It could have gone better.
In so many ways, I think. I made a terrible mistake bringing the bear to the Stormwarden, but how was I to know? There I was, fierce and proud, resourceful, and ever so clever. And then I remembered one little detail about the throne room I hadn’t stopped to consider before.
The full size bear rug in front of the elaborate marble fireplace.
Full-size.
Bear.
Shit.
The Axe of Stormjen lay on the throne seat of the First Warden at the top of the Stormrage See dais. I could even see the weapon glimmering from far across the banquet room, through an open door.
“No.” I said very quietly. He looked at me, gauging the distance, Could he make it to the throne and get the Axe before I could? Probably.
His eyes calculated a thousand more secrets while I flatly declared, “No.”
Holding up one hand, I whispered across the truth magic, caressing the Axe’s power like a lover would. I think? It was obvious to me: the Axe pouted. A lie had been told. I broke the connection. I lied.
I was a truth slut.
And the weapon knew it. Lingering just beyond the grasp of my mind, the power of the Axe hung in the shadows of magic at the edge of my reach. It was sullen, angry, but not yet malicious. I had to act quickly or lose that precious connection.
Magic was an eternally three year-old child.
Hand held out, my open palm faced the throne room. Standing on the top of the dining table, I did not have time to give up the high ground.
I didn’t want to anyway.
Every man at the banquet was a better warrior than I was or ever could be. And probably most of the ladies were as well. Archery, darts, killing with playing cards: survival in the courts always included such fine arts. Poisoning was the only thing I was certain they did not use. Poisons were banned ever since the apple famine over a century ago.
But that’s someone else’s story.
“You. Will. Not. Touch. Him, “ I began with my demand as any rude peasant would. “No. He is not yours. I have claimed him and he is mine by right under the most ancient of truths: the Celestial Seat.”
Grumbling, the Axe of Stormjen grew more irritated by my delay. I had to make it right or the mercurial magic would fix my actions into a curse. I knew that. The Axe knew it as well. And so did the First Stormwarden.
So did each member of the Stormrage See. That’s when I realized the trouble we were in...
Only now, did I see the fae.
Only now did I realize there were thirteen lords.
Only now. A bit late.
I had not eaten any of the food. But the bear had. Every fairytale warned of the same fate: anyone who ate the food of the fae folk was under their power forever.
At this very moment, Bear owed them a lifetime of servitude for the pheasant he currently crunched to juicy bits.
Already their magic formed unbreakable chains around his furry, muddy, bloody body while he ripped apart the stolen meal.
If he swallowed any of it, he was lost.
“Stop!” I commanded the animal, my shout echoing across the chamber.
The stormlords and ladies all paused, entranced at my bravery. Or possibly marveling at my stupidity?
“There are many magics under heaven and Earth,” I spoke with an arcane knowledge that lightning had unlocked in my memory, “...and you own the powers over nature, the weather, and truth. But I know the secrets of defeat for the fae. Be warned, I will turn the Axe of Stormjen to iron before I let you touch that bear!”
My words were an affront.
They rang and echoed across the polished black marble tiles, amongst the fine crystal ware, and the tinkling of the chandeliers of diamonds. My words halted the First Stormwarden for a brief span of time. He considered my threat. Curiosity bound him more than anything else. But not for much longer...
“You know who my family is.” I spoke the simplest truth.
The First Stormwarden nodded his ancient head as my understanding cleared.
“You know who I am.”
He nodded again.
“You’ve always known?”
His face went very still.
“Ahhh… You could not find me.” All the secrets, the magical recipes concealed in fairy tales, the training I never received because she died so suddenly—so many different bits of my childhood clicked together. “My mother and her mother’s people before them—They hid our power from your sight.” The Axe shined as I spoke the truth. Liar that I was, the Axe forgave me, but only a little.
That was something, at least.
Emboldened, I continued, “My blood does not answer to you and yours. My body is the difference here. This prince,” and that’s when I realized in that exact second with absolute certainty that the lost Prince Benjamin of the Gilded Seat was there in the fae kingdom with me. The missing Prince who was saved from a traitor kingsman only to be betrayed by my own foolishness.
If he was lost to the living world, the magic held in the Gilded Seat would be gone forever.
***
In fact, he sat there, confused, hungry, and impatient.
On my command, the enormous bear waited with the remains of a pheasant dangling from his mouth. Slobber dripped onto the floor in a disgusting pool as the bear ceased chewing on the delectable bird.
“Put it down,” I spoke to the animal.
Pointing my finger at the floor, I said nothing else. Either his pea-sized brain could hear me or he couldn’t. Never had two paths in life diverged so very far.
“Drop it.” I commanded the cursed nobleman, “Drop it now.”
With the gathered eyebrows of a remorseful dog, the gigantic bear slowly opened its sharp and pointy teeth and snuffling sadly held out its tongue. Bigger than a dinner plate, the remains of the cooked bird were completely ruined. Not that anyone would touch it after it was covered in bear saliva anyway.
With the plopping sound of a dead sailor being dropped overboard, the half-eaten meal fell onto the black, polished marble floor.
Bear looked round the room. Nearby there was a mountain of pastries and two fresh-baked berry pies. Just a few feet away from the bear’s location. Bear obediently sat on his haunches. But drool dripped from his mouth and his eyes kept wandering to the desserts.
Then, he looked back at me, waiting for me to turn my gaze away. Waiting for his chance at the free food. Overwhelmed, the bear could not stop from foraging, not for much longer…
Time ran down to the last few sands before I lost Marcus… or whatever his name was.
Frankly, the temptation was too much for a primal animal. Perfectly cooked, surpassingly sweet, and savory—fae food was made to drive men mad. Every second he stayed a bear, was one moment closer to losing him forever.
Bear kept looking at me, sniffing the air, and pawing ever so gently at the wreckage of pheasant that lay in front of him.
Bear waited for me to be distracted.
An animal has only a few needs. And a bear’s nose was a powerful tool.
There was only one answer for it.
I walked over to the beast, calm in spite of my fear. Certain in a world of wonders and nightmares. Laying my hands on either side of his enormous head, I shoved his nose into the nape of my neck. Right under my hairline, I stubbornly held his furry face against my shoulder.
“Me,” I whispered in his ears. “Smell my tears, the salt of my skin, the blood from the arrow, the blood you spilt saving us. Remember me. Remember.” I begged the beast to save us both, to make the choice that might let us live.
“Benjamin,” I whispered, “Come back.”
His nose was bigger than my jawbone, and it was wet from blood, mud, spit, and pheasant remains.
“Look at me. See me. Remember,” I whispered. “I’m here, with you. There is still a chance for us—but you must come back. Right. Now.”
All the while, I kept my eyes on the Stormwarden.