Silvanus was right.
Until that night, Cassius would not have described Princess Elena of the Nadirii as fragile in any way.
But when he spoke his cutting words, he knew she was.
He did not believe the slightest in the power of happiness.
Happiness was weak and fickle and transient.
However, what he had come to understand that night was that Elena had not learned this.
And something else Cassius had come to understand that night, and he understood it the moment she first called him Cass.
He would do all in his power to make sure she never did.
56
The Doors
Farah
Just Outside The Doors, South Center of the Great Thicket Forest
WODELL
“It wasn’t me, it was you.”
“It bloody was not me, it was you.”
“I remember it like it was yesterday.”
“I remember it like it was two minutes ago.”
As our horses walked slowly, the steady sway of their gait relaxing, I looked to the side to see True’s face gentle, a small curve on his lips as he listened to Luther and Wallace bicker, something they did a good deal.
It was affable and based in mutual fondness, oftentimes could be amusing and sometimes Bram or Florian would join in (never Alfie, he was far too serious, though he would make them quiet down if it started to get agitated).
I was not right then amused.
It had been days we slowly traversed this beautiful countryside with its rolling patchwork of fields and herds upon herds of fluffy, black-faced sheep.
Intermingled in these were small hamlets or slightly larger villages with cream stone buildings that had tiled roofs covered in moss or were topped in thatch. These buildings were cut with packed earth or cobbled roads winding through and surrounded by grass that was a green so green, it was like blankets of emerald.
Then there were the mighty forests, the colors of the falling leaves ranging from green to brown with stark yellows, bright reds and a plethora of oranges mixed in.
And there was such fauna, it was difficult to believe it was real. An abundance of deer, hare and rabbits, squirrels, hedgehogs, pine martens and badgers. We even saw fox, and once, a pack of wolves in the distance.
And the air sang with the flocks of birds heading south for the winter.
In fact, the night before had started warm, but True had risen in the middle of it from the bed we shared at the inn where we’d stayed. He did this in order to close the window he’d left open after the chill set in.
But before he closed it, I’d heard the hoots of owls.
Thus, I hoped I’d see an owl. They’d fascinated me from the very first drawing I’d seen of one.
It was known Wodell was full of magic and I wondered if all of this was what people meant when they spoke of it.
But I had seen the shimmering dust of a pixie’s flight.
And True had pointed out a fairy with leaves tangled artfully in her hair, a garland of them adorning the waist and wide skirts of her gown, her gossamer wings fluttering behind her. She was leading a lost fawn—who was only perhaps a few inches shorter than her—back to its mother.
So there was even more magic to this bountiful, beautiful land.
Indeed, True had told me not half an hour before that we neared The Doors so I hoped soon to see gnomes.
My mother, like many Firenz, was not admiring of anything Dellish (save its wool).
But I could not help but think she would have adored this journey through this land so very different from our own, for it was impossible not to fall in love with it.
I wished to be looking forward to The Doors and meeting gnomes, as I had all the many things True told me he wanted to show me.
But I was not looking forward to this.
For it had dawned on me, as Wallace and Luther bickered about hijinks they’d participated in, all the stories all the men spoke about of women they’d pursued (sometimes the same one at the same time), follies they’d attempted, evenings of inebriation, song, fisticuffs and games of chance they’d had…
True had not been among them.
They were his men and they were not hiding from me True’s participation in these shenanigans for fear of what I might think.
I could tell by the smile on True’s face that it was grounded in gladness his men had these adventures, not nostalgia at memories of times shared.
I twisted on my steed to look back at Alfie, who was riding at our rear.
He caught my gaze and his head tipped to the side in inquiry.
I could not ask, not then, of course, maybe not ever. It would not be right to speak of True behind his back. Especially with one of his men.
I turned forward and again gave my attention to True.
“Did you ever try to ride a greased pig?” I asked after what Wallace and Luther were squabbling about.
He smiled at me. “No.”
“Even as a child?” I pressed hopefully.
He shook his head.
Of course he had not.
Because, from what I could ascertain, he had not had a childhood.
He had been too busy being trained by his mother to be king.
I faced forward, feeling my jaw set.
“You seem disappointed in hearing the information that I was not foolish enough to try to mount a greased pig, my sweet,” True teased.
“It was foolish, ask Luther,” Wallace said.
“I would not know, ask Wallace,” Luther added.
I did not respond to their gibing because I was what True thought I was.
Disappointed.
I had never tried to ride a greased pig, for that was lunacy. And the poor pig. Why would anyone do such a thing to an animal? It was bad enough they were raised only to be slaughtered and eaten. Forcing that indignity on them?
But I wished True had stories of something that was fun (even if it was also lunacy).
“Farah?” True interrupted my thoughts.
“Mars and I played at the paints,” I shared suddenly.
“The paints?”
“Bows with arrows tipped in small bags filled with cotton saturated in paint. If an arrow struck you, it stung, but did not wound. What it did do was brand you with a splotch of paint. I beat him. Often. It made him very angry.”
True chuckled. “I can imagine.”
I looked to True. “Did you do something like that?”
He nodded.
I was heartened.
“I began my archery practice at six,” he stated.
I felt my face fall. “Your archery practice?”
“Mother desired I hit a bulls-eye by seven. I achieved that.”
I was in no doubt.
I looked again forward but then twisted and scowled behind me at Alfie.
True’s captain was serious-minded.
He was also smart.
I had a feeling he was understanding my scowl for his gaze darted to True before he returned my scowl and the sentiment behind it.
“Is something amiss?” True asked as I righted myself in the saddle, and I glanced out the sides of my eyes to see him looking back at Alfie.
“No,” I lied.
“Why do you look at Alfie?”
I did not want to lie again.
Therefore, I didn’t.
“It does not seem you had much of a childhood.”
I didn’t know if True desired to answer, but it didn’t matter for I forged on.
“Or adulthood, for that matter.”
“I don’t understand.”
I looked to True. “Tell me one story where you had fun.”
“Fun?”
By the gods.
My heart lurched for it appeared he didn’t even understand the word.
“Fun, True,” I said softly. “Something silly or trivial or frivolous that had no reason but to make you laugh or make you happy.”
“I’m takin
g you to see The Doors.”
“That doesn’t count.”
He turned his attention forward, but I could see he felt awkward.
And I immediately felt badly.
“I do not wish to—” I began.
“When I was younger, whenever we visited Bower Manor, or her parents brought her to the castle, I would play hide and seek with Silence. She was wicked good at it. I could search for hours and not find her, and I would swear, when I did, she made herself be seen because she felt pity on me.”
“That’s lovely, I think,” I murmured.
“I’m eight years older than her, and for the most part, it was felt I was looking after her while the adults did adult things.”
“It’s still lovely.”
“It did not take long before my mother shared she thought it was beneath me to play such childish games.”
“Even doing it with a child?” I asked.
He did not answer my question.
He said pensively, “Silence was devastated. Though she never spoke a word, certainly no childish tantrums, she just went back to playing with her dolls, but it was a ruse. She had no interest in them. She loved her cousin and spending time with me. She also had no friends.”
“That’s heartbreaking, True,” I whispered.
“I think I was more upset.” His voice dropped. “A boy of fourteen, stripped of his only playmate. A six-year-old girl.”
I stared at him, the gentle sway of the horse, the beauty of the trees around us not relaxing me in the slightest.
“Farah.”
And I continued staring at him, eyes burning, throat prickly, something I had not felt or called upon in many years scratching at my spine.
“Farah!” True clipped. “Halt!” he ordered.
We halted, even my horse did so, though I didn’t pull the reins as I could not tear my eyes from True, or my thoughts from his last words.
“Farah.”
I swallowed hard so I would not wail my fury for who knew what would happen if I did that.
“Farah!” True barked.
It was his voice in that tone that made me blink.
And when I did, a vast shower of leaves that were floating all around fell to the ground about us.
The horses shifted with agitation.
Oh dear.
“Was that you?” he asked, and I noted his men had closed ranks and drawn swords.
They were concerned there was other magic out there and they did not know who wielded it.
“Yes,” I told him. “I’m sorry. My magic comes to me through emotion. I’ve…” I drew in breath. “I’ve kept a very tight control over it since, well, since my father…”
“Yes, I understand,” True muttered.
Yes.
Somehow True always did.
His men sheathed their swords.
“I did not want to make matters worse because sometimes, I can control it and sometimes,” I lifted a hand and let it fall, indicating my control of the leaves, “I cannot.”
“You do not have to feel sorry for me, sweetling,” True said gently.
“I do not feel sorry for you, caro. I feel fury, and I do not mean to offend or show disrespect, but it is aimed at your mother.” As I’d started this, I decided to give him it all. “And your father.”
I heard a “huh” coming from Florian and a grunt from Wallace.
I cast my eyes down. “I’m again so very sorry, saying these things is disrespectful to your queen and king.”
“They agree with you,” True stated and I lifted my gaze to him. “I just tired of hearing them complain about my parents so I asked them to stop.” True shifted his horse nearer to mine. “Father, I cannot say. But Mother…she has her faults, but she is loyal to me and I believe, in her way, loves me.”
“I will not love our children as she loves you,” I informed him.
His beautiful mouth quirked. “I’m counting on that.”
“And when I am queen, when I am mother to the future king, I will not allow her to love our children as she loved you,” I went on.
“Finally, the fiery Firenz is coming out of her,” Luther declared.
“About time,” Wallace muttered.
I looked between them.
They had not much engaged me at all. Not due to rudeness or dislike, my sense was that it was due to me being in mourning.
Now that they had, I felt a wonderful warmth at their vocal approval.
At this point, True asked bizarrely, “Is he closer?”
“He is, True,” Alfie answered.
“And in the trees?” True went on.
“Yup,” Alfie said.
“Well, hullo!” Florian called.
I gave my attention to him then turned it to where he was staring into the woods.
The instant I did, a male slid out of a tree, doing this down a stout vine, on which he stopped, holding onto it, at least seven feet from the ground.
He had a long white beard, a long mustache that curled at the tips, and was wearing trousers and boots that laced up the front, a cloak on his shoulders with the hood up over his head, shadowing his eyes.
And he was maybe, at most, two feet tall.
Another popped up from behind a fallen log, then climbed up on it.
Both of them stared at us.
Or…
It appeared…
Me.
“Is that your bride, my prince?” the one on the log called, his voice a little tinny, and I was shocked he spoke thus without first giving a greeting and a bow.
“It is,” True answered.
“Our apologies, mistress,” the one hanging from the vine said, his voice somewhat squeaky. “Your great beauty everlastingly tied to this ugly mug,” and he arched his body to push off, swaying his vine toward True. “Tragic,” he finished.
I felt my lips part.
True laughed out loud.
I felt my mouth drop open.
I had never heard him laugh like that.
“Does she speak?” the one on the log asked True.
“She does when she’s not frozen in astonishment at displays of shocking insolence toward the crown prince,” True answered. “I’ve a mind to send to Birchlire for the royal tormentor and have you both flogged.”
“Is there a royal tormenter?” the one on the log asked the one on the vine.
“No,” the one on the vine said.
“I’m recruiting,” True told them.
“I’m good with a whip,” the one on the log returned.
All the men laughed, even the male gnomes.
“Come, meet Farah, your future princess,” True bid. “She wishes to see The Doors.”
“It’s good she wishes it,” the vine gnome said as he slid down to the ground and both of them approached. “We often say yes to beautiful women. Ugly princelings, no.”
True chuckled.
He also dismounted, rounded his magnificent horse (aptly named Majesty) at the rear and came to me. He put his hands to my waist and pulled me down, then held my hand as he walked us back around and stopped us in front of the little ones.
“Farah, meet Welbrix and Galbdor.”
He indicated each with his hand as he said their names. Welbrix was the one who came from behind the log. Galbdor was the one who came from the tree.
“Hello,” I said.
“If wedlock with this lummox doesn’t work,” Galbdor jerked a thumb to True, “I’m happy to carve a higher door into my tree so you can get through without bumping your head.”
“My tree already has a high door,” Welbrix said.
Galbdor looked to Welbrix. “Not high enough for this statuesque beauty.”
“The point is to make her bend over, stupid,” Welbrix retorted.
I started laughing.
Both males looked up, and I could see coming from under their hoods that they had long hair, Galbdor’s white, Welbrix’s gray, though, curiously, their faces appeared unlined with age.
&nb
sp; And they were grinning at me.
“It is true what your handsome prince has told you,” I said. “I would be most grateful if you would honor me with showing me your home.”
“The honor would be all ours, princess,” Galbdor replied on a bow.
I was struck with the title, something True referred to often regarding me, but not anything anyone else had ever called me.
And it was then I realized this would be real. In a month’s time, I would be a princess.
I knew this, but it had not penetrated.
Two months ago, I lived in exile.
Now, I was to be princess. Then queen.
And I would live my life beside a handsome prince, who would become a gentle and benevolent king.
My mother had not lived to hear me called princess. She had not lived to see me spend even a day as wife at the side of a handsome prince.
And she would have loved that for me.
“Farah?” True called softly.
I looked up to him.
“No one has referred to me as princess before,” I whispered.
That tender smile of his returned. “I would get used to that, darling.”
I felt a tender smile of my own forming.
“Are we to endure you two staring, starry-eyed at each other for eternity, or can we go find some ale?” Welbrix asked.
True glanced at Welbrix before he looked to Alfie. “The horses?”
“We’ve got them,” Alfie assured.
This must have meant something to all for Welbrix and Galbdor immediately turned and started moving through the leaves and fallen boughs between the trees, and with a tug of my hand, True and I followed.
“Watch your step,” True murmured.
I often went barefoot in Firenze, and only if necessary, wore sandals.
Here, footwear was essential, as was warmer clothing.
Thus, Mars had had an extensive wardrobe crafted for me, and that day, I was wearing a gown made of the deepest green velvet with an overskirt at the back made stiff green taffeta embroidered in gold. It had a square neckline that showed the cleft of my breasts (but barely) that was edged in a thin ribbon of gold lace. And the overskirt was held in place by a crisscross of sage-green satin ribbons that started beneath my breasts and went down to my waist.
My feet were in slippers, something that True frowned upon, stating I needed boots, especially while riding.
However, as not many wore boots in Firenze, this was not thought of (in fact, I was grateful to Mars for even considering my need for a warmer wardrobe at all for that would not have crossed my mind), and by the time it was, it was too late.
The Plan Commences Page 29