by A. B. Keuser
*
When Gretel disappeared inside, Hazel darted in the other direction, pushing her way through the thorny bushes that surrounded the base of the tower. They snagged on her shirt and pulled at her hair, but they were minor annoyances.
She searched for her hand hold. The tower was crooked and seemed to be falling down on itself, but there were no holes in its metal plated exterior. Her only option was to use what little holds she had and shimmy up. It would be a slow and awkward process.
The roar of the irzahara pitched through the meadow. As she climbed, Hazel looked back and saw it step out of the forest's shadow. Its hesitation did not last long. Hazel scrambled higher and hoped the irzahara had no intentions of barreling straight toward the very edifice she climbed.
Magic filled the air, setting her teeth on edge and leaving an oily taste in her mouth. Whatever magic this was, it wasn't something Carcenia had bothered with before.
Hazel's finger slipped on the next gear, her fingertips cut and bloodied. She didn't recall it happening, but there was a trail of blood down the side of the—good lord she was high up.
Turning her eyes back to the window ledge above her, Hazel reached the warped glass pane as another ripple of disgusting magic sliced through the air.
Hazel caught a glimpse of the irzahara, pressing into a black cloud of magic like a ram butting its horns against a rival. She pulled herself inside before she saw who won that pushing match.
Tipping over, she landed on the hardwood floor, on her back. It knocked her lungs about, but didn't drive all the breath from her. Rolling to her side and pushing up, she stayed crouched as she looked around the room. Her bow could work, but at this close of range, it wasn't worth it. She left both bow and quiver on the floor by the window and slid toward the bed. It hid her from view as she watched Carcenia fight the irzahara.
The woman didn't keep weapons around her. With the weirstones, it was likely she'd never needed them. Annoyed, Hazel pulled the small blade from her boot and the slightly longer one from her quiver. She was going to have to get up close and personal this time around.
The witch's focus was centered entirely on the clockwork and magic creature below, and she stalked forward slowly, keeping herself directly behind Carcenia so the witch wouldn't see her. She wasn't quiet enough.
A floorboard creaked under her weight and Carcenia spun toward her. Dropping to her knees was the only thing that saved her from a face full of that oily black magic. She rolled across the floor and slammed her small knife down into the witch's foot.
The scream that left Carcenia's mouth was a horrific thing—like the cries of a hundred, not one.
With the magic gone, Hazel rolled back, sprung to her feet and crouched, to lunge at the woman struggling to free her foot from the floor.
Her feet were knocked out from underneath her.
They were both on the floor when Hazel blinked at the ceiling and finally regained her bearings.
From below, the irzahara's roar echoed up and through the open windows a moment before the tower shuddered again. Hazel rolled out of the way as a bronze bust fell, nearly crushing her.
Claws flew, and they splintered the wood on which she’d just lain.
She twisted out of the way and sprung back to her feet, but the witch grabbed hold of her, wrapping her arms around her chest.
The witch froze.
Caught in the witch’s grip, she struggled, and only caught the witch’s confused glare as she tore away.
“You’re a woman?”
“Took you long enough to figure it out.”
The witch made a noise of irritation and Hazel used her distraction.
She shoved the woman back and then kicked her, sending her flailing backward. The witch's knees hit the edge of the windowsill and with a look of panic, she clawed at the air. Nothing could save her, not the gauzy black curtains she tore from their rod, nor the splinters of wood her claws raked from the window frame. Not even the roof of the house she'd lived in for so long.
Hazel leaned out the window, watching as Carcenia dropped through the smoldering roof and disappeared into the fiery darkness.
Looking out at where Gretel, Edina and the irzahara stood, she threw all three—yes, even the ugly beast—a smile.
A deep rumbling echoed from the house below and Hazel was thrown backward as the main portion of the witch's house exploded outward.
“Damned pinecones,” she muttered as she tried to right herself.
She scrambled off the floor, but it was wrong... tipping. The sound that left her throat was anything but dignified.
Grabbing hold of an uneven floorboard, she struggled upright. Her only chance was the same window that killed Carcenia.
She dragged herself up, caught hold of the sill and scurried over the edge… and now, she was falling on top of the tower instead of just inside it.
With one final ‘screw it’ to the universe, she jumped and hoped the ground would not kill her.
White light flooded her vision and for half a second she thought she was dead.
But the light wasn’t solid. Through the cracks, she could see the meadow, the burning house, Gretel standing with Edina.
Fairy lights.
The same as the little creature who had shunned her before, an entire swarm of them wrapped around her now, holding her aloft. Taking her safely down.
Edina held out her hands, a pained expression on her face until she dropped them and the fairy lights swarmed away.
Breathing hard, Edina doubled over, and muttered something in a language Hazel didn’t speak. When she looked up, she scowled at Hazel.
"I don't react well to copper." The little girl smiled—again, an expression too old for her face—and then closed her eyes.
The fairy lights swarmed in a furious flurry and dove into Edina's chest. And the little girl changed, breaking out of her skin, dirty rags falling away from her. She coiled up like an emerging bloom.
She was tall and terrifying. Black hair with a pewter cast hung down her back, rippling like waves on a pond. Her eyes were colorless. In fact, Hazel wasn't even sure they were there.
She wore a gown like the ones her mother wore for special events at the palace, though this one seemed to be made of the scales of a hundred thousand metal fish. The fairy that had been Edina looked down at them with every capability of killing them.
She only laughed, her smile vicious.
"My name is Edinarawai and Carcenia went back on our deal." She turned her cruel smile on the burning pile of wood and metal. "That will teach me to bargain with a witch."
"How are you still here?" Hazel asked, earning that same smile, turned on her.
"I've been here long enough a few more minutes or hours shouldn't hurt me." Her dark eyes studied Hazel for a moment before they turned to Gretel. "You are full human."
"I guess."
Her response gained her a genuine smile, and Edina took a step toward her. Hazel matched that step.
The fairy held up a finger with too long hands and smiled at her. "I have no intentions on your mate, copperblood."
She turned that hand over, palm up in front of Gretel. "I offer you a payment. One for which you will not be beholden to me."
Gretel didn't answer, instead, she stared at Edinarawai her eyes narrowing skeptically.
With a tinkling laugh, the fairy patted the side of her now inanimate guard-dog. "You will want a carriage." She clenched her fist and the creature rolled in on itself and became exactly what Edina had intended.
"It's a bit gaudy for my taste," Hazel said, half-joking.
With a nod, the fairy raised one glittering eyebrow and asked, "Aren’t princesses usually required to dress more like your human?"
"What's the point of being a princess if you have to stick to stuffy rules? I like dresses... I just like them more when Gretel wears them."
Seemingly pleased with the response, the fairy snapped her long fingers and an enormous chest attached itself to th
e back of the carriage. "You don't need this, but consider it your future bride's dowry. After all, you can't marry a princess if you're penniless."
"Another thing we disagree on." Hazel took a step forward and tugged Gretel behind her. "What game are you playing, fairy?"
She made a humming noise in the back of her throat. "Oh yes, I do love games. Sadly, this isn't one."
Twisting her hands around as a funnel of white swirled between them, she closed her hands around it. Between her caged fingers, light shone through even in full daylight. "You have indebted me to you, whether you meant to or not. I will repay you, or I will keep you in this forest until you allow it."
“When you put it that way, the carriage is great.”
“The contents of Carcenia’s treasure trove are in the chest, and I can assure you safe passage from my forest.”
“So the irzahara isn’t going to eat us when we climb inside?”
Again, Edinarawai’s smile was soft, “The irzahara is a part of me, only when my magic is fractured, can it exist outside of me. This is just bones and rust.”
Taking Gretel’s hand, she led them to the carriage and helped her inside. When Hazel followed, the fairy pulled back. “I’m sure you understand, copperblood.”
“Of course.” Hazel stepped up, but didn’t slip inside yet. “Next time you fall prey to someone like Carcenia, do everyone a favor. Don’t fight being saved.”
She ducked inside and the door slammed shut without a word from the fairy.
The carriage trundled forward—though Hazel had seen no horses—and soon they were out of the forest and its enchantment, headed for Cyprea.
ELEVEN
The irzahara carriage trundled into the town they’d left so few days ago and everything looked different. Little had changed, but it no longer felt like a prison.
When they’d ventured into the Antimony Forest, they had backtracked too far, and the irzahara—forced to take roads big enough for its size—had brought them in a circuitous route.
It hadn’t mattered to Hazel before now. The extra time had given her every opportunity to enjoy Gretel’s company.
She’d been moments away from enjoying it again when she’d caught sight of a sign post out the window.
Houses were empty in the middle of the day, and for a while, as they moved through the outskirts, it felt like a ghost town.
Gretel leaned out the window and then turned back to her. “We should stop. I want to get a few more things, and if they try to stop us now… we’ve survived a witch, we can survive anything they try to do.”
The carriage stopped and Hazel looked out at the house Gretel had called home. The lawn was gone, the garden a patch of dry dust. And the door hung oddly on its hinges.
Hazel took hold of Gretel’s hand as she stepped down and didn’t let go, keeping one step ahead of her as they stepped carefully inside.
The house was a mess. Even in the darkness, Hazel could see the mound of dishes in the wash bin, the cobwebs cluttering the rafters and the corners of walls alike. The place where Gretel had kept her mending was an enormous pile of dirty rags beside a broken chair.
“What happened?” Hazel asked, the question a whisper that echoed in the half empty space.
“I left.” Gretel shrugged and went upstairs.
While she worked upstairs, Hazel opened the curtains and walked around the space that had once been a sitting area. These chairs were broken as well. Scrapes and scuffmarks scarred the floor. There had been a struggle. And it had not ended well.
The dark stain of blood covered a corner of the threadbare carpet.
Gretel came back down the stairs with another bag, and a raggedy quilt. “I’m ready now.”
Glancing once more at the site of the struggle, Hazel followed her out and headed for the carriage. Raised voices drew her attention as Gretel stowed her things in the carriage, and she turned to see the seamstress and the baker going at each other hammer and tongs.
Hazel wasn’t close enough to hear actual words but it was clear both women blamed the other for their argument.
“What is my mother doing now?” Gretel asked. Hazel hadn’t heard her approach and startled.
“It looks like she’s blaming the baker for a mistake in the mending.”
Sighing, Gretel shook her head. “She used to be good at her job.”
Hazel kept quiet as Gretel started off toward them at a determined pace. Her mother was lazy and scheming, but she was still her mother.
Staying a few steps behind, Hazel watched as Gretel’s mother recognized who had joined them. The baker, for her part, looked relieved. Gretel’s mother on the other hand…
“Where have you been you lazy brat!”
Gretel didn’t answer her. “I’m sorry about the mistake. Take this and buy a new one.” Gretel handed her a coin—glimmering gold and clearly from the witch’s treasure trove.
Both women stared at the coin as though it would bite, but the baker took it a moment before Gretel’s mother tried to reach for it. With a vicious glare at the seamstress, the baker turned on her heel and strode away.
“Who did you steal that from?”
“No one. A fairy gave it to us.”
Her mother laughed so hard, she began choking and doubled over.
Hazel kicked a rock away and Gretel crossed her arms over her chest. They shared an annoyed glance.
Wiping a tear from her eye, her mother coughed out the last of her laugh and Hazel shifted her weight. She didn’t trust the woman.
“You are a terrible daughter. I should have thrown you away like I threw your father away. All you’ve brought me is trouble.” She wiped away a tear from her eye, “At least you’re entertaining from time to time.”
Gretel stiffened.
Hazel started to tell the woman off, but Gretel stopped her. “I have something for you, mother.”
Turning back to the carriage, she stalked away, leaving Hazel in a staring match with the older woman.
It didn’t last long
“I hope you’re happy,” she said, turning to Hazel with a vicious scowl. “The huntsman was your fault and yet he paid the price because you ran.”
“What price was that?”
The clock tower rang in the distance and the woman looked toward it. “Why don’t you go see for yourself?”
Gretel rejoined them. “Here, this should last you a year if you’re careful with it.” She dropped a bag of coins into her mother’s hands. “Use the time you have to get yourself sorted out. You won’t see me again.”
Taking her hand, Gretel pulled Hazel back to the carriage and climbed in ahead of her.
“What did she say to you?”
“She told me we needed to see the clock tower.”
A look of confusion crossed over Gretel’s face, but she shrugged without a word, and the carriage jerked to a start again.
Five minutes later, it stopped in the town square, and Hazel looked out, eyes adjusting. What she saw was horrific.
The huntsman had been nailed to the tower above the arched entrance. His shirt torn and a number carved into his chest. Over his head, they had nailed a sign: Don’t cross Krell.
Apparently his men still had faith he would return.
Gretel gasped beside her.
“We don’t need to be here anymore.” Hazel said, and the carriage lurched again.
Wrapping her arms around Gretel, she pulled her onto her lap. “I’m sorry your mother said those things.”
“She has her own demons. I cannot keep them from consuming her if she continues to feed them. And trying would only eat away at me as well.
“I have a demon.” Hazel said quietly, eyes locked on Gretel’s lips. “Do you know what it tells me to do?”
“Tell me.”
“It says I should find a way to lock you in a tower, throw all of our clothes out the window and spend the rest of our lives making love.”
“Does it?”
Hazel nodded.
&n
bsp; “Then I guess we’ll just have to find a tower.” Gretel leaned in, kissing her and lacing her fingers in Hazel’s hair.
The sensation brought a smile to Hazel’s lips and desire coursing through her.
She lay Gretel back on the plush seat and explored her mouth, their tongues twining.
Hazel broke away and looked down at her. “Gods, I could spend the rest of my life worshiping you.”
She was exquisite, hair already mussed, lips full and bruised pink. The sooner she got this woman into a proper bed, the better.
Gretel reached up and brushed her fingers over her mouth.
“Before we go, there’s one more person I’d like to see... one more thing I think we should do.” Gretel glanced at her sheepishly. “But I’ll understand if you want to wait until we get back to Cyprea.”
*
Gretel hopped out of the carriage a bundle of nervous energy and dragged Hazel into the church.
Its archway seemed taller today; its stained glass windows brighter. Even the intricately carved wooden screens seemed more delicate.
She knew emotions were playing with her mind. She didn’t care.
Towing Hazel into the space, she stopped, waiting for her eyes to adjust, and then searched the cavernous space of the sanctuary.
The vicar stood in the far left side of the space, lighting two candles in a darkened alcove. The tune she hummed echoed through the empty space like a funeral dirge.
“Hello Leilei,” Gretel said, her voice magnified by their echoing surroundings.
The vicar froze and then turned slowly toward them before walking around the long pews in measured steps.
Leilei wrapped her up in a crushing hug. “I prayed for your safe return every day.”
Pulling away, she cupped Gretel’s face in her hands and looked her over, assessing.
“Your mother has been hell since you left, Krell’s men have gone on a rampage, collecting all of his debts, and the huntsman….”
“We saw,” Hazel said curtly from behind her.
Leilei looked up as if suddenly realizing Hazel was with them too. “They said you kidnapped her.”