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thirty-nine

Treacherous Discoveries

H eather took refuge on the wilting branch of a once fruiting tree. “I know not where else to look,” she confessed. She crossed her legs and propped her chin in her hand, her glow dimming with disappointment.

“We’ll let the oath mark guide us.” Skye held out his hand, palm up, his glowing magick swirling there.

It twisted and swirled like grains of sand until it formed a silhouette of the faerie tree.

The luminous particles whirled again, this time morphing into an outline of a pair of butterfly wings.

Skye twisted to the right and the shifting sand collapsed, flattened to the heart of his palm, suddenly dormant.

He faced the castle’s corridor, hand extended before him. It sprang to life, shimmering a cornflower blue- Tarragon’s magic hue- once more. Signaling the corridor was the proper track.

The trio zipped to the immense, double doors, slipping below it. Fluttering down the hall, the glow of Skye’s magick grew brighter as they drew near Tarragon. Heather’s hopes were dampened when they arrived at an abrupt end of a dark hallway.

The glow flared to their right, a solid stone wall.

Heather glanced at the others in question.

Rhoden tilted his head at the quandary. Skye motioned for them to halt as he examined the alcove.

A lit candle in the far corner flickered as if swayed by a draft.

The flame fluttered and popped. Proof that there was more to this hall than eyes could decipher.

“There must be a hidden passage behind this wall. Look for a catch in the rock.” Skye’s magick left the palm of his hand, developed into the shape of a sphere- it grew exponentially, illuminating all the nooks and crannies in the wall’s surface.

The pixies flew up and down, and side to side, on the lookout for a discrepancy in the stone.

Heather noticed a depression in the stones’ pattern about a quarter down. “Here!” She hailed for the others to join her. The males raced to her side, and together they pushed, releasing a lever.

The hidden door swung inward, revealing a darkened workroom, lit by a single gilded candelabra.

Dried black hellebore, Henbane and Hemlock bunches hung from the chamber’s vaulting from leather twines.

A long wooden worktable anchored the windowless room where faint cornflower light glowed on its surface.

Tarragon! Skye, Heather and Rhoden were flying darts.

Tarragon crouched painfully in a glass bottle, the opening topped with a bit of cork dipped in iron. His wings flared brighter upon spotting them, his face and palms pressing against the opaque container. His eyes were wild, shifting to the chamber door, fearing his captor’s return.

“She’ll come back any tick, make haste.” He shouted, his voice muffled by his enclosure. Rhoden zipped over and yanked on the cork with both hands. Heather and Skye flew to his side.

The stopper didn’t budge. Rhoden planted his feet around the spout, heaving with his full body weight.

His efforts raised the seal a hair.

Cornflower blue and tangerine pixie magick brimmed within bottles lining the worktable. Along with an array of baskets, each overflowing with the mushrooms resembling the ones of the king’s favored dish.

This was the poisoner’s lair.

It appeared the poisoner had been experimenting with Tarragon’s magick…

but the tangerine pixie light... from whence had it come?

The individual must have had faerie magick in their possession prior to trapping Tarragon- how else would they have successfully shrunk Heather?

She couldn’t help but wonder how the perpetrator thought the poisoned dish would get past the king’s taste tester.

She was practically holding her breath that the chamber door remained sealed.

“Can we magick it?” inquired Heather.

“I’ve tried everything,” replied Tarragon from within.

“Tar- you push from the inside, and we’ll pull together on three,” said Skye. With all four of them pulling at once, the cork shifted forward, loosening.

“Halt. Rest a moment,” instructed Skye.

Heather had to know who was to blame. She couldn’t wait until he was free. “Tarragon, was it the queen who trapped you?”

“Aye.”

“Have you seen Jessa? Heard any more rumors about her?”

“Nothing new to note, unfortunately.”

Heather sighed, her hope plummeting.

“Once more, on three,” said Skye and they readied themselves to wrench on the cork again. Hauling it until the stopper was halfway out.

“Mayhap once more would do it,” suggested Rhoden. They all applied force on the count of three, popping the plug free, sending Rhoden flailing backwards against the tabletop.

Skye reached into the glass, gripped Tarragon’s forearm and assisted him though the tapered opening. He collapsed on the coarse wooden worktop. His right hind fore wing bent at an odd angle. Would he be able to endure the flight home?

Rhoden rolled over to the jars of glowing light, pausing long and hard at the tangerine filled one, brow creased. His wide eyes and gaping mouth illuminated by the bottle’s contents. His gaze shifted, caught by something bathed in shadows further down the table. He grew still as a marble bust.

“There must have been another captured pixie here at some point,” considered Heather, realizing the only explanation to the additional pixie glow. Skye catapulted forward. Heather ran to his side, and he crashed to his knees, his hands clutching his hair.

“NO!” his wail, sharp and consumed with pain. The sound robbed Heather of her breath, a thunderous shock to her system.

Before them, pinned to a cushion by four gleaming sewing needles was a pair of tangerine butterfly wings.

Heather couldn’t pull her eyes from them. She placed a shaking hand on Skye’s shoulder, attempting to offer some consolation, as she came to grip with the horror he discovered.

Rhoden joined them in a heartbeat. He bent over at the knees, his hand covering his mouth.

“Is that…” Rhoden’s breath came out in pants, “could it be… are those his wings?”

The tangerine wings weren’t as developed as Skye’s or Rhoden’s. They were much smaller. The wings of a newly emerged pixie, befitting a youngling. Fat, crystalline tears ran down Heather’s face. What sort of monster would do this to a child?

“Bex,” the name escaped Skye’s lips, as he covered his face with his hands and lowered his head. His proud wings drooped. Heather stroked his shoulder, went to her knees beside him, pulling him close.

“But… we saw him mauled by a cat,” stated Tarragon, who hobbled towards them. “How… how did he end up here?” the stoic male’s voice withered.

Heather rose and approached the ghastly display. Flecks of dried blood remained on the wing base, the color of deep rust.

“She can no longer have a single piece of him!” declared Heather. Seizing one of the needles with both hands, she tugged at it until it slipped free.

Rhoden removed the pin from the other wing.

“Rhoden, can you shrink them?” asked Heather. He nodded before his yellow magick swirled around the pair, reducing them in size.

To their horror, the door to the chamber door creaked open loudly.

Rhoden grabbed Tarragon’s arm, yanking him behind the bowl of mushrooms. Skye jumped to his feet, placed his hand at Heather’s back, guiding her to crouch behind the cushion.

Heather extinguished her glow as she settled onto her knees and peered out to find the queen and … Mason enter the room.

“I did my part. It’s not on me that the tester’s antidote failed. If you refuse to further compensate me… I’m certain the king would enjoy hearing what I have to say.”

An antidote? Her nightmare as a doll to the royals could have been avoided this entire time?

Heather thought back to that day, how she was ill and threw up her mid-day meal washing dishes.

It would have been the king who had been thumb sized.

Mason’s daily visits to Jessa in the kitchen!

Mason had fooled them all! He must have slipped the antidote and most likely the curse into the meals when Jessa’s back was turned.

The queen was unconcerned with Mason’s threat, “You’re betrothed to a lady of my court, far exceeding your own rank and station- as promised.”

“But the king continues to reign- in perfect health and average size- you’ll require my assistance again.” supplied Mason.

The queen mockingly tapped her chin, feigning to contemplate his offer with a brittle smile.

“Will I though?” she huffed, “I have someone in my pocket who will be much more effective. Someone stationed to the king. A good and faithful servant who will shield me from anyone’s suspicion. What use would you be to me?”

The queen turned her back to Mason and plucked up a vial from the tabletop, full of Tarragon’s blue swirling glow. She removed the iron topper.

A good and faithful servant of the king?

It must be Uster, of whom she spoke. Heather watched on, disbelieving, as Mason took hold of the only chair in the room with both hands, hoisted it up over his head and slammed it over the queen.

She fell to the floor in a heap, the blow rendering her unconscious.

The vial crashed upon the stone beside her, shattering to pieces as Tarragon’s magick swirled free.

Heather held her hand over her mouth, smothering the loud gasp that threatened to erupt.

She couldn’t believe her eyes! What had this snake of a man done to Jessa?

She was going to be ill. Her wings deflated against her spine.

The shock of Mason, the man who she’d witnessed court her closest friend, who she herself judged as fickle- act violently, shook her to her core.

She trembled as Skye pulled her back to his front, his hands wrapped comfortingly around her waist. Her fists clenched, nails cutting into her palms. If Mason harmed a single hair on Jessa’s head, Heather wouldn’t rest until he repaid the agony.

Mason tore flower bundles from the rafters, ripped the leather ties loose and secured the queen’s hands and feet.

“Count your fortunes, I didn’t slit your throat.” He snarled, shaking the unconscious woman. The queen’s head lolled to the side, dead to the world. He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket, fastening it to his captive’s mouth before withdrawing.

Heather swallowed against the tightness in her throat, “Let’s get out of here!”

“Ye don’t have to ask me twice.” Rhoden was already fluttering on quick wings. Skye held out his arms and Heather didn’t balk to wrap her arms around his neck. And up they flew.

Heather’s tender heart was tempted to feel pity for the unconscious queen.

The young woman was playing the best game with what she had been dealt, wedded to a man twice her age.

It was a man’s world, and women did their best to endure it.

Heather was meant to have had an antidote.

The queen wanted to shrink the king, when she could have easily slipped in a deadly poison instead.

But… to rip the wings off a youngling? Nothing could redeem the woman in Heather’s eyes. None of their party gave a second thought to assisting the queen as they flew past. Tarragon snarled at her crumpled form, and Heather felt Skye shudder with anger.

Rhoden found the latch, swinging the door wide so that they could fly through. And after they all emerged, Rhoden threw all his weight against the lever to seal off the room once more.

“Good riddance,” hissed Tarragon.