Forestborn

by Elayne Audrey Becker

  The plan sounded straightforward coming from her mouth. Simple, even, and King Gerar nodded his approval as Captain Torres offered a few recommendations. I just continued staring at the map. The circle of woods marked LAND OF GIANTS jutting out from the Vale’s western shore. My heart plummeted at the thought of crossing that hateful river to get there. Twice, if counting the return journey.

  “Will you be armed?” Weslyn asked, so abruptly that I had glanced at him in surprise.

  “I don’t own any weapons, sir.”

  He appraised me critically, brows rising at my tone. “Yes, well, I doubt you would need one, anyway.”

  My blood boiled over. My fiercest animal form is a lynx. That doesn’t make me invincible.

  “Tell your brother what we have discussed. Tomorrow morning, we’ll—”

  He broke off, staring at my hands where they gripped the table. I followed his gaze and saw how my fingers had grown longer, the nails sharper. Quickly, I dropped my hands to my thighs. There were half-moon marks in the wood.

  Captain Torres took a casual step closer. Astra whined, sensing the change in mood, and for a moment the Danofers seemed to ponder the wisdom of sending their second heir to the throne into the wild with a girl who can shift to a lynx.

  Torres added a handful of Royal Guards to our traveling party after that.

  “I know you want to help him,” Helos continues in the present. “We both do, and this is our best chance.”

  “Even if it means traversing the Vale?”

  Helos shrugs, his features devoid of concern.

  I don’t understand it. I may have trouble leaving the past, but his solution is to pretend it never happened at all.

  “What if he dies and we’re not here to say goodbye?” My final fear laid bare.

  “He’s not going to die,” Helos says, quite calmly now.

  I tug at the hem of my shirt. “Your expression yesterday said otherwise.”

  “Yesterday, this plan didn’t exist. Today it does.”

  I don’t reply. I just turn away, my jaded heart struggling to share his optimism, yet wishing to, desperately. In the silence that follows, the charged air gradually deflates.

  “Rora.”

  I don’t look at him.

  “Listen to me,” Helos says. “This can work.”

  I shrug a little.

  “It’s okay to be scared.”

  “I’m not scared,” I reply, too quickly.

  “I’ll be there, too.”

  Guilt washes over me. City life has always suited Helos far better than it has me. He loves it here—the work, the people, the noise. Cheerful nights at the pub with casual friends and flings who know him only as Helos, not as one in a pair of shifters. The afternoons off with Finley and me, until recently. I’m sure if it were up to him, we would never leave. “I roped you in without asking. You shouldn’t have to come. And your job—you love it. You can’t lose it. What if—”

  “Don’t be stupid. Bren and Tomas can’t argue with a royal summons, and I’m too good an apprentice for them to not rehire me when we’re back. Anyway, I’m not leaving you. You don’t have to do it alone.”

  Alone.

  Images from the last time Helos and I lived on the road swarm my thoughts, the old fear still fresh enough to sting. The constantly pinched nerves and tingling skin. The gnawing emptiness in our stomachs. The ache, ache, ache in feet abused by terrain and time. And always, the weight of having so much love to give, if only someone would let us love them.

  I drag my attention back to the present.

  Control.

  “I should go,” I say, brushing dirt from my pants. “Finley asked to speak with me before we leave.”

  Helos frowns, his lack of invitation tainting the air between us. “It’s not right,” he mutters.

  “I know.”

  “By the river, I’m going to get Finley’s antidote. The king should let me say goodbye.”

  I place a hand on his shoulder. “I know.”

  Helos glowers at the ground a few heartbeats longer. Then he leads us from the woods without another word.

  * * *

  Finley’s quarters are situated in the northern wing of Castle Roanin, the one built closest to the mountains. His request—Fin has always admired what cannot be tamed, always chased the indomitable.

  A couple of chambermaids toting linens shuffle by as I cross the airy, brown-stoned corridor. They avert their gaze until they’re past me, then swap assessments under their breath when they think I cannot hear—or don’t care if I can. One claims it’s a shame my parents didn’t drown me and then each other back when they had the chance, and I suppose I should be grateful. I’ve heard worse.

  The entrance to Finley’s rooms appears around the corner. I drag my feet when I see Weslyn’s personal guard, Naethan, manning the door alongside the ever-quiet Ansley. Both are roughly Weslyn’s age and have been his friends since childhood, or so the story goes. The way I see it, any friend of his is no friend of mine, but before I can change course and come back later, Ansley exchanges a glance with Naethan and slips inside to announce my arrival.

  I hover awkwardly a short distance away, avoiding Naethan’s gaze. From the pieces I’ve gleaned, his visits to Castle Roanin began at a young age; his father was good friends with Queen Raenen and, as an antiquarian, became actively involved in filling out the Queen’s Library. Ansley, on the other hand, has always kept tight-lipped about her past, but I’ve caught her sending portions of her pay to Poldat, a coastal village on Telyan’s southern tip. Nothing incriminating about either one, but then, neither has ever seemed too pleased by my presence.

  Weslyn emerges from Finley’s sitting parlor shortly after.

  Judging by the long sword belted at his waist, and the slight trails of dust lining his face and loose shirt, I assume he came here straight from a final session with the arms-master. Training to become an officer before he even leaves the keep. We both pause for a bit, each considering the other, until Astra appears and lopes to my side, licking my fingers and wagging her tail—far friendlier to me than her master ever is. The interference seems to chip at some of the tension between us.

  After a glance at the open door, Weslyn gestures for me to follow him a few paces down the corridor. Naethan feigns disinterest as I move to his side.

  “You’re fond of Finley?” he asks, speaking quietly.

  I narrow my eyes, trying to make out the intent behind the question, since the answer should be obvious. “Yes, sir.” Very much.

  He nods once, watching me warily and, perhaps, a bit sorrowfully. “He will try to persuade you not to go. Don’t let him.”

  I lift my chin a little higher, off-guard.

  “Rora!” Finley calls through the open door.

  At that, Weslyn walks away, whistling for Astra to heel. I follow the voice inside.

  At the far end of the blue-paneled, high-ceilinged parlor, the double-doors to Finley’s sleeping chamber are shut. Along the walls, half a dozen framed maps gleam with colored illustrations of ships and serpents, mountains and stars. Finley is standing beside the unlit fireplace, staring at one of those maps, back straight and unconsciously regal despite the casual shirt coming untucked in the front.

  “Thank you, Ansley. That’s all,” he says, without turning around.

  Dust swirls through the sunlight beaming onto the patterned rug. As soon as the door clicks shut behind me, I step to Finley’s side, my hands in my pockets. Together, we study the old drawing in silence.

  “I always said I would leave one day, duties or no.” Finley’s voice is uncharacteristically soft. A half-made tie hangs loose around his neck, as if once again, he got distracted halfway through. “I guess my father will have his way after all.”

  “Don’t say that,” I exclaim. “Your father would never want this.”

  “Then I suppose, for once, he and I are in agreement.”

  “Finley.” For all his repeated insistence that King Gerar is
disappointed in him, I have never seen his father treat him with anything less than adoration. “Your father loves you.”

  “Oh, I know.” He still isn’t looking at me. “He gives me everything he thinks I could want. Gardens, horses, tutors who speak to me like a person instead of a prince.” Finley pauses to consider, grimacing. “Intel on all the boys he believes will one day make good husbands.”

  I laugh a little at his imitation of King Gerar’s measured voice, a middle-aged father trying to matchmake for his son. Then it occurs to me that, as with all of the afflicted, Finley’s own voice is going to change. Sooner or later, it will rise or fall into one that will take him further from himself. A stranger’s voice.

  The base of my throat tightens abruptly.

  “But what I want isn’t in his power to give, and he knows it.” Finley looks over at last, his forehead creased. And despite the words, I’m suddenly just grateful that he at least still sounds like him. “So you see, Rora, I am a constant reminder that all of his efforts aren’t enough.”

  Finley musters a small smile when he sees the look on my face, then shrugs off the words and heads for the tray of tea and biscuits set on an end table by the fireplace. As if to say, hey, don’t worry about me. I’m only joking.

  I don’t buy the nonchalance, any more than I have to ask what it is he wants. The proof is in the maps along his walls, the wooden ship upon the mantel, the stacks of drawings, and the curiosity that burns inside him like candlelight, a flame of restless energy spurring his hands and feet into constant motion.

  “This one will be enough,” I vow, stepping away from the wall. Standing here, safe within Finley’s parlor, it’s easier to let Helos’s confidence strengthen my own. He said this plan could work, and there’s no one I trust more. “We’re going to find the stardust.”

  And then, I add silently, I will persuade your father to lift the ban, whatever it takes. I saw Finley start to object out in the courtyard, before the guards shunted him away. He doesn’t like this separation any more than Helos or I do.

  Fin shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have to be the ones that go. They could find somebody else, or simply send the Guard without you. I would go myself if only everyone would stop treating me like an invalid.”

  “They would fail. None of the Royal Guard knows the Vale like we do.”

  “But you could instruct them first. Tell them where to go, what to look out for.” He waves a hand in my direction, desperate for me to understand. “You and Helos have spent enough of your lives in danger.”

  I grant a thin smile, though Helos and I have always shielded him from the worst parts of our orphaned upbringing. “We’re the best fit for the job. We’ll be okay.”

  “And Wes—”

  “He’ll be fine, too.” Truly I don’t know, since humans have not traversed the Vale in years. But I don’t know what else I’m supposed to tell him. Certainly not that it will be difficult to give his brother guidance when even the sight of me incites such animosity. “Although,” I can’t stop myself from adding, “it would be a lot easier if he just stayed behind.”

  Finley scratches the back of his head. “I know you’ve never really gotten along, but—”

  “A bit of an understatement, don’t you think?”

  “But that’s because you don’t know him,” Finley plows ahead, as if I haven’t spoken. “He has his reasons for being the way he is, but you can trust him. I promise.”

  “I know enough to know that he could stand to take a few lessons from you in civility.”

  Finley leans over the back of a chair, his attention shifting to one of the dusty sunbeams. He’s silent awhile before shaking his head. “My brother is a better person than either of us,” he murmurs, unusually somber as he studies the light. “Trust me, Rora. I should be more like him.”

  I fold my arms and start to pace, but don’t manage a reply. It’s true I thought I saw a flicker of goodness in Weslyn once, the day we met. But that was only one day, scarcely more than an hour. Not nearly enough to offset the years of tension that followed.

  That afternoon is burned forever into my brain—the thundering earth shooting ripples up my legs, baying hounds whose howls rang like death in my ears, the sting of a troubled past come back to bite. Not an earthquake, but hoofbeats, fast approaching the campsite where Helos and I were squatting homeless in the Old Forest. Perhaps another child would have screamed, but by then, I had long since learned to fear in silence. So no sound came out as terror closed its ghostly fist around my lungs, its grip nearly as tight as my own around a bit of sharpened rock.

  Run, Helos had urged me. Go on ahead. I’ll follow.

  And I had actually considered it, traitor that I am, but already, Queen Raenen and the rest of the Royal Fox Hunt party were circling us on their snorting, skittering mounts. My gut sank like a stone when I realized the futility of feigning human; already, the horses’ nerves had betrayed our shifter nature.

  I remember with perfect clarity the queen’s confident posture and long, plaited, yellow hair. I remember her calm, thoughtful expression as she watched the feathers shoot through my skin before Helos’s hand on my shoulder comforted me enough to stop them. I remember her concern when she asked where our parents were, then told us, You need not be afraid. And though by then, I knew how futile it was to find comfort in a stranger’s glance, I remember the ghostly fist loosened its grip on my chest just a bit.

  Then the fox they chased had erupted from its hiding place, flushed out by the mad hounds’ desperate, prying paws. The startled horses nearly unseated their riders, and when the ensuing panic settled once more, their prized fox—a symbol of the monarchy—lay trampled and broken on the ground.

  I watched the change break upon the riders’ faces like waves against the shore—calmness into anger, curiosity into naked fear, all apparently stunned into silence as they stared at the dead fox. And then, to my horror, the ones in uniform slowly turned to Helos and me and reached for belted swords.

  Queen Raenen had stayed their hands and ordered us to Castle Roanin, to be bathed and fed before an audience with King Gerar, while they finished their hunt. When even the guards proved reluctant to heed her request, clearly unsettled by our presence, it was Weslyn who nudged his horse forward and volunteered to accompany us to the castle. Weslyn who quietly asked me my name and ushered us into the kitchen without judgment, who stood whispering and laughing with Naethan against the wall while Helos and I wrung our hands before King Gerar’s empty throne. And when the teary-eyed steward burst into the grand hall scarcely a minute after King Gerar, it was Weslyn’s smile that had faded the slowest.

  Whatever kindness I thought I’d glimpsed in him that day vanished the moment the steward announced Queen Raenen had fallen from her horse and broken her neck. From then on, his sudden frown became a permanent fixture, one he wields like a weapon. If the boy I met four years ago is still in there, he’s buried deep.

  “It seems.” Finley runs a hand through his wispy hair, then drops it. “It seems I cannot talk you out of it, either.”

  I step suddenly to his side, wanting to reassure him. “We’re going to find it, Finley, I promise. We’ll find it and come back. All of us.”

  “I wanted to tell you,” he cuts in, taking my hands in his. “I wanted to say, if I’m not here when you return—”

  “Finley—”

  “If I’m not here,” he repeats, brushing the objection aside, “I want you to know how much your friendship has meant to me. You tell Helos for me, okay? I want you both to learn to be happy without me.”

  This time I can’t stifle a breath of disbelief. Yet his expression is clear as he looks at me. Full of purpose. Determined. For a moment, I see the leader he could be, if he weren’t the youngest of three and utterly indifferent to the crown.

  “You will be here,” I say firmly, unwilling to engage in deathbed talk. “But why didn’t you call for Helos as well? He deserves to hear this from you himself, and surely y
our father would allow one more visit between you. Ask him to lift the ban.”

  Finley steps away and sinks into a chair, pressing a weary palm against his temple. “My father enacted the ban at my request.” It comes out almost a whisper.

  I just stand there, staring at my friend, completely blindsided. Of all the answers he could have given, I never would have expected this.

  Before I can summon a response, the door swings open, and Ansley walks in with a blue-robed woman at her side. “The healer Mahree here to see you, sir.”

  My eyes bore into Finley’s, demanding an explanation, but he keeps his fixed on the people in his doorway. A muscle works in his jaw. There’s a sadness here I can’t seem to breach, one I see reflected in my brother’s face but cannot understand, because Helos and Finley have always been two sides of the same leaf.

  When Ansley steps to my side, her meaning clear, that’s when Finley returns my gaze at last. He’s blinking rapidly, and the sight imprints on my heart as one I know I’ll never stop seeing behind closed lids, one I want to scream at him to take back, because it feels far too much like an ending.

  “Take care of yourself, Rora,” he pleads, the hitch in his voice driving a dagger through my ribs. His hair has fallen across his forehead. “And tell Helos … tell Helos the answer is no.”

  I blink at him in surprise. The answer is no. But what was the question? I don’t even know when he would have asked it—certainly not during our visit to the apothecary shop, and that was the first time Helos and Finley had spoken in more than a month.

  “Finley—”

  Ansley steps in front of him, blocking my view, and I have no choice. Without another word, I leave to pack my things and wait for dawn.

  * * *