CHAPTER 1: The True Queen Arrives (to a damp and cabbage-y realm)
October 31st – Halloween, Wednesday evening (around seven-ish in the evening, Earther time).
As luck would have it, it was a Wednesday—the most dangerously mundane of all days—when Sasha Pierce entered Between to begin her seven-day trial run as the True Queen of Between.
Which, of course, meant it was an unparalleled disaster.
(For the record, it would have been somewhat less disastrous had she arrived on a Tuesday, and only moderately disastrous had she ventured to Between on a Friday, and almost a success if she had entered the kingdom on a Saturday afternoon somewhere between the hours of three and five.)
As Sasha stepped through the Middleton Gateway on the arm of the Shadow King, a gold cardboard crown on her head and butterflies cavorting recklessly through her midsection, she braced herself. After all, it was perfectly reasonable to expect that moving between realms would be marked by something spectacular. A shower of glitter, perhaps. Or a kaleidoscope of flashing lights.
Or the same sort of electric buzz beneath her skin that she currently felt while touching the Shadow King’s arm.
The less said about that, the better, Sasha told herself sternly and decided to ignore that sensation altogether.
But even as she was literally suspended between realms—with one boot on the sandstone platform in Old Middleton and the other on the cobblestones of Between—all Sasha felt as she crossed the threshold was a mild prickly sensation over her skin, almost as if someone had taken a bath towel crunchy with static electricity and dragged it haphazardly over her body.
Like a magical car wash, she thought with a grin.
She hesitated for a moment when she emerged entirely on the other side, blinking away her last vision of the boisterous Halloween celebrations of Old Middleton in favor of the silent, steely-gray gloom of Between, just in case there would be some grand gesture to mark her entry into the kingdom.
(There wasn’t.)
All in all, it was rather anticlimactic.
The Shadow King sensed her hesitation. “Is all well?” he asked.
Something that looked remarkably like concern was evident in his startling green eyes, and it made her feel slightly better about entering a new realm where she knew no one but him.
“Yes.” Sasha gave him a wry smile. “I thought traveling through a gateway into another realm would be more wondrous or dangerous or … or….” She shrugged, at a loss for words. “Exciting.”
Lorn lifted one dark, kingly brow. “You wished, perhaps, to be crushed by unseen forces? Or pummeled by strong winds? Or hit by lightning?”
“Exciting in a good way.” Sasha dropped her arm from his, her skin still tingling in that disconcerting manner. “Jeez, you can be so grim.”
But as she stepped out from beneath the soaring sandstone arch of the Between Gateway, that odd voice that lived in the back of her mind—the same voice that had goaded her into endlessly seeking out new places … and then forced her to leave them just as she was getting comfortable—suddenly awoke.
At last! it crowed, so loudly that Sasha’s ears began to ring. At last! True Queen!
Sasha almost staggered under the force of the voice’s triumph. She caught herself and looked up at Lorn, convinced he must have heard it, too.
But the Shadow King seemed oblivious to her auditory hallucination. He was staring at the immense, black iron gates before them, a crease between his brows.
“There is good reason for such grimness.” He bowed, gesturing to the city with an ironic flourish. “Welcome to Between, Your Majesty.”
In a spectacular piece of timing, the heavens chose that moment to open. If Sasha had been standing in the Kingdom of Aurora, a dazzling display of sunbeams would have emerged from the clouds, bathing the new queen in glorious, golden light. Or if this had been the Kingdom of Vale, a gentle mist would have descended upon Sasha in a symbolic cleansing, washing away her old life and welcoming her into the new.
But unfortunately, this was Between, so what emerged from the sky was an icy torrential downpour that plastered Sasha’s curls to her face within milliseconds and began to rapidly seep into her forest-green peacoat.
“Gah!” Sasha cried and quickly scuttled back under the meager shelter of the Gateway.
Lorn, however, remained in place. He tipped back his head and looked balefully at the sky.
“Truly?” he asked the clouds incredulously. “This is the way you choose to welcome your Queen? This is the first impression you wish to make?”
If anything, it began to rain harder.
Sasha reached out and grabbed Lorn’s arm, pulling him back under the shelter of the Gateway. “You’ll drown if you stay out there! It’s—hang on.…”
She brushed her hand over his forearm, frowning at the dry armor beneath her fingers. Looking over the King’s form, she realized Lorn was completely dry all over; not a strand of his dark hair was wet, nor was there a drop of rain on his knee-high, black leather boots.
“Are you fondling my arm for any particular reason?” Lorn asked, looking down at the fondled appendage in question.
“Why aren’t you wet?” she blurted, snatching back her fondling hand.
Lorn gave a negligent shrug. “I am a Master of Water.”
Sasha glanced down at the puddles that were merrily forming beneath her dripping coat and sighed. “Then I guess I’m a Mistress of Moisture.”
“Is that how you wish to be addressed from now on?”
“Just ‘Sasha’ is fine, thanks.” She shivered as a rivulet of ice water snuck into the space between her scarf and collar and trickled slyly down the back of her neck.
Lorn noticed her shiver. “That is quite enough,” he snapped to Between. “Your Queen is in danger of freezing to death.”
“I’m fine,” Sasha said through chattering teeth.
“You are not, and I am a fool for not realizing it earlier.” Lorn made an abrupt gesture, and the Cloak of Shadows swiftly unfurled and gathered around Sasha’s shoulders.
Wrapped snugly in its shadowy form, Sasha no longer felt the icy bite of the wind and immediately felt warmer.
“Thanks,” she said with a grateful sigh.
Lorn rubbed his forehead, a look of dismay crossing his features. “Apologies. I should have done something earlier.”
“Let me guess—your chivalrous urges are still rusty?” she asked impishly, echoing Lorn’s words during their frost-covered dream meeting where he had lent her a cloak and tunic.
Lorn smiled faintly as if he was also remembering the exchange. “Truth be told, they were fairly decrepit to begin with.” He looked down at Sasha’s soggy state, his smile falling away. “I am afraid I have no other clothing to lend you this time. Armor is not easily shared.”
Sasha gathered up her wet curls and, angling them away from her body, squeezed tightly, grimacing at the stream of water that trickled out from the sodden mass. “Well, lucky for me, I’m feeling much warmer now. This”—she dropped her hair and patted the shadow cloak—“is quickly becoming my favorite piece of borrowed clothing.”
The cloak squeezed her shoulder happily.
“Do not flatter it too much,” Lorn warned, staring pointedly at the cloak. “Otherwise, it will conveniently forget its allegiance and refuse to return to its rightful owner.”
“Feel free to stay with me,” Sasha whispered to the cloak.
“Betrayed at every turn,” Lorn said with a shake of his head.
She looked up at the sky and grimaced. “Can’t you just…?” She made a vaguely magical hand gesture.
Lorn stared down at her hand with a frown. “Decapitate someone?”
“What?! No. Why would I want you to decapitate someone? Why would you even think of something like that?”
“You just made the universally accepted hand gesture for—”
“You know what?” Sasha interrupted. “Forget the hand gesture.” She huffed and tried to brush the raindrops from her coat. “Can’t you use magic to stop the rain? You changed the weather in Old Middleton.”
“This is not simply weather, Mistress Moisture—”
Sasha winced. “Let’s never say that again.”
“This,” Lorn continued, gesturing toward the sky, “is Between expressing itself.” He said it with a wry twist of his lips. “Though, I suppose there is no harm in trying.…”
He raised his wrist, revealing his Water Mark. “Come now,” he said, addressing the clouds. “Enough.”
But as he lifted his hand toward the sky, Lorn’s shoulders abruptly hunched forward, almost as if someone had slapped him firmly between the shoulder blades.
“Are you okay?” Sasha asked.
Unconsciously, she reached out to steady him but quickly remembered that he wouldn’t want to be fondled again and withdrew her hand.
“Rarely.” Lorn grimaced and straightened his posture. “It is Between’s way of telling me not to intervene.”
He looked up at the sky, his expression long-suffering. “Very well,” he said, addressing the clouds. “I will not interfere. But really, you should stop this nonsense. Sasha is here now—enough of these tears!”
“Between is crying?” Sasha stared up at the now bruise-colored sky. “Doesn’t Between want me here?” The idea of being rejected by a sentient kingdom was unexpectedly hurtful.
Lorn waved away the idea with a flick of his fingertips. “Quite the contrary. These are happy tears.”
“Happy tears?”
“Yes,” Lorn said, his tone resigned.
“Oh. Well … I guess that’s nice?” Sasha smiled hesitantly up at the sky. “I’m happy to meet you, too.”
The rain paused momentarily as if surprised … only to bucket down again.
“Keep trying,” Lorn coaxed quietly. “Between may listen to you.”
“Oh! Okay.” Sasha stepped to the very edge of the Gateway and cleared her throat. “I’m—ah—happy to … to be here,” she improvised.
The rain continued to pour, the smell of petrichor and something brackish thick in the air.
Mistress Moisture was not to be dissuaded. “And I’d like to continue our meeting somewhere drier. Maybe in the castle? Beside a fireplace?” she added hopefully. “If you stop the rain, I can run over there and start chatting with you right away.”
Thunder boomed across the city. Sasha took that as a ‘no.’
Lorn shook his head, confirming her suspicion. “An excellent try … and moderately cunning of you. But it appears your efforts are for naught. I have learned from dreadful experience that sometimes it is best to let Between have its way.”
“Oh.” Sasha stepped back and drew her wet coat closer around her torso. “I guess we’ll just wait and let Between get it out of its system.”
But there appeared to be a considerable amount of liquid in Between’s system. Several minutes later, they were still standing beneath the Gateway, and the rain showed no sign of stopping. Sasha blinked as four apples and a hessian sack floated past in the overflowing gutter.
“You are being wretchedly melodramatic,” Lorn scolded Between.
“You’re definitely milking this situation,” Sasha agreed.
A wooden bucket holding an imp and a bewildered, drenched chicken drifted past.
“King!” the imp called out. “A little help?”
Lorn raised his palm, and the bucket soared out of the gutter, landing beside his boots. The imp gave Lorn a thumbs-up. The chicken clucked approvingly and began to fuss over its wet feathers.
“The time for indulging Between is quite over,” Lorn muttered as he lowered his hand. “We are going to the castle.”
“How?” Sasha attempted to peer through the storm. The rain was coming down so fiercely she could barely see a foot in front of her; the gates were now nothing more than a vaguely menacing black blur in the distance.
Lorn held out his arm to Sasha in the same courtly gesture he’d used to guide her through the Middleton Gateway. “As quickly as possible.”
“Good,” she said with considerable relief.
But instead of placing her arm flat on Lorn’s, she looped it around his bicep and huddled up against his side, hoping to use him as a buffer against the rain. Overall, it was about as comfortable as cuddling up to a menacing lamppost.
“Let’s do this,” she said with a grim nod.
Lorn missed her nod; he was staring at their entwined limbs with a bewildered expression, almost as if he had been unaware that arms could be used in such a manner. But all he said was, “Prepare yourself.”
And with that ominous warning, he led her out of the shelter of the Gateway.
Sasha braced for the deluge, but it didn’t come; the Cloak of Shadows extended over her head like a helpful awning, shielding her from the worst of the rain.
“Thank you!” she said to the cloak.
She lowered her head and focused on keeping up with the Shadow King’s long, purposeful strides. Her vision narrowed to the ground just beyond the tips of her boots; all her attention focused on leaping over puddles and dodging debris. The uneven road gave way first to beaten metal as they crossed what looked like a drawbridge, and then to poorly laid cobblestones that tried to trip her up with every step. There was the occasional flash of boots and cloaks as figures ran past and a glimpse of black metal posts from the corner of her eye as they passed through the gates.
And suddenly, between one stride and the next, Sasha found herself laughing uproariously. She wasn’t sure why she was laughing; it could have been the absurdity of trying to escape the weather-based dramatics of a sentient landmass or even the sheer joy of running through the rain arm in arm with an honest-to-goodness fairytale king. Then again, with her luck, it was probably the early stages of hypothermia.
“Good gods!” Lorn yelled above the storm. “Are you hysterical?”
“Yes!” she cried, grinning madly.
“Marvelous. You have been here for less than an hour, and already, your sanity is in peril.”
Sasha didn’t know why, but she felt almost giddy. “To be fair, I was like this before I got here.”
Just as she was beginning to truly enjoy herself, Lorn came to an abrupt halt.
Sasha stumbled a few steps until Lorn steadied her, pulling her back against his side. When she looked up, she found herself standing before a black stone pedestal topped with a deep basin overflowing with rainwater.
“No,” Lorn told Between firmly. “Enough of this. Sasha is drenched; we must get her to the castle immediately.”
He tried to stride forward but again lurched to a stop, bringing Sasha with him.
“Fine,” he muttered, steadying Sasha in place.
“What’s wrong?” She looked down at the ground beside Lorn’s boots. “Did you trip?”
“If only. Between wished for me to halt, and so I halted.”
Sasha’s eyes widened. “Are you saying that Between can control you?”
“Yes.” The word was said in a quick, clipped tone. “When it desires. And unfortunately, it desires to do so now.”
The thought of Between being able to move Lorn around like a puppet made Sasha feel distinctly uneasy. “But—but why?”
“It is being stubborn … again.” Lorn gestured toward the flooded basin. “In accordance with our customs, Between wants you to cleanse your hands before entering the castle.”
Sasha held up her free hand, slick with rain. “I think they’re sufficiently wet.”
“It has nothing to do with moisture. It’s a greeting ritual meant to keep the peace between kingdoms, and for whatever reason, this infernal kingdom wishes you to go through it. Just dip your hands into the basin, hold them up—palms exposed—and extend a greeting to Between from your realm. State that your intentions are peaceful. Then, with any luck, we will be able to get out of this ridiculous storm.”
As if in agreement, the rains eased a little.
“Whatever it takes,” Sasha said with a sigh.
Moving quickly, she disentangled herself from Lorn and dipped her hands into the basin, the Cloak of Shadows doing its best to protect her from the slanting rain.
“Ah … hi, Between,” she began.
She stole a glance at Lorn; he gestured for her to hold up her hands. She quickly followed his lead and looked up at the sky.
“Greetings from Old Middleton and the Earther Realm,” she said, her voice pitched loud enough to be heard over the rain. “I come in peace.” And because she thought it best to be polite to a landmass that could move its king around like a doll, she added, “Nice to meet you.” She looked back at Lorn. “Is that enough?”
He cocked his head to the side as if listening. “Apparently so.”
The odd voice in her head appeared to agree.
Greetings, True Queen! it crowed victoriously. At last! At last!
“Wonderful,” she said slowly, answering both Lorn and the voice. Trust her auditory hallucinations to get rowdier during an Ordeal. “That’s … that’s just great.”
She dropped her hands and tried to dry them on her jeans but gave up when she realized they were coming back just as wet as they’d started. To her surprise, Lorn pulled on a small handle set into the pedestal’s base, revealing a door. Reaching within, he removed a towel and handed it to Sasha.
Sasha blinked at the incongruous buddle of gray linen. “Ah … thanks.” The towel was scratchy and threadbare and smelled faintly of smoked sausages. Nevertheless, she chose to ignore that discovery (along with valid concerns about what could be lurking in a communal hand towel stashed in a hidden, sausage-scented closet) in favor of alleviating her sodden state.
“Any chance you can stop the rain now?” she asked Between as she dried her hands and face, the worn towel rapidly becoming as waterlogged as her clothing.
If anything, it began to rain harder.
“Oh, such optimism,” Lorn muttered, taking Sasha’s elbow.
Sasha had only a moment to toss the towel back toward the basin before Lorn led her briskly onward down a series of twisted streets and crooked paths, the rain beating down upon them until he brought them to a halt just before a broad set of stairs.
Sasha looked up, and up, and up, her breath trapped in a gasp.
“Between’s infamous castle,” Lorn said dryly. “In all its wretched glory.”
Sasha barely heard him—she was too busy staring up at the hulking, lopsided structure looming before her, her neck straining painfully as she unsuccessfully tried to peer all the way up to its terribly pointy turrets.
This wasn’t Sasha’s first encounter with the sentient castle of Between. In her dreams, she’d seen it from the top of a snowy mountain peak, the castle squatting in the center of the crooked little city like a malevolent toad. She had even dreamed her way inside one of its dimly lit hallways, where she’d walked amongst beast-shaped shadows toward a golden room that held a charming shadow-version of Lorn trapped in a mirror.
But none of those moments had prepared her for the sheer immensity of a real-life castle. Staring up at the rain-slicked, black stone structure, Sasha felt like an ant huddled beneath a boulder.
A sinister boulder, she thought grimly, noting the mist that seethed and churned around the iron-studded doors and the beastly gargoyles and grotesques that stared down at her from every ledge, their teeth bared in a decidedly unwelcome manner.
Sasha shivered, and not entirely from the cold.
“Your new home, such that it is,” Lorn continued. “Though be prepared—it is even less welcoming on the inside.”
“Is that possible?” Sasha blurted. “Gah, sorry! That was so rude, I—”
“In Between, almost anything is possible … including terrible castle furnishings.” He paused as if recalling something. “It is probably best for you to lower your expectations.”
“They’re pretty low,” Sasha admitted. “Practically subterranean.”
“Go lower,” he insisted. “Once you believe you have hit the bottom, imagine falling into a very, very deep pit.”
Before Sasha could ask about that pit’s dimensions, Lorn led her hurriedly up the stairs, over the threshold, and into the castle entranceway.
If someone had asked Sasha to describe her first impressions of the castle interior in three words or less as she walked through the entranceway, she would have answered, ‘dark,’ ‘damp,’ and ‘cabbage-y,’ which, although not a proper word, was a very accurate description of the smell permeating the small room.
(If Sasha had been drier and not in the midst of an Ordeal, she may have viewed the entranceway more kindly ... possibly replacing ‘dark’ with ‘atmospheric’ and 'cabbage-y' with ‘memorably fragrant.’)
But as she stepped into the cavernous foyer, her heart began to pound with a disconcerting mix of wonder and foreboding. The foyer had the air of a menacing cathedral, with black stone pillars scattered around the space like dark sentries and matching black flagstones in various states of disrepair beneath her feet. It took several moments for Sasha’s vision to adjust to the dim light, and even then, the outskirts of the room remained shrouded in inky darkness. The lanterns scattered haphazardly around the walls did little to brighten the chamber, nor did the iron chandeliers with their stubby candles swinging creakily across the domed ceiling. Yet they excelled at creating shadows that danced across the walls in sinister configurations and gathered like thieves in the corners and alcoves.
Sasha looked down at the uneven flagstones and noticed the puddle of water beginning to pool around her boots from her sopping clothing.
“Oh, no,” she said, watching the water drip from her coat. “I’m ruining the floor.” She looked around. “Is there a doormat or—?”
“As you can see, the floor is already ruined.” Lorn gestured to the scorch marks near their feet and then to several rusty-orange stains of various sizes scattered across the foyer. He glanced down at the wet flagstones. “In fact, that is probably the cleanest this patch of the floor has been in years.”
“O-kay, then. I guess I’ll keep dripping.” Sasha tilted her head, listening as her voice echoed around the vast room. “It’s a lot quieter than I expected.”
Eerily quiet, she thought. The only sound was an occasional swish … swish … swish.
“Too quiet,” Lorn agreed. He, too, cocked his head and listened. “Which is never a good sign in Between.” He took several measured steps toward the center of the room, still listening intently.
Sasha followed his lead. “So … it’s better when it’s noisy?”
“No. But it allows you to ascertain where the threat is coming from.”
Sasha paused mid-step. “That’s not reassuring.” “Not at all,” he agreed.
Sasha hurried to catch up. “I’m pretty sure you’re the least comforting person I’ve ever met.”
“It is not a quality that I am known to possess,” he agreed.
As Lorn led her further into the chamber, Sasha noticed the swish … swish … swish sounds were getting louder. Rounding one of the pillars, Sasha spied an old woman dressed in ragged robes that may once have been sky blue but were now a dingy shade of pale gray. The woman was hunched almost double, her back curved like the handle of a teacup, as she listlessly pushed a mop back and forth over the filthy floor. The swish … swish … swish sound came not from the wet sweep of the mop but from her matted, white hair dragging along the stones.
Lorn hummed questioningly under his breath. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said to Sasha.
He crossed over to the woman, his tread careful, his posture wary.
“Good day, Agatha,” he said politely.
Agatha only grunted in reply.
“By any chance, would that happen to be a new bucket?” he asked, gesturing to the bucket in question.
Sasha wondered about the pleased smile lurking at the corners of the Shadow King’s mouth.
Agatha did not bother looking up from her task. “Bucket’s new,” she rasped, her tone as dry as old bones.
Lorn peered inside the bucket and sighed. “But it is the same fish, is it not?”
Agatha continued to mop. “Same fish.”
Fish? Sasha crossed over to Lorn’s side and peered into the bucket. To her surprise, there was a fish within it—a feisty, stripey little thing that did quick laps of its enclosure.
“Does it have a name?” Sasha asked.
Agatha paused her mopping and peered blearily up at Sasha. “Grunk.”
Sasha found herself caught in the older woman’s golden stare and tried not to shiver. It felt as though something terribly old and not even vaguely human was staring back at her amongst the thick, leathery folds gathered around her eyes.
Sasha swallowed and tried very hard to smile. “Well, Grunk is a very handsome fish.”
Grunk did a showy turn around the bucket, flashing his fins at Sasha.
Agatha stared at Sasha for another disconcerting moment, then thankfully looked down at her bucket. “Handsome?”
“It’s a great name for a fish,” Sasha added cheerily, forcing herself to smile even wider. “Much better than others I’ve heard.” She crossed her fingers, hoping Fish Stick and Aluminum Foil never found out about her betrayal.
Agatha shrugged, her hunched shoulders rising and falling beneath her cloak of rags. “It’s his name.” She turned to Lorn. “I’ll do the front stairs now.”
“I believe it is raining,” Lorn said, looking back through the doorway. “Perhaps you should wait?”
Agatha sniffed the air and shrugged again. “Makes it easier.”
And with that, she picked up her bucket (with Grunk still swimming merrily within it) and slowly shuffled toward the door, her white hair trailing behind her like a filthy bridal veil.
“She seems … nice,” Sasha whispered diplomatically as Agatha disappeared out the door. She sniffed the air and blinked at the sudden salty tang. “She smells like the ocean.”
“Agatha is nice in the way that sea monsters devouring ships whole are nice, or lethal ice storms are nice, or vast waves that swallow seaside villages are nice.”
Sasha stilled. “She’s dangerous, isn’t she?”
“Extremely deadly,” Lorn agreed. “Try to stay on her good side.”
Sasha glanced over her shoulder, catching a final glimpse of trailing white hair as it disappeared behind a pillar. “I’m going to avoid her as if my life depended on it.”
“It just might.”
Sasha shivered. “You really need to work on your comforting skills.”
“We shall assign you a royal comforter,” Lorn said.
The cloak gave Sasha’s shoulder another squeeze.
“At least I have you,” Sasha whispered to the cloak.
The silence was broken by a sudden commotion coming from further within the castle. Sasha could hear heavy footfalls, shouts, and raised voices yelling, “Come on!” and, “Hurry up!” and, “Agh! That was my foot!”
A shambolic group of around twenty or so, all dressed in black leather breastplates and pointed helmets, scampered into the chamber like a noisy collection of ants congregating on a discarded cookie crumb. Sasha watched as the group, all carrying musical instruments, muttered and jostled and bickered amongst themselves until they had arranged themselves into a lopsided line before her, all breathing heavily from the exertion. One of them doubled over, his helmet almost toppling from his head.
“Argh,” he gasped, clutching a brass horn in his hand, “I think—I broke—my lungs.”
He was promptly elbowed by the woman standing to his right. “Your lungs are fine,” she hissed, pushing her red curls from her eyes. “You shouldn’t have swallowed that whole chunk of pie before running across the castle.” She snuck a glance at Sasha. “Hold it together in front of the new Queen!”
“Act professional,” the fellow on his left muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
“Your Majesty,” Lorn began, gesturing to the group, “may I present the castle guards?” He turned to the ramshackle group. “Thank you for making an appearance on this auspicious day,” he added dryly.
“Don’t mention it, Majesty,” one of the guards piped up.
“According to our union, we’re contractually obligated to be here,” another mentioned.
Lorn turned to Sasha with an expectant look. Sasha wondered if there was something official, something queenly that she was meant to do or say when meeting castle guards. Then, she mentally shrugged; they should have given her a ‘How to Queen’ orientation handbook if they wanted her to behave appropriately.
“Hi,” she said to the guards and gave them a small wave.
The guards shared puzzled looks and then waved back.
“I like that,” one whispered. “Not too fancy.”
The others murmured their agreement.
Sasha stole a sideways glance at Lorn, but he was staring straight ahead, his lips twitching. Sasha noticed the guards’ curious glances and almost groaned aloud. Even with her borrowed magical cloak, she knew she looked less like a queen and more like something a plumber would find clogging a bathroom drain.
Self-consciously, she tugged her coat in place and ran her fingers through her hair, starting when she felt something slide off her head and land with a wet thunk on the floor. Looking down, she saw the sad remnants of the glittery cardboard crown that Lyla had placed on Sasha’s head before leaving Old Middleton splattered over the flagstones.
“Ah … do you want us to dry that for you?” the winded guard with the horn asked helpfully.
“I think it’s beyond help,” Sasha said, looking down at the sad, golden mess. “But thanks for offering.”
Lorn also looked down at the now-pulpy crown. “In a few days, you shall have a more permanent—and excruciatingly uncomfortable—replacement.” He gestured to the sharp, mirror-shard crown on his head, the dark points glinting even in the dim light.
Sasha cringed at the thought. “Great.” She ducked down and picked up the remains of her headwear. “Something to look forward to,” she said as she jammed the soggy fistful of cardboard into her pocket.
“Sorry, Majesty—Majesties,” a tall, lanky fellow called out as he loped into the foyer. His breastplate was more intricate than those worn by the other guards, and his helmet was a little pointer; Sasha assumed he was their leader.
“Jakobsen,” Lorn drawled. “Good of you to finally show up for Her Majesty’s welcome.”
Jakobsen winced. “Now, now, Majesty. What you don’t realize is that not fifteen minutes ago, we were all waiting here, ready to be welcoming—”
“—and then, we weren’t,” another guard finished as she came to stand beside Jakobsen, her helmet askew, her broad face ruddy with exertion.
“I assume there is a good reason for your tardy arrival, Lennox?” Lorn asked the guard.
Lennox shot Sasha a furtive look, then held her hand up to her mouth as if trying to hide her words from Sasha’s view.
“We had a bit of a situation,” she stage-whispered to Lorn.
“Did you resolve it?” Lorn asked.
“Ah … no,” Jakobsen said.
“We made it worse,” Lennox added as she dropped her hand to her side.
As if in agreement, there was a mighty screech from somewhere above them, followed by a disconcerting boom that made the chandeliers overhead swing in a rather dangerous fashion. Sasha looked up warily and stepped closer to Lorn.
Lorn also looked up but less warily and more resigned. “It truly is a Wednesday.”
“All day!” Jakobsen said cheerfully.
Lorn turned to Sasha. “Your Majesty, for better or worse, may I present Jakobsen, Head of the Castle Guards.” Jakobsen sketched a quick bow. “And his second-in-command, Lennox.” Lennox attempted an elaborate bow and promptly lost her helmet.
Sasha figured she might as well stick to protocol and gave them a smile and a wave.
“We’ve prepared a fine musical welcome for you, Your Majesty,” Jakobsen said to Sasha as Lennox scrambled to pick up her lost headwear. He gestured frantically to the guards, who quickly picked up their instruments. Some even held them up the right way.
Beside her, Lorn stilled. “A fine musical welcome, you said?”
“Don’t you remember, Majesty?” Jakobsen asked, pulling what looked like a wooden flute from his back pocket. “We told you about it.”
“I remember you mentioning your desire to stand in a new formation for Her Majesty, but I had forgotten the musical portion of your plans,” Lorn said, his tone wary. “Or, more likely, repressed the memory.”
Sasha (foolishly) ignored Lorn’s concern and placed her hand over her heart, honestly touched. “That is so kind of you, thank you!”
“You say that now,” Lorn muttered. He raised his voice to address the guards. “Have you practiced?”
Lennox shook her head. “Nah. We thought practicing would ruin the purity of the performance.”
“Of course,” Lorn said. He turned to Sasha. “As this is your first day in Between, I will give you the opportunity to run and save yourself while I valiantly hold them at bay.”
Sasha grinned up at him. “Thanks, but I’m happy to stay.”
As a kindergarten teacher, Sasha was no stranger to concerts performed by those with more enthusiasm than talent. Years of teaching elementary school children how to play the recorder had pretty much made her immune to most forms of aural torture. If anything, she finally felt in her element.
She gave one of her best smiles to the guards. “I can’t wait to hear you play.”
“Famous last words,” Lorn said with a shake of his head. “As much as it pains me to say this, let us begin. After all, the sooner you start, the sooner we can purge this entire event from our collective memories.”
“That’s our cue, folks!” Jakobsen said, holding up his flute triumphantly.
Lorn bent closer to Sasha. “Clench your eardrums,” he warned in a whisper.
“Is that a thing?” she whispered back. “Can you really do that?”
But before Lorn could reply or give instructions on how to commence the clenching in question, the castle guards began to play. After only a few bars, Sasha desperately wished that ‘eardrum clenching’ was a skill in her repertoire. For what the castle guards lacked in talent and musicality, they made up for in lung power and the single-minded desire to squeeze, blow, beat, or force as much sound out of the poor, tortured instrument in their grasp as humanly possible. As a result, there were multiple beats, several volumes, and no melody to speak of whatsoever. Overall, it was the auditory equivalent of someone with masochistic tendencies playing twenty-five jazz records backward, with the addition of an air raid siren to spice things up.
“Clench!” she muttered to her eardrums as the noise reached a fever pitch, her eyes beginning to water. “Clench, damn you!”
Somewhere above them, a creature began to screech vehemently in protest.
Just as Sasha began to wonder if she should join it, Lorn mercifully raised his hand.
“That will be quite enough!” he yelled over the cacophony.
Sasha had to forcibly stop herself from hugging him.
The castle guards reluctantly put down their instruments.
“Are you sure, Majesty?” Jakobsen asked, slightly winded from the hearty flute blowing. “We were just starting to hit our stride.”
“Something was, indeed, being pummeled,” Lorn said, “though I fear it was my sanity more so than your stride. Regardless, I believe Her Majesty has been sufficiently welcomed.”
The guards turned expectantly to Sasha.
“Yes,” she said fervently. “I feel very welcome. Especially my eardrums.” Noting their disappointment, she added hastily. “It was an amazing welcome. A dazzling welcome. Really.”
Jakobsen swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing excitedly. “Did you hear that?” he asked the guards, his voice choked with emotion. “Dazzled.”
The guards turned to each other wide-eyed, inordinately chuffed at Sasha’s approval.
Jakobsen spun toward Sasha and raised his flute. “We could dazzle you some more—”
“No need,” Lorn interrupted, much to Sasha’s relief. “There is only so much dazzlement that Her Majesty can handle in one day.”
“That’s true,” Jakobsen said, reluctantly lowering his instrument. “You don’t want to wear out your dazzlement.”
“You’ve gotta pace yourself,” Lennox added sagely.
“Would you like to inspect our formation, Your Majesty?” Jakobsen asked Sasha. “We made it for you, special-like. We usually just stand in a straight line, but seeing this is an event of some importance, we wanted to do something special.”
“Somethin’ fancier,” Lennox added. “With more majesty.”
“Oh! Of course!” Sasha said. She half-turned away from the guards and leaned closer to Lorn. “What am I supposed to do?” she whispered as she made a show of straightening her saturated coat.
“Walk past them and feign being impressed,” he replied under his breath.
“Got it,” she whispered back.
She turned around and straightened her shoulders, trying to look as regal as possible while wringing wet. “Right. Prepare to be inspected.”
The guards stood at attention, lifting their chins and puffing out their chests, some to the point where they were on the brink of toppling over. Sasha strolled leisurely down the line, smiling and nodding at each of the guards, all the while trying to ignore the squelching sounds coming from her wet jeans.
“What an excellent formation!” she said as she reached the end of the row. “I’m very impressed.”
The guards smiled proudly.
“Thank you, Majesty!” Jakobsen said, grinning from ear to ear. He leaned toward Sasha, his eyes wide and hopeful. “Did you happen to notice the shape of the formation?”
The shape of the formation? Sasha looked back at the meandering line of guards. Something told her that ‘squiggle’ wasn’t the answer.
“Of course,” she bluffed, crossing her fingers in the wet folds of her coat.
“And it is…?” Jakobsen prompted.
The guards looked at her expectantly.
“Actually,” she improvised, “it’s even more obvious from behind.” She strode quickly behind the guards’ backs. “What is the shape?” she mouthed to Lorn.
Lorn made a surreptitious gesture with his index finger.
Sasha frowned at his finger and shook her head.
Lorn repeated the gesture, albeit slower.
“Something wrong with your finger, Majesty?” Lennox asked, staring down at Lorn’s hand.
“It is twitching with joy,” Lorn said.
“You know,” Sasha began, “I think Lorn—I mean, His Majesty—should come over here and inspect the formation from behind, too.”
“Many thanks, but I can see it very well from here,” Lorn said blandly.
Sasha’s eyes narrowed. “I’d like you to see how obvious it is from behind.”
Lorn’s mouth tilted into a decidedly devious smile. “I would argue it is just as obvious from the front.”
Bastard, Sasha thought. He was clearly enjoying the entire predicament.
“But it’s also more majestic from back here,” she countered. “Come over here and see the majesty,” she ordered in her best schoolteacher voice. “Now … please,” she added for good measure.
“As you command,” Lorn said with a bow of his head, his eyes glinting with amusement. “After all, who am I to miss the majestic obviousness?”
Sasha’s shoulders slumped in relief as Lorn joined her behind the guards.
“Ah, yes,” Lorn said, finally playing along. “So much majesty.”
“What’s the shape?” Sasha asked under her breath. “Is it a squiggle?”
Lorn gave a barely perceptible shake of his head and whispered something out of the corner of his mouth.
Sasha blinked. “A sad alligator habitation?” she asked beneath her breath.
He stared down at her incredulously, his dark brows raised almost to his hairline.
Several of the guards shuffled in place, clearly trying to control the impulse to look over their shoulder.
Sasha grabbed Lorn’s arm and pulled him down so that he was at eye level. “Tell me,” she mouthed.
Lorn dipped his head so that his lips were beside her ear, his voice barely a whisper. “A semi-circular formation.”
Sasha stared at the meandering line of guards. “Really?”
“Really,” he mouthed back.
Sasha released him with a grin. “Thanks,” she mouthed, quickly marching around the line to face the guards.
“This is clearly a semi-circular formation,” she said loftily to the guards.
“It is particularly obvious from behind,” Lorn added as he took his place beside her.
Sasha ignored him. “And it’s the most majestic semi-circular formation I have ever seen,” she said grandly. “Thank you for making it for me.”
“You’re welcome!” Jakobsen said, beaming. He turned to Lorn. “See, Your Majesty? I knew we could do it!”
“I never had a doubt,” Lorn said.
“Forgive my late arrival,” a tall, lean man dressed in an elegant gray tunic and matching gray coat announced as he walked briskly into the chamber, his steps quick and light across the flagstones. “But I was unavoidably detained.”
“Until after the castle guard’s musical welcome for Her Majesty?” Lorn asked archly as the new arrival made his way to Lorn’s side. “How convenient.”
“Very much so,” the gray-clad man agreed blandly.
He eyed the Dangerous Magical Object sticker on Lorn’s breastplate with a raised brow but said nothing. Instead, he turned toward Sasha and bowed gracefully. “Welcome to Between, Your Majesty.”
“This is Maddox,” Lorn said.
Maddox. The name was familiar. Sure enough, a memory came to Sasha in a rush; she had been standing in Between’s golden Portal chamber facing an ornate mirror, and the shadow-version of Lorn trapped within it had told her that the only other person who knew of his existence was Maddox.
Maddox would die for Lorn, the Shadow had claimed.
Sasha studied the loyal Maddox as he straightened. Unlike the bedraggled appearance of the castle guards, Maddox was impeccably attired; not a gray hair was out of place, nor a button askew. And yet, despite his neutral expression and calm tone of voice, there was something sharp and watchful and very, very clever in his clear, gray eyes that made Sasha feel as though there was more to Maddox than suggested by his polished exterior. She had a feeling that Maddox would be the person to go to if she was ever in the midst of an Ordeal in Between.
“Maddox is my Chief Advisor,” Lorn continued, confirming her thoughts, “and yours, by default.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you,” she said warmly.
“It is a true pleasure to serve you,” Maddox told Sasha.
“Which is something he has never said to me,” Lorn observed. “Meaning I am less of a pleasure to serve.”
“That was implied,” Maddox agreed.
“It’s a shame you missed our welcome for Her Majesty, Maddox,” Jakobsen said.
“Her Majesty said it was dazzling,” Lennox said, her eyes wide with excitement.
“Truly one of the regrets of my life,” Maddox said with a straight face.
At that moment, the chamber began to fill with high, sweet chimes. Sasha looked up, trying to find the source of the enchanting sound, and gasped. Floating overhead was a magnificent clock, exquisitely crafted to look like Between’s sinister castle, complete with its grimy windows and fierce gargoyles, crooked towers, and slippery, black roof tiles. Two moons—one gold, one silver—floated above the castle, keeping watch. The hands of the clock pointed out that it was one thirty, as little suns danced over the clock’s face.
“How delightful!” she cried.
“It is fae-crafted,” Lorn said. “It was a Promising gift for one of Between’s long-ago monarchs.”
To find something so beautiful in such grim surroundings made Sasha’s heart sing with joy. “I absolutely love it.”
Beneath the clockface were three doors. As Sasha watched, the left door opened, and a figure clad in black armor and a shadowy cloak emerged.
“That’s you!” she said to Lorn with a laugh.
“It’s a perfect likeness,” Maddox agreed. “Down to the scowl.”
“There is much to scowl about,” Lorn said, bowing his head to his counterpart.
Sasha laughed but stopped abruptly as the right door opened. A dark-haired woman emerged wearing a green coat, blue jeans, and black, knee-high boots.
The guards gasped.
“That door has never opened before,” Lennox said, her eyes wide.
Sasha lifted her hand to her mouth. “That’s—that’s me!” She turned to Lorn. “That’s me, isn’t it?”
“It certainly appears so,” Lorn said. He tilted his head, frowning at the miniature Sasha. “She is even soggy.”
Indeed, the figure’s dark curls appeared to be drenched.
Sasha’s heart clenched as the little Sasha figurine stood beside the little Lorn, their hands almost touching. “It’s enchanting.”
They all stared up at the charming clock until the chimes finished, and the miniature Sasha and Lorn returned behind their doors.
“Did you do this?” Sasha asked, shaking her head at the wonder of it all as the last of the chimes echoed through the chamber.
“This is not my doing,” Lorn said. “The clock appears to be welcoming you to the castle, Your Majesty.”
“Three cheers for Her Majesty, the True Queen of Between!” Jakobsen cried. “Hip-hip—”
“A moment,” Lorn said, lifting his hand to halt the cheer. “Do you not remember what happened the last time the castle guards attempted group-based cheering?”
“The roof caved in,” the guards recited.
“The roof caved in,” Lorn agreed. He glanced questioningly at Maddox. “It was in the North Tower, was it not?”
“The South,” Maddox corrected. “A dragon fell through the roof of the north tower.”
“Ah, so it did,” Lorn said. “It is hard to keep track.”
Sasha looked back and forth between the men, her eyes wide. “Was—was anyone hurt?”
“None that I recall,” Lorn said. “Even the dragon emerged relatively unscathed.”
“Good,” she said faintly. “That’s—that’s good. Does that sort of thing happen often?”
“So often that you won’t even notice it,” Jakobsen said merrily.
Sasha caught Lorn and Maddox sharing a look. “What does he mean—?” she began.
But Lorn quickly interrupted. “You are most likely tired from your journey—”
“All I did was step through a gateway!” Sasha protested.
“—and as your clock counterpart pointed out, you are wet.”
Sasha looked down at the water still dripping from her coat. “That’s true.”
“And I am sure you would like to see your chambers.” He glanced meaningfully at her sopping curls. “Especially the towels.”
He had a point, Sasha conceded. The castle was drafty, she was wet, and why did everything here smell like cabbage? She surreptitiously looked around for the source but gave up.
“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “You have a point; I’d love a hot shower.”
Lorn nodded as if the matter was settled. “Marvelous. I will show—”
There was an eardrum-splitting screech from somewhere above them, followed by a glassy crash that sounded expensive. As one, everyone looked up as the metal chandeliers swung ominously overhead.
“Maddox will show you to your chambers,” Lorn corrected, his voice overly loud in the strained silence. “I shall attend to whatever that may be.”
Maddox lifted an eyebrow at the King. Nevertheless, he bowed to Sasha. “It will be an honor.”
The Cloak of Shadows gave Sasha’s arm a farewell pat and then returned to Lorn’s shoulders.
“Come back whenever you feel like it,” she whispered enticingly to the cloak.
Lorn pointedly turned so that he stood between Sasha and his potentially traitorous apparel.
“Before you leave, Majesty,” Jakobsen said to Sasha, “would you mind dismissing us? It’ll be your first royal order!”
Sasha froze. How did one dismiss a group of guards? With no other alternatives apparent, she decided to go with the obvious.
“Sure,” she said, nodding to Jakobsen. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “You’re dismissed,” she told the guards. And because that felt a little abrupt and harsh, she waved a little awkwardly. “Bye!”
Lorn cleared his throat. “You heard Her Majesty—you may go.”
The guards bowed, the majority managing to drop their instruments in the process.
“Ah … bye, Your Majesty,” Jakobsen said, giving her a wave.
“Bye!” the others echoed as they left the room.
Sasha turned to face Lorn, who was trying hard to keep a straight face. “So … I guess that wasn’t the way to dismiss the castle guards?”
There was something suspiciously smirk-like in the tilt of Lorn’s lips. “The wave was a nice touch.”
Sasha was cold, wet, and damn it, where was that cabbage smell coming from? She was in no mood to deal with a smirking Lorn.
“Fine … feel free to laugh at my expense all you want right now, Your Majesty. Just you wait! Soon, I’ll know all the rules and customs, and I’ll be out-queening you in no time.”
If anything, Lorn’s smirk only grew. “Well, I should hope so.”
Sasha rolled her eyes. “I mean out royal-ing you. Out monarch-ing you.” She waved her hand dismissively. “You know what I mean. Being a better royal person than you.”
“That is hardly a challenge,” he said with a shrug. “I am barely trying as it is.”
“Good. Let the competition begin!”
“Marvelous. I shall look forward to being bested—”
“You’re going down!” Sasha said with gusto.
“—and being crowned ‘The Least Queenly Monarch of Them All.’ ”
Despite herself, Sasha grinned. “You do that.”
Lorn inclined his head. “And on that note, I bid you farewell, Your Majesty. Or, as allegedly superior monarchs say, bye.”
And with a rather sassy wave, the Shadow King turned on his heel and strode across the chamber, the Cloak of Shadows billowing out behind him.
“A sad alligator habitation to you all,” he called out as he disappeared down one of the passageways.
“Imperious jerk,” she muttered at his retreating back, though her grin was still in place.
From behind her back, Maddox cleared his throat.
Sasha winced and turned to face him. “That probably wasn’t something ‘the Most Queenly Monarch of Them All’ would say. Is there any chance we can pretend it didn’t happen?”
“Pretend what did not happen, Your Majesty?” Maddox asked, his expression perfectly neutral.
Sasha grinned. “We are going to be great friends.”
***
NOTE: This is an early, unedited excerpt and may differ greatly from the final version. Please do not post the chapter on other sites.
OTHERWORLD, Book 2 of The Chronicles of Between
Copyright © 2023 L. L. Starling
Published by Wicked Fables Press
Illustrations by Rebecca Morse. Illustrations copyright © 2023 Rebecca Morse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by United States of America copyright law. For permissions requests contact:
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