Page 30 of The Princes of Stone and Steel

But then, we were spit out the other side.

Wet, covered in sludge and smelling of rot, Steele stepped out first, my soggy silky dress now ruined, encumbering me so he really had to tug to get me out.

“Skoulikotrypa.” Righting myself, I announced with an air of authority while smoothing down my dress and hair. Aside from a few of those strands that choked me in the wind earlier, my hair was surprisingly still secure in the bun the lady in waiting had styled it in forever ago, or this morning, though it was stringy and matted, and not as pretty.

Even still, Steele looked at me like I was the prettiest girl in the world. Clans clashing, waging wars in the name of what, power? How could they not see how much more powerful they’d be if they gave in to love instead?

He stared dumbfoundedly at me. “Yes, Millie. That was the Skoulikotrypa. The only way to cross between worlds. I’m afraid to ask, but…”

“I remember hearing that word. In my dream. Dream Millie stowed away on a Papyrus ship. In the port of Lancashire. The swirling vortex of water had been larger on the ocean, large enough to suck down a whole ship. When she got to the Vráchos, they were the ones who first gave that word.” I looked around, attempting to get my bearings. “Where exactly are we?”

“Your world?” He shrugged.

I laughed. Partly out of nervousness, and partly from the confused look on his handsomely regal face.

“Well, it’s cold here, I can tell you that.” Shivers didn’t even cover it. I was downright shaking, as was Steele.

All around us, lush green hills rolled like ocean waves in the early stages of a budding storm, but in the distance—not being good with distances, I couldn’t guess how far—smoke puffed up through a chimney, acting as a homing beacon. Because everyone knew, where there was chimney smoke, there was fire.

Weighted down by my, well,oursopping wet clothing, it took us what felt like an hour to reach what I could now see was a stone chimney attached to a quaint little cottage.

And we saw sheep. Sheep and rolling green hills and bogs.

“Might we be in Scotland or Ireland?” I asked the prince.

“On this one, you’d know better than me, I’m afraid. Of your world, I know Detroit.”

“Well.” I laughed. “We certainly aren’t in Detroit.”

Warm yellow light glowed from all the windows and from under the door of the small stone and wood cottage.

A pebbled path led up to a wooden door with a tarnished brass door knocker set in the middle of a giant wreath made up of dried wildflowers, mostly thistles.

When Steele knocked, an old man answered. He had snow-white hair and more wrinkles than a Shar-Pei puppy, and he was smoking one of those long-armed bone pipes, made off-white from the years of tobacco use.

He wore a wool sweater with an intricate cable-knit pattern. And when he asked how he could help us I knew for a fact that we’d landed somewhere in Ireland.

Steele stepped in front of him and in a cold voice he told the old man to invite us in. I couldn’t believe the prince’s audacity insisting the man let strangers inside his house until I noticed Steele’s eyes. They sharpened from burnished aluminum to a stainless steel that reflected the man’s eyes back at him.

Then the man moved aside and he held open the door, gesturing for us to enter.

“Did you… Did you just hypnotize him?” I whispered to Steele.

“No, not hypnotize,” he whispered back. “I pushed the thought into his head. For him, it was nothing more than looking in the mirror, giving himself an affirmation, that it was his idea for us to enter.”

“You young ones are soaked to the bone.” The old man told us what we already knew. “Have a seat by the fire while I rustle up some dry clothes.”

“Let me guess,” I said to Steele once the man left the room. “He’s told himself to get us dry clothes.”

“Now you get it. I promise, he’ll never feel used. Once we leave, he’ll still believe the whole situation was his idea. It helps us get along in your world.”

Fourteen

It was,Holy Crap!

“THERE SOME KIND OF MIDIEVAL FESTIVAL AROUND here?” The old man asked in the cutest Irish accent as he handed a pair of elastic waist sweatpants and a crewneck sweatshirt to Steele.

He was so Irish, he made me think of leprechauns. It took a great deal of restraint not to giggle when he talked to me directly.

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