Fire in the Blood
DAPHNE
The excitement is almost too much as I am surrounded by so many different fae I can hardly keep my head on straight. Imps and nymphs, pixies in every color, bearyns and foxims, river elves and wood knoqs, goblins and hobgoblins, kelpies and river folk, tree folk and fauna, leaflike faeries that dance like ballerina’s in the wind, faeries that shift into birds and some that shift into deer, all that I ever imagined and more come forth to greet me. All of them bowing, all of them reaching a hand. There are hundreds of them and near half are in tears as I wander toward the largest tree at the center of this lost place, a giant white elm said to be the Hidden Palace. My palace and the home my mother grew up in.
“It is so, so beautiful here,” I whisper, arm and arm with Klyesque and Magda, Lohan trailing just behind with Sway.
The Dracuum, Trielle, and Delago are given a wide berth, stalking ahead of us and clearing a path toward the giant rooted steps that await at the forefront of the palace. The closer we get, the clearer it becomes that there is a royal guard that stands perched around the base.
Fae soldiers of different flesh, dressed in polished green armor smile and wait, stiff yet wearing smiles full of joy. They line the pathways on every side of the woodland wonderland and I have to wonder if they are made to stay that way, geared and ready, every day.
As we approach the high knobbed double doors that lay open to reveal a warm glowing receiving room a woman and man, both dressed in long green robes, step out. The woman is smiling, the man is not, I dislike him immediately and the book fairly burns in my pocket, nearly scalding my flesh.
”Careful who you trust, child. There are some who may wish you stayed lost.”
The book’s words echo within my ears as we near the doorstep and the man shoves the woman aside to be first to greet me.
“Silence, all!” he calls out and the murmurings behind me cease, though none too happily. The man that stands before me in ancient looking. With a long white beard that creeps toward his knees and beady black eyes with flat yellow irises that remind me of bumblebees. His hair is long and white as well, with a narrow streak of black on each side, and his ears are pointed, nearly sharp at the tips.
And, when I stop walking, he is the only one that does not bow.
Magda gazes around then fixes him with a scowl. “Do you not bow before your queen, Summoner? Or have you held yourself in a place of power so long as to have forgotten who rules here?”
The fae all around us snicker, even some of the guard release a stiff chuckle.
“We know not that she is queen,” Summoner replies and the entire crowd of faeries gasps collectively. “We know only… that she is here.”
“The fact that any of us is here should tell you she is queen,” Magda hisses, green magic swirling about her dirty robes and causing a flicker of fear to wash across this… Summoner’s face. “Or have you forgotten this is but a realm inside a realm.”
“She is not scribed,” Summoner announces, addressing all that remain on their knees around us. “There is no need to bow until we are certain she is not but a clever fake.”
“A clever fake?” Klyesque snaps. “Are you blind old man? Did she not walk through the gate? Did she not lead your people back to you?”
“Silence, Selkie! You are no one within this realm. Keep your wicked tongue to yourself,” Summoner admonishes.
“What the hell does he mean? Scribed?” I stage whisper to Klyesque. “What is that?”
“The tattoo that all ascended royals wear. Beneath the skin. Gifted by your power and reign.”
“Oh….” I reply sadly. “Am I supposed to be… scribed?”
“You are,” Summoner answers rudely, obviously hearing my question. He smiles, a toothsome, wicked grin. “Do you bear the marks? If so, show your people your back?”
“You know as well as I do,” Magda begins, “she will not be marked upon until her full magic is restored. So, step aside, Summoner, or I shall be forced to move you myself.”
Magda raps on the ground once with her staff and a tiny whirlwind begins to spiral high in the sky causing every fae on their knees to leap up in fear and the royal guard to shift into defensive stance, swords at the ready.
“If you strike me down you will be banished, witch!” Summoner proclaims. “You and your unwelcome company.”
Oh… shit.
”You must seat yourself upon the throne, child.”
Will he even let me near it? Somehow I doubt he will.
”How is he to stop you? Cloak yourself. Do not give him the chance to interfere.”
My hand goes to my cloak pocket, caressing the book subconsciously as I lean toward Magda to whisper, “Where is the throne?”
She grins, keeping her eyes on Summoner as she whispers back, “Straight past him and through the first archway. Up on the dais, can’t miss it.”
Releasing the arms of my companions, I step forward, garnering Summoner’s attention. With a wide overconfident smile, I place my hand inside my pocket to touch the book and just like that, disappear.
A chorus of shocked oohs and ahhs follow in my wake as I gingerly sidestep an extremely unhappy Summoner, who seems to have lost all his words. Once behind him, I turn and whisper in his ear, “When I return… I will have you bow until the moonlight frosts the ground.”
“How dare you-” he starts, but I don’t stay to listen, for the very moment I step inside, my chest begins to drum.
Thunder begins between my ears as I step past the threshold and into the wooden foyer which breathes of fresh elm baked in sunlight. I don’t stop to admire the furnishing which seem to fashioned from the tree itself, nor the hundreds of unshuttered windows that rain light down upon the space.
No.
My sight is set on the massive arm chair at the center of the dais, a white elm masterpiece designed in twists of ivory colored roots and draped in lush green velvet. Golden markings, script in a language I’ve never seen are inlaid along the high back and the twisting arms.
Wait a minute.
Perhaps I have seen it before.
”It is the language of origins. The original tongue.”
“The language you were written in,” I say softly.
”Yes.”
“Of course,” I say to no one, my voice echoing through the space as I take my first steps toward the dais.
The higher I rise toward the throne, the louder it begins to roar outside. Arguments and cries rent the air in a barely subdued chorus that tangles with my thoughts.
For a moment I stand there, transfixed, and then, I hear him, Summoner. He grows louder as his footsteps near.
“I command you to stop her! She may be a usurper! Kin of the false one, here to steal the throne! Stop her I command you!”
”Now child! It is time!”
Taking a deep breath, I spin and take a seat just as ten guards stumble through the entry way, and the moment I do… that is when the true pain begins.
The books words dance in my ears, ”Fire in the blood, return! Grant her magic, power burn!”
I scream.