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32 THARAN

They rode through the night, not bothering to stop and rest when the sun’s first light crested over the horizon. Tharan held his breath for most of the trip, not daring to look back.

The Court of Malts was the smallest of the Wild Courts, inhabited mostly by halflings with a penchant for brewing the continent’s finest ales. Tharan’s muscles relaxed as they crossed the boundary. The aroma of barley and hops wafted through the air even in the dead of winter.

They stopped in the capital city of Dunhaven, a cheery little city where cottages lined the cobblestone streets. Old ale barrels, no longer fit for use, served as flowerpots and bar tables. The halflings went about their evening, carrying roast hams and other assorted goods home for dinner after their shifts at one of the many breweries ended. Situated between the elven territory of Eden and the Atruskan River, it was said that the fertile soil and clean water made the ale taste better.

They stopped at the Hoppy Toadstool for the night.

“Feels good to be back on sylph soil,” Tharan said, stretching his arms wide.

“This was a free kingdom before the Sylph and Elven War. Halflings aren’t technically sylph. They’re just magus,” Hopper corrected his friend.

Tharan and Sumac both rolled their eyes.

Children came running from their houses to catch a glance of the dire wolves.

“Look! Look!” they cried, their jovial faces filled with awe.

“Careful,” one mother said, holding her toddler’s chubby arm.

“It’s alright,” Sumac said. “They’re really just big puppies.” She whistled, and one of the giant wolves lay down in the middle of the street so the children could pet him. His fluffy tail wagged relentlessly as the little ones patted his soft fur and kissed his wet nose.

Once the children had their fill of the beasts, Sumac let the wolves run free for the night in the nearby woods. Despite being domesticated, the canines still loved moonlit hunts.

“Let’s get a pint and relax,” Sumac said, dismissing the other riders to do as they pleased for the evening.

“I’m starving,” Tharan said, trying to hide his growing concern for Aelia. Perhaps a full belly would help.

The Hoppy Toadstool was a lively, cozy place with plush armchairs, roaring fires, and a string band. The walls were lined with intricate wallpaper depicting forest creatures.

The trio sat at the old oak bar, where a halfling with curly brown hair and hazel eyes greeted them warmly.

“Lord Greenblade,” he said with a smile that lit his entire face. “To what do we owe the honor of such a distinguished guest? Surely, you’d rather stay in the Brewer’s Palace.”

Tharan’s cheeks reddened, and he waved the barkeep off.

“No, no, I am a man of the people. The Hoppy Toadstool is just fine for me.”

“If you say so, sir.” He shrugged his little shoulders. “What’ll it be?”

“I’d quite like a hot cider with rum if you have it,” Tharan replied.

“Course, my Lord, anything for you. And for your companions?”

“Two blonde ales, please,” Hopper spoke for both himself and Sumac.

The barkeep nodded, pouring the pints before getting the hot cider for Tharan.

“It’s on the house, my Lord. The brewmaster would never forgive me if I charged you.”

Tharan went to object but knew it was pointless. Instead, he smiled and raised his mug to the halfling. “Thank you.”

“What a day,” Hopper said, sipping his ale.

“It’s been over a month since we left the Woodland Realm. It’ll be Ostara before we know it.” Tharan took a long drink of his cider, letting the hot beverage warm his cold bones.

“Can’t come soon enough. I’m tired of winter,” Sumac added.

“To making it out alive.” Tharan held up his mug, and the three cheered. He wanted to put on a good face for his friends. They didn’t need to be burdened with his growing suspicions that Aelia was in danger. They’d nearly escaped death earlier. It wasn’t right to add to their load. As king, it was his job to lighten it.

They drank and ate until late into the night, but despite their celebration, Tharan still couldn’t shake the feeling of trepidation lingering over him. Maybe he was just tired. When the candles burned low, and most of the other patrons had gone home for the night, the three friends went to their rooms.

Tharan sank into the squeaky bed. He didn’t care that it was made for someone half his size. He was grateful for a soft place to land for the night. His head felt light from the spiced cider, and he wished Aelia was beside him. He twisted the whisper stone in his ear and waited for her voice at the other end.

Nothing.

He tried it again.

Still nothing.

A chill crept down his spine, and he swallowed the bile rising in his throat . Something happened to Aelia.

They had to act fast if they were going to save her. He should have left the moment she didn’t answer the whisper stone. He should have trusted his gut. Now she was in danger, and he was ten steps behind.

He flung the blankets off his bed and crept down the hall to Hopper’s room.

“Trinty, can a man get any rest these days?” He answered the door, half naked, running his hand through his thick green hair.

“No, apparently not. We need to go. Something has happened to Aelia.” Tharan burst through the door, throwing his friend a shirt.

“What? Hold on. What’s going on? What happened?” Hopper asked.

“I don’t know. I just have a feeling something terrible has happened to her.”

Hopper stood with his hands on his chiseled hips.

“So, you want to run out of here on a feeling?”

Tharan nodded.

“And to where exactly? The Alder Palace? Ruska?”

“I…” Tharan bit his pouty lower lip. “I don’t know exactly. Ruska, I guess.”

Hopper sighed, tapping his foot on the floor.

“Fine, get your things together. We’ll get them to open the portal to Ruska. Leave the wolves here.”

Tharan nodded and said, “I’ll get Sumac.

“She’s not going to be happy.”

“She’s been my best friend since I was six. She’ll be fine.”

Hopper made a face that said it’s your funeral.

“Just get the portal open,” Tharan said, disappearing into the dark hallway.

“Anything for my king. Even in the middle of the night. When I am exhausted,” Hopper mumbled under his breath.

“I heard that!” Tharan called down the hall. He went to knock on Sumac’s door, but she opened it before he could land the first wrap.

“I heard everything you two said. These walls are paper-thin.” Her dark hair fell in a crisp bob to her collarbone, and her white tunic popped against her dark skin. “I took the liberty of getting ready.”

“You’re always one step ahead of me, Sumac.”

“As it should be.” Sumac donned her wool cloak. “Now, let’s go save your girl.”

They hurried out of the Hoppy Toadstool into the snowy streets of Dunhaven, where dawn had yet to rise.

“The portal house is this way.” Hopper ushered them to a tiny stone cottage with two red and white toadstools out front. “I woke the master, and the portal should be ready.” He turned the brass knob, and the door creaked open.

A swirling portal of green light awaited them. Next to it, a small halfling with curly gray hair and spectacles waited in his pajamas. Dark circles ringed his eyes.

“Thank you,” Tharan said.

The man nodded. “Anything for my king.”

Tharan slipped through the portal, followed by Sumac and Hopper.

The portal spat them out in the center of Ruska. The city still slumbered, but the first light of dawn was just beginning to crest over the horizon.

They hailed a petty cab outside the portal and sped through the quiet streets to the Alder Townhome. Tharan fiddled with his rings nervously, wishing the cab could go faster. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked.

“If you pulled me out of bed for nothing, you’re going to owe me one,” Hopper said as the carriage jostled him around.

“I hope you are right, and I am being ridiculous.” Tharan gazed out the window. The city sped by, blurry in the morning haze.

The Alder Townhome sat silent on a hill. Tharan didn’t bother to pay the cab driver before he burst from the carriage and through the carved double doors.

“Lord Greenblade,” Finneas said, startled at the sight of his master. “We… we weren’t expecting you.”

“Is she here?” He paced frantically through the parlor and then up the stairs. “Is Aelia here?”

“No, my Lord, she went after her sister last night, and they have not returned.”

Tharan’s eyes glowed a verdant green, full of power and malice. “Where did she go, Finneas?”

“I didn’t see, your Highness,” the satyr bowed low, trying to hide his trembling voice.

Tharan did his best to keep his temper at bay. There was no use raging at his servant. That was not who he was. Taking a deep breath, he flattened the wrinkles on his vest.

“Did the Hunt go with her?”

“Yes, my Lord, but they have not returned either.”

Tharan paced around the foyer, running his hand through his auburn locks. He needed a cigarette.

Amolie appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Tharan? How did you know to come?” She rushed down the stairs, her curls bouncing in her wake. “I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how to get a message to you, and you know how Aelia can be. She always comes back.” She flung herself into his open arms. Her tears stained his cloak.

“I’ll find her, Amolie. Don’t you worry.” He patted her head reassuringly.

Amolie wiped the tears from her hazel eyes.

“Calliope, the sea queen, is after her. I’m afraid she may have laid a trap for her.”

Tharan bit the inside of his cheek nervously; he had to be strong now, for all of them.

Turning to Hopper he said, “Call a meeting with the sea queen. Here. In Ruska.”

Hopper nodded and quickly drew up a royal invitation, his mouth twisted as he concentrated.

“I need your signature, my Lord.”

Taking a deep breath Tharan calmed his nerves before signing the invitation with big, swooping letters, and sealing it with the sigil of the Alder King in hot wax.

“I expect you to deliver this to Ursula by hand.”

Hopper took the parchment and headed out the door.

Tharan pulled his long hair back and tied it with a leather strap—anything to distract himself from the panic bubbling in his gut.

“Sumac?”

She stepped into the study, having already changed into her Wild Hunt Armor.

“Yes, my Lord?”

“Let’s see if we can retrace Aelia’s steps. Where’s Amolie?”

“I’m right here.” The witch donned a pair of wool slacks and a cape. “I think we should go see Conrad. He has the siren’s song. The queen will want that if she’s going to give Aelia back.”

“Smart.”

“He’s probably still at the infirmary. They might not let us in this early.”

“They’ll let me in.” Tharan turned to Sumac. “See if you can track Aelia. Amolie and I will go to see Conrad.”

The three parted ways.