The Knight's Daughter

by S H Cooper

  He won’t budge.

  I’m forced to leave Erik standing at the edge of the woods and limp as quickly as I can to catch up with my brothers and the fae. When I look, Erik is gone.

  When I first saw Cragsbride, it had appeared to be an old, crumbling castle half covered with lichen and moss. It had been totally empty, save for the one fae who'd come out to meet us. We are almost to the entryway, a stone arch with a rusted iron portcullis that’s pulled halfway up, before it changes.

  As if a painted scenery curtain I’d seen used for the small plays sometimes put on in the village square has been swept back, Cragsbride is suddenly transformed. Where there had been signs of disrepair, now there is fortified stone. The portcullis is fully raised, and the courtyard beyond it is bustling with fae, all red haired and beautiful. The smells that drift out make my stomach growl. Meats, breads, spices I can’t begin to name. Banners hang from the walls, flowers and greenery tumble from each window sill. There’s lively flute music from a musician standing atop an overturned box in one corner and a circle of young fae sitting at her feet.

  Joseph keeps nudging me and pointing to things: the covered walkway that spans the entire courtyard, the ladies gliding past in rich, elegant robes, the impossibly detailed stone statues of warriors and maidens. We were already drawing curious and displeased stares before, but he’s really making a spectacle of us and it doesn’t seem to be winning anyone over. Torren swats at him and warns him through clenched teeth to get ahold of himself. I hook my arm through his and try to help him contain himself. There’s nothing I can do about his goofy, open-mouthed grin, though.

  Drake is far more stoic. I recognize the way he’s walking; it’s how Father walks when he’s about to meet with someone important. Stiff, at attention, prepared. There’s no wonder in his face, only wariness.

  And when the portcullis closes shut behind us, my stomach jumps and my own amazement turns to nervous butterflies.

  Chapter Twelve

  “This way,” our fae guide says.

  It’s obvious he doesn’t want us hanging about out in the open for very long. The whispers, spoken in a lyrical language I can’t understand, have started around us. Some have stopped and are staring openly, especially the children. I find myself picking self-consciously at my dress, which has become dirtied and wrinkled. Even when it was brand new, it didn’t come close to comparing to the finery these people are dressed in. Now I might as well be wearing a flour sack. Mother would be horrified if she knew others, especially of this class, were seeing me in such a state.

  “How?” Joseph manages to ask, and the distraction is welcome.

  “Keep your voice down,” Torren whispers harshly. “How what?”

  “How all this?” Joseph eyes travel in a slow circle.

  “Same way you humans have homes. Hammers, nails, craftsmen. They built it.”

  “But I’ve been here! It was a ruins! No one lived here. And-and even when we were just outside the gate, it was falling apart! How?”

  “Magic.” Torren shrugs. “They keep a veil of illusion cast over it to keep prying eyes away. You might think you’ve been here, but my guess is you and your party walked into a construct. Another illusion that made it seem like you were in the ruins. I doubt you got within a hundred yards of this place. The hills are littered with wards and spells to keep humans out.”

  “Hold your tongue, little sister,” the fae-man says reproachfully. “We do not share our secrets with their kind.”

  “Right, of course. My apologies, dawn sire,” Torren replies quickly while offering a succession of hasty bows.

  We are led across the wide courtyard and into a long, dark hall. Torchlight dances along the walls, sometimes orange, other times blue or purple or green. It changes every few moments. The floor is lined with a plush rug. While the fae leaves only the smallest hint of a footprint, my brothers and I leave heavy indents to mark our passing. After two days on the road, the softness is a welcome change beneath my boots.

  The hall widens into a small chamber. The whole wall opposite us is taken up by a pair of wooden doors. They’re carved with trees and flowers, fae folk, and a large sun that splits down the middle when they open.

  The tall fae tells us to wait here and knocks three times on the polished door. Immediately, it swings open just wide enough for him to step through, then shuts behind him. Joseph slips his arm from my grasp and steps towards the carvings to study them and run his fingers over their details.

  Drake remains standing rigidly in the center of the chamber.

  I brush off what dirt and dust I can from my skirt and wave for Torren to come to me. She flutters to my shoulder, looking as anxious as I feel.

  “What’s going to happen now?” I ask in a squeaky whisper.

  “We’ll meet their chief and he’ll decide whether or not they’ll help us,” she replies.

  “And if he says no?”

  “We just have to hope.”

  I don’t notice I’ve almost twisted my braid into a knot until it starts to hurt. I force my hands back to my sides and try to switch the topic to help ease my nerves. “What was all that stuff you were talking about? Dawn courts and dusk courts? What’s it all mean?”

  I just hope the walls don’t have ears and this is another subject she’s not supposed to discuss with us.

  “It’s the time of day we draw our magic from. The sun has different phases. The courts of first light perform their most powerful magic at dawn. My people performed theirs at dusk. The Kilkaraban is an ancient court, some say it’s actually the first, born from a seed that cracked open and released the fae into this land.” She’s babbling a bit, but I take comfort in the familiar sound of her voice.

  “Why aren’t they like you? The Kilkaraban.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you’re small and have wings. They’re...not and they don’t.”

  “That’s just the way it is, lass,” she says. “You wouldn’t ask another human why they don’t look like you.”

  It was my turn to ask what she meant.

  “Surely you don’t think you’re a ‘one and done’ race, you daft girl.” Torren’s mossy hair bounces as she shakes her head.

  “I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it before,” I answer honestly.

  “Well, you’re not,” she says, her gaze slipping toward the door. “As many kinds of humans as there are fae. If you’re lucky, you might even get to meet some of them. Shh, shh, he’s coming back!”

  The doors glides soundlessly outward, pushed by a pair of guards in ornate silver armor who each step to one side and clap their right fist over the left side of their chest. They move fluidly, perfectly in time with one another. Our guide is waiting just inside.

  A tree grows in the center of the room. Its roots fan out it in a twisted, knotted circle around a throne carved directly into its trunk. The ceiling is completely hidden by its shimmering green leaves. Seated upon the throne is an elder fae. The red of his hair has turned to silver and deep lines crease his face. Still, there’s an air of power around him, calm, quiet confidence, and he watches us huddle before him without remark.

  “These are your dangerous mortal invaders, Firodyl?” The chieftain’s pale eyes sparkle in the torchlight and he sits back in his seat, his hands steepled in front of him.

  “Aye, Halofain,” Firodyl, our guide, puts his palm flatly against his chest and takes a knee before his chief.

  “Halofain is fae-speak for the head of the court,” Torren’s faint voice drifts from my shoulder. “You must address him by his title if you speak to him.”

  I roll the strange word silently around on my tongue. I hope I remember it if the time comes.

  “Has it been so long since mortalkind has come into our halls that you do not know children when you see them?” The chieftain, the Halofain, lifts his voice, but it’s not angry. He sounds amused.

  He looks past Firodyl to the three of us. I can feel Joseph fidgeting, but
Drake is solid as an oak. He’s meeting the Halofain’s gaze unflinchingly. From the way the guards are frowning at him, I get the feeling he’s not supposed to do that.

  “A warrior,” the Halofain says. “A poet. And…”

  He pauses and his stare bores into me. The silence drags on, until I’m wondering if I should apologize for appearing in front of him like this. I’m a mess, it’s unladylike. I brush at a small, red stain on my sleeve and try to cover the bandage on my upper arm with my hand.

  “And you,” he finishes at last. “You aren’t sure what you are. Not yet, at least.”

  “With all due respect, your…” Drake trails off uncertainly.

  “Halofain,” I mumble helpfully.

  “Your...Halofain, my siblings and I seek passage to the city of Gladfife. Our fae companion said you would help us.”

  “I said might help us,” Torren corrects him meekly.

  “Did she now?” The Halofain chuckles and a ripple of light laughter follows from his guards.

  “Aye,” Joseph’s voice cracks under his nerves and he clears his throat. “Our father is suffering a terrible curse. We’re looking for the cure. We need to get to Gladfife for supplies.”

  “I see.” The Halofain nods gravely. “A difficult task to ask of anyone, much less children.”

  “We are not children,” Drake says. “I am Drake McThomas, son and squire of the high captain of Moorsden. This is my brother, Joseph, also squire to our father. And Mary is our sister.”

  “Forgive me, lad. All humans are children to these old eyes.”

  Firodyl stares daggers at Drake from the foot of the throne, as do the other fae, even Torren. But the Halofain has a subtle smile pulling up one corner of his mouth. He taps his still-steepled fingers against his chin and makes a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat.

  “My envoy has told me your story. Firstly, let me express my condolences to you, Daughter Torrenthalian. The loss of your court was felt keenly in these halls. Long had I known your Halofain.”

  Torren dips her head courteously.

  “He has also told me that you seek vengeance upon the one who attacked your people.”

  “That is true, Halofain,” she murmurs.

  “And you require the aid of these mortalkind to achieve it?”

  “Yes, Halofain. The one who murdered my family is the same man who has placed the curse upon their father. He used dream magic, Halofain. Now he seeks the lass. To what end, I don’t yet know, but we can’t let him succeed. We seek the Dreamweavers to undo the curse and tell us how Meverick Conan got his hands on their magic.”

  “And you, humans,” the Halofain tilts his head slightly, “you are willing to help her?”

  We all nod and say that we are.

  “What, then, will you give me, should I agree to help?” he asks.

  We’re stunned into silence. We look at each other, lost. Drake’s expression has become grim and his hand is on his sword hilt again. I start to reach for him at the same time Joseph does, both frantic to stop him, but Drake draws his blade in a single, swift motion.

  Every spear in the hall is at his throat before the ring of steel against scabbard has faded.

  “Oh, you’ve done it now, you stupid lad,” Torren groans.

  The guards freeze with only the lift of the Halofain’s hand, although they don’t lower their weapons until he flicks his wrist, motioning them away.

  “All I have to offer you is my sword, Halofain.” Drake flips the sword so that its blade lies across his upturned palms. “It was my father’s when he was a squire.”

  “The beloved weapon of a warrior is a prized gift indeed,” the Halofain says. “But I have no need for another sword in my armory, lad. Please, sheathe it. And leave it there this time.”

  “I...can offer you a story,” Joseph says quietly. He’s staring at his feet, suddenly childishly shy.

  “Words are always welcome in my halls, young poet, but you do not yet possess the right ones. There will come a time, though, that I will hear your tale, and it will be worthy of any gift I might give you.”

  Disappointment and puzzlement flicker across Joseph’s face, but he nods. I don’t understand what the Halofain means either. If he won’t take Drake’s sword or Joseph’s story, then we have nothing else to offer.

  I wince when Torren elbows me in the side of the neck.

  The Halofain is gazing at me, still wearing that peculiar, amused smile.

  “And what about you, lass? What do you have to offer that your brothers don’t?”

  “I…”

  Everyone is staring at me. They’re waiting. My heart beats painfully in my throat, making it hard to speak, and Joseph puts a comforting hand on my shoulder.

  “She doesn’t have anything,” Drake says defensively.

  “No?” The Halofain’s eyes never leave me. “Is that true, Mary, daughter of High Captain McThomas?”

  “No,” I say slowly, letting my pack slip from my shoulders to the floor.

  I am the daughter of High Captain McThomas, but I am also the daughter of Kitty McThomas, and I had not left home with nothing.

  While my brothers mouth What are you doing? at me, I open my pack. Sitting on top, neatly folded over my dresses and the sampler I’d brought, is the shawl my mother made me. It’s rainbow colored, her solution when I couldn’t pick a favorite, and woven of thick wool. I pull it out and run my fingers over its soft fabric.

  “I can offer you this.”

  It feels ridiculous to hold out the homemade shawl to the Halofain. It isn’t good, strong steel like Drake’s sword and it isn’t creative like Joseph’s story. It also looks drab compared to what the fae folk are wearing. But I offer it all the same. The one thing I still carry that means anything to me.

  The Halofain rises and descends the steps from his throne. He reminds me of a willow, graceful and regal. To the shock of his court, he lowers himself to one knee in front of me and delicately takes the shawl.

  “You offer me this?” he asks.

  “I know it’s not much,” I reply. “And-and not meant for a person like you, but…”

  “This is a heart-gift, child,” he says. “Made in love. Given in love. It’s only purpose is to wrap you in warmth, to protect you. Put your hand here, right on top. Do you not feel its power?”

  For just a moment, I’m flooded with the greatest contentment I’ve ever known. Warmth fills me, starting from my fingertips and spreading throughout my body. My heartbeat slows, I close my eyes, and I know that, whatever happens, I am safe.

  The Halofain’s fingers close gently over my hand and I open my eyes again to look at him. That happy, safe feeling, the feeling of lying with my head in my mother’s lap while she strokes my hair, is fading and tears spring to my eyes.

  “The unwavering love of a mother is the greatest gift the whole world has to offer, and you have given me a piece of yours, Mary. I will treasure it always. Just as I hope you will always treasure your ability to recognize the truly important things in this life.”

  He squeezes my hand and rises to address his court.

  “I accept their offer,” he says, his voice ringing with command. “And I will help them on their journey to Gladfife.”

  He pauses for a moment and his expression relaxes once more into a warm smile. “But first, let us sit together and feast."

  Chapter Thirteen

  The fae around us bow almost as one and turn to file out of the throne room, until only we, the Halofain, two guards, and our guide, Firodyl, are left. Drake has become tense again, suspicious that this is some kind of trick. Joseph is doing his best to reign in his excitement, but his constant shifting and poorly hidden grin betray him. He prods me with his elbow and leans in to whisper.

  “What do you think they eat? Greens? Fruits? Oh! Probably nuts as well, and—”

  “All of that and more, young McThomas,” the Halofain says. He seems pleased with my brother’s excitement.

  The tips of J
oseph’s ears turn a bright shade of pink and he bows clumsily. Torren hides her face in her hands with a soft, embarrassed groan and I nudge Joseph’s foot with mine, motioning for him to stand up straight again. While his men gaze down at us distastefully, the Halofain watches with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Joseph starts to say, fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

  “Never apologize for your enthusiasm, lad,” the Halofain replies. “Or for having an interest in learning new things. Knowledge is like water: only by drinking of it will your thirst be quenched. Yours is a curious mind and an open heart. If only more of us had that same eagerness to explore this world and learn about those we share it with.”

  Joseph bows his head again and allows his hair to fall across his eyes. No one has ever told him there was value in anything but the sword. The only thing that’s ever been expected of him was to become a knight, even if it wasn’t what he wanted. The other lads liked to poke fun at his interests, teasing him for being more like one of the soft-handed scholars from the capital instead of the high captain’s son. Even Father struggled to understand why Joseph would rather read than fight.

  The Halofain’s words must have been like ointment on a long-open wound for him.

  “Firodyl, take them to the dining hall. Seat them at my table. I will join you shortly,” the Halofain says.

  Firodyl bows crisply and marches from the room without even looking at us. My brothers and I hesitate awkwardly, unsure if we should follow until Torren hisses at us to get a move on. Drake starts to turn away, but Joseph catches him by the sleeve and makes him bow as well before leaving. I curtesy quickly and scurry to keep up with the others.

  We are taken further into the keep, down a short corridor with more multi-colored flames dancing on their torches. Tapestries depicting fae history hang between them. Scenes of battles, others of Cragsbride being built and of the fae in more peaceful, settled times. Torren gives me brief explanations of each in hushed tones, mindful that she doesn’t say too much in case it angers Firodyl.