Ellie and the Prince (Faraway Castle #1)(2)
“Did they seem frightened?”
“They were squeaking. Oh, and Miss Ellie, you know Geraldo will try to steal another cake . . .”
Geraldo gave a “Harrumph” and slouched off to disappear under a table.
“Squeaking” was useless information; cinder sprites always squeaked. Ellie flashed Sira a quick grin anyway. “I do know, and thanks for the alert, Sira!” She checked her equipment pack and grimaced. Only three cages. She’d forgotten to restock. “I’ve got to run for more equipment. With any luck the sprites will remain calm, but if there is a fire alarm, please let Madame know I’m on my way.”
Ellie sprinted from the castle to her small staff cottage, shoved a dozen of the one-inch glass-cube cages into her pack, then sprinted back to the castle. The weather was perfect—sunny, clear skies, a light breeze. She heard laughter and splashing from the lakeshore, the thunk-thwack of balls from the tennis courts, the distant whinny of a horse at the riding stables, and, laced through it all, the light hum of magic.
To be the official Controller of Magical Creatures at Faraway Castle—an exclusive resort for royal and noble guests from around the world—was a tremendous privilege, Ellie often reminded herself. Especially at her age, with her lack of magical training. But the Gamekeeper had appointed her, and not even the resort director dared overrule his decisions.
She entered the castle through a side door, charged up a set of service stairs, then hurried along a hall adorned with fine art pieces and crystal chandeliers, her footsteps muffled by thick carpeting. Rumor had it that Faraway Castle was once the palace of a great king. Ellie had no reason to doubt this story, for it retained much majestic beauty.
The royal suite in the castle’s east wing, offering views of both the lake and the mountains, was currently occupied by the sovereigns of Khenifra, a kingdom located on a continent far to the south and reputed to be an important military power. This exceedingly handsome royal couple had produced numerous offspring who were, in Ellie’s opinion, the most beautiful on earth.
The four youngest of these had accompanied their parents to the resort this year. “Lively” was the word most often used to describe them, a description usually spoken in fond tones but occasionally emitted through clenched teeth and a fake smile.
As soon as Ellie reached a large marble griffin and turned right, she heard muffled shouts and screams. She sprinted the last few yards then pounded on the suite’s main door. When no answer came, she resorted to her passkey and rushed inside, puffing for breath. “Hello?” she called while pulling a cage cube, her spray bottle, and a scoop from her pack. She didn’t yet smell smoke, but there was no time to lose.
“Little cinder sprites,” she cooed softly. “Are any of you near me? I’m here to rescue you and take you to a quiet, beautiful place where you can eat sweet greens and run about without fear.”
A soft, wistful squeak caught her ear. Going down on her knees, she peered under the ornately gilded hall table, saw a pair of shiny black eyes, and sensed the little beast’s helpless dismay. “Hello, darling,” she cooed. “You must be the mother. How did you end up here? Would you like my help? I promise to catch your babies and return them to you, but you need to let me capture you.” Ellie continued to babble such reassurances, hardly paying attention to her words, for her tone was far more important.
The little creature made no objection as she reached in to pick it up. Not once did it brandish its sharp horns or show its long teeth. “You are a pretty mama,” Ellie told it, stroking the soft hair that sprouted in all directions from its head and body. This sprite was white and red, and its tiny feet were pink. As soon as she felt its fright dissolve into trust, she tucked it into the cage, which magically expanded to a manageable yet comfortable size for the sprite and was already stocked with sprite food. The little creature immediately began munching on fresh greens.
Leaving that cage near the door, Ellie pulled several more from her pack and tucked them into her coverall pockets. These cages, blown from tempered glass to her exact specifications, were vital to her success. Cinder sprites, rare magical creatures native to these mountains, were adorable yet dangerous, for one frightened or angry sprite hiding under a pile of dry leaves or a sofa could start a raging fire in minutes. Ellie used her gift of soothing talk along with an herbal potion, her own recipe, to calm or quench the sprites as needed. Once isolated in tempered-glass cages they could safely be transported to a place less combustible than an ancient magical forest or castle.
“Hello?” she called, using her gift to calm humans and sprites alike as she followed the sound of voices to the sitting room.
“There it is! Catch it!” cried the eldest, a boy.
His sister grabbed for something under a chair but snatched her hands back with a cry. “It’s too hot!” she cried. “You try. The rug is starting to burn!”
Ellie slid in between them on her knees and located a baby sprite that glowed red, snapping and crackling like a tiny bonfire. She quickly squeezed the trigger of her bottle to spray sweet-smelling liquid over the miniature inferno. The sprite collapsed into a steaming black puddle of goo.
“Is he dead?” the youngest child wailed.
“Oh no,” Ellie said in her calmest tone. “I would never kill a sprite. The baby was so frightened that he might have turned straight to ash, so I extinguished him. He will recover once he dries out.” She used her scoop to scrape the sprite from the rug and slide it into another expanding cage. The little girl sat beside the cage to make sure her sprite recovered. Her name was Rita, Ellie knew, having met the child as a tiny baby three summers ago.