The Blessing of Equinox

by Kathryn Reynolds

  The purity of her happiness in the moment, despite everything that was going on, eased his lingering tension.

  Fy fanden, he thought, finding himself unable to take his eyes from her as the shock of realization set in. Arne was right. He had already fallen for his seidkona.

  * * *

  The road was almost completely obscured by a rustling bed of autumn leaves by the time the Keep came into sight, despite how full the tree branches remained. Unlike Spring’s Keep of pale stone and yellow wood, Autumn stood tall in red stone glory trimmed in dark wood. The high wall and tall castle inside were shrouded so heavily by the forest of red and gold trees surrounding it, they were almost upon it before realizing where they were.

  Fjell frowned as they came around a bend in the road. The gates stood open, awaiting them, but two wild elves stood out front. They were armored in studded leather under a tabard of red edged in gold; a golden tree adorning each of their chests. Each held a pike in hand, the sharp tip gleaming in the early evening light.

  He had never seen guards at either of the Keeps before. This was something entirely new, and a fair bit unsettling. Why would one of the Mantles need guards? From their posture, how they held themselves so still, this was not a show for him or Marsilia. They stood with the patient purpose of those who had been trained. He felt tension rising through his shoulders and forced himself to relax, to remain wary and ready.

  As they approached, the two guards stepped together, crossing their pikes.

  “Who seeks entrance to the Keep of Autumn?” one of them asked.

  “Marsilia,” the witch answered, guiding her mount to take a few steps past where Fjell had stopped. “And Fjell Ulfson; we are on a quest for the Blessing of Equinox and request your Lady’s hospitality.”

  The dwarf smiled faintly at her back. She was picking up on the introductions and correct words to use quickly, not to mention how deft she was becoming upon her mount. There wasn’t even a hint of unsteadiness to her confident approach.

  The guards nodded, and parted to grant them entrance. “You are expected,” the one who spoke before answered.

  “Thank you,” Marsilia said, dipping her head politely as she rode past them, Fjell on her heels.

  Inside the courtyard, thick trees flanked either side of the Keep, walling off what was surely the gardens beyond. Before the doors into the castle itself, the courtyard was barren save for a layer of frost-edged leaves.

  When Fjell visited once before, when the previous Lady of Autumn had reigned, the gardens extended to fill the courtyard with beauty - much as it was in Lady Ylva’s courtyard. This, however, seemed more a set up for tactical defense. The dwarf couldn’t help but note the frost, too. A touch of Winter.

  A short elf, perhaps around Marsilia’s height, awaited them in that barren courtyard with two stablehands. He was clad in a fine linen cotehardie that came just to his mid-thigh. The panels of the garment alternated shimmering gold and deep crimson over a pair of well-fitted brown hosen. His autumn brown hair and eyes glinted a matching red and gold in the evening sun, a politely pleasant expression shrouding any thoughts he may be having.

  “Mistress Marsilia, Master Fjell, welcome to Lady Isabel’s Keep of Autumn,” the elf said with a short bow. “I am Trien, head of her grace’s household. If you would kindly leave your mounts with our stablehands, I will see you in so that you may clean up before dinner.”

  Fjell raised his eyebrows in surprise as he slid down Meyla’s side. “Both of us?”

  Trien dipped his head in acknowledgement, a glint of amusement in his eye. “My Lady will not stand for one guest to be served dinner in the hall while another is sent to eat alone. Her words.”

  Scratching at his chin in thought, Fjell smoothed down his red beard before going to Marsilia’s side and helping her down from Musa’s saddle. The two stablehands quickly collected their giant mountain goats and led them off.

  “This way, if you please,” Trien said affably, turning and heading up the steps into the red stone castle, its large dark wooden carved doors open in welcome.

  Chapter 26

  The interior of the Keep sported the same red stone walls as the exterior. Thick carpets of brown wool lined grey stone floors and thin lines of gold gilding accented carvings on the wood surfaces. Trien led the witch and dwarf to a small antechamber where cloths and bowls of water awaited them.

  In short order, the traveling companions were freshened up - what little dust they collected from the road wiped from their faces and hands. Fjell hesitated, glancing over his armor. While it certainly made him look more respectable, it wasn’t the most comfortable thing to wear at a dinner table.

  Trien seemed to notice his thoughts and nodded to a side table. “If you wish to remove your armor for dinner, Master Fjell, you are most welcome to leave it here. We will ensure it is taken to your room.”

  The dwarf hesitated a moment more before finally starting to remove his gloves and unbuckle his gorget. “Aye, thank ye.”

  It took him a few minutes to get everything off and neatly stacked. When he was stripped down to just his tunic and pants, he put his belt back on and slid the Unseelie blade into place at his hip. Turning back, he found Trien watching him, an eyebrow pointedly raised at the weapon.

  “It’s the blade we’re asking yer Lady to bless,” the dwarf said frowning. “Is there some issue with me carrying it around the Keep?”

  “No,” the elf answered patiently. “But perhaps not on introduction at dinner? If you’ll forgive my bluntness, I doubt her grace will be stopping mid-meal to grant your blessing.”

  Fjell hesitated a moment more. A hand came to rest on his arm and he looked down to find Marsilia smiling in reassurance up at him. Her bow and arrows were already laid out on another table, along with a few of her bags. With a sigh, he removed the blade from his belt and laid it next to his own sword.

  Trien inclined his head in silent thanks and led them from the room. Fjell couldn’t help but wonder if it was just civility that had the elf encouraging him to leave arms and armaments behind. His mind lingered once more on the image of the barren landscape in the front courtyard.

  They traveled down the full length of the hall before Trien led them through a door just before the throne room.

  “Mistress Marsilia and Master Fjell Ulfson, your grace, my lord,” Trien said, bowing to the occupants of the room.

  “Thank you, Trien. We will call if we need anything more,” a strong feminine voice, refined by class and age, answered from within.

  Stepping aside, the elf bowed to the dwarf and witch, motioning for them to enter.

  As Fjell followed Marsilia in, they were greeted with a great feast hall. Garlands of ever-living autumn leaves were draped along the walls above tapestries of autumnal gardens and past battles. A long table graced the center of the room, finely carved in more nature motifs, flanked by two dozen chairs - yet places had only been set for four.

  Before the table, awaiting their entrance, stood a small woman, an inch or two shorter than even Marsilia. Her silver hair was neatly arranged in a cascade of thin braids tacked back from her face. Keenly intelligent green eyes watched them from a pleasantly plump face, a few thin wrinkles being the only sign, aside from her hair, of her apparent age. She could have been in her forties or sixties, it was nearly impossible to tell.

  A crown of silver-edged gold leaves sat atop her head, adorned with red and amber gemstones. Her gown of deep crimson shone with thread of gold as she moved, shimmering and glittering in the light from the windows on the far wall. Small gold beads were worked in a pattern across the bodice, spreading from a tight clump around the neckline to a scattering across her chest.

  At her side stood a tall, lithe figure. He watched them with equally intelligent steel blue eyes above high cheekbones and a sharp nose. His pale blonde hair was pulled back loosely to hang in a tail down his back, revealing his pointed ears.

  There was no mistaking him for anything other than wh
at he was - a highborn Unseelie lord. Fjell could only assume this was the General that Lady Isabel was rumored to have stolen. Yet, while the base of his garments were dark grey silk, instead of the customary silver and blue thread embroidery of the Winter court, his clothes were embellished in red and gold to match the Lady of Autumn.

  “Welcome,” Lady Isabel said, smiling warmly at them both, “to Autumn’s holdings. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you both since Lady Ylva sent word of your coming. I am Lady Isabel, and this is my husband, Lord Ailbhe. Please, come in.”

  Fjell stopped, rocked for a moment. Husband? Husband? That put an entirely new spin upon the rumors and suddenly a cascade of pieces clicked into place about this Lady - a woman who would stand against Mab for one she loved, who was clever enough to pull it off, and clearly a woman of such great worth that an Unseelie General would throw aside the position he had fought to earn, to be with her.

  “Thank you so much for your generous hospitality, your grace, your… uh… lordship..?” Marsilia was saying, her confidence from the gates beginning to falter.

  Ailbhe’s stern expression cracked into the smallest of amused smiles. “Just ‘my lord’ is fine,” he said, his tone as musical as the other highborn elves they had met.

  The elf lord turned then, offering his hand to Isabel. She laid hers delicately in his and motioned for them to follow as they turned and he escorted her to the head of the table. For as matronly as she appeared at first glance, she moved with elegance and sure footing, a balanced counter to Ailbhe’s lethal grace.

  “Come,” she said over her shoulder. “Let’s eat before my cooks’ hard work is ruined by growing cold.”

  Fjell hesitated for a moment. Marsilia began to head to one side of the table, their place settings laid out to face one another with Isabel and Ailbhe sharing the head of the table. He could clearly see that the Lady of Autumn appreciated chivalry, and frankly, he wasn’t about to let an elf lord show him up.

  It only took him a few steps to catch up to the witch and before she could lay a hand on her chair, he reached forward, pulling it out for her. She blinked back over her shoulder at him in surprise. He gave her a small smile in return and nodded towards the chair. Tucking her skirts under herself, she sat and he lightly pushed her chair in before walking the long way back around the table - not daring to cross behind the Lord and Lady - to claim his own seat.

  When he was seated, he finally glanced over to the Lady who was watching him in a mixture of amusement and approval. Yet, Marsilia was looking down at her plate, a hint of a blush coloring her cheeks. Was it because he’d pulled her chair out for her, or her embarrassment at fumbling Ailbhe’s title? It was probably her fumble.

  A servant entered, a woman with near glowing orange hair and golden eyes, wearing a simple brown dress and bearing a platter with a great pie surrounded by roasted vegetables. She dropped a quick curtsey to Lady Isabel and Lord Ailbhe before serving slices of pie and heaps of vegetables onto each of their plates. Other servants entered as well, bearing bottles of wine - both red and white - a saucer of gravy with a laddling spoon, and a large bowl of late-season greens dressed with oil and vinegar.

  “This is quite the feast, yer grace,” Fjell offered politely as the last of the food was laid out on the table.

  “Indeed it is,” Lady Isabel agreed, a bemused smile playing across her lips as one of the servants filled her wine glass. “But I would ask if we are going to chatter while we eat it be of some more depth than that.”

  Fjell rocked his head back yet again, giving Isabel a serious look of consideration. “Alright,” he said slowly. “If ye want to be blunt and to the point… We appreciate the food, but we’re here for yer blessing.”

  “Now that is more like it,” Isabel said, raising her glass to him before taking a sip. “Lady Ylva already mentioned why you are in need of this blessing-” she paused, turning her gaze to Marsilia, “-and you have my compassion in the matter, dear.” Her gaze returned to him once more. “But this is the first time I’ve been asked to do such. I would know that it will not be in vain before bestowing my blessing.”

  Fjell’s brow furrowed and he glanced across the table at Marsilia. She was looking back at him wide-eyed and gave the smallest shake of her head. Frowning, the dwarf glanced down at the slice of pie on his plate, the gravy and meat filling spilling out across the roasted root vegetables.

  “You do have a plan, don’t you?” Lady Isabel pressed.

  “We get the blade blessed,” Marsilia offered, frowning. “And then I’ll try to mitigate whatever spells she conjures while Fjell uses it to kill her.”

  Ailbhe tilted his head to the side and glanced at Isabel. “They do not have a plan.”

  “No,” Isabel sighed. “They do not.”

  Chapter 27

  Marsilia looked wide-eyed between Fjell and their hosts, her heart beginning to pound in her chest as her food sat untouched.

  “I mean,” she pressed on. “We’ll have to find her first, obviously. And then Fjell has beads that can lock her power—”

  “Uh,” Fjell interrupted, then cleared his throat and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I only had one set of those, which we used to escape… And it took me a month to make them last time.”

  The witch felt her face pale. “Oh,” she answered weakly.

  Ailbhe, however, was leaning forward in interest. “So you have already faced her down?” At Marsilia’s nod, he looked aside to the Lady of Autumn. “It is a start, at least.”

  “Wait, wait,” Fjell said, frowning between the Lord and Lady. “What do ye care if we succeed or fail? It costs ye nothing to bestow the blessing, and ye must see already that it is worthy or we wouldn’t be seated here.”

  Lady Isabel regarded him from over her glass of wine, her expression unreadable. “I have my reasons, Master Fjell.” Setting down her glass, she picked up her fork and began breaking off a small piece of her pie. “We will house you for a day or two until a proper plan can be formulated, to ensure you have a greater chance of victory.”

  Marsilia’s stomach dropped. “A… a day or two?” she asked hesitantly, trying to keep the edge of panic from her voice. “We can’t wait that long, your grace.”

  Swallowing her mouthful of dinner, the Lady gave her a curious glance. “Whyever not, child? What is a day or two if it gives you a greater chance of success?”

  The witch cast a glance across the table to Fjell. His jaw was clenched as he met her gaze with uncertainty. After a long moment, he gave her the faintest of shrugs, as if to say he wasn’t sure if she should say or not.

  Ailbhe, however, was watching them keenly and broke the silent tension. “What is it you two are hiding?”

  Sitting back in her chair, Marsilia stared down at her plate, not meeting the elf lord’s gaze. “It’s just that people I care for lay dying right now. We only have a short time to get this blessing and get back to my woods before they are lost forever. I…” She sighed, looking back up at the Lord and Lady. “I had thought since Lady Ylva wrote to you of why we were coming, she might have mentioned that as well.”

  Lady Isabel set down her fork, considering the witch for a long moment. “These people are important to you.”

  “Yes,” Marsilia said quietly.

  “How important?” the Lady pressed, tilting her head in consideration.

  The witch looked to Fjell again, only to find him now frowning at the Lady.

  “She keeps that quiet to keep herself safe,” the dwarf said, a touch of irritation edging into his voice, his obvious efforts to remain polite began melting under the pressure of sensitive questions. “And trust goes both ways. Why are ye lot setting up to defend against an attack? Why do ye really need us to succeed?”

  “You came here asking for power from my wife,” Ailbhe countered, his gaze growing cold. “What else goes on in these lands is none of your—”

  He cut off as Isabel laid a hand on his arm and glanced over at her before inclining his head
in apology.

  The Lady looked between the two of them. “You’re right. Trust does go both ways, and it is obvious we have not yet earned yours. It is also obvious that we are dealing with two rather protective warriors.” She cast a small smile at Ailbhe before continuing to address them. “I’m having a bit of a spat with the Wild Hunt at the moment; it’s nothing to worry yourselves over. But, I will not have the first blessing I give fail and make me look weak.”

  “It’s my pa,” Marsilia said before Fjell could respond. “And my dog. The dark witch stole the magic from both of them.” Hesitating she took a deep breath as the Lord and Lady looked at her in confusion. “My pa’s a pookah - he adopted me when I was a child. He’s also my mentor in the arts of magic.”

  While the Lady seemed ready to accept the matter at face value, Ailbhe was frowning at her in consideration.

  “What is your mentor’s name?” he asked, canting his head to the side.

  Marsilia kept her mouth shut but was unable to break away from the elf lord’s gaze, even as her heart continued to pound in her chest. Tension began to grow again before finally Lady Isabel rolled her eyes.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” the Lady sighed, looking between her three dinner companions. “We have no reason for animosity at this table. Drink your wine; eat! You are welcome guests here, and by no means must divulge your every secret.” Turning her gaze to Marsilia, Isabel inclined her head. “I may have a way to return you to your woods quickly. I would not ask you to allow someone so dear to you to be lost. If I can secure your quick passage home, will you agree to stay a day or two so we may work out a plan?”

  Breathing in relief, Marsilia nodded. “Yes, your grace. Thank you.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Isabel said with a nod. “Now let’s at least try to enjoy our meal.”