by AK Mulford
“The High Mountain bloodline carries on,” the prince said, confidently. “Many people have claimed to have seen Raffiel flee the flames of the Yexshire slaughter.”
Remy shuddered and tried to push the images out of her mind: the palace burning, people frantically pounding on barred doors, others leaping from windows. Some escaped only to be cut down by Northern soldiers the second their lungs breathed fresh air. Remy still smelled the smoke, still heard the screams, and still felt the weathered hands of Baba Morganna, the High Priestess of the red witches, pulling Remy away from the bloodshed.
“That was thirteen years ago,” Fenrin said. He shifted closer to Remy as he spoke. Remy realized the prince noted the movement, even though the only visible sign was his jaw clenching. “King Vostemur himself has been hunting endlessly for him, and yet he has not been found . . .” Fenrin didn’t finish his thought: what makes you think you will succeed when the most powerful man in the world has failed?
“The Northern King may be powerful,” the Eastern Prince said, “but he is also arrogant. Raffiel may be glamoured as a human or a witch for all we know.”
Carys chuckled as she sat beside her prince. Remy glanced at the two of them and wondered if they were together. She shook the thought from her head.
“We have no interest in hunting down Raffiel, and so he should have no reason to hide from us. Indeed, we want to help restore him to the throne. Why wouldn’t he reveal himself to his true allies?”
“Why would he think your words mean anything after thirteen years of waiting?” Remy said.
The blow struck true. She saw it on the prince’s face. Over a decade had passed, and the Eastern Court had done nothing to stop King Vostemur as he tracked down every last High Mountain fae and red witch.
“The wrath of the North was too great at first,” the prince hedged. Remy laughed bitterly. “Vostemur had raised the largest army the world had ever seen. He destroyed the strongest fae court in Okrith. Did you really expect us to turn that bloodthirsty army toward the East?”
Remy frowned. The Northern King would have leveled any opposition. Bowing to his power was a strategy for survival. Still, she begrudged the East, South, and West for their inaction. Even with all three of their armies combined, it would not have been enough to stop the Northern Court thirteen years ago.
Remy didn’t care. If her people were going to burn, then so should they all.
“His armies dwindle,” Carys said through the shadowed quiet. “There is not enough coin or conquest to keep an army that size. Many of Vostemur’s legions have disbanded, and he has turned his energies inward. If he cannot find Raffiel, then he seeks to undo the blood bond on the Immortal Blade.”
Heather gasped. “Can it be done?”
“The blue witches enslaved to the Northern King are trying. The King has been using the bodies from his red witch hunts to manipulate the magic.” Carys’s eyes slid to Remy as a sort of apology. She was speaking of Remy’s people. “But we know the remaining red witches are gathering.“
The prince held up his hand to cut Carys off, and she paused.
“We would tell you where they gathered if we thought it inclined you to help us.” His eyes swept over Remy. “But I fear with that knowledge you would run off to your coven and leave us behind.”
Remy’s hammering heart crept into her throat.
“The red witches are gathering?” she gasped.
Chapter Three
Her whole body felt frozen by the power of Hale’s proclamation. If the witches were coming together once more, that meant there were enough of them left . . . and they were finding each other. Remy squinted into the darkness, grappling with that thought. The red witches had scattered to the wind, all seemingly hunted down. Remy had wondered for a long time if she was the only one left.
“Yes,” Hale confirmed, watching as Remy’s mind whirled. “Baba Morganna leads them still.”
Remy’s chest crumpled inward. It couldn’t be true.
“Baba Morganna is alive?” She wrung her hands. She had seen a mountaintop fall onto the High Priestess of the red witches. She was certain that the falling rocks had killed her. But maybe her six-year-old memory was incorrect. “How can you possibly expect me to trust what you say?”
“A courtier friend of ours has seen her with his own two eyes,” Hale said.
“That means nothing,” Remy said. “Your friend might be working with Vostemur.”
“Bern can be trusted. He has . . . ties to the High Mountain Court. He would never betray them,” Hale assured her. His lips tilted up at her as he spoke his next words, as though he had been waiting to at long last release them. “But Bern said to tell you to use that red candle in your bag if you do not believe him, Little Sparrow.”
Blood drained from Remy’s face. Little Sparrow. It was the nickname Baba Morganna used to call her as a child. It was true, then. She was alive. She could use her red witch candle to call on the High Priestess to confirm it . . . but then the candle would be spent forever. It was too much information for it to be a lie. She would use the red candle if she ever came to doubt them, but if the red witches were reuniting, it changed everything. Remy had hoped all these years that the High Priestess had survived, but to have it confirmed . . . she clenched her hands to keep from crying.
“You still haven’t explained why you need me,” Remy said, schooling her shock, staring down the prince once more. He smirked at her hard look.
“Your magic links you to the High Mountain Court. You can feel their magic and all objects made by it,” he said. He swept his wavy hair off his forehead.
“If you know the red witches are gathering, why not just go to them? Their combined powers are much stronger. They would be better able to help you,” Remy said. “I didn’t even know of such stirrings.”
“I doubt your coven would trust or help me,” Hale said. “But it is not Raffiel himself that I need your help to find.”
Remy’s leg tapping paused as the prince continued.
“Red witch magic is in the Immortal Blade, yes, but also in its two sister talismans: the Shil-de ring and the amulet of Aelusien.”
Shil-de was Mhenbic for “eternal shield.” The red witches made the ring to protect the wearer, making them indestructible. The ring passed through many hands over the years, and no one knew where the ring was anymore.
The ancient High Mountain fae stowed the amulet in Mount Aelusien. They imbued the talisman with witch magic, and whoever wore it could access the powers of the red witches. So many people had died on the slopes of Mount Aelusien in their quest for the amulet that the mountain now bore an ominous name: the Rotted Peak.
“You want me to help you find them?” Remy raised her eyebrows to Fenrin and her friend laughed. This prince was delusional.
“I already have an idea where the ring is,” the prince continued, “but I need a red witch to authenticate it. And to survive the Rotted Peak, I need red witch magic too. I plan to take the talismans to the red witches in the hopes they tip off Raffiel. Even if the witches won’t give up their prince’s location, the talismans in our possession should draw him out. He can defeat the Northern King with the amulet and the ring. He could end this war before it begins.”
“And if risking life and limb for these talismans doesn’t draw him out?” Remy hedged.
Heather continued her fussing over Remy, producing an ointment from her bag. The brown witch applied it to Remy’s bruised forehead, her healing magic glowing a faint brown around her fingertips. Remy winced at the stinging tincture, swatting Heather’s hand away. The wound would disappear soon enough on its own.
“Then the Eastern Court will have two powerful bargaining chips in the inevitable war with the North,” the prince said with a disconcerting level of nonchalance. “The Immortal Blade will struggle to cut across our lands if faced with those talismans’ protection. We will offer safe haven to the red witches in the Eastern Court and rally the other Courts to our side if we must
.”
“You speak as if the war between the Courts is certain,” Fenrin muttered.
“We’ve already had skirmishes with those cocky Northerners at the Eastern border,” Carys said. “You think Vostemur will ever stop? His ambition is endless. He will not be satisfied until he is the only ruler in all the land.”
Hale nodded. “We have a window to make our move while his attention turns toward the blade.”
“And what do we get out of this arrangement?” Remy cut in. “So far it seems you have abducted us from our home and threatened us.”
“I told you tying them up was a bad idea,” the female Eagle, Briata, called from across the room. She spoke in a low, enticingly gruff voice that made Remy’s eyes snag on her striking features once more.
“Yeah, nothing like abduction to really breed trust, Hale,” Talhan added with a snicker.
The prince scowled at them, but his warriors only grinned back. It was strange to hear these soldiers talking back to their prince. They spoke like they were friends, not just his loyal servants.
“Maybe you should take a walk, Hale,” Carys added, leaning in to speak to the prince in a whispered voice that Remy could barely hear. “Let me talk to them.”
“I can handle this,” Hale whispered back.
Remy had to school her face from registering that she heard.
“Well, handle it better, then,” Carys hissed.
Remy liked this warrior. She liked the Twin Eagles too. They had charisma like all fae but were strangely humorous and informal too. Were it not for the fact they were fae, and that they served the Bastard Prince, Remy might actually like getting to know them.
“She asks a fair question,” Carys said louder, clearly intending for the witches to hear. “Why should she help us?”
“Besides seeing her prince, the one she swore to serve, returned to his rightful throne?” Hale’s lips pulled up into a smug smile as he looked at Remy. She squinted at him. The red witches pledged their fealty to the High Mountain Court, but it was a low blow to ask this much of her. Was her fealty enough to go hunting for two lost talismans?
The Eastern Prince seemed to read her reaction. “We can safely return you to them. I suspect it will be the safest the three of you have been in thirteen years.”
It was Heather who considered him then. She may have been affectionate, but she was still a witch, not a human, and that made her shrewd. Heather and Fenrin would not be able to get Remy to the red witches alone. Remy had narrowly missed being captured or killed several times and that was in small country towns. If they were to travel out into the Courts, she needed more protection than two brown witches. Remy knew she needed to get to Baba Morganna the instant the High Priestess’ name was spoken.
Heather gave a thoughtful nod. She was the leader of their little unit, and so it was her decision. Either she seemed to believe that the prince offered them protection in earnest, or she didn’t trust the prince but still felt allying with him was worth the risk. Regardless, Remy knew Heather would do anything to ensure her safety.
Remy felt like she had been sleeping for thirteen years, only to be awoken into a panicked run. All her patience flew from her body. She was desperate to get back to the red witches.
She rubbed her hand down her sore face. What they were agreeing to was a far departure from hiding in taverns. It was a colossal risk, and it could all be a lie. She wondered if Heather wanted to pawn her off on someone else. No, that wasn’t like the brown witch. Still, Remy had been nothing but a liability to them all these years. This deal could make their lives better.
Biting her lip, Remy looked between Heather and Hale. The prince was still looking at her, waiting for her reply.
Remy made him wait, holding his stare, until she spoke.
“So you want us to help you find the Shil-de ring and the amulet of Aelusien and help you find a long-missing prince? That is a big ask of us.”
“I am only asking you,” Hale said, his smoky eyes piercing her. “If your companions wish to come, then I only ask that they do not slow us down, though I think it would be far better to send them back to that tavern.”
“No,” Heather said at the same time as Fenrin said, “Absolutely not.”
“We stay with Remy.” Heather gave Remy a warning look that told the red witch not to disagree with her guardian. The prince was right—it would be safer for the brown witches to stay behind. The brown witches only had healing magic, not the power to animate objects like the red witches. But Remy owed Heather her life. The brown witch had saved her more times than she could count, and so she could not deny Heather anything.
Remy assessed the Eastern Prince one more time. The things he spoke of were foolish at best and catastrophic at worst. She refused to trust him, but a tentative alliance with them seemed like a good move. She could help him until he revealed where the red witches gathered, and then she would flee before getting roped into a harebrained chase after a ghost prince.
It felt like their lives were frozen all these many years, and suddenly the name of Baba Morganna had thrown them back in the fires.
Decision made.
Remy watched as the firelight flickered over the prince’s sharp features. “The brown witches are coming with us, and you will leave them be.”
“Agreed.” Hale smiled, knowing he had convinced her.
“Well then, prince, we have a deal,” Remy said, sealing her fate.
The forests of the Western Court were endless. The terrain was rough and undulating, with large slabs of granite rock protruding through the soil. Aspens, firs, and maples dominated the forest’s canopy. Light rays speared through the crowns of the trees, allowing for lush underbrush to spring forth from the crunchy layer of leaves on the forest floor.
The Autumnal Equinox grew closer. Some trees still flourished in shades of summer green, while others had already yielded their greenery to the chilly nights. Red, golden, and orange leaves danced to the forest floor, floating like feathers.
“Look—onion weed!” Fenrin said with delight, popping up from behind a yellowing shrub. He held up a handful of green shoots. “You can eat the leaves and the stalks, great for bulking out stews, and . . . you don’t care.”
“No, I care, I . . .” Remy began as she took the pungent green stalks and put them in the front pouch of the apron she’d borrowed from Heather. She smeared the onion stench off her hand and down her crumpled maroon tunic.
“Remy, you don’t care about onion weed, it’s okay.” Fenrin laughed.
“You’re right, I really don’t care.” Remy grinned at him.
They had broken off from the rest of the camp to forage. The second their packs hit the ground, Remy shucked her too-tight boots. She was sure she would have blisters in the coming days.
Fenrin and Heather were both accomplished foragers, as most brown witches were. One walk through the forest could procure enough medicinal plants to line their pockets with druni.
Though the witch covens shared some magic in common, each possessed their own unique powers too. The blue witches had the gift of Sight, the green witches made delicious food and gardens grow, the red witches could animate objects, and the brown witches were healers and expert foragers.
Remy, however, was useless at identifying plants. She could not tell the difference between a medicinal mushroom and a poisonous one. She would still join Fenrin while he foraged, though.
In the past, they had a lucrative business going for themselves. They could have moved to bigger taverns closer to the Western Court cities, but their goal was to stick to the backcountry, where the living was rough and the money was bad . . . and it was all because Remy was a red witch.
“I wish I had my bow.” Remy pouted, sinking her toes into the cool moss beneath her bare feet. She rolled her stone-gray trousers up to her calves. It felt good to have fresh air on her sore feet.
“Maybe if you ask really nicely, the prince will buy you one.” Fenrin snickered, passing her two mushro
oms as he carried on.
“I’d rather go hungry than ask him for a bow.” Remy tucked the mushrooms into her pocket.
It felt so strange to fall into their easy routine. Here they were, on the road with a bunch of high-class fae, still breaking off into their little duo to forage.
“Do you trust him, the Eastern Prince?” Fenrin asked, his blue eyes scanning through the forest.
“Not even the slightest.” Remy snorted.
“Good. Be careful with him,” Fenrin said more to himself than to Remy. “The others I like well enough. They make good company. Carys told me she’d show me the East one day and . . .”
“You need to be careful with them too, Fen,” Remy said. “They might act like your friends, but they’re dangerous.”
“I know.” Fenrin passed back another handful of mushrooms. “Still, it’s better than what we were doing, right? I’d rather travel with a bunch of fae warriors than scrub sheets at the Rusty Hatchet.”
Remy smirked, rubbing her dirt-stained hands together. “Yeah, me too.”
“Our mansion in Yexshire will have an armory.” Fenrin laughed, ducking behind a tree. “Then you will have dozens of bows to choose from.”
This was the game they played to pass the time. They would plan their dream home, a castle that they would erect in the rebuilt city of Yexshire. It was a daydream that began the day they met when they were twelve, and it still lasted even seven years later.
Remy looked up to the treetops at her left, as if she could see the High Mountains through the forest. On the other side of that crown of mountains sat her fallen court, her homeland. The High Mountain Court had the most beautiful seasons: hot, verdant summers and snowy, white winters. Even in the depths of winter the sun shone every day, if only for a few minutes. In the Western Court, weeks could stretch by on end without a single ray of sunlight breaking through the dismal gray clouds. Remy remembered her court as a magical place filled with sweeping alpine vistas. She wondered how much her memory had exaggerated the beauty of the High Mountain Court. The feeling of home still strummed through her body like a song only her soul knew.