Fire and Ice (28 page)

We stood in front of a massive tree, its branches sweeping the night sky. I stared at the trunk, which must have spanned at least a hundred feet wide.

I looked from Tilak to Julien. “And we're here because…”

He rapped on the tree trunk, and to my utter amazement, someone answered.

“I've come to see Krathor,” Julien demanded. As though someone had cut it with a blade, a door appeared, gnarled and covered with bark. It groaned open. A faun, or satyr, as Adrius had called them, emerged. The upper portion of his body resembled a human male, bare-chested, a dark goatee jutting from his chin. But the lower half was that of a goat. Thick, dark fur covered his legs, and in place of feet stood jet black hooves. I had to remind myself not to gawk.

“Lord Julien, it's bin some time since we's seen you in these parts. Thought you'd still be hiding from his holiness.”

“Come on now that was ages ago. Certainly it's water under the bridge by now.”

“Not to the master… it was his only daughter you deflowered after all. Tsk tsk. Should a known better ye had.”

I raised a suspicious brow.

Julien fought back a smile. “We courted once. It didn't work out. Lots of fuss over disgracing the High Elves council's daughter. Much ado over nothing… really.” He shrugged.

I rolled my eyes.

He returned his attention to the satyr. “You can tell him I bring a mighty companion,” he said patting my back. “Mythlandria's lost Faerie Princess.”

The satyr peered at me again, his dark beady eyes scrutinizing.

“That's no fey. She looks like a Nymph.” He sniffed. “You sure she's a Faerie?”

“What's a Nymph?” I whispered.

“They're devastating, beautiful beings that live near the water's edge,” Julien whispered back. “It was a compliment.” Then his gaze roamed over me from head to toe in a way that made me want to slap him. “He's got a point. You are quite Nymph-like.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, and drew the neckline of my top a little tighter.

The small creature didn't seem convinced. He circled slowly, his hooves clicking on the stone path.

“Na, that's no Faerie… where she's ears?”

“She is only half-Faerie. One of her parents was human,” Julien's snapped impatiently. “I don't have all day to discuss the physical attributes of Sidhe halflings with you, lovely as they may be. Let me see Krathor. There are urgent matters to discuss and we need his particular brand of assistance.”

“What brand is that?” I said under my breath.

“Bloodlust,” he replied. “The Drakkon warriors bring their killer instinct to every party. I'm sure my brother can vouch for that.”

I swallowed, knowing how literal his remark was as Octãhvia's words replayed in my head. The thought that Adrius was once one of them was disturbing. Yet that killer instinct was exactly what we needed to rescu
e Adrius from the sadistic clutches of the Ice Witch.

Tilak leaned over and patted my arm. “It was a long time ago, after the death of his mother, and something he's never forgiven himself for. Don't you mind what anyone else says about him, lassie.”

The satyr eyed me suspiciously, reluctant to let me pass. I watched him, just as wary of him as he was of me.

“Trust me, she's harmless.” Julien winked. “Just don't get her angry.”

I gave him a sarcastic smile. “Ha ha.”

“I'd be guessing your allegiance rests with the Seelie.” He squinted through doe-like eyes. “Whose side are ye on, halfling Princess?”

There were so many sides involved in this war, not only witches and elves, but the fey as well. I'd grown to care for Mythlandria, enough to want to help protect
it from Octãhvia, but I was related by blood to the Faeries. How could I possibly choose sides? “First
— please don't call me Princess. And second, I'm not on anyone's side. I've never even been to Faery, so why should I have any allegiance to either court?”

“Maybe cause the queen of the Unseelie Court has yer father.”

I winced. “So I've been told. But I don't even know the man. How could that possibly make a difference?”

The satyr frowned, but only shrugged in reply.

“Enough with the chitchat. Are you going to let us in or do we have to let ourselves in?” Julien asked, his hand deliberately grazed the hilt of his sword.

The satyr flinched then moved out of his path.

“Thanks.” He grinned, stepping aside to allow me to enter first.

“Yes, thank you,” I said, to the satyr. “It's nice of you to…”

“Come on, Princess, save your niceties for someone we can actually use,” Julien grunted, as he pushed me inside the tree.

What I saw stopped me in my tracks. We wandered in to what looked like an oversized tree trunk, but inside it branched into a maze of halls and rooms. The satyr led us down a hollowed bark-covered corridor into a round room furnished in burgundy and gold velvet. Black and white checkered marble lined the floor echoing the clicking of the satyr's hooves with each step. Dark, red velvet curtains flanked the numerous floor length windows and the walls were covered in bark. Although no fireplace was in view, it was excessively warm and the faint smell of cedar offered the only reminder we were basically standing in the middle of a tree.

In the center of the room was a platform, upon which was a throne, garishly encrusted with jewels and gem stones. In it sat the thinnest being I had ever seen. He had parchment skin, with sharp beady eyes set in a narrow sunken face, a face framed by long silky straight shocking white hair. So white I was sure it glowed in the dark. Julien approached the king and we followed.

“Lord Krathor, your Excellency.” He offered a deep bow which Tilak and I mimicked. “I've come seeking a favor. There is a special key we require for entering the fortress of winter.”

The King was silent, scrutinizing me with ageless eyes.

“I see.” He paused, his gaze leisurely taking us in, one by one. “Julien. You who have disgraced my kin, see fit for me to grant you a request? Surely you can give me sufficient reason why I should not remove your head where you stand.”

It didn't seem like an empty threat and the gold-hilted sword resting next to his throne backed it up.

“Because we have a more important matter at hand. I would not be here otherwise.” Julien remained calm, unruffled by the remark. Someone with his slick charm was likely accustomed to death threats.

Krathor sighed. “Tadaria has grown tired of the unending malcontent… the bloodlust. We seek peace, Julien. And unless you are of a common purpose, I cannot help you. It is time for the feud between our cities and our peoples to end. Upon my dying breath I vow to see it come to pass. As King Etienne is afar, I will treat with you, his second son of Elyssium. Let the lights of Tadaria and Mythlandria come together, burning brightly as one flame.”

Tilak gasped.

I stared from the king to Julien and back, trying to comprehend the enormity of what was happening. A truce, surely that was a good thing.
Right?
United they would stand a greater chance against the witch's evil than they would fighting on their own. It was only Julien who seemed unimpressed by the offer. The fact he had not responded made me nervous he would blow the whole deal. The key we needed to save Adrius and support in this crazy quest, in exchange for Mythlandria's allegiance of peace… it was a win/win/win situation. Couldn't he see how valuable this was? Adrius would have leapt at the opportunity without pause.

The king grew impatient. “Speak quickly, elf lord, before I think better of my offer.”

“
Julien
?” I nudged him sharply.

In spite of his apathy toward Mythlandria, something deep within him cared at least a little or he wouldn't have been here at all, I was certain of that. There was more to him than his hedonistic, sociopathic habits suggested. A side he kept carefully concealed behind his cabaret of arrogance. If we had been alone I would have demanded he tell me what his problem was. But we weren't, and time was ticking. I could sense the thoughts rising up in the king's mind; he was going to retract his decision for good. There was no time left to waver.

“Julien,” I turned to him, imploring. “You have to do this, for your people, for you father… and for me. If there is going to be a war, you can't win it alone. Mythlandria needs Tadaria on our side.” I squeezed his arm.

He frowned, directing his scowl at me.

“Julien?”

Finally, he nodded. And the whole room released a collective sigh.

Krathor clapped his hands once. “Good. Now for tonight you will be our most welcomed guests. Dine with us and later you will be shown to your rooms to take some rest. And I trust it goes without saying the chambers of my daughters are off-limits to you, Julien.”

Julien smirked and I fixed him with a don't-even-think-about-it glare.

“As you wish, Lord Krathor.” He bowed.

A massive flat stone sitting on top of a tree stump served as a banquet table in the room we were led to, surrounded by twelve toadstool chairs. Torches lit the room casting a flickering green glow on the soft mossy carpet beneath my feet. I started to explore the room, but when a fur pelt throw started crawling across the floor, I stopped and returned to Julien who was conversing with his strange friends.

He flashed his charming grin and handed me an apple, which I declined.

“So, Princess, like what you see?” His teeth crunched into the fruit as he took a bite.

“Actually, I'm curious. How did you find me? I mean, it's a too much of a coincidence you showing up when you did.”

He chewed and swallowed, all the while his blue eyes trained on me. “Is that your way of saying thank you?”

“Thank you,” I added quickly, then waited for his explanation.

“I overheard Hawthrin speaking to the Citadel guards. He wanted word sent to the king that his son had been taken. But I volunteered instead.

I narrowed my eyes. “Okay… But why? It's not like you and Adrius are the best of friends.”

“He's my brother, Princess. And without family, well… what else is there?”

There was something in what he said, or what he left unsaid, that made me question his ulterior motives. But before I could call him on it, he returned his attention back to his friends.

Delicious aromas wafted past as we were served a buffet of interesting foods; some of it even looked edible… breads, cakes, assorted fruits, meats, and a large bowl of mush that reminded me of cream of wheat. I must have been famished because even that looked appetizing to me. Several Drakkon warriors watched me from across the table; each with the same buzz-cut white-blond hair and square jaws. One with exceptionally blue eyes and a small scar across his cheek handed me a napkin. I smiled but when he winked back with a leering grin, Tilak dragged me away.

It became easier to relax here, knowing we were so well-protected. I wandered around the table, idly nibbling on bread and fruit, while Julien and several of the Drakkons were deep in discussion. I picked up a red fruit resembling a persimmon and Tilak snatched it out of my hand.

“Oh, that's just what we need in the house of Drakkon. You getting drunk on jolly fruit.” He glared, as if I should know better. “Humans have never had much tolerance for it you know,” he said, taking a giant bite, peel and all.

Once the meal had ended, we were each given a tiny room, sparsely furnished with the bare necessities. I was stuffed, sore, and exhausted, but couldn't fall asleep, even in the comfy feather mattresses piled on the floor as a make-shift bed. Something about this tree house made me uncomfortable, and I drifted in and out of a restless sleep for most of the night, worrying about my mother in one moment and Adrius in the next. Had I not been restlessly staring at the vaulted ceiling open to the night sky, I might have missed the whispering that drifted in from the corridor outside my room.

“We cannot allow her to return to Octãhvia's palace. She will be trading her soul willingly and it will be the end of
the prophecy.”

“Don't you think I know that?”

“Then how can you allow it?”

“In case you haven't noticed, she's pretty persistent.”

Julien was talking with someone in hushed tones.

“At any rate, Krathor, there is no need to panic. I have no intention of allowing her to return to Noctria. When she awakes, Tilak will simply slip a little something into her tea and I will take her onwards to Tir Na Non.”

“You have the map?”

“Yes, my brother managed to retrieve it from the goblin scum before he handed it over to the witch.”

“Then it is settled.”

“As I told you it was. When will you learn to trust me?” Julien whispered.

“That, my friend, will be the day this land freezes over.

“If our luck doesn't hold, that day may come sooner than you think.”

The voices faded with the receding footsteps. I waited until I was sure it was clear before I climbed out of bed and into my boots and cloak. The sinking feeling of betrayal worked its way into my stomach. How
could
he? Pretend he was going to help, and then… This was just like him. My hands trembled with rage. What I'd overheard left me with little choice. I wasn't leaving for the Faery Islands without Adrius. And if they weren't going to help me I was going alone.

I peered around the corner, waiting for the sound of footsteps. When there were none, I made a dash for the only exit I knew. I had no idea how I was going to find Adrius, I only knew it was up to me. The burning emptiness inside wouldn't ease up until I did. It was more than worry over his safety… more than the fact I missed him. For reasons I couldn't explain, being separated from him like this caused physical pain.

Inching down the corridors, I made my way through the main hall. A lone guard was slumped on an oversized toadstool, snoring in deep slumber. In another room I could hear squeals and giggles, mixed in with the occasional moan. The door was ajar, and all I could see was a flash of long flaxen hair and Julien's cape, belt, and sword tossed in a haphazard pile on the floor. Next to that heap was another with two pairs of naked legs intertwined to the sounds of soft murmurs and giggles. I dashed by, fairly certain they were way too preoccupied to notice. If that was Krathor's daughter Julien was tangled up with, they both must have a death wish to be doing what they were doing under her father's nose and behind only partially closed doors.