Thankfully, the trail became easier to follow after the creek since the undergrowth thickened considerably. Signs of her progress were everywhere and he could even smell the sharp aroma of leaves crushed by her passage.
At last he heard a grunt emerging from the bushes ahead of him. It was a frustrated sound but it was sweet in his ears. He had caught up to her at last.
But as he attempted to push forward even faster, he found his way blocked. He stared in astonishment at the branches and plants visibly lengthening in front of him. Before he could do more than marvel at the strange sight, he heard the sound of struggling and then of pounding feet. His relief gave way to fear and he pulled out his sword, hacking desperately at the foliage.
It was slow going and his muscles burned, aching to move freely and swiftly. But gradually he made progress and he was hopeful that he was nearly through when he stopped, pierced by the sound of a desperate scream.
His blood, which had seemed to freeze, now began to boil and he hacked madly at the greenery in front of him. During his momentary pause, it had grown thicker and it now resembled a hedge, covered in long, unnatural thorns.
The desperate tension growing in his core was almost unbearable and his sword moved with frantic speed. One particularly wild lunge opened a small gap in the leaves and through it he saw Ava, sprawled on the ground, her skirts fanned out around her. She was completely still and he told himself that she was merely sleeping. If he could just get through the forest of thorns, he would awaken her.
But the more he struggled to reach her, the thicker the hedge became until at last he fell to his knees and bowed his head in despair. He could do nothing. She would continue to lie there, asleep or dead, protected by a hedge of thorns. Felled, he couldn’t help but feel, by a single kiss.
Chapter 13
It took Ava a long moment to process the light around her. And a longer moment to remember the darkness that had come before it. She struggled to recall the fear and despair. Had it been real or just a dream? It seemed hard to believe that such darkness could exist when she was surrounded by such a blaze of light.
She covered her eyes for a moment and gave them a chance to adjust, slowly lowering her hand when she was ready to start absorbing the vista around her.
The forest was gone, she could see no sign of the dark trees and tangled branches in any direction. The golden light from the sun was warm and she threw off her cloak, the better to feel its rays.
She was lying in the middle of a green, verdant valley and the grass beneath her was thick and luxurious. A small stream gurgled beside her and before standing up, she leaned over to scoop some water into her mouth. It was cool and clean and easily the most refreshing water she had ever drunk.
Standing, Ava gazed around in every direction, the view confirming her suspicions. This was a magical place. Every shade of green was in evidence and the plants glowed and reflected the light as if they were made of jewels. A myriad of bright flowers punctuated the grassy expanse before her and the vibrant colours were so intense they would normally have made her eyes hurt. Yet she felt no discomfort. In fact, she had never felt so comfortable in her life.
She shivered. She had a strong suspicion that she knew where she was and it wouldn’t do to be lulled into a false sense of complacency. This wasn’t a place where people like her were welcome.
Abandoning her cloak – it was impossible to imagine being cold in such a place – she ascended the gentle slope before her. When she reached the top, she found a deep valley and, shining in the centre of it, a palace.
It wasn’t just any palace though. It was far bigger and far more beautiful than any she had ever imagined. The soaring towers looked impossibly fragile and incredibly graceful. If any part of her had doubted her location, all uncertainty was now removed. The palace reflected the golden rays of light so that they bounced in every direction, as if the entire building were carved from a single, giant diamond.
Somehow, she had found her way to the Palace of Light.
Ever since the meeting with her godmother, Ava had been practicing the speech she would deliver to the so-called High King. The one in which she demanded he recognise her rights and restore her to her position as Princess of Rangmere.
Standing in his enchanted realm and seeing his shining palace, her remaining certainty drained away. This High King had every bit of the power the godmother had credited to him. It was no longer a surprise to her that the godmothers wielded so much influence in the Four Kingdoms. Her own country would rise or fall on the smallest part of the power that sustained this place. And her own position of princess suddenly seemed a lot less authoritative.
Still, she had no other option than to press on.
When she reached the great door of the palace, three times her own height and glowing with an iridescent sheen that reminded her of a pearl, she hesitated again. Finally, taking her courage in her hands, she knocked firmly on the great expanse.
The noise reverberated loudly throughout the valley and the door began to slowly open. She took several involuntary steps backward, distancing herself from whatever was about to appear.
When both sides of the entry had opened, she saw a figure standing before her. He was tall and emitted a faint radiance but it was his face that drew her attention. His expression was stern and she had never seen anyone with such natural authority. Any lingering doubt regarding the legitimacy of this High King fled and she found herself kneeling as her father’s subjects did when they came to pay homage to him.
She felt deathly afraid. The memory of the darkness that had led to this bright place returned with a rush. She could hear again the voices echoing around her. She had come to challenge the right of this man to judge her. Instead she found herself agreeing with the godmother’s assessment. She had been born with all the advantages of a princess but she had not been deserving. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth and she wished she had simply accepted her godmother’s words rather than seeking out a higher authority.
The darkness that festered in both her kingdom and her heart were thrown into stark relief by the brightness of this palace and its ruler. She wondered what words she could say to extricate herself from the situation alive.
Before she could speak, she was addressed.
“Rise, Princess Ava,” said the High King. His voice was both musical and strong and something inside her resonated at the sound of it. Like his face, it seemed at once both old and young.
Looking up, she saw that an incredible transformation had occurred. The terrifyingly stern expression was gone and instead she found herself looking at a face so warm, so open and so friendly that she felt instantly as if she had known the High King for years. Her grudging, irresistible deference immediately turned into a warm and steadfast loyalty. Smiling joyfully, she rose to her feet and accepted the royal kiss of greeting he placed on her cheek.
The coldly analytical part of her brain marvelled at the power of this man.
Here was someone truly deserving of her allegiance. His power was indisputable and the godmothers clearly wielded only the smallest part of it. Any ruler who aligned themselves under him was sure to prosper.
Even while she was marvelling, speechless, at the turn her emotions had taken, the High King tucked her hand into his arm and led her into his palace. Everywhere she walked was some new marvel of grace and beauty but she was unable to properly take it in. She felt as if she were walking arm in arm with the sun. It was hard to look away from his brightness.
As they walked, they passed several godmothers going about their mysterious business. They seemed utterly at home in the palace and none of them even glanced at Ava although each bowed to the man beside her. She didn’t see her own godmother and was rather glad of it.
After traversing a seemingly endless number of corridors and passing at least six godmothers, they came out into a large internal courtyard. The courtyard was overrun with the same vibrant growth as the slopes of the valley but she coul
d see several large benches and even a simple fountain. Open walkways surrounded the courtyard on every side and blended seamlessly with the corridors of the palace.
They sat on one of the benches and for several minutes a companionable silence reigned. Ava watched the occasional godmother pass by along one of the walkways and slowly her earlier unease returned. Surely, any minute now, the High King would remember that he had deemed her undeserving. He would remember all the people she had wronged and he would cast her out of his beautiful domain. She wondered, for the first time in hours, if Sarah and Evelyn had survived the merchant battle and she felt sick to her stomach.
Unable to bear the suspense of waiting she opened her mouth and spoke first.
“My godmother said you rule over the Four Kingdoms and the land beyond, yet I have never heard my father speak of you. Do the other kingdoms offer you their allegiance?”
“The royal family of Arcadia serves me, certainly,” he said, “although they have never seen me. My servants aid them as needed.” Ava’s eyes flashed to a godmother who was drifting down the hall past the garden.
“And Northhelm… well, there is a darkness there that lies in wait. The time will soon come when those of power in Northhelm will have to choose their side.” He paused. “But I did not bring you here to talk of Northhelm.”
“No,” she said, her voice heavy with the same dread that filled her insides, “you came to talk to me of Rangmere.”
“I have something to tell you that will bring you pain.” He seemed genuinely saddened by his words. “But truth is an anchor that should never be discarded. It’s about your father’s death.”
“What is it?” she asked, more sharply than she had intended.
“It was your brother.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your brother is the one who assassinated your father and sent Joran to murder you.”
Ava stood abruptly and then, just as abruptly, sat back down. She felt as if all the breath had been knocked out of her. She had always known her brother was cold and cruel but somehow it was still unimaginable that he could kill his own father.”
“But…but my uncle!” she said, bewildered.
“Your father’s fear of your uncle was never more than his own paranoia. Your uncle sailed away from The Four Kingdoms long before you were born and he has never looked back.”
“I still don’t understand,” said Ava. “Why would Konrad do it?”
“Power,” said the High King. “He could not wait to be king.”
Ava shook her head in silent rejection of the idea but even as she did so she was already accepting it. In fact, the more she thought on it, the less surprising it seemed.
“Why have you brought me here and why are you telling me this?” she asked.
“Your brother is leading your kingdom into darkness,” said the High King. “Already he is planning reprisals against those who were loyal to your father. Your people will suffer unless someone rescues them. You asked for your rightful place back. I am giving you the knowledge you need to fight for it.”
“I can’t do it,” said Ava. The confidence that had disappeared in the forest had not returned and she trembled at the thought of facing her brother.
“You are divided,” said the High King, simply. “Your father did his best to shape you after his own image. He created a predator. A wolf, if you will. And ever since then, the creature that he formed has been masquerading as a princess and attempting to devour the rest of you. The real you.”
Ava’s eyes widened and she wondered if he could somehow see into her dreams.
“But a part of you has been fighting,” he said, “because the wolf hasn’t yet succeeded. You can still emerge from this whole.”
“But how?” asked Ava, struggling to believe his words of hope.
“You must reject the wolf,” said the High King as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “Reject what your father turned you into and pledge your allegiance to me instead. I will help you reclaim your true self.”
“Just like that?”
“It won’t be easy,” cautioned the High King. “You’ve locked yourself away behind a wall and if I break it down you will have to deal with the emotions that are released.” He paused, assessing her with his eyes. “It will be worth it, though.”
Ava stared down at the ground and tried to remember what the ‘real’ Ava looked like. She remembered a child who used to slide in her stockings up and down the royal ballroom, shrieking with laughter and tumbling into her mother’s arms. She remembered sneaking down to the kitchen for pastries and games of make believe with her best friend, a kitchen maid. But all of that was so long ago. She wasn’t a child anymore.
She shifted restlessly.
And then she remembered what it felt like to be Anna. To lie in the grass and stare at the clouds, to whirl around and around and around to the sound of panpipes and to laugh with Hans and Sarah and Evelyn at some shared joke. Wasn’t Anna just another facet of herself in the end?
“I am strong,” she said, taking a deep breath and looking into the High King’s ageless eyes. “I will do it.”
“Even you are not strong enough for this, princess,” he said. “But I do not abandon any of my subjects. I will give you the strength you need. And I will bring others to help you also. Do you pledge your allegiance to me?”
“I do,” she said and for just a moment she felt incredibly light and unbelievably happy.
And then the storm hit.
For the second time that day, Ava felt herself falling into blackness. Only this time, there was no welcome oblivion. Instead she descended into a maelstrom of fear and anger and grief, of guilt and rage and inadequacy.
Once again, she inhabited her fourteen-year-old body and stood at the front of the throne room, gazing down at her mother’s still face, framed by the cold stone coffin. At the time she had been tearless and impassive, her emotions safely locked away. Now, however, she found herself sobbing in great, messy gulps that shook her frame so badly they hurt. Her grandmother should have been there but she had disappeared the night before. Her allies, the only two people who had truly loved her, were gone and she wasn’t sure she could survive the loss.
Suddenly the tears were gone, although the grief still burned hot, and she found herself sitting at a diplomatic table, her eyes cast down and her curls pinned perfectly in place. Her brother was speaking, his voice friendly and jovial but his words barbed darts designed to pierce her. Her face remained calm, however, a demure smile firmly in place and no flush of humiliation on her cheeks. She was the beautiful princess, the perfect diplomat, the cold statue.
While she sat there, unmoving, her brother drew a dagger from his belt and, circling the table, he began to stab their father. His movements were cold and brutal although Ava knew that it hadn’t happened like that in real life. The horror of it, however, was all too authentic.
Leaping to her feet, her face burning, she heaved the table towards her brother. Striding over to him, she screamed wordless fury as she hit him again and again and again. When this scene also faded she carried the blazing anger into the next one.
Now she faced her father. She was young again and the look of disappointment on his face was clear. He didn’t even bother to lecture her at her repeated failure. Instead he merely turned away in disgust. She felt herself shrivel and fall to the ground, drowning in her own inadequacy.
Before she had a chance to recover from her father’s rejection, she found herself whirled through a series of scenes that went by so fast she barely recognised them. And yet, there she was: sending away her only friend after that friend had taken responsibility for Ava’s mistake; turning her back on the family of Rangmeros artisans who had begged that she intercede with her father on their behalf; ordering Joran to weaken Arcadia in any way possible in preparation for annexation; locking the Arcadian Princess Companion away and plotting how she could be used to control the Arcadian prince; tying her own cloak on her tru
sting friend and thrusting the girl out into the middle of a battle to take the fall in Ava’s place. Each act seemed more despicable than the last and the guilt and shame were overwhelming.
“I’m sorry!” she called to each scene but it was over before anyone could register her words.
The new emotions built on the previous ones until she was drowning in overwhelming pain. Crying out for help, she reached out her hands blindly. She felt each of them clasped in a firm grip. From one side she felt the already familiar glow of the High King. And from the other she felt a comforting, well-known strength.
Holding to these anchors, she rode the wave of emotion and allowed herself gradually to float to the top. She emerged into another vision. She felt like herself but when she looked down her arms were covered in thick fur and her hands were claws. Despite the High King’s promise of rescue, she was inside the wolf. Looking up in horror, she saw that he was standing across from her looking at once infinitely sad and boundlessly gentle.
Reaching out, he gripped a handful of fur and pulled. She expected to feel pain but instead she felt only a soft tugging. Slowly, the pelt of the wolf peeled away as if it was a layer of skin she could simply shed.
Looking over in gratitude she saw that it was the High King’s face that was transfigured with pain. She opened her mouth to cry out in protest but it was over. With a great tearing sound, the last of the wolf pulled free and the High King discarded the empty shell of the animal, his face free of suffering and suffused with victory. She was free.
Examining every part of her body that she could see, Ava realised her hair had been returned to its normal golden curls. She looked questioningly at the High King.
“The time for disguise is past,” he said. “If you are to claim your birthright, you must do it as yourself. I have set you free of the wolf inside you but you must still deal with the consequences of your actions. You will find the help you need in Arcadie.”
The Princess Fugitive: A Reimagining of Little Red Riding Hood (The Four Kingdoms Book 2) Page 11