Tynaiv retreated, knocking over the barrel in the corner. It rolled against Linden’s prostrate body. Tynaiv returned his pipe to his lips and let out a puff of air with mock surprise. “Your Highness, your conduct does not befit a gentleman.” He retrieved the cell key from a fold in his sash. “Now I shall be forced to leave you here another day, to be sure there will be no more surprises. In the meantime, consider my offer: tell me what you know, and you shall go free.”
The metal door shrieked open and clanged shut, and Linden was left alone again.
Linden rolled to his back, cursing the Atheonian spy and cursing his own weary body. Another day without water or food and he would hardly know himself. Then how would he best his captor? But to accept the man’s offer would only bring him more disgrace. Though there was nothing to his mother’s fevered ramblings, Atheos would surely execute Lady Tessamine if they knew of the legend. No, he could not have such a death on his conscience, nor would the queen ever forgive him. His only choice was to lie and hope to be believed. In the meantime, he would have to conserve his energy.
The prince’s pounding head demanded he return to his bench. But as he sat up, he took notice of a yellowing, thick parchment just inside the barrel beside him. Linden reached for it and unrolled it—an old letter written in an awkward, inky cedarscript. The hand-drawn branches that bordered the words were twisted and smudged, and a solitary mountain jutted over the heading.
Sister Ember,
I do avow, by a mother’s bones bleached in the Dorian sun,
I shall obtain the shenìl, no matter your designs.
And you shall witness its destruction.
—P.
“By Luna,” Linden said aloud. “What darkness is this?”
He was startled by the sound of shuffling leaves outside.
“Your Highness?” said a young woman from above.
Looking up, he saw the freckled forehead and black hair of Lady Tessamine Canyon.
Chapter 19
Tess watched as Ryon and Jesse disappeared into the forest. She had never seen Ryon that determined to do anything. Before that moment, Tess realized she had not paused to consider Ryon’s feelings. Only twelve years old, and already so many terrifying dangers loomed over him. A pang of guilt struck her, and she mouthed a petition to Irgo, the mother star, to keep him safe.
“Before we go,” Osiris said, “I just need to set the door lever, madame gem.”
Tess tore her gaze from the empty trees and saw the bear rummaging around a pile of stones overgrown with ferns. Wyndeling and Tess glanced at each other dubiously. Tess was beginning to see Wyndeling’s point about Osiris’s eccentricity. The bear nudged a few more stones until there was an audible click behind the door.
Wyndeling shook her head. “Stones and doors and levers?”
“Yer ideas of what a creature be and what a creature be not?” Osiris said. “‘Ha,’ I say to that, little one. Ye be a young and forgetful lot.”
Tess shouldered her ruby satchel. “No bickering, Wyndeling. Let’s make for the Ruins.”
Osiris snuffled and tapped his nose. “A fine day it be, don’t it? And a nice walk through the meadows will do us good.”
He lumbered a few paces to the left of his front door where the hill sloped to meet the lower level. He leapt onto the hill and cheerily sauntered over Den Five, disappearing behind the hill. Tess scrambled to follow her friend. Wyndeling groaned and took to the sky.
When Tess finally was atop the hill, she paused to catch her breath and blinked in the bright sunlight that she had only seen in dapples since entering the forest. Osiris’s swaying back could just be made out above the tall golden grass of an enormous meadow, which stretched along small hills and under fallen tree trunks from the bordering woods. Sweet, dancing blades tickled Tess’s elbows, reminding her of the yellow grass that grew behind Canyon Manor to the edge of Innkeeper Cliffs. A sad longing suddenly overtook her, and she glanced over her shoulder.
“Madame gem be thinking of her home?” Osiris called. “Even wild animals feel something toward their homes. Though, what, I don’t know.”
It occurred to Tess that this was the first moment she had been alone with the bear since they first met. There was so much that puzzled her about him, and without Wyndeling to provoke him . . . Tess hurried to catch up. “Osiris, I’ve been wondering about something you said today. About the difference in animals.” She glanced at the sky to make sure Wyndeling was beyond earshot.
“Mm-hmm.”
“You called yourself a ‘bondfellow.’ Are those the sort of animals who behave more like humans?”
“More like humans, y’say?” Osiris growled.
“Forgive me. I only meant that you and Jesse seem more civilized than wild animals.”
“Be that a human trait? There be wild humans, same as animals. Bondfellows be civilized, ’tis true. What does civilized mean? When a creature’s home be a sacred thing, an’ when creatures be relying on one another to protect and nurture the home.”
A lump lodged in Tess’s throat. “My home was set afire by Atheonians.”
“Young one”—Osiris paused to look at Tess—“be that the only home ye have?” He thumped a paw upon his furry chest and winked at her. “The first and last fortress for thee to protect: it be the home within.”
They walked in silence for a time, until Tess could form her next question.
“Do you remember, when we first met, you said you were the beast of King Wallis? Jesse said something similar, when he introduced himself to the Council of the Nest. He said he was the beast of my mother.”
“King Wallis died on this very meadow, though it weren’t no mere meadow in those days.” Osiris spoke with difficulty, squinting into the sky as if for assistance. Tess wondered what the bear could mean. Perhaps there were other King Wallises in Glademont’s history, other than the famed last reigning king of the Forest War. He had died centuries before. But then, what was Osiris’s king doing in the forest? Or was it all in the bear’s foggy imagination? He certainly seemed sane in that moment, sad and silent at Tess’s side.
“I’m sorry.” Tess laid a hand on the bear’s shoulder. “Do you miss him?”
“Even after so long, I still get the wind knocked from me, remembering he never be walking alongside me again. The bond be a strong thing, ’tis true.”
“What is the bond, exactly?”
“When creatures make a sacred promise to a fellow—a human, I be meaning—they get themselves a witness and they make the vow. That’s how come yers truly be using such magic up in yon creek, madame gem. It be in the service of the king.”
“Even though he died?”
Osiris paused again. This time he sat heavily, sending a handful of butterflies fleeing to the sky.
“That be the question I been thinking on these lonely years. I wonder about my duty, now my king be gone and buried. But here lies the fact: I be alive yet, though my fellow be fallen. If I live still, without the oath to another fellow to keep me living, then my oath to Wallis be yet unfinished. ’Tis the only way of it.”
“Osiris . . . how old are you?”
A rumbling chuckle vibrated from his chest.
“I be two hundred and forty-three now. The oldest creature I know, who be mortal.”
Tess shook her head in disbelief. “But how? Because of the oath?”
“Aye, young one. An animal gets the gift of golden magic and long life so long as he be bonded to a fellow. ’Tis all for the service of the fellowship, mind thee. If a creature be thinking his power be for anything else, that’s when the red magic lures him. Happens more oft to men and rarely to beast.” Osiris drew a deep breath, then parted the grass with his exhale. “But the gifts still be with me. I be living still, and I be protecting the border still. If the oath expired, why be I not expired with it?”
“Ho
w bleak,” Tess said. “To be waiting all these years for a danger that may never come? Doesn’t it drive you mad?”
“Mad? Ha ha. Ye sound like yon little owl, little gem. They don’t see the sense in it, while they be dying in a decade and have nothing to show for it. Ye never be knowing happiness till yer life be lived for another.” Osiris sniffed and pawed an eye as he rose again. “No. There have been many questions in my life these long years, but never were I wishing to be wild.”
Tess wanted to curse at the sun that gave her friend no answers. How lost and hopeless he must have felt, living on and on in a world that had forgotten him. Slipping her arm around Osiris’s neck, Tess felt him lower his shoulders. Tears fell as she hoisted herself upon his soft back. She buried her wet face in his gray fur and clung to his neck like a weary child as he lumbered on toward the Ruins.
Tess had drifted into a light sleep astride Osiris, letting the sunlight warm her aching shoulders. But her rest was cut short as Wyndeling sailed into view and cried out, “My lady!” The owl landed in the tall grass at Osiris’s paws. Tess lifted her heavy head. “My lady, there is an Atheonian man camping in the Ruins.”
Sitting up, Tess felt for the shenìl in her braid. It was still there.
“Aye.” Osiris shook his gigantic head with distaste. “The little owl be right.” He sniffed. “I know this man. I tracked him yesterday. Sea salt and tobacco be his scent.”
Tess’s heart skipped a beat, and she was pulled back to that night in the royal gardens. She could almost feel Tynaiv’s breath on her skin.
“What should we do?” she said.
Osiris snuffled the air while Tess dismounted and Wyndeling alighted on the upturned branch of a fallen tree.
“Having himself a nice bit of cheese and a pipe, I wager. If Her Majesty were here now, she’d be putting Rosemary on that rat.”
“All right, let’s keep our heads,” Tess said, more to herself than to the others. “If he is alone, I’m sure he can be easily handled with your magic, Osiris. But if he is not alone, we might be putting ourselves in more danger than we can handle.”
“I saw no one but the Atheonian,” Wyndeling said, a touch of hurt in her voice.
“Nothing to do but take a closer look.” Osiris charged forward.
While Osiris had no trouble blending in with the tall grasses, Tess decided to remove her vivid green cloak, hoping her cream nightgown would help camouflage her. Although Wyndeling vehemently declared she could never be spotted in the sky, Tess insisted the owl ride in her satchel.
It was slow going through the last stretch of the meadow, especially for Tess. Every time her satchel bumped against her side, Wyndeling would nip her leg. Still, she concentrated to keep her wits about her for her next meeting with Tynaiv.
The grass grew thinner as they neared the bleached steep stairs, which skirted the Ruins like a temple’s entrance. Osiris changed their course, and they took cover on the western corner of the structure, climbing the stairs where they met the foundation under a mammoth twisting pine. Tess peered over a weighty branch full of pine cones and tried to imagine herself in that spot two hundred years before.
Elaborate columns soared as tall as the trees in rows across the length of the ruins of Old Glademont Castle. Many archways still stood as well, with writings and symbols scrolling along the frames. A tower jutted from the westernmost corner closest to Tess, its roof still intact. The forward-facing walls of the castle were all but rubble, and some of their granite wore black char. But the rear walls remained untouched, clothed in vines and creeping brush. Tess would have observed a hushed reverence in that place if she were not bracing for an unpleasant encounter.
They paused against the foundation just before the stairs ran out. Osiris sniffed the air.
“There be another man . . . smelling of elk and leather.”
“Only one other man?” Tess whispered.
“One other.”
“Well, that’s welcome news.” Tess allowed herself a sigh and placed her satchel on the ground. Wyndeling hopped out as gracefully as she could. “But where did the Atheonian go?” Tess whispered. She placed her fingers on the top of the foundation and rose to her tiptoes. Her eyes were just level with the floor of the old castle.
Just beyond the charred rubble, under one of the narrower archways, lay a smoldering pipe upon a slab of granite. Beside it, a worn sack slumped by the remains of a campfire. Tess glanced around frantically, expecting Tynaiv to appear behind every dilapidated column.
“My lady,” Wyndeling said, “the inscription I observed is located in a barred room in this tower. Shall I show you?”
“I think you had better.”
“I’ll be keeping watch for yon briny soldier. Ye be careful, little gem. Keep yer trinket close at hand.” Osiris stared hard at Tess.
“I’ll be careful.” Tess draped her cloak around her shoulders. She climbed the remainder of the stairs behind Wyndeling. Now fairly in the open, Tess kept low while the owl hopped along the western edge of the ruins toward the tower. A few paces from its circular wall, Wyndeling stopped and nestled into some brush that had grown against a column. Tess crouched behind, listening. It wasn’t long before she heard voices. Wyndeling’s head swiveled for a sign of confirmation from Tess, then they moved slowly, carefully choosing the ground before them so as to avoid brittle sticks and dry leaves.
Cut from the northern side of the tower and sitting half-buried in the ground was a small barred window. Wyndeling glided over a patch of open ground and flattened herself against the tower wall. Tess followed suit with less finesse. From this position, they again heard the voices through the barred window.
“If you wish to be released, Your Highness, I suggest you answer the following questions truthfully.”
Tess immediately recognized that inviting voice. Tynaiv was inside the tower. Tess almost spun her engagement band off of her finger as she listened.
“As though truth were your trade.”
At the sound of this second voice, Tess’s heart nearly leapt into her mouth.
Chapter 20
I say we snap his neck, ’Tenant. We been at this all morning, and he don’t know nothing.”
“I will take your suggestion under advisement, Root. Although I should mention I’d sooner snap your neck than that of this bird.” Pilt wiped his face with a kerchief.
Profigliano lay helpless against a large stone, his wings pinned to his sides by a twisted river reed.
“Perhaps you think me a dishonest man, towhee.” Pilt regarded his prisoner. “And that may be true at times.” He grinned. “But when it comes to threats, I am ever so honest.”
A burlap bundle convulsed to Profigliano’s right.
“I am a believing kind of birdie, chappy,” Profigliano said. “If you say there’s a hungry fox in that mystery bag, then by my beak, there is.”
“He has not eaten in over a day.” Pilt bent over the bundle, brandishing a knife. “And I’m interested to know whether he might like a sniff of you.”
Pilt slit one of the ropes that bound the sack, and from the loosened bundle, the black muzzle and glimmering teeth of a fox shoved itself in Profigliano’s direction. The rest of the fox’s head could not squeeze its way out, but Pilt held the sack just close enough for the fox to taste Profigliano’s tail with his tongue.
“Hey now, ho now,” the frightened bird cried. “This is not what we call a fair fight!”
“Where is the girl?”
“I’m no tattletale.” Profigliano tried to rock out of reach. “And you thug bugs can shove off a cliff—yaaah!” Now inside the fox’s mouth, the towhee squirmed desperately while the fox strained to chew.
“Spit him out!” Pilt dealt a swift kick to the bundle, which howled and released the bird.
Facing his small squad, Pilt stowed his knife in a holster attached to his forearm.
“Gentlemen,” he called brightly, “a word?”
“Yes, sir, ’Tenant Pilt,” answered the men (Root’s reply being more enthusiastic than Grift’s). They moved a few yards away, toward the shore of Ruby Creek. Pilt wiped his face with the kerchief.
“If there is anyone who knows the ins and outs of Glademont Castle, men, it is Tessamine Canyon. The little lamb was chosen to be the queen’s successor and has been snuggling up to lords, ladies, dignitaries, and the like ever since. She is a flighty idiot, if the gossips are right . . . therefore, easy to break.”
Root squinted with concentration at his superior. Grift fingered his own knife, the possibilities having dawned on him.
“If we wind up at Glademont with that girl, we’ll be set for life,” Grift said.
“Precisely.” Pilt brightened. “Grift, your tracking skills are above average.”
“Erm.”
“Indeed. I propose that we keep the towhee for the rest of the day, then feign defeat. We’ll release him come twilight, and track him through the night. I’ll bet you ten to one that little codfish will lead us straight to the would-be princess. What say you?”
“Trackin’ in the night, Lieutenant?” inquired Grift.
Pilt raised an eyebrow.
Grift hesitated. “It’s just that we ain’t been sleepin’ lately, sir. And trackin’ at night’s trickier than trackin’ in the day’s all I’m sayin’.”
“It’s the best way to slow the bird down,” Pilt replied. “And if you even think about losing sight of it, I’ll empty your eye sockets.” After a short sigh, Pilt smiled cheerfully. “Are we in agreement?”
Two long hours passed. Pilt’s orders were to keep Profigliano from falling asleep. Of course, this meant Grift and Root had to decide who would keep watch. Grift won out in the end, citing that he had already done his duty by capturing the creature in the first place.
Sulkily, Root took up his post and hung Profigliano from a low branch so that he would be at eye level. Pilt filled his notebook with the daily report, and Grift curled up in the shade to nap. Eventually, the cool breeze and the warm midday sunshine overtook Pilt as well, and Root was left to fight drowsiness alone. His struggle was far from heroic, however, due to Profigliano’s moaning. He lifted a grubby hand and whacked the captured towhee, sending him awhirl.
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