“I was indeed ambushed,” Evening said. “Fortunately, fate intervened and brought me these three rescuers. I have news of Prince Linden, though I doubt you will like it.”
Currant jerked his head to sudden attention.
“Is he alive?”
“Alive when last I saw him—or rather, when last I heard him. But you see we have been traveling. Will you not invite us in? I will tell all if you will lend me a fish or two. Or perhaps an egg?”
“You don’t fool me; I know you’d prefer a chick or a mouse, but a fish is all you’ll get. The meeting has been postponed until tomorrow—I couldn’t get an audience with Father before then.” Currant expanded his chest a few inches. Was it with pride or anxiety?
Then the elk nodded to Ryon and his friends. “As for these three, introductions are in order, I believe.” Currant flicked his tufted tail. “I am Currant of the Birch Herd, and this is our home. Our herd has lived here for centuries, and by design, the Grove is difficult to find. Yet, here you are. I don’t mind, of course, if you are friends of Evening.”
Ryon glanced at Jesse, hoping that he would speak on their behalf. Jesse blinked, but said nothing. Ryon sighed, and an involuntary growl emitted from his stomach.
“Excuse me.” He blushed. “Er . . . I am Master Ryon Canyon of the Dione of Glademont. This is Jesse of Glademont. He goes by ‘The Rushing.’ It’s his legendary title, apparently—”
“The Rushing?” Currant interrupted. “The elders speak of you. Did you really leave the Foggy Plains breeders and live like a wild animal in the Hinge? I’ve heard Father call you ‘a torch of freedom.’ Though, I don’t love how he uses that term. By ‘free’ he really means human hater. The elders will be surprised to see you here . . . and accompanied by a human.” Currant nodded to Ryon, not unkindly.
Jesse snorted and pawed at the ground. “I was young and shortsighted when last I came to the Hinge.”
Ryon half smiled with confusion. How much did he really know about his family’s noble horse? It seemed not much. Leaning on Jesse’s shoulder, he persevered in the introductions. “And this is Profigliano of the Hinge Forest.”
“Profigliano Julius Towhee the Eleventh at your service, oh great elk prince.” Profigliano bowed with much flourishing of wing and tail.
“Well,” the young elk said, “twilight is closing in, Evening demands refreshment, and I am anxious to hear of Linden. I don’t think the elders will mind the unexpected guests. Anyway, they’ll be pleased to meet the Rushing. Follow me.”
Where Currant directed them, Ryon did not see, for after a full day without food or rest, his body surrendered to exhaustion and he collapsed amid the fallen leaves of the Birch Grove.
Chapter 24
ryon woke to the sound of Profigliano twittering in his ear. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. His hands stroked a bed of sweet moss and hay. Overhead gleamed a starry night sky. The branches of the silver birches bent and bowed in a strong wind, and Ryon could hear thunder in the distance. Though the night was cool, his jacket had been laid over him, and he thought how peaceful it was to lie with his head on his satchel, listening to Fig’s sleepy whistles.
As Ryon closed his eyes again, his stomach gurgled. A hollow, sickening feeling crept into his abdomen. He rose and rummaged through his pack. Empty.
Tiptoeing from his elk bed so as not to wake Fig, Ryon slipped between the blueberry bushes into a clearing carpeted with thick, wild grasses. Pausing to don his jacket, Ryon noticed the grass was dotted with large depressions. Curious, he started for one and kicked a fallen branch. The slender head of an elk cow appeared, hovering delicately above the grass. Ryon straightened.
“I’m very sorry, but I was looking for something to eat.”
“If you keep traipsing that way, you will wake the whole herd,” the cow answered. Her voice was reedy and musical, like the frog pipe of a minstrel. She lifted herself onto her legs. Ryon picked his way forward and saw a fawn curled up on the flattened grass next to her.
“This way, Master Ryon.” The cow yawned.
Ryon followed her away from the dreaming herd and back toward the blueberry shrubs. While the cow ambled easily between thorn and branch, Ryon constantly pulled his pant legs from snares and ducked beneath the twiggy arms of the birches. Eventually, Ryon saw Jesse’s outline in the dark. He seemed to be in conversation with someone.
“Forgive me, Rushing, but I found your boy wandering for food.”
“Thank you, Iris.” Jesse’s young-sounding, calm voice made Ryon homesick, even though he had never heard it before that night in the nest.
“Until morning, young master.” Iris’s shining muzzle quivered curiously as she turned away.
“I’m sorry, Jesse,” Ryon said as Iris disappeared into the darkness. “Oh, Sir Currant . . .”
“Just Currant, Master Ryon.” The stag’s ears flapped amiably.
“The fox found pears for you.” Jesse indicated to a small pile at the foot of a birch trunk.
Ryon sat with his back to the trunk and gratefully selected a soft yellow pear. He held the fruit to his nose and breathed in the faint sweetness. Jesse and Currant stared into the night sky. They stood at the edge of a small precipice. The Birch Grove seemed to grow on some sort of plateau—a high point in the southern woods. Before them, the landscape sloped toward the hills west of Redfoot.
“Everything depends on this audience tomorrow,” Currant said to the Rushing. “Father is the most respected of all the elders in the wood. If he rejects our plan, few will join us.”
Jesse snorted softly. “Fighting Atheos is the only way?”
“I cannot allow Linden’s home to be destroyed. I didn’t believe this could happen until the Atheonians came tearing through, not ten leagues from the Grove. I should have paid more attention. I should have started gathering animals before now.”
“But how can you help against a whole army?” said Ryon shyly.
Jesse turned to look at Ryon so that half his long butterscotch face was in shadow. “We must think of what ought to be done before we think of what can be done.”
“But, what about Tess? The only thing we can do is go back to her and help her learn to . . . to defeat Atheos.” He felt he could trust Currant with knowledge of the shenìl, but he was afraid Jesse would think him rash.
“I can not neglect my oath as a bondfellow or as a citizen,” Jesse answered. He stepped to the boy and stamped a hoof inches from Ryon’s legs. Ryon forgot his pear and listened. “It is time you understood that you, too, have been bound by an oath, Master Ryon. When Profigliano swore to help you until death, he became your bondfellow. That is why his powers come when you are in danger. You are bound to each other, just as I am bound to your mother.”
Ryon struggled to reply as he processed what this would mean.
“I’ve heard tell of the oath,” Currant murmured. “But it is hated in the Hinge as captivity, a denial of an animal’s rights.”
“To some it may seem so.”
“Not to me,” Currant said. “And if you are right, and the oath bestows power to the animal, then we may have a better chance than I thought. A friend of mine—a falcon—managed to convince a few animals from the valley to join us. They live with human masters.”
“But . . . but what about Tess? Shouldn’t we go back for her?” Ryon said.
“It will depend”—Jesse turned again to stand beside Currant—“on the outcome of this audience.”
“With Currant’s father?” Ryon said. “What are we hoping he’ll say?”
Jesse shook his mane. The moonlight was beginning to fade, and a chill was setting in.
“I loved the peace of Glademont.” Jesse spoke slowly, deliberately. “These last years were the happiest of any. But, while loving its peace, Glademont grew blind to signs of evil.” Jesse looked over the edge of the plateau. His narro
w ears swiveled against his head. “Peace must be protected. That is why Currant assembled this meeting.”
“I do not know your sister’s plan,” Currant said to Ryon. “But Linden has told me much of Glademont’s history. And it is my belief that, in the last war, so many lives were lost not because of the strength of Atheos but because the animals refused to come to Glademont’s aid.”
Jesse lowered himself, tucking his creamy limbs beneath him. “May the skies grant me silence again, when this is all over. To bed, Master Ryon.”
Ryon returned to his elk bed and curled up under his jacket, lying awake for some time. He thought of his family, trapped in the castle, worrying over him and Tess. He thought of Jesse, proud and wise, and forced to be away from Matilde in order to look after her children. But mostly Ryon thought of Fig. Watching the bird’s soft belly expand and deflate in his makeshift nest near the boy’s bed, Ryon wondered what he had done to deserve such a loyal friend.
Chapter 25
In the early evening, with Tynaiv safely stowed in the tower cell, Tess and her companions settled wearily around a fire. A stiff awkwardness had settled between Tess and Linden. She handed him a flask of water and could feel him studying her face. He swallowed and leaned back against a fallen column.
“I surrendered to that man,” he said in a hushed voice, “because he told me he had you imprisoned here.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Wyndeling and I overheard.” Tess concentrated on rearranging her satchel, adding provisions from Tynaiv’s camp. “I thank you for your concern.”
“You are . . . most welcome.” Linden swallowed another mouthful of water. “It was my duty to be concerned.”
“Your duty, Your Highness?” Tess cringed. Was he so determined to hurt her, even now? “I am not aware of any duty you are obliged to show me.”
“Lady Tessamine . . .” Linden forced himself to sit upright. He glanced at Osiris, who was making no effort to hide his curiosity. “My lady, I feel it also my duty to thank you for coming to my aid. You and your friends.”
“Of course.” Tess set down the flask, allowing her braid to hide her face. Was it so difficult for him to say anything from the heart?
“Tell me of your errand, here.” Linden reached for his boots, which Wyndeling had recovered.
“It has to do with the shenìl,” Tess answered hotly. “Something you do not consider vital to our crisis.”
“Perhaps I did not. But if you have a plan to rescue Glademont, then I beg you to tell me what it is.” He said this with trembling brows, his hands forgetting his boot buckle. For a moment, Tess was tempted to think him sincere, as though he cared what she said next. Then she saw his ridiculous leather militia vest, and all the sting of the wedding festival came rushing back.
“It is not my place to refuse the crown prince of Glademont.” She stood and brushed the leaves from her cloak. Linden opened his mouth, closed it, and bowed his head.
“Then I am indebted to you.”
Tess’s chest fluttered. The hurt between them kept expanding and deflating, like wind in sails. She didn’t like it. Hating him was easier.
“We seek the place called the Thane’s Hold,” she said. “You remember Queen Aideen naming it? A location designated for magical training.” He nodded.
“No such place ’round here, by my paw,” Osiris said with a low rumble.
“You’ve never heard of the Thane’s Hold?” Tess’s eyebrows worked together.
“The first I ever be hearing of it. And I be an old bear.”
“What of the inscription over the cell door?” Wyndeling said. “It was there, just as I said it would be. And the shenìl specifically instructed me—”
“Then, you weren’t looking for me?” Linden looked from creature to creature, his lips parted with confusion.
“No,” Tess answered. “Perhaps the shenìl meant us to rescue you.”
“But, bear in mind, my lady, it was I who wished to be of service to you. . . .” Linden dusted off his cloak, perhaps with more fervor than he intended.
Wyndeling hooted irritably. “We must take another look at that cell. Perhaps if you stand in it, the shenìl will speak to us again.”
“By the skies, the shenìl.” Linden searched his trousers. “I found an old letter in that cell that actually mentioned it. I could hardly wrap my mind around the thing before I was . . . eh, liberated. Here.” He handed the parchment to Tess.
The old letter’s gray, ugly illustrations and chilling words gave Tess goose bumps. She imagined its author writing the threats on a night like that night, with dead leaves falling in the cold winds of a darkening forest.
“A mother’s bones bleached in the Dorian sun?” She grimaced. “What sort of person wrote this?”
“Aha.” Wyndeling flew to Tess’s shoulder. “I’d wager a sturdy nest to a seed the shenìl wanted us to find this—and rescue His Highness, of course. I dare say it’s a good thing I have such a keen memory.”
Linden traced circles over his knee and stared into the fire. “But what is the connection with the Thane’s Hold? And how can any of this save our people?”
“There really be a new Glademont, aye, little gem?” Osiris seemed deep in thought.
“And it is days, maybe hours, away from ruin,” Tess added, rubbing her aching neck.
Osiris’s glistening eyes roamed around the Ruins. Tess tried to imagine Glademont as it was, to see what Osiris remembered. She followed his gaze to the topless columns, the weed-strewn foundation, the charred northern wall.
“Tell us of the Forest War, Osiris,” Tess said. “You were there, weren’t you?”
Linden’s eyes widened. “Surely not. The Forest War was—”
“Two hundred and fourteen years ago t’ the week. Two hundred and twenty-three since I pledged the oath to King Wallis.”
Linden gaped, which Tess observed with a degree of pleasure. Perhaps he didn’t know as much about Glademont as he thought.
“Go on.” She smiled.
“It began with Queen Miriam’s invisible magic, I’ll wager,” Osiris began. “The red magic of the enemy never entered these woods until Her Majesty were using her own magic. I ain’t blaming her, but that’s when the trouble started. Soon enough, we were trying to keep that scarlet poison out of the kingdom. But a scheming man in court started using it. That be the man in yon cell for nigh many weeks, even after the war were done with. He brought ruin to us all. He shared his knowledge of the evil magic to the tribes of Atheos, leading them right to the castle. Right on that there field, they came. Burning and killing.” Osiris’s shaggy features hardened with grief. “’Twere fire took my king as he charged the monsters.”
Tess’s heart ached. She thought of her parents in their burning home, the Atheonians jeering at them.
“What of the traitor? He died in the cell?” Linden almost whispered, his awe unabated.
“I ain’t proud of this. I did me best to guard yon scoundrel. But one day, I were coming to look in on him, and he had disappeared. No trace of him, only a woman I never seen. She was from a southern continent, with skin like clay, same as the traitor’s. But she weren’t no twisted courtier. She were glowing like a jewel.” He grumbled at the memory. “She said, ‘The man be flown, but your duties be not done for a little while yet.’ By the skies, ’tis been a little while, aye?”
“How mysterious.” Tess pulled her cloak around her goose-bumped arms. “Who do you think she was? Did she use magic, like the queen?”
“Hmm.” Osiris nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised. She were disappearin’ quick as she came.”
Linden shook his head, still agog. “Now, wait.” He waved an arm for attention. “You say it was not just the Atheonians who were using magic during the Forest War, as we were taught? In fact, you claim it was the queen of Glademont who first took up enchantments. Is that right?”
>
“Aye,” the bear replied.
Linden looked to Tess. “You realize what that might mean, don’t you, Lady Tess?”
She straightened. “Osiris, what kind of magic did Miriam use? Was it golden, as the bondfellows use?”
“Nay,” Osiris said. “Golden magic she were teachin’ to some in the palace, when we were hearin’ about Atheonians comin’ for us. But it were too late then. The trap be laid already.”
“What kind of magic did she use, then? Was it like mine? Was it marked by fire?”
“No, indeed. She were human, born of human parents.” The great bear scratched an ear with concentration. “Her Majesty were doin’ her best with her enchantments, but she said ’twould take practice. She said ’twould be a long road, learning the magic of a dryad. Never did make fire, like you, young one.” He leaned back on his haunches, clearly proud of this insider’s knowledge.
Tess stared at her new friend, lounging large as a carriage between ancient columns.
“Osiris?” she said. “Are you saying there really are such things as gem dryads? Born out of wildfires, like Fyrian of Dorian? From the ballet?”
“Oh, ho ho,” Osiris chortled. “’Tis a strange thing for a dryad to be asking about dryads.” He shook his messy head as Tess eyed him sternly. “All right, young one. I never seen a gem dryad, but Queen Miriam were knowing a thing or two ’bout them.” His warm breath blew audibly from his wet muzzle. “The gem dryads be comin’ from deep under the earth. They be born from the ashes of a burnin’, ancient tree. When royal tears fall on the ashes, they say, baby dryads pop up from the earth.”
“Even if that were true,” Tess said, “I couldn’t be one. I have a human mother and father.”
“Ah!” Osiris grumbled. “But that fire magic you be brewin’ be the mark of a gem, no mistake. And yer enchantments be much stronger than any Her Majesty were making.”
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