Cassandra Pendragon
"No," he simply stated in the lingering silence. I hesitated, but he had said everything he had wanted to and now it was on me to make a decision. Maybe he wasn't as rotten as I had thought. Admittedly, what he tried to do took courage and if there had been an audience it would even have been clever, but, unfortunately, there really wasn't. And I probably wouldn't have cared either way.
"I wasn't asking," I said softly while the glow from my eyes intensified.
"I know. Go ahead, then. Make me submit, prove to me that you aren't any different. Show me that, in the end, strength is all that matters. Break my mind, twist my body, I'm curious to see the look on your face. Hurt me… kill me and take my crown or let me go, there really is no other option." Control. He was grasping for control. Not over me, but the situation.
The smell of cherries wafted up and the forest below whispered in the wind, the biting cold held back by Greta's growing presence. I breathed in deeply and savoured the taste of home, my fingers twitching. "If you don't want to dirty your hands, give me your spear and look the other way for a few minutes," a deep, raspy voice rumbled. I didn't need to turn around, I already knew that one of the elves had scrambled to his feet midair, his ruby red eyes burning with anger and hatred under matted, black hair crusted with dried blood. Apparently he hadn't forgiven his host for his hospitality, yet. "I'll cut him and his pride into a more comfortable size."
"Look how the beaten dog suddenly dares to bark," Lancelot chuckled scathingly. "Careful, little pet. Your future is far from certain right now." Gods, people were stupid.
"So is yours," I interjected when I felt the heat of rising anger and unfulfilled revenge pulse behind me. With a wave of my hand I silenced the impertinent fey once again and slowly turned around. Six elves, a family, judging from their uniform hair and eye colour, were nervously balancing on a stream of pink petals, their expressions oscillating between wonder and weariness, except for the surprisingly burly man at the front. He looked like he was ready to gnaw his way through a mountain range. Hardly surprising, really, considering he had just watched his children and wife suffer at the hands of creatures he had never met, never mind wronged, in all his life.
The traces of their captivity had been erased, unblemished skin had closed over raw wounds and the atrocious hoods and ties had vanished, but their careworn, fearful posture and the anxious, desperate manner when the three girls tried to hide behind their mother still spoke volumes. As perverted as it sounds, they hadn't been hurt, not really, but it had been close and they still felt the lingering dread, the heavy hands on their bodies and the whispered promises of more to come. Luckily they were young. Young and resilient. In a week filled with warm food and hot water their trials would have become a half forgotten nightmare. As for their parents and their older brother, almost a man in his own right… they wouldn't forget and they surely wouldn't forgive. I probably wouldn't have, either. If I had seen Ahri, Reia or Viyara… every time I had seen Ahri, Reia or Viyara in a comparable predicament I had entirely lost my composure. Every single time.
With an imperceptible shake of my head I dislodged the unpleasant thought and focused, only to hiss in disgust again. What I had taken for worn, threadbare rags from afar were actually strings of intertwined runes, painted on their white, naked skin. By now they were simply powerless reminders of a future that'd never come to pass, but the malevolent intent I could still easily read. The blood of the six, in combination with a sacrificed fey from another kingdom, would have served to anchor the portal to a different realm, sucking it dry in the process to provide Lancelot with even more ill begotten magic. My knuckles cracked and the muscles on my forearms pressed against my skin when I whirled around to face the gagged feyling.
"Where's the fey you've taken," I whispered. His eyes twitched and a drop of sweat formed on his brow, but he still raised his hands and nestled with the silver collar of his armour. Palpable waves of anger were rolling off of me and I knew my wings were slowly turning into an arcane maelstrom. I heard the three girls press themselves more tightly against their mother, I felt the moving air as father and son gasped in amazement and I savoured the thunderstruck, almost resigned expression on the fey's face.
A moment later he produced a pendant that appeared like a huge, clear rock crystal enclosing a strangely shaped shadow. When I looked closer I recognised a stereotypical fairy frozen in the gem. She was about five centimetres tall with large, butterfly wings and golden hair under a small, sapphire crown. Shit, if that girl wasn't royalty, I wouldn't be either.
Gently I took the warm jewel from his slightly shaking fingers and focused on her face. Not that it mattered, she could probably change her appearance at will, but the masks we wore usually told more about us than the features we had been born with, and this one actually mirrored the soul I saw dreaming behind her closed eyes. Young, innocent and full of curiosity with barely a shadow of grief or pain to mar her beauty, she slept like a baby, oblivious and content. But while she was young, her prison was not. The gem had been created long before the cataclysm.
"Whom did you buy her from," I pressed out and revoked my command with a curt gesture.
"I… I found her," he croaked, his hands inadvertently massaging his throat. "In an ancient tomb. She's supposed to be the last living heiress to the Misty Mountain, one of the oldest fey kingdoms. One that has been lost for ages. With her and them I hoped to find it."
"I like you less and less with each passing second. Why the war against the elves, then? Don't tell me this isn't linked."
"Fey and elves are more closely related than you seem to think," he admitted after barely a moment of contemplation. Wise choice. My patience was running thin. "Just like there are humans in some realms, elves have also gone exploring in the past. Even sooner than the other races. We're descendants of these pioneers and have adapted to our world over the years. The sturdiest, oldest passages to and from the Fey Wilds all stem from the ancient empire of the elves. Most of it lies underneath the ocean by now, but whatever little remains is here, right on the Emerald Island. We tried using the blood of Morgan's lover to reach the lost kingdom, but it was too thin. In fact it was so weak that the spell even consumed parts of the Silent Glade to keep itself alive before we managed to shut it down." He paused and a shadow of regret passed behind his eyes.
"Our home was badly damaged and it's disintegrating. That's why I said it's about safety. We don't need the lands, but we need access to elven royalty to find someone with a lineage old enough to gain access to the Misty Mountain. And fast. The magic of our home is what keeps us fey alive. Without one we wither and die. Coming here… well, we'll either have a new place to call home or we might just find the key we're looking for. Either way, it's our only option."
Better. Marginally. Or at least understandable. And ironic, considering I had the oldest, most likely purest, elven princess with me already. I had always assumed that Lyra's past was going to matter to her own people, but now it surely seemed like the fey were even more interested in her. Provided I wasn't pulling arbitrary connections from thin air, but with how the lasts months had turned out I really didn't think so. I mean… her and the little frozen fey had even been placed in eerily similar prisons. Admittedly, Lyra had been held captive by Shafeer and the golden dragon had probably never seen the fey, but magic, especially powerful magic, has a tendency to leave invisible marks, its essence reaching far wider than the paltry dreams of the caster. Which is just a pretty longwinded way of saying: I wouldn't have been surprised in the slightest if Lyra and the little butterfly were related, maybe literally. Come to think of it, I would even have wagered on it.
"It's not," I replied distractedly and shoved the thought aside. It didn't matter. The Silent Glade, the Misty Mountain and whatever other fanciful names they had come up with for their domains, they were all going to crumble. The only relevant piece of information was the connection between the fey and the elves. Chances were that the whole goddamned realm would manifest around here. Oh boy, it'd soon become very crowded. "It's not even an option," I continued. "Shangri-La, the Garden Eden, whatever you want to call the havens of legend... they aren't real. Not here, not anywhere. Even if the Misty Mountain still exists as a kingdom, it'll vanish alongside the Silent Glade. I saw to that and you… in your ignorance you ensured it." I closed my fingers around the cool, smooth crystal and breathed: "wake up." Lancelot's mouth twitched and I could practically feel his sneer, but a heartbeat later his eyes widened. Cracks appeared all over the translucent gem and with barley a whisper the whole jewel shattered and turned into starlight. Barely the fraction of a second passed before a warm, light weight fell into my hand. Damn it, that had felt really good. Good enough to assuage the flames of wrath I still felt dancing in my veins.
A tremor raced through her purple wings, a cloud of golden dust gently fell and she stretched her arms before glowing, entirely golden eyes opened and blinked confusedly in the weak winter light. "Where… who," she stammered and raised her tiny hands to her head, massaging her flowing, golden hair. She frowned when she inadvertently touched her crown and pulled it towards her eyes. With a barely audible thud she leaned back against my thumb and scrutinised the sparkling sapphires. "This isn't mine," she complained after a moment, before she quickly raised her gaze to me. Then she froze before she blinked sluggishly: "who are you? Am I dead? Is this heaven?"
A small smile tugged on the corners of my mouth despite the precarious situation. "Cassandra, no and no," I chuckled. "I'll give you a much more detailed explanation, but first I need an honest answer: have you ever heard of the Misty Mountain?"
"Not a goddess but an imbecile," she mumbled under her breath, but immediately clasped her hands over her mouth, her eyes darting to mine with a hint of panic. Unfortunately I had still heard her, courtesy of my heritage, but I prudently chose not to. "Of course," she continued slowly and with an exaggerated nod. "It's my home, the first enclave. Don't you recognise me?" I shrugged helplessly, my focus wavering. Lancelot was much too busy getting his jaws back under control to have me worried, but the enraged and now ignored father on the war path behind me was slowly turning from a nicely shaded red to the colour of a volcanic eruption. Angry wasn't even close to how he felt and the only reason why he had tolerated my antics up until now was plain fear. He didn't yet dare to disrespect me, but it wouldn't take long for his fury to devour the last bits of restraint he had left. With every passing moment his fear of me was drowned out by the hatred he felt building in his heart. Best not to wait until there was no way back.
The faint, cacophonous sounds that wafted up form the valley were changing. The rustling of leaves was drowned out by the groans of growing cherry trees, the terrified, shallow breaths of the fey were consumed by bloodcurdling howls as boughs and roots wound themselves around the beasts they had brought to crush the very life from their limbs and the hum of Greta's magic was slowly rising. In a few, drawn out moments everything had changed and the pressure of an immortal presence was slowly spreading through the forest.
I spun around and, without a word, extended my hand, Aiglos glimmering harshly in the flickering lights of freed magic like a touchable invitation. Silence fell, loud and heavy, even the warm breeze and the oppressive sounds of transcendent intervention died away, as if the world was holding its breath. The little fey stilled on my hand, her wings a whispering caress against my skin, her arms wrapped tightly around my thumb, and then Lancelot spluttered:
"I… you… you can't…"
"Watch me," I hissed. My tone immediately shut him up, even though my next words were directed at the elf: "do with him as you please, but think long and hard about whom you're hurting. Your family is watching and they're already safe."
A dangerous gleam entered his blood red eyes and he extended his hand, his strong fingers hovering above the silver spear, but he didn't take it. Instead he craned his neck and sought his wife's gaze. For a long second they stared at each other, the air between them distorted by swaths of magic passing from one to the other.
"What are you waiting for," his son finally erupted and lunged for the sparkling weapon. I didn't intend to stop him, but neither did I have to. With a flick of his wrist his father caught his reaching hand and pulled him back into his arms, his expression stony when his eyes found mine.
Something much deeper than words passed between us, a plea or maybe a prayer I couldn't hear, but feel all the more clearly. He was at a crossroads, the decision of a single moment taking flight to weave its way through his and his family's future. I didn't mean to hide and in the fractured moment between one heartbeat and another he saw an echo of what I truly was. Then he spoke:
"They're safe, you said. Because he can't touch them while you're here. Does that mean you're going to stay?" It sounded simple at first, but I was well aware of what he was actually asking. The strength to show mercy… he didn't have it. He couldn't protect his family from the unleashed beasts of the Fey Wilds. He was asking if I'd be willing to accept his allegiance, to shoulder the lives of strangers. I'd have to keep them safe in exchange for fealty and the right to make this kind of decision for them. I'd have to do what he and his sovereign had failed to accomplish.
"What about your king," I asked directly, unwilling to play hide and seek with words. He shrugged.
"He wasn't here, he didn't even try to free us. Our own kin have never pushed to venture further north and protect the smaller fiefdoms. On the contrary, most able warriors have been called south. Only the capital and the mines matter to him. He's failed to honour his promise and I don't feel bound by mine. Are you any different?"
"I don't value riches over lives, if that's what you mean, but I'm also not free of obligations. Your king chose to sacrifice a small, scarcely populated part of his kingdom to ensure the safety of the rest and concentrate his strength. I wouldn't do that. Which is to say I'm a lousy leader. Again, you should think long and hard about what that entails. I prioritise what I love. I have friends… family. If they need me I'll leave you high and dry without a second thought. Not only you, but everything and everyone." For the first time the ghost of a smile tugged on the corners of his mouth.
"Not a queen, but a matriarch. Isn't that how all empires have begun? From a family to a clan. From a clan to a kingdom. I think I can live with that. Can you?"
"You shouldn't presume to know what I am, but if you have the space for me to plant a few trees around your home I'm sure you won't be overrun by fey again. Nor elves, for that matter." With a nod he took a step back and pulled his weakly struggling son with him.
"Then wield your spear how you see fit." He jerked his head towards Lancelot and added: "I just don't want to see this thing and it's minions ever again after today. Otherwise I'll make him pay his dues."