85
“What’s going on? Where are we?” I looked around myself in surprise as we passed through the portal. We had left the banquet hall of the Summer Court and somehow ended up back where we’d started—in the banquet hall.
Only this banquet hall looked different. It was empty, for one thing, except for Mab and Bran and Lachlan and myself. Also, the colors were all wrong. Everything in the Summer Court was white and gold and warm. This banquet hall was like a negative mirror image of the first one. The white walls and floors had been turned to black and the magical globes that hung near the ceiling shed a weak, silvery radiance over the vast room, instead of the golden glow I had gotten used to.
“We are in the palace of the Winter Court, of course, my dear,” Mab said, smiling her mad smile at me.
“But…it looks just like the Summer Court,” I protested. “Well, except for the colors, I guess.”
I looked around, frowning at the subtle wrongness of everything. It wasn’t just the colors and the lighting—there was an aura of evil in the air—the feeling you get when you walk into a haunted house. Not one of those fake, jump-scare kind they set up around Halloween—I’m talking about a house that’s been abandoned a long time—maybe one where murder was committed or somebody died in the bathtub and the body wasn’t found for days. That kind of feeling.
“Didn’t you know?” Mab asked, her insectile eyebrows climbing up her forehead again. “Both the Summer Court and the Winter Court exist in the same space—though in different realities.”
“Really?” The idea was mind-blowing. I looked at Lachlan and Bran for confirmation. “They’re in the same spot?”
Lachlan nodded. “Physically, yes. The palace of both the Winter and the Summer Courts are in approximately the same spot in the Realm. Everything else ripples outward. Most places mirror each other on both sides.”
“Of course, there are spots where they diverge,” Bran offered. “The place where my childhood home was located is one of them. There was a clear demarcation between the Summer and Winter Realms there.”
“We may share the space, but I assure you the Winter Court has many more delights, Granddaughter,” Mab said.
She walked over to the cake table, which was present in this (reality? dimension?) as well, and nodded at the towering cake. The brilliant gold and royal purple icing was grey and black in the Winter Court.
Mab carved a slice from the enormous confection and put it on a plate. She held it out to me.
“Would you care to sample those delights, Granddaughter?” she asked, smiling brightly so that her teeth—very white and very sharp, I saw—were clearly visible.
“Um…no thank you,” I said as politely as I could. I could still hear Queen Elia’s voice telling me that I must not let a crumb or a drop pass my lips while I was in the Winter Kingdom. Honestly, though, I didn’t need much willpower to resist what she was offering me. The cake—which had looked so light and fluffy in the Summer Court—was grey and moldy now that we were in the Winter Court. The change wasn’t exactly appetizing.
“Ah—such a pity.” She sighed and put the cake down. “Maybe you’ll change your mind later. In the meantime, I’ll have the three of you shown to your rooms.”
“You can’t divide us,” Bran said, frowning. “Lachlan and I won’t be separated from Emma!”
“I would expect nothing less,” Mab said coolly. “I shall put the three of you into a suite.”
She clapped her hands and a tiny, stooped woman with a wrinkled, wizened face came hobbling over.
“Yes, Milady?” she asked in a cracked voice.
“Sirella, my dear, please be so kind as to show the princess and her two consorts to one of our finest suites,” Queen Mab said. She smiled at me. “Sweet dreams, dear Granddaughter—I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Then she glided away, leaving a trail of smoke and shadows behind her.
86
For a moment, I just stood there, watching her go. Then my eyes fell on the enormous cake again. Looking up, I saw that—just like the cake in the Summer Court—this one also featured a bust of me done in marzipan at its top.
As I looked up at it, the marzipan me moved. It looked down at me and winked and I saw that it had the same mad smile Mab wore.
“Ugh!” I gave a little jump, feeling like my skin might crawl right off my body. It was like looking in the mirror and seeing your reflection wink at you. Again I got that haunted house feeling and chill bumps broke out all up and down my arms. “Let’s get out of here!” I pleaded.
“Right away, my lady,” the tiny little hunchbacked woman said to us. She hobbled towards the door of the banquet hall and I followed quickly behind, making sure not to look back at the marzipan me again. It was just too creepy for words!
Bran and Lachlan followed too and I noticed that Bran had drawn his sword and Lachlan was holding his staff at the ready. Did they expect us to encounter a threat here in the Winter Court palace? I wouldn’t be surprised if we did. The whole place felt dangerous and wrong. I felt like we were actors in a horror movie—the kind of movie that, if I was watching it, I would be thinking how stupid the characters were for going into the haunted house or the old abandoned mental asylum or wherever they shouldn’t be going that they went anyway.
But we were stuck here now, for a day and a night at least, and there was nothing we could do but try to get to our suite and stay safe until we could get out of here.
As it turned out, we did meet a threat—though not right away. Our guide, the little old lady Queen Mab had called Sirella, led us through a labyrinth of dimly lit black halls and corridors and we were just rounding a corner when we ran into a tall woman with pale blond hair that gleamed almost silver in the weak light.
“Oh!” she gasped and took a step back, her hand going to her heart. She was dressed in a simple green gown that picked up the color of her eyes—which were emerald.
“Mother?” Lachlan stared at her, clearly as shocked as she was. “What…what are you doing here?” he asked.
“Oh, my darling!” She held out her arms to him and he went to give her a hug. “We were all summoned to the palace by the Queen,” she said, taking a step back. “But who is this? Is he your friend, who you told me about so many times?” she asked, looking at Bran.
“Yes. Mother, this is Bran.” Lachlan nodded at the golden-haired Fae and Bran took Lachlan’s mother’s offered hand and bowed over it gallantly.
“Lady Isella,” he said formally. “I have often wished to meet you.”
“You are a good friend to Lachlan,” she said, smiling sadly. “I wish I could have met you before, but I understood why Lachlan couldn’t bring you to our home.” She looked at me. “But who is this beautiful young lady?”
“This is Emma,” Lachlan said, nodding at me. “She is the heir to both the Winter Court and the Summer Court.”
“Her parents were Prince Tarren and Princess Lorella,” Bran supplied.
“Ah—an heir has been found! No wonder all the nobles of note were summoned to the palace!” Lady Isella exclaimed. She took both my hands in hers and smiled brightly at me. Then she drew me in for a hug.