The Knight's Daughter

by S H Cooper

  “That’s not fair, Drake.” I try to defend Ilyana, but he stops me with a short, sharp chop of his hand in front of my face.

  “What’s not fair is forcing this on you.”

  “Surely you can send me and Drake,” Joseph says.

  “No,” Ilyana says again. “It took me some time, but I was able to find the dream threads leading to your father’s mind and have looked into his nightmare. It is,” she hesitates and her fingers tighten around each other, “centered around Mary. For this to work, she must be the one he sees. She has to convince him she is well and waiting for him outside the dream.”

  “I will carry him out if I must!” Drake raises his voice and Ilyana shifts away from his anger.

  “It’s not that simple!”

  “Then let us go with her,” Joseph insists.

  “Only one can enter.” Ilyana seems so small in front of Drake. “And it has to be Mary.”

  Drake growls in frustrated fury and stomps across the room to distance himself from Ilyana. He leans against the doorframe, glowering back at us.

  “Oh, cheer up, lad!” Silvermoon follows him and claps him on the shoulder. “There’s plenty of bottoms left to kick in this world without traveling into another!”

  Drake envelopes the elf’s wrist in one hand and slowly removes it so it’s held between them. “Shall I start with yours?”

  “No, no, that wasn’t an offer, only an observation.”

  Silvermoon slips himself out of Drake’s grasp and quickly returns to his seat a safe distance away from my fuming brother. The queen regards both of them with a subtle, displeased upturn of her nose.

  “That is enough, all of you,” she commands sternly. “The decision is Mary’s and Mary’s alone.”

  “She is a child!” Drake thunders.

  Silvermoon’s features harden and he’s on his feet again. “You will not speak to the queen with such disrespect!”

  “Aye, remember where you are, lad,” Torren says sourly. “You are a guest here.”

  “I don’t care where I am or who she is. Mary is my sister!”

  “Drake,” Joseph cautions, poised to rise and hold his twin back if need be.

  Tension floods the room as Silvermoon and Drake stare one another down, both trying to get the other to back off. Neither is willing to do so, and when Drake steps forward, Silvermoon willingly meets him.

  “Stop it, both of you!” I slam my fists against the bed and sit up despite how much it hurts. “I am not a child, Drake! This is my choice. And I will do it.”

  Joseph pales slightly. “Think about it, Mary. You’re in no state to —”

  “What is there to think about? If this is the only way, then I must do it. Father needs me.”

  Drake elbows Silvermoon aside and crouches at my bedside. He is serious and unhappy, but I also see the fear flickering just beneath his hard expression.

  “We can figure something else out. We’ll find a way for me or Joseph to go,” he says.

  “There isn’t another way.” Ilyana sounds apologetic. “If there were, it would be my first choice. But this is an ancient magic, one that even we Dreamweavers have little control over. Nightmares are unpredictable. It will take strength and heart to get your father out. You must trust that Mary has more of both than you realize.”

  Drake jabs a finger at Ilyana, who accepts it with a tightening of her shoulders. “Fine, Dreamweaver. But if anything happens to her, I will find a way to go in after her whether you’re willing to help or not.”

  Before I can enter the nightmare sleep in search of my father, the queen orders me to rest. Ilyana agrees, both to allow me to regain my strength and so she can prepare. In three days, she tells me, she will be ready.

  I will be, too, regardless of how I’m feeling.

  For the next three days, I don’t see Ilyana. Torren says she’s locked herself in her room at the palace and refuses to come out, even for food. She won’t speak to anyone and sends any visitors away.

  “There’s a strange smell,” the fae muses. “Like earth, but...old earth. And something very stinky!”

  She wrinkles her nose and we giggle, but it’s short lived. We’re both uneasy and it’s hard to stay in good spirits.

  Whenever the fear starts creeping over me in a slow wave of goose pimples, I close my eyes and think of home. I picture my room, the common room, the scent of cooking coming from the kitchen. I can hear Mother and Father’s voices as if they’re just in the next room and can be at my side almost instantly if I call out.

  It helps that my brothers are here. They continue to watch over me constantly. When I’m awake, at least one of them is seated at the foot of my bed. Drake is often sharpening and cleaning his sword. He’s even more broody than usual and mostly speaks in grunts and single-word responses. Joseph scribbles quickly in his book from the Halofain. When I ask what he’s writing about, he smiles sheepishly into the pages.

  “You,” he says. “And Father, Mother, all of us.”

  “Can you show me?”

  He hands me the book and I trace the letters across the page with my finger. They’re small and close together with a slight slant, but I don’t know what any of them mean.

  “You’ll have to teach me to read,” I say as I pass it back. “So I can read it when it’s done.”

  He just nods, the tips of his ears turning a brighter shade of pink, and buries his nose back between the leather covers.

  Much to Drake’s displeasure, Silvermoon visits frequently. When the queen encourages me to go for walks, he offers to accompany me. Drake is never far behind.

  “In case you get tired and need help getting back,” he says dismissively.

  The kingdom of Thalirian is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. Like Joseph had told me, we’re high above the ground, in great spiraling towers that seem to extend from the trees themselves. The rope bridges connecting each treetop dwelling are sturdy and, after crossing the first one, I overcome any fear I had of them. On the first day, Silvermoon takes me to his house, where I meet his mother and sister, Kira, and then we go to the palace. Although I’m better, it still doesn’t take long before I need to rest again and Drake takes me back to my room.

  On the second day, when I say I am feeling well enough, he leads me up a spiral staircase carved into the tallest tree. Drake huffs and puffs upwards behind us.

  It leads out into a wide, flat platform that’s open on all sides. The view stretches far out over the forest, to a wide, rushing river that Silvermoon says is named Lirathyl, after the first queen of his people. In the opposite direction, the woodlands spill almost as far as I can see, to the foot of a mountain range with snow-topped peaks.

  Silvermoon and I sit with our legs dangling over the platform’s side while Drake hangs back and anxiously reminds me to be careful. I give him a thumbs up over my shoulder and tilt my head back to enjoy the welcome warmth of the sun.

  “Are you frightened?” Silvermoon asks me after we’ve lapsed into a comfortable silence.

  I keep my eyes closed. “Aye.”

  “You aren’t acting like it.”

  “How should I be I acting?” I open one eye to squint at him. “Would you prefer if I fainted?”

  “You don’t seem the fainting type.”

  “No,” I say, “I’m not.”

  “You could if you wanted to, you know. Faint, I mean. No one would blame you.”

  I snort. I don’t think I could faint, even if I wanted to.

  No, I’ve held on to one image in particular since I left home. Whenever I have felt weak or afraid, I pull it close to my heart and I cling tightly to it. It’s my mother, standing at the gate, waiting for Father, and the way she’d approached the knights when they arrived. How she’d taken charge and directed them. When they’d expected her to fall down weeping, she had led them with all the poise of a queen.

  With all the bravery of a knight.

  I am determined to enter the nightmare sleep in the same way.


  But when the dawn comes the next day and I am gently shaken awake by Joseph after too little sleep, I am cold with fear.

  “The queen said Ilyana has called for you,” he says in a whisper. “They’re waiting in the palace.”

  I nod, grasping the small, golden vial around my neck and dragging it back and forth along its chain while I chew my lip. Usually its warmth brings me some kind of comfort, but today it does nothing. I doubt anything will help. Drake sits upright in his usual chair, head back and snoring. I almost don’t want to wake him, but I can only imagine how angry he’d be if I went off without him. He’d never forgive me if I didn’t say goodbye.

  Not goodbye, I tell myself. I will come back.

  I wish I could at least sound convincing to myself.

  After dressing, I walk slowly between my brothers with Torren on my shoulder toward the palace. Blue flames burn in the braziers at the end of the walkway leading up to its giant doors. They’re made of dozens of branches, all twisted and knotted together, and they open as we approach. Inside, the queen waits to receive us. Silvermoon is at her side.

  “What’s he doing here?” Drake grumbles.

  “Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” Silvermoon says.

  “He insisted,” the queen replies in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

  She holds out a slender hand toward me and I take it. It’s cool and soft against mine.

  “Are you ready, Mary?” she asks.

  It feels like a silly question. I don’t think I’d ever be ready for something like this. I move my head in a jerky motion that passes for a nod.

  There is a hush over the palace as we walk through it. Few torches are lit and most of the doorways that had been open the day before are closed. We don’t see anyone else as we climb the steps to Ilyana’s chamber.

  “I’ve sent everyone away,” Queen Nauria says after she sees me looking around curiously. “This is a delicate affair. I want no distractions.”

  The smell drifting from Ilyana’s room reaches all the way down the hall. It’s a hot, stuffy odor that reminds me of dirt and old cheese. I cover my mouth and nose and try not to gag. My brothers are less courteous.

  “What is that?” Drake coughs.

  “It’s like all your unwashed underclothes have come to haunt us, Drake.” Joseph’s voice is muffled behind his arm.

  “It’s ma—” Silvermoon begins in a teacherly tone.

  “Magic, yeah, I got it,” Drake says dryly.

  “Can’t you lads get along just until this is over?” Torren snaps.

  “Perhaps you should wait out here,” Queen Nauria suggests in a way that is telling more than asking.

  “No!” A flash of panic bursts in my chest and I gaze pleadingly up at the elf queen. “Please, let them come. I want them with me.”

  She exhales shortly, obviously worried that my brothers might make Ilyana’s job that much harder, but relents. I breathe a sigh of relief as she knocks upon Ilyana’s door and pushes it open. A cloud of that horrible odor rushes out to greet us and I sputter into the back of my hand while the lads hide their noses beneath their shirts. Torren clings to the neckline of my dress to keep from falling off my shoulder. Queen Nauria remains poised, but even her golden skin takes on a greenish tint. She pulls a handkerchief from her wide sleeve and presses it delicately against her face.

  “Ilyana?” she asks.

  The Dreamweaver pokes her head around the corner and waves for us to come in. We shuffle reluctantly through the door and crowd the entryway of her large room.

  Her bed has been pushed all the way against one wall and, in the center of the floor, she has laid down a pile of straw and leaves. A ring of blood red candles circles it. Two stone bowls sit beside it. Within each is a thick, murky liquid: one black, the other milky.

  Ilyana wears a sheer robe lined with strange symbols. It billows with each rapid step she takes around the room as she finishes her preparations. Gone is any trace of the meek servant girl. She is controlled, commanding, her every move precise and sure.

  When she is ready, she turns to me. “We only have one chance at this, Mary. The pathway into another’s dreams is tenuous and difficult to construct. Are you certain you’re willing to go through with this?”

  Drake squeezes my shoulder and Joseph rests his hand on my upper back, silent and reassuring. I again picture Mother as she waited for Father and I mirror her pose.

  “I am.”

  “Then we will begin,” she says. “If the rest of you are to stay, there will be no speaking and no interfering. You will only move if I instruct you to do so. Mary’s life will depend on it.”

  Everyone bobs their head in agreement. Her demanding tone, under swept with a powerful ring, has already made it so they are all afraid to speak, even the queen. Ilyana directs them into the farthest corner and leads me by the hand to the center of the candle-lined circle. She has me sit in the straw and leaf pile.

  “I know the smell is wretched,” she says with a rueful smile. “It’s the herbs I had to burn. Once I light these candles, you must breathe deep, then drink this.”

  She lifts the bowl with the black liquid. It sloshes thickly and the stink of rotting earth and spoiled milk wafts from its inky surface. Bile threatens to rise in my throat and I have to force it back down with a hard swallow.

  “It will be almost instant. You will fall asleep and enter your father’s nightmare through a gateway. You must find your father quickly. You will only have a short time to convince him to come back with you. Do not waste it.”

  She passes me the bowl. I cup it in both hands and try not to inhale too much of its foul odor. Ilyana begins to chant, songlike, in a strange tongue that rolls and rises. I can feel her words circling around me like ropes, weaving themselves around my wrists and ankles. She walks in a slow circle around me and as she passes each candle, a white flame springs to life on its wick. When she is back in the same spot she began, she gestures for me to drink.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I inhale deeply and take a long sip of the liquid. The black concoction burns its way down my throat and I heave dangerously. I throw my head back, eyes pinched tightly closed, and force it down. It leaves a bitter, sick taste in my mouth.

  I lose feeling in my fingers and toes first. The stone bowl tumbles from my hands and lands in my lap. I try to open my eyes, but my lids don’t respond. Sound is muffled and echoes, bouncing from one side to the other so I have no idea where it’s coming from. My head feels heavy and droops against my chest. There are hands on me, lowering me downward. I’m floating.

  And then there is nothing and no one.

  I am alone in an endless night. I shout my brothers’ names, but my voice is swallowed up before it even leaves my mouth. I think I’m running, but I’m getting nowhere. Everywhere I turn is just more empty black. I stumble, falling hard to my hands and knee. The darkness is trying to get inside of me. I can feel it poking at my thoughts, pushing and prodding and seeking out cracks to fill. I curl up with my hands over my ears, my forehead almost resting only knees. I scream and I scream, both terrified and defiant, but I have no voice.

  There’s a girl in the distance. She’s screaming, too.

  “Father! The forest! Look to the forest!”

  I know those words.

  I bolt upright. Whicker Field is before me, but it’s colorless and bordered by a thick grey mist that obscures the village beyond. Ghostly images of Moorsden’s knights are lined up on it. They’re training. They move slowly, as if underwater, and their voices are hollow. A few, the ones closest to a hill overlooking the field, have stopped and are looking up. Some wave, others look bemused. Running toward them, ghostly and translucent as the rest, is a lass with braided hair and her dress pulled up around her knees.

  I watch myself point to toward the forest, desperate to warn Father, through unblinking, wide eyes. Hot tears spill down my cheeks.

  The knights charge the field to meet Conan’s men. A tall
figure on horseback cuts through them, going the opposite direction. A sob wrenches itself from my throat and I stagger to my feet. Father, fully flesh and bone, the only slash of color in this nightmare, leaps from Raider’s back. He and the ghostly version of me embrace, speak briefly in hushed tones, then he’s pushing her away and turning back to the fight.

  When the whistle of arrows sounds, I shriek for Father to find cover. But he just turns back, same as he did on that day. He’s running toward the ghost-me, arms outstretched while she stands there, stupidly staring up into the sky as the first arrows begin to fall.

  This time, Father does not reach me.

  He slides across the grass on his knees in time to catch the lass as she falls. Two arrows stick out from her chest and stomach. The sound Father makes when he gathers her against his chest slices through me. He’s howling like a wounded animal. The ghostly girl hangs limp in his arms.

  “Father,” I lurch forward a step. “I’m here. I’m alright!”

  But he doesn’t hear me. He’s clutching the ghost girl and rocking with his face buried against her neck.

  I take another unsteady step, and then another, until I’m running and screaming through a haze of tears for my father. The battle continues to rage across Whicker Field, but I rush through it. When a knight falls in front of me, I reel, afraid to trip over his body, but my feet go right through him.

  “Father!” I scream again.

  He’s not in the same spot though, and when I whip around, all of the knights are back in their original positions, training once more. It’s as if the ambush had never happened. I stop, heart pounding in confused fright.

  “Father! The forest! Look to the forest!”

  The nightmare version of me is running down the hill once more. It’s starting all over again.

  The men clash. Father urges the ghost-me to leave. The whistling begins.

  Father has been living these same few moments over and over since he was poisoned. He’s been watching me die. His worst nightmare isn’t of me not becoming the lady he and Mother have always wanted. It’s not of me in armor with a sword.