Rilka tilted her head in naive innocence. “That doesn’t work for humans?”
In the sylvan’s forest, the weight of unseen eyes prickled on her skin. Rilka didn’t seem to mind, though. Her shrill voice shattered the screaming quiet all the way until the forest’s edge, where the white stone ring stood above the crested hill. The golden light danced in the air, clutters of white yarrow blossom growing between delicate blue bellflowers, intrusive travelers of the mortal world.
Rilka fell quiet, and Dapple trudged back a couple steps. Before them, blocking the entrance to the white stone circles, lounged the massive body of a snake. Dark horns gleamed in the twilight, the golden light of the portal reflecting off his scales, the long body stretched as though for repose.
Slowly, Trisha dismounted. Holding the lyre against her chest, she approached the serpent. “Why are you here, Shi’as?”
The ancient creature gave her a fanged smile. “To wish you good luck. What kind of teacher would I be if I sent myfavoritemortal back to her world without parting words?”
Beyond his writhing coils, the portal shimmered, so close yet too far. Trisha hugged the lyre.
“Go away, snake!” Rilka snapped, abandoning the safety of Trisha’s hair. “We’ve no need for your advice. Begone, or I’ll sing your scaled body under the ground!”
“Ah, the little sprite. Found new confidence alongside that wing?” Shi’as hissed.
Rilka scoffed, but she still flew a bit higher.
Trisha sighed. “Go ahead, then. I see there’s no avoiding your lessons.”
“Iso dearlyenjoy teaching you, Trisha. You show some sense in contrast to your witless friend.” He glowered at the fairy before his expression smoothed. “My offer still stands. If you’re so adamant about tearing open your mortal heart, no need to travel further. I’m here. Don’t you want to ask me?”
“No, Shi’as. Get on with your ‘advice,’” Trisha said. “Unlike you, I don’t have eternity.”
“So feisty. So shortsighted. So mortal.” With a sly glance toward the Opening, he hissed, “Don’t forget what I’ve taught you. You don’t need the stone circles, Trisha. You know how to find me.”
She scoffed. “Whyever would I want to find you? You’re here to prevent me from leaving.”
“You mistake me. I want you to go. So, go. Find what your songs can truly awaken.” His eyes landed on Dapple behind her, pupils narrowing as his black tongue flicked out. “Just be prepared to pay their price. My advice, Trisha—my parting gift—twice you can call me, but on the second time, I’ll take my due.”
“Don’t listen to the snake,” Rilka chirped, glaring at him. “Why would you want to call for him?”
“Insolent sprite,” Shi’as snarled. “Next time, I won’t be satisfied only with your wing.”
“Leave Rilka alone,” Trisha snarled right back. “And she’s right. You shall wait until the stars come down.”
He chuckled, and his white-scaled form scraped against the ground as he slithered away from the standing stones. “Promises, promises, Trisha. I expect you to keep mine better than the one to your Warlord.”
“You’re in for a disappointment, snake.”
He turned one last time, eyes like shining lamps. “Only one way to find out.”
Trisha exhaled when he disappeared, not realizing she’d been stifling her breath the entire exchange. And then, they marched on.
After a few moments of silence, the fairy let out a pout as Trisha led her horse toward the stone circle. “Y-You’ll be back, won’t you?”
“Of course. Next time, I’ll bring something to taste, too.” The fairy would appreciate yields from Moorhafen’s orchards—a pear or an apple, perhaps. Something drenched in sunlight would certainly appeal to the fairy. Trisha’s smile faltered. That is, if she were still welcome at the castle. Blainor was not a man to forgive easily.
A touch of her lyre sent the portal rippling, the light brightening. Images from the other side shone through, the restless swell eating the shoreline. No people in sight. Trisha turned, fixing Rilka with a serious look. “Don’t go challenging Shi’as anytime soon, okay? He’s out for blood.”
“That old serpent doesn’t scare me,” Rilka huffed. A silver-winged moth flitted past her. “Oh! Hey! Stop—” she cried, shooting after the night butterfly. “I’ll make a steed out of you!”
She gave a careless wave, chasing the moth.
Never change, Rilka, she thought with a coy smile. Trisha shook her head. No reason to delay further. She’d gotten what she needed from the Undying Lands.
Bracing herself, she stepped into the rippling light, Dapple at her heel.
Blinding brightness, traces of salt and seaweed, and the mortal world yanked her back. She stumbled, boots skidding off the wet sand. The wind tugged at her hair, whipping her gown. The tide was low, the sun high. White shapes of seagullscurved through the air, their screeches loud. Trisha inhaled. Sunlight warmed her skin, the crash of waves against the sand almost deafening. How she’d missed the sea.
