“Sure, why not?”
It was the prince from Auvers who’d joined the riding party yesterday. He was young—eighteen or nineteen? But he looked fit, and he’d done his part helping with the horses after the disaster ride.
They decided to run one of the trails beside the lake. “No more than four miles for me today, and slow,” Omar said. “I need to work back up.”
“Good with me, as long as we can do a few sprints.”
“What’s your name again? Sorry I can’t remember.”
“No big deal. It’s Briar.”
They jogged on a path leading west along the lakeshore between flowerbeds and green lawn. A stand of trees blocked the lake from view. Everything seemed idyllic, yet Omar felt uneasy. “Do you ever get the feeling you’re being watched? I mean, like, now?”
“Watched by what, flowers?” Amusement laced Briar’s voice, and Omar was about to subtract the kid from his potential-friends list . . . but then Briar glanced at him. “To be honest, yeah, I do. This place is laced with magic. I’m only half kidding about the flowers.”
“When did you arrive?” Omar asked.
“Night before last. Seems like a great place.”
“You haven’t been here before?”
“Never, but I’ve heard about it all my life.”
Conversation lagged, yet the silence was comfortable. Trees still blocked their lake view, but the snow-topped mountains rose above all, majestic and silent.
“Something wrong?” Briar asked. “I don’t mean to pry, but you seem out of sorts.”
“Parents pushing for marriage,” Omar said. “Wrong girl.”
Briar nodded. “Understood.”
No further words necessary. Then the trail cut right toward the lake, revealing a view of the sirens’ island . . . or where it should be.
Omar nearly tripped over his own feet. “Whoa, look at that!” The lake shimmered in morning sunlight, but a thick mist enveloped the island.
“I’m guessing the fog is unusual,” Briar said.
“Very,” Omar said.
They both stood there, panting.
“Magical, of course,” Briar said calmly. “The island has sirens, I’ve heard.”
Omar gave his head a shake. “A friend of mine drove a ski boat to the island the other day and walked up the beach. No human has ever done that before. I’m guessing the cloud is connected to Tor’s island invasion. Sort of a message from the siren queen to keep off.”
“Took a lot of nerve to try a stunt like that.” Briar’s silvery eyes glinted as he surveyed the island. “Fantastic. That island . . . it doesn’t belong here, does it.”
“They say the siren queen moved it here from Singkiang.”
Briar shook his head in wonder. “I really want to see this place.”
“It’s off-limits to guests.”
Briar glanced at him. “We’d better get going.”
A feeling of something wrong hovered over Omar all the way to the two-mile marker and remained after they turned back. Briar was a good running partner. He talked enough, but not too much. Yet Omar sensed impending trouble, and he feared Ellie would be involved. Was Briar connected with it?
After a furtive glance at the blond prince, Omar tried to remember what he knew about Auvers. It was a wealthy land with extensive coastline and many harbors, ruled by a queen with a prince consort. He thought there was some tragic story connected with the Auvers royal family, though he might have gotten his northern countries mixed.
When it came right down to it, Omar didn’t know much about any of his summer companions. In his experience, relationships formed at Faraway Castle seldom went deep, although his sister Layla seemed happy in her marriage to a lord from El Dabaa, an ancient land far to the west of Khenifra. The two had met at the resort every summer, and somehow during the eighth year something had clicked for both of them.
Friendships were difficult enough for Omar. Romance was a greater challenge still, but he was highly motivated. If Ellie needed help or protection, he wanted to be there for her.
He and Briar sprinted the last stretch then agreed to cool down by walking to the docks and maybe even taking a plunge. Now that he’d apologized to the lake serpent, Omar thought he might take the chance.
While they paused at the picnic tables to stretch, a noise caught Omar’s attention. On the shore near the beach, someone was putting a kayak in the water. The guy climbed in, pushed off, and Omar saw him clearly.
Tor.
Taking a kayak.
To the island. The island covered in magical mist.
Omar spun toward Briar. “That’s Tor. He must be siren enchanted. We’ve got to stop him.” He took off running along the shore, shouting, “Tor, don’t do it! Wait—you don’t know what you’re doing!”
Tor heard him. He shook his head and paddled faster.
Omar stopped beside the row of upturned kayaks and stared, his mind racing. What could he do? If Tor entered that mist, would he ever return? Old legends spun through his head. Tor might go insane. He could be dragged under and drowned, or even eaten by sirens!
Briar appeared at his side. “What should we do? Was he wearing a lifejacket?”
“Yes. He swims like a fish. But the sirens . . .” He made up his mind. Turning, he gripped Briar’s forearm and pushed the button on his wristband. “That calls Ellie Calmer, the girl from the stables yesterday. She might be able to talk Tor out of the enchantment. Go back to the castle—she’ll find you. I’ll take another kayak and chase Tor down.”
He flipped one upright.
No paddle.
He took off running toward the storage sheds and racks.
“But won’t the sirens enchant you too?” Briar ran beside him.
“I don’t think so.” Omar snatched a paddle off a rack and ran back. “Go get Ellie!”
“Right. Be careful.” Briar headed off toward the castle.
Omar shoved his kayak into the water, climbed in, and started paddling. Tor had a big head start, but there was still a chance.
In the castle ballroom, Ellie carefully herded a flock of cinder sprites into a corner where she had sprinkled fresh spinach and romaine. Two males and five females, one of these quite pregnant, squeaked and puffed, but she heard the occasional crackle.
“Look at all those lovely greens I brought for you,” she crooned while pulling on her fire-resistant glove. “And there is more good stuff in my comfortable cages. Wouldn’t you like to join a whole herd of sprites at the Gamekeeper’s castle? Imagine a world where sprites run free . . .” She couldn’t help grinning when one of the females suddenly bucked and squealed then ran ahead into the waiting feast.
“There now. Smart girl! What did I tell you?” Once the creatures were happily tucking in, she could freely walk among them, tempt one at a time with a carrot, and lift it into a cage. The process took time, but she was patient. Her goal was always to capture the little squeakers without one of them going ember, and in the quiet of the ballroom she had a chance for complete success.
Her wristband buzzed. Frustrated, she glanced at it. Someone near the docks. It couldn’t be cinder-sprite trouble—they mostly avoided water—and the lake monster wasn’t a real threat. Could it be sirens? She looked back at the cinder sprites and shook her head. Whatever it was would have to wait until she finished this job.
The big black-and-white male would be the challenge. He had led his friends into the promised land called Ballroom and to all appearances expected to take over the place, though what he thought they would eat, Ellie couldn’t guess. Sprites were hard to figure sometimes. Her magical urgings had confused this tough guy into compliance, but she recognized a battle going on inside his tufty head with its long, spiraled horns. He could prove a challenge to capture.