Frogs & Fae: A Frog Prince Retelling (Tales of Fae) Page 3

  They stole through another corridor, and down several cramped flights of stairs. “We’re getting close,” Lillian breathed.

  “This has been extremely simple so far,” Dylan remarked.

  “Don’t get used to it,” Lillian warned. “It won’t stay this easy.”

  Dylan half-shrugged a shoulder and they continued their descent.

  Lillian felt the air about them thicken as they drew closer to the vault. The atmosphere seemed heavier somehow, more threatening.

  “It’s dangerous down here,” Dylan breathed after a moment. “This isn't a good place for fae.”

  Lillian glanced at him, expecting to see fear, and stifled a groan at the excitement she saw glittering in his green eyes.

  “What are you planning?” she said.

  “We already discussed this,” he replied. His long legs took him ahead of her, but she latched onto his arm, tugging him back. “There are guards around this corner,” she hissed. “They’re guarding the vault.”

  “How many?”

  “Two.”

  Dylan rolled his eyes. “And you’re worried?”

  “They carry Anti-fae weapons.”

  The fae’s eyes widened and he swallowed. “I see.”

  “It’s not too late to turn back,” Lillian suggested.

  Dylan inhaled sharply. “Yes it is.” Quicker than thought he darted around the corner and was gone.

  Lillian stood there, gaping. Did he really think to take out two armed men? He didn’t appear to be particularly strong, and if he was older than her sixteen years of age, he didn’t look it. Lillian barrelled after him, summoning her own magic, trying to find something she could use, but all she sensed was endless stone, and druid ability didn't extend to manipulating rocks.

  At the far end of the adjacent hall, Lillian just had time to see Dylan go flying through the air, landing a solid sidekick to a guard’s face, and a series of jabs that took the other guard down. Both men were slumped on the ground in a matter of seconds, weapons still sheathed at their sides.

  “That was fun.” Dylan put his hands on his narrow hips, looking down at the unconscious men with no small amount of satisfaction. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He tugged the drawstrings on his belt pouch and sprinkled green, glittery powder on their faces.

  Lillian stared at the men. “I thought you weren’t going to kill them,” she whispered.

  “They’re not dead,” Dylan insisted. “I just knocked them out. The sleeping dust will ensure they stay asleep for the next few hours.”

  “Oh,” Lillian said. “Okay. Now take down the anti-fae wards without setting off the alarm.”

  Dylan eyed her. “You're not very useful, are you?”

  “You're the one who insisted I come with you.”

  “Well, I will need your help in a moment. You'll have to cast the anti-spell. Tricky, in that the cursed individual can't cast it himself.”

  Dylan's brow scrunched in concentration, and he placed his hands on the wooden door, jumping back with a startled yelp, and uttered something in the fae tongue that sounded distinctly like an oath. He motioned to the iron that studded the door. “The iron has been enchanted, so that the effect of it seeps into the wood.” His face twisted in disgust. “For a group of people who denounce magic as evil, Anti-fae are a pretty hypocritical bunch.”

  “What do you mean?” Lillian asked.

  Dylan opened his mouth to respond, then froze, as a woman's scream echoed throughout the house.

  They exchanged looks. “Did you close your bedroom door when we left it?” He asked.

  Lillian covered her face with her hands in horror.

  “Ah.” Dylan looked back down the hall. “The frogs must have escaped your room.” He gestured toward the door. “You'll have to figure out a way to get this open, as my powers are useless against it. Hurry. Your uncle will have heard that woman, so I'll keep him distracted as long as I can. Find the spell. I'll meet you back down here. We don't have much time.”

  Lillian gulped, heart hammering as she eyed the vault. She wasn't even sure she could take down the protective ward.

  “Catch you later.” Dylan took off running back the way they'd come. A frog hopped around the corner and the fae scooped it up as he ran.

  Well, then. Lillian turned to face the door, scanning it for enchantments.

  The Anti-fae hated fae, magic, and humans who wielded magic, so she agreed with Dylan; it always struck her as hypocritical that Anti-fae would use magic. They claimed it was anti-magic, but magic was magic, regardless of what it did.

  She didn't touch the door, afraid of what it might do. She knew channeling enchantment into it wouldn't do anything. The door was designed to absorb it.

  “Fine,” she muttered. “We'll do this the hard way.”

  She just desperately hoped that whatever Dylan had planned, would keep the entire manor distracted for the next long while, because what she was about to do, would get her whipped for a week straight.

  She thrust her enchantment into the rock below her feet, searching, searching . . . there. The roots of a tree that grew just outside. She called to it, and, inch by inch, she pulled the root to the surface, making it grow, push, and search until it burst from the floor, spraying dirt everywhere.

  Lillian gasped, her shoulders slumping with fatigue. “Fae's sake,” she sputtered. “I'm already exhausted.” How was she supposed to open the door?

  7.

  The manor was silent. Eerily silent. Where was Dylan? And more worrisome; where was her uncle?

  Hopefully, her uncle was sleeping. But with it being so close to dawn, she wasn't too certain of that. And aside from that, someone had screamed, probably a maid, and Dylan was undoubtedly causing mischief somewhere.

  A dull rumble shook the foundations of the manor, the sound coming from above. Lillian's heart constricted. There was her distraction. Uncle would be awake for sure. She had to open the door now.

  She focused her remaining energy on the root, and it exploded up and forward, slamming against the door. There it took root, forcing itself into the wood of the door, causing it to split with a loud groan.

  A tremendously loud clanging filled the air, signaling that the vault had been breached. Lillian whimpered and ducked inside. She needed to be in and out before her uncle made it down here. Her hide and magic depended on it.

  On entering the vault she inhaled a cloud of dust and sneezed violently several times. Muttering an oath under her breath, she held aloft the golden ball that Dylan had given her, the orb filling with golden light. The vault was as cluttered as she remembered it, and peering around, she wasn’t sure where to look first.

  Another rumble shook the house, followed by shouts, and Lillian began scrambling about, flipping through scrolls and books, searching for an anti-spell that would counter curses. She had never cast one, but from her studies, she knew it was simple enough. Utter the words needed and focus the intention on the intended object or person. In this case, Dylan. But where were the anti-spells kept? Where?

  “Think, stupid,” she muttered to herself. What had Uncle said? Anti-spells are one of humanity's greatest tools in wiping out the evil of fae, so they must be kept safe.

  Lillian’s gaze lifted, to settle on a small door on the far side of the room. Chills prickling her arms, she hurried over and tried the knob.

  Locked. Of course it would be locked. She tried to force it, to no avail. She poked and prodded with the magic, and found nothing that would be of use. She was too tired to channel more energy into the root, to make it grow such a great distance.

  “Lillian.”

  “Fae preserve us,” Lillian squeaked, the color leaching from her face as she spun around to face the man standing in the doorway.

  Lord Averell’s jaw was clenched, his eyes sparking utter fury. “I had hoped you weren’t part of this madness,” he said coldly. “But your presence here proves your guilt. It also proves you used magic.” He spat the last word like a filthy curse
.

  Lillian held her arms out in a peaceful gesture. “Uncle, please, I can explain—”

  “There isn’t anything to explain,” he said darkly, taking a threatening step into the room. “Did you summon the frogs, too?”

  The space seemed to shrink, and Lillian’s back pressed against the door that led to the inner rooms. She didn’t know what to do. She realized then that she still held the golden ball, its light glowing by obvious means of enchantment.

  Uncle was right. There wasn’t anything she could say. She was guilty.

  Lillian swallowed, and tilted her chin up, trying to put on a brave face, but the golden light wavered in her hand, the glow dancing and shifting across the walls. “I am just trying to help a young man who was unlucky enough to cross paths with a witch.”

  Uncle frowned. “Who are you talking about?”

  A small croak sounded. Lillian’s gaze shifted to the floor.

  A frog stood by her feet, looking up with large, bulbous eyes.

  “That’s the seventh frog I’ve seen in my house,” Lord Averell growled. “You brought them here, didn’t you? With that filthy druidic—”

  Frogs suddenly swarmed the room, hopping and leaping in from behind Uncle, the air filled with their incessant croaking and chirping. Dozens of them, possibly hundreds. They were everywhere; under tables, hopping onto chairs and shelves, the floor becoming a sea of little green and brown bodies.

  Lord Averell’s eyes flashed. “Fae magic,” he roared, and unsheathed his sword. “Lillian, did you summon these? If you did, then so help me, you’ll pay dearly. You know of magic’s evil.” He strode into the room, then froze, as a voice behind him spoke.

  “Superstition,” the voice drawled. “Fae magic isn’t any stranger than the wind, or thunderstorms. Magic is a natural part of this world.”

  Lillian’s breath caught in her throat at the sound of that voice, the voice that spoke truth, and a strange mixture of terror, excitement and wonder surged through her.

  Uncle whirled around and stepped back at the same time, his fingers closing around the hilt of his sword as he took an offensive stance. “Fae wretch,” he spat.

  Dylan leaned on the doorframe, his head tilted as he observed Lord Averell. “You’re the man who beats and bullies his niece. Your manliness is overwhelming.”

  “You know nothing about my family,” Uncle snarled. “You’re just a filthy fae! You’re not even human.” He drew his sword, the steel hissing as it was released from its sheath.

  A breeze blew through the room, and Lillian could detect the flows coming from Dylan. His eyes seemed to glow with their own light, his face twisting in a dangerous smirk. “You’re right,” he said softly. “I’m fae.”

  With fluid, positively inhuman movements, the young man lunged forward, dodging the blade and jumping onto the table. “Try and catch me,” he crowed. He laughed uproariously when Lord Averell swung his sword and missed, the steel cutting into the tabletop. With another astounding leap, he grabbed the gold-plated chandelier, swinging and catapulting himself to the other side of the room. “Too slow!”

  Something nudged Lillian’s foot, and looking down, she saw a particularly large bullfrog squatting before her, a key in its mouth.

  “Fae’s luck,” she breathed, kneeling down to take it. How Dylan had managed to pickpocket her uncle, she had no idea.

  Unlocking the door, she found herself in a smaller, yet much tidier room, with a stack of papers on the only table. She hurried to these, trying to block out the tumultuous noise in the adjacent room.

  She found it. An anti-spell, created for countering curses. Liberatis. Magicai.

  Perfect. The words hummed through her veins. She memorized them almost immediately and folding the paper, she stuffed it down her blouse, and then whirled about and dashed out of the room, barrelling headlong into her uncle.

  He backhanded her across the face and she fell, hitting her head on the doorframe on the way down.

  “How dare you disobey me! How dare you befriend a fae!”

  Lillian tasted blood. She curled into a ball, holding her arms above her head waiting for the all too familiar beating. Frogs were hopping about in every direction, but she barely noticed them, trying to shield herself from the blows that rained down. This was it. It was over. She’d never use magic again. This gift was now her curse. What her mother had passed to her from birth, was something she had to let go of. She had to, or she would be killed. Uncle wouldn’t stand for it. Or maybe he was killing her right now. It certainly felt like he was.

  “Lillian!” Dylan jumped down from a bookshelf, pulling a knife of bronze from his belt. His face contorted in rage. “Leave her alone!” he shouted.

  Uncle's blows paused and he stepped in front of Lillian to confront the fae, his sword of steel unsheathed, held at the ready. “She’s in my charge,” he growled. “I will do as I see fit.”

  Dylan’s entire form stiffened, his eyes going wild with panic. “It’s dawn,” he breathed. His gaze met Lillian’s. “Run,” he gasped. “Save yourself while you can. Run!” He charged her uncle, and the two men collided, falling to the floor.

  Still crouched on the floor, Lillian watched as the young fae shifted, his form turning green and shrinking, smaller and smaller. The frog jumped off of Uncle’s chest, landing on the floor.

  Lord Averell laughed darkly as he rose to his feet. “Well, it’ll be much easier to kill him, now.” He stepped forward.

  The frog scrambled under the table, croaking frantically.

  Lillian shuddered. Fear blistered through her. Why had Dylan tried to save her? What did she matter to him?

  She pushed herself to her feet, her heart leaping to her throat. If she did this now, if she wholly sided with the fae, uncle would kill her, or make her wish he had. But the fae's bravery had given her a scrap of courage, and she acted on it.

  The words were a whisper. “Liberatis. Magicai.”

  Nothing happened. Lord Averell stabbed his sword forward, the tip clanging against stone floor, and the frog darted away, still croaking.

  Lillian pulled the paper free of her blouse, and unfolded it, throwing her intention, her magic, her purpose into the words. “Liberatis. Magicai.”

  With a violent shudder, the large frog grew, changing back into Dylan. He twisted to the side, narrowly avoided getting impaled with a blade of steel, and with a snarl, threw his intention into the stone, Lillian gasping with the force of it.

  A roar shook the very foundations of the manor and stone rained down. A broken piece of the ceiling hit Uncle in the head and he fell to the floor, his form frighteningly still.

  Dylan’s gaze shifted to Lillian, and the rumbling of the manor quieted. “Are you all right?” he asked gently.

  Lillian nodded wordlessly. She looked down at her uncle. “Is he . . .” She couldn’t quite finish asking it.

  “That would be convenient,” the fae admitted. He strode over, checking the Anti-fae’s pulse. He shook his head. “Nope. Still alive. I can fix that, though.” He readied his bronze knife.

  “Wait!” Lillian cried out. Dylan looked at her questioningly. “Don’t kill him,” she said. “I . . . I don’t believe he thinks that he is evil. He’s just doing the best he can.”

  Dylan rolled his eyes. “You humans are weird.” He stood. “Your choice.” He sprinkled something green and glittering on Uncle’s face, and scooped up the golden ball giving it a gentle shake to extinguish its light. “Well, your uncle won’t be waking anytime soon, but when he does, he’ll be in a terrible mood.” He grinned. “Shall we go?”

  8.

  Lillian looked around at the frogs hopping about them, croaking. She could sense their worry and confusion. “They aren’t bound to you anymore,” she said.

  “You say you have druid powers.” Dylan pointed at the door. “You could use the practice. Herd them out. I’ll watch your back, and make sure they all escape.”

  It was a strange procession. Lillian walked in the fr
ont, the frogs milling about her, with the fae bringing up the rear, his bronze blade at the ready. A few guards initially intercepted them, but they were fond of Lillian, despite her quirks, and held back when she told them that everything was fine. “A fae had broken into the manor,” Lillian said with a shaky smile, “but Uncle has taken care of everything. He has asked this anti-fae trainee to remove the frogs, and I’m showing him a nearby pond.”

  One of the men tilted his head, noticing how the frogs were staying quite close to Lillian, and not at all acting like normal frogs, which was to stay they were following her and Dylan, down to the last amphibian.

  Lillian motioned behind her. “Lord Averell is in the vault, if you want to check, but he told me he was dealing with Anti-fae business and not to be disturbed.”

  The guard walked down the hall, his gaze sweeping over the frogs before he turned the corner, and Lillian increased her pace, hurrying outside.

  The sun had crept over the horizon, and Lillian yawned, exhaustion hanging over her. So much had happened in just half a day.

  When they reached the edge of the yard, both Dylan and Lillian broke into a run, seeking the shelter of the forest, the frogs trailing behind them.

  “What about the wards?” Lillian asked as they ran. “Uncle had set anti-fae wards.”

  Dylan snorted. “A little tweaking rendered them useless. I’ve had enough run-ins with the anti-fae to know what to look for.” He winked.

  Lillian didn’t respond. Dylan upset a witch and had run afoul of anti-fae already. Who else had he angered?

  Lillian and Dylan ran through the woods without any further conversation. Lillian wasn’t sure what Dylan was thinking, but she wanted to put as much distance between herself and Uncle. She whimpered. Uncle wouldn’t calm down until he’d killed her.

  The frogs hopped after them, croaking and chirping, their forms a seething carpet of green and brown. When they reached the pond, Lillian released her will from the frogs. They began to hop away, some into the woods, but most to the pool, leaving her and Dylan standing alone.