“The divide between ambition and hubris is marked by which side of the dirt you lie on.”
— Praesi saying
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I stared at the Prince of Nightfall while I considered what story I wanted to approach him with. His eyes — black as night — flayed me under their gaze.
Don’t attack him for trapping you in a ball, Taylor.
I took a deep breath, then exhaled.
“I greet you,” my fingers flexed and brushed against the white of my robe as I spoke, “Prince of Nightfall.”
I took a moment to examine his Dream.
Liberation from stories, release from the chains that bind him.
It was funny how he wished for freedom while putting so many others under lock and key. I wasn’t sure how he reconciled the hypocrisy. It probably had something to do with mortals being lesser creatures. I didn’t care enough about his exact brand of evil to learn the specifics.
“A wary greeting, High Priestess,” he commented. “Do I truly cast so long a shadow?”
That’s one way to frame trapping thousands of souls in crystal balls.
“Only when it suits you,” I replied.
There was a difference between his Dream and the other fae that I’d seen. It was more fleshed out… more real. He’d put real effort into plotting the escape from his personal hell. Enough effort that it would take me some time to unravel all the plots involved.
“As cautious as when we first met,” he said while tapping the flat of his blade.
I looked deeper. His plans were more of a juggler’s act than anything else. Thousands upon thousands of balls in the air with the futile hope of one of them knocking the key off the wall and nudging it close enough so that he could grab it and set himself free.
“It keeps me alive,” I evaded.
It’s when I’m careless that I make new regrets.
I examined the dream further. He was either the second or third most important Winter fae I was liable to meet — I wasn’t sure how he compared to the Princess of Silent Depths — and it was critical that I understood his goals. My aura flared brighter for a moment when I stumbled upon something infuriating. The Prince of Nightfall was responsible for the troubles in Mercantis.
“Your past trespass is forgiven with no debts owed,” he stated.
Forgiven? Forgiven? He was the one who imprisoned me.
Don’t make a mistake because you’re angry, Taylor.
My chest rose as I breathed in and snuffed the flame of my anger.
How should I frame this conversation? It would be so, so easy to just throw Light at him. No. Violence remained just as unwise as before, even if I sorely wished for it. Killing the Prince of Nightfall wouldn’t make the problems in Mercantis disappear, and it would make new troubles for me with the Winter Court.
“How generous,” I replied frostily.
Killing him doesn’t matter because he’ll come back anyway.
No, I shouldn’t think that way. There were political consequences to doing as much. It would be stupid to act before I’d appraised myself of both Courts. That didn’t mean there was nothing to gain from this encounter. I wanted more than a few concessions. The first would be to free his prisoners from their cells. The rest would be more complicated.
“Indeed,” he bent his head a fraction, “you could say that whimsy’s wild tide has swept me in.”
Be cautious.
We weren’t leaving the city of Skade without permission from somebody high up in the Winter Court. I hoped that I could negotiate that with the Prince of Nightfall now that he was here, rather than the King of Winter himself. The former I might win a fight with if negotiations broke down. I didn’t want to be anywhere near the latter until I knew exactly what I was planning to do.
“Talk.” I said.
What story could I lean into? A story involving my prior escape would probably be my safest bet. I hadn’t expected to encounter the Prince of Nightfall so soon, but I wasn’t above taking advantage of it.
“Dismount,” he ordered. “The road yields to none but me and my king,” the tone of his voice was like a silken leash trying to pull at my thoughts. “Walk with care, lest it devour you.”
The one-eyed creature gestured behind him. Three servants clad in blue appeared as if by magic.
“Then I’ll walk where it fears to swallow me,” I replied.
“That would be a performance worth watching,” he laughed.
“You know,” I drawled, “the story usually involves giving a girl a horse and not the reverse.”
Roland and Yvette glanced at me before we handed the reins to the attendants. Pandora snapped at a hand, earning a glare.
“Fish also like to bite off more than they can chew,” he replied. A faint smile brushed his lips, “you’ll find your tricks buy nought more than tragedy in these frozen halls.”
His wits were unwelcome, but not unexpected. I put the mounting unease aside and returned my thoughts to the clouds ahead. He’d alluded to me being chosen, as if I was following a prophecy of some kind. I wasn’t willing to follow along an unknown script. Better to deny the role immediately and then find out where we stood.
“‘I’m not your puppet,” I warned. “I make my own choices.”
All three of us strolled behind him through the gates onto a much wider, frozen avenue.
“It has been long since another sought to make sport of me through stories,” the Prince of Nightfall taunted with a voice that rang like the crackling of lightning. “The soul of the last became a crystal chandelier. If you stand close and listen, sometimes you can still hear them scream.”
“Given all your other atrocities,” I glared as I addressed the fae, “why would another surprise me?”
The air felt heavier here. There was nobody walking around, despite how opulent the buildings were. It was fitting for a city of monsters to be so empty. Satisfaction swelled within me. I forced it aside. I shouldn’t delight in the suffering of others. Even when it was really tempting to. I reminded myself that the Winter fae’s new existence would come with some guiding principles. Ones that I would have a hand in.
“Look to the shore,” he extended a pale finger ahead as he replied.
I ignored the unease I felt and followed the gesture. Ominous mansions sculpted from frosted marble flanked the road. They were cast in the shapes of screaming faces — which did nothing to easy my tension — and evoked an unnatural sense of anguish when observed. We trailed the path as it sloped downwards towards a coast in the distance.
“The fabric of Creation is an ocean,” his red lips smiled as he spoke, “and the nature of existence is that of a ship attempting to navigate the waters.”
I could barely perceive the skeletal outline of a ship on the waters if I squinted. A dense bank of fog had swallowed the shore.
“This isn’t the path to the Winter King’s palace,” I surmised as my aura intensified.
“It is not,” he mused. “You are ships adrift, blind and rudderless, clinging to hope in a storm that will not pass.”
Roland arched a bushy brown eyebrow and tilted his head to one side. I shook my head in reply, then raised a hand and lowered two fingers. He nodded in acceptance.
Rule three: Roland and Yvette take the lead when we want to lean into Earth’s stories.
“We’ll not play the part of puppets upon your stage,” the curly haired charlatan challenged from my left, “our purpose is greater than to read lines in your script.”
We’d planned as much as we could for a meeting with the Prince of Nightfall. I’d have been a fool not to, considering we’d contested him before.
“Fate is an unyielding tide,” the raven haired creature rebutted from up ahead. “No ship sails free of its pull.”
I didn’t think that I had a pattern of three with him. However, I wasn’t willing to take any chances. There were some compromises I wanted from the fae if I was setting them free. Compromises that I felt were entirely reasonable. Being compassionate to their suffering didn’t mean that I wasn’t able to take into consideration the consequences of ending their plight. They weren’t the only beings that existed, and I cared about everyone else as well.
“Providence should be malleable like any other part of Creation,” Yvette muttered from my right. “You just need to know how to bend the rules,” she paused and bit her lip. “Perhaps I could try to-”
“Yvette, focus,” I interjected.
We don’t need her trying to mess around with hero’s luck any time soon.
“Some designs lie beyond the attainment of even the noblest of us,” the fae challenged.
I wasn’t sure which story we were in, and I wasn’t willing to keep it that way. Creation had many stories involving runaway princes, abdicating princesses and also runaway brides. The third felt like the best fit to escape these circumstances.
“I’ve seen things that convince me otherwise,” Yvette pouted as she replied.
I loathed being trapped in one of those stories, but I could leverage it into an escape.
“Not all principles are so easily bent,” The Prince of Nightfall tugged on his black collar. “See those who fly above us,” he pointed at five Winter warriors mounted on winged horses soaring towards the edge of the city, “their duty binds tighter than any other.”
Fae cast into the roles of warriors found their bindings more restrictive than those cast into domestic roles this cycle if I understood what I was being told correctly. That might explain why the conflict between Summer and Winter continued, although I felt there was more to it.
“It is not their duty but fear that compels them,” Roland challenged.
I guessed that Roland felt much the same as I did. I’d seen enough of the fae imprisoned within recursive stories on the streets to realize the implications. They might fear what would happen if all of them suffered the same ending. It was possible for the fae to trap themselves in a new type of cycle. A cycle even worse than the old one.
“Perhaps there are elements of both,” the Prince of Nightfall mused.
Could I twist the story here? It felt possible.
Rule four: I take the lead when we want to lean into Creation’s stories.
“Fate is a fickle mistress,” I argued, “and I’d make a poor bride to share this hell with. Wedding me won’t ease your suffering.”
We were in a city with ghostly citizens. One that might as well be hell. He’d asserted that I belonged here. Almost as if I was his captive. Whatever story this was shared enough similarities with the story of Persephone’s Abduction that I felt it fit. Only, I couldn’t be Persephone.
Give me Creation’s equivalent to this story. I’m betting it has at least one that fits.
“Think of this more as an adventure,” he laughed as if he was enjoying a joke at our expense. “We embark on a perilous journey aboard my ship,” his voice thrummed ominously, “one where I set the terms.”
Why didn’t it surprise me that he stepped into a story that I didn’t recognize the script for? Conversation stalled while I chewed over his reply. The Prince of Nightfall slowed as we reached the edge of the fog bank, then stopped. All three of us followed suit.
“Proceed onto the deck,” he ordered, “there’s still much for us to discuss before we arrive.”
Roland raised an eyebrow my way as if to ask whether we were following. I gave a hesitant nod.
“We’ll follow for now,” I declared, “but we’re not your captives.”
The smell of brine was strong i in the air, and foam lathered the edge of the docks. It was almost enough to trick me into thinking this was an ordinary harbour. That is, it would be if not for the notable absence of people, seagulls, and bird shit.
“I don’t trust this ship,” Yvette muttered, “it’s flimsy.”
Yvette glared at the gangway leading onto the vessel. I felt much the same. The galleon was in a sorry state. With rotten wood, tattered sails and a barnacle crusted hull, it appeared as if it had been struck by a natural disaster.
“As if at any moment the waters would rise up and swallow it,” Roland agreed.
Could I use this? A change in scenery meant a change of story. Roland nodded my way. I returned the gesture.
“It will serve for this voyage,” our guide stated, “as it has done many times before.”
The gangway retracted itself with an eerie creak. The Prince of Nightfall wandered away from us and stood beside the rotten steering wheel. All three of us shared a glance. Timbers groaned like a dying beast as we retreated towards the stern of the ship.
“Can you make it so we can’t be overheard?” I asked Yvette.
“Can’t do that,” she replied with a distinctly green cast to her features. “We’re so deep in Winter that he could break it at a whim.”
It wasn’t long before an unnatural breeze embraced the vessel. There was a mournful screech as it sailed onto the open waters. Ice floes drifted past our transportation.
“Put up a detection ward,” I pressed.
That way we’d at least know if he was listening. Yvette’s hands trembled as she nodded. She leaned over the railing and emptied her guts. I walked closer and rubbed my hand against her back.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
The ship rocked gently in the otherwise placid waters.
Yvette shook her head. It wasn’t surprising. I wasn’t feeling too enthused about this myself, and I wasn’t even seasick.
“No, no I’m not,” she muttered. “We’re travelling on a strange ship,” she continued, “neck deep in a land where our lives can be ended by the whims of that creature, and we’re betting our survival on our ability to outmanoeuvre him.”
Let’s hope this isn’t a re-enactment of the Titanic staged purely for our enjoyment.
I pulled my glow back into myself as she traced silver lines into the air. Her hands trembled and each muttered part of the incantation sounded more forced. She leaned over the railing once again as she finished.
“Wizards shouldn’t be on ships,” she complained, “it’s not natural.”
I leaned over the damaged railing beside her. Roland did the same on her left.
“You’ll find no argument from me,” he agreed. His brown eyes fell on me. “There is something you wished to discuss?”
Wind whipped through my hair, sending black strands flying every which way.
“The plan,” I stated. “Our host wants to be free. The other fae want an end to their cycle.”
And I hate that we’re giving them both what they want.
Roland folded his arms and pursed his lips before glancing towards the front of the ship. I followed his gaze. The Prince of Nightfall puffed a pipe by himself near the front of the vessel.
“Is this the course we are to chart, Taylor?” Roland inquired.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
I empathized with him. Not just because I understood and agreed about how awful the fae were as well. What I wanted to try was beyond ambitious, but this was also the best chance we’d ever have. I’d already set out to accomplish the impossible. This… wasn’t that.
“It is,” I confirmed.
It didn’t mean that our goal wasn’t improbable, but that we had a chance. We’d come prepared to change the courts. This plan would require a little above and beyond that.
Why couldn’t the Winter fae have been happy instead? Then I’d have no qualms about ignoring them.
“I have many misgivings,” he warned. “It feels like a grave overreach”
The breeze died away as the coast faded from sight beneath the fog.
“We can do this,” I licked my lips, “even the angels think so.”
It was so tranquil that it was only the reassurance of Yvette’s magic that convinced me our words were not overheard. Our voices were the only interruption to the silence that had settled over the ship.
“We could use your first contingency,” Yvette’s voice was almost pleading as she made the suggestion.
Should we? No, it was too early. That could wait until we found ourselves cornered with no obvious out.
“We’re aiming for the stars again,” I smiled as I spoke, “but this time, we’ll grab them.”
With the hints about Summer’s Sun, I expected that the grabbing might end up being more than a little literal than figurative.
“Ready to face the phantom haunting us?” Roland’s shoulders slumped as conceded.
Yvette still looked like she was suffering a fatal illness. I touched her gently on the shoulders. She gave me a shaky nod. The pulsing symbols dissipated in the fog.
“We are,” I replied.
Roland examined my face for a few moments before inclining his head. I returned the gesture. Yvette leaned on my left shoulder as we approached our fae guide. I ignored the fact that the ship had become less battered over the course of our discussion. It was better not to allow Arcadia’s foibles to unsettle me.
“For someone so grand,” Roland addressed the creature, “you keep low company. Including this ship.”
The Prince of Nightfall turned towards us and puffed a ring of smoke into the air, before emptying the pipe over the edge.
“The vessel fits my guests,” he mocked.
“It probably floats on pride alone,” Yvette muttered.
I winced. Now wasn’t the ideal time for Yvette to develop a rebellious streak.
“Freedom demands sacrifices from us all,” he stated with false modesty.
I leaned against the railing while the two of them fenced with words. A violent wave sent spray splashing against my face. There was a brief flicker as my Light ate away at the offending Arcadian water.
“Thousands of souls sealed away in crystal spheres,” Roland challenged, “your hospitality leaves much to be desired, Prince of Nightfall.”
I peered into the distance. Something broke through the fog. Was that a tower looming on the horizon?
“They live out their lives in an eternal fantasy of their own making,” the creature mused.
All of us tensed for a moment as the fae reached for his sword, only to relax when he used it to cut away at some rot on the railing. He leaned over the edge and stared up at the sky.
“If it is a bride who you can spirit away into a cell that you seek,” Roland continued, “then you would do well to search somewhere else.”
Roland and Yvette both walked up beside me. They stared at the shape looming in the distance. Dark figures circled in the cracked surface of the reflective ice below. I frowned at the broken mirror in thought.
“It’s a far kinder fate than the one earned by most,” the Prince of Nightfall said blandly.
The dangerous fae had talked of liberty and sacrifice. No, he’d spoken of waters for some time. His gambit relied on a story of the sea somehow. What else did I have to work with? The Winter fae had stolen Summer’s Sun. The ship was falling apart, and the fae were pretending to be ghosts.
Is this some kind of ghost ship story?
“There’s nothing kind about being imprisoned in a crystal ball,” Yvette snapped. “Ma would never marry someone like you.”
I shivered as the last of the fog died away. An imposing glacier jutted out on its own. The ship anchored beside a dock that had been carved on the foot of the ice. The shadow of a spire hunched over us all like a dragon’s jaws in the distance. The gangway extended itself once again. We marched off the vessel together only a few heartbeats later.
“Let us speak of the dance between action and consequence, where every step seals a fate.” the Prince of Nightfall laughed. “It was her decisions — not mine — that landed her in that sphere of glass.”
I examined the spire closer. Its walls were made of literal dreams, but not the good kind. The kinds of dreams I had when I was at my worst — the temptations to hurt people — to take what I desired with no regard for anyone else’s wants. The kind of dreams where I indulged in complete and utter excess. It was selfishness made manifest, crafted into a tower. It rippled from one dream to another — never remaining still for more than a moment — as if searching for a crack in my convictions. I shoved those feelings aside and returned my attention to the road. Our host continued towards it.
Of course, he’s taking us to a place made out of nightmares. Why wouldn’t he? He’s right at home.
“A choice made blind is no choice at all,” Roland replied.
Could I use the story of Bluebeard’s Bride to escape this story?
The broader details were close enough. The trouble was that I wasn’t sure if Creation had an equivalent for it. I guessed that it would throw me into one of Creation’s stories of either a bride or a priestess if I tried it. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than staying in whatever tale this was.
“I’m not going back to that room,” I declared, “I’d sooner pray for deliverance than share the same fate as the others.”
Snow danced around us and crunched underfoot as we approached the base of the spire. Nobody was comfortable. It wasn’t long before all four of us climbed stairs of ice and reached the shimmering silver door.
“You’re almost good at this,” the fae praised.
“I’ll be good enough by the time we’re done,” I asserted.
“Come now,” he smiled daggers at me, “I invite you to join me for dinner in the Spire of Darkest Dreams.”
I bit back an oath. Swearing wouldn’t help me, even if it would be satisfying. What now? I knew that attempting to trap fae royalty in a story through conversation alone was perhaps overly ambitious. The King of Winter would definitely be out of my reach. But this? This was ridiculous.
It’s like I’m trying to catalogue horses using a herbology textbook.
“That sounds less like an invitation and more like a warning,” Yvette whispered as she studied the tower from my right.
“No harm shall come to any of you while you remain within these walls,” he reassured us. “However,” his lips were a razor, “I cannot speak for what lies beyond.”
That only meant he was planning to shove us out the building before he killed us if it came to blows. Or he’d use delayed curses or poisons to inflict end us after we’d already left. Or he’d attempt to imprison me again. There were so many ways to do no harm while still making someone’s life an absolute misery. I wasn’t reassured at all.
“I speak for all three of us when I say that we accept this invitation under the condition that no gift shall bind us in debt,” Roland replied.
“Ask your leader if you don’t trust my word,” he sighed in reply. “Shadows and trickery won’t claim the prize that I seek.”
Roland turned towards me and I gave him a slow nod. The door opened. My boots echoed on the dark ebony floor. My shoulders stiffened. The inside of the Spire was surreal. It was more a dreamscape of twisting logic and illusions than a real place.
“Careful,” Yvette warned. “This place feels like when I mess up a spell.”
I turned around and let out my breath when I noticed the door was there. Whatever there meant. It was akin to a portal floating in the air. The interior walls of the spire did not exist. Clouds stretched out in all directions below us. I walked to the edge. The city of Skade was visible in the distance at what must’ve been over a mile below.
“It’s a trap?” I queried sharply.
Frozen flames crackled in the hearth opposite the door. They cast flickering, jagged shadows that skittered like mocking phantoms along the platform floor. The misty smoke it precipitated floated up and coalesced as the cloudy outline of the floor above. Then, there were the stairs. I shook my head. It was no use trying to make sense of what I saw. There was a staircase made of literal rainbows that spiralled to the first floor.
“Not an obvious one,” she denied. “The Spire changes itself to show our unconscious desires.”
Lovely, just what we all needed.
“Your daughter is a credit to you,” the Prince of Nightfall praised, “but it won’t shift for the duration of your stay.”
He doesn’t even need a white van to win the creepy contest.
“Whatever that is,” I spoke as I peered towards the middle of the chamber, “it’s not dinner.”
My gaze had settled on a sapphire table surrounded by four starlight chairs. Plates were set and laden with food, but that was not what caught my attention. A foot high, gloomy box that appeared to be coalesced out of midnight occupied the middle of the table. One that oozed malevolence. The Prince of Nightfall walked over to the table and set his hands upon the top of the casket. Wisps of darkness trailed through pale fingers and caressed at his chiselled features.
“That is a mystery best left for after you have savoured your meal,” he evaded.
My thoughts raced. I bit back a smile. This was a story that I could use. Creation had the tale of Pandora’s box. It was in a fair amount of religious scripture as well. That — if anything — made the story even stronger. The trick was to flip the fable in the direction that I wanted.
“I’m curious what’s inside,” I replied.
All four of us sunk into the silky starlight seats. Roland took the chair on my left and Yvette the seat on my right.
“I think,” Roland muttered under his breath, “that you’ve opened enough boxes for one lifetime.”
I sent him an affronted look before shoving him lightly on the shoulder. He grinned in return.
“There’s always another,” I joked.
I narrowed my eyes at the leg of lamb before me. It was served with garlic, rosemary, thyme and some other herbs that I didn’t recognize with a caramelized skin. The dish looked incredible and was entirely wasted on me. My hand was halfway towards the silver fork before I realized that the food might be trapped.
“Heaven’s forfend,” he groaned.
I flared my aura for a moment. The surrounding illusion broke like glass as I examined the plate before me. The leg of lamb remained unchanged. The darkness around the container pulled back like a serpent coiled to strike. The walls of the building mutated under the intensified glow. No longer were we seated above a starlit sky. Instead, we sat inside an imposing tower.
“I ask that you refrain from miracles,” the dark-haired fae said irritably. “No food offered to you tonight will be cursed or poisoned.”
The intensity of my glow faded. I picked up the cutlery, then nodded at the others. They followed my lead. I didn’t think that he would try to harm us that way. It would still be stupid to take the risk. We’d only have ourselves to blame if we died to carelessness.
“I wonder if there’s a way to make it safe,” Yvette whispered as she stared at the box on the table. “There’s so much I could learn from it. Perhaps if I…” her voice cut off as she took the first bite of her meal.
If food could kill, then this would be the tastiest murder ever.
The first bite was more indulgent than anything I’d had at Cordelia’s table. The meat was tender and far richer than I expected. The inside was moist. It had a buttery — almost creamy — texture that contrasted the crackle of the crust. My shoulders relaxed.
“My companions are road weary,” I said.
The Prince of Nightfall gave me a too wide smile from the other end of the table before setting his glass down. I was certain that he didn’t need to eat, so I presumed he did it for much the same reason I did. “Truly?” he mused. “Such a frail constitution for vaunted heroes.”
I reached for my crystal glass. The creamy liquid’s sickening sweetness provided an uneasy contrast for the verbal warfare we were engaged in.
“The circumstances are sure to be entirely coincidental and have nothing to do with your enchanted road,” Roland muttered.
“Naturally,” he agreed. “The stewards will lead you to your accommodations once our discussion has concluded.”
All four of us lapsed into a fragile silence that was soon broken by words from our host.
“Much has changed in the time since we last met,” the Prince of Nightfall mused.
“That’s true,” I replied.
“Even the Garden has been upended,” he taunted.
I took another sip of the sickeningly sweet drink while mulling over his words. Stories had changed, but I suspected that the creature meant something more than that. I wasn’t prepared to give him the satisfaction of me having asked. The stakes were too high.
“Evidently,” I said.
“The Court from Beyond the Stars knocks on the garden door,” the one-eyed fae gave me a sharp grin, “they are eager to make their début.”
I swallowed forcefully. That was… a whole other angle that I hadn’t considered. Was the hypothetical Court something real now? No, he’d said they were eager to show up. It implied that they didn’t exist, but they could. Another piece of the puzzle slotted into my mind.
“I look forward to their arrival on the stage,” I answered our host.
It wasn’t long before we had polished off our plates and wiped down our hands on the napkins. A blue attired servant appeared almost as soon as the last fork was set down and whisked any evidence of our meal away.
“I trust that was ample time to whet your curiosity,” the Prince of Nightfall said as he stood and grinned from the opposite side of the casket. “Step warily, lest you cut your own thread loose.”
What should I say? I needed to be careful. No, I was making a mistake and assuming it wouldn’t fit other stories as well. It was best to learn more details before I tried another gambit.
“I’m sure there’s a fascinating story behind that box,” I drawled.
This was our best chance so far, and I didn’t want to risk messing it up. The three of us had made no headway on our goals as yet. If anything, we’d been played for fools. The Prince of Nightfall was skilled at dodging narrative traps. I hadn’t really expected otherwise.
“The Midnight Casket was forged in ages past,” our host expounded, “to contain Summer’s Sun. The Gambit failed when it was tried,” the Prince of Nightfall raised a hand and closed it around some of the fog, “like many others”
This was both an opportunity and bait. Bait that I couldn’t afford to not take advantage of. Trying to take the Midnight Casket would be stupid. We hadn’t earned it. I had other plans.
“And this time it didn’t,” I concluded.
The creature gave me a tight-lipped smile.
This time,” he leaned over the casket and whispered, “it did not.”
“Are you asking me,” I took my chance, “to open the box.”
The room seemed to darken for a moment. Yvette and Roland both stiffened. I faced Yvette and inclined my head slightly. Her brow furrowed, before her green eyes widened.
Now I need to hope she catches what I want her to do.
“You may do as you wish with the Midnight Casket provided it does not depart from this chamber,” a sparkle of mirth glimmered deep within the orbs of night embedded in the fae’s head. “However, your companions would not survive the devastation should you unseal its contents.”
“So opening it is dangerous,” I suggested once again.
Come on, come on. I both need for the box to be dangerous and to have an established interest in opening it. That plays into both the Creation and Earth Bet version of the story.
“Most assuredly,” he acknowledged.
I relaxed. I hoped that Yvette could pull off what we required here. Pandora’s Box wasn’t useful to us except as a stepping stone to somewhere else. It remained to be seen if she chose a narrative that we could use.
“Leave it, ma,” Yvette interrupted, “opening it will only spell trouble.”
What story was she attempting? That… didn’t sound like it was building towards an escaped prisoner story. Figures from the frozen fire formed into nightmare creatures that almost seemed to mock me as I contemplated the details of the discussion.
“It would be best for your continued survival,” the Prince of Nightfall drawled.
“If anything,” Yvette spoke quicker as she continued her gambit, “you owe Taylor five favours to keep it that way.”
There was an ominous crack as fingers of frost spread across the room from the foot of the table. Yvette and Roland flinched and stumbled behind me. I cast a protective Light across them.
“Even a fool knows not to presume so much,” our host declared.
I ignored the insult except in the sense of the role it might grant me, and reflected on the situation. What did I have? A box with an unspecified danger inside. One that they were bargaining for favours to keep closed. Safe passage out of the lands of Winter would be the first step of our mission. It was something that a favour could buy.
“A fool she may be,” Roland’s words came quick as he inched into the argument, “but she alone among us dares the impossible.”
Oh, she’s leaning that way.
“You will grant Roland three wishes,” I interjected.
The Prince of Nightfall looked like he was about to speak. I didn’t afford him the opportunity. Creation had stories of Djinn granting wishes, just like Earth Bet did. They also didn’t grant wishes. I suspected the story existed because of fae playing tricks on mortals, but that wasn’t the point. The tale existed, and I could jam it down this abomination’s throat.
“For three freedoms,” I continued. “Freedom to right past wrongs, freedom to mend present troubles, and freedom from this same prison in the future.”
My heart settled in my throat. I was making a bet. The raven-haired fae didn’t know the story that I was invoking. I’d already determined that he couldn’t. He knew that I was compassionate and that I had a better grasp of the new narratives than he did. There was still an element of chance to the gambit, but I felt the risk was worth it. The Prince of Nightfall stilled and examined us carefully. The darkness pulled back and the cold retreated.
Don’t smile, Taylor. The monster could still put out another trick. It’s not over yet.
I nodded towards Roland.
“The first,” Roland began, raising his index finger, “is the liberation of all those you’ve either stolen, enslaved or barred from passage to the afterlife.”
He’s laying it on a bit thick here.
The gloom twisted around us violently but remained at a distance.
“The second,” Roland raised his middle finger, “is freedom for the three of us to journey the length and breadth of winter unimpeded until the turn of the season.”
I stared hard at Roland.
Come on, get the message. This is your story, Aladdin, not mine. I can’t tell it for you, so don’t mess it up.
He caught my gaze and frowned.
“We will use that boon to the best of our abilities,” he sighed, “to bring an end to the Fae cycle.”
The cold fled from the floating floor.
“The third,” Roland raised the ring finger, “will be used to break that which fetters you to Arcadia.”
A cemetery of silence pervaded the platform. The Prince of Nightfall’s eyes narrowed and yet seemed to widen the more I stared at them. Two hungry abysses growing ever deeper, pulling us into their orbit.
“If only earning one’s freedom was as easy as wishing for it,” the creature spoke wistfully.
“It could be,” Yvette interjected, “if you allow it to be.”
“Many lifetimes have drifted by since I offered any concessions unbartered for,” our foe spoke icicles.
Yvette shivered.
I hugged her with one arm and swallowed the interruption that tugged at my lips.
“The price is in the asking,” Roland replied.
“I will grant you the second boon at no cost,” the pale faced prince conceded.
“The first and third remain unaccounted for,” Roland stated.
The Prince of Nightfall seized the Midnight Casket under one arm and walked towards the rainbow stairwell.
“The first shall be withheld,” our host replied, “until the condition for the third has been met.”
The creature set a hand upon the grip of his blade. The edge pointed it towards me a moment later.
“If you wish to claim that which you first sought,” he gave me an uncanny grin, “then prove the worth of your own word.”
The Prince of Nightfall began to scale the stairs. He was halfway up when he turned towards us and let out an eerie laugh.
“If you wish to claim that which you first sought,” he repeated, “then see to my liberation.”