Reardon
The Emerald Kingdom was to the south, the Mystic Valley farther north down the opposite side of the Ice King’s hill, but Reardon followed Shayla to the east toward a clearing and the edge of a thick wood that he knew would eventually join with the Dark Forest to the Shadow Lands.
He hoped the true sacrifice had made it there safely and that he hadn’t doomed them instead. The Shadow Lands were just as much a mystery as the Ice King’s castle.
Reardon wasn’t sure what he and Shayla could find for alchemy components while the ground was frozen with patches of snow. That’s what she was mostly foraging for, she’d said— components . Reardon’s knowledge of alchemy was focused more on the mixing and application after ingredients were gathered. Barclay would know better what could be found in wintertime.
“You realize this is an enchanted castle, right? That includes the surrounding grounds,” Shayla said, smirking as she looked at Reardon’s furrowed brow.
“Are you saying the plants here can withstand winter?”
“Some, and several things grow here that normally wouldn’t be found together. But a few useful items—rosemary, thyme, mint—they always thrive in winter.” She knelt a few yards from the line of trees, and indeed, several varieties of plants were clustered around their feet, green and lush and overlapping out of the snow. She began picking them with adept precision, taking string from her bag and bundling like plants together before filling the bag with her spoils.
After watching her a few moments, Reardon mimicked her efforts, and she smirked once more, inspecting his work with an approving nod.
“A prince who doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. Who knew?”
She worked twice as fast as Reardon, however, and occasionally she’d toss a plant aside that didn’t look quite right to her eyes or tell Reardon to lighten or fatten a bundle before completing it. She’d obviously done this many times before .
“Violets.” Reardon pointed behind her, closer to the trees. “They’re good for sore throats, aren’t they? Would Liam want those too?”
“Knowledgeable, are you? They’re on the list. Though not for sore throats. They can be manipulated for other purposes. You won’t see anyone from the castle getting ill, but we can be injured or killed.”
Enchanted indeed , Reardon thought, though he mostly cared that he was continuing to learn about the castle, its curse, and its people.
They were essentially immortal as long as they didn’t get hurt, and Reardon would be too while he stayed here.
“Barclay said you knew alchemy, but I didn’t realize how much,” Shayla said. “That’s rare around here. Most of the occupants are magic users. I have basic knowledge. Otherwise, it’s mostly Caitlin as our healer, and Liam with his enhancements and experiments. He’s a good wizard, but he’s blown up his lab a time or two as if a storm blew through it—pun intended.” She smiled fondly, like she knew him well.
“A true education involves rough hands and calculated risk,” Reardon said with a smile of his own, looking at his dirt-smeared hands, wet from the snow. “My mother used to tell me that.” The memory of it brought a soft warmth to his chest. He’d grown beyond feeling a constant ache at the loss of her, but he still missed her every day.
“I remember when the Emerald King announced her birth,” Shayla said absently, causing him to snap his attention to her, because he kept forgetting how much older everyone in the castle was compared to him. “So that’s where all that red came from.” She reached out to muss his auburn hair, her hands wet and dirty too, yet the touch felt more playful than razzing.
“She must have grown up well, considering you’re not so bad a bastard,” she continued, returning to her work. “It was her father, you know, who decided three strikes as a thief was enough to call for one’s hands. Only a plea to be sacrifice could stay the butcher’s blade. I took my chances.”
The thief who almost lost her hands because she was starving , Reardon recalled the Ice King saying. He hadn’t known his grandfather. That king died before he was born.
“I’m sorry,” Reardon said solemnly. “That’s awful. They don’t do that anymore. But then, thieves might still be chosen as sacrifice if they get enough voices raised against them. My mother did away with many barbaric practices, but she never dared change the larger laws .
“ I will when I am king. I have to. Especially after meeting all of you.”
“That’s rather noble.” Shayla slowed the pace of her foraging. “I’d think you were all fluff, but you don’t seem the type to be made for lying. Maybe you really aren’t so bad.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“I’m not. Ending up here was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Barclay had said the same, and while immortality, food, shelter, and a caring monarch were reason enough to warrant such a response, Reardon had the feeling that there was something more.
Soon they had gathered everything they could from around their feet, and Reardon went to the edge of the wood to pick the violets, while Shayla headed farther down the clearing to shave off bark from a specific patch of trees with one of her blades.
He hadn’t noticed initially, but she was armed with twin daggers almost as long as short swords, as well as a hunting knife at her ankle. Reardon felt the loss of his own dagger then, and the sword he might have brought along if this outing had been planned, but he’d left his weapons belt in his room, knowing he’d be seeing the king.
It was in that moment, wondering about his promise to Nigel to steal his dagger back and glancing at Shayla using her hunting knife to chip away bark, that he heard the first growl.
Reardon tensed, because that was no mere wild dog, judging by the resonance, although that would have been bad enough. Turning his head to look deeper into the wood, lush and dark despite the early morning sun, he saw a pair of eyes glowing and the measured steps forward of something larger with a snarling maw.
“Shadow beast….”
“ Wolf ,” Shayla corrected, her voice coming steadily from his right. “If shadow beasts exist, they stick to the Dark Kingdom. Now, back away slowly and don’t lose eye contact. Whatever you do, don’t turn your back on him.”
Reardon knew that, but his instincts still told him to do the opposite and run .
Steeling himself with even breaths, he stood upright and began a slow shift backward into the clearing, keeping his eyes on the wolf—a dire wolf, or at least it had been once, he realized as it materialized more clearly. Its size was impressive, but it looked emaciated .
It was alone. There were no signs of any other wolves, no pack it had come from, which explained its weakened state—weak enough to be ravenous and exceptionally feral.
A whistle rang out from Shayla to draw the wolf’s attention, but its eyes remained on Reardon. He didn’t dare look at her himself, but he could see her out of the corner of his eye, her hunting knife and one of her daggers in either hand.
“I’m going to throw you a weapon, but he’ll probably leap the moment your eyes are off him.”
“ What ?”
“Be ready. Try to defend more than harm. He’s only hungry.”
“Wait—”
“Now!” she cried, and Reardon jerked his head toward her, arm already reaching to catch the dagger his eyes found and locked on, and a moment later he had it with a twist of his wrist and swipe forward just as the wolf lunged.
Its teeth caught the blade instead of Reardon’s neck. If this had been a healthy dire wolf, he would have been helplessly bowled over, but he stood firm, pushing back on the blade until a great shove forced the wolf away from him. Reardon swung the dagger around to slice at each of its legs, just enough to wound it, and then scrambled back to keep out of reach.
The cries the wolf made were pitiful, but the narrowing of its eyes was murderous as it readied to lunge again.
Shayla darted forward as fast as if she’d appeared from nothing, slicing first with the hunting knife and then with the twin of the dagger she’d thrown to Reardon. She raised the blunt end of the dagger and rammed the hilt down into the wolf’s temple, at which it dropped like a drunk in a tavern at the end of a long bar fight.
Reardon gasped, adrenaline pumping and weapon tight in hand. He’d fought in the past, trained in multiple forms of combat, but he’d never had to fear for his life.
“You know how to handle yourself,” Shayla said through panted breath.
“And if I didn’t?”
“Then I couldn’t have helped you.” She grinned, nimble fingers effortlessly twirling her dagger and knife before sheathing them. “But I still tried.”
Reardon watched her kneel beside the fallen beast, recognizing how close he’d come to being rent in two without accomplishing anything of real note, other than coming to the Frozen Kingdom to rescue his friend. Knowing Barclay was safe did not change that Reardon was glad he’d fought to get here, but there was so much he hadn’t confessed to. So much he hadn’t done.
Shayla pulled a vial from her belt and tipped the liquid down the wolf’s throat.
“What is that?”
“A sort of healing draught. When he wakes, it’ll be as if he’s slept and eaten well for a week, his stamina entirely returned to him. What he does after that is up to him. After all, we don’t know his story or why he’s a lone wolf so far from friends.”
“Such mercy,” Reardon noted, wondering if the numbness settling into his fingers was from his own draught wearing off or the grip he had on the dagger.
“It’s easy after being shown mercy yourself.” Shayla stood and came over to take her dagger back from him. “Funny how people work that way.”
Mercy merely means you might end up the dead man instead.
Reardon liked Shayla’s lesson better, but he still had to say, “Most of the people in the castle didn’t act that way toward me.”
“Many of them are still angry, but while they may gnash their teeth, none would actually harm you. They just wanted to push you, see how you’d react. They trust their king. If he was willing to give you a chance, they will too.”
Reardon wasn’t sure yet if he had been given a chance or merely a temporary stay of execution.
“We get protective is all,” Shayla said, gesturing him up the hill, away from the wolf and the line of trees. She must have deemed their spoils enough—or it too risky to wait for the wolf to wake. “We’re family.”
Family . Josie and the Ice King certainly, but the others too in more than blood.
Just without children.
So many of the people in the castle were paired off, and while not everyone, it made the lack of children suddenly apparent, though Reardon hadn’t realized until now .
“If no one here ages… then children can’t be born either, can they?” he asked as they headed home.
“One of the downsides. For some. I find it freeing. Lots of worry-free sex.”
Reardon tripped, face red and hot in an instant.
Shayla laughed but didn’t take back her statement.
“Y-you have someone?” Reardon stuttered. “I didn’t see you and Nigel with anyone. Unless….”
“It’s not Nigel,” she said as though the idea was preposterous—and it certainly seemed to be from their lack of romantic chemistry. “Keep on as you are, Reardon. You’ll discover all the castle’s secrets eventually.” Without elaborating, she kept on up the hill, her bag full and her steps sure.
Reardon’s potion was wearing off, he decided, as he shuddered beneath his doublet, wishing for a warm fire when they returned.
Shayla noticed. “There should be a cloak with your new clothes.”
“It’s too short. Which is a shame, because it’s lovely. I can use the one I came in. Though that was taken away to be cleaned….” He stopped short, thinking of his dagger again. “I’m not getting it back, am I?”
Another warm laugh bubbled out of her. “I can take you to your cloak later. Clean it yourself and you might get to keep it. Does that mean you’re enjoying your new clothes?”
“Very much. The colors, the simple but flawless craftsmanship.” Reardon returned to her side, picking at the brilliant blue and green of today’s garments. “I honestly think this is better than any of the frilly noble wear I’ve had to endure. And the quilt! Does everyone have a quilt like that? It’s like a rainbow of patterns, and so warm.”
“Flatterer,” she said, opening the gate for them with an extra-wide smile. “I was rather proud of yours, but not everyone has a quilt yet. I started with the newbies and have been trying to backdate. Nigel was jealous you got one before he did.”
Reardon stood for several moments inside the archway before he realized what she meant. “ You’re the tailor?”
“Not the only tailor, but I did make your doublet, the one you wore last night, and your quilt. Why? Do I not look like a tailor?” She planted her hands on her hips, which only accentuated the presence of her daggers.
“More like a….”
“A…? ”
“A cutthroat,” Reardon said honestly, not surprised when this seemed to please her.
“Then I haven’t lost my touch,” she said, spinning about to continue toward the castle—past the guardian ice statues that didn’t falter her steps in the slightest. “Come on. I’m not abandoning you yet. Time to deliver these components to our wizard.”
The castle would still take Reardon weeks to learn in full, but he memorized as best he could the path Shayla took him on to travel from the main doors to Liam’s laboratory. She explained that he had his own wing of the castle, partially for storage and experiments, but also to accommodate living quarters separate from others, like all the cursed had, as well as space for his apprentices to work.
Caitlin was beyond a mere apprentice now, really Liam’s second, standing in where he was limited by touch. Barclay was the one learning, a rare breed, apparently, since Caitlin had been the first in a generation to hold up to Liam’s standards for alchemy.
Much of the castle had high ceilings and open space, but Liam’s lab felt immediately stifling, like an overstuffed library, closed in by shelves filled with a combination of books, equipment, and messily labeled bottles.
The smell was also… interesting, like bread and sour fruit. Once Reardon saw the setup for fermentation, he realized why.
“You make ale and wine in here?”
“Reardon!” Barclay exclaimed upon seeing him enter behind Shayla. He and Caitlin were huddled together over a cluttered worktable making a large batch of some potion or another in a cauldron, just like Reardon had seen Barclay and Master Wells do many times back home.
Liam was there too, though standing farther away, choosing ingredients that he set on the table. “Where else did you think it came from?” he grumbled, sparking jolts of lightning from his body.
Reardon hoped an errant spark wouldn’t have the same effect as his touch.
“Behave,” Shayla chided him. “I did your grunt work, and I expect compensation.” She set her bag on another table along the wall.
“You let the prince help you?” Liam sneered, eyes glowing brightly like two pinpricks of stars in a night sky. “Am I going to be picking weeds out of those bundles? ”
“Only what you’ll be picking out of your ass.” She extracted a bundle to show him, which easily could have been hers or Reardon’s, since their finished work had ended the same. “Relax. He’s a good kid. Fended off a hungry dire wolf without getting so much as a scratch.”
“What?” Barclay abandoned his work to rush to Reardon’s side, causing Caitlin to scramble to pick up the slow stirring he’d been doing with a ladle, her lips pursed but silent.
“I’m fine,” Reardon said. “Just a reminder to watch my back. Outside if not in,” he added with a smile at Shayla—though Caitlin and Liam both shot him steely glares to remind him that he hadn’t won over everyone just yet.
“Did things go well with the king this morning?” Barclay asked, hurrying back to Caitlin to reclaim his ladle, which allowed her to add another ingredient to the bubbling pot.
“It didn’t go… terribly.”
Shayla snorted, and Reardon wondered if she’d been watching long before she called for Reardon to help her forage.
Looking over the ingredients more closely, Reardon recognized everything that had been added to the pot, and when the wizard started straining juniper berries, he was certain of what they were making—a regeneration potion, similar to what Shayla must have given the wolf, but for slower-acting effects that replenished a person’s energy throughout an entire day.
It was strange seeing a being made of lightning handle, well, anything. Liam could clearly still hold things, and yet it almost looked as though the carafe the berries were in, their yellowed juice ripe for use, merely floated amidst a tiny storm.
Reardon frowned at the strained juice when Liam set it on the table. “If I may say, sir, muddling juniper berries instead of infusing water with their juices allows for better sustained regeneration, even for soldiers doing long patrols.”
Liam crackled, his fierce eyes shooting to Reardon like he might fire a bolt at him.
“I mean no disrespect! But the difference in stamina is staggering. Barclay and I helped our High Alchemist test it when we were teenagers.”
“I’ve tried telling him,” Barclay muttered.
“And I’ve said no,” Liam snarled. “This is how we have always done this recipe. ”
“Even with a second voice added, speaking the same logic?” Reardon tried.
“If it will shut you both up, fine,” he snapped, turning to retrieve a bundle of fresh juniper that he threw on the table beside the juice, along with a mortar and pestle. “I don’t need two of you nagging me. But if you know a thing or two, Emerald Prince, then you do the work.”
Reardon did know a thing or two and held his ground, sliding the mortar closer and placing the berries inside. He mashed them swiftly with the pestle, breaking the skins and keeping them as part of the mixture to be added to the potion. The final product went down more thickly, but it did work better.
“Barclay is a good teacher,” Reardon said as he ground the berries. “Alchemy isn’t part of just anyone’s education in Emerald, only if one chooses it, and I wanted to learn.”
“Reardon is a quick learner.” Barclay continued stirring the potion, a necessary step until everything was added. “He takes to alchemy more naturally than almost anyone else I’ve ever seen. Better than me, really. You’ll want him as my replacement before you know it.”
Reardon blushed at the compliment.
Liam regarded him more carefully then, following his movements as he finished mashing the berries and added them to the cauldron in slow chunks while Barclay stirred.
“Any magical affinity?” Liam asked.
“I don’t know.”
Another crackle of lightning rose from him, and he pointed a sparking finger at Reardon, drawing a design in the air that formed a visible rune, like an M or a gateway door, simply hovering there. Reardon didn’t know what the rune meant, but he watched in awe at the way it glowed a brilliant red, and then pulsed away from Liam right toward him.
Reardon flinched, but the rune didn’t pass through him; it paused just in front of his chest and shone its soft red light all across his body. The light felt warm, like standing in a pool of sunshine, but when it faded, the rune turned gray and fizzled like falling ashes.
“Not an ounce,” Liam said in distaste—causing Reardon’s chest to feel like that fallen rune, scattered into dust, though he’d never realized how much he might want to be magical. “Which makes you useless.”
“Like me?” Shayla said, arms tightly crossed as she stared him down from her perch beside the other table .
If a demon made from the eye of a storm could look like a child caught doing something naughty, then Liam managed it with a ripple of light across his features. “You’re not completely devoid of magic. Most people have at least some affinity. Besides, you’re skilled in other ways.”
“Not ways you’ll be experiencing any time soon.”
Liam crackled, and Reardon’s face burned hot. They must be close if she could tease him like that .
The silence was as charged with static as Liam himself. Reardon looked to Barclay, but he and Caitlin were distracted by the final steps of the potion, adding the last few ingredients, and then— poof , a cloud of purplish smoke billowed up as if a person were inside puffing on a pipe. Barclay ceased stirring, and Caitlin moved off to get several vials for them to fill.
Reardon tried to take the second ladle she returned with, but she ignored him and kept it for herself. She still hadn’t spoken to him directly since showing up with Liam in his room yesterday. Leaving more cold-resistance potions outside his door had helped her avoid him yet again.
“Did you have magic?” Reardon asked Liam for something to fill the air other than smoke and irritation. “Before the curse, I mean?”
“All elves have some magical ability,” came his reply, eyes remaining on Shayla. “I was the king’s wizard long before I became this.”
An elf . Reardon hadn’t realized, but as he looked at Liam now, he saw the lightning forming long points at the end of his ears in perfect outlines of the real thing.
“Magic simply means learning to harness the power within you so that alchemy isn’t necessary to cause the same results. I can cast a spell that has the same effect as one of these potions, but it takes a toll, has a price, energy that needs to be replenished. Understand? That is magic, though there are a few exceptions, people who have special abilities unique to them that may or may not have a similar cost. Like Barclay.”
Reardon edged around the table, moving cautiously closer to Liam. The Emerald Kingdom only taught its people to fear magic, not how it worked. “Do you have one? A unique ability?”