. A bone from dinner is fine.” Ivan wasn’t about to have his chance cut off because Wolf didn’t get what he needed. If necessary, he’d give his own blood and bone to make this work. It would regenerate.

  As it turned out, finding blood and bone wasn’t difficult. Stribog returned shortly with a stunted and twisted little man who fairly reeked of old power. He wasn’t sidhe, but he was a powerful fae. Stribog didn’t introduce him and Ivan didn’t ask. He took the small bones and the cup of blood and offered his appreciation. The caution against thanking the fae multiplied with the age of the fae, and this one felt very old.

  This time Wolf used a bowl provided by Stribog to burn the blood and bone. Instead of tethering himself to the scrying, he had Ivan hold the bowl and they walked the area under the tree.

  Finding the general area was easy. Finding the specific spot proved a bit harder. After several passes, Wolf had Ivan place the bowl on the ground, then nosed it into the specific spot he wanted.

  “There. The box is there. Between three and four feet down. There are roots to either side and below, but none above.”

  Ivan raised a brow. “Can you tell if the roots were moved magically? Tree roots would not naturally grow in that way.”

  “It feels like a barrier spell. Not so much like they were magically moved as magically prevented.”

  “Allow me,” the small fae offered.

  Ivan nodded. “I have no problem with you having a look. It will take me a moment to gather the spell.”

  He watched with interest as the small fae dragged his fingertips through the charred remains in the bowl, then laid his hands alongside it on the ground. He hummed a bit then sat back on his heels.

  “Yes, a protection spell,” he said. “It’s not old, younger than you, Prince. It tastes of shadow and old death. Not new death, not blood, but death magic.”

  “Can you tell who placed the spell? I can tell you Babushka sent me for the box.”

  The small fae grinned, showing a double row of needle-sharp teeth. “Not that one. I know the taste of her magic, and it has the flavor of meat and gristle. I don’t know the flavor of this magic.”

  Ivan nodded. “Again, your assistance is appreciated.”

  “In payment, I’d like to see if you can retrieve the box. Will you accept this as trade?”

  Ivan narrowed his eyes. Usually bargains were sealed before any part was done. This was highly irregular. It was a small payment, more a formality than an imposition, but it wouldn’t do to leave any part of the bargain unmet.

  “I will allow you to watch me use magic to retrieve the box with the understanding that doing so pays all debts owed by me and my companions, and there is no further obligation to you or yours by me or mine.”

  The small fae grinned again.

  “Clever prince. Yes, that is a good bargain.”

  “It is sealed?”

  “Sealed.”

  Ivan nodded and knelt on the ground. He set the bowl aside and cleansed the ground before drawing a rune for clear seeing on the ground to help direct the magic. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but in this case, he didn’t want there to be any question. Because his rune magic was weak, he couldn’t get a clear image of the box, but he did have a good idea of the rough size, shape, and depth.

  Nodding to himself, he sent the spell into the ground, aiming it directly at the box. It acted like a magical net, encompassing the box. Ivan gave an experimental tug on his end of the spell, and the box moved easily. There was no resistance in the ground, the earth moving to fill the space left as the box rose.

  He pulled it up slowly, not wanting to disturb the ground any more than absolutely necessary. By the time the box pu
shed through the top layer of soil, he was sweating with the effort. Because the box was iron, Ivan didn’t dare grab the box with his hands. He eased it out of the ground completely, letting it hover while the earth reformed and the grass reknit itself over the spot.

  Finally, he eased the box down between himself and Wolf.

  The box was crusted in nodules of chalky gray and orange. It wasn’t particularly large, made of flat panels riveted together with iron strapping. It didn’t look special. It didn’t look like the sort of thing that should be buried on a disappearing island under one of the pillars of the world. It looked like the kind of box you’d see in a human junk shop.

  One of the things about iron, in addition to being toxic to nearly all fae and burning them on contact, was that it was generally impervious to magic. Most fae thought those two things were probably related, but no one knew for sure. What Ivan did know was that whatever was in that box was far more important than the box itself, and there were few fae who could touch iron, and he had met one. A fae didn’t sport iron teeth if she had difficulty with iron.

  “Do you know what is in the box?”

  Ivan shook his head at Stribog’s question. “I was only told to retrieve the box.”

  Stribog’s bushy brows lowered and the corners of his lips turned down into his beard. “I do not wish to put a powerful relic into the hands of Babushka.”

  Wolf moved between the box and Stribog. “Is that worse than allowing Deathless to grow unchecked?”

  The small fae studied the box. He leaned in close to Ivan’s ear, speaking so only he could hear. “Take the box to Jadwiga. Tell her the Bone Shaker has named her and the geas is laid.”

  Ivan had little idea what that last meant, but he understood that the fae called Bone Shaker was old enough and powerful enough to true-name Baba Yaga. That was a terrifying thought. More terrifying was the fact that he’d shared that true-name with him and didn’t seem to care if Baba Yaga knew it.

  Wolf threw him a look that echoed Ivan’s unease. He might not know what Bone Shaker had told him, but he could read Ivan’s disquiet.

  “I will convey your message,” Ivan said, bowing his head in respect. He couldn’t do any better since he was still on the ground.