Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) (50 page)

“Stinky! That’s great! What about you? What’s your name? You have such pretty hair,” the silver says to Flitt.

“Flitter. What’s yours?”

“Aliandra,” says the silver. “And this is my brother, Alexerin. We’re Earths-and-Light. You’re pure Light, right?”

“Right,” says Flitt.

The three fairies chatter together. As they us lead along the shining corridor, Margy slips her hand into mine again.

“
Should I fix them?
” she pushes to Twig. “
My robes?
”

“
No, Princess
,” Twig pushes back. “
Be yourself. Azi and Tib are right. Let them appreciate you for who you truly are. If they won’t, then it’s their own loss.
”

Inside of the palace is just as obnoxious as the outside. High ceilings that open to the blue sky. Walls of polished gold and silver in some places. In others, shining glass mosaics show scenes of kings and queens and Mages and fairies playing games, dancing, and singing. Chairs in the shapes of different animals and cushioned with patterns of stripes and spots are arranged in little groupings everywhere. Even in the hallways. Like the Royal Court of Brindelier can’t bear to walk from one room to another without having to take a rest in between.

Some of the chairs have people sitting on them, all dressed in jewels and lace. Fairies curl in their laps or in the crook of their arms or on their shoulders. Asleep.  All of them, asleep. I want to pull Margy away. Far from here. Fly away on my ship with her. This place doesn’t suit her.  She doesn’t belong here. She doesn’t need these riches. Even in her plain white robes, she’s prettier than all of them.

She doesn’t see it, though, my desperation to get her out of here.  The look on her face is determined. Excited. Her eyes linger on the fairy companions as we pass by the sleeping subjects. This is a place she feels she can belong.

We follow the fairies up into an enormous tower, with a spiral staircase that goes up forever. I remember the tallest spires outside and imagine we must be climbing up into one of them. Finally, we stop before a set of tall doors that are arched to point. It’s more of a gate than a door, gold and silver and bronze all twisted together like curling vines. Sunlight spills through them onto the floor in front of us, glaringly brightly. The shadows it casts on the polished marble swirl like Mage Mark. When we get close enough, Azi and Flitt’s light cast the shadows away. The fairies turn to us and exchange an impressed glance. In awe, Margy steps closer.

The others can’t feel it. I know they can’t. The magic on the other side of that gate. Like a thousand spells, pulsing. Wards. Enchantments. Power. A Wellspring, much stronger than Sunteri’s. Glowing. Breathing. Like a living creature.

“All right, Princess,” the silver one, Aliandra, says as she darts around Margy.

“Do you have them?” asks Alexerin. “The offerings?”

“Oh! I do!” Flitt exclaims, and pulls the orb out of her tiny belt pouch. “Here!”

Suddenly, Aliandra and Alexerin grow hushed and reverent.

“Give it to the Princess,” Alexerin says. Flitt does as she’s told, and Margy takes the orb with her free hand, still clinging to mine.

“With that,” Aliandra says, “you may enter. You, and the Champions of Light.”

“But you said before…” Azi starts.

“That was a test. You showed us you were protective, and not stupid enough to leave your princess behind,” Alexerin says.

“Yeah, we knew all along you were the Champions of Light, and she was the Suitor,” Aliandra laughs. “And now, it’s time to do what you came here to do.”

Azi and Rian exchange a glance. Flitt puffs her chest out proudly. Shush bobs at Rian’s shoulder. The four Champions’ foreheads glow with a soft dot of white light.

“Very good,” Alexerin says with a nod. “You four, then, and the Princess. And her Faedin, of course.”

The gate swings open, and Margy starts to go in. I plant my feet. I squeeze her hand. She turns to me with a questioning gaze. I don’t say anything.

“And Tib, of course, right?” Margy asks the fae. “And Saesa, Azi’s squire?”

“Nope! Sorry, Princess. Rules are rules,” Aliandra giggles. “They can wait out here.”

Margy shifts uncomfortably and glances at Azi and Rian, and then at me.

“Come with us, Princess,” says Alexerin, “or stay with Sparky.”

Margy’s deep brown eyes meet mine apologetically. Behind her, Azi puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder. I know already what she’ll do. She’ll make the choice she has to for her kingdom. She’ll leave me behind. With a deep breath, she closes her eyes. Steps to me. Hugs me close.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “I’ll be right back. Promise.”

I try to let her go, but I can’t. She has to twist and tug her hand to free it from mine. She turns away, and I watch them disappear through the gate into the light.

“Don’t worry, Tib,” Saesa’s gentle hand grazes my arm. “We’ll wait together. My Lady Knight will watch over her. She’ll be safe.”

With the light of the Wellspring flashing in her bright red hair, Saesa seems different. Older. Smarter. Not a scrappy kid like she used to be. She has a calmness about her now. A loyalty. A reverence for her knight. She takes my hand, the same one Margy held, and smiles.

Her smile is different than the way she used to look at me. It’s hesitant. Shy. Searching. Something about it thrills me and confuses me. My heart races, just like it does when Margy lets me hold her and I can smell the flowers in her hair. Strangely and suddenly, I remember all those days ago when Saesa fell into my arms at the apothecary booth. How she brushed her lips to mine.
I can’t hide my feelings anymore
, she had said. I close my eyes and shake my head. Refuse to think about this right now. Not with whatever’s happening on the other side of that gate. I blame it on the power that seeps from the very stones of this city and coats everything around us like dust. It’s confusing me. Jumbling my thoughts and feelings. Saesa’s green eyes gaze up, waiting. I close mine and turn away from her, and she drops my hand and goes to the gate to look through.

“I understand, Tib,” she says with a hint of sadness. “It’s like Nessa always says, ‘The heart pays no mind to the mind.’ Come on. We can watch from here.”

“No,” I say quietly. My heart is still thudding. I can’t make sense of things. This ridiculous city is grating on me. The magic is suffocating. All the colors, all the grandeur. Everywhere I turn, there’s no escaping it. Now this. Saesa. Margy. I can’t stay here, knowing on the other side of that gate Margy is meeting her future…what? Husband? And Saesa, looking at me that way. I don’t understand when things changed between us, but I hate it. I don’t need this. I need to clear my head. Be alone. Hide away. Before I do something stupid. Before I hurt Saesa’s feelings. “I’m leaving.”

“What? You can’t Tib, what about Margy?” Saesa steps away from the gate and reaches for me, but I back away. “You promised you’d wait.”

“No, I didn’t. She promised she’d be back. I didn’t say I’d wait for her. I have to get out of here.” I take another step backwards. The cobwebs brush my skin. I disappear into the Half-Realm. I turn to the stairs, and I run.

Azi

Despite the overwhelming feeling of welcome from within, I keep my guard up as the two fairies lead us through the gilded gate into the blinding sunlight of the gardens within. Unlike the rest of the palace and the city outside, the tower is full of life and sound. The rustle of leaves and chirping of birds tells me we’re in a forest, though it’s difficult to see anything at all in the brilliance of the silvery-gold light that beams from the open sky.

“This way,” the fairies whisper, and I keep a firm hand on the princess’s shoulder for fear of us wandering apart from each other as we stumble forward.

“It’s so bright,” Margy says. “But it sounds beautiful. I wish I could see it.”

“Oh! That’s our fault!” Aliandra giggles. “Tone it down, Alexerin.”

The silver-gold light dims dramatically to reveal a living jungle surrounding a vast pool of glowing liquid. It swirls with the same light the two fairies cast: Silver and gold. Though it’s surrounded by lush green fronds of fern and bright, enormous colorful blossoms, the pool is a perfect circle, like a bowl. It’s filled only partway, and as we approach I notice there are six basins with spouts evenly placed around the rim of it tucked inside the greenery. Directly across from us, on the other side of the Wellspring, a pair of twin thrones overlooks the pool. Seated on the thrones are two children who don’t look any older than thirteen or fourteen.

Each bears a crown: one silver, one gold. Each has shoulder-length hair so blond it’s almost white, and sun-kissed golden skin. Each wears robes of silver under thick embroidered vests of gold. From the Princess’s tale and the Fairy Queen’s recounting, I know these are the Twin Heirs of Brindelier, and I know one is a Prince and the other a Princess, but their looks are completely identical, making it impossible to tell which is which. Even in sleep, they sit with their backs straight and their heads poised in a regal, commanding posture.

Aliandra flies to the one on the right and perches perfectly in the silver crown. Alexerin darts into the gold crown. Set in place, each looks as though they’re part of the masterful jewel work that flashes with reflections of the Wellspring from below and the sunlight from above. The whole scene is brilliant, rich, and quite intimidating. Even the throne room itself in Cerion can’t come close to comparing with the grandeur of this scene. Margy seems to agree. She shifts closer to me with the orb in hand, and Rian steps to her other side. To my surprise, he seems completely calm and collected despite how close he’s standing to the Wellspring, which is easily double the size of Kythshire’s and five times as deep. His hands are relaxed by his sides, and his fingertips aren’t even crackling like they usually do in Kythshire.

“Present your offerings,” the fairies say in unison. “Set them in their rightful place. Three to wake the heirs. Six to claim the city.”

“Here,” Rian says, and kneels beside Margy. He places a hand on the orb and nods for me to do the same. Flitt and Shush follow his lead.

My fingertips tingle with the rush of magic that’s released as the orb fades to reveal the three bottles holding the offerings of Sunteri, Kythshire, and Haigh. Gently, carefully, Margy cradles them in her arms.

“What now?” she whispers.

“See there?” Twig answers quietly. “The basins. One bottle in each, Princess. Take one for yourself, and give one to Azi and the other to Rian.”

“Does it matter who gets which?” she asks. Twig shakes his head. Margy takes Kythshire’s teardrop-shaped offering for herself. She hands Sunteri’s red, double-bulb-shaped vial to Rian, and Haigh’s straight, pillar-shaped golden one to me.

“See how each bottle is shaped differently?” Twig asks in a hushed tone. “Find the basin that fits yours, and set it in place.”

The broad green leaves framing the pool brush my shoulders as Flitt and I make our way around the wide circle and look into the basins. Inside each basin at the bottom, just as Twig explained, is a shape to match each bottle. Flitt and I find the one for Haigh to the left of the thrones.

“Together,” Twig calls across the basin, and Flitt swoops in to stand beside the cutout that will hold the bottle. I reach in after her and hold it poised in place, then look across to Rian and Shush, who have found Sunteri’s basin across the way from ours, and the Princess and Twig, who are on the other side of the thrones from us. “Three, two, one,” Twig says, and Flitt and I push the bottle in place.

The bottle disappears beneath a flood of silvery liquid, and Flitt hops into the air just in time to avoid it touching her bare toes. She hovers over it and we watch the liquid pool upward, filling the basin until it spills over through the spout and trickles toward the pool below like a glittering silver fountain. Across the way, the red-gold offering of Sunteri spills over at the same time as Kythshire’s multi-colored one. As the streams of offerings splash into the pool, a jet of light shoots up from the center and bursts in the sky in a dazzling display of fiery color. Sparks shoot off in every direction, out of view beyond the walls of the garden. Some of them drift slowly down to the thrones and settle on the shoulders of the prince and princess, whose eyelids flutter open.

In unison, they look straight ahead with piercing silver-blue eyes.

“We are Poelkevren and Pippaveletti Emhyrck. Rightful Heirs to the Throne of Brindelier. Faedin to Aliandra Silver and Alexerin Gold, Keepers of the Great Wellspring. The Allsource. Enchanted into slumber by The Muses of the Six, to await the Age of Awakening.” The two rise to their feet, hand in hand, and survey the scene before them dreamily. “Step forward, Princess Margary Plethore, and with you, your Champions. Long have we awaited this moment. You are most welcome here.”

Each of the twins makes a sweeping gesture, and the liquid in the Wellspring shifts and rises to form an ornate bridge which stretches from each of our spouts to the center of the Wellspring, and to the throne. With Twig at her shoulder, Margy takes a hesitant step onto the bridge. The light of the Wellspring shimmers over her plain white gown in a colorful array of silver, gold, blue, and red. Rian and I join her in the center, and together we walk across the pool to stand before the twins. Rian and I bow our heads to them, and the two greet Margy by joining hands with her. Both twins dip down into a bow or curtsy. It’s still impossible to tell who is who.

“In whose name do you waken our city, Princess Margary of Plethore? The Dawn, or The Dusk?” the twins’ voices echo together. Their movements are always in perfect unison. It’s disconcerting, like a living mirror. Even more unnerving is the way their eyes stare forward blankly.

“The Dawn,” Margy replies confidently. Her declaration seems to break the strange, dream-like state holding the twins.  Another jet of magic bursts through the bridge and explodes into the sky above us. This time, the shower of sparks is much brighter as it falls away.

The gold-crowned twin falls into Margy’s arms, laughing with relief.

“Thank the stars,” she lets out a long-held breath and hugs Margy tight.

“I told you it would be the Dawn, Pippa,” the silver-crowned twin’s voice is slightly huskier than his sister’s.

“I know, Poe, but we could never be certain,” Pippa whispers.

Poe grins and gathers his sister and Margy into his arms. He bends and kisses his sister’s temple. “Oh,” he clears his throat and steps away from Margy, then drops to his knee. “Forgive me for being so forward.” He tugs on his sister’s robes and she drops down, too.

“Yes, forgive us. We’re just so pleased,” she whispers, and bows her head to Margary.

“I am yours, Your Highness,” Poe says formally. He stretches a hand to her, but keeps his head bowed respectfully. “Claim my hand and be my queen, and we shall rule Brindelier together.”

“I-I…” Margy looks up at me, wide-eyed, then glances behind her at the far-away gate. Her eyes glint with tears as Poe risks a glance up. “I just…” she whispers.

“If you do not wish to rule beside me, then why have you come? What would possess one with beauty and talent such as yours to seek this place, if not to claim our throne?” Poe asks, puzzled.

“Please,” Margy says after a shuddering breath. “Please, stand up. Both of you.” She clasps her hands in front of herself and waits for them to do as she asks. “It isn’t that I don’t wish to join our kingdoms. It’s just all very sudden, don’t you think? Brindelier has been asleep for over a century. So much has changed in that long span. And Cerion has suffered in our efforts to reach you. My kingdom…” her voice trails off and she swallows back tears.

“What, Princess? What has happened to Cerion?” Poe asks with concern. Beside him, his sister looks equally grave.

Margy tries to explain, but her voice fails her each time. Finally, Twig speaks up.

“Sir Azaeli can show you,” he says. “If you’ll allow it.”

Pippa looks up at me. Poe’s eyes trace the golden Mark on my skin. I offer them both a kind smile.

“A Mentalist?” Pippa whispers in awe. “Truly?”

“They’re probably quite common in this age, Pippa. Don’t stare,” Poe says with quiet reverence.

“They aren’t!” Flitt pipes up. “They’re very rare, actually! Azi is the only one in Cerion, that’s for certain.”

“All right, Flitt,” I chuckle.

“Will you show us?” Poe asks hesitantly.

“Of course,” I say.

The same way I did before at the gate, I open my palms and let my memories of the scenes of the battle and the important moments leading up to it play across my palms. The twins watch, entranced, until the moment we set the bottles into the basins. When the scene fades, the two of them blink. Pippa is the first to speak.

“Alex,” she scolds, “you were very naughty.”

“You too, Aliandra,” Poe scowls.

The fairies in their crowns giggle and dart away, then splash down into the Wellspring.

“I apologize for them,” Poe shakes his head, “they must have been very bored for rather a long time.”

“It’s no excuse,” Pippa says, scowling into the pool.

“You’re right,” Poe says, and turns to Margy. “Your father,” he steps closer to her and takes her hands in his. His eyes search hers, and Margy blinks back tears. “I’m so sorry. I understand now. You’re in mourning. This is no time—”

“Splendid, splendid, a Princess for our Prince!” A hearty voice echoes through the courtyard from the gateway across the Wellspring. “The festival has begun, and this will be a day of great celebration. Poelkevrin, what a king you shall be!” A bald-headed man in an overly gaudy green-and gold vest and matching embroidered trousers rustles through the thick ferns and broad leaves and makes his way to the platform to join us. His smile shows a row of perfectly straight, shining white teeth, and when he reaches for Margy, I step closer to her. Mercy glints at my shoulder, and he glances at the hilt of it warily and back at the Princess again. He thinks the better of touching her, and instead leaves his hands at his sides where they belong.

“How lovely she is,” he exclaims boisterously. “Your subjects are all in place, Your Highness. It shall be a wedding unlike any in the history of Brindelier. Oh, but you cannot be wed in such a drab frock, my dear. Come. We will make you a fitting bride.”

“Thalin.” Poe says sternly. “Thalin!” he calls again loudly, and the boisterous man turns and raises a brow at the prince.

“Your Highness?” he asks.

“There will be no wedding today,” the Prince declares, and Thalin’s face falls dramatically. A button of his vest pops out, and a fairy with fiery-red hair and bright yellow eyes peeks out at us through the button-hole.

“No wedding?” she squeaks.

“What?” Thalin asks weakly, obviously gravely disappointed. “But, Your Highness. The people…everything is ready… they expect…” his pleading turns to whimpering, and he wrings his hands nervously. “But…why?”

“The princess is in mourning,” Poe explains. “She wishes to honor the Rites of her father. Her city is in ruins. As a gesture of gratitude to Cerion and the sacrifices her people have made to get here before the agents of Dusk, we shall offer them our assistance in rebuilding.”

“To foster goodwill and strengthen our alliance,” says Pippa.

“After which time, if she will agree, we shall have a proper courtship,” Poe announces. He leans closer to Margary and looks her in the eye, “and you will be free to choose, Your Highness, without any pressure or obligation. Agreed?”

Margy looks up at him, her face flush with relief, and nods. “Thank you for your understanding.”

“No wedding,” Thalin mumbles, still quite agitated. “Well, then, a presentation, perhaps? Of the Champions and the Princess? We have to give them something, Your Highness.”

Poe looks to Margy, and the princess nods her agreement.

“Very well,” Pippa says.

“Excellent!” Thalin claps excitedly. “I shall make the preparations at once!” He rushes off in a blur of green and gold, and Poe sighs and shakes his head.

“You’ll get used to Thalin,” he says to her. “He’s enthusiastic, but completely harmless. Come, let me show you around.” He offers her his arm, and when she takes it, he leads her away with the rest of us following close behind.