The Evil Queen (The Forest of Good and Evil) Page 7

  Tears prickled anew, but again I blinked them away. I had to be strong for Hartly. “And the king?” I asked. Our uncle. “What happened to him?”

  “According to the witch who visited me, he was murdered just this week, drained of his magic and power.”

  Magic. Power. Another dead family member I’d never get to meet. Needing a moment to process, I faced the wall of windows that overlooked our backyard. More birds than usual congregated there, picking seeds from the grass. A scissor-tailed flycatcher landed on the highest arch of a wrought-iron trellis. Humming birds sipped sugar water from containers Mom filled daily.

  “I will tell you whatever you want to know about your...about Edwin, I promise. First, I must tell you everything else.” With her gaze, Mom begged us to agree. I wasn’t the only one hurting, I realized. She still grieved for her lost love. “If you do not understand why, you will not understand who.”

  Though confused, I nodded.

  “King Stephan was a handsome man. Though he could freeze you with a glance, he could charm you with a smile. Queen Violet was his fourth wife. Though he’d killed the first three, she fell in love with him.” Mom offered me a sad smile. “You look so much like them.”

  I looked like an aunt with no blood tie to me, and the man who’d murdered my father? Wonderful.

  “After Stephan killed Edwin,” she continued, “Violet and I realized we were next. We fled, hoping to raise our daughters in the mortal world, but Stephan’s army caught us, injuring Violet in the process. She couldn’t walk, but I knew I couldn’t stay. I used my illusion magic to escape with you. Leaving Violet and Truly behind...it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. If I could have carried a third infant, I would have.”

  “Do you know what happened to Violet and Truly after you left?” Hartly asked.

  “For some reason, Stephan decided not to kill them. I don’t know why, only that mother and daughter still live.”

  I shared another look with Hartly. Though only seconds passed, we had a conversation with our eyes. A perk of twinhood, I supposed.

  Me: Do we think she’s delusional?

  Hartly: No way. I’m sold. We aren’t mutants. We’re magic!

  Me: I have a bad feeling about this.

  Hartly: Just remember. We’ll be okay, as long as we’re together.

  The same words I’d given her, time and time again.

  “When we first arrived, I had a bag overflowing with the most beautiful jewels.” Mom smiled dreamily. “Diamonds, sapphires, rubies and emeralds, all as big as a fist. Within days, however, most of them were stolen. I had no money, no job and no understanding of this strange world. It wasn’t long before authorities deemed me unfit and took you girls away. As soon as I got you back, I ran, deciding to raise you as mortals, so that you would not be treated the way I was.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” Hartly flattened a palm over her heart. “I’m sorry you suffered.”

  “Thank you, my sweet.” Staring down, Mom gripped the edge of the table. “Last night, an Enchantian witch visited me. She told me King Stephan is dead and no longer a threat. We have one week to do whatever is needed for travel, then she will return to escort us home.”

  The witch. The one I’d seen in the mirror. No doubt about it; Hartly was right. Mom was right. We did use magic. Reeling...

  Brow scrunched, Hartly said, “Why do we need her?”

  “She is able to use magic here, but I am not,” Mom replied. “And magic is needed to shift the invisible curtain between our worlds.”

  Invisible curtain? I squirmed in my chair. “If we decide to go, we’ll take Nicolas with us, yes?”

  Mom winced. “No, honey. We will go, and he will stay. The witch...she told me some truths about him. Terrible things I didn’t know. He is not the man we thought he was.”

  How much to reveal about what I knew, and how much to hide? “He’s from Enchantia, too?”

  “He is.” A sob bubbled from her, but she sobered quickly. “I was so happy to come across another Enchantian. He recognized me, you see. Princess Aubrey Morrow of Airaria. With him, I didn’t have to hide who or what I was, and I reveled in the freedom.”

  She’d mentioned Airaria before. Our kingdom. I wanted to visit, but I didn’t want to say goodbye to everything familiar. Something Mom had been forced to do once before, I realized. She’d left the only home she’d ever known, traded riches for poverty, abandoned family and friends, all to save two infants.

  If I turned out to be the Evil Queen, I also turned her sacrifice into a punishment without reward.

  “What’s so bad about Nicolas?” I asked, my tone sharper than I’d intended. Mom had tossed him aside because he was “sorcerian,” whatever that meant. If Hartly and I were somehow sorcerian, too, as he’d seemed to hint, I had to wonder if Mom would toss us aside one day.

  She sniffled. “I will speak of him no more today. Let us focus on the good news. We can go home!”

  All right. She’d left me with no other choice. To get the answers I wanted, I’d have to push. “What is a sorcerian?”

  Her gaze snapped back to me. Looking like a caged animal, she said, “How do you know that term?”

  “You tell me, and I’ll tell you.”

  Breath wheezed from her. “The sorcerian have magical abilities, like witches, but only if they steal—or drain—power from other magical beings. It’s called syphoning.”

  Reeling again. “I don’t understand.”

  She thought for a moment. “Imagine power as a piece of string, and I hold one end of it. But a sorcerer comes along and picks up the other end. Now we both hold a piece of the string, so we both wield the magical ability, my power arcing between us, fueling us both, only at a much weaker capacity. If the sorcerer pulls the string, taking more and more of its length, he can ultimately pluck my end from my grasp, killing me and stealing my magical ability forever. The problem is, he cannot use that ability again unless and until he picks up someone else’s string.”

  In other words, sorcerian were thieves.

  Mom scanned my face with ruthless determination, giving me a glimpse of the royal she used to be. “Now. Tell me where you heard that term, Everly.”

  Deep breath in, out.

  Hartly nodded encouragingly. “Disno isnit. Tisnell hisner.”

  Lifting my chin, squaring my shoulders—bracing—I said, “I see things...in mirrors.”

  “Mirrors.” Panic marred Mom’s expression. “Tell me. Tell me every detail. Leave nothing out.”

  My heart raced faster than ever. “For months, I’ve seen a dark-haired girl go about her day. She feeds the homeless, plays with orphans, always smiles and laughs. Last night, I saw and heard you and Nicolas arguing. The witch had just come and gone, had told you that Nicolas was a—the—sorcerian overlord. You kicked him out.”

  A strangled noise left Mom. “That is seer magic.”

  Seer magic. Some dormant instinct stretched, awakening inside me. Yes. That’s it.

  “Your father possessed seer magic, as well.” She pressed a hand against her throat. “The prophecy...the Evil Queen...”

  “I am not the Evil Queen.” I would never kill someone just because they were dubbed the fairest of all.

  Mom pinned me with a hard stare. “Show me your ability. Now.”

  5

  Put your heart back together, my sweet.

  It’s time to rise up, there are answers to seek.

  The look Mom sometimes gave me—anger, disappointment and fear, as if she suspected I would hack her into a million pieces while she slept. Yeah, that one. Suddenly I was on the receiving end of its country cousin, pure unadulterated terror.

  Mom led the charge to the guest bathroom, where we could fit comfortably.

  Maybe I should refuse to do this. Did I really want to prove I had the same ability as th
e Evil Queen?

  At my side, Mom rested a hand on my shoulder. Tremors shook us both. I kept my gaze downcast. Hartly remained in the open door, chewing her bottom lip, as Mom often did. Thor sat at her feet, on guard.

  Did he sense that I was the Evil Queen?

  Stalling, I said, “I have more questions about the fairy tale.”

  “And I’m happy to answer them. After. Go ahead, honey.” Mom gave my shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “No matter what happens, I love you. I will always love you.”

  Would she? Only one way to find out...

  I did it, I lifted my gaze and reached for the glass, saying, “Mirror, show me Enchantia. Show me what I need to see.”

  A bolt of electricity zapped me, and I gasped. Next, the tips of my fingers heated, hot, so hot. Needle pricks tormented my nape.

  Ripples moved through the glass, distorting our reflections.

  “What’s happening?” Mom demanded.

  “Ripples...never felt this much power before,” I replied, almost drunk on it. Had I somehow plugged into an ocean of strength? So good!

  “I see nothing. So dizzy.” Mom tightened her grip on me as if fighting to stay upright. “Keep going, honey.”

  No way. I would check on Mom. Any second...trying...

  The ripples accelerated, mesmerizing me, until I couldn’t avert my gaze. Then everything else faded from my awareness, forgotten, a map of Enchantia taking shape. My heart knew it, even if my mind still didn’t understand it.

  I counted four distinct regions, with two up top and two down below, and several large bodies of water. Separating each parcel of land was a massive forest in the shape of a dragon.

  I felt a strange tingle of kinship with the forest. Like the sense of connection I’d felt with Hot Stuff.

  New details crystalized whenever I focused on a specific location, as if I’d moved a magnifying glass over the map. Even better, bits and pieces of information flowed straight into my brain.

  Icy mountains with village valleys—the Empire of Sevón.

  Sand dunes crested by a glittering night sky—the Kingdom of Airaria.

  Flatlands carpeted by a dazzling array of flowers—the Provence of Fleur.

  Bodies of water and island clusters, laid out in a fishy pattern—the Azul Dynasty.

  The dragon-shaped woodlands—the Enchantian Forest, also known as the Forest of Good and Evil.

  There, the magnifying glass revealed rocky hills, wildflower meadows and honeysuckle glades. A babbling brook ran through misshapen thickets, tangled vines and spindly trees that swayed in a gentle wind. Colorful flower petals glistened as if brushed with stardust. Ghostly shadows sneaked here and there, twining with mist and moonlight. The effect was haunting and exquisite, and more vivid than reality.

  Awe hummed in my veins. I’d lived my life in a dream and had only now woken up.

  What intrigued me most? A spellbinding azure glow enveloped the trees.

  What was that? It called to me. You are mine, and I am yours...

  I breathed deep, an earthy aroma teasing my nostrils—wildflowers, cinnamon, nutmeg and a dash of honey. My head fogged, goose bumps spreading over my limbs.

  Unacceptable reaction. Instinct warned, The most beautiful things are the deadliest.

  Then suddenly, the view switched, revealing a mining town directly beneath the mountaintop fortress. The one I’d seen last night. People of all shapes, sizes and heritages worked alongside creatures of myth and legend. Some of those creatures had horns, others had wings. Some were half human, half animal. Most pushed wheelbarrows filled with gold, diamonds, crystals and stones out of the surrounding caves.

  A memory prodded me. A time Mom had read her daughters stories—about these very beings. Light bulb! In her own way, Mom had tried to prepare us for the return home.

  I doubted anything could have prepared me.

  Tents and tables littered the ice-covered streets, vendors hawking clothes, jewels and food. The aroma of fresh baked breads joined the deluge, and my mouth watered. Dozens of firepits crackled with blue flames, dark smoke curling up, up.

  Hungry for knowledge, I returned my gaze to the creatures. Once again, knowledge flowed straight into my brain.

  Those with the upper half of a human and lower half of a goat—satyrs.

  Those with pointy ears and rainbow-colored hair—elves.

  The winged ones wearing a multitude of necklaces and bracelets—avian.

  Not angels? Really?

  Every woman wore a gown, some plain and functional, others fancy and ornamental. Most of the men wore loose-fitting tunics and leather pants. A few rocked a loincloth.

  A recurrent clang drew my attention to...a blacksmith. He drove a sledgehammer into a sword, then moved to plunge the blade into a cauldron of water. I marveled. He was human up top and horse down below—centaur.

  Each new sight dazzled me.

  Zooming forward once again, past the tents, down a row of stone buildings. Closing in on... Angel!

  She stood underneath an awning, partially masked by shadows, and spoke with Miss Familiar Unfamiliar. One stepped closer, and the other followed suit. They leaned in...and kissed as if the world would end tomorrow.

  Ahhh. Yesterday’s tension made sense.

  What a lovely couple. I wished them all the best. But as I watched them—like a total creeper—a kernel of envy snuck up on me. These girls were lost in each other, the rest of the world forgotten. Something I’d never experienced with Peter. Or anyone!

  Would I ever?

  “Go away.” Male voice, harsh tone. No room for argument.

  I exhaled a happy breath. I had volume once again. Whatever the reason—I’d improved, or accessed more of my magic—I wholeheartedly approved.

  I shifted to look at the speaker, the avian who stood sentry at the end of the alley. He held a wicker basket, and oh, wow—Wonder of Wonders. He was drop-dead gorgeous, with dark hair, dark brown skin and whiskey-colored eyes. Massive wings the same color as a morning sky rose over his shoulders. He wore more necklaces and bracelets than the other avian, and I wondered if the jewelry was purely decorative or had a deeper meaning.

  “This is wrong. We must stop,” Angel said between panting breaths, reclaiming my attention. “You’re engaged, and every time we do this, I hate myself a little more.”

  With a groan, the other girl wrenched away. “You’re right. I know you’re right.” Sunlight washed over her, highlighting details I’d missed before. Her hair was the same silver white as mine, as well as the same jet-black as Hartly’s. Her gray eye had a golden trim, like mine, and her blue eye rivaled the ocean, like Hartly’s. She had my freckles, and Hartly’s bronze tint.

  Familiar but not familiar... Realization struck, nearly knocking me down. She was Princess Truly Morrow, my cousin. My family! My heart swelled with love for her.

  “I didn’t choose him, Farrah, and he didn’t choose me,” she said. “Our parents arranged the marriage.”

  Farrah. Finally, I knew Angel’s real name.

  The fact that Queen Violet hoped to marry Truly off to someone she didn’t love made my hackles rise. If ever Mom tried to arrange a marriage for me, I would blow a gasket. Give me love, or give me spinsterhood. I wanted what Mom and Nicolas had. Joy. Communion. Contentment. Like two puzzle pieces that fit together seamlessly.

  Correction: I wanted what Mom and Nicolas had once had. Did true love never last? And why would Aunt Violet keep Truly from Farrah? Did the queen not know her daughter was gay—bi? Something else?—or did she not accept it?

  Truly toyed with a lock of Farrah’s hair. “I don’t know if I can go through with the marriage. I want you, only you.”

  The avian glanced over his shoulder, calling, “Time’s up, Princess.”

  I thought he addressed Truly, but Farrah piped up, saying, �
�Thank you, Saxon. You are a wonderful friend.”

  “This, I know,” he responded, his gruff tone laced with affection.

  “I wish...so many things.” Truly caressed Farrah’s jawline before severing contact and righting her clothing. As she backed away, the hem of her dress swayed around her ankles.

  Clearly, both girls came from money. Farrah wore a finely made hooded cloak, fur-trimmed gloves, and a blue-and-yellow gown embroidered with images of the sun. Truly wore a similar ensemble in pink and white, only she had a crossbow strapped to her back.

  “Come on. Let’s go save your father,” my cousin said. “Everything else can be settled later.”

  “Thank you.” Tears gathered in Farrah’s eyes as she approached Saxon. Her chin wobbled.

  “You should tell your family about your feelings for the girl,” he said, handing her the basket. “The king will be upset, but only temporarily. Your brother will support you, overjoyed you are happy.”

  Panic glazed her delicate features. “I can’t tell them. I just...can’t. I’m not ready.”

  “Not ready,” Truly echoed. She pasted on a brittle smile, and I ached for her. She’d taken the words as a personal rejection, hadn’t she?

  The trio abandoned the alley and marched into town, following an icy path. People stopped to bow, smile and wave, even the ones carrying bags of grain or leading animals.

  Farrah passed out cookies, earning squeals of thanks.

  Golden sunshine spotlighted the buildings that lined both sides of the road, made of limestone and roofed by a spectacular array of amethyst, rose quartz and agate.

  “Magnificent,” I breathed. Such splendor. Like a fairy tale come to life. But why had I needed to see this? And why did I feel tapping on my shoulder?

  Just as soon as I noticed that tapping, I forgot it as more questions flooded in. Would Truly like me? Would Farrah?

  I desperately craved their friendship.

  The threesome crested and descended a hill, then entered a shop at the end of the row. A bell tinkled, announcing their presence.