“Twenty-five years ago, the Queen returned to the Vale and placed her curse upon the princes,” Caspian continues.
A weighty silence settles over the room. “So, it’s true,” Farron whispers. “The Enchantress was the Queen. We theorized this must be the case, but a part of me never truly believed the Queen would curse us.”
“Why not?” Keldarion says. “We inherited her realms, her magic, her people, and returned such grace with negligence. It’s no wonder she would enact retribution against us.”
I look down at my hands. The same magic I used to transform my friends into birds for their rescue had been used to curse them. What else was my mother capable of?
What else am I capable of?
Caspian drums his fingers on the table. “Shortly after cursing you, Sira captured Aurelia and imprisoned her in the Below.”
“How could Sira manage such a thing?” Keldarion growls.
Caspian holds up his wrist, showing the frosted thorn bracelet. “With one of the strongest forms of magic in the Enchanted Vale. That of a bargain.”
“That’s preposterous. Our Queen would know better than to bargain with Sira,” Farron says.
“She never told me the details, though I know it was for love.” His eyes flick to my father.
“She would never,” Farron continues.
It’s my father who says gruffly, “No … she would.”
“What are you saying, Papa?” I ask.
My father’s eyes are a deep well of memory. “I do not know this Sira, but I know my Anya. She was rash and bold, and there was never anyone quite as clever as her. It was that cleverness that often got her in the most trouble. Her confidence would get the best of her, but I was always there to bail her out.”
“Look, it doesn’t matter how she got there, the problem is that’s where she is. Sira’s got her in the deepest part of the Below, caged in a labyrinth filled with traps, in an impenetrable prison,” Caspian says, and then he turns to me, nothing but blazing stars in his lavender gaze. “This is why I never told you, Princess. There’s no way to get her out.”
I stare him down. “Well, Caspian, I’ve read thousands of stories, and in none of them is the damsel ever left in the dungeon. Wewillrescue my mother.”
A few hours later, the dining room table has transformed into a diorama of the Below, represented by various soups, bread rolls, fruit, and vegetables. Currently, we’re bent over a bowl of potato soup, which represents the Green Flame pool Cas filled us in about. Apparently, now we’ve got undead skeletons milling about the Below, and their creator chomping at the bit to join them.
Across the table, my mother is represented by a passionfruit tart trapped in a prison of celery sticks. The celery sticks are, of course, the green glowing crystals Sira is using to siphon her magic. A line of them crosses the table back to the deadly Green Flame pool.
“I’m telling you,” Caspian says again, “not even a divine weapon could break these crystals. They grow from the ground like trees, yet they’re indestructible.”
“What about the pool? Can we break apart its structure?” Keldarion asks.
“Maybe,” Caspian says. “That’s just rock, but it would take a great deal of magic, and you wouldn’t want to be anywhere around that liquid when it’s spilling out. Even if we destroy the pool, Sira could just drain more and more life from Aurelia and start again.”
“So, we need to get Anya out,” my father says, staring intently at the tart as if it’s really his wife.
“We will, Papa.”
“Well, isn’t this jolly fun?” Dayton says, voice near incomprehensible from wine. “After this, let’s make the Sun Colosseum out of bread rolls and drown a carrot Kairyn in soup. That’ll certainly get him out of my realm.”
“At least we’re trying to figure this out, Dayton,” Farron snaps.
“And how far we’ve come.” Dayton leans across the table to reach for the wine.
His movements are clumsy, and he knocks an empty carafe over. It rolls, toppling the potato soup and celery crystals. They spill across the table, right into Nori’s treasures.
Farron yells, desperately trying to salvage the supplies, as the celery sticks hit the dark mushrooms. They turn black, shriveling up. “Dayton, you’ve made such a mess!” Farron shouts.
I watch the wilted piece of black celery that touched the mushroom. Its darkness spreads from one celery stick to another.
“Wait,” I say. “I think Dayton might be on to something.”
