Her top was woven of linen so fine, it flowed with the lines of her body; its pale cerulean tint was like an echo of a fading evening sky. She’d cinched the waist in with a wide leather belt adorned with snowy white pearls and purple-blue abalone and paua shell, iridescent and gleaming with subtle highlights. A matching decorative wire mesh restrained her long hair at the back of her head, and her gold dragon earrings and necklace revealed the jewels usually hidden by a simple glamour—a pearl on the mouth of one earring’s dragon, a black tourmaline in the mouth of the other, and the claws of the dragon on the necklace wrapped around a bright red ruby. These were her version of the more showy tattoos that Barbara wore, and enabled her to summon the three Riders when she needed them.
Lastly, she tucked her favorite ornamental dagger, honed to a sharpness that could almost cut you if you simply looked at it, into the sheath that hung from the leather belt. Dark blue slippers on her feet (and no stockings at all, mismatched or otherwise) meant that she was ready to go.
Physically, anyway. Psychologically was something else altogether. The Queen scared the sparkly paint right off her toenails.
“You look fine, Beka,” Chewie said from the side of the bedroom, where he’d been banished lest he accidentally get a stray clump of dog fur on her clothing. “Stop worrying. You’ll go report to Her Majesty about all the things you’ve been working on to try and track down the problem, she’ll scold you for not having solved it already, and you’ll come home. And then we’ll eat s’mores.”
“Right,” Beka said, not at all convinced things would go that smoothly. She’d rarely had to deal with the Queen herself, but she’d been with Brenna a few times when she’d been summoned to the Otherworld. It had seldom been a pleasant experience.
The Queen was incredibly beautiful, and could be quite kind, but she was as mercurial and changeable as the sea, and just as deadly when aroused to anger. After ruling the Otherworld for more years than anyone could count, her power was immense and her rule absolute.
While technically the Baba Yagas were Human, and therefore not her subjects, their unique position juxtaposed between one world and the next meant that they reported back to the Queen. And the Water of Life and Death that gave them their extended lives and increased their magical abilities was a gift from the Queen that came with the job. She might not have been their sovereign, but in a very real way, she was their boss.
“Maybe I should take a sword too,” Beka mused fretfully, fingering her dagger. “Just for balance.”
Chewie sighed, gnawing on a bone to soothe the nerves he couldn’t quite hide. “Don’t be silly. You’re going to court, not to war.”
“I’m not sure it isn’t the same thing,” Beka muttered. “At least in this case.” But she straightened her back and faced the mirror. Behind it was the closet where her clothes hung . . . unless the door was opened in just the right way, in which case it was the entrance to a passageway that led to the Otherworld.
It was part of a Baba Yaga’s duties to guard that doorway from use by anyone other than herself and anyone sent through from the other side. The Queen had the power to create temporary passages—like the one the parchment-bearing messenger had undoubtedly come through—but for everyone else, the only way into or out of the Otherworld was through one of these doorways.
In the olden days, before the Otherworld had been permanently separated from the mundane plane where Humans lived, there were many places where the two worlds touched; a mortal might accidentally find himself spending a lifetime in what seemed like an hour, dancing with maidens whose unearthly beauty would haunt him forever, or a mischievous sprite could wander through to lure a passing stranger into a murky bog.
These days, though, there were a few remaining natural entrances, all carefully safeguarded by the Queen’s handpicked protectors, and the doorways that existed inside each Baba Yaga’s travelling home.
“It’s time, Beka,” Chewie said. “You wouldn’t want to keep the Queen waiting.”
Goddess forbid.
Beka took a deep breath and put her hand flat against the door in a spot precisely three inches above the crystal knob, and two inches inward. Then she sent a carefully measured pulse of energy into the living matrix of the gateway; sort of the energetic equivalent of a secret knock—two long, three short, two long. The door swung open to reveal a sparkling curtain of mystical light, like a thousand fireflies darting and glowing in a swirl of ever-changing motion.
She formed a strong mental picture of where she wanted to go: Tir fo Thuinn, the underwater portion of the Queen’s realm, where her sea-dwelling subjects could visit in comfort. Then she gathered up her skirts and her courage and took one giant step forward.
*
A SWIRLING GRAY fog enveloped Beka as soon as she stepped through the doorway. Tiny glowing purple and gold lights flitted and flew around her, finally forming a shimmering path that led onward into the depths of the Otherworld. With each footstep, a faint musical chime resounded through the seemingly endless mists, growing louder as she moved in the direction she was meant to go.