“Maybe I should take a sword too,” Beka mused fretfully, fingering her dagger. “Just for balance.”
Chewie sighed, gnawing on a bone to soothe the nerves he couldn’t quite hide. “Don’t be silly. You’re going to court, not to war.”
“I’m not sure it isn’t the same thing,” Beka muttered. “At least in this case.” But she straightened her back and faced the mirror. Behind it was the closet where her clothes hung . . . unless the door was opened in just the right way, in which case it was the entrance to a passageway that led to the Otherworld.
It was part of a Baba Yaga’s duties to guard that doorway from use by anyone other than herself and anyone sent through from the other side. The Queen had the power to create temporary passages—like the one the parchment-bearing messenger had undoubtedly come through—but for everyone else, the only way into or out of the Otherworld was through one of these doorways.
In the olden days, before the Otherworld had been permanently separated from the mundane plane where Humans lived, there were many places where the two worlds touched; a mortal might accidentally find himself spending a lifetime in what seemed like an hour, dancing with maidens whose unearthly beauty would haunt him forever, or a mischievous sprite could wander through to lure a passing stranger into a murky bog.
These days, though, there were a few remaining natural entrances, all carefully safeguarded by the Queen’s handpicked protectors, and the doorways that existed inside each Baba Yaga’s travelling home.
“It’s time, Beka,” Chewie said. “You wouldn’t want to keep the Queen waiting.”
Goddess forbid.
Beka took a deep breath and put her hand flat against the door in a spot precisely three inches above the crystal knob, and two inches inward. Then she sent a carefully measured pulse of energy into the living matrix of the gateway; sort of the energetic equivalent of a secret knock—two long, three short, two long. The door swung open to reveal a sparkling curtain of mystical light, like a thousand fireflies darting and glowing in a swirl of ever-changing motion.
She formed a strong mental picture of where she wanted to go: Tir fo Thuinn, the underwater portion of the Queen’s realm, where her sea-dwelling subjects could visit in comfort. Then she gathered up her skirts and her courage and took one giant step forward.
* * *
A SWIRLING GRAY fog enveloped Beka as soon as she stepped through the doorway. Tiny glowing purple and gold lights flitted and flew around her, finally forming a shimmering path that led onward into the depths of the Otherworld. With each footstep, a faint musical chime resounded through the seemingly endless mists, growing louder as she moved in the direction she was meant to go.
Slowly, plants appeared on either side of the path—bright yellow asters, daisies, and tulips, all growing higher than her head. Softly swaying ruffle-edged ferns rubbed their green borders against sparkling ebony trees draped with hanging vines that bore bejeweled fruits and, occasionally, emerald lizards whose tails were barbed and sharper than any of Beka’s swords.
Tinkling laughter echoed from the direction of the castle grounds, and Beka wished that she could go and watch the well-dressed courtiers playing croquet upon the perfect lawn that surrounded its timeless stone walls and sky-touching spires. Unfortunately, her path led in a different direction.
The destination at the end of her short journey looked like a vast cavern at the edge of an underground sea. It was lit by thousands of phosphorescent crystal clusters that grew out of the walls and lofty ceiling, some as tiny as her pinky, and others larger than her head. Their eerie bluish-white radiance made the water lapping at the shore look dark and mysterious and cast haunting shadows on the faces of the assembled company.
The Mer Queen stood in her Human guise on the gleaming black sand of the beach, along with the Selkie King and a well-dressed man who looked enough like him to be one of his many children. Beka looked, but she didn’t see Kesh, either standing with the few Mer and Selkies who had assumed the two-legged form of their rulers, or among the ones who kept to their natural shapes and swam nearby in the miniature ocean.
On a slightly raised patch of ground near the shore, the High Queen and her consort sat on ornate benches that only just missed being thrones through their lack of arms and high backs. The seats were formed from the stark white bones of some gigantic underwater creature, every inch carved with intricate detail, and adorned with pearls, shells, and jewels that twinkled dully in the dim and muted light of the cavern. The Queen sat upon a luxurious purple silk cushion, her feet resting on a matching ottoman. The King disdained such pampering and sat directly on the bench’s unyielding surface, lounging as though it were the most comfortable seat in the palace.