Page 7 of Tricky Princess
Farquhar - The Demonic Troubadour
The landscape in the poster was faded, and she wondered if the troubadour was from Hel since the drawing depicted a bat playing some sort of fiddle. Or had Ros traveled to another realm as a young lad to listen to music? The idea made her laugh as she moved on to the next poster.
The Living Banshees - A Magical Trio
Ellea wished she had her phone to look these names up and learn their history—or call Ros and see where the fuck he was. She paused for a moment, steadying her breath, and tried reaching for him with her magic, to feel any inkling that they had some sort of supernatural connection. Her powers always seemed to find him, pull her toward him, but now she felt only emptiness. She fought the burn in her eyes and headed to the attached bathroom. After relieving herself, brushing her teeth, and glaring at herself in the mirror, she walked back to the empty room. She turned in a circle, taking in the room, and sighed.
Where was Ros?
She missed him, and this room wasn’t helping. There was no comfort in the many books and trinkets or the massive suit of armor in an alcove. The shirt she’d found in the chest didn’t even help. It wasn’t his, only meant for him; it didn’t smell like him. Asmodeus had said that everything had been refreshed and brought in recently, “Ready for their arrival.” It was as if he had been planning this for a while. When she’d explored the night before, she only gave the clothes meant for her a quick glance before moving on—it was all too much. She also preferred sleeping naked, but it didn’t seem right, considering where she was. Gods knew who might barge in. She’d settled for a shirt meant for Ros. If only she could figure out how to pluck the shirt she’d swapped for the dress when she arrived, like Asmodeus did with his handkerchief.
Ellea walked up to the armor that was once Ros’. Asmodeus had avoided it yesterday when she’d asked about it. It was massive, and stood as tall as Ros on its stand. She ran her palm across the breastplate to the teeth of a snarling wolf that decorated the middle. Two swords crossed behind the well-detailed head, and some phrase was embossed in a circle around it. It was in a language she couldn’t understand. A large greatsword was sheathed at the armor’s side. Its black handle swallowed up the light as if it was made from night, and a glint of gold sparkled when she removed it partially from its sheath.
Sheath? Scabbard? Ew, no, that can’t be right.
She thought about hunting down a book on the anatomy of a sword as she pulled the handle. It hissed as she freed it fully from its holder, then the loudest and most embarrassing clunk sounded through the silent room as she dropped it to the floor. It was so much heavier than she’d thought it would be.
Her heart beat aggressively and her ears rang as she looked around the room. She expected Dale or the king to barge in and scold her for being a silly girl. Ellea chuckled softly at the thought before turning back to the gold sword that glinted from the dark carpet. She took a steadying breath as she crouched closer to it. It wasn’t just gold, it had black veins of rock swirling through the blade.
“Obsidian,” she whispered to herself as she traced the veins with her finger.
It was beautiful, sharp, and very heavy. She tried her best to lift it without slicing her foot off. Carefully, she used two hands to guide it back into its sheath.
“Fucking Hel,” she cursed, wiping her sweaty hands against her shirt.
How could she ever wield such a weapon?
Why would I need to wield such a weapon?
She shook her head, ridding herself of the thought. She was in Hel in nothing but a t-shirt—proof that anything was possible. At least she wasn’t in the presence of a king. Her stomach growled, interrupting her thoughts.
“Pants, then coffee,” she said to herself.
Ellea could conjure leggings, the dress wasn’t that hard yesterday. She would need to since the only thing in the chest and closet were dresses and clothing she wouldn’t want to wear while trying to figure out what to do next. Stilling her thoughts, she went to work. Snug, soft fabric hugged her curvy legs and formed around her lower stomach. She smiled at the familiar feeling of stretch and support. Now a sweater; it wasn’t cold here, but she missed the comfort of her favorite sweaters from the cabin.
After a few minutes of summoning, she was in a thin gray sweater, leggings, and a replica of her favorite boots. Now food. It had always been hard for her to summon, and she didn’t usually work on cooked food. She’d never tried to summon coffee; she actually loved the steps it took to make her favorite lattes. Grinding specific beans and the smell surrounding her in the kitchen was all part of the magic, so to speak. She didn’t have much of a choice now; she could either summon coffee or leave her room and walk through a castle that held demons and people she didn’t know.
Ellea looked around the room and found two glass cups on a tray near one of the windows. She brought one over and sat back on the couch. She planted her feet firmly on the ground and held the cup between her hands. She took a shuddering breath and envisioned her favorite coffee: espresso, milk, and she could go without the sugar if she had to.
Closing her eyes, she thought of the smells she loved so much, their richness and earthiness. The warmth of a cup in her hand surprised her. When she opened her eyes, she cursed, “Fuck.”
It looked like warm mud water. Sniffing it, she scrunched her face and brought it to the bathroom to dump out. It seemed she would have to leave the room after all. She could wait for Dale or the woman, Florence, to come back, but her stomach groaned at the thought of waiting any longer. She crept out of the bedroom and headed toward the ornate double doors. Holding her breath, she slowly opened the door and peeked through the opening.
Looking to her left and right, there wasn’t a soul in sight. She stepped into the hallway and released a sigh, unsure if she was happy or worried about the lack of people. She retraced her steps, heading the same way she and Asmodeus had come from the night before, past the large windows with their beautiful landscape, around the corner, and to the doors. She cracked them open and crept in. She was once again greeted with no sound, so she continued into the throne room.
Ellea paused for a few breaths after the door gave an ominous click behind her, waiting to see if anyone was there. The room was massive and she couldn’t see into any of the shadows, but she didn’t hear anything. It was deathly quiet and dark, the only light coming from above the main throne. She wondered why there was one separate from the other three, a question she filed away for later as she quickly walked past it. She didn’t let the thought of Belias cross her mind, trying to not wonder if he made it back from wherever his uncle had sent him.
Ellea went through the door, leaving the foreboding room that held too much history behind. Only one more door until she was in the room Asmodeus had originally brought her to. Ellea crept down the obsidian hallway and paused outside the doors. She thought about knocking, but instead she barged through and stepped inside. She turned toward the desk, ready to greet the king.
But no one was there. She frowned. How had she made it all this way without running into anyone? Placing her hands on her hips, she walked the perimeter of the room. She peeked curiously at the books crammed into their shelves and stopped at his massive desk. She turned toward the windows where similar scenery of valleys and hills greeted her. To the left, the mountains and valleys transitioned into a coastal landscape. She could see a hint of what could be a beach or a large body of water. She pressed her forehead against the glass, trying to get a better look, but it wasn’t easy to see.
Ellea headed toward the unknown door to her left. It was shrouded in shadows. Beyond it lay rooms and halls she hadn’t visited yet. Holding her breath, she reached out a hand and grasped the wolf-shaped doorknob.
“What are you doing?” came a whisper in her ear.
4
Rosier
