by Jen McIntosh
She was humming happily to herself as she breezed back into her room and almost danced to the windows to throw open the heavy curtains. But her good humour faltered when she turned to meet the storm-grey eyes of her son. Erion’s mood had not lifted then. She squared her shoulders, fixing a dazzling smile on her lips, and pretended not to notice.
‘Good morning!’ she chimed, straightening the sheets of her bed. ‘How are you feeling today? Did you sleep well?’
‘Fine,’ he grunted, rolling from his own bed and crossing the room to the wash basin. ‘And you?’ he asked with forced civility.
‘I am well, thank you,’ she said with a bright smile, adding another log to the fire.
‘How is Captain Farran this morning?’ he asked as he washed his face. She did not miss the trace of bitterness in his voice; it cracked her heart. He knew that Farran was not his father and no doubt still believed that his father would one day come for them. Renila didn’t dare to have such dreams, which was why she allowed herself to have … well, whatever it was she had with Farran. She forced another smile as she laid out a clean shirt for Erion.
‘He’s well. Though in desperate need of a hot meal and a good night’s sleep,’ she said, running a comb through her tangled mane of wine-red hair.
‘As ever. You’re such a mother hen,’ Erion muttered as he pulled his shirt over his head.
‘Indeed,’ she chuckled, running a fastidious eye over her son, but he darted back out of reach before she could comb his hair. Renila clicked her tongue in exasperation but didn’t pursue him. ‘Go on, get away with you. Mal should have breakfast ready for you by now.’
Erion’s eyes flashed to her own at the mention of breakfast, and he scurried away towards the kitchens. Renila washed and dressed quickly and tried unsuccessfully to tame her hair once more before following him back to the kitchens. She spotted him in the corner nearest the fire with two other children. A boy who worked in the stables with Erion and one of the young housemaids. She was pretty, with soft brown eyes and womanly curves far beyond her years. Renila felt a flash of worry when she noted the girl’s hungry gaze on Erion. But he seemed too busy talking horses with the other stable boy to notice those bedroom eyes. The sound of Mal yelling Renila’s name interrupted her worries.
‘The Lady has requested her morning tea in her room,’ Mal instructed, handing Renila a tray laden with the aforementioned tea. There was also enough fresh fruit, toasted bread and honey for at least two people. ‘Her instructions were that you were to deliver both it and yourself to her as soon as possible. You’ll be breaking your fast with her today.’
The tone of Mal’s voice told Renila that she did not approve of such special treatment. Renila was a servant, and to dine with the mistress was to rise above her station. Even if she disagreed, arguing with Mal wasn’t a good plan. And in any case, it wasn’t like Renila had much choice.
She hesitated on the threshold. After their argument the previous night, she’d assumed the Lady would not want to see her again for several days. Her temper tended towards the fury of a midwinter storm, and the aftermath was rarely anything less than total devastation. With a deep breath, Renila knocked on the door and entered.
The Lady was out of bed and stood by the window in the sitting room, brushing her hair and gazing out across the forest. An exquisite robe of embroidered silk shrouded her shoulders and covered an equally beautiful nightgown of chiffon and lace. Her snow-white hair was already smooth and gleaming, but she continued to brush through the length while those starlight eyes considered the view in front of her. The early light of the morning caught on the sharp planes of her face, and for a rare moment, her angled features softened.
She was breathtaking. Hers was a face that stopped people in their tracks. But her demeanour was so cold, so aloof, that it was like gazing up at the distant stars. And on the rare instance that someone dared to meet her eerie gaze, the power that dwelt there was all too often paralysing. She was beautiful, yes, but she was also terrifying.
Knowing her presence had been noted, if not acknowledged, Renila crossed the room to the small dining table in the adjacent room. With practised dexterity, she transferred the contents of the tray to the table and put the tray on the sideboard. Assuming the Lady would speak when she was ready, she crossed back through to the bedroom and began making the bed.
‘Leave it,’ the Lady commanded. ‘Someone else can do it later.’
Renila kept her back to her mistress and finished what she was doing. It didn’t seem fair to add to the other servants’ workloads when she could do it in moments. ‘Will milady require help to dress this morning?’
‘I think I can manage.’ The Lady was studying her from the dining room. Renila hadn’t heard her move from the window, yet there she was – seated at the table, pouring herself a cup of tea, fathomless eyes watching her every move with the predatory glint of a cat surveying a potential meal. Renila tried not to flinch beneath that stare.
‘Is there anything else I can do for you, milady?’ she asked, desperate to leave. No matter how bitter she was about their exchange the night before, she would die before she let the Lady see it.
The Lady’s eyes flashed as she regarded Renila from over the rim of her teacup. ‘I’m sorry I lost my temper with you last night,’ she murmured. Renila blinked. She’d never heard the Lady apologise. Not in a dozen years. The Lady smiled ruefully and reached for a piece of toast. ‘It may well be another dozen before you hear it again, so I would enjoy it while you can.’
Renila forced her face to remain impassive. It wasn’t hard. She was well practised in not reacting to the Lady’s eerie ability to read her mind.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured.
‘I thought a lot about what you said last night, Renila,’ the Lady continued. ‘You’re right, they deserve to know the truth. But I’m afraid, in my anger, I failed to impress upon you the dangers that come with that truth. Our greatest defence is secrecy. If that fails, everyone in this castle is at risk.’
Renila nodded but could not shake the feeling that she was continuing her earlier conversation with Farran. ‘I still don’t understand how telling Suriya and Lucan the truth about their power puts that secrecy in jeopardy?’
‘Blood calls to blood, magic calls to magic.’ The Lady sighed. ‘Ignorance keeps those children safe. If they start using their powers, Darklings will sniff them out in days. Magic is rare. Even the weakest remnants of those bloodlines are sought with zealous desperation.’
Renila lowered her eyes as she yielded the point. But after a moment, she continued, her gentle voice desperate. ‘What about me? I know nothing about who I am. Where I came from. Why I’m here. And what about my son? I know he’s sick, even though he pretends that he’s not. How do I make him better when you won’t even tell me what’s wrong with him?’
‘You came to me for protection, and I’ve given you that,’ the Lady replied, her expression darkening at the mention of Erion. ‘Your reasons were your own, and you understood the consequences of your decisions. I will not take responsibility for your regrets.’
A gasp of horror escaped Renila’s lips, despite her best efforts. ‘Why do you hate Erion so much? What could a boy have done to deserve such loathing?’
‘Get out,’ the Lady snapped, focussing those terrifying eyes on her. ‘I don’t want to see your face again until you can keep a civil tongue in your head.’
Renila flinched and stood hastily. The Lady could be vindictive when provoked. She wouldn’t put it past her to throw both her and Erion out into the cold just for sheer spite. It wasn’t a risk Renila was willing to take, even if it stung her pride to back down.
So she swallowed her reply and left with as much dignity as she could muster.
Renila did not trust herself when she was so worked up. It was a rare occurrence, but once roused, her agitation took a long time to settle. She bolted for the stables.
Erion took one look at his mother’s face, his eyes flas
hing to a wild, wolf-yellow, and began saddling her horse – a stubborn but loyal chestnut mare named Copper. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gripped it tightly in silent thanks. He smiled in understanding and handed her the reins.
‘Be careful,’ he murmured, his eyes flickering like a storm.
She smiled gently, nudging his chin with her fingers. ‘Which one of us is the mother hen now?’
He gave her a knowing look as she climbed up into the saddle, and he opened the door of the stall. With a twitch of her heels, she was off, thundering through the courtyard and out into the fields beyond. She heard a familiar male voice shout her name when she passed through the open gates, but she didn’t look back. She didn’t want to see the exasperation and disappointment on Farran’s face.
Copper carried her across the fields with near feral delight and needed no urging from Renila to stretch into a gallop. The mare loved nothing more than a flat sprint across open ground and, for once, Renila let her have her head. The wind surged and whipped around her, and she let her temper rage with it. Copper seemed to sense her mistress’s displeasure and whinnied as she charged onward.
The castle and its surrounding land was bordered on three sides by forest – the vast expanse of the Ravenswood. But on the fourth side, the farmlands met rock, a sheer cliff face that rose into the rugged mountains behind it. It was towards that craggy expanse of bare rock that Renila headed now. To the secret path up the cliffs, since nothing calmed her mind quicker than the cold, biting air of the mountains.
Copper needed little guidance to find the path, and she climbed steadily upward without encouragement. As the path narrowed, trapping them between flat rock on one side and a sheer drop on the other, she nickered in discomfort, but a soothing word from her mistress had her moving forward. Renila dared to look down. A familiar rush of primal fear set her heart pounding in her chest as she leaned out across the vast expanse of empty air beneath her. It was a thrill. To face such dangers when your body knew the risks, but neither your heart nor mind cared. One could become addicted.
Copper froze and whinnied in warning as Renila’s shifting in the saddle threatened to unbalance her. She leaned in heavily against the wall of stone on her other side, pinning her mistress’s leg to the rock with her weight. Renila chuckled at the mare’s reproach and straightened herself. Satisfied, Copper moved on with a derisive snort.
Renila dismounted as Copper reached an outcrop. The mare had more sense than to approach the edge, where the ground was liable to crumble, but Renila tied her reins to the withered stump of a gorse bush anyway. Copper gave her a long-suffering look and began to munch on what little tufts of grass she could find growing in the cracks of the rock.
Renila edged closer to the precipice and looked out across the land stretched out below her. It was a rare, fine day, and the bright morning sun had burned away the blanket of fog that had lain so heavy on the land before the dawn. It was cold, as it so often was this far north. The air was clear and crisp, and the smell of the pine forest was on the wind, drawing her gaze from the castle. The Ravenswood was large, but it was just part of the vast expanse of woodland that covered this part of the world. The dark forests to the south were wild by comparison. They blanketed the hills, the valleys and the glens, shrouding the land in mystery. Little wonder legend claimed it as the mythical home of the Fair Folk. How many times had she told the children stories about the hidden court of the Elf-Queen concealed within that forest?
Toying with the chain about her neck, she pulled free the pendant nestled within her bodice. Gold and shaped like a bird in flight, it was set with a tiny ruby for the eye. It was hot to touch, warmed by her body, and it seemed to grow heavy as she studied it in the sunlight. She wasn’t sure where it came from, though she’d had it as long as she could remember. It had to have been a gift, beautiful and finely wrought as it was. The Lady didn’t pay well enough for Renila to afford such expensive adornments.
Casting the resentment aside, she inhaled deeply, savouring the cool, clean mountain air as it filled her chest. The bitter wind whipped her hair about her and stung at her nose and cheeks, but she revelled in the untamed beauty of it. She threw her arms wide, welcoming its embrace, and let her head fall back to feel the warm rays of the sun kiss her upturned face.
It took some time, but eventually her rage evaporated. The air steamed around her, and like mist dispersing in the morning sun, it caught in the breeze and floated away into the aether. She sighed. There were days, like today, that she wished it were more than just her temper – or even her worries and fears – the wind could carry away. But she was a mother now. Everything she wanted, all her dreams and desires, were secondary. Erion had to be kept safe. So, she would endure.
It was almost midday by the time Renila returned to the castle. Farran was waiting for her at the gate, no doubt having spied her approach from his office window. His dark brows knit in a stern scowl, but he said nothing as he helped her dismount and escorted both her and Copper back to the stables.
It did not surprise her to find Erion sitting in the mare’s stall. His stormy grey eyes warmed as she entered, swirling to match her own amber gaze. And though she noted the weary circles under his eyes, she said nothing. He didn’t like to be reminded of how easily he tired these days. He hugged her fiercely and took Copper’s reins from the Captain, affording Farran a long, flat stare as he did so.
‘I can take care of her, Mother,’ he assured her, stopping her hands as she reached for the saddle. Then he offered her a cheeky grin. ‘You should go wash. You stink of horse.’ She resisted the urge to cuff him across the back of the head, instead ruffling a hand through his dark hair. She kissed his brow and smiled as he feigned embarrassment.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. The soft smile he gave in return told her he understood all that she was thanking him for. Her son was remarkably perceptive.
Farran took her elbow and guided her from the stables, his grip on her arm firm enough to communicate his displeasure. But despite his temper, she couldn’t ignore how the feel of his fingers against her skin made her heart flutter and her breath catch in her throat. He released her as they entered the castle but stayed close to her side while he shepherded her through the hallways to his office. Farran’s squire, Olly, stood guard. The Captain’s tone was brusque, and his voice clipped as he instructed the boy to ensure they were not interrupted.
He gestured Renila ahead, following her in and closing the door firmly behind him. He crossed the room and removed the cloak from his shoulders, throwing it across the back of his chair without a word. It was a mark of his irritation – the carelessness with which he tossed it. Farran was the sort of man who folded even his socks neatly and had them arranged in the drawer by colour and thickness. Renila repressed a smile when she glanced at his bookshelf – alphabetised by the author’s surname, then in order of publication date, if she knew him at all.
He stood at the window with his back to her and sighed as he ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair. She was forced to take a deep, steadying breath as thoughts of those fingers knotting in her own burgundy mane flashed through her mind. He was a married man, she reminded herself firmly. He was not for her.
‘Are you going to explain yourself?’ he snapped eventually.
‘I needed some fresh air,’ she answered, betraying no hint of the emotions that had sent her running.
Farran swore as he rounded on her, twitching as if he was fighting the urge to cross the room and shake her. She kept her expression neutral, despite the fist of fear around her heart, and met the blazing fury in his gaze.
‘Damn it, Renila!’ he raged. ‘We had Darklings in the woods not two nights ago – are you trying to get yourself killed?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, looking at the floor. ‘It was broad daylight, I thought it would be safe.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You know fine well they might prefer to hunt at night, but they’re just as dangerous during the day.
And what if they’d followed you, hmm? You could have led them straight to us.’
‘I would know if I was being followed, and if I had been, I wouldn’t have come back here until I’d lost them.’
Farran placed his hands on the edge of his desk and leaned across it, his voice cold. ‘You expect me to believe that? That a servant girl, a nursemaid, not only knows when she’s being followed by some of the deadliest hunters in the world but is skilled enough to evade them?’
Renila was silent, and though she tried to keep her face blank, she saw the triumphant gleam in his eyes and knew that she had somehow betrayed her shock.
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. It was the truth. She didn’t even know how she’d known that she knew. She winced inwardly. It sounded mad, even to her. She wasn’t even sure it made sense. Farran wouldn’t believe her. But she wasn’t lying. Not even by omission this time.
All she had of her past before the castle were vague flashes of a frantic flight through the forest. Precisely who had led her here, she could no longer remember. But she could remember a steady presence at her side as she fought her way free of the forest. In the dark of the night, she’d staggered, exhausted and heavily pregnant, to the doors of the castle. The Lady had opened the door just as her waters broke. Somehow, through the screams of her labour pains, she’d begged sanctuary for herself and her child before passing out.
She’d woken days later – alone, dazed and confused, any knowledge of her life before gone. Whatever she knew about herself now was a gift from the Lady. She’d told Renila her name and helped her to the nursery, pointing out her sleeping son in a cot beside the Lady’s own infant children. She could still remember how her hands had shaken with fear when she first cradled that tiny, fragile baby to her breast. The Lady had helped her name him. Erion. It meant ‘hope’, she’d said, in an ancient tongue long since forgotten by mortals.