Land of Smoke and Ashes

Black Mist, Black Magic

At that moment she realized why it looked so familiar, and her stomach clenched. The smoky darkness stretching up from the field of lavender looked very much like the inky black veins that stretched out over the pale skin of the queen's men. It looked different snaking up into the air like that, but the longer she looked the more undeniable it was. It was the same magic.

"That's her." Her mouth felt dry. Her voice came out in a strained croak. "Her magic?"

"It's her palace," Gwen said grimly. "She's letting it become visible, in case the people weren't already intimidated enough by the soldiers marching through here."

Natalie couldn't seem to take her eyes off the black mist. Part of her wanted to look away, was horrified by the sight of it. Another, much larger part, felt butterflies in her stomach as she watched it. Her mother was in there.

It seemed that none of them could look away, because they stayed there in a group by the window for what seemed like hours as the mist took shape, slowly, so slowly. At first it was nothing but a black, formless shape, and then it stretched up and up, revealing peeks and towers and narrow, slit-like windows. There was a clocktower at the very top, all done in black metal and silver, the gears on the outside, the hands two long, needle-like blades.

Natalie was vaguely aware while she watched, that Sam was standing very close. That he was tall enough that her head only came up a little past his shoulder, that every time he shifted his arm brushed hers. She told herself firmly, that now was not the time to think about such things.

Finally it was there, a black and silver palace, jagged towers stretching up into a cloudless blue sky. It seemed impossible that it should be there, out of place against the idyllic countryside, like a deadly snake in a bed of roses. It made her gut squirm uncomfortably and the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, like some small part of her could sense that the palace was made of magic, and not good magic either.

But her mother was there. Right there in front of her.

Again, Natalie darted a look over at Kira. The princess was studying the palace through the window, and her face was stony. Determined. There was nothing of Sam's caution, his wariness, in the young woman's features. If anyone would help her, it would be Kira.

Dinner was a grim, silent affair. Partly because Edward had pulled Sam aside, into the next room, and asked why Kira was here. If it was meant to be a private conversation then it failed. They could all hear him hiss at Sam, asking why the princess was here, and didn't Sam know she was going to get them killed almost as effectively as "that damn human".

The argument that followed this was conducted in hissing whispers, but they might as well have been shouting. The walls were thin. Sam insisted that they could not "just put Kira out on the street" as the soldiers were looking for them, and Edward said that they were looking for her, that was the point, wasn't it?

Sam seemed to pretty much settle things when he told Edward to go ahead and eject the princess then, he could explain to King Helios that he'd pushed his heir out into the street because she was a risk to them.

Both Natalie and Kira ended up blushing bright red, and Natalie had glared at both of them as they came back into the room. Edward pointedly ignored her, and he made sure to do the same at the dinner table an hour later.

Natalie jabbed a piece of bread bad-temperedly into the wooden bowl, coating the end with the thick chilli. She was about to lift it to her mouth when a thump from the stairs made her drop it back into the bowl. Sam jumped up from the table, snatching up his long blades, which he'd been keeping next to his place-setting throughout the meal. He nodded curtly at Gwen, who moved from her spot at the table and toward the door. She shifted into something else, it seemed, back to those cat-like movements that Natalie had first seen from her at the village in the mountains. She crept toward the door on soft feet, and Sam followed her, his blades up and ready.