Still Life
ASH
Bregda hits his knees and roars into the luminescent night sky, frost crackling from his lips as his face pitches forward just the tiniest bit. Past the barrier of ice covered soil. Toward the still life portrait of flabbergasted fae that stand watching, unmoving...dead.
"When did she do this? How?" he hisses into the air, his fists grasping tidbits of dirt and frost where they mingle near my feet.
It's almost as if the meadow has been cleaved entirely in two. As if the portion that borders the Woodland Keep, the heart that supplies the blood of every living, breathing tree or fern in the glen has been robbed of its natural state. Drained of its warmth. Of its worth. Of its...magic.
"This is not her realm!" Bregda growls. "She does not hold court over the Missing Meadow...so how?"
With that one statement it hits me exactly who has done this. Allowed...this.
"The false one," I say with a calm that I don't altogether feel. "He must have...given her permission. He must have agreed to this somehow."
"And he rides toward the war table in the North," Bregda snarls, standing once again. "Then I shall meet him there."
"And do what?" I snap, wandering forward carefully, ice and dead leaves crunching beneath my feet. "He...is with her. And she will have you murdered before you are even able to so much as wiggle your tongue. Or did you forget, she rides with her army while yours remains scattered to the wind. Will you leave your returned queen without her army's commander?"
"She is without her commander as well! Is she not? Do not mistake me for deaf and dumb, little Prince. The Dragor Fae Prince, he said the Prince of Winter was missing."
"Yes," I reply with a laugh. "And he also said she was blaming me for it." I turn to face him, putting the well at my back as lightning sparks in my fist with just the thought of Daphne's abandonment. "So, no. You will go nowhere. Not yet."
"You are not my master, little Prince."
"No...I'm not. But I assure you, sacrificing yourself for your anger will help no one. Least of all your queen," I remind him.
Bregda's muscles clench, his eyes sharpening with a scarlet so deep and so malevolent that for a moment I prepare myself for his attack. He's bigger than me and probably possesses more brute strength, but he's got to know that his magics, however charming they may be, are no match for mine.
His teeth grind, his jaw clenching so tightly I believe I hear it crack. "You're right."
Relief settles in my belly and I nod, taking a more scrupulous look around. Stepping closer to one of the frozen faeries, I take a deep breath and unleash a little of my dark power, my open palm hovering over an ice gilded fawn's head.
"What are you doing?" Bregda hisses.
"Quiet," I snap, studying the fawn's eyes, at least, what remains of them through the thick of the deadly frost. I speak softly, the sound of a branch to my left crunching somewhere deep in the trees as I murmur, "Every magical being carries life force that can be tracked with high magic and not every creature is the same."
"Which means?" he grumbles.
I sigh, dropping my hand when I feel nothing. "Which means, depending on how long they have been frozen...some of them may still be alive."
Casting a glance around the devastating white of the well and beyond, I open my palms and free a good amount of dark energy, reaching with invisible hands toward the remaining fae that litter the open meadow. At first there is nothing and no one and the feeling of Bregda's demonic red eyes begins to chafe at my patience, but as I step deeper, closer to the well and it's decorative folly...I feel it. A pulse of warm life practically screaming for notice on the other side of the crumbled stone.
With a gasp, I stare at the creature about twenty feet to the right of me and cast an eager glance over my shoulder toward the Kelpie fairly breathing down my neck. "Quickly," I say, moving toward the wood sprite that, now that I'm looking, peers back at me with dilated pupils the color of fresh moss, "ready your flute." Marching swiftly toward the glacial imp, I gather as much heat in my palms as I can manage without setting fire to my gloves and place my hands on the frozen head of the short, fortunate, woodland faerie. "Either play your little tune or look for the faeries that still have functioning vitals."
Bregda nods, but then proceeds to stare at me for a full minute while the fury magic in my hands begins to thrum and ignite with blank fire, warming his kin and melting the ice starting at the top of his frozen plight.
"Would you prefer to watch, then? While I do all the work?" I glare, jerking my head behind me at a couple of brownies that I now feel a small drone of energy emanating from. "Those two, check them."
Seeming to snap out of it, Bregda retrieves his wits and charges in the direction of the intended fae. "What the blasted hells am I to be looking for again, little Prince?"
"Keep calling me little and I will show you my dick," I hiss under my breath as the frosted mouth of the woodland sprite in front of me breaks free of its bonds with a harrowing gasp. "Dilation of the eyes," I toss in his direction, never taking my gaze off the task in front of me. "Welcome back to the land of the living, little imp," I whisper. "Let's pray your brain is at full capacity when you're finally all thawed out."