Lava Red Feather Blue Read online

  Praise for Molly Ringle

  All the Better Part of Me

  * Top Romance Title for Fall 2019 — Publishers Weekly

  * 16 Romance Novels to Read This Fall — BuzzFeed

  * Finalist — Romance, Bisexual Book Awards

  “Entertaining, nuanced … Ringle navigates her twisty revelations and dramatic conclusion with just enough weight to avoid mawkishness, and her characters earn their happy ending. Readers looking for introspective romances with winding plots will enjoy this heartfelt novel.” — Publishers Weekly

  “This honest coming-of-age romance will resonate with those who are discovering their own sexual identity, while Sinter and Andy’s flirtatious, tentative romance should please all lovers of the genre.” — Library Journal

  The Goblins of Bellwater

  “The Goblins of Bellwater is a journey to a world that feels both familiar and freaky—a wonderful place to get lost.”

  — Foreword Reviews

  “Ringle … has created a vivid and enjoyable … romp through the world of magical beings.”

  — Shelf Awareness

  “Ringle employs familiar fairy tale tropes but turns them on their heads to deliver something wholly unexpected and fresh.”

  — Publishers Weekly

  Copyright © 2021 Molly Ringle

  Cover and internal design © 2021 Central Avenue Marketing Ltd.

  Cover Design: Michelle Halket

  Cover Images: Courtesy & Copyright: Creative Market: Opia Designs AND BirDIY

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Central Avenue Publishing, an imprint of Central Avenue Marketing Ltd.

  www.centralavenuepublishing.com

  Published in Canada

  Printed in United States of America

  1. FICTION/Fairy Tales 2. FICTION/LGBT

  LAVA RED FEATHER BLUE

  Trade Paperback: 978-1-77168-198-8

  Epub: 978-1-77168-199-5

  Mobi: 978-1-77168-200-8

  FOR EVERYONE WHO NEEDS A MAGICAL ISLAND TO ESCAPE TO.

  CHAPTER 1

  DASDEMIR, EIDOLONIA - 1799

  LARKIN STOOD IN THE PLAZA, FACING THE mist-cloaked hills to the northeast. There the fae realm lay, and from there Ula Kana and her forces would come. Larkin’s parents, the queen and king, stood at either side of him. They wore bows over their shoulders, and quivers of iron-tipped arrows, as did Larkin. Three weeks ago, Ula Kana had destroyed a quarter of the city’s buildings, including portions of the palace, killing hundreds of people before being driven off. She had been attacking at random for months, but that day had wreaked the most devastation by far. The fires had been put out, and the lava had cooled and hardened, but Larkin could still smell the smoke.

  The citizens had dreaded her inevitable return since. Time behaved differently in the fae realm; perhaps for Ula Kana, the upheaval of Dasdemir had been only yesterday. Regardless, the government did not wish to wait any longer and had instructed the Court Sorcerer’s League to enact a charm to summon her. It was time to end this. Not that Larkin truly believed they could.

  He did not wish to be here at all. Had he been free to choose, he would have been on a ship far from Eidolonia, grieving to the indifferent ocean, letting the salt wind scour the dying screams from his ears.

  But he was not free. He had been trapped.

  The queen at times took his hand and squeezed it, and though he squeezed back, he was unable to tell her his wishes. The words raged within him, but would not emerge. Magic stayed locked implacably around his voice and his actions, so skillfully woven that not even his mother knew of the spell upon him.

  A hundred and fifty of the country’s best soldiers from the palace and city guard stood in square formation around the royal family and the prime minister, with muskets, bows, and crossbows ready, wool cloaks about their shoulders in the December chill. The island of Eidolonia was of a latitude with Japan, in the middle of the Pacific, and rarely froze, at least not here at sea level, but cold gray days were common in winter. Or perhaps the biting wind stinging their faces was sent by malicious air fae. One never knew.

  Fae stood among them too—the ones they could trust, their allies in the cause for peace. Cynics said it was no more than twenty percent of the island’s fae population who felt kindly enough toward humans to live among them in cooperation. Optimists said it was at least half. No one could take a precise census, the fae realm being the labyrinth of enchantments that it was, but Larkin had begun to believe the majority of the fae were either indifferent or outright hostile. Ula Kana was demonstrably the latter.

  Just a year earlier, she had regenerated from some past form, born into this new and particularly lethal one, and begun striking out against what she viewed as disgusting incursions by humankind onto an island that should belong only to fae. Larkin’s fellow humans had only made everything worse by their retaliation, holding onto territory by staking it out with iron and spells, without attempting adequate deals with the fae first. Horrors redoubled by the week. Finally the country had reached this dreadful day, where he stood upon the cold stones of the plaza, his lover and so many others dead, his tongue locked.

  Yet it was not Ula Kana nor any other faery who had lain this spell upon him.

  He glanced over his shoulder at his older sister, the crown princess, who gave him a tremulous smile, tears in her eyes. I would never choose this, how do you not suspect? he wanted to shout at her. But all he could do was reassure her with a nod.

  His family was weary of him, he reminded himself; they were tired of his protests against governmental officials and witches. Unseemly for anyone of the royal family to display strong opinions, they had told him time and again. To have him turn self-sacrificial instead was likely a blessing in their eyes. They would be sad, but relieved.

  He turned to his other sister—twenty years old, six years his junior. She wore fine-linked iron mail and held a bow, and stood among the royal guard, in their uniform, quite against the wishes of their parents. She was stubborn, brave, and merry, though today she stood with grim expression and stiff spine, her elaborate black braid down her back.

  His sisters did not know of his spell either. Only one person did.

  Witches waited alongside the soldiers, sashes of green, red, or yellow across their chests. Tallest and stoutest among them was the court sorcerer, Rosamund Highvalley, the only one wearing all three colors. She glanced his way and gave him a deep nod, as if silently repeating all the unreliable promises she had given him two nights ago.

  Shouts arose. Over the hills, black dots and glimmers of fire grew in the sky. Ula Kana was coming.

  The captain and Rosamund barked orders. The soldiers and royal family lifted their weapons. Larkin nocked his crossbow—that, at least, he would have chosen to do even if he were not being compelled. No need for yet more innocents to die. Some of the witches raised charms they had made. Larkin felt the tingle of their preparatory magic even from five paces away.

  In a streak as fast as light, the fae shot across the land and loomed overhead, a dozen or more, close enough that Larkin could look straight into the ember eyes glowing in Ula Kana’s ash-white face—the form of a woman melded to a nightmare. Smoke trailed from her lips, and her voice carried the hiss-crackle of a bonfire.

  “H
ow brave you’ve become. Do you summon me to tell me you surrender and will leave the island today?”

  Yes, Larkin would have answered, if that is what it takes for us to live, then let us, by all means.

  “We do not,” the queen responded. “We summon you to give you one last chance to surrender; to cease hostilities and return to the fae realm, never again to harm a human. Withdraw your forces now, or you will be imprisoned.”

  Ula Kana did not deign to answer. She merely threw a lightning bolt at the royal family.

  Larkin’s ears rang with the blast, though no harm came to him—magic swathed him and his family, a protection flung on by the witches. The bolt threw soldiers across the pavement, tumbling like stones. His younger sister and the other guards scrambled up again and launched their counterattack.

  They would never succeed. Were it possible to catch and immobilize Ula Kana, someone would have done so already. Yet only the fae could have managed it, in cooperation perhaps with human witches, and never until this recent agreement had they consented to try.

  Howls reverberated off the broken walls. Iron-tipped arrows flew among fireballs and debris. Larkin got off a few shots, hitting at least one harpy-goblin and sending her spiraling away, then smoke and lightning obscured his vision so that he could not see what became of the rest of his arrows.

  It mattered little. The fae could not be killed. Using iron to cause them temporary pain was the best anyone could do. Pursuing force rather than diplomacy was thus more than reckless: it invited doom.

  The ground shook. Paving stones tilted under his feet; one of the remaining palace walls collapsed behind him in a rumbling crash, and he prayed for the safety of his niece and nephew, waiting inside under guard.

  Then the thunder ceased and people’s shouts became more orderly, even excited. Someone released the magical shield and blew away the smoke. Larkin felt dizzy in the aftermath of spells and fear. He lowered his crossbow.

  Some of Ula Kana’s allies had fled, while others lingered stunned on the edges of the crowd, held in arrest by witches and soldiers. Several humans lay wounded or dead, but none of his family. One of the dead he recognized as a close friend of Boris, Larkin’s lover, who had been killed in the attacks three weeks prior. Larkin felt a pang for this friend’s death, an echo of the wrenching grief he had been suffering for Boris. Then it eased to a dull gratitude: perhaps now Boris would have the fellow to keep him company, wherever his soul had departed to. Soldiers gathered to lift the man’s body, and Larkin turned away.

  Arlanuk strode forward through a parting in the crowd. He was a hunter, an earth faery, tall, broad-shouldered, and wood-armored, with vast antlers atop his head. He ruled one of the many fae territories and, under the terms of the deal with the government, had come to the human realm to help stop Ula Kana.

  Ula Kana lay unconscious in his arms. She looked smaller than before. The fae did shift often in size and form, and her conquerors’ magic may have shrunk her; but besides that, the tendrils of lava that had served as her legs had disappeared, cooled to ashy gray shreds. At least six iron blades and arrows pierced her torso—Arlanuk avoided touching them as he carried her. She would have wrenched them out in fury if awake, but fae magic held her in slumber.

  “Our half of the deal is fulfilled,” Arlanuk told the king and queen. “It is time to fulfill yours, or we release her.”

  “It was admirably done, friend.” The queen’s voice quivered. “Might we have until sundown?”

  Arlanuk’s eyes, like those of a mountain cat, grew sterner, the vertical pupils widening to dark.

  “We shall do it now,” Larkin said. “I am ready.”

  While it sickened him to hear his own voice speak against his wishes, worse still was that a small part of him did agree. If they had accomplished the seemingly impossible and stopped Ula Kana, perhaps someone should consent to the other half of the agreement. He did not want it to be himself. But who would he choose in his place? He could not condemn even Rosamund to a sleep likely to last years, possibly forever; and besides, the fae insisted upon it being one of the royals. Larkin had wished for, argued for, a different solution altogether, to revert lands to the fae as they had requested, but everyone else had been too consumed with greed and had not listened.

  His body continued acting at Rosamund’s command. He took his mother’s arm, accepted his father’s kiss upon his forehead, and turned to face the palace. A portion of the north tower had collapsed, but it appeared the rest did still stand after all. He glanced back to ensure his younger sister was coming. She began to follow, but paused when Arlanuk addressed her.

  “A fine shot, young mortal.” He nodded to the arrow sunk in the middle of Ula Kana’s chest.

  She lifted her chin. “Thank you, friend. It would have been in vain had it not been for the valiant actions of your folk.”

  He and she shared a curious gaze before she turned and followed Larkin.

  Arlanuk stayed in the plaza with the rest of the fae, witches, soldiers, and government officials, guarding the sleeping Ula Kana. At the high arched door of the palace, Larkin paused to look back at them. He lifted his hand in grave farewell.

  Everyone, fae and human alike, knelt and bowed their heads. It moved him—a sign of harmony again at last.

  He entered the palace with his family. They handed their weapons and armor to attendants, who bowed to Larkin and murmured prayers. Out in the plaza, someone began playing a melancholy tune on a wood flute, one of the songs composed by the earliest human settlers, almost a century ago, to honor the mysterious island. Voices joined in, people picking up the tune. Larkin could still hear the singing even as he and his family walked down the stone hallway to the prepared courtyard.

  Only the eight of them entered the bower: the priest and priestess of the Temple of Eidolonia, Larkin and his parents and sisters, and Rosamund Highvalley. Four armed guards stood outside the door. It was a quiet space in the heart of the palace, with flowering vines growing up the walls, and colored mosaic floors creating a picture of turquoise ocean waves and snow-topped mountains. It had been open to the sky until the day before, when a roof had been hastily constructed, strengthened with Rosamund’s magic, and fitted with a glass seven-sided window to let in the light.

  In the center of the space stood another new feature: a stone bier four feet high, draped with the country’s flag in silk, its reds and blues brilliant.

  The priest fastened a baldric around Larkin, bearing an iron sword, its scabbard glittering with jewels. The priestess removed Larkin’s cloak and replaced it with a lighter cape embroidered with the royal coat-of-arms, its hem cut into fluttering tatters in the traditional style. Then priest and priestess each took one of Larkin’s hands and began chanting to the Lord, Lady, Spirit, and the four elements to grant peace to the suffering island, and to heap blessings upon the prince in his noble self-sacrifice.

  Larkin’s parents were weeping. His sisters, teary-eyed, embraced them.

  Larkin looked at Rosamund, who was looking back at him, eyes lifted while her chin was lowered in prayer.

  The prayer ended and his hands were freed.

  Rosamund stepped up to the royal family. “Remember,” she said. “This shall not be forever.”

  “It cannot be,” insisted the king.

  “We’ll find another way to confine Ula Kana,” the crown princess said. “Negotiating with the fae—there has to be a solution.”

  “This is the solution,” said Larkin, against his will. “This will bring peace, to me as well as to everyone. Perhaps I shall meet Boris again, in the world of dreams.”

  Emotion strained their faces further, and he hated Rosamund with a new depth of passion. How dare she presume to put words in Larkin’s mouth regarding Boris?

  Rosamund bowed. “Such things have been said to be possible in dreams, Your Highness. We will endeavor to make your sleep as sweet as it can be.”

  He would gladly have killed her.

  His family embrace
d him, murmuring how much they admired him. He wanted to rage at them to stop being idiots and recognize what was happening.

  Yet all he could do was obey. He lay upon the flag-draped bier on his back, in his ceremonial finery. His family wiped away tears. The priest and priestess chanted prayers.

  Rosamund placed her hands on the sides of his head.

  He locked gazes with her. Fury blazed within his heart.

  “You are saving the island, friend,” she said. “All will honor you through the ages. And I shall not give up in trying to free you.”

  So said she who had imprisoned him in the first place and who did not allow his tongue to answer.

  Then her magic swept in, a wave of lightheadedness that turned to a floating sensation, and his consciousness gave way to dreams.

  SEVINEE, EIDOLONIA-2020

  Merrick Highvalley adjusted the wig on his head and shook the long red hair down his back, making Sal and Elemi laugh. “Wait—here.” He turned to the age-spotted mirror beside the window, took a deep breath to gather his magic from the air, and morphed his face: groomed eyebrows, a shapelier mouth, the famous beauty mark beside it. He turned to Sal and Elemi and struck what he vaguely assumed was an eighteenth-century courtly pose, arms spread and one foot forward. “Prince Larkin in the flesh?”

  “Yes!” Lying on the floor, his ten-year-old niece, Elemi, snapped photos of him on her phone. “Except you still need a costume. He wouldn’t wear that.”

  “You don’t think?” Merrick glanced at his jeans and lavender button-down shirt.

  “Also the hair is much too red,” his friend Sal said. “His is russet, not tomato.”

  “I can’t remember.” Merrick rubbed some of the fake hair between his fingers. “It’s been years since I’ve done the tourist thing and been to Larkin’s Bower.”

  “I’ve heard his hair and clothes aren’t as bright as they used to be,” Elemi said. “Because he’s been lying there so long. They would fix it, but the room’s all sealed up and no one’s allowed in to change anything because they don’t want to mess with the spell.”