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“Even you, Prince of Evelina, are not above refusing the Queen for an audience. My suggestion would be that you go and relieve Myrinn before our dearest grandmother unleashes her wrath upon her.”
“Myrinn has made her bed. She can deal with the repercussions of orchestrating my visit… we are leaving.”
“No,” I snapped as Faenir began to turn back towards the carriage.
I dug my heels into the ground, literally, showing Faenir with my firm glare that I was not going back to Haxton.
“You allow your Chosen to speak to you in such a manner?” Haldor enjoyed every moment of this interaction.
“My name is Arlo.” I turned my attention to Haldor. “Call me by anything else again and I will cut your tongue from your head.”
Haldor laughed. Faenir didn’t.
“Trust me,Haldor,” Faenir said, amusement flirting with his frown. “The human is not lying. If you believe my touch should be feared… well, it pales in comparison to what Arlo is capable of. Take my word for it.”
Faenir’s strangely placed compliment made my stomach jolt. I had to fight my expression to hide my reaction.
“How well-matched you both are,” Haldor muttered. All at once he turned on his heel and faced the carving of a door etched into the strange wall. “Perhaps there is hope for your succession after all.”
Nothing else was said as Haldor walked away. I expected Faenir to force me back into the carriage. Once again, he surprised me.
“Shall we?” Faenir said, gesturing a hand before him in a sweep. There was no denying the trepidation lost within his wincing stare nor the tension that furrowed lines across his brow.
Something had set the elven man at unease. And whatever waited for us alongside Queen Claria conjured something strange in Faenir. Something I had not believed possible for him.
Fear.
* * *
I expected Queens and Kings to live within a castle, similar to Castle Dread that languished within Darkmourn, buildings with towering walls and turrets draped with fluttering banners. Each room within should have been full of luxurious furniture and plush beds stuffed with the softest feathers. Every possible detail should have been coated in wealth.
My imagination could not have been further from the truth.
As we followed Haldor through the dark passages, he would throw out gestures towards the walls which then blossomed with a rose of fire. His light revealed all. The walls at our sides were much like what I had seen outside, the rough bark of a tree we now movedwithin.
I had been within many buildings and establishments, but never a tree believed to have been planted by a Goddess. However, it was not the most impossible thing to believe since being brought to this realm, not compared to lakes filled with ghosts, or elves with the power of fire and death lingering at their fingertips.
The narrow corridors soon opened up to hallways much like that in Haxton. Stone constructions of white and marble, wood from the tree’s inners devoured the rooms we passed through; it was the perfect melody of stone and timber. I could not fathom how a tree could have grown to such mountainous heights, nor how an entire dwelling of rooms had been built within the honeycomb maze of the tree’s belly.
My fingers trailed the rough walls as I navigated over knots of roots beneath my feet, and I thought of the tree in Tithe. Somewhere within this maze of rooms would be the answers to getting home, I believed it wholeheartedly.
I wasall-consumed with my thoughts that I had not noticed when Faenir stopped walking, not until I crashed into the back of him, tripping over his feet and mine.
He did not react to me, I couldhearwhy. Towering before us stood large arched doors; they were closed but that did not stop the raised voice within from spilling beyond.
Haldor leaned up against the wall beside the doors, one leg bent which stretched the midnight black trousers that hugged the strength of muscle beneath; I had to force my eyes away to stop my imagination from running away with me.
“Never did I imagine a day when Claria would raise her voice towards her golden child. The right thing to do would be to enter and save Myrinn from her wrath but I admit it is nice for Claria’s rage to be placed on another for once,” Haldor said.
Myrinn was on the other side of the door, silently taking the muffled berating from the aged voice. I looked to Faenir, and he showed no urgency to enter and help her. Instead, his eyes were pinched closed, wincing every time the voice raised in pitch as though he was at the other end of the ire.
“Do something,” I muttered, naturally reaching for his hand. My fingers slipped within his. Faenir’s eyes snapped open, and his frown of discomfort melted into one of tempered determination.
He gritted his jaw, muscles feathering. Then, without dropping my hand, he walked us forward and threw the doors open with a powerful push.
“Good luck, Faenir….” Haldor whispered as we passed.
It was not another room that we entered, but another world. A landscape of forest and glade, vines of branches crowned the skies. Pillars of old stone stood like proud guards throughout the area. Swollen buds of deep, red fruit hung from vines; each one shifted on an unseen breeze.
