Page 33 of Ellie and the Prince
Omar bowed politely. “I am pleased to meet you, Miria.”
The little brownie curtsied. “Your Highness,” she said.
Howurl scrambled over the stall door, gave Omar a doleful look, and said, “I will check to see if you were followed. We will all help you protect the unicorn.”
Before Omar could respond, he was gone.
“That was Howurl, Miria’s husband,” Ellie said. “From him, that was a long speech!”
Omar nodded, but a slight wrinkle between his brows revealed his uneasiness. “I’m glad to have his help, but what do we do first?” he asked.
Ellie briefly explained the plan to Omar, who nodded and turned to Miria. “Right. If you will lead the way, we’ll follow.”
Once she adjusted to the idea, Omar’s new ability delighted Ellie, who felt as if he’d suddenly taken steps into her world. More than anything she wanted to pick his brain about what all he had seen and sensed, but that conversation must wait for a better time. Maybe never, since she was supposed to be keeping out of his way . . .
After Ellie collected her backpack, Miria led them into the forest by a nearly invisible trail, then told them to wait while she slipped into a copse of young trees. Omar sat on a fallen log and patted the spot next to him. “Might as well rest your feet while you can.”
Rather than hurt his feelings, Ellie sat beside him and lowered her pack to the ground. “So you had a long day?”
There was no smile in his eyes when he looked at her. “The longest. But it is better now.”
She looked away, stifling a sigh. “Good. I worked in a greenhouse all day.” She wanted to bring up the topic of sirens, but this wasn’t the time. Besides, even if he’d spoken with one, she hadn’t enthralled him.
Facts notwithstanding, she wanted to run down to the lake and order a certain mermaid to put some decent clothes on—a gunny sack would be ideal—and keep her hooks out of Ellie’s man.
If only he really were her man. If only she could lean her head against his shoulder for a moment or two . . .
“What’s wrong, Ellie?” Omar asked, the lines between his brows deeper than ever. “You look so unhappy.”
Miria reappeared soundlessly. She was not quite a foot high, yet beside her stood a quite hideous yellow-and-brown person no higher than her knee. “This is Tob the toadstool fairy. He knows where the unicorn is hiding and why. He cannot speak human, but he understands your speech if you speak slowly.”
“Hello, Tob,” both Ellie and Omar greeted him.
The fairy nodded coldly, looking only at Omar through narrowed eyes.
“He says he is doing this for the unicorn’s sake. Your Highness, if you will let him ride on your shoulder, he will direct you to her.” She spoke to Omar, her expression grave. “Toadstool fairies do not appreciate humor or laughter.” Coming from Miria, the words were a stark warning. “And Tob disapproves of human magic, which you have a great deal of, Miss Ellie. Once he has taken you to the unicorn, he will vanish.”
“We understand,” Omar responded. “And we are deeply grateful for Tob’s assistance.”
An instant later he flinched as the tiny fairy alighted on his shoulder. Tob folded his wings and laid them flat on his bare back. At close range, Ellie now saw that the fairy wore a loincloth the same colors as his mottled skin. She dared only a glance before averting her gaze, for the fairy’s expression was a few shades past belligerent. Tob ignored her entirely.
She wondered how Tob would direct them from Omar’s shoulder if he could not speak. She quickly found out. The fairy unfurled a long spear with a wicked thorn tip and pointed into the trees. Omar flinched again and blinked, doubtless fearing for his eyes. He stepped forward to lead the way, and Ellie fell in behind. It was a quiet hike, both hesitant to speak for fear of offending the truculent fairy.
Following Tob’s guiding spear, they hiked several miles along the side of the mountain, climbing slowly. Then they descended into a vale lush with ferns. Birches, their bark and leaves silvery in the afternoon sunlight, shaded the small clearing. Tob suddenly jumped off Omar’s shoulder and vanished amid the ferns. Omar and Ellie exchanged wide-eyed looks but held their tongues. Was the unicorn near? Did it even now prepare to attack?
And then the sound of deep, labored breathing reached their ears, followed by a low moan. “Are we too late?” Omar whispered. “Could it be injured?”
Tob darted from beneath the ferns at their feet and motioned for them to follow. His manner seemed urgent to Ellie. She would have moved ahead of Omar, but he put out one arm to hold her back, no doubt intending to meet any danger first. Both grateful and annoyed, she allowed his chivalry.
They could see nothing through the ferns, so Tob was obliged to redirect them more than once. But at last Ellie saw a gleam of white hide ahead, and there the unicorn lay beneath the ferns, flat out on its side. At first, hearing another deep moan, she thought it was wounded or dying, but then its entire body strained, one hind leg lifting with the effort. She noted the bulging side, the rippling muscles, and knew in a flash.
The unicorn was giving birth.
The unicorn lifted her head. Great dark eyes regarded Ellie with deep suspicion and a hint of entreaty. “You poor dear,” Ellie murmured, her soothing magic flowing over the laboring beast. “How long has this been going on? I know about birthing, and I carry with me an herbal spray that will help you to relax and concentrate. Will you allow me to help you?”
Sighing out a groan, the unicorn lowered her head and pawed the air with one front hoof. Ellie dropped on her knees at the creature’s side, disregarding the spiraled horn so near, and dug through her pack for the right bottle. Then she sprayed her herbal potion in the air above the mother’s head and continued to spray over the pearly body and legs. To her relief, the unicorn visibly relaxed and at the next contraction was ready to push.
Ellie encouraged and sweet-talked and soothed by turns, oblivious to the passage of time. The incongruity of watching this powerful legendary being suffer the throes of labor brought a sense of unreality to the entire scene. She didn’t notice when Omar came or went. She didn’t notice her damp knees from kneeling in the rain-soaked moss and ferns. She scarcely noticed the fading light.
