Fire be doing the dryad’s bidding, and she never be burned by it.
The shenìl held a gem dryad’s magic, and as long as Tess gave herself completely to the modes of surrender, she was in perfect union with Fyrian’s essence. Tess almost laughed as she peeled a smoldering piece of lava from her chest. She tossed the lava at the circling Pider. Its heat ignited the feathers on his back. He cawed and tumbled to the ground, rolling in the dust.
Tess dropped from Jesse’s back and limped to Pider. She peeled more lava from her arms. It held together like burning gelatin in her enchanted hands. She stood over the squirming crow, her velvet cloak gathering in the dusky wind.
“This is the home of my heart,” she said to him. “And you cannot have it.”
Tess’s arm extended over Pider’s unseeing face, she bent her wrist and let the lava spill from her opening fingers. Pider screamed—the wail of a human man. His small black crow’s body writhed under the thick puddle of lava. Red droplets formed on the surface of the molten pool, like livid dew. Pider’s screams faded and the droplets spread over the burning mass. Soon the body of a bird was no longer discernible, and the puddle burst into a scarlet fire. It burned only for an instant, then withdrew into a pile of ash. Tess recoiled at the smell of charred feathers and bone. Colonel Thorn approached, sniffing. But the next moment, a howling wind surged across the sleeping moat and scattered the ashes to nothing. Tess turned her shoulder as the wind drove against her. She thought she heard a man’s voice whistling with the air:
No home stands forever.
She shivered.
“Retreat, Atheos,” Lord Cojab shrieked.
With apparent relief, the remaining soldiers lowered their weapons, slinking backward until out of range. The animals did not stop them as the Atheonians finally fled westward to the Hinge. The hounds scurried behind, baying woefully.
Tess heard Linden summon the captain of the raptors. “Cantor, follow them, and be sure they don’t lose their way.”
“Highness,” answered the falcon as he called his clan to him. They floated silently after the Atheonians and disappeared among the trees.
Wrapped in the ecstatic, bleary cheers that followed, Tess pressed her face against Jesse’s butterscotch neck and stroked his powerful head. Her knees trembled under her shepherdess’s uniform, and she felt the steady arm of Sir Brock Canyon catch her before she fell.
Chapter 50
would you dance with me?” Linden said. His brilliant green coat glowed in the firelight. Tess smelled oil and citrus on his slicked hair, kept in place by his circlet. She liked it better the old way.
A month had passed since the war with Atheos, and despite the chill of early winter, Glademont seemed rejuvenated. War-torn Redfoot was in the midst of its first Feast of Bondfellows. Chains the Atheonians used to enslave Redfooties had been melted down, painted, and hung as crests on the colonnade. Crests of Wallaton, Foggy Plains, Redfoot, Green Reed, and the royal insignia decorated the outskirts of the square. Friends of the Militia were especially honored. With Linden’s help, Prince Currant of the Birch Herd designed his family’s first crest—a large acorn centered in a stand of white trees. The Council of the Nest displayed its colors, too, with a crescent moon hovering over tangled branches and bordered by two curved feathers.
The new judge of Redfoot had ordered that the markers of the fallen be decorated with highest honors, not the least of which was fashioned in memory of Judge Glasmilk, who died at the storming of Redfoot. Just inside the colonnade, where brick walkways stretched along two arms from the rotunda to the Eastern Gate, long rows of plaques were set and engraved in memory of man and beast. Multicolored lanterns swayed along the walkways, and little bells dangled over each plaque, so that even the wind itself helped to commemorate those who had passed.
Baked treats and warm cider flowed at every turn. Artisans sold commemorative stones etched with, War with Atheos, Autumntide, 315th year. Others set up collections for the rebuilding of the academy and the repairing of various homes or shops. Boys sprinted between the legs of their elders, donning paper circlets, sticks fashioned into antlers, or papier-mâché goat horns. Some had muddied their hair, tied a strip of cloth across their foreheads, and busied themselves reenacting the famous courage of Master Ryon Canyon, who slew the Barbarian King.
Amid all this, Tess went unnoticed. The noblemen who had seen her wield the shenìl’s power could not explain it. And no one who heard tell of her fire could recall a time when humans wielded magic alongside bondfellows. In fact, they had hardly believed in the gift of bondfellows before the war. The elders were afraid of her, and the young people were mystified by her. She was not praised as was Ryon, or Linden. Few knew the real enemy had been a sightless crow.
Linden offered Tess his hand in the middle of the square between the roaring fires. There was no orchestra tonight, only the mingled music of those who had brought their own instruments. A nearby band of Wallaton boys with fiddles and flutes began a rendition of “Mother Zere.” Linden bowed.
“I believe I’ve owed you a dance for some time.” The corner of his mouth tilted. It was the first time Tess had seen him smile since before his mother died.
Tess said nothing, but took his hand. It was warm. Linden pulled her in, slipped his other hand under her fur-lined cloak and around her waist. Tess gasped and leaned against him, bending her wounded leg. He hoisted her against his ribs, lifting her to her toes, and swayed.
“I’ve missed you,” Linden said.
Tess closed her eyes and touched his cheek with hers.
“I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you,” he said. “There is so much to be done, now that Mother . . . now that we must start again.”
“We are rebuilding, too. Rebuilding the manor, Papa’s work . . . Ryon’s formation is delayed a year, with the academy so damaged.”
“And Osiris’s burial?” Linden asked. “The Governor’s Guild carried him safely to the redbuds?”
Tess hummed and sighed. “I wish you had been there.”
They danced in silence and let the lilting words of “Mother Zere” soften their hearts.
She cradles the cliffs on her bosom
Shielding the flocks from the winds of the sea.
Her snowy veil waters the blossom,
Her rocky shoulder bends o’er the trees.
“I’m ashamed of my proposal,” he began. “How I dismissed you.”
Tess tried to keep her hand relaxed in his, but she couldn’t help but breathe faster.
“I thought that marrying was a waste of precious time. I was always thinking of the castle archives, making weapons, training . . . keeping my mother alive.”
Tess nodded, but kept her eyes on Linden’s shoulder.
“I’m trying to say . . . I don’t know when it happened. But, when you came to the Ruins, looking so determined, and when I saw how another man looked at you . . . Every day, your face appears when I close my eyes. I keep wanting to touch your hair, to watch you fuss over Ryon, to hear you say my name.” Tess realized there was a lull in the music, and Linden gently lowered her, putting her fingers to his lips.
“Linden,” she said.
He smiled. “There, you said it.”
Tess swallowed and discovered she wanted to cry. But she daren’t. “Once, I begged the red star every night for you to see me as more than a vain, silly dancer. But our world has changed since then.” She lifted her orange-green eyes to meet his, and saw that they were moist. “My world has changed.” Oh, why did this have to happen? “Asher has found me a cottage—”
“Tess, I’m asking you to marry me. Not because my mother chose you, but because I could not be a good king without you.”
Tess pulled away, and her leg twinged. Her chest felt hot under her gown as she stared at the ground.
“I promised,” she said with a quivering voice.
/> Linden stared. His styled hair had gone slightly askew when Tess pulled away.
“What did you promise?” he said. The fires crackled behind them and the cheers of happy citizens echoed distantly.
If Tess told him of her promise to never be queen, would Linden ask why Fyrian chose it as her sacrifice? Tess cringed at the thought of revealing her secret temptation, of her desire to be adored. And what if, after knowing Tess’s promise, he felt obligated still to marry her? Would he renounce the throne and leave Glademont to flounder, when it was already so fragile? That was no way to begin her new life as the dione’s guardian.
“Are you to marry another?” Linden asked, his voice quiet and steady.
She took his hands, shaking her head.
“Tess,” he said slowly. “I should have seen from the beginning, you were my only one. You could rule the way my mother did. And you could make me happy the way my father was. But I won’t force you. I won’t speak of it until you are ready.”
Tess heard someone calling her name. Linden reached out and pushed her wisps behind her ear. His hand lingered.
“I’ll beg the red star every night until then,” he said with a low voice. Tess could see his jaw clenching ever so slightly. Without realizing what she was doing, she moved her hand to her engagement band. She pulled the smooth pearl circle from her finger. Her skin where the band had lain felt icy and exposed.
“No, please—”
Tess forced the ring into his hand.
Ryon was suddenly at Tess’s side, tugging on her arm.
“Tessy, remember Scholar Holly?” he said. Profigliano whistled from his shoulder.
“What?” said Tess. “Of course, I remember—Oh, Headmaster Holly.”
A small redheaded man in his late sixties peered over his tiny spectacles at Tess.
“I-it’s wonderful to see you,” she stuttered. Headmaster Holly would always be imposing, no matter how long it had been since Tess’s first day of class. She was especially surprised that he would speak to her in public, since most of his contemporaries had taken to eyeing her warily as she passed. The dione’s abrupt transformation from a peaceful land to a place teeming with magic still did not sit well with the older generation, and they suspected Tess to be at the center of it. “I’m so sorry about the academy,” she began.
“Naturally,” the curt headmaster replied. He bowed to the prince.
“Wouldn’t it be great?” Ryon breathed. “If we could all be together at the academy?”
Profigliano bounced his black-and-white striped shoulders. “All of us fancy-pants heroes, struttin’ our magical stuff in the house of smarties.” He threw his beak in the air.
“I don’t understand. . . .”
The headmaster frowned. “Master Ryon, I sincerely hope you will have learned discretion by the time you return to the academy.” Ryon shrugged. He had gained considerable confidence since holding his own in two full-fledged battles.
“Miss Tessamine, Your Highness,” the headmaster said. “Perhaps you have not yet met the Venerable Judge Lucille Cedar?”
They shook their heads.
“I was unable to attend the robes ceremony,” the prince said apologetically.
“Naturally,” the headmaster replied. “My point: We at the academy work closely with the city’s officials. We strive to accommodate Redfoot’s needs as well as the needs of the dione.”
Tess smiled and nodded politely, but wondered how any of this applied to her.
“My point is,” continued Headmaster Holly, “Judge Cedar requests new departments be added to the academy’s staff, in light of the recent turn of events.” He waved a stubby hand around his head, as if to say, You know, the battling and so on.
“You”—he pointed emphatically at Tess—“have acquired a special skill set that, Prince Linden tells me, can be taught.” Tess shot the prince a dark look. “And, since I happen to have instructed you myself, I know you are worth your salt.” The headmaster pursed his lips with satisfaction.
“I still don’t understand,” Tess said timidly. The cottage in Wallaton called her name louder every second she remained in the square.
“My point”—Headmaster Holly adjusted his tiny frames—“I need new scholars for my new departments. Miss Tessamine, I’ll need you to head the Magic Department. Of course, I’d prefer His Highness in our Combat Department, but since he must succeed as king . . .” He widened his eyes to nudge the spectacles down his nose, as if to say, What’s done is done, but it’s a terrible inconvenience. “At any rate, Master Cherrywater has agreed.”
Both Tess and the prince offered their protests.
“Lady Tessamine may not be available. . . .”
“I’m afraid I will reside in Wallaton for some time. . . .”
Headmaster Holly showed a palm.
“Tut, tut, tut, tut, young ones,” he said with extended eyebrows. “Details can be discussed at a later time. We will need at least until next autumntide to get back on our feet. You have until the spring to make your decision, Miss Tessamine. Bear in mind, however”—his watery eyes narrowed even further over his spectacles—“that we have few persons from which to choose. The academy desperately needs you. For that matter—though it is an unpopular idea at the moment—the dione needs you. If these animals had not come out of the woodwork to save our skins, Glademont would be under Atheonian rule as we speak. Hundreds more would be dead. You just ponder that.” He jerked a stubby finger under their noses. Then, acknowledging Ryon with a nod, he briskly made his way to a cider table.
“So, what do you think?” Ryon beamed and stroked Profigliano’s chest with a knuckle.
Linden ran a hand through his hair, realized that it was full of styling oil, then pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his fingers. “I’ll need to talk to the advisors on this. The academy years seem young to be training in combat. I’ll need Rette for the militia, and Tess . . . Well, Redfoot is no small journey to the castle.” He glanced at Tess shyly.
“We’ve all been making plans, Ry,” Tess said firmly. “Don’t get your hopes up.” She gave Linden a meaningful look.
“Wouldn’t you rather be in the city than all alone up on the cliffs?” Ryon reasoned. “Scholastics could be your vocation, since you never had a chance to . . .” He stopped himself, seeing the panic in Tess’s expression.
Linden, gentleman that he was, took his cue.
“I see your father has arrived. He’s worked so vigilantly since the attacks, you’ll be wanting to enjoy the celebration together.” Linden bowed; threw Tess a final, furtive look; and strode away.
As Sir Brock waved from behind the Wallatonian minstrels, Tess thought he looked tired but relieved. He and the other royal advisors had been hearing trials for three weeks—mostly deciding the fates of captured Atheonians who fought for Nabal. Tess sucked in a draft of cold air, pulling her cloak tight around her shoulders. The last trial was Tynaiv’s.
“Hello, my bright-eyed children,” her father called in his usual warm way. His injured arm was bound against his chest, leaving an empty coat sleeve to hang by his side.
“Papa.” Ryon shook his father’s good hand. He no longer tolerated hugs.
Tess felt just the opposite, and she welcomed Sir Brock’s shoulder against her cheek.
“How’s my heroine holding up?” he said.
Though he did not know of the shenìl, Sir Brock had watched Tess defeat Pider on the castle lawn. Unlike the other noblemen, he had no doubt the fire had come from Tess. Since then, he never pressed her to speak of it. He only kissed her more often and called her his heroine.
“We heard a bandit the other day,” he said. “He described you riding through their camp like lightning out of the sky. Those were his words.” He smiled and kissed Tess’s thick black hair.
“Who did you hear today?” Tess tried to sound only mi
ldly interested.
“Strange business.” Sir Brock sniffed the night air and searched the clear winter sky. Tess wondered if he was second-guessing his verdict. “It was that fellow who kidnapped you on the cliffs. I was afraid I couldn’t judge him objectively. But when he was brought out . . . well, he just looked like a troubled boy to me. A boy who probably imagined all this would go very differently.”
Tess was surprised to feel thumping in her chest.
“Still, the fact is, he’s guilty of quite a few crimes against the dione. Trespassing at the wedding festival, spying on the royal family, holding the prince hostage, the list goes on.” Sir Brock rubbed his eyes. “He’ll be held here in the rotunda until we can arrange for his banishment. Matter of fact, the only way I was able to make it tonight was to volunteer to escort him myself. There he goes now.”
With a jerk of his exaggerated chin, Sir Brock indicated the western end of the square, where the grand stairs led up to the Market’s rotunda. Three men climbed the stairs, and the one in the middle had his hands tied at the back of his neck. The pounding in Tess’s chest grew louder. Tynaiv still managed to strut, even to his own imprisonment.
“We’re lucky the prince caught up with him. Just a boy, of course, but a dangerous one,” Sir Brock said.
When Ryon dragged his father away to watch the blacksmiths demonstrate their new techniques for shield making, Tess smiled and waved, but inside she felt tired and dismal. There were still people to thank: Nory and Rette, her sister and mother, and the brave creatures in the FOM. Most of the members of the Council of the Nest had declined the invitation to the festival, eager to resume their quiet existence as wild and independent animals. But, there was one Hinge Forester that Tess was most anxious to see.
Careful to avoid Linden’s eye, Tess slipped away from the bustle of the market square and passed through the lighted walkways under the colonnades. She alighted a narrow staircase that led to a small guest room above the southern walkway. To Tess’s surprise, Judge Cedar had invited her to stay in one of these prestigious rooms. After speaking with Headmaster Holly, she no longer wondered why. Tess tugged at an old, solid door and sighed with relief when she could finally rest her back against its interior side.
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