Of Fairytales and Magic by Emma Hamm
Chapter 14
The knives glinted in the dim light. They taunted Freya with thoughts of pain and the slicing ache of someone cutting into her flesh because she had dared to want something more out of this life.
Taking a deep breath, she let it slip out of her lips as she stared at the gold.
“What do I have to do?” she asked.
The Owl Mother blinked at her with eyes that were too large for her face. “Becoming the Autumn Thief requires a price. You need to show that you are willing to do whatever it takes. Pain is what I request. Use the knives wherever you wish, my dear. All I need is a true response to pain, and a little blood.”
Eldridge slid the knives away from Freya. When she started to argue, however, he wasn’t even looking at her. He was glaring at his mother as though the anger and hatred in his eyes could burn her alive. “She’s not doing this.”
“You know it’s part of becoming the Autumn Thief,” the Owl Mother replied. “You can’t stop this part, neither could I for you. This is what it takes for this court to be handed over.”
“I refuse it,” he snarled. “She will be giving no one pain simply because of an old, forgotten tradition that no one should follow, anyway.”
The Owl Mother shook her head in disappointment, a war battling in her expression. “Eldridge, this is the old ways. You cannot change something like this because you want to protect your pretty little plaything. She has to have some form of sacrifice.”
Eldridge stood. His chair fell over behind him, slamming against the ground with a sound like it had struck glass. “It was always the same with you! The old ways are better. That we can’t change the tides of history and we should never try to re-correct the boat. But no other court requires such barbaric practices.”
“I cannot change this, and neither can you!” she shouted in response. “The other gods will require the same and do you know what will happen if I don’t request my dues? They will challenge her right to being the Autumn Thief. If this mortal somehow makes it through all the trials, then she will still not get the throne.”
Obviously, that answer didn’t settle well with Eldridge. He threw his hands into the air and scoffed. “Of course. You want to change it, but you don’t see how you can. Isn’t that just like you? Every time I need you to do something for me, you have to refer to the other gods. Do you refuse to take any responsibility for your own actions? You can’t always blame them, Mother!”
Freya watched the feathers on the Owl Mother’s face ruffle. Then the old god stood as well. She clearly didn’t like her son taking such a tone with her. Perhaps there was some truth to his words, and that stung more than she was willing to admit. Even to herself.
Whatever the reasoning, Freya could see neither of them planned to budge on their opinions. As with most of the faerie arguments she’d witnessed, they were not interested in listening to each other.
But she was mortal, and she could easily read between the lines of their arguments.
The Owl Mother still saw value in the old ways, but she was also trapped by the other gods. They were going to challenge the legitimacy of Freya’s claim if she didn’t do this, and that was something she wanted to avoid. Otherwise, they would all start this whole process all over again and Freya had already proven herself to the Owl Mother.
Eldridge, on the other hand, didn’t want the woman he loved to be in pain. He would stop at nothing to protect her, even when he knew that was a foolish thing to do. He knew the risks. He just wasn’t willing to give up her well being for the risk of losing a throne.
What they both failed to realize was that this wasn’t their decision. They could argue until they were blue in the face, but they weren’t the ones that had to sacrifice pain to satisfy anyone else. This was all up to Freya.
With that thought in her head, she reached forward and grabbed one of the knives. It took a second for either of the fae to notice that she’d moved, and Freya could only imagine the picture she made.
A little dark haired mortal sitting in a chair made of mist and fog. She spun the golden knife in her hand, looking down at it as though there was some magic in it she hadn’t noticed yet. Of course, it did have some form of magic, but maybe it was only a knife. A knife meant for cutting and slicing.
“Freya,” Eldridge said quietly. “Let me handle this for you.”
She looked up and met his sad eyes. “You know that’s not how any of this works, and that’s all right. I’m going to do this for you, for me, and for the Autumn Court that I stole from someone much more qualified than me. And I’m not going to flinch.”
Freya held her arm over the goblet and didn’t let herself think or hesitate. She drew the knife across her wrist with a sharp slice, hissing out a long breath at the sudden heat that spread up from her arm.
It took a while for the real pain to sink it. About the same amount of time it took for the blood to pour from her skin into the goblet. She hadn’t made that deep of a cut, but enough for her to bleed a startling amount.
“Oh,” she whispered. “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”
Like she could feel her flesh actually parting. Hot and cold at the same time as blood warmed her skin, but gooseflesh ran up her arms.
The Owl Mother sat back down across from her, and the sadness on her expression was a warning. “The pain you feel will not remain only physical, my dear. I’m sorry for what you’re about to go through, but know it is temporary. And that any pain you find along the path will only become something that makes you stronger in the end.”
“What?” Another slicing ache of heat, followed by ice, rolled up her arm into her shoulder joint. Freya twisted hard, losing her grip on the knife that clattered onto the table. “What is happening?”
“The last part of my trial,” the Owl Mother whispered.
Eldridge caught her as she fell back from her chair. He cupped both his hands under her elbows and held her tight against his chest. “I will be here with you every step of the way,” he said, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You are not alone, my Freya. No matter what they tell you.”
She didn’t have time to ask who they were. Her fingers flexed through the pain and then, suddenly, she was somewhere else. Sure, she was still sitting at a table made of mist. But Eldridge and the Owl Mother were gone. As was the tree full of hag stones that clattered in the wind.
She was completely and utterly alone.
The wound on her arm pulsed. Her heartbeat threaded through the slice at her wrist until she didn’t know if the wound had opened up farther. A living wound with a heart that thudded every time she took a deep breath.
Freya wrapped her hand around her forearm and squeezed, slowing the blood to the open slice in her arm. The pounding in her arm and in her head slowed. She blinked, and the mist moved. It revealed a clearing with a hundred figures all standing at attention within it.
“Hello?” she called out. “Who’s there?”
One by one, the figures turned their head to stare back at her. There were a hundred goblins, each one strange and unusual. Some wore the heads of owls, others were crowned with horns. Feathers, claws, fangs, and scales all decorated the bodies of every creature waiting for her in that clearing.
“We are the many,” they replied at the same time. “You are the one.”
Slowly, Freya stood. The ground rolled under her feet and she staggered, losing her grip on her arm. A waterfall of blood spilled from her body and soaked the ground. As she stared, the spots where her blood had fallen turned black and shriveled. The grass died wherever she looked.
“That’s not possible,” she whispered.
Freya clasped her hand around her arm again and blinked. The grass returned to its emerald green state, if not slightly grayer than it had been before.
Swallowing hard, she walked forward into the clearing and stopped beside the very first goblin. This woman had the head of a vulture and claws for hands. Though her body was still mortal, the rest of her was so unusual that it was difficult for Freya to even look at her.
But there was a message here. A message Freya had to hear.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I was the first,” the vulture replied.
“What message do you have for me?”
The vulture inclined her head, her pale pink neck stretching with the movement. “The Autumn Thief was never meant to be a ruler. We were the ones who stepped outside of the laws. The ones who questioned the royals and wanted to make a safe place for those of us who had fallen out of their graces. You will never win their approval if you cannot see the strange and rejoice in it.”
This was the first Autumn Thief? Freya blinked and narrowed her eyes, squeezing her arm even harder until the rest of the vulture came into crystal clear view. The vulture woman wore leather pants and a leather corset that were decorated with inlaid gemstones and jewelry. She dripped with wealth, none of it matching. She must have stolen everything she wore, and yet she had become one of the people she had stolen from.
“Thank you for the advice,” Freya said. Then, she stepped to the next person and asked the same questions.
“I was the second,” the man with the lizard eyes replied. “Prettier than the first by far.”
Freya grinned. “Perhaps a little more human, but I don’t know if the other goblins would consider you prettier than her, my friend.”
He sniffed and lifted an azure scaled hand. “Prettier by far,” he repeated.
She bit her lips, but nodded her head. “Then what advice do you have for me, most beautiful of the Autumn Thieves?”
“Be not afraid of those you cannot control. There will be many who do not wish you to become the Autumn Thief, but you are now part of us. One of us. No one will stop you from ruling the way you should rule.” He bared his sharpened teeth in a terrifying grin. “And if they refuse to fall in line, then you must remove them from the face of this realm.”
“That seems a little aggressive for someone who doesn’t agree with me, or want me to be their ruler.” Freya couldn’t do that to another person. She was more likely to listen to their opinion. To understand why they disagreed with her.
“You are still thinking of this position like a mortal, as if your subjects will be humans who want the best for their kingdom.” The lizard man closed his hand into a fist, miming crushing someone within his grip. “If they do not agree with you, then they will stop at nothing to remove you from the throne. You must be harder than you’ve ever been before. Destroy all those who are not in your family.”
Freya swallowed hard but nodded. She didn’t know what it was like to rule any of the fae. And he seemed rather adamant that she needed to learn.
And so it went. She went down the line of all the previous Autumn Thieves who had ruled before her. They each had advice for her, though most only wanted to enforce the fact that she needed to be more than what she currently was. Every time she spoke with one, the pain in her arm would flare, and she’d squeeze it tighter.
Bright purple bruises already marked her skin in fingerprints when she finally reached the end of the line. Only one other Autumn Thief left to speak with, and her mind stretched thin. She was so tired. So tired of pain and anguish and people telling her what to do.
But when she looked up, it was into familiar eyes.
She’d seen this one before. This young owl woman with the bright moon face. She reached forward and gently placed her hand over Freya’s. “Let go,” the owl woman whispered. “It’s time for you to feel it all.”
Freya couldn’t release her grip on her arm. That was the only thing letting her see all the Thieves. She shook her head, trying her best to bring everything back into clarity. “No. I need to know who you are first.”
“You already do,” the owl woman replied with a soft squint to her eyes. Like a smile. “Let go of your arm, Freya. You need to let go.”
No. Letting go only meant that she wouldn’t see all the messages she needed. The woman’s fingers turned into claws around her arm, and Freya wrestled to be released. “I don’t need to let go. I need to hear your advice first. What message do you have for me?”
The owl woman’s outline shimmered, glowed, and then changed. The glamour dropped away and Freya realized it wasn’t an owl woman holding her hands. It was the man she wanted to call husband.
Owlish features peeled away until it was only Eldridge looking at her. “Hello, my love.”
“What message do you have for me?” she choked out the words again through tears. “I know you have something to tell me.”
“Let go.”
“No,” she said, her bottom lip quivering with the difficulty of holding herself together. “No, I know you aren’t here. I need to know what your message is and then I will. I will let go.”
He heaved a sigh, then leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. “You stubborn mortal. Fine. Your message from me is simple. Don’t listen to any other Autumn Thief. Take their advice with a grain of salt, because you are the only one who knows how to rule as you wish.”
“I don’t know how I wish to rule,” she replied. This would all be so much easier if she believed this mirage was actually Eldridge. “I never thought I would rule anyone, let alone an entire faerie court. This is all so beyond me that I don’t know what to do.”
“Then you better find out, Miss Freya.” When they leaned away from each other, the owl creature had changed yet again. This time, it was the Owl Mother herself smiling at Freya in that strange, feathered way. “You do not know what precious gift you hold inside you, do you?”
Freya had many things the fae had claimed she hid. Bravery. Power. Even sometimes something as simple as kindness. But she had no idea what she had hid from the Owl Mother. “I don’t,” she replied.
The Owl Mother lifted a clawed hand and set it against Freya’s belly. From deep inside Freya’s body, a small golden light bloomed. “Take care of yourself, and all you hold dear, Miss Freya. There’s more to your story than you thought.”
Her heart stuttered, stopped, then started up again in shock. A child? Was the Owl Mother suggesting she was with child?
Freya was so surprised, she loosened her hold on her arm. A wave of blood emerged again. But this time, she didn’t stop. She let the wash of red obscure her vision and all in the clearing. How was she supposed to focus on anything other than what the Owl Mother had said?
She was with child.
