by P. M. Biswas
“Illiteracy?” Tam said indignantly. “Nobody but you has any idea about herbs, other than those that garnish food!”
“Tam, I’m saying that I’ve taken into account your… lack of interest in herbs,” Kay amended tactfully, “and that the labels are categorized by application, not origin. For example, if you require a coagulant to slow your bleeding, search for the bottle labeled ‘Stems Blood Flow.’ If you require a cure for digestive infections, look for the bottle labeled ‘For Stomach Ailments.’ If you require a contraceptive—”
“A contraceptive?” Tam yelped. “Why would I…?”
“It’s a basic requirement for anyone our age.”
“And who do you suppose I’ll be bedding, hm? The elves? The ministers? The horses?”
“Oh, just take it.” Kay bundled the satchel into Tam’s arms. “I’ve included potions for all the scenarios that might arise on your journey. Keep them safe. They may be of help to the others too.”
“Shouldn’t you just give this to the physician accompanying the delegation, then?”
“He’s a traditionalist with no patience for my inventions.”
“Basically, what you’re telling me is that established doctors don’t believe in your potions. Are you sure they’ll work? Mayhap your cure for ‘Stomach Ailments’ will turn me into a shrub.”
“You’d be less trouble as a shrub.” Kay frowned. “Be careful on this journey. You’re the herald, which means you’ll be alone in the Wanderwood in advance of the delegation. If there’s even the slightest hint of danger, flee immediately. Do not tarry and get yourself unnecessarily killed.”
“As opposed to necessarily killed?” Tam quipped.
The color drained from Kay’s face. “No. I didn’t mean—I’m not like my mother. Necessary or not, I won’t have you dying on me.” Kay leaned forward to press his forehead against Tam’s. He whispered fiercely, “You’re my family, understand? You’re my sister in all the ways that matter. Don’t you dare die and leave me by myself.”
Unfair. That was just unfair. Tam was getting choked up again. What was with everyone today? Why were they bandying about emotional proclamations so irresponsibly, unheeding of the effect they had on others?
“I’ll be back,” Tam said gruffly, clearing her throat to get rid of the stone seemingly lodged in it. “Don’t have a conniption.”
“A conniption? Is that what you think this is?”
“And you,” Tam said vengefully, because if Kay could be worried about her, then she could be worried about him too, dammit. “Watch out for Chen and Mysenius. They’re shady, those two.”
“I am aware,” Kay said. “My mother gave me a profound lecture on court politics earlier this morning. Along with tips on how to handle Mysenius and his ilk.”
“Good.” Tam strapped Kay’s satchel and her own armor behind Maple’s saddle and put her right foot on the stirrup. “If they so much as breathe on you, they’re dead.”
“You’ll be the one killing them, I assume?”
Tam smiled brightly. “Of course.”
“Tam….” Kay didn’t finish his sentence. He stepped back as Tam mounted Maple. “I bid you luck. With every day that passes, I will pray to Astar for the delegation’s safe return.”
“Don’t fill Astar’s ears with nonsense. Leave them open to hearing the pleas of those in Danis’s path.”
“We are in his path. Without Axenborg to blockade us from him, we’re in his direct path.”
“Touché.” Tam picked up Maple’s reins and clucked. “C’mon, girl. Ma’am,” she corrected when Maple glared back at her. “Let’s go join the rest of the delegation.” To Kay, she said, “I fare thee well, brother.”
“And I thee.”
Tam guided Maple to the chattering throng that was the delegation, leaving Kay behind. She positioned herself at the front; as the herald, that was where she had to be.
Emeraude raised her hands, silencing the small crowd. “My compatriots,” she proclaimed resonantly, her voice carrying over the delegation. “We are about to depart for the Wanderwood, on the first diplomatic mission to elfkind in recorded history. We may or may not return. We may or may not survive. But we will do our best to secure our country by allying ourselves with the elves. We will endeavor to establish cordial relations with a race whose magical abilities may benefit us against the tyrannical Danis, who himself possesses magic beyond our ken.”
Tam shuddered. She’d been ensorcelled by that magic herself, yet she could not fathom it. It was vaster, stranger, and older than anything she had ever encountered.
“There is no room for failure here.” Emeraude was unshakable. “Failure is death. Failure is the eradication of our entire nation, of every man, woman, and child within our borders. For them, we must proceed without fear, without doubt, and without hesitation. For them, we must make peace with a race that may well despise us. I trust that each of you will behave with the utmost tact when we do parley with the elves. Let us unite in this, our most crucial defensive maneuver in decades, since the formation of our alliance with Axenborg. May Astar protect us all.”
So saying, Emeraude ascended into her carriage.
The delegation appeared to be collectively holding its breath. Only when Emeraude nodded at the sentries at the gate did the pall lift, the lull caused by Emeraude’s speech breaking into motion.
The drawbridge lowered, and with every inch that it lowered, it ratcheted up Tam’s heartbeat. The horses, sensing the tension in the air, whinnied and pawed at the ground. The ministers clutched their reins in fear. The tail end of the delegation, which consisted of carts bearing servants, cooks, pages, and supplies, creaked onward, the wheels turning slowly. Emeraude’s carriage—painted in the blue-and-gold royal colors of Astaris—was in the center, in the most protected position.
Thus, at two hours past dawn, the delegation of Astarian diplomats left for their fated mission to the Wanderwood.
Chapter Three
ALLIANCE
THEY RODE through the night. There was muted griping from some of the ministers, but none of them contradicted Emeraude’s insistence that they travel as swiftly as a party of their size could travel. While Tam had been able to race to the border in hours, an assemblage of this many civilians could not go at the same speed. The ministers were unaccustomed to riding and could not go beyond an easy canter, not without falling off.
Which was why Emeraude asked that they at least not stop for the night; it was bad enough that they couldn’t set a breakneck pace. Only Zameen could ride properly, and even she was too aged and frail to be subjected to the rigors of hard riding.
So the delegation halted only for meals, and even then, only for the distribution of dry meats and breads. Once each member of the delegation was given their allotment of food, they were ordered back onto their horses to eat on the go.
It must have seemed horribly unsophisticated to the nobles, who wrinkled their noses at the tough strips of jerky they were expected to consume in lieu of tender roast lamb and figs stuffed with mince, or whatever they ate on a regular basis. The cretins.
The night stars twinkled above them, incongruously merry, and from behind her, Tam could hear the snoring and snuffling of the ministers who’d fallen asleep atop their steeds. She looked back to see the majority of them slumped in their saddles, tilting dangerously, held in place only by the belts that secured them to their horses. Tam almost wished one of them would keel over and go crashing into the dirt. It’d be funny, if nothing else.
She herself managed a kip or two atop Maple, because meeting the elves with bags under her eyes, haggard and worn, wouldn’t make for a charming diplomatic debut. She couldn’t look like she was on the verge of passing out; she had to look strong enough and dependable enough to inspire faith in others.
For all of Maple’s surliness, the mare slowed to a placid, swaying gait while Tam rested, as if instinctively rocking Tam to sleep. Maple really was more maternal than she let on, wasn’t she?
Tam woke with the sun. It rose above the horizon, half hidden by clouds, a pallid circle casting an eerie grayish glow over the rolling hills and desolate trees. It was all dismal, dreary, and disheartening, as if it were a landscape that Astar had painted at His most despondent.
Tam splashed water onto her face from her flagon, the cold shock of it waking her up more thoroughly than the reverent nudging the pages were giving their ministers.
The cooks—who’d been boiling porridge in their carts, apparently—ladled the porridge into shallow wooden bowls that steamed in the morning chill. The bowls were passed up the procession, from hand to hand, and Tam gratefully gobbled hers up when it reached her. Predictably, it reached her last. She was at the very front, after all. The porridge wasn’t steaming anymore, but it was warm. There was a lovely dash of honey in it that soothed Tam as it went down.
Breakfast was concluded with rough sticks of unbuttered bread being passed up the ranks in similar fashion. The bread was chewy enough to make Tam’s jaw ache, but then, unlike the ministers, she was used to chewy bread in the dorm.
An owl hooted in the wilderness, only adding to the eeriness around them. Then, out of the mist, loomed the Wanderwood. Its giant trees pierced the fog that concealed them like a cloak, only their treetops visible above the haze. As Tam drew closer, their branches began to be visible too.
“Hark!” Tam yelled at the riders behind her. “We approach!”
The ministers clamored nervously. Emeraude remained in her carriage, but Tam saw her liveried guards murmuring to her through its window.
Tam turned back around and squinted at the Wanderwood. It was so surreal to see it from the outside. She’d been unconscious when she’d ridden into it after her battle, and when she’d escaped it, she’d fled without once looking back. The scope of it was immense, and it exuded a disquieting, palpable menace, an otherworldliness that made Tam shiver.
She’d been in there. She’d survived being in there.
She could still scarcely believe it.
About a mile away from the forest, Emeraude called the delegation to a stop. She emerged from her carriage and onto a waiting gelding, a glossy-maned beast suitable for a queen. Emeraude rode up to Tam herself, instead of summoning Tam to her.
“Tam,” Emeraude said as her horse drew even with Maple. “The time has come.”
Tam’s heart chose that very moment to somersault out of her rib cage and into her mouth. “Uh-huh,” Tam said intelligently.
“You’re apprehensive. It is no wonder that you are. But Tam”—the queen settled a reassuring hand on Tam’s shoulder—“you need not proceed unless it is your will. ’Tis a cruel burden I have assigned to you, particularly at your age. I shall not force you to go, nor shall I fault you for not going. Minister Zameen can go in your stead if you cannot be the herald. I have already discussed this with her. There is no shame in withdrawing, should you choose to do so. Nobody would hold you accountable at just seventeen.”
I would hold me accountable, Tam didn’t say. And I hate being “just” seventeen. “I’ll go.” Tam somehow regained her tongue. “Your Majesty—”
“Emeraude.”
“Em-Emeraude.” Tam ducked her head. “Thank you for trusting me with this. It… it means a lot to me.”
When Tam looked up again, she saw a complex expression flicker across Emeraude’s countenance—regret and sympathy and guilt, tinged with pride. The same pride Tam had seen in Emeraude earlier, at court.
It made Tam want to live up to that pride. It made Tam want to prove herself so that Emeraude didn’t feel guilty for sending Tam into near-certain death. That, Tam was prepared for.
“Um,” said Tam at last, clumsy but sincere. “M-Maryada told me that soldiers go into battle knowing that they have already pledged their lives to the cause. There is nothing that can happen to me that I am not ready and willing to endure.”
“That will not make it easier for you to endure.” Emeraude lifted her hand to cup Tam’s face, and Tam was so startled by it that she almost jolted off her horse. “Wear your armor, Tam. Take your shield and your spear. Wiser though it may be to approach a peacemaking unarmed, I refuse to send you into the Wanderwood without any protection whatsoever. That is why I had the armor issued for you.”
“I… I will. Thanks,” Tam said again, although every time she thanked Emeraude, it gave the queen that haunted, guilty look.
The ministers had been watching the exchange with narrowed eyes, likely envying Tam for having won the queen’s favor, although Tam could bet they wouldn’t have liked going through what Tam had gone through to get it.
Tam dismounted Maple and put on her armor, struggling with the ties until Emeraude glided forward to help her.
“Your Majesty!” Tam stumbled back, acutely conscious of the nobles giving her the evil eye. “I mean… Emeraude! You are a queen. You cannot lower yourself to performing the duties of a page!”
“I owe you more than any page owes a master,” Emeraude said, “for risking your young life for us. Please, let me.”
Tam had no choice but to let her. It was embarrassing, standing there and being fussed over by the queen as she would have been by her own Ma. It may have been meant as a gesture of respect, but Tam felt oddly childlike instead. For a moment it was as if her mother, Zara, was here, doing up Tam’s armor herself. A pang of longing shot through Tam, breath-stealing and intense.
When Emeraude withdrew, Tam sighed. “Than—”
“Don’t thank me again.” A dark smile twisted Emeraude’s lips. “Please. Don’t.”
“You oughtn’t say ‘please’ when you’re a queen.”
“It makes for a pleasant alteration in routine.”
“Heh. Uh. In case I don’t come back, can you tell Kay… er. I have no clue what to tell him, actually. Tell him to remember to eat once in a while? When he’s preoccupied with reading or brewing potions? And tell him to please get up the guts to ask Caradoc out on a hunt with just the two of them. His crush is getting ridiculous.”
“It really is.” The darkness left Emeraude’s smile.
“Tell Borik that I would’ve liked to talk to him one last time. Say goodbye in person. Hug him, maybe. For me. And please, um… send a lifetime supply of fresh dinner rolls and cheesy potatoes to Maryada?”
“Is the food in the infirmary that bad?”
“Worse.” Tam smiled back.
“You’re a brave girl,” Emeraude said, and Tam shrugged uncomfortably.
“No, I’m not. I’m scared shi—er, witless right now. But I’ll do what I have to do.”
“That is the very definition of bravery, Tam.”
“Is it?” Tam scratched her head. She’d thought being brave was never having to be afraid at all. “All right, then. Guess I’m brave. Good to know.”
“I cannot give you guidance on what to say to the elves, because I haven’t dealt with them as you have. Act as per your intuition and you will not go awry. In the absence of knowledge, intuition is the closest thing we have to wisdom.”
That was too convoluted for Tam to decipher, so she waved feebly at the queen and mounted Maple again. Then, to be polite, Tam waved at the remainder of the delegation. “G’bye, everyone!”
Nobody waved back.
Maybe the ministers felt guilty like Emeraude did and didn’t wave back because they were embarrassed to be sending a seventeen-year-old ahead of themselves.
Or maybe they just didn’t care. To them, Tam must just be a random soldier doing what random soldiers did—dying conveniently and at a distance to prevent the nobles from dying inconveniently and very, very close.
Tam urged Maple toward the Wanderwood. Her heart was still in her mouth, which was annoying because Tam couldn’t breathe around it, and she was too anxious to breathe through her nose.
“Are you as anxious as I am?” she asked Maple, but all Maple did was to happily flick her tail. “Of course you aren’t. According to you, you’ll be reuniting with your
beloved elven paramour. Lucky you.”
The delegation fell behind more and more, and the edge of the forest got closer and closer. Unlike most forests, which had the occasional tree growing outside of their boundaries—boundaries which were uneven and naturally blended with the adjoining land—the Wanderwood’s boundary was perfectly circular, with no outcroppings of growth beyond the very clear line that separated the woods from the encompassing terrain. It was such an unmistakable, deliberate demarcation that it had to be magical. Nature didn’t do that by itself.
“Did you make this place too, Astar?” Tam mumbled as she approached that freakishly uniform boundary. “Quick question—and I mean no offense by it—what were you thinking when you made it? Or when you were making the elves? Were you just mucking about and decided, hm, let’s put pointy ears on people and stretch them until they’re pointlessly tall? Oh, and let’s make them bizarrely beautiful, too, and let’s give them magic so they can manicure the very grass at the edge of their woods! Who’s so controlling that they have to control grass? Obviously only the incurably perverse.”
Astar didn’t answer. When did He ever?
“Maryada would probably like it if the elves were perverse,” Tam continued on her jittery tirade. “She’s a bit disturbed, that woman. Keep her alive, though, would you? She’s a fine teacher of spear-craft.”
Maple’s ears flicked, as if to block out Tam’s meaningless drivel. Wasn’t Maple overly judgmental for a horse? Honestly. Tam didn’t judge Maple for dropping dung into the mud behind her as she walked. And that was arguably more deserving of judgment than Tam’s effort to add some humor to this situation.
But all of Tam’s forced humor evaporated the instant she entered the woods. Maple’s clopping hooves went from being faintly audible to being dead silent, as though the greenery around them absorbed all noise and let not a whisper escape. It was as if sound itself were being muffled. Stifled. Strangled.
There wasn’t so much as a breeze stirring the leaves or a sparrow hopping along in search of worms. There was only that preternatural stillness Tam recalled from before, as if the Wanderwood itself was alive, had sensed Tam’s ingress, and was hiding all its denizens from a potentially dangerous intruder.