Katina
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Philothea was so weak and exhausted that she wanted nothing more than to curl up right there on the scorched earth and sleep forever. But the moment she had finished with Zeno, Avis took her by the arm.
“Quickly, with me,” he ordered. “There’s one more thing you need to do.”
The next thing that she knew, she was standing with him in the middle of an open hillside. A starry sky sparkled above her, illuminating the open sloping hills. All around her, fae warriors appeared, having transported themselves from Cyrus’s battlefield to this place, wherever it was.
“Where-what?” Philothea muttered. She was trying to ask both where they were and what they were doing, but the questions got tangled up in her weary mouth.
Avis looked at her with sympathy and touched her forehead, willing her strength to return. She felt only slightly improved by his action, but appreciated the effort.
“We are going to go get your mother,” Avis explained. “Then you can both go home together.”
Philothea nodded vigorously. Avis pointed up the hill toward the lights of a castle in the distance. It must have been Zeno’s palace. In the dark, she couldn’t see it well. Even so, she could tell it was a colossal structure, dwarfing her father’s palace twice over.
As they started for it, Philothea looked at her grandfather, the king who loathed half-fae. The king who only very recently had tried to have her killed.
“Why did you help us?” she asked.
An affectionate smile touched the king’s lips. “Because if I must live in fear of a god, I’d rather it be you, Philothea.”
They continued in silence for a while. When they were just outside the gates, Philothea asked, “What do you need me to do?”
“Just walk with us,” her grandfather answered. “And protect us if we need it.”
The drawbridge began to open as they approached.
The fae king put a hand on his sword hilt, bracing for an attack, but the only thing that came forth from the darkness was a cheery melody:
Zeno isn’t home today,
He has gone and run away,
Gone to hide in mountains grim,
For fear of what we’ll do to him!
A little black something shot through the gate and landed on Philothea’s head.
“Go to sleep!” he ordered.
“Pouli!” Philothea cried.
“I am a good boy. I found Katina. I found your mommy. I will get a grape!”
“Where is she, Pouli?” The fae king demanded.
Pouli shot back through the drawbridge. “This way!”
Philothea, the king, and his men entered the bailey. Then, the fae king had the army divide up; some came with him and followed Pouli while the others went to secure the rest of the palace. Subduing the few guards they encountered wasn’t any trouble under Philothea’s protection.
Pouli led them up a spiral staircase. The passage was narrow so that the company was forced to go up two at a time with Philothea and her grandfather in the lead.
When they came to the top, they found Pouli perched on the handle of a thick wooden door.
“Philly-thea must open!” Pouli chirped. “Fae magic won’t do, won’t do! Thea must blow it to splinters!”
The fae king placed a hand on the wood and stood silently for a moment, trying to sense the magic that held it closed.
“Yes, this is it,” Avis confirmed. “And you must open it, Philothea. Zeno couldn’t contain your mother in a prison fae magic alone could open.”
Philothea stepped around him and grasped the handle. She could feel the gentle hum of magic flow up through her arm. The fae warriors behind them on the stairs must have remembered what happened the last time they encountered her because they started backing away to a safe distance.
However, their fear was ill-founded. To Philothea, it felt like a hundred years ago that she was running around her grandfather’s castle blowing holes in buildings. The locking magic gently gave way beneath the gentle force of her will. She pulled the door open and stood aside to let her grandfather pass.
She proceeded cautiously behind him, drinking in her surroundings. The place seemed like a labyrinth of book stacks. For a moment, Philothea wondered if there was any furniture in the room under the towers of discarded reading material.
Zeno was a good son. Well, not really; locking up your mother is not exactly good behavior, but at least he wasn’t keeping her in a dungeon.
From the bed, a woman gasped and sat up, startled awake by the intruders. She looked at the fae king with wide blue eyes.
Avis knelt by the bed and threw his arms around her.
“You’re free,” he breathed. “Everything is alright now. The prophecy has been fulfilled.”
She pulled backward out of his arms and regarded him with panic in her eyes.
“Zeno?” she pleaded. “Where is he?”
“Imprisoned,” her father answered. “Powerless.”
She looked at him questioningly, thinking. A hint of resentment shone in the look she gave him.
“He’s alive?” she asked, incredulously.
“He is,” her father answered. “I promise.”
Relief swept the fear and resentment from her expression. She buried her face in her hands as tears rolled down her cheeks. Then she laughed through her sobs.
Philothea stiffened a little because she had heard that laugh before. When it came from her, it expressed an avalanche of emotions–sometimes joy, sometimes sadness, sometimes anger, sometimes she didn’t know what.
“Your daughter,” the king continued, glancing over his shoulder at Philothea. “Fulfilled the prophecy without harming him in the slightest. I don’t think she could harm a soul if she tried.”
Whatever it was her mother was feeling, Philothea realized she was feeling exactly the same way because she laughed too.
Her mother looked up from her hands, tensing. Clearly she was sharing the same surreal experience of hearing the sound of her own laugh come from someone else’s mouth.
She leapt out of bed and ran to Philothea. Without so much as an introduction, she threw her arms around her.
“You’re safe,” she sobbed, soaking Philothea’s shoulder with her tears. “You’re safe.”
Tears and laughter shook them both as they embraced. There, in her mother’s arms, Philothea finally felt like she belonged.
The Fables of Para Sympan 