by Shannon Hale
“You are ever vigilant,” she said.
“Mmm. For such a long journey, this terrain is dangerous. If there was a road cut through the Bavara Mountains, one could reach Bayern in a matter of a fortnight. But the Forest Road circumscribes the mountains. The Forest itself is striped with gorges, and the road doubles in length to avoid them. A straighter path would have to cross many bridges.”
As he spoke, Ani saw the way in front of them begin to wind sharply up and left. The road cut across a long arm of mountain, and between there and the next arm the ground dropped into a deep and narrow ravine.
“Gorge to the right, mountain to the left,” said Ani.
“There’s much flat land in the forest, but the climbs and drops are unpredictable.”
The Forest did not seem dangerous to her, just dark and brooding. She envied the permanence of the tall, thick-trunked firs that had stood in one place for generations. Her own family had always lived in Great City Valley. She was the first of her line born as crown princess, the first to leave the valley, the first to see the Forest. She wished it had been her choosing, that she had been the kind of person who would steal a horse and leave in the night to find adventure instead of one who is handed duty and numbly complies.
This road is long, said Falada. How long until we arrive?
Weeks yet, said Ani.
A warm breeze came up from the gorge beneath them and stirred their hair. Falada flicked his tail at it and walked a little faster.
That evening a stream passed near the road and Talone called for an early camp. It had been a week since they had found moving water. Their water barrels were low, and the company was irritable with dust, stink, and horse hair. Ingras set up a metal tub in Ani’s tent and ordered water heated for her bath. While Ani soaked in the hot water in her thin privacy, the rest of the company hiked to the mountain runoff to scrub their clothes and themselves, Selia upstream and the men down. Talone assigned Ishta, a thin man with a long, tipped nose, to guard Ani. Ishta did not seem too concerned about bathing.
It was dark before the others returned. Ani dried her hair by the fire and waited. Ishta stood on the other side of the fire. The light turned his face orange, the hollows of his cheeks still in shadow. She could hear him scrape the undersides of his fingernails with a knife.
When he spoke, his voice was soft, with a lilt that seemed feminine. “How is it, Princess, to bathe in nice, warm water in your own little tent?”
“It is nice, thank you,” said Ani with some unease.
“Mmm.” He took a step forward. “You like being a princess?”
“I don’t know. It is what I am. Do you like being a man?”
He walked to her, dead pine needles breaking like glass under his boots, and crouched beside her. He leaned in. Her pulse snapped in her throat.
“Do you like that I am a man?” He smiled. His teeth looked rotted at the roots.
“Step back,” she whispered. He held his face there, and up close his expression was leering, inhuman, his face as sharp as a weapon, his breath the promise of ugly things. Ani gripped her brush in both hands and could not seem to let it go, not to push him away, not to push herself to her feet. Never had she felt this way, helpless, alone, no servant to call, no guard outside her door. No door. And a man who came too close.
“Step back, Ishta,” she said again, but her voice held no more of the authority of her mother than the chattering of a magpie. He sneered.
There was a sound of bent underbrush and low laughter. Ishta stood and casually walked away as a group of guards, their faces shiny and red from bathing, entered the camp. Talone added a branch to the fire and sat beside her. Ani looked down at her shaking hands.
“Princess, is something wrong?”
She set her brush on the log and folded her hands. “I’m all right.” She had never felt before that someone could hurt her—and enjoy it. That new awareness made her look at Talone with suspicion. He had assigned Ishta to her watch. Had he known? Could she trust him? Who could guard her from her guards?
Ani made her way to her tent, feeling blindly with her slippered toes for rocks and shooting roots. Selia was readying her own bedroll beside the tent. Her wet hair was luminescent in the near dark.
Ani sat on a corner of Selia’s blanket, held her knees against her chest, and hoped for conversation. Something just happened, she wanted to say. There was something strange, and I wanted to tell you, she would say, if Selia seemed in a mood to talk, like they used to do for hours on her balcony, Selia brushing oils through her long hair and relating gossip that had slipped up the stairs from the kitchen or out of the idle mouths of waiting ladies, their promises of secrecy dulled by the tedium of embroidery. Ani longed now for such an hour, the comfort of casual talk and a warm blanket around her shoulders to hold off the heavy blackness of so much space at their backs. She waited for Selia, who liked to start conversations on her own terms. Selia finished with her bedroll. She stood by her pillow and said nothing.
“How was your bath?” said Ani.
“Cold.”
“Oh. I’m thoughtless, Selia. Of course you should bathe in camp in warm water.”
“You mean in your used, tepid bathwater? For who is to heat water for the lady-in-waiting? No, thank you, I would rather use the stream.”
“Selia, are you angry?”
Selia turned to her, and in the dark of a night before the moon and too far from the fire, all Ani could see was the pale outline of her cheek and the glint of one eye.
“No, of course not, Crown Princess,” said Selia. Her voice was ordinary again, a lilting tone, pleasing and artless.
“Once we get to Bayern,” said Ani, “there will, thankfully, be hot water and beds again.”
“A very apt observation, Crown Princess.” Her voice was still even and polite. “Yet I believe in Bayern there will be much more waiting for me than just water and goose feathers.”
“What do you mean?”
Selia did not answer. Someone added wood to the fire, and in the sudden flush of light she could see Selia’s face. She was looking across the camp. Ani turned. Ungolad stood by the fire. His eyes were on Ani. He smiled a closed smile, not showing any teeth.
Chapter 4
The first four weeks of forest travel had merged into one another in the perpetual landscape of firs and pines. Despite the tension, Ani found she enjoyed the journey. A breeze moved across her face, and she fancied it was the breeze of the trees’ breathing, the pines on either side inhaling and exhaling across the road.
“The tales that trees could tell, the stories wind would sing,” Ani said to herself. It was a piece from a rhyme, one that as a child she had begged the nurse-marys to sing. It had filled her with wonder and mystery and made her want to throw off her shoes and hat and run to meet the wildness just outside the closed panes. Her aunt had once spoken of the knowledge of speaking not with animals, but with the elements of nature. And she thought of the story of her birth, how she had not opened her eyes for three days. Her aunt had said she was born with a first word on her tongue and would not wake for trying to taste it. What worth? she wondered.
The stories wind would sing. Just then, she could not think of the rest of the rhyme.
Ani noticed Talone scanning the roadside for a marker and trotted up to join him.
“There will be a notched tree on the right hand to mark halfway, Princess,” he said. “Or so the last trader we passed informed me. We are at a disadvantage here, none of us having ridden this road. Except Ungolad.”
“Can you tell me about Ungolad?”
“He was a tradesman escort for a time, but he has not ridden the Forest Road in ten years. Still, I imagined he would be a greater asset to this trek than he has been. He volunteered, you know. They all did.” Ani raised her eyebrows, and Talone nodded. “The queen did not need to command anyone to join this guard.”
“But why?” said Ani. “I thought that the prospect of riding weeks through a forest w
ould be daunting to anyone.”
“Oh, not to many of us, I think. We are stout warriors, after all.” He thumped his chest and smiled.
“Indeed. And I think it best that I forget how many stout warriors I saw gripping their swords and getting headaches from squinting at the trees on our first week here.”
Talone cast a glance of mock terror into the depth of trees to the side. His expression made her laugh, and she realized how much she wanted to trust him.
“But what interest could a man like Ungolad have in being in this guard?”
“I don’t know. I tell you truly, Princess, I was hesitant to accept Ungolad’s company when he volunteered. He has always been a little unpredictable, and traders’ escorts often garner as little respect as mercenaries. But he is a member of the royal army now, and he has been to Bayern before. Look, here it is.”
On their right hand, a trunk of living fir was carved with the symbol of Bayern’s sun and crown.
“We are halfway,” said Talone.
“That symbol—does Bayern claim this road, then?”
“Kildenree does not. Technically it is neutral territory. But if Kildenreans do not live here, what is to stop the Bayern if they so desire?” His voice grew softer. “If a country like Bayern decided they liked the looks of the Great City Valley, they could take it without much ado.”
Ingras trotted to them. “Captain, time for a midday halt.”
“All halt!”
As she unsaddled Falada, Ani heard the soldiers conferring pleasantly. “Midway, we have passed midway.”
“Midway, not long now, lads.” Ungolad’s voice was encouraging, and he slapped a few on the back. He saw Ani watching and added, “Not long now, Princess.”
After eating, Ani wanted a different brush for Falada and went back to the supply wagon to retrieve it. Selia stood in the third wagon. She was holding up Ani’s green gown against her front.
“Selia,” said Ani. Selia jumped, dropping the dress.
“Oh, hello, Crown Princess,” she said, quickly casual.
Ani could not understand why Selia seemed so nervous, and she waited for Selia to speak.
“Just looking at your pretty things.” Selia shook off her expression of surprise and smiled, holding up the dress again. “I know I don’t have your eyes, but do you not think I would look beautiful in this gown? You are almost my size.”
Ani did not respond.
Selia tipped her head to one side. “You’re angry, Crown Princess. You’re jealous of your treasures and don’t want them sullied by a servant.”
“Of course I don’t mind, but Selia, you’re acting so curiously. I can’t believe that it’s just my imagination.”
“I’m sorry,” said Selia.
“No, I am. Are you unhappy to be going to Bayern after all?”
“Not a whit.”
“Then what? I hope I’m still your friend....”
“Yes, your condescension is most entertaining, Crown Princess.” Selia stepped down from the wagon. “You must congratulate yourself that you have treated me better than any servant deserves.”
Selia’s tone made Ani’s fingers feel cold. She swallowed nervously.
“A servant,” said Selia again. She looked down as her face flamed and her chin began to quiver. “All I have ever wanted is what you have. And you, you don’t even care about what you are. And I have had to serve you and call you mistress and wait and wait and wait.” Selia put a hand over her eyes, and her shoulders began to shake. “What a horrid title, lady-in-waiting. I have waited and waited until I thought my bones would crack and my muscles freeze and my mind shrivel like a raisin. And there you were, with horses and tutors and gowns and servants, and all you did was hide in your room.”
Ani felt her lips part in amazement. How could she have been so blind all those years?
“Oh, Selia, I am so sorry I never saw.” Ani placed a hand on her shoulder. Selia slapped it away.
“That is because I was careful that you would not see,” Selia said. Her eyes dried up. “For years I have been waiting for my chance, and now here it is. Don’t touch me and don’t call for me. I am no longer your servant. You, what are you? The brat of lucky parents who were related to a childless king. There is no such thing as royal blood. I believe we are what we make ourselves, and as such, you, Crown Princess, are nothing.” Selia spoke as though she had held those words inside for too long and they burned her mouth as she spoke them.
“But I—you said—I thought you wanted to come.” Ani knew this was not fair but found it difficult to protest. Her thoughts spun and bumped against one another like dizzy children. Was this the effect of the gift of people-speaking? Every word Selia spoke seemed to be the purest truth. You are nothing. You make yourself nothing. She took a step back, prepared to back down, as always, ready to apologize and wait for time to ease the memory.
A warm breath of wind came from the deeper trees and ran across Ani’s neck. A corner of her mother’s handkerchief stood out from her bodice, and the wind tapped it against her breastbone. Ani thought its touch sparked her heart to beat faster, her skin to tingle, her blood to warm her hands and feet. A gift from my mother, Ani thought. Protection, she had said.
Ani met Selia’s stare and straightened her neck.
“Put down the dress, Selia,” she said. Selia paused. Ani had never commanded her in anything. “Put down my dress,” she repeated.
Selia tossed the dress back in the wagon. Her face was flushed, and her nostrils flared. “Go tell your guards, Crown Princess. Go stir your army. Go demand your throne and teach me a lesson—anything! I dare you.”
“I am no longer a crown princess,” Ani said, and her own steady tone encouraged her. “You mock me with the title. From now on, you will address me as Princess, or mistress, if you prefer, since you have never seen fit to call me by my name. My friends call me by my name.”
“You don’t have any friends.”
“I don’t want you to be my friend, Selia, or my servant, not now. I thought you were both. You have let me know I was wrong. So are you to treat me so. You are wrong.”
“Oh, my dear, dear Royal Majesty, you don’t know the half of it.” Selia started to smile, but she dropped her eyes from Ani’s face and walked away.
Ani did not move until she had caught her breath. Her limbs were trembling, and the anger that had suddenly flushed her face and steadied her voice now left her a little worn and a little cold. But, for a moment, she had almost sounded as confident as her mother, and she wondered where the courage to stand up to Selia had come from.
Ani pulled the handkerchief from her bodice. The cloth was old, the original white dimmed with age. Her mother’s blood stood out clearly, three spots of dark brown. She fingered the delicate lacing around the edges.
Maybe, she thought, it is a thing of magic. Maybe my mother’s blood renewed its power.
She thought of the bedside tales that spoke of mothers and blood. A mother who nurses her baby on one breast of milk and one breast of blood, and her child grows to be a powerful warrior. A young girl is cursed to never become a woman, and when the mother lies dying of old age, she cuts her wrist and washes her daughter in the blood, and the curse is undone. These stories had intrigued her with their strange mix of violence and love, so unlike the distant, passionless affection of her own mother.
She thought, she hoped, that the handkerchief was something fantastic, like a piece of a tale, but real, and just for her, a symbol of the real, hidden love of her mother. She so desperately wanted something magical, something powerful, something that meant her mother had not flung her aside but loved her as deeply as her own heart. Ani tucked the handkerchief back into her bodice, convincing herself that since the gates of the palace, the handkerchief had in some measure been protecting her.
That night, Ani set up her own bedroll. Ingras exclaimed at Selia’s refusal to serve, but Ani would not have anyone ordered to be her servant, or her friend. In the privacy of her
tent, Ani struggled with the laces of her bodice and called herself a fool for ever trusting anyone. Through the slit in her tent flap she could see Talone instructing the night watch. She wanted to trust him, but that dark encounter with Ingras and Selia’s betrayal were both painful barbs she could not pluck out. At least I have Falada as a true friend, she thought, and the handkerchief as protection.
Two weeks after the halfway mark, a stream pregnant with summer runoff crossed their path and rose to flow over the road’s bridge. Talone recommended they halt early and test the sodden wood for rotting before crossing the next day. Ungolad seemed pleased with the diversion, saying that some leagues upstream there was a waterfall.
“A sight for eyes wearied by endless trees,” he said. “A sight even royalty might deem worthy to behold.” He nodded at Ani.
The main part of the company followed Ungolad up a deer trail along the river. Ani stayed behind, and Ungolad seemed disappointed. But as she brushed Falada, a breeze lifted off the river and wound its damp essence in her hair and wrapped its coolness around her face, and with it, for a moment, she thought she saw the image of a waterfall shimmer before her eyes. Her imagination, she determined, and batted the breeze away.
Still, she had never seen a waterfall, and it would be a pity to pass blindly by. While Talone and others investigated the bridge, Ani took to the deer trail.
The forest ground was spongy but pleasant footing after weeks of riding. She liked the sensation of walking on soil hollowed by deep tree roots, the noise of her steps muted echoes. The smell of pine and cool water freshened the world, and Ani felt eager.
These last days had been tense and strange, the coldness from so many of the guards, Selia’s flushed face and eyes shining with anger and hate, and the burden of a handkerchief that throbbed with mystery at her heart. But now, off the road, the forest was pleasing, green like spring wheat and yet ancient and ponderous as the books of the palace library. The upper branches wrestled with the high forest wind. Below, the rumor of the river answered. Ani felt that she moved in the middle of a great conversation between sky and earth.