-CHAPTER ONE-

A Dream of Wolves and Dragons

They say that in the Realm, the sea is in the sky . . . 

Mai liked to wander the streets at night. In the small hours, when others were sleeping, she found solace in the quiet, peace in the dark. The air was fresher than it was during the day, salty from the sea, not choked by the fumes of automobiles. She had spent years travelling from place to place, enjoying the wind on her face, the open sky over her head, the honest earth beneath her back – but it was here in the town of Strange Ground by the Skea where her travels had finally ended, where she had at last come to feel at home even though her true home lay so very far away.

Ambling through a balmy night in the height of summer, Mai headed to her favourite nocturnal spot. She veered off from the soft sodium glow suffusing the main road, cutting down an alley to a residential area where the communal hum of electric fans came from wideopen bedroom windows. She smiled to herself, sadly. 

The townsfolk had adopted Mai as something of a curiosity. The wise old woman of the streets, they called her; not quite a celebrity but certainly a mystery for gossips to discuss. She had many acquaintances among the earthlings, could claim to have at least one good friend, but none knew the truth of why Mai had adopted them. Strange Ground by the Skea was so close yet so far from her real home, but the town’s lack of magic made it the perfect place to hide. Or had done, once.

Finally, Mai reached a horseshoe of small apartment buildings curving around a little private garden. Although the garden was fenced in by black iron railings and locked at night, the gate opened with a squeak at Mai’s touch and welcomed her inside. Comforted by the smell of flowers and freshly watered soil, she sat on the solitary bench to contemplate a worry which had begun while she slept during the day.

Terrible visions had plagued Mai’s dreams, nightmares of a dark Empress who commanded the foulest magic of the Underworld, who led a dragon horde into battle against a revolt of giant wolves. Once upon a time, the wolves had been loyal allies to the dragons, but now they were mortal enemies, and these two supernatural armies fought across the land without remorse or mercy. Innocent people died in their tens of thousands as the battle bathed their world in blood and fire. In the dream, Mai knew she had been given the power to stop the senseless destruction, but she didn’t use it and awoke feeling disturbed by her decision, restless thoughts dominated by the home from which she had walked away.

The friends and family she left behind, the ones she had never said goodbye to – Mai missed them all dearly and it was only natural that they should cross her mind from time to time; but never had she questioned her decision to leave them, and never had they arrested her attention with as much force as they now did. Strange Ground by the Skea was full of bad omens on this night.

The sky was clear and bright with stars, yet the silvery glow of the moon rippled like a reflection in a pond. Beneath the taste of brine, a light breeze carried the scent of something wild, filled with desire and pursuit. A thin mist had begun forming on the ground like smoke sighed from the mouths of sleeping dragons. The atmosphere trembled as though warning of wolves on the hunt. There was magic in the air. 

Startled by the sudden flapping of wings, Mai watched a gull swoop down to land on the bench’s armrest. It cocked its head to one side and considered the elderly woman staring at it.

‘Hello there, little thing,’ Mai said. ‘You gave me a fright.’ She noticed the message tied to the gull’s leg with some concern. ‘You must have travelled a long way to deliver this.’

The gull offered no resistance as Mai untied the scrap of paper and read the message upon it. The words were few but stopped her heart. We have failed. Come home. 

Mai’s eyes welled, but a small sob was barely out of her mouth before she gasped. The wild smell of hunting wolves assaulted her nostrils with vigour – stronger, closer, announcing they had picked up their prey’s scent.

Crushing the note in her fist, Mai jumped to her feet and held out a hand to the gull. ‘No time for tears, little thing. It seems you were followed tonight.’ 

The gull hopped onto her arm and then up to her shoulder. Hurrying through the night, Mai took the shortest route to her dwelling. It wasn’t much, a recess most would overlook, a nook between two buildings on the high street, but it kept Mai dry from rain and sheltered from snow, and it was lined with cardboard and blankets donated by kind townspeople. The mist had thickened by the time she arrived, and it carried a haunted chill.

‘I’m afraid I have no food to offer you,’ she said, placing the gull down on the floor. ‘This will have to suffice.’ She picked up a paper cup, removed the plastic lid and swirled the soured remnants of hot chocolate. ‘My friend bought it for me.’ Sadness grew inside her. ‘He brings me hot chocolate every day. I wish I could return his kindness better than I now have to.’ Mai shivered and placed the cup before the gull. ‘There, that should give you strength for the return trip. And return you must, little thing. This very night.’

While the gull dipped its head to the chocolate, Mai searched among her belongings at the rear of the nook until she found a pencil. Forgive me, she scribbled hastily on the back of the original note. I am undone. You know what to do.

The gull was still supping on cold hot chocolate when Mai tied the message to its leg. She lifted the bird, kissed its head, then stepped from the nook. 

‘Fly hard from this world, little thing,’ she told it. ‘Do not stop until you reach the Realm.’ And she threw the gull into the air. With a burst of wings, it soared high and away. 

Mai re-entered her nook and once again rummaged through her belongings. A decade ago, back when she lacked the strength to do what needed to be done, she had entered into a pact with a divine grace no longer worshipped on Earth. Such pacts were everlasting, never forgotten, and the ears of the divines could hear all places. Mai found the pact and carefully unwrapped the dusty old rag that kept it safe.

It came in the form of a spell contained in a glass vial, its every detail floating in clear liquid. Mai shook it and awakened the magic to a blue glow. Here was a promise. Here was a duty.

Out on the pavement, Mai crushed the vial beneath the heel of her boot. There was a hiss, a puff of steam, and then five streaks of ghostly blue sped away from her position. Three raced off into the town. Two shot up into the sky.

‘For my granddaughters, for my friends and for the Realm,’ Mai said as the spell disappeared among stars and watery moonlight like silent fireworks. ‘Lady Juno, remember your servant’s sacrifice and honour the promises you made . . .’

A growl emanated from across the high street. 

A wolf emerged from the mist, stalking between two parked cars into the orange glow of street lights. Mangy, black and silver, the beast was closely followed by a second. Mai stepped backwards into her nook. Only now did her nightmare make sense. How had she not seen this coming?

‘Ten years ago, I would have given you a good fight,’ she said, curling her lip. The wolves crept closer, growling, hackles raised. ‘Tell my daughter that her mother’s ghost will forever haunt her.’

And the hunters leapt at their prey. 

-CHAPTER TWO-

Beneath the Skea

Princess Yandira of House Wood Bee had always boasted sharp eyes. The very sharpest, in fact – sharper than a hawk’s. From her high rooms at the top of the north tower, she could see clearly the poppies growing wild at the edge of the castle gardens far below. Seated at her easel, she painted the flowers with a steady hand and intricate detail. While humming a happy tune, Yandira brought to life petals so red they practically bled onto the canvas. 

Today was a good day.

 In the corner of the room, beneath an ornate wardrobe, the Shade opened its eyes and whispered with the dry rustling of dead leaves, ‘They are coming, my sister.’           

‘Yes, I’m well aware.’

With the thinnest of brushes and the blackest of paints, Yandira added veins to the petals of her poppies. She had heard the voices drifting up from the stairwell at the moment that four – no, five – people first entered the tower; like her eyes, her ears were as keen as any blade ever taken onto a battlefield. Two remained silent while three did their best to bicker quietly. Their footfalls scratched and echoed up the many spiralling steps to filter through the closed and locked door.

In a different life, Yandira fancied she would have made an excellent gardener. She had a talent for recognising which soil was the richest and best for planting seeds. She understood how to encourage her flowers to take root and how to nurture them from sprout to bud. She could envision the grander picture and had the steely nerve to wait for her flowers to attain perfect colour and scent before plucking them from the ground. Patience and timing were just two of Yandira’s very many specialities.

Her visitors believed they were bringing fresh news to the tower. But four large windows afforded a full compass view of Strange Ground beneath the Skea, of the city surrounding Castle Wood Bee and the lands beyond. Yandira had been watching and listening from her high perch for ten years, and very little escaped her attention. 

Finally, after a lengthy climb, the visitors arrived at the door to her rooms.

‘You are grieving, Highness,’ said a crusty-voiced man, hushed but not hushed enough. ‘I mean no disrespect, but are you thinking clearly?’

Unlikely, thought Yandira.

It was Hamdon Lark talking. The royal magician, elderly and full of creaky tradition, had been around longer than anyone in the castle could remember. Which was to say, too long.

‘Highness, I share Hamdon’s caution.’ That was Ala Denev, the royal advisor. She was younger than Lark but still as stiff and fawning. ‘Have you given yourself time to properly consider this?’

Doubtful.

‘Please, Highness,’ said Lark. ‘At least let me come with you.’

‘For your protection,’ Denev pleaded. ‘Her servant is missing and you more than any know the cruelty of which they are both capable.’

‘My decision is made.’ The third person spoke with no gravitas whatsoever. She sounded as though she understood she was upset but that her temperament was entirely too airy to experience it. Which was a fair account of the truth. ‘I would speak to her face, not through wood and spells. Wait here.’

As the protective wards and locking mechanisms on the door hummed and clunked, the Shade asked a dry, rustling question from beneath the wardrobe. ‘Now, my sister?’

‘Patience,’ Yandira replied. ‘Let’s hear what she has to say first.’ 

And the Shade closed its eyes. 

Yandira looked up as the door opened and two royal guards clanged their way into the room. Wearing full, pristinely polished armour and armed with long, silver pikes, they parted to allow Princess Morrad inside. Yandira caught a glimpse of Lark’s and Denev’s pained expressions before the princess closed the door and its spells and mechanisms locked. Morrad gazed around as though she was seeing through the veil of a dream. Her far-away eyes, dulled as though wreathed in grey mist, eventually settled on Yandira and she blinked, once, slowly. 

‘Sister.’                                                                                                                             

Yandira offered the slightest of nods. ‘Sister.’

Morrad stepped in front of her guards and took a moment to admire the painting on the easel. ‘You’ve always had such a good eye for detail.’

Although a few years older than Yandira, Princess Morrad had the unnerving quality of appearing neither old nor young. An unearthly creature in all ways, who some called a mooncalf, it was as though her skin was made from starlight and her clothes from spider silk and butterfly wings. Her hair tangled and wild, Morrad stared vacantly, offering nothing further by way of conversation. Yandira was pleased to see that her sister was as colourful and sweet-smelling a flower ever to have opened its petals. Ready for plucking.

Yandira returned to her painting. ‘What do you want?’ 

‘Oh.’ The question jolted Morrad, as though reminding her that she was in the room. ‘I bring grave news.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Queen Eldrid is dead.’

Yandira finished adding a touch of shadow to a petal before addressing the statement. ‘Are you certain?’

‘Murdered.’ Tears like liquid moonlight welled in Morrad’s eyes. ‘Poisoned in her sleep. There are assassins in our House, Yandira.’

           ‘Oh my, the queen is truly dead?’ Yandira held a hand to her breast. ‘How tragic.’ She rolled her eyes and applied brush to canvas once more.

Morrad was aghast. ‘Eldrid was your sister!’ 

A shame she never treated me as such.’

‘Shame?’ Morrad cocked her head to one side. ‘After all this time, you still fester so selfishly?’

‘Eldrid was no more to me than my warden.’

‘Where is your grief? Your remorse?’

‘You honestly expect a show of compassion, Morrad? Ten years I have been locked in this tower. Ten years! And this is the first time either of my sisters has deigned to visit.’ The first time anyone had visited, in fact; aside from the food hatch opening three times a day, the door had remained closed and locked throughout Yandira’s incarceration. Or so her wardens believed. ‘Your news grieves me not at all.’ 

‘Have respect!’ Morrad drew herself up regally, yet her voice remained sunshine light and no more admonishing than a mewling kitten’s. ‘After Mother left, Eldrid could have ordered your execution.’

‘You think invoking Mother’s memory will somehow soften my resolve?’

‘It was an act of love that kept you alive.’

Love? Yes, there was truth to that, though others had warned it was a mistake. But that was yesterday, while today there was more to this news than even Morrad knew.

‘Eldrid was poisoned by magical means,’ Morrad said. ‘My advisors warn me that you have not changed. I argued in your favour. I told them you could not achieve this foulness from your prison. Tell me I am right.’

Yandira did no such thing and placed the brush on the easel, wiping paint from her hands with a cloth. ‘How is Princess Ghador taking the news of her mother’s death?’

‘She does not know.’ Tears spilled onto Morrad’s cheeks. ‘Ghador is away from the city. We sent a gull with orders for her to come home, but she has not replied, and we fear . . . we fear—’

‘That silence from our beloved niece indicates the assassins got to her, too? Oh dear.’ Yandira quashed a smirk. ‘Though that contingency would make this a good day for you, Morrad. With Eldrid and her heir gone, the throne of Strange Ground is all but yours. The one rival left in your way is me. Or should that be the other way around?’

‘Yandira . . .’ Morrad took a step closer. ‘What have you done?’

Yandira’s gaze rested on the two guards. Statue-still in their armoured shells, the visors of their helmets pointed and expressionless, their pikes sharp and menacing. They were waiting for the order that Morrad was hesitant to give. Behind them, beneath the wardrobe where no one was watching, the Shade opened its eyes like a piranha detecting blood in the water. At a discreet and silent order from Yandira, it slithered from its hiding place.

‘If it’s any consolation, Morrad, you would have made a truly awful queen.’

‘Seize her.’

But the guards didn’t move. The Shade had already sped across the floor to their boots. It split into two, slid up their armoured legs, over their back plates and disappeared inside their helmets before either of them could level their weapons. 

Morrad watched, confused that her orders went ignored. The guards flinched as though shocked. Tendrils of shadowy smoke leaked from their visors. 

Frantic knocking came at the door.

‘Highness!’ called Ala Denev.

‘Is all well?’ added Hamdon Lark.

Yandira pointed at the door and gave the guards her instructions. ‘Arrest the royal advisor and magician. I believe they have startling confessions of high treason to make.’ She clucked her tongue at Morrad, who looked more lost than ever. ‘Such a wretched pair, don’t you agree? Murdering our sister and niece like that.’

‘No!’ Morrad wailed at her guards. ‘You will not permit her freedom.’

Yandira’s laugh was bright and genuine. ‘My freedom would only be yours to command if I had ever truly been imprisoned in the first place. The wait has been long, sister, but today is a good day.’

The door swung open as Yandira released the wards and locking mechanisms with a wave of her hand. Lark and Denev yelped in unison as the guards stamped towards them with sharp silver blades drawn. Its work done, the Shade fell from their helmets, its two parts merging in mid-air, spreading like a cloud as it drifted back into the room. 

‘Eldrid was wrong,’ Morrad whispered. She didn’t notice the Shade land in her wild hair and crawl into her ear. ‘Letting you live was a mistake . . . a mistake . . .’

To the sound of Lark and Denev’s panicked cries, Morrad ceased functioning. Her misty eyes darkened to the colour of storm clouds. Her head bobbed, her shoulders sagged and she swayed on her feet. 

Yandira rose from the chair and caught her, holding her upright. 

‘My dearest Morrad, we must summon the noble Houses to Castle Wood Bee.’ She kissed her sister’s forehead. ‘It suits tradition that the Lords and Ladies of Strange Ground beneath the Skea should hear of your abdication from your own lips.’

-CHAPTER THREE-

By the Skea

The hot chocolate wasn’t for Ebbie. A cappuccino would be his beverage of choice, sweet and frothy, dusted with cinnamon. The chocolate would belong to Ebbie’s friend, but the friend in question was missing. 

Everything else about the morning was as it should be. A normal summer’s day had dawned over Strange Ground by the Skea and traffic trundled up and down the high street, ferrying townspeople to work. Shopkeepers swept away sand and the debris of night from their shopfronts, while gulls circled overhead against the perfect blue, crying as if to warn Ebbie that the temperature would rise and rise, forcing him to loosen his tie and roll up his shirtsleeves by midday at the latest. But the hot chocolate felt out of place in his hand because he had no one to give it to.

Sipping his cappuccino, Ebbie frowned. The narrow but deep nook between the launderette and Reg’s Newsagents was where his friend usually dwelled. But today it was empty and that troubled him. 

Every morning on his way to work, Ebbie stopped at Mrs Murdock’s café and bought a takeout coffee for himself and a hot chocolate for Mai. Every morning she had a smile and a story waiting for him, and they would while away an hour chatting and enjoying warm drinks in her nook. It was a daily, natural routine of his life, so why wasn’t Mai at home today?

A nocturnal creature by habit, Mai preferred walking the streets at night, when the shadows were at their most secretive and quiet. ‘The end of my day is the beginning of yours,’ she always said. ‘That’s just how I am.’ It might have been logical to assume that Mai had simply broken habit and gone for a morning stroll, but she was not the only absentee from her home.

Mai was a magpie, a collector, but every item she had gathered was missing. Her blankets and trinkets, the interesting things she hid at the back of her home – gone! The nook on the high street was entirely empty, swept clean, as though Mai had never lived there at all. 

‘Is something wrong?’

Ebbie wheeled around to see a woman standing outside the newsagents with a folded paper under her arm. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You look troubled.’

‘Oh . . .’ Ebbie nodded at the nook. ‘I was just wondering where my friend has got to.’ 

‘Your friend?’

‘Mai.’ Ebbie lifted the hot chocolate as if it explained everything. ‘She’s usually at home in the mornings.’

‘Mai?’ the woman queried. Smartly dressed, hair iron-grey, she had the darkest eyes Ebbie had ever seen. ‘Do you mean the wise woman of Strange Ground’s streets?’

‘That’s her.’

‘Then – oh my! I’m sorry to be the herald of bad news, but your friend passed away.’

Ebbie stared at her then snorted in disbelief. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘The man in the newsagents is spreading the news to all his customers.’ There was very little expression on the woman’s face. ‘Reginald says he saw the authorities taking your friend’s body away.’

The utter seriousness in her dark, dark eyes dispelled any chance of a mistake. Ebbie felt like he was deflating. ‘What happened?’ 

‘She was found during the early hours. I’m told the official cause of death is old age.’

‘Mai was old, but . . .’ The hot chocolate felt suddenly heavy in Ebbie’s grip. ‘She was fine yesterday morning.’

‘Perhaps she went peacefully in her sleep.’ The woman gazed into the clear blue sky before offering a small smile. ‘Perhaps the folk came to send her off.’

Ebbie shook his head. ‘This can’t be right.’

‘I am sorry for your loss. Good luck to you, young man.’

The woman walked away and Ebbie stared into the nook. 

Gulls cried overhead. Cars trundled by. The light breeze carried the taste of salt and the distant crash of waves. Ebbie placed the hot chocolate on the floor of Mai’s home while everything else in Strange Ground by the Skea carried on as normal.