Throughout the whole kingdom a gentle music filled the warm air and charmed the ear—the music of fairy voices, the music of whispering flames, the music of tripping feet—all the sweet sounds of the fire gathered into one continuous strain of gladness, now high and clear, as if it could not be restrained, now low and soft, as if even in quietness all must still murmur the praise of the King and his beloved children.
Into this land of wondrous light and beauty came Creeping Shadow, marveling at what she saw, awed by it, stirred by it, sure in her heart that from a place so bright, so pure, so lovely, help must come for her imprisoned mistress. The Elf of the Borderland had spoken truly: from the moment she had entered the Land of the Fire Fairies, she had met with nothing but kindness. The fairies had looked with wonder upon this stranger with the sorrowful face and trailing robes of grey, but all had helped her on her journey, and none had asked her more than she had cared to tell.
Twilight had come when, foot-sore and weary, she reached the Palace of Burning Coals. The palace gardens, lovely in the softened glow of evening, were deserted; the fire-lilies stood tall and lonely by the garden paths; but from every window of the palace streamed brilliant lights, and from its doorway floated sounds of joy and laughter. It was that pleasant hour of evening in which the fairies, their tasks in fields and house and garden completed, came freely to the palace hall to dance and sing and tell, in the King’s presence, tales of past adventure and noble deeds.
Creeping Shadow stood timidly at the gate for a moment, longing yet fearing to enter. How could she dare to hope that the Prince would turn from a place so bright and joyous to come to the aid of her mistress in a drear and dangerous land?
But the need of the Shadow Witch was too great to be set aside. Her servant cast off her fears and stole silently through the garden and up to the radiant door. Pausing on its threshold, her dark eyes traveled straight down the palace hall to the vast room that opened beyond, and there, upon a tall golden throne, King Red Flame sat. At his right hand stood he whom she had come to seek. She remembered him well, that brave and handsome Prince, whom her mistress had for a time deluded by her magic in the Land of Shadows. His yellow locks fell as softly over his shoulders, his noble countenance wore the same high look of courage and good cheer as on that day. His scarlet velvet cloak and cap, his waving feather, were the very same. Close beside him was the Princess, in shining robes, with floating hair of the palest gold. Never before had the Shadow seen her, but from her charming face, so tender and beautiful, she knew that it could be none else, knew, also, that no cry for help and pity could come to her in vain.