Of Fairytales and Magic by Emma Hamm
Chapter 13
Eventually, Freya turned away from the cliff and meandered down the path. Neither Eldridge nor his mother appeared, so she had to assume she should wander. Or find her own way back. At the very least, it gave her time to think. Time to wonder at the magic that had risen to the occasion when she needed saving.
“Are you aware of being inside me?” she asked, her voice whispered low and quiet.
She heard in her ear an answering hum. A breathy sound of someone agreeing with her. As if the magic was answering, yes. It was very much aware of being within her. It had a mind and personality of its own, but for now, it was content to live within the heart of a mortal.
Freya touched a hand to her ribs, wondering if she could feel it. That strange pulse of magic must move through her skin. But she couldn’t feel anything. Just her own chest rising and falling with each breath.
“Thank you for helping me,” she whispered. “I don’t know how long you’ll be with me, but I am very grateful for your help.”
Another faint chuckle echoed through her mind. Almost as though the magic jested that it knew she had needed it, and that she was lucky it had helped. She’d needed its assistance right out of the gate, but after that, she’d managed on her own quite well.
Freya was proud of that. She’d only needed the magic for one out of the three riddles.
A tree appeared on the horizon. The same tree she’d seen upon first entering this realm. The hag stones danced in the wind and clinked together as they moved. It was a beautiful dance Freya enjoyed watching, and one she might have relaxed with if two feathered figures hadn’t soared over her head.
The great horned owl and barn owl moved as though they had flown together a thousand times. As if flying through the air in unison came to them naturally, and Freya supposed it must. How many times had mother and son done this?
They landed on the ground next to the tree, then allowed their magic to fall from their forms. The Owl Mother stood with a stooped back and her white cloak draped over her form. And Eldridge, her sweet, handsome Eldridge, appeared to her as he should have all those months ago.
He didn’t hide himself, proving that her first vision of him had been true. The owlish face was warped on him. Half of his features were that of an owl, and the other half only had a sprinkling of feathers. But his eyes were the same. They were always the same.
Clawed, curled hands remained limp at his sides. He let her look over his features with only the slightest of winces. “Hello, Freya.”
What did she say to him? That she loved him? The words felt a little too dull, even though her heart still thundered in her chest for him. Only him.
What words could soothe the fear in his chest? She would love him like this, no matter what. Of course she would. No form or figure would ever change the man he was, and how deeply she loved his soul.
Freya stepped closer to the tree, pausing when he looked away from her. “Goblin King. I’m afraid I must ask you to make another deal with me. One last time.”
His gaze flicked to hers. “And what would that be, Hero of the Faerie Courts?”
“Let me love you in every shape you come in,” she replied. “And I will give you my heart.”
The feathers on his face lifted, ruffling in the wind. “That’s a horrible deal, Freya.”
“It’s the only deal I want. For the rest of my life and a thousand times over.” She couldn’t help herself. She had to walk forward until she was right in front of him, begging with her eyes for him to reach out and take her in his arms. “I don’t care what you look like, Eldridge. If you suddenly turned into an owl for the rest of our lives, we’d make it work. I want to marry you. I want to spend the rest of my days waking up and seeing your perfect face in the sunrise. Man or beast. Make this deal with me, and I promise to never break it.”
A deep groan echoed in his throat. He reached out with a clawed, curled hand, and cupped the back of her neck. He drew her close until their foreheads touched. “You stubborn, foolish woman. I love you with all my bitter soul.”
“It’s not all that bitter,” she replied with a soft chuckle. “You think so much less of yourself in this form, but you are even more otherworldly to me like this. You are my fairytale prince, Eldridge. Nothing would ever make me give you up.”
His breath fanned across her lips before he kissed her. Gently, softly, even as his feathers tickled her cheeks and then slowly disappeared. When they drew back, he had returned to the Eldridge she knew.
Freya reached up and touched her fingers to the tufts on his ears. “I always thought these were fur.”
“You were wrong.” He smiled down at her. But she knew this wouldn’t be the only time she’d see his true form. Something in his gaze had warmed even further. “Now, let me properly introduce you to my mother.”
Eldridge lifted his arm in a grand flourish and turned them both to meet the Owl Mother’s waiting gaze. The old god really was intimidating to look at, but goodness, she was beautiful too.
The moon shaped white face stared back at her with all the wisdom of the world hidden in her eyes. Freya knew that this goddess wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything. She had seen so much in her life that she knew what a waste it was to let fear grow too strong within her being.
A breeze swept at the edge of the Owl Mother’s cloak, revealing a strong but wiry body underneath it. The Owl Mother had aged, and time already showed in her limbs. Unlike any faerie Freya had met thus far.
“So, you are the one my son has chosen for himself,” the Owl Mother said. She folded her hands at her waist and looked Freya up and down. “There are many who will be disappointed in this.”
“And they won’t be the first or the last.” Freya rolled her eyes. “I don’t fear the opinions of others. If they don’t want me to be with the Goblin King, then they can take up their concerns with him.”
Eldridge bared his teeth in a mockery of a grin. “And I will have very few chosen words to say in return.”
Apparently, the Owl Mother was very aware of what her son planned to do. She sighed heavily and shook her head. “I see now why you chose this path. Loving a mortal is a short pastime. But make her immortal? One of us? Then you will have a millennium to learn and grow with each other. It was the only path.”
Some tension drained out of Freya’s shoulders. At least the Owl Mother understood her decision. Even Eldridge still thought Freya was mad for trying to do this on her own. But the Owl Mother had understood. That had to count for something.
“I love him,” Freya replied. “I would do anything to be with him for as long as possible.”
“It was a selfish choice.” The Owl Mother lifted her hands. Mist swirled around her, then solidified into a table and chairs. The old woman sat down as though standing that long had made her bones ache. “And now you need to learn what happens when you make a choice like that on your own. The Autumn Court cannot and will not be ruled by someone who took the power only to be with another.”
“That wasn’t the only reason why I took it.” It wasn’t. Freya knew the main reason was that she had wanted to be immortal, like Eldridge. But there had been another, buried deeper in her mind. “The Autumn Thief was dying. I had to help.”
The Owl Mother gestured for her to take a seat. They didn’t have a choice to say no. Both Eldridge and Freya sat across from the mist born table and watched as the Owl Mother steepled her fingers and pressed them against her pronounced beak. “Yes, Lark. What did she say when you first found her with that wound upon her neck?”
“An assassin has come to the Autumn Court,” Freya replied. “We assumed she meant someone tried to kill her.”
Now that she said the words, she realized how wrong they were. And how clear the answer was if Eldridge had only remembered these trials sooner.
“An assassin,” Freya repeated in horror. “One of you tried attacking her, so she tried to take her own life before you could.”
The Owl Mother inclined her head. “Not just one of us, Freya. Death is one of the greatest old gods to ever live. The three of us are ancient, but he is the oldest. He was the first and will be the last, no matter how much the Horned God and I fight for our lives. Death is inevitable.”
“So you are not fae,” Freya replied.
She’d assumed as much. Just seeing all the children of the Owl Mother had changed her mind on what they were. Eldridge was obviously one of the fae, and his goblin sisters couldn’t be denied that lineage either. Though they were powerful creatures, they were still the same as the other faeries. But the Owl Mother? She was something else.
“No,” the Owl Mother confirmed. “Old gods are not what the fae are, but we created them. Back then, there were four of us. I was the mother of the Autumn Court. The Horned God created Summer. Our dear, departed sister created Spring. And Death created Winter. All the courts were meant to live together in harmony. We were seasons of the world that shifted around each other and created a more powerful unity. We were wrong.”
“Everyone wanted their own power, I assume?”
Eldridge took her hand and lifted it to his mouth. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Power desires more power. It is how the world turns, no matter whether one is in the faerie courts or the mortal realm.”
What a horribly sad history for these people. She couldn’t imagine having come from such strife and hardship, although she supposed mortal history was likely as horrific.
Freya took a deep breath and nodded. “Then I understand this position is more important than I realized. The Autumn Court needs a strong leader to help heal those old wounds from years ago.”
They were the right words to say. The Owl Mother heaved a relieved sigh and leaned back into her misty chair. “Yes, finally. So many people have come through my trials, passed them, but never understood what I really wanted from them. I hope your words remain true no matter what is thrown your way, my dear.”
“Time will tell.” Freya hoped she could maintain that trust and hope that the Owl Mother had placed on her shoulders. She wanted to be that person for the Autumn Court.
If there was one thing Freya knew how to do, it was how to love people she thought she should hate. Old prejudices died hard. But sometimes they had to be given up.
“It’s not going to always be so easy, you know.” The Owl Mother looked pointedly at her son, then back to Freya. “I have a soft spot for my boy, and that clouded my judgement. I could have been much harder on you.”
“I know.” And she was forever grateful that this first test of wits had been one she could overcome and survive. This was the first step toward making everything right.
A familial urge tried to propel her hand over the table and reach for the Owl Mother’s hand. Freya wanted to touch this woman who would be her mother-in-law. She wanted to hold on to her hand and promise that she would take care of this woman’s son, no matter what happened to them. Their relationship was stronger than any of these faeries could imagine.
But when she reached across the table, the Owl Mother moved her hand away. “Please don’t try to be my friend, Freya. A god has no friends, and there is even less family between the two of us. What you need to do now is the sacrifice portion of your trial.”
Sacrifice?
She looked at Eldridge and his expression of horror, then back to the Owl Mother. “No one mentioned a sacrifice. I didn’t bring anything with me.”
“It’s not a sacrifice of an important object.” The Owl Mother waved her hand, and the mist on top of the table parted to reveal a small platter. Twin gold knives sat atop it and a chalice decorated with falling leaves. “The Autumn Thief is someone who can withstand not only a battle of wits, but a battle of pain as well. No Thief is a weakling.”
