King of the Woodlands

Chapter 8

The Woodland King's lair was flanked by rows of skeletal trees crowned in russet leaves, swaying gently in a cold breeze. Lilibeth felt her heart sink to somewhere beneath her ribs.

Father was in there somewhere, an iron collar around his neck, laboring day and night.

Stay strong, Lilibeth. The voice belonged to the Faerie Queen, spurring her on.

Lilibeth fixed her gaze on the ancient cave before her, hewn of darkest stone and veiled in skeins of mist, overlooking a churning pewter ocean. There was nothing around Lilibeth but rock and grass and wind and sea.

"Stay here," she said to Aheiran as she dismounted. Her cloak whirled in the breeze, and she shivered. "If I don't make it out, you come in and get Father. If you can't reach him," she added, her voice shaking, "go home. You'll have to pass the Eoghan Mountains, but they won't force you to stay. You're not human. But for now, wait here." Without thinking, she hugged him. He lowered his head, black eyes closing. Tears filled her eyes as she stroked his unkempt mane.

"You smell funny," Aheiran said, mimicking her voice.

Lilibeth scowled. "Oh, way to ruin the moment," she snapped crabbily. She sniffed at her underarms. "I don't smell anything."

"Just because you can't smell it doesn't mean everyone else isn't suffering."

In her opinion she smelled rather lovely, like sunshine and meadows. She stuck her tongue out at Aheiran. 

Even though Lilibeth knew an ancient monster lurked just feet away from her, she drew close to Aheiran and took it all in—the great dark cave, the tangles of ivy veiling the weathered stone, the bleak grey sky. There was a lump in her throat.

For Father, she reminded herself, she would do it. She would walk into this cave that no one else had ever made it into. She would do anything to ensure that he walked out alive. If it came to it, she'd shred the world apart for him. He was all she had left, and she wouldn't lose him, even though if she ventured into this cave, she could lose herself.

At last, she drew away from her horse. "I'll miss you," she said, "even though you have the voice of a dying goose and the manners of a donkey."

"You burp at the table and smell worse than a prison toilet." He seemed to be very amused at the stormy expression on Lilibeth's face, but it faded to something almost like genuine concern. "Just stay strong, okay?"

"How strong?" She wanted to be strong. She had to be strong. 

"Like a warrior. They don't go into battle because they know they'll win. They go into battle because it's the right thing to do, because people need help."

Lilibeth managed a weak, queasy smile. She fixed her eyes on the black, gaping cave mouth.

Watch over me, Mother. Don't let me die.

She took one step forward—nothing more.

If she took another step, she might die of fright.

If she took another step, she'd be swallowed up by the blackness, and there was no telling what would happen to her. The Woodland King could fillet her like a cod. Her fate would be burned into her bones if she took that one step.

The dry, near-white grass rustled behind her, and she turned. Aheiran stood patiently, his eyes straight ahead like a storybook warrior facing battle.

Watch over me, Mother, she pleaded again.

A twisting wind danced around her, carrying the scent of almond flowers and sea-salted lavender—Mother's scent. It was a strange comfort, and it gave Lilibeth the courage she needed to keep her head high.

Lilibeth stepped into the cave, her shadow dissolving into the surrounding darkness. Jagged teeth of stone descended from above, peeking out of the inky blackness. Her heart beat so fast she was afraid the Woodland King could hear it.

There was nothing—just a dark abyss. Lilibeth remembered a story Mother had told her, a pirate story from the Black Islands about the deep sea prisons, dungeons in the dark pockets of the ocean reserved for betrayers and mutineers. The infinite blackness of this cave somehow reminded Lilibeth of the unfathomable depths of the deep sea—a bleak punishment for the worst of monsters.

A harsh breath whooshed out of her lungs as she bumped into a wall, scattering her thoughts. She did not know where she was going, but the further she went the darker it grew, and the darker it grew, the colder and quieter it became.

It was like she was blind. Never in her life had she seen such darkness. It was like a sky that had been snuffed out and scraped clean of any color at all. She stumbled through it like a quivering rabbit, a helpless piece of prey.

No. For Father, she had to bare her teeth and show them the lion inside her. She couldn't be a timid lamb. She thought of Aheiran and his warrior eyes, thought of pirates sailing the seas with their cutlasses. She wanted to be brave like them, not some frightened coward.

A hand snaked around her wrist, its outline barely visible in the heavy darkness. It was frigid, like a cold autumn night. Every inch of Lilibeth was a panicking mess as she immediately thought of the worst.

A beautiful boy stepped out of the darkness, and skies and gods, he was possibly the most beautiful person Lilibeth had ever seen. His skin was dark bronze, which certainly meant he was Mourradan and not Llewellenar-born. His hair was black as pitch, framed by dark crescents of lashes. He had the wiry form of an acrobat, and if Lilibeth wasn't completely enchanted by him, she'd wonder how in the name of every god that suffered he managed to come here from halfway across the world. He should be walking a tightrope and eating candied apples back in Mourrad, entrancing foreign audiences instead of her (not that she minded).

Lilibeth was convinced, after a moment or two, that she was completely in love with him. He looked around her age, but at the same time he could've been infinite. 

"What's a girl like you doing here?" the boy asked. Cauldron boil her, his voice sounded like Mourrad, sounded like caravans rolling through a hot desert shrouded by date palms, sounded like sand-swept limestone palaces and strange circus marches. If beauty had a voice, it would be his, deep and rich and wrapped in velvet.

"You're beautiful," Lilibeth blurted. "Who are you and might you marry me?"

His answering smile was a mockery of innocence. "I am nothing more than stars and moon and sun and earth."

"I'm Lilibeth," she said, batting her lashes and smiling the biggest smile she'd ever smiled, bigger than the time she'd eaten a whole plate of pear tarts.

"You are new here," the boy said. "I have never seen anyone like you before." A shadow passed over his features. "Come with me."

Oh, she'd go anywhere he wanted just to look at him. She could stare forever and ever and ever. He was a never-fading flower, dark bronze petals drenched in midnight ink, timeless and festooned in depth.

He kept his hand fastened around her wrist, leading her through twisted, crooked hallways and into the scariest room she'd ever seen.