“It is this very debate over the human-beast bond that has put Glademont into such peril, my friends.” Currant paced in the center of the cotton moss. “To say wild animals are free from servitude is to say the fallen tree is free from its roots. Man and animal were meant to defend and support one another. And look now how the neglect of our duties has put Glademont into the mountain lion’s mouth.”
The elders shifted nervously.
“The reason we have come to you, Oak Elder,” Currant continued, “is not because we are undecided in this matter. We desire only your blessing.”
Currant’s father flicked his tail. “I wonder, is this decision worthy of a prince of the herd?” The bull stepped forward, his muscular chest heaving.
“We are the Friends of the Militia,” Currant replied. “And we will gather what creatures will follow and go to war in defense of Glademont. We hope to honor ourselves and our clans through our service to men once again.” Currant bowed to his father, who towered on his ancient, natural throne.
The plump cow, Dove, stepped gingerly between her son and his father. She looked upon the Oak Elder with a pleading eye.
“This matter cannot be dismissed lightly. You know Currant is a worthy, sure-footed elk. He has always served the herd with strength and skill.” The Oak Elder did not move. “I believe Currant called these creatures together to honor a friendship. Our Currant and the prince of Glademont have come to understand each other.”
“Mother, how on the continent did you—”
“Your movements are far from invisible to me, son,” said Dove.
Currant chuckled and dipped his antlers toward his mother. “It is true,” he said. “He knew nothing of the creatures of the Hinge, as I knew nothing of the Glademontians. But we have taught each other, and we have become as close as any animal can be to his own kind. But now there are rumors he has been taken captive. Meanwhile, Nabal himself and hundreds of men are camped outside the castle gates. Glademont has few weapons, no trained army save the few who support the prince.”
“I can tell you this much,” Thorestook the duck broke in, “those Atheonians have weapons. Murdered our ducklings, they did.” As her mate spoke, Cheekathistle lowered her brown-gray head. Thorestook’s voice shook. “Almost full-grown, they were. Five young ones. When we found them . . . it was too late.” Cheekathistle buried her bill behind Thorestook’s wing.
“These Atheonians must be stopped,” Shila said. “They will surely burn through the rest of the valley the same way they burned through Redfoot. And if the Atheonians take the castle, no Glademontian will be safe.”
“You valley folk are not the only ones with reason to fear,” added Thorestook grimly. “If Glademont falls, the Atheonians will scour the Hinge for every last creature, making them swear allegiance to Nabal or killing them in cold blood.”
Ryon’s heart dropped. If Glademont fell, there would be nowhere to hide. He joined the rest of the animals in an anxious silence. The Oak Elder descended from his carpeted stump to meet the level gaze of Currant.
“I fear the elders must make a choice that cannot be undone,” he said. “I must turn to one who has known both the wild of the Hinge and the confines of human civilization. Rushing, what say you?”
Next to Ryon, Jesse flung his creamy mane, his head rising and pitching. “In my youth,” he said, “I sought freedom in these woods. Since then, I have learned the fellowship is the only thing worth living for. So, too, it is the only thing worth dying for. As for the Rushing, he goes to war.”
The bull looked to the female elders. They stared tensely, uncertainly. But the Oak Elder pronounced, “So be it. The Friends of the Militia shall go to battle. And any animal of the Hinge who so chooses may freely join with this effort, with the blessings of the Birch Grove upon him.”
Ryon closed his eyes and said a prayer to the red star. Let this be the way, he prayed. Let us rescue our land from death.
Chapter 29
Tess stepped into a cold, dark room about the size of a parlor. Toward the back, a simple kitchen reminded her of a butler’s pantry she saw at Glademont Castle once, with dried and fresh fruits and vegetables neatly organized, and two deep consoles for preparing meals. To her right, flush to the wall, stood a thick tabletop balanced on a pedestal of stone. To her left, a cluster of upholstered chairs faced a sizable fireplace.
Osiris made a show of shivering. “Nothing worse than comin’ home to a frigid state o’ affairs. Quickly, madame gem.”
Tess found her way to the firewood beside the hearth.
“Honestly, Osiris. A fire indoors?” Wyndeling lamented. “Have you no wild instinct left?”
“Ye never cease to amaze, little owl.” The bear snorted good-naturedly and pricked his round ears forward. “Every home be needing a hearth. Ain’t that so, little gem?”
“Oh, indeed,” Tess said, still crouching by the fire.
The bear nodded and went about his duties as host. “Besides that, there be a library o’ sorts in Den Five, as well there should be. Wouldn’t be wanting the old scrolls destroyed by the wind and damp.” He pulled potatoes and leeks from various baskets, which occupied the shelves along the far wall. “For the love of stars,” he said, “take ye a chair, young folk.”
Tess and Linden moved to the four large reading chairs covered in worn fabric. Several pillows occupied each, with scrolls strewn between the cushions.
Smiling, Tess plopped into a red rounded chair stocked with yellow pillows. Linden placed his weapons against the mantel and lowered himself into a tall-backed leather chair to her right. The fire caught Tess’s well-placed kindling and expanded, tickling her nose with the familiar, soothing aroma of burning spruce.
Now that the fire had cast light upon it, Tess thought the den smaller than one might assume. The ceiling just touched Osiris’s ears as he reached for a basket of radishes. Large sturdy shelves lined the dirt-packed wall to the right of the hearth, each full of root vegetables. Opposite these, the pedestaled table supported oversized cast-iron pans.
Linden was already engrossed in a scroll by the fire when another bolt of lightning beamed through a small round window where the ceiling met the pantry shelves. Tess frowned.
“Do you think Ryon has found Profigliano?”
“What’s happened to Ryon?” Linden glanced up.
“That boy be right as rain,” Osiris said. “Yon yellow horse be sharp as a thorn.” Osiris’s furry sides brushed Tess’s face as he shoved his body between the chairs to set an enormous pot upon the fire, filled with fragrant herbs.
Linden dropped his scroll and winced as he remembered the gash on his palm. “What is all this about? Who is Profigliano?”
Tired as she was, Tess rose from her chair to boil a cup of water with vinegar. While she busied herself dressing Linden’s wounds properly, she described everything that had happened to her, from Pider’s attack until Osiris had taken her to the Ruins.
Linden listened with deep concentration, while Osiris tended to his soup and Wyndeling roosted on the back of a chair. Every so often, the prince would stop Tess to ask her to recount the Council of the Nest in further detail, or to describe the mysterious power of the shenìl. The more she talked, the farther he leaned toward her in his chair, rubbing his knee. She reminded herself his concern was not for her, but for the fate of Glademont. Still, it was a pleasant change to be listened to.
Linden shook his head. “It’s a wonder either of us has made it this far.”
“Possibly,” Tess said. “But had we stayed home . . .”
They both fell silent.
“It is good you have come to the Hinge, my lady,” Wyndeling said softly. “Think of how miraculously you healed me with that trinket. I believe there will come an hour when I will see you wield it against the Atheonians. Against Pider.” Wyndeling’s intense eyes reflected the firelight.
“Ye keep that up, little owl, and ye’ll be finding yerself taking the oath.” Osiris stooped over his pot and prodded a turnip with a gigantic wooden spoon.
When finally Tess held a warm bowl in her lap, she let her shoulders droop and savored her first mouthful of potatoes in what seemed like an age. She chanced a glance at Linden, who resorted to drinking straight from the bowl since his left fingers were bound stiff. Even injured, dirty, and exhausted, the prince looked regal. He sat at the edge of his chair, careful not to spill his dinner. Though he leaned on his knee, his back remained straight and strong.
The sight of him made Tess realize what a perfect stranger he was when they became engaged, and each revelation since then had brought new feelings. First she was grateful to him for choosing her, then she chastised him for neglecting her, then she cursed him for embarrassing her. Never before had she been sad that he did not love her. But sitting by the fire in Den Five, watching Prince Linden quietly drinking soup, Tess felt something new. A pulling sensation below her ribs told her there could be something wonderful about being loved by this man, but that she would never know it herself. He would never let her into his inner circle. His trust used to be something she felt entitled to. Now it was something she wished for.
“To bed, now, young ones,” came Osiris’s gentle rumble.
Linden laid his bowl down and rose from his chair, bowing to Tess. “Sleep well, my lady” was all he said. Tess nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. Certainly, he was easier around her than he was before, but not warm. Never warm.
Tess bade good night to Wyndeling as the owl nestled in a hanging basket, and Osiris escorted Tess through a rounded door to the left of the hearth. It led to a narrow unlit hall and a thick curtain to the right.
“Now, gem,” Osiris said as he lumbered past her into the darkness, “there be the guest room. Sleep well.”
Through the curtain in the hall, Tess found a spacious room with a wooden chair, a small writing desk, two candles, and a woven grass rug. Surely, she was the first human guest in Den Five. And yet, Osiris had built a guest room all the same. Not for the first time that day, Tess felt her eyes burn for Osiris’s lonely life, and for the friendships that were torn from him so long ago. She wondered if she would ever be brave enough to persevere in her promises for decades—even centuries. And did she want to be that brave?
The floor refreshed Tess’s bare feet with the smooth coolness of clean soil. She searched for a place to sleep, and instead found a series of ascending limestone slabs, protruding from the far wall. Curious, Tess climbed the slabs and found near the ceiling of the room a cozy nook. She crawled in on her stomach. Soft light covered her face from a circular window, sealed with green glass. Just the other side of the window, ferns and fallen leaves rustled on the forest floor. Tess ventured to sit up, and found, at the other end of the nook, a large folded quilt.
There may never have been a night when Tess felt so exhausted or so unsure of her future. And while the storm grumbled harmlessly through the little green window by Tess’s head, she slipped into sleep, dreaming vaguely of dryads and queens.
Tess did not wake the next morning until three hours past sunrise. The sun penetrated her loft window, and she listened a moment to the swirling of leaves. She wrapped her quilt about her and scrambled down the perilous stairs in her bare feet.
In the main room of Den Five, Linden sat holding a bowl heaped with steaming oats, his hair awry. He bolted up to greet her, excitement in his eye, but an excitement she was sure she had not caused simply by walking in the room. Tess smiled bashfully and shuffled to the fire, upon which half a dozen roasted apples sizzled. Osiris busied himself about the pantry and table.
“Morning, madame gem. Won’t be asking whether ye slept all right, as it be well into midmorning by now. Get a bowl and help yerself. Oh, ye’ll be wanting a spoon. Now, where be the other spoon?”
Tess chose the smooth silvery chair beside Prince Linden, determined to speak with him about their next move. The mystery of Ryon’s whereabouts was weighing heavy on her, and she could not concentrate on seeking the Thane’s Hold until her brother was safe again. Tess was impatient to broach the subject, even as she helped herself to oats and apples.
“Your Highness, I’d like to—”
“Wait,” Linden broke in. He swallowed and set his bowl by the hearth. “I want to tell you something. I didn’t sleep much last night.”
Tess felt her face flush. Perhaps, after a night of reflection, he realized he had not properly thanked her for rescuing him, or—more important—that he had not apologized for breaking their engagement. She let her spoon drop into her bowl and told herself to be gentle.
“I could not sit here, sleeping,” Linden said, “with all these ancient scrolls around. I was thinking about the letter I found in the cell, and ‘Sister Ember’ who is threatened in it. Perhaps, I thought, there will be something about her, or even the shenìl among these writings. So I stayed up half the night, reading.”
Tess took a mouthful of oats and scolded herself while Linden rummaged through a pile of ancient scrolls. When would she learn?
“Well, it was all extremely interesting,” he began. “These are much older than the ones we have at the castle. But I didn’t find anything really useful until I came across this.” He held up a small, tightly wound parchment.
“This is the personal log of one of Queen Miriam’s attendants. An ordinary sort of woman, from what I can tell. But she gives a daily account of the queen’s movements. And it’s this day that caught my attention.” He unraveled the scroll and ran a finger down it.
“She says that the queen went into the forest in search of a place called Crescent Cave, which was under a waterfall that poured into Crescent Lake, it seems. There were rumors of a mysterious woman who lived there, and the queen took a few attendants as well as the lynx, Rosemary, to the cave to see whether the rumors were true, for some claimed the woman knew evil magic. It’s interesting for many reasons.”
Linden pulled his chair closer to Tess’s, and rested his bandaged hand on the arm of her chair. His fingers hovered over her knee. She held her breath, careful not to brush against him, yet wishing he would reach for her.
“First, I discovered that humans had forgotten how to use golden magic until this point. Only animals knew how, if they were bondfellows, and the Atheonians had dabbled in red magic for years. You remember what Osiris said? He said Queen Miriam was teaching golden magic to her subjects. But where did she learn it from? Well, according to this scroll, Queen Miriam had never cast an enchantment before this day”—he jabbed a finger at the parchment—“when Miriam and her attendants went to Crescent Cave.”
Tess could not help but be fascinated. She leaned forward, and her knee touched the prince’s fingers. He left his hand. “Does the attendant say what happened at the cave?” she said. “Did they find the lady?”
Linden grinned and slid another inch toward her. “The queen went into the cave with only her lynx, apparently. Here . . .” He handed the scroll to Tess and pointed with his good hand.
The Good Lady did enter the cave from ’neath the falls, as Rosemary shewd the way. The maidens and yours did wait in angst for what seemed an age, then out cometh Her Ladyship with a face so shining, it dazzled.
“And look at this,” he said, tracing a few lines further.
Within her palm I bespied some small thing, to which Her Ladyship clung with disquiet. But of this we have daren’t spoken since.
“The shenìl,” Tess said. “It must have been in the cave.” Their faces were so close, Tess could not look up for fear of brushing his nose.
“I guessed the same thing,” Linden said, “because in later parchments, the attendant writes that a few men and women who lived in the castle began to use golden magic. She doesn’t appear to have used it herself, but she recounts a time her sister was healed with golden magic by
the mother nurse of the infirmary.”
“Her Majesty were teaching them,” said Osiris, brooding over a bowl at the table. Tess and Linden jumped, pulling apart. Tess’s knee felt cool where the prince’s fingers once were. “His Majesty King Wallis were mighty nervous about it,” continued Osiris. “But she were teaching them, just the same.”
Tess leaned back in her chair to see Osiris, careful to keep her knee still. “She must have found the shenìl. Didn’t you ever see her with it?”
Osiris murmured to himself. Then, abandoning his breakfast, he came to the fire and rolled into the red chair. It had no arms and could allow for his width.
“I never did see yon object until I met thee, little gem.” Osiris sighed and poked a few of the roasting apples with his formidable claws. “Maybe His Highness were right,” he said suddenly. “Maybe humans don’t be having no business with magic. That’s when the trouble begins.”
Tess didn’t care that her breakfast had gone cold. She stared at Osiris. “Do you really believe that?”
He continued poking the apples. “Some be good fellows with pure hearts. But all humans—even pure ones—they get tempted to wrongdoing far worse than any animal.”
“But surely this sounds like the Thane’s Hold,” Linden interjected, his tone hurt. “The place where Miriam found the shenìl?”
Tess watched Osiris in the firelight. He looked tired. Tired, and hundreds of years old.
Tess’s gaze dropped. “I don’t know. If Miriam found the shenìl there, but could not use it well enough to defeat Atheos, perhaps the Hold is somewhere else. . . .”
Agitated, Linden straightened, the attendant’s scroll still in his hand. “We must try. We must try, Tess.”
Tess clasped her braid, hardly believing the prince had just called her by her nickname. She prickled, afraid he might be using her feelings for his own agenda.
Linden leaned toward her, placing his bandaged hand on her arm. “Don’t you want to save your family?”
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