Finally I came back to Fiona’s room, threw open the wardrobe, and selected her plainest, most travel-stained cloak. Then I was off to Autumnstead Village.
If anything, there was less elbow space here. People jammed the streets, both the established cobblestone ones and the new, mere paths of slush and mud. Still, the anonymity of the crowd soothed me. I drifted here and there like a fish in a giant school, not needing to think about where to go. At last my mind was free to think.
Much like Queen Arencaster, I had little proof that Gerry was really gone, just sightings and clues pieced together. Nonetheless, I could feel my denial about Gerry giving way to belief, inch by slipping inch. It was a terrifying feeling, one that I wanted to fight with all my might. At the same time, I was powerless to do…anything. What physical action could anyone take to fight death for themselves, let alone for someone else?
Eventually I found myself in front of a building with a line of injured soldiers standing outside. The infirmary. I wondered if Faxon were still inside. Deciding I’d brooded alone long enough, I went in to see if I could find him. His pompous arrogance would be a welcome distraction from my own thoughts.
Before the war, the infirmary had been a tavern. Now cots and make-shift beds covered every available space, and herbs, bottles, bandages, and other medical supplies were lined up on the bar. Though I stood in the doorway for quite some time looking for someone to help me find my way around, no one came. I guess all the doctors, or whatever they were called in the Other World, were busy. Walking down the rows of beds, I began to doubt I’d find Faxon here. The blood-stained bandages and broken bones I saw seemed more severe than his wounds.
At last I found a lone person standing amongst all those laying injured in bed, a woman, tall for this time and place, her black ringlets pulled back with a leather thong. “Lady Ariana!”
She made a slow turn to me, as graceful as a dancer. “Good morning. And whom do I have the honor of addressing?” Her voice was a beautiful song from a dream that I was thrilled to remember. And yet… The sparkle of her crystal blue eyes was somewhat muted, and little rest had darkened the skin beneath them.
I pushed back of my hood. “Do you remember me? It has been so long since the homecoming in the fall.”
“Welcome back to Autumnstead, Princess. Are you here to help with the wounded?”
“Actually, I came to find someone, but he’s not here.”
“I see.” Lady Ariana turned back to changing the bandage on her patient’s arm.
“You were unwell the last time I saw you. Do you feel any better now?” I asked.
“I don’t recall the occasion.” Lady Ariana raised a hand to her forehead. “It feels as though this war has gone on for a lifetime.”
I tried not to take her lack of interest in conversation personally. She had many patients already, and probably her own issues to deal with, I reminded myself. Despite her previous kindness, she’d never signed up to be my friend. Technically, we were still acquaintances. Though I was bursting to talk to someone, I couldn’t dump on her, not without an invitation, at least.
“Where are the other caretakers?” I asked, pushing through how uncomfortable I was starting to feel.
“They are resting, as we all do at midday.”
“You aren’t,” I pointed out.
“Soldiers fight one other on the field of battle. We face our own enemy in this place of healing: death. How can I rest, with an enemy like that?”
“It is a noble battle,” I said, hoping she would understand how much I respected what she was doing.
“War, more than anything, reveals the fragility of life,” Lady Ariana said unexpectedly. It wasn’t just a platitude. She meant it; I could tell. I wondered what wars she had seen in her life. It sounded like many, but it couldn’t have been. Lady Ariana seemed so young.
Though it was completely unlikely, I wished she might have found Gerry where he’d fallen. In her hands, he might have lived…
The dead have no need of possessions, the Wilder boy reminded me.
Fragments of shattered mirror, jagged black, danced before my eyes. Reaching for the wooden column beside me, I sank to my knees.
“Princess! What is it?”
“The man I love is dead,” I whispered. My own words came back on me, a full body blow.
Lady Ariana was at my side at once in a sweeping of cerulean skirts. “Come with me, Princess.” The harsh winter in her voice gave way to the gentle warmth of a reluctant spring day. Leaning on her, I made my way to a low wooden stool. “Sit here and rest,” Lady Ariana instructed. “I shall return shortly.” I felt weird sitting while she practically waited on me, though she didn’t seem to mind.
“That is tragic,” Lady Ariana said, handing me a steaming mug of tea. “I sorrow for you. I doubt there is anything I can say that will bring you comfort; that must come from within. And even when that flame finally kindles, there will be days when it is fragile, flickering…” She trailed off. I wondered if she had revealed more of herself than she had intended to. “Have you seen the castle healer?” she asked.
“No,” I admitted.
“After your adventures, you should,” Lady Ariana said. Her voice had gone cold and professional again. “In the meantime, I shall give you herbs from my supply. I can almost guarantee he will not have them; his duties are to the people of the castle. He lacks the time to perfect his art, as I have done.”
Perfected? I thought hazily. What a surprising choice of words. If anyone else had said so, I’d have thought them arrogant. But with Lady Ariana, it did not seem so unlikely.
“Sleep is what you need the most to recover now. However, it is what you’ll find most difficult.” Lady Ariana held out her hands, revealing a fan of glossy red leaves. “Brew these in boiling water. Two for a full night’s restful sleep. One to rest at mid morning or afternoon. Your body will put aside the cares and sorrows these days bring to truly rest and restore its strength.”
“Thank you, Lady Ariana,” I said. “What are these herbs called?”
“Their name is Athera.”
I had planned to look for Faxon, but I felt so tired, I decided to return to Castle Autumnstead instead.
Chapter Fifteen
The Intruder
I had hoped the restorative herbs Lady Ariana had given me would come without side effects. Unfortunately, just as over-the-counter cold meds gave me wild dreams in my home world, the restorative herbs packed a punch of their own. At least, that’s what I thought at first.
Upon first taking them, I felt well enough. Simultaneously I slept and was aware that I did so. Slumber’s dark waters lapped at my sides. I drifted, pulled to unknown destinations by a current that knew no direction. I could feel strength returning to my limbs, though I knew as well that it would be a long time in the building.
The time came when I turned a corner literally and figuratively on this river of strange sleep. Floating on my back, I thought I saw the jagged paper edges of dragon shapes above. The black, blue, and purple of endless night gave way to a golden twilight; time was running backwards. Squinting against the light, I made out trees bathed in pale auras.
The waters deposited me at the bank. I crouched, waiting. Again, the dragons. I ran. This time, I would catch them!
But they were up to something, those lizards of the sky. Cunning glittered in their eyes, and they did not fly as fast as they could have. It was as if they were waiting for me to catch up. Once, I tested them by slowing to a walk. They circled until I was close enough to hurl arrows, stones, or spears — none of which I had on hand. I gazed up at them, shielding my face from the sun, which hovered right at eye level.
Gerry was dead!
The memory hit with as much force as if the dragons had attacked me with a dive. Dead! Dead and gone! I’d been beyond too late!
Continuing to hover, the dragons opened their mouths. No sound emerged, but I knew they mocked me.
I discovered the cause when I real
ized I couldn't move any closer to them. The air became solid, suffocating around me, like a cloth bag…or a sheet.
Fiona’s bedroom! I remembered where I was at last. With a burst of strength, I tried to sit up. I managed to open my eyes and discovered someone sitting with his knees locked against my sides and his fingers wrapped around my neck. After too much more of this, I was going to find out firsthand whether Gerry still lived.
Just when I thought I must lose my weakening grip on consciousness, my enemy was thrown from me and landed on the wooden floor with a thud. Air, sweet and stinging, reentered my throat and chest.
I lay gasping on the bed as torchlight flickered from the floor. By its light, I saw Faxon and Tolliver, and nightmarish glimpses of my would-be assassin. He’d felt big while he had me pinned to the bed, but his actual size surpassed anything I could have imagined. Tolliver, a stocky man, himself, looked like a child grappling with him. Night-dark hair streamed down the bigger man’s back and covered most of his face. His eyes shone yellow, cat’s eyes gleaming in car headlights. With every movement, his skin itself sparkled as though he wore skintight scale armor. Beast-like, he crouched on the floor.
My breath, still ragged from my near-strangulation, almost deserted me completely as he seized Faxon’s slender sword in mid-blow and, heedless of the blood running down his arm, broke it over one knee. That settled it. We needed help. The next blow he struck could be a fatal one.
I glanced frantically around the room for a way to aid in the fight, preferably something I could throw at him. I took a log from the pile by the fireplace, but abandoned the idea in the fear that I’d hit one of my friends.
I darted to the bedroom door. As I’d guessed, the bolt, a heavy wooden bar was still in place; Faxon and Tolliver must have entered through the secret passage. I wrestled it free, only for the door to open on an empty hall. My mouth dropped open. Where had the guards gone?
Drawing on all my vocal strength, I screamed down the hall. My voice sounded nothing like mine; the hoarse sound had more in common with an old woman’s after several months of laryngitis. I tried again, wondering if the strain on my throat would cause permanent damage.
After a third try, I could only hope that someone had heard and would come. I ducked back into the bedroom to see if there were anything I could do for my friends.
In their efforts to subdue him, Faxon and Tolliver had torn our attacker’s shirt. His massive chest showed no skin, but more of that unsettling, clinging scale armor. My friends were now backed into a corner, with Faxon huddled behind Tolliver. I glanced at the hunk of wood still in my hand. It was now or never. I aimed carefully and hurled the log, right at the back of our enemy’s neck.
As I’d expected, the enormous man brushed it off as if it were a fly. He did turn to see its source, though. When his face turned to mine, I had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing. His eyes held one inexplicable purpose in them: my death. The intention exploded from him in a paralyzing wave of energy. I now knew why prey was said to freeze in sight of its stalker.
Ultimately, it was Tolliver who saved me. While my attacker and I were locked in our stare, he came up from behind and slashed the bigger man’s hamstring. Unlike his torso, the hamstring was not armored, and while Tolliver was not nearly so powerful as the would-be assassin, he was still a strong man. His blow cut deep into the enemy’s sapling-sized leg. Our attacker roared and stumbled.
If not for Tolliver breaking the spell between us, I probably would have stood there until I was killed.
“Princess!” came voices from the door. Autumnstead guards with bared weapons hurried into the room. There were so many, they couldn’t all enter without getting too close to the enemy. My shouts had brought more help than I ever could’ve hoped for.
Now the big man was caught: Faxon, Tolliver, and me on one side and the Autumnstead guards on the other. He glanced from one to the other, an animal in a trap. Then he raced toward the guards, moving so fast, it was like lightning flickering in the corner of my eye. The speed of his charge, combined with his size knocked the guards down like bowling pins. It might’ve been comical if the guy hadn’t just tried to kill me.
“After him!” a familiar voice, Queen Arencaster’s, commanded.
Most of the guards dispersed at Queen Arencaster’s order, though from what I’d seen, I had the bad feeling they wouldn’t be able to catch the intruder.
Now that the danger had passed, the reality of what had happened began to sink in. Before my eyes, a black abyss opened. I used the wall to slow my fall, ultimately ending up on my knees.
“Princess!” I heard Tolliver gasp. Strong arms caught me before I toppled all the way to the floor.
{****}
The next days were a blur. Queen Arencaster, fearing more assassins would come for me, had me moved to a guest bedroom next to hers. Previously, Princess Fiona and Queen Arencaster had rooms on opposite sides of the castle. The new room had no secret passages (I made Faxon and Tolliver check). Its furnishings were actually nicer than Fiona’s: softer bed, a carpeted floor, drapes. It made Fiona’s room look military in comparison, quarters more suited to a captain than a princess.
As I’d expected, the assassin escaped. Strange stories circulated among the guards: that the man hadn’t been entirely human and had sprouted a tail as he ran through town; that he’d been surrounded by guards at one point and escaped by flying into the air.
I tried not to think about the man who’d almost murdered me, his emotionless eyes and massive hands. Still, inevitably, I dreamed nightly of him returning to finish the job, only this time Faxon and Tolliver didn’t come to my aid. The raw memory was burden enough, but in the name of investigation, Queen Arencaster made me relive that night daily.
“How long did the feeling of strangling go on?” Queen Arencaster asked the first day after.
I swallowed and involuntarily moved my hands to my neck, where his fingermarks were still dark. “It felt like hours. But it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.” What did that have to do with anything? I wondered.
“Good,” Queen Arencaster said. Over the past few days with her, I’d come to realize good didn’t meant she thought something I’d said or experienced was good or bad. It was just her crisp way of moving the conversation along. “Now then.” That was another Queen Arencaster-ism. ”Describe the intruder.”
“But I already-”
“Describe him again!” Queen Arencaster’s eyes flashed, and her voice turned sharp with her no-nonsense tone.
Though my face was blank on the outside, I was scowling inside. At least describing was better than talking about the violence that had happened to me.
“He was…enormous. He made Tolliver look like a child.”
“When the others were fighting him, would you say strength was his main asset?”
I thought for a minute. The quarters had been too cramped for anyone to show any real skill. “I guess so. He broke Faxon’s sword over his leg.”
Queen Arencaster looked impressed, a rare thing for her. “A guard’s sword is forged to last many practices and battles.”
“It wasn’t a guard’s sword,” I pointed out. ”It was a personal rapier, dainty and ornate.”
“It was still steel,” Queen Arencaster said. “We must consider this.” She glanced over at Mertwin, the secretary from the Council of War, who was present at every questioning. Most of the time, he served as a silent scribe, keeping records of the investigation. Once in a while, he would bring up an insightful point.
“Princess Fiona should be dead,” Queen Arencaster said. The lack of drama in her statement made it all the more raw. It hit me like a hammer blow in my stomach. “A man of that strength could have dispatched her in mere minutes. Why did he delay? He did not know her, or at least, Fiona did not know him.”
“He is not known in Castle Autumnstead,” Mertwin said, flipping through his notes. “Everyone we have asked has said the same: they’d never heard of a man
with that description, or that night was their first time seeing such a person.”
“Think of the effect if he had used his full strength against her,” Queen Arencaster said. “Her head would have exploded like a grape underfoot.”
“But again, that raises the question: why would he care?” Mertwin said.
Appalling images and sensations - recollections and possibilities - caused me to lose the rest of what they were saying. Even when Queen Arencaster asked me a direct question, I couldn’t find my voice to answer.
I suppose my growing resentment at the investigation wasn’t entirely fair. Queen Arencaster was only trying to find out how the assassin had gotten in, who he might be, and whether he were connected to the Latule spies.
Frustratingly, after days of questioning and the pain of recollection, the mysterious stranger’s identity and how he fit in to the big picture remained unknown.
”I know this is hard for you,” Queen Arencaster said on the fifth day after I broke down in tears. ”And I’m sorry. But our only hope of figuring out the perpetrator is examining and re-examining these facts until the truth emerges.” With those words, she extinguished any hope I might have had about burying that night.
I knew I wasn’t the only one suffering. The war had started to take its toll on Queen Arencaster, as well, and no wonder! She really did spend every waking hour bustling from one war issue to another. Some nights, the candlelight under her door never went dark, and I fell asleep listening to her pacing.
From her purposeful questioning and persistence in my investigation, Queen Arencaster obviously had some theory in mind she was trying to confirm. But when asked, she answered that couldn’t share this with me. ”I cannot risk tainting your perspective of events,” she told me.
It was typical Queen Arencaster, but her unexpected explanation made me feel better, like she was actually considering how her actions might make me feel.
During the day, when the bad thoughts inevitably crept in, I tried to recall the defenses Queen Arencaster had set up for me. In addition to changing my room, Her Majesty insisted that ten guards accompany me whenever I was moving about the castle, a rare occurrence, since it was hard to get ten together. I was no longer allowed to go outside. I spent a lot of time staring out the windows — luckily the view from this side of the castle surpassed the one from Fiona’s room as well — reflecting on what had happened and all the different ways that night could have unfolded.
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