Of Fairytales and Magic by Emma Hamm

Chapter 8

Eldridge led them through long, winding hallways that seemed to have no end. Freya wanted to trail her fingers along the walls, marking their passage in the thick layers of dust. But something told her to keep her hands to herself. Sure, she might have proven herself strong by blasting the door open. But that didn’t mean the Stronghold liked her just yet.

Besides, Eldridge knew where they were going. He walked through the halls with the confident stride of a man who had made this journey many times. Although the curve of his shoulders suggested he wasn’t ready to do it again.

He paused and put his shoulder to a wooden door that was barely visible behind a thick layer of soot and smoke stains. “This is the room.”

With that, he heaved his weight against the door and it swung open with an angry squeal of rusted metal hinges. Arms full, they all walked into a room that Freya could now call the great hall. For what else would this cathedral-like room be?

The ceiling stretched over three stories high above their head. Light filtered through the stained glass ceiling, though many of the marvelous pieces were shattered. Ivy dangled through any openings it could, and nature entered the room with wild abandon. Four massive pillars outlined the empty hall, each one carved with different symbols of the courts. Daisies for spring, waves for summer, leaves for fall, and snowflakes for winter.

Even the walls were painted with a thousand scenes, like they had walked into a secret chapel that honored the history of the fae. Battles with orcs wielding hammers the size of mortal men, and pixies floating in the air with sparks of magic at their fingertips. Quiet scenes of heartbreak as the fae knelt over the bodies of fallen heroes. Freya’s eyes caught on a much larger mural depicting all the fae on their knees, worshiping three figures shrouded in darkness.

“Those are the old gods,” Eldridge grunted as he placed his trunk down beside hers. “They always wanted us to remember that we were meant to bend a knee to them.”

“Why did you? The fae are so powerful.”

“They gave us life,” he replied with a shrug. “And for all the power the fae hold in their hands, that magic was once living in one of the old gods. We worship them because they deserve it. Without them, we are nothing.”

Arrow paused beside her and snorted. “Also, because the court leaders aren’t sure if the old gods can take the magic back. What would the fae do without all the powers they were given? Better not to make anyone mad that gave us all we have.”

Right, that made a lot more sense. Freya shared a knowing look with the goblin dog, before noticing even the floor was incredible.

Wide tiles of molten gold and silver had been strategically placed in a herringbone pattern. Each tile was inlaid with precious gemstones that gleamed even in the dim light of the room.

“What was this place, then?” she asked.

Freya had thought it was the great hall. She could imagine long tables here for feasting and parties. But now that she’d absorbed all the details, she wasn’t so sure.

With a long sigh, Eldridge tousled his hair and ran a hand down the back of his neck. “I guess you would call it a church, but not really. The fae don’t worship like you do. It’s more a... a...” He struggled to find the word, then pointed his fingers at Arrow and snapped them. “What’s that thing the mortals call it? The pagan ones.”

“A shrine.” Arrow nodded firmly. “That’s closer, you’re right. It’s not the same as those mortals who insist on everything being so stuffy. This is more like the old ways of the mortals.”

A shrine. That sounded right to her ears as well. And this room wasn’t just for worshipping the old gods, but also for the very history of the fae. They mourned their fallen, because so few faeries ever died. Freya could feel thousands of years worth of emotions that had built up in the walls of this room. Heartbreak. Sadness. Guilt. It was a heavy place to even stand in, let alone sleep.

“And this is where you think we’ll be safest?” She asked the question with no small amount of skepticism.

Eldridge nodded toward the back right corner of the room, the one with the autumn pillar. “I’m certain it will be safe. It’s where I found my own solitude for the many years that I attempted to live here and appease the gods myself.”

How had she missed it? The entire corner of the room had been turned into a makeshift bedroom. A small cot in the corner, with a desk and a wall plastered with paintings, notes, and what looked like ripped pages of books.

She stepped closer to the small area and pressed a hand to her heart. Freya hadn’t realized how important it had become to see where he’d grown up as a child. She wanted to know his history, more than just described in words. And now she could really see what he’d been like for herself.

“I always wondered if you were the same when you were the Autumn Thief,” she said with a soft chuckle. The sound carried through the room, a little too loud.

Eldridge paused at the old desk, leaned down, and blew hard. Dust burst into the air and danced in the thin beams of sunlight. “I suppose I was a little less confident.”

“You were still cocky,” Arrow corrected. He hopped up onto the bench that served as a chair for the desk and glared at the papers. “And perhaps a little obsessive in your research. But you were a younger version of yourself. Arrogant. Reckless.”

“Fun,” Eldridge added, then ruffled the fur on top of Arrow’s head. “I was also very fun to be around and everyone enjoyed my presence.”

Considering the look on Arrow’s face, Freya wasn’t so sure about that. She could easily imagine that Eldridge had been a little out of control in his youth. She turned away to hide the bright grin on her face. Instead, Freya focused on all the documents that Eldridge had pinned to the walls.

Some of them were histories of this land. Others were detailed descriptions of the old gods.

Leaning closer, she eyed a depiction of the Owl Mother with her eyes a little too realistic for comfort. “What were you doing here, Eldridge?”

“Researching the gods and trying to figure out a way to get out of the burden.” Eldridge reached around her to trace the drawing with a finger. “I realized rather quickly that there was no way out of this. The Autumn Thief would always be tied to the old gods, and if we tried to sever that tie, all the other courts would suffer. Our line of rulers would suffer while the rest could flourish.”

Maybe that was why Lark had given up. The old gods must have driven her to madness to cut through her own throat like that.

The thoughts were too dark. They clouded her mind and pressed against her lips and throat in a scream that needed to erupt. This was her future. She could so easily become Lark.

She turned her attention to the cot covered in yet another delicate film of dust. A blanket was folded at the foot of the bed, as if someone had been preparing to return but never did. She touched a hand to the plaid blanket, then looked back at the soft expression on Eldridge’s face. “How old were you when you first took up the mantle of the Autumn Thief?”

He shook his head, eyebrows raising for a moment, before he shrugged. “I don’t know. I was very young, certainly younger than any of the others. But my power was more than just the Autumn Thief, and the old gods knew it. They wanted to control me for as long as they could until I surpassed even them.”

“I still don’t understand why you are the Goblin King, or how that even came to be.”

Eldridge looked a little awkward at the question. He shuffled his feet from side to side, looked at Arrow, then at everything but her.

It was Arrow who answered with a huff. “The Goblin King or Queen goes to the most powerful person in all the courts. We view them as almost godly. No court leader should be infinitely stronger than another. That would lead to war. Therefore, if someone gets too strong, they become the king.”

“Who rules over all the others, but doesn’t have a court of his own,” Freya murmured. It made sense. It kept everyone in check. Even the most powerful.

Arrow huffed out another breath and scuffed his foot on the ground. “This place is dirty. I am dirty. And now I have to find a place to sleep that isn’t this because if I have to sit in the dirt for one more moment, I think I’m going to lose my mind.”

Freya flicked a dust bunny off his nose and wiped even more grime from his mouth. “I think you look cute while you’re covered in dust.”

Again, he snuffled something about rude mortals and how they were always happy to live in filth, but then slipped away. She should worry that he was going to get in trouble, but that sense of the Stronghold inside her didn’t mind him wandering. In fact, if she stretched her awareness far enough, it seemed like the Stronghold was opening doors for him. Hurrying him into a part of the keep where he would be warm and clean.

So the dust and dirt could be a show then. Yet another way for the Stronghold to tell her that it didn’t appreciate her being anywhere inside it.

Fantastic.

“I don’t think the Stronghold wants either of us here,” she said.

“No, it likely doesn’t. But that’s all right. The Stronghold doesn’t get a say in who becomes the Autumn Thief, or whether they have a right to live within its walls.” Eldridge tapped the stone for good measure before holding his arms out to her. “Come here, my love. How are you holding up?”

She wasn’t. Freya felt a little like she was falling apart at the seams. Everything was going so quickly and she had been so certain that she wanted this, that she hadn’t taken the time to think about what it would mean to be the Autumn Thief. Now she was thinking about it.

The Stronghold should be her home, now. She had an entire court of people to look after, and now the added responsibility of appeasing gods that could easily take away all the magic of the fae. She also had to figure out how to use this new power inside her, make it through the trials, and then somehow deal with the reality that she was immortal.

Or could be immortal.

Was she yet?

Brows furrowing, she looked up at Eldridge and asked, “Am I already fae? Or am I still a mortal with the Autumn Thief’s magic inside me?”

He chuckled and tucked her head back underneath his chin. “The entire world falling down around your ears, and the only thing you’re worried about is if you’re still mortal.”

“Well.” Her words were garbled, mouth mashed against his collarbone. “I didn’t exactly think any of this through. You know how I am.”

“Yes, I do.” Eldridge released his hold on her and took a step back, allowing them both a little space. “You run head first into danger without a care for yourself, as long as that danger benefits those you love. We’re all very lucky to have you in our lives, even if you are a nuisance sometimes.”

“A nuisance?” How dare he? She had spent too much of her life making sure everyone was happy to be called that.

Opening her mouth to argue, Freya stopped when Eldridge held his hands out to her. His fingers glimmered with power, then his skin darkened into a night sky. Just his hands glowed with all the power of a universe inside them. A million stars glittered on his skin, a thousand planets and so many lives all contained in a universe held inside him.

“This is how you know when your powers come in. You’ll have an entire galaxy inside you, bubbling to the surface, incapable of being contained. It’s like burning alive and falling in love all at the same time.” He turned his hands over and the glittering magic intensified.

“I don’t have that,” she whispered. Freya told herself not to be too disappointed. Not yet, at least.

She couldn’t wait until that magic burned in her, though. For the moment when she was the hero of the story one last time before responsibilities and the world pressed back down on her shoulders. Before she had to become someone else again. Someone that suited what the old gods wanted. What the Autumn Court needed.

“Don’t you?” Eldridge asked. He looked pointedly at her hands.

Freya lifted them to his and watched as the tips of her fingers turned orange with bright, sparkling lights. Tiny pinpricks opened up in her skin, but they didn’t hurt. They weren’t wounds, after all. They were magic finally making itself known.

She pressed their hands together and her soul sang with an ancient song. Drums beat in her ears and the melody of a thousand voices lifted into a hymn she didn’t recognize. All the Autumn Thieves who’d come before her were here with her now. They whispered ancient words, old spells, and power that could only be controlled by her will.

“As I suspected,” Eldridge whispered. He brought her hands to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles. “It has already begun.”