“Grrrrreeat magic buuuuubble,” he chanted, “come to meeee. Caaarrrry us, gentle-liiiiike, across this great sea.”
“Oh, of all the . . .” Wyndeling groaned.
“Surround us, oh mighty bubble. Shimmer and shammer and creep on over this here group of noooble creatures.” After a dramatic pause, Profigliano flung his wings toward the creek and shouted, “Ha.”
The outcome disappointed.
“Keep at it, Fig.” Ryon smiled.
“Indeed I will.” Profigliano flitted to the bank to perfect his ritual.
The rest of the group continued to stare at the rushing waters. Many suggestions were offered, and just as many were rejected. Ryon said they should all climb onto Jesse’s back and ride him across the creek. However, Tess pointed out that even Jesse couldn’t swim in that kind of current, especially while carrying a load. Wyndeling suggested Jesse and Tess attempt to cross the creek together and allow Profigliano to lead them the rest of the way. But Tess was firmly against leaving her brother behind, especially with a creature they had only just met.
The evening waned, but Tess was determined that they cross Ruby Creek before nightfall. “I refuse to believe that this is the only way. And every minute we stand here wastes precious time. Atheos is bearing down on our family this very minute. Profigliano?”
While the rest had pondered the problem of the creek, Profigliano had persisted in rehearsing his magic bubble spell. He let his wings droop and turned to Tess.
“Profigliano, I want you to search upstream and see if there is anywhere narrow enough for us to cross safely.”
“My lady,” Wyndeling interjected, “Ruby Creek flows from the top of Zere Mountain. That must be more than a week’s journey from here by foot. How can we be sure such a crossing exists nearby?”
“We can’t,” Tess said. “But what else would you suggest? Shall we build ourselves a bridge?”
Profigliano perched on Ryon’s head, puffed out his chest, and gave Tess an emphatic salute. “I won’t let you down, Miss Tessy. No indeed; that I won’t.” Chirping as he went, Profigliano darted up the bank and out of sight.
Tess focused her attention on Ryon. “Why don’t you see if you can catch a few fish?”
An hour passed, and then another. The moon rose, and still Profigliano did not return. Tess’s mood darkened, as it became clear they would have to spend the night on the wrong side of the water. She stared at a smoldering fire and allowed her mind to surrender to fear of imagined dangers. She saw visions of her sister and parents, bloodied and burnt. She saw Queen Aideen, receiving news that Tess had been found dead in the forest, and that the shenìl was now Pider’s.
After several more hours of overwrought imaginings, Tess finally yielded to an unsettled sleep.
Sleep was no better than waking for Tess, as visions of vultures, hawks, and glassy-eyed crows darted through her dreams. So many voices at once: Papa telling her to maintain the peace of Glademont, Mother reminding her to keep Ryon safe, Queen Aideen’s worried entreaties to hide the shenìl, Reggie barking out orders to stay alert, in case of Atheonians. All the while, Prince Linden laughed and joked with his friends, stealing quick glances at Tess as she stood in helpless fear. She hated him for his thoughtlessness. She felt her hands clench and her throat catch as she remembered his stinging words: You don’t understand the world, Lady Tessamine.
Then, suddenly, Tess saw a silhouette of a woman, glittering in a tangerine hue, like a citrine crystal. It stood against the trunk of a tall gingko tree and seemed to reach behind its head to pull forward a braid of hair, just like Tess’s. At the end of the silhouette’s braid glowed the shenìl, with its two small orbs burning like coals.
Whether this was her own shadow, Tess could not tell. But the figure felt so familiar and comforting that Tess began to concentrate on it. Mercifully, the voices of her friends and family faded away. The silhouette lifted to its toes and raised its arms like a demure ballerina. It bent a knee and bowed at the waist. Shimmering fingers fluttered at Tess. Confused, Tess looked down at her own nightgown and riding boots. Nothing seemed different about them. The silhouette fluttered its fingers again, this time higher, and Tess looked behind her.
The rushing waters of Ruby Creek looked even more menacing in the darkness of Tess’s dream. Still jutting from its current was the solitary boulder, which now, mysteriously, bore the image of the shimmering silhouette. Reclining against the boulder, the silhouette beckoned Tess to cross the creek.
Obediently, Tess took a shaky step toward the bank.
“Be ye friend or foe?” bellowed a craggy voice.
Tess woke with a start.
Chapter 14
Two days after Linden had set out to deliver that cursed letter to Atheos, he found himself trudging through an open meadow some three leagues south of where he wanted to be.
The young officer of the Atheonian army prodded the prince’s back with his own longbow. Sometimes the man would poke Linden’s calves; sometimes he would twirl his hair with the tip of the bow. It was beyond humiliating. Linden set his jaw and fought the ropes that restrained his fists.
“If you think the stars are beautiful now,” the officer said, “you should see them in the winter over the Seventh Cape.” He nudged the prince’s ankles with the weapon.
Linden did not answer. He had learned that conversation with this irritating worm only caused further humiliation. In fact, it was letting the Atheonian speak that put Linden in this mess in the first place. He wished he had been wiser, like the warrior princes of ancient Glademont.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember the tangy smell of old scroll cases—the smell of that first night he snuck past the royal scribes to explore the castle archives. He tried to picture the warm light of his candle as he inhaled scroll after scroll. He had felt his very soul would catch fire as he read about the days when Glademont not only had an army but boasted one of the most feared militaries on the entire continent of Diatonica. No history scholar at the academy had ever taught him of these things. Only that the past was gone, and good riddance.
What good was all his reading now?
The whistling Atheonian poked at Linden’s elbow with the bow. “Almost there, Your Highness. You see that tower to the right? Your lovely bride-to-be is safe inside . . . for now.”
“If she’s been hurt, Atheonian, your blood is mine by rights,” Linden said. According to Epochs of the Hinge Forest, this was the threat given by Prince Wallis before he slew a scoundrel attempting to kidnap his princess.
But Linden doubted whether his loyalty to Lady Tessamine was as pure and noble as that. The prospect of seeing her again filled him with a mix of relief and dread. He knew how furious she was with him. But he did not wish any harm to come to her, even if she was behaving like a vain child.
“You are so quiet, prince.” The Atheonian plucked the tip of a blade of grass and mulled it over with his teeth. “Thinking of what you’ll say to Tess?”
Linden chanced a look over his shoulder. “Tess, is it?”
“What do you call her? Lambie?”
Linden turned back, fists clenching. The tower was not far now. He could make out the pointed silhouette of its spire against the crowded stars. The rest of the ruins were camouflaged under the cloak of night and shadow, but Linden knew they were approaching the former location of Old Glademont Castle. Months of studying antique maps and exploring the forest had at least given him his bearings. He could make out the pointed silhouette of its spire against the stars. He could not help but feel a rush of exhilaration.
The prince closed his eyes a moment to remember. It was page twenty of Continental Architecture Through the Ages. He could see plainly the scratchy rendering by an architect’s hand of the ground plan of the first floor of Old Glademont Castle, drawn with the entrance on the bottom of the page: north on the compass. A stout outer wall envelope
d the castle in a long rectangle. The main entrance was a little to the left, and beyond it a grand foyer framed by columns. To the south were the kitchens and serving halls, and various staircases down to the cellar, armory, and secret rooms. To the far right, a tall tower with no windows.
Linden opened his eyes. They were very near now. “I see no camp. Perhaps your command has abandoned you.”
“Nay, thoughtful prince. My troops love me like a father and fear me like the plague. They simply keep themselves hidden.” He breathed an indulgent draft of air, swatting at the grass tops with Linden’s longbow. “Have you thought about what you will say to your betrothed? This may be a good time to mend any torn sails.”
Linden swallowed uncomfortably. How would the Atheonian know he and Lady Tessamine had quarreled? Perhaps they questioned her. Could she be trusted to keep his letter secret? Or Queen Aideen’s trinket . . . whatever the value of that was.
A heavy sigh escaped the prince’s lips. He glanced at the stars and asked them to protect Nory and Rette. They were probably training men at that very moment. Would Linden ever be able to return to help them?
“Mayhap the lady will not receive you warmly, considering your recent tiff,” the Atheonian prodded.
Linden felt his stomach stiffen. “Watch your tongue, Atheonian. You might miss it one day.” He gritted his teeth. If only he had used his weapon when he had the chance.
“That’s the spirit, my man,” replied the Atheonian.
Linden slowed his pace, trying to observe the landscape. They were almost upon the foundation of the old castle. The tower loomed over them to the right, and a once-magnificent staircase hoisted gloomily upward. Not even the buzz of nocturnal insects echoed off the stones. There was no smell of campfires, nor the sweat of men.
The prince stood stock-still, the realization finally upon him. There were no Atheonian troops hiding among these ruins. In all likelihood, there was no captive lady, either. He had been lured to this secluded place to die.
A disorienting crack rang in the prince’s ears as the back of his head absorbed a heavy blow.
Chapter 15
after freeing herself from the fog of sleep, Tess found herself standing bolt upright on the shore of Ruby Creek. Above her glowed a congregation of stars. They seemed to be straining, intently watching the scene below.
“Bend yer ear,” bellowed the craggy voice again. “Be ye friend or foe?”
The grayish-brown bear who spoke was so large, he could place his front paws on the boulder occupied in her dream by the silhouette and leave his back paws upon the far bank. His weathered, deep-set eyes flickered under thick brows, which grew like the stray boughs of long-forgotten hedges.
“Good sir, I am a friend to you, if you are an enemy to Atheos,” Tess called. She hoped the bear chose to remain in the Hinge after refusing to join the Atheonian army. On the other hand, he might not like humans any more than the Council of the Nest—no matter which land they hailed from.
“That be good. But have ye the proof of yer worth?” the bear said.
“My worth?”
Without a doubt, this was the largest beast Tess had ever seen. He could cross the creek in a bound if he wished. What if she could not prove herself to him?
“What is happening?” Ryon loaded his sling before he was on his feet.
“Good sir,” Tess ventured. “We mean only to cross the creek and journey beyond. We seek an inscription, nothing more.”
After a frightful silence, the shaggy bear sighed deeply. The air shook with the force of it. “Whosoever crosses this here Creek of the Crown and enters the lands of King Wallis and Queen Miriam of Glademont be subject to her laws.” He noisily resupplied his lungs. “King Wallis, whose honesty and strength do brighten our lands. And Queen Miriam, who rescues the weak and nurtures the sorrowful.”
When describing the king, the great bear’s weathered eyes revived, and his back straightened purposefully. And when he spoke of Queen Miriam, his voice lowered just above a whisper.
Tess twisted the pearls around her finger. Had he said King Wallis? As in, the long-dead king of Old Glademont?
“Most admirable . . . er . . . Master Bear,” she stuttered.
“Osiris of Glademont, guardian of the castle and beast of . . .” Osiris faltered for a moment. “Beast of King Wallis.”
“Most honorable Osiris of Glademont, guardian . . . and so forth,” Tess began. It frightened her to think this may be some great ghost or vision from the past. On the other hand, she still had a chance to make an ally of this phantom—if she could keep her head. “I too am from Glademont, and desire to make peace, if you would only tell me how.”
Again, Osiris sighed his trembling sigh and recited:
“Peace is found in faithful trust
of fellow creature
with fellow man.
If trust be earned by thee or me,
then the sacred bond must very near be.
Show me the gift which yer fellow received
when in ye both the fellowship was conceived!”
“Oh dear,” Tess muttered. “I wish Papa were here.”
The night sky seemed to hold its breath as Tess looked frantically from Osiris to the surging waters. She could not think how to answer the riddle. After an uneasy moment, the air trembled again. This time, it was not from a sigh but from a tremendous growl.
“If ye be foe, prepare to cut me down or be cut down yerself,” Osiris bellowed, the growl still emitting from his chest.
“Tess, get back,” Ryon called.
The waters of Ruby Creek foamed and splashed at random as they changed color, like a giant pot of golden boiling water. The bear growled all the louder, and the Hinge Forest echoed with his powerful call.
“No, please,” Tess cried as the shimmering waters crashed against her nightgown.
Losing her footing, Tess fell hard onto her back. Her head hit a root, and her left arm crumpled underneath her. The blow to her head sent black-and-white stars bursting across her vision. Every nerve from her neck to her left hand burned hot like sparked kindling. Through the pain of her fall, Tess tried desperately to reorient herself. She squinted at the night sky. A strong wind blew in the treetops, and Tess was strangely thrust into a memory.
She recalled how the breeze had blown over the pond in the royal gardens, easing her troubled heart. Tynaiv had said it would do her good. Tynaiv, who pretended to understand her.
Reminded of her thoughtless mistake and knowing her life might soon be taken, Tess felt true remorse. There was no excuse for it. She should never have trusted her feelings with a stranger. And she should have put her duty to the queen above her own silly, wounded heart. As her head, arm, and shoulder throbbed unbearably, Tess smiled sadly at how blind and proud she had been. Drops of blood fell into Tess’s eyes and obscured her view of the moon as she remained in the memory of her mistake for one last moment.
Then Tess struggled to stand. She could hear her brother’s muted cries, but they faded to the back of her mind as waves of screaming pain burst down her left side. Tess fought to keep her breath, planted one foot, then another, and straightened her quaking knees. With her right hand, she wiped blood and hair from her face. Her left arm hung burning and useless.
Across the rising waters, Osiris planted all four of his massive legs in the current, his head stretching forward gracefully. His nostrils flared. Golden magic flowed forth, pure and elusive as ever. It meandered through the waters of Ruby Creek, creeping toward Tess’s feet.
As Tess’s eyes locked with those of the great bear, she heard herself say, “I surrender.”
Osiris sent the waters rushing up Tess’s legs, catching her cloak. In the same instant, Tess felt the world slow down and could sense every reed bending to the creek, every strand of Osiris’s fur and every inch of her own skin. It all seemed to sway and m
ove along with her mind—like a familiar dance partner. Tess found herself holding the shenìl in her good hand. It felt warm and friendly. She closed her eyes and calmly awaited the instructions she knew would come.
Rise and walk, whispered the voice.
Without hesitation, Tess lifted her right foot out of her riding boot and over the water that sought to engulf her. Placing her toes onto the churning liquid, Tess carefully trusted her weight on it. Up came the other foot, and something inside told Tess this could be no ordinary step. She thought of the silhouette, dancing in a light ballet. And with one more sweep of her leg, Tess alighted on the surface of Ruby Creek on her tiptoes, shenìl in hand.
Though her eyes were closed, she sensed the waters had quieted themselves as she placed her left foot upon them. She could no longer hear the growl from Osiris, nor Ryon’s desperate cries, only the calm rush of water under her strong feet. Even the pain had dulled enough for her to breathe one full breath. Then the voice came again.
Go to him.
Taking another breath, Tess moved forward. The shenìl seemed to pull her now, gently, while the waters felt cold and tingly under her nimble toes. The object led Tess like a choreographer. She followed, keeping her back straight and her steps light. The shenìl had left her braid for her good hand, and Tess’s black tangles fell around her shoulders. The water made her wisps curl and tickle her cheeks. Then a faint whoosh sounded somewhere near Tess’s hand: the sound of fire.
Although she felt she could be very near to Osiris now, the shenìl did not stop leading, and so Tess kept dancing. That is, until a strong gust of warm breath lifted the curls from her face. Stunned, Tess opened her eyes and discovered she was inches from the gigantic bear’s muzzle. She gasped and found herself sinking back into Ruby Creek. The water felt cold and ordinary again. Her left arm assaulted her with pain so sudden, so sharp, she began to lose her vision. A broad, furry arm scooped Tess out of the water and placed her on the bank, as easily as if she were a fallen leaf.
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