“Until now, our only hope was the governors.” Rette pressed his palms against the back of his long neck and closed his eyes, as though he hadn’t relaxed in a century. Ryon was glad to see the tall, hopeful warrior looking as exhausted as the boy felt. Not everyone had to enjoy battle as much as Nory.
The Colonel snorted. “The guild is ready and able, Master Rette. But two dozen of us against a hundred hounds—”
“But remember how you fought that hound back home?” Ryon said. He had intended to bolster Reggie, but then he suddenly saw, in vivid color, the last night he spent in his own bed. He ordered his face not to fall, afraid to look weak in front of Nory and Rette.
Nory looked at Ryon. “He’s been training the other governors in the castle. Golden magic.” He shook his short-cropped head. “Incredible. But it isn’t enough.”
“So you’re a bondfellow, like Jesse?” Ryon stared at the ground, desperate for distraction.
The Colonel looked sharply at the boy and searched his face. When Ryon met the terrier’s black eyes, twinkling under silver eyebrows, he did not recognize the expression. It was a kind of surprised look, as though the Colonel were seeing Ryon for the first time.
“I beg your pardon?” the Colonel said.
“Fig and I are bondfellows, too.” This time, Ryon allowed himself a timid grin.
“Is that right?” the Colonel said. “Well,” he addressed Profigliano, whose chest was puffed to its maximum capacity, “I hope you appreciate the magnitude of the responsibility you have assumed.”
“Well, well, well, well, well.” Profigliano cocked his head this way and that as he repeated the word. “Looks like some animals thought they were the only nobles and dignifides around here, eh?”
Ryon chastised the towhee on his knee with a poke in the belly. “Who is your bondfellow, Reggie?”
“I am the beast of Brock Canyon, advisor to the queen,” the Colonel recited.
Ryon’s smile broadened into a satisfied grin. Something about those words tapped his soul like a well-digger’s pick, ushering a clear, cool spring of hope.
“Why did no one tell me?”
“It has become a ritual.” The Colonel sighed through his black wet nose. “Governors are appointed to families, and a routine ceremony follows. According to tradition, taking the oath endows animals with golden magic to be used in times of danger. But so many years have passed . . . we believed it a myth. Even I doubted my abilities the night that rabble came to the estate.”
Fire, smoke, and foreign voices flooded Ryon’s vision again, and he fought the urge to put his face in his hands. He swallowed.
“Did . . . did Mother and Papa . . . ?”
“All accounted for, Master Ryon. I fended off the attackers until Sir Brock and Lady Matilde were safe inside the castle. Lady Dahly joined us not long after.”
Then Ryon really wanted to cry. He had been suppressing his anxiety for so long, a rush of exhilarated relief surged through his fingers and toes, and he stood to turn away from his companions. Profigliano flitted to his shoulder.
“Safe for now,” Nory corrected, apparently oblivious to Ryon’s emotion. “Those bandits and hounds aren’t going to sit smoking and gambling forever. Who exactly are these animals we’re waiting for?”
“And where is your other sister, Master Ryon?” said the Colonel.
“Do you need a minute, Master Ryon?” It was Rette who spoke, not paternally, but practically, which was exactly what Ryon needed.
He felt Profigliano’s button eyes on him, remembered the hope of the fellowship, and faced the stove again. “I’ll start from the night the bandits came.”
He told the whole story, from Fig to the Nest to Osiris to the Birch Herd. The Colonel interrupted frequently with questions, especially when it came to the FOM. He wanted to know exactly who had attended their audience, their origins, family trees, and ranks. The gentlemen of the militia simply listened, their hands resting on their thighs.
When Ryon finished, the Colonel paced the headquarters. “Forest cat,” he called.
Evening slowly turned in response, and Ryon reproached himself for having neglected him so long. It was clear the fox was in a mild temper. He approached the stove, moping.
“Evening, is it?” the Colonel said with authority.
“Not that it matters to anyone,” the fox replied.
“Pull yourself together, sir. The fearless guide to the distinguished members of the Canyon family and the comrade of the prince of the Birch Grove must conduct himself with pride.”
This had a transformative effect on Evening, who sprang upright. “Well, it’s about time I was recognized for my heroism. All the sacrifices I have made for you creatures—”
“Speak of Prince Currant’s plans,” the Colonel said. “Why have you been sent to this military outpost?”
“Right,” said the rejuvenated Evening. “We are to wait while Buchanan of Westbend raises reinforcements.”
“Very good, sir fox.” The Colonel paced once more. “When does the FOM plan to attack the Atheonian forces in Redfoot?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Evening returned. “When they have the city, the Stitchipeeps will signal for us to attack the forces here.”
“Seems a tenuous plan.” The Colonel growled, deep in thought. “I see no way of knowing how many birds will assist us, nor how useful they shall be in battle. Moreover, I fear there is no way to estimate the abilities of our forces in the valley.” The Colonel sniffed and turned to Jesse, who had finished his dinner and was calmly watching the scene. “Jesse, what do you say? Do we march into possible slaughter?”
Jesse shook his mane. “I have made my decision, Colonel, to fight for the survival of Glademont.”
The rest of their conversation, Ryon did not hear. Instead, he focused on the splintered wood sizzling in the stove and the cold autumn wind whistling soulfully outside. It was really happening; Glademont was going to fight for its life. He held his elbows and rested them on his knees, feeling smaller than a leaf in a storm.
Chapter 37
Prince Linden was the first to lower himself onto the staircase. The decline was so dramatic, and its steps so narrow and crumbling, Tess had to climb down backward to keep her footing. Slowly, they descended into darkness, pressing their sides against the slimy limestone for balance, until the canopy of green and blue seemed only a hazy film above them. Several times, Tess’s boot slipped on the stone, and she would feel the prince’s hand around her ankle. Minutes passed like months, and when they finally arrived at a narrow ledge, jutting out over an unsettlingly black pool, they panted and shivered in the cool air.
“Oh—” Tess started, holding her braid aloft.
“What is it?” Linden said.
“The shenìl—it was pricking me.” Tess gingerly lowered her braid over her shoulder again.
“Has it happened before?”
Tess thought of the shenìl bristling against her hand when she last saw Tynaiv. She bit her lip. “I think it is a kind of warning.”
Linden handed Tess the lantern, retrieved his bow, and gestured for her to remain close. Wyndeling, who had stayed behind to oversee their descent, now flew ahead.
They advanced, crouching under a large slab of rock and into the low tunnel. Inside, without the faint glow of the blue-and-green canopy, and the lantern in Tess’s hand gone cold, all was completely dark. Tess kept her free hand on the wall to her left as she followed the sound of Linden’s footsteps. But eventually, a loud chorus of rushing water drowned out the echoing thumps of his boots. Tess reached into the darkness for Linden. She touched his back, and her fingers slid to his arm. She felt his bicep harden, then relax, and he pulled his arm against his side, securing Tess’s hand.
The strength in Linden’s arm reminded Tess of her father, of home and security. She longed to see her apple orchard again, or sleep
next to Dahly and hear the sounds of Mama’s clocks ticking away. She fought the urge to pull her body against the prince’s and lay her head on his shoulder. He was the closest thing she had to home.
They spilled out of the tunnel into a high-ceilinged cavern. A faint light broke the spell between Tess and Linden, and she let her fingers fall from his arm. To her right, through a yawning portal to the outside world, she caught her first glimpse of the outdoors since Tynaiv left her at the sugar maple. Her view of the stars, however, was shrouded by the heavy, noisy curtain of a waterfall.
Crescent Cave.
They neared the falls with reverence, mouths open. Linden lowered his bow, and Tess allowed stray drops to cover her face like dew. She smiled and spun on her toes, arms outstretched.
“My lady.” Wyndeling alighted on Tess’s forearm and shook the water from her feathers. “Perhaps . . . perhaps someone should secure our location?”
Tess smiled a wide sympathetic smile. “Go on. I know you’re desperate.”
The owl hooted with energy. “I shall report back soon,” she said. And away she flew, darting around the tumbling waters.
“Over here,” Linden shouted. “Some kind of statue.”
Tess followed him back into the gloom. Something stood at the center of the vast cavern, only as tall as Linden’s shoulder. He stowed his arrow to examine it, and Tess stepped beside him.
It was a curious woman of green marble, naked but for a thin, fluid veil, blowing in an imagined wind. Tess placed her fingers along the edges of the veil, following its hard curved lines. But the veil flowed upward, as though blown from below. She suddenly understood: fire.
“She’s beautiful,” Tess said.
“Why does she hold out her hands? In welcome?” Linden rubbed his chin, apparently unable to appreciate the artistry.
Tess’s lips parted with a gasp. “The medal.” Tess pulled forward her braid and saw that, as she moved closer to the woman, the copper orbs buried in her hair glowed. Keeping his hands at his sides, Linden studied the medal.
“You’re right, by the skies. Well, that means . . . do you think . . . ?”
They looked to each other with wide eyes, Linden smiling and Tess biting her cheek. Perhaps he wanted to hold her, but was afraid to touch the shenìl. Or perhaps it didn’t occur to him to touch her at all. Tess willed herself to focus.
“The only thing missing”—she pulled the object from her braid—“is the shenìl itself.” The shining orbs felt hot in her hands.
She hesitated, then placed each end of the shenìl upon the hands of the fiery woman. Just as her own palms touched the statue, everything turned black.
“Who entrusts the Weapon unto mine hands?”
Tess saw nothing. She felt nothing—not even the ground beneath her feet. What had become of Linden?
“Speak,” commanded a woman in a throaty, reverberating alto. Frightened, Tess tried to turn her head toward the source of the voice, but her body did not respond. She was weightless, suspended in blackness. She breathed in quick, shallow breaths.
“I am Lady Tessamine Canyon of Glademont. I cannot see. . . .”
“I am the spirit of Fyrian, Mother and Forger of the Weapon. How hast it come to thee?”
“Queen Aideen . . . passed it to me.”
“So, the time has come for thy forming. The Weapon chooses its Thane. Art thou its Thane, Tessamine Canyon of Glademont?”
“I—I suppose so.” Tess wished she had the shenìl in her hair again. “But, I cannot see.”
“Have you not the wisdom to see? All the better, for a Thane who lends innocence unto the Scarlet Poison’s Enemy doth improve its potency. Mark you, Lady Tessamine, it is at the point of wisdom that the Thane must pass her mantle. Just as she has mastered the dryad’s magic.”
“Oh dear, I’m afraid I didn’t understand any of that. . . .”
“Thy path to wisdom unwinds from this day hence. And yet . . . I sense . . . the Weapon hath lit its fire within you before.”
“I’m sorry, my friend was dying—”
“Whither hast gone Aideen?”
“Oh.” Tess hesitated. “Her Majesty has fallen ill. Our dione is under attack. We had hoped . . . I wish to use the shenìl to save Glademont.”
“Then it is time,” the regal voice rang out, deep and solemn. A terrifying boom resounded. “Lady Tessamine Canyon, a choice lies before you, a choice no other reasoning soul hath the privilege to consider. For the mortal, the future broods in a darkness not unlike that which envelops thee now. But what sayest you to the illumination of such things? Have I not the power? Am I not a dryad of the deep earth?”
Tess did not know how to respond. She hardly understood. The voice continued.
“Two roads lie before thee. The first blesses thee with a crown of diamonds—queen and loved by thy people. Choose this path, and the cost shall be to abandon the Weapon here.”
The words spilled into Tess’s heart like oil in water. Was such a future possible? She pictured herself far away from her crumbling dione, free of the shenìl, free to be loved.
“A second path beckons, which also blesses,” the woman said. “Upon this road, thou shalt possess the greatest power on the continent, but few can know of it. Thou shalt be the unsung guardian of thy people. All this, if thou wilt keep the Weapon, and thine only cost be to deny thyself the crown.”
Well, now Tess saw this plainly for what it was: a lot of nonsense. All this talk of diamond crowns and unsung guardians was some sort of trick. After all, Queen Aideen had clearly stated all thanes were queens. Even Osiris had linked a dryad’s magic to Queen Miriam. Tess was not queen yet, but to promise never to be queen? It seemed a contradiction in terms. This was all wrong. She tried to take back the shenìl, but she could not place her fingers. She tried to force her eyes open, but her lids seemed already ajar.
“Vermin and vinegar, get me out of here.”
“Lady Tessamine Canyon of Glademont, a mighty yoke hast been put upon thee. Thou must choose, either to bear the yoke hence or cast it aside. Choose, and thou shalt take thy leave.” The voice was unrelenting, and Tess began to fear this was no illusion.
“Her Majesty told me all thanes have been queens. They . . . they marry the crown prince.” Her breath quickened with panic and embarrassment.
“Aye, each Thane until this day has been queen,” said the woman. “Each Thane offers sacrifice according to her inmost desires. Never before has a Thane desired the queenship so eagerly as you desire it. Thine heart betrays thee, when standing before admirers. If thou art to be Thane, thine years shall be spent hidden from glory, apart from fame.”
Tess felt a tide of shame cover her. Was this true? Was her only desire to be admired? At once she remembered the excitement of her leading role in the ballet, The Ashes of Dorian Minor. She danced as Fyrian, a dryad Tess thought never existed. Tess had reveled in the roaring applause of those nights. She thought she would never be happier.
Then, months later, she recalled the thrill of Linden’s proposal, even then suspecting he did not care for her. She thought of her anger and embarrassment at having to arrive at her wedding festival with her family, and not with the prince. She saw the disappointed faces of the people when she stepped out of the carriage, the delighted expressions of the onlookers when she danced with Belle, and the devastation she felt when the prince cast her aside in front of the entire dione. Had she been deceiving herself all this time, thinking her bitterness toward the prince was justified? Perhaps she resented him not for using her heart, but for withholding the crown.
“Before you choose, Lady Tessamine, know this. The fate of Glademont is written in your stars.”
A sudden jolt shot through Tess’s heart. It was clear to her, now, how wrong she had been about herself, about the prince and the queen. It was not they who were selfish, but Tess. The queen was not hun
gry for power, but only wished to protect her people. Linden was not a heartless fiend, but a prudent prince who could see when a woman was not suited for royal life.
So, why did Aideen insist Tess was the chosen thane? Why was this spirit offering Tess the guardianship of the dione, while in the same breath telling her how unworthy she was? All signs pointed to someone else, someone who was not tempted by a life in the public eye. It would be better for Tess to leave the shenìl in the cave. She could fly from Glademont, a dione she had only wounded through her own weakness.
To her surprise, Tess felt hot tears running down her cheeks. She wiped her eyes with fingers that she could now feel. Her senses were returning, but still she remained in darkness. A quiet sob gripped her throat.
“Why does this fall to me? Linden is right; I do not understand the world.”
“The Weapon elects not the qualified. Rather, it qualifies the elect.”
More tears wetted Tess’s face, but she let them flow. Such a simple object. Two copper marbles and a strap of leather. But it had made her feel worthwhile. It had given her purpose.
“I choose the second road,” Tess heard herself whisper. “I choose to be thane.”
“Let it be done,” the lady bellowed, and a golden light blinded Tess. Rubbing her eyes, she saw a luminous copper-skinned woman clothed in fire—fiercely beautiful, such that Tess felt compelled to look away.
The lady’s voice came once more.
“Well done, dear one. Your life’s adventure is yet to begin. Free mine worthy daughter held captive within yon grotto. Then, True Thane, get thee to the castle and rescue thy dione.”
Tess fell backward, slowly, as the orange light dissolved to reveal the gloomy stone walls of the cave. The blinding orbs of the shenìl pierced her vision, and she reached out for them while streaks of purple, red, and white swirled about her grasping fingers. Clutching the shenìl to her chest, Tess soon felt the arms of the prince around her. She could hear him, distantly, calling her name as he held her. But all she could do was cry.
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