5. Danica

Danica

5

I dig inward, stretching along the ethereal thread that connects Rhyland and me, my silent calls growing more desperate with each passing moment.

"Rhyland, please, give me something," I whisper into the void, seeking the familiar warmth of his presence.

But the silence that answers is like a vacuum in space, a desolate coldness where whispers of love and laughter once echoed.

Panic digs its claws into my resolve; an invisible storm of dread threatens to capsize my sanity. Rhyland and his brothers are ensnared in trouble's viscous web, and I've got to cut them loose.

With the brooding castle looming, it's make or break. Delving into our shared bond again, I plead silently, pressing every ounce of resolve into my psychic shout.

Suddenly, Faderyn's hand on my shoulder halts my headlong rush into danger. "We can't just walk in," he cautions gravely. "We will be considered enemies—magic will fail us here—drain you."

I look back, defiance sparking in my eyes. "Watch me." With a huff, I start toward the dark silhouette. Faderyn stays silent, but his step behind me is a steadfast echo of my determination.

"Stay sharp; guards patrol every inch," Faderyn whispers as we inch toward the fortress, each step a careful calculation avoiding confrontation. The tension in the air is a silent scream, an entity on its own, swallowing our every move.

I feel it: the ominous hush, a prelude to impending chaos.

Suddenly, the stillness shatters—there's a crack, a thunderclap of sound, and we freeze, predator instincts dialed to the maximum. Breaths held, hearts skipped—the world in slow motion as nature itself goes mute.

Then something—or someone—approaches, a stumbling herald of discord. Each crunch through the underbrush sets my pulse racing, adrenaline popping like fireworks.

Closer and closer they come. I crouch low to the ground.

The looming shape is just shadows and whispers until hints of silver catch the light, painting a grim picture that tightens my chest in fear.

Faderyn's presence at my side is a silken promise of protection—his body coiling like a spring, ready to unleash his power or rip us away.

The rustling grows bolder, each step drumming a rhythm of dread until, with a suddenness that stings like ice, he's there—the unmistakable silver hair and eyes like molten moonlight. Relief shatters the fear like glass.

"Erik!" My voice is a lifeline thrown in the midst of a storm, a mix of joy and disbelief. In an instant, I'm moving without thought; caution cast aside as I close the distance.

Faderyn hisses a warning, but it's like trying to tell a tornado to chill out—I'm having none of it.

Erik's fatigue-lined face breaks into a fierce grin when he sees me rushing over. I collide with him in a desperately tight embrace, needing the solid reality of his presence to banish my spiraling dread. For a blessed moment, hope's rays pierce the oppressive darkness shrouding us.

Faderyn's instincts are still on high alert. His jaw is set, and his piercing green eyes assess Erik's disheveled, battle-ready appearance.

Understanding the necessity of trust at this juncture, I step into the role of mediator. "Faderyn, this is Erik, one of Rhyland's brothers—the guy we're busting our asses to find," I say, trying to paint Erik as the ally that he is. Turning to Erik, "And Erik, this is Faderyn. He's the reason I've made it this far."

Faderyn's hand clasps Erik's like he's touching the past, but Erik's grip is all present tense, a stoic promise.

I'm mentally pushing Faderyn's distrust aside for now; we've got bigger fish to fry. "Talk to me, Erik. What happened?"

Erik's face tightens, old pain resurfacing. "We were ambushed by Fae guards led by a demoness of a woman. They cuffed and chained us with magic under the queen's order. We were easy prey." He swallows hard. "Rhyland fought to help me escape and told me to find you as they took him away." Anguish twists Erik's proud features. "Lucian surrendered himself to share his fate."

A wildfire ignites within me. No one treats my men like chess pieces—I'm gunning for checkmate.

Erik's stoic exterior hides the pain in his eyes. "I sense their presence here. It led me to investigate," he sighs. "I apologize for not finding you sooner. I didn't know where to start."

Trying to rein in my temper and the magic sizzling through my veins, I say, "It's fine—"

Like a match struck in pure rage, my hands blaze with an inner inferno—Faderyn and Erik recoil, witnessing my out-of-nowhere, utterly unsolicited, fiery fit. But as with all spontaneous combustion, the flames fizzle out, leaving me drenched in sweat.

"What in the vales was that?" Faderyn asks.

Taking a deep breath, I prep for battle against the queasy fear squirming in my gut. I fix Erik with a stare, taking in his battle-hardened visage still raw from the fray. "Alright, Her Royal Wickedness made her move," I say, smooth as ice but twice as cold. "She's about to get schooled in the art of repercussions—mess with my boys, prepare for a backlash."

But Faderyn interjects, a note of foreboding shading his words. "If your enemy is indeed Queen Amara, we tread narrow paths."

I fight down the shiver at the nightmarish idea of Rhyland and Lucian playing puppets to Cruella de Mean. Steadying myself, I give Faderyn a look that screams 'business time.' "So, what's the game plan? What's the 411 on Wicked Witch of the Worst?"

Faderyn hangs his head, defeat weighing down his shoulders. "Against the Queen in her domain... I fear there may be nothing we can do."

I cross my arms defiantly. "The hell there isn't. No magical queen gets to take my man without a fight."

Beneath this cool exterior, there's a tempest brewing. My magic's throwing an absolute hissy fit, pounding on the door, screaming, "Let me out!"

Faderyn studies me for a long moment before replying carefully. "Dani, I know your spirit burns hot as any warrior's, but we cannot let fury blind us. The Queen wields immense power here. A bold attack would only doom us all. Most powers are muted here—snuffed out."

His words hit with the sobering slap of reality. My heart's itching to go all 'smash and grab,' but that's page one of the 'How to Die Young and Stupidly' handbook. Rhyland and Lucian deserve more than me flying off the handle.

I breathe, taming the storm inside, my resolve hardening. "Okay. We're not storming the castle gates. So lay it on me, Gandalf. What's your wizard-level stratagem?"

Faderyn looks at me, then hesitates before adding, "Queen Amara is malicious but adheres to court codes of honor. Presenting yourself formally to request an audience may be our wisest course. Approaching candidly and respecting her station could persuade her to deal fairly. But you need proper courtly attire and etiquette not to offend." His gaze turns serious. "Axilya can craft you into the lady they won't dismiss. Your inner light needs no adornment, but their ways demand formality."

"Who is Axilya? Can she be trusted?" I probe, thoughts racing.

Faderyn nods firmly. "Axilya has turned her back on court corruption. She aids those seeking refuge beyond their twisted politics—she's your ticket in without getting the door slammed in your face—or worse."

Leaning in, I meet Faderyn's unwavering gaze with a steely resolve. "Okay, if you're putting your chips on this, Axilya, I'll entertain a chat," I agree, but my acquiescence comes with a clause. "But the minute things smell fishy, we abort mission 'Kumbaya' and switch to operation 'Disco Inferno,'" I assert, my voice dips in determination. "So let's hope your Fae friend is the real deal because I've got a light show ready."

Faderyn bows his head. "Your caution is wise. We will proceed with care. But this may be our best hope of sparing bloodshed."

I pray his trust in Axilya is well-placed. Lives hang in the balance. If playing diplomat fails... I'll go nuclear.

Faderyn turns to Erik solemnly. "It is best if you do not accompany us to meet with Axilya. The Fae remain… wary of vampires after past bloodshed."

Erik's expression tightens, but he nods in understanding.

Faderyn continues delicately. "Vampires have not walked these lands for centuries. Your return will stir troubling memories best left untouched until Danica can present your motives favorably."

Switching gears, I acknowledge Faderyn's gap in knowledge. "Things have changed," I say, my tone softer. "We've shelved the pitchforks and torches. Sure, vampires and humans had their showdowns, but those days are history. We've turned the page."

Faderyn seems thoughtful. "Your realm has been sundered for an age," he muses. "We know little of current relations between your kinds." His eyes gain a gleam of hope. "Perhaps such unity may take root even here, in time."

Heartened by his open mind, I press my case. "Erik and his kin are good, honorable men. Things aren't as they once were. Give them a chance."

Faderyn bows his head. "You make a compelling case, Dani. I shall contemplate your words seriously. Much may change if understanding can bridge the divisions of history." Turning to Erik, he offers calmly, "You may take refuge at my home if you wish. Few venture out that far. You would be safe."

As he outlines the path to his secluded abode, I catch myself about to argue against Erik trekking alone to an unknown haven. But Faderyn cuts through my protest with a look that carries centuries of 'trust me, I've got this.' So I snap my mouth shut, folding my objections away.

"Dani, if you are truly who you claim to be, your safety is paramount. We cannot delay." His tone permits no argument.

"I'll be right behind you and see you later," Erik reassures me. He dead-eyes Faderyn, "Go, get her out of here—keep her safe."

Faderyn sweeps me up in his arms, all pine freshness and rippling muscle. I'll never admit it, but I enjoy the princess treatment and the security it brings.

As we take off through the gloomy forest, I feel Erik's protective gaze behind me.

"Do you think Axilya can help convince Queen Mean Girl to hand over my guys?" I ask Faderynskeptically.

His melodic voice rumbles with quiet conviction. "If anyone can aid us, it is Axilya. Have faith."

I crane my neck, scanning the woods behind me. Relief trickles through me each time I spot Erik's silver hair threading between the trees, following Faderyn's given path.

Faderyn says nothing more as we sprint on horseback, his jaw set with solemn purpose. I know further objections would be useless. All I can do is pray that Axilya proves to be as noble as Faderyn believes.

No backup plan gleams in the back of my mind yet—no ace in the hole. But if life's taught me one thing, it's that I've got a PhD in Improvisation. And if I have to pull a solution out of my ass? Well, consider that my special talent show.