“When permitted by the king, yes, my lord. I have had the occasion to accompany the royal hunting parties for deer, boar, and fowl,” he replied.
“You may call me Menard. Where is Gant anyway?”
“It is a small village near the heart of Crystallia,” replied the boy.
“How is it you came to serve the princess? What are your duties?” asked Cyril.
“I care for her tack, sire,” Kenneth kept his eyes on the trail ahead as he spoke. “When the princess rides, I saddle her horses. I sleep in the stable most nights to be near them. I like the sound of their breathing.”
“I see,” said Cyril, imagining how easily the boy had become an accomplice to the princess’s flight. “So when she left that night, you had to help her?”
“Yes, sire. I could not let her ride through the forest alone at night.”
“Very chivalrous for a young tack boy. Perhaps you have been captivated by the princess’s great beauty?” Menard teased.
“It is not like that!” The boy blushed and Cyril and Menard laughed heartily.
“Beauty has a way of making boys do foolish things, Kenneth,” said Menard, “especially when the beautiful girl is unattainable.” He winked.
“I am merely the humble servant of the princess and a loyal subject,” said Kenneth a bit too forcefully, his face flushed.
“As you should be, Kenneth,” Cyril said firmly. “So what happened to the horses?”
“Spelopokos. He attacked us and ate one. The one I was riding. The other horse threw the princess to the ground and ran back to the castle. The cat later became a friend to us after he had eaten the horse. He was just hungry.”
“I see,” said Cyril. He exchanged a look with Menard, who nodded. This boy is definitely lying. What could he be hiding? He looked at the princess riding on top of the great fairrier cat some fifty yards ahead. She was an enigma as well. Friend to a terrifyingly powerful creature and yet so... so meek. He tried to picture her yelling at him through the forest last night. He rode on in silence, piecing the details together.
That afternoon they stopped while the sun was still high in the sky. The meadow where they camped had a small brook running through it and good foraging for the horses. The mounts kept their distance from Pokos, who stayed only long enough to explain to the Candlewax king that he was going hunting and would bring back game for the rest of the party. They would need to tether the horses before his return, lest they scatter in a panic.
After tending to the palomino, the servant boy busied himself by preparing a fire of dead wood from the nearby copse of trees. He stockpiled several extra branches and logs. All that it needed was to be lit. Cyril watched the boy whisper something to the princess, who seemed content to wash her hands and face in the brook and sit quietly on the meadow grass. Cyril wished she would take off that scarf and comb her hair. He already considered her pretty, especially when she smiled.
The Candlewax men were fond of wrestling. With the camp set, the group surrounded two eager wrestlers who circled each other, looking for an opportunity to gain advantage. The captain of the King’s Guard, William, was a redhead with a chipped tooth. He was favored to win the match against Conrad, who was much quicker, but not as strong. The presence of the young princess gave the informal match the air of an important tournament.
The men grappled and the spectators urged them on. At first it seemed as if the princess was as impassive as a stone, but Cyril noted that she, too, started to follow the match. When Conrad nearly bested William she jumped to her feet to get a better view. The stable boy sat, cross-legged, next to Seth, close to the action.
Conrad was straining to finish the match, pushing for the last bit of leverage he needed to overwhelm William. William would have none of it, and managed to flip Conrad onto his back with a huge grunt. Cheers went up as William helped Conrad to his feet. Cyril held up William’s arm to more cheers, Kenneth’s among them.
After three more matches William remained undefeated. He came and bowed before the princess.
“Well done, William! You are surely one of the finest wrestlers of Lackanay,” declared the princess. William bowed again and the Candlewax men quickly surrounded him and slapped him on the back.
“So, you enjoy sport?” asked Cyril. The princess smiled a dazzling smile and nodded.
“We have tournaments that last for days every summer,” said Cyril. “It used to be, before Kallik, that Crystallia and the Candlewax Kingdom would take turns hosting them. That had to stop after Kallik raided Candlewax when most of our men were attending. Now we still have tournaments, but they are much smaller and just within our own kingdom. And your father—does he hold tournaments as well?”
The princess looked a bit surprised at his question. Did I say something wrong? She bit her lip. “Well, yes. He also enjoys sport. We have all manner of games,” she said, without a great deal of enthusiasm. She was looking toward the stable boy as she spoke. Cyril found it disconcerting that she would still not meet his eye when she replied. He stepped to the side so that he was between the princess and the stable boy.
“What sorts of competitions does he hold? Longbow? Foot races?” Cyril peered into her pretty green eyes. She looked frightened.
The princess rubbed her nose and looked over his shoulder. She smiled again. “Well, every year is a little different. Sometimes we have longbow and footraces and other years there are different contests.” Her voice sounded confident but Cyril wondered why she still seemed so ill at ease. She was peering over his shoulder again. “We have horse races and jousting and sword play. And the tournament food and drink is wonderful!” She looked back at him and then away again. It was most annoying. Perhaps she finds me boring or offensive in some way. Maybe I smell bad. I’ll take a bath before the feast tomorrow night.
Cyril excused himself with a polite comment and walked over to his horse. He whistled and the horse looked up from its grazing and walked over to him. His dark brown coat and black mane were sleek and shiny in the late afternoon sun. Cyril stroked the horse’s wellmuscled neck.
He marveled at how easy it was to be with his horse compared to the girl. He heaved a sigh. His horse cocked his ears forward and Cyril heard a voice behind him.
“What’s his name, sire?”
Cyril turned to see the stable boy approaching. “Ty. Actually it’s Longleaf Renardson Tydon. Ty for short. His sire was a Longleaf and the dam a Renardson. My father added Tydon when he gave him to me four years ago.”
“He looks fast.” The stable boy edged closer.
“Very fast. Brave, too.” Cyril rubbed Ty’s nose.
“May I touch him?” Kenneth nodded at the magnificent horse.
“I wouldn’t. He doesn’t take too well to—” to strangers. The boy had already touched the horse on the neck with a gentle but firm stroking motion. Cyril was surprised. Ty usually bit strangers. There were only a handful of stable hands in Candlewax who could care for the horse, yet Kenneth was smiling and talking to Ty as if he were an old friend. Cyril felt drawn to the lad.
Cyril shook his head. “You’re lucky. He doesn’t usually let strangers touch him. In fact, he’s got a bit of a temper about it.” He noticed the boy’s hands. Long fingers. No calluses.
“He’s a beauty. So is that palomino. They are both wonderful horses,” Kenneth said.
The king scowled. He wasn’t used to compliments from servants. The boy is impudent, but he has talent.
“Well, if you find yourself in bad favor with the Crystal king you may speak to Menard about working with the Candlewax horses. We would make sure you had a decent life at our stables.” Cyril paused, surprised at his own offer. But Ty had really liked the boy and that was saying something.
Kenneth looked pleased. Or was it amused? The boy looked down, still smiling. “Thank you, sire. That is most generous of you. I shall not forget it.”
Several of the horses jerked up their heads, including Ty. Spelopokos was back, dragging a deer by the neck. Menard took
an immediate interest in the game, thanked the fairrier cat, and started to dress it for roasting. Cyril noticed that, instead of being repulsed by the sight of entrails and skinning, the princess was fascinated with the entire process. She even asked Menard a few questions as she watched him with the preparations.
“Now normally it would be best to wait a few days before eating the venison. It can be kind of tough and strong tasting otherwise,” advised Menard. “We’re going to slow roast it, so it should still come out all right. Appetites tend to run sharp after a few days in the field, so I doubt I’ll hear any complaints from the men.”
“I spotted some wild onions, just over there.” The princess pointed to a clump of green shoots in the center of the meadow.
Menard looked at the plants and grinned. “Sharp eyes, princess. I hadn’t noticed those.” He called Seth over and sent him to pull up and wash the onions.
Menard sent one of the other men to prepare a roasting spit from young trees. They dug holes on either side of the unlit fire and drove down two stout, forked branches, and then filled the earth back in around them. Then they found a long straight branch and laid it on top of the forked supports. Satisfied that it was the right size, they put it aside and lit the fire.
The sun was getting low in the sky. Cyril watched the fire blaze away. When it died down a bit they pierced the deer with the sharpened end of the spit and lifted the meat over the fire. It blackened on the outside, but Menard assured the princess that it was just to seal in the juices. It would be hours before the venison was cooked. Spelopokos, who had already eaten, still seemed to find satisfaction in watching the Candlewax soldiers take turns manning the spit.
The boy leaned back against the cat and the princess sat to the side. Cyril felt an impulse to go and talk with Kenneth. Maybe I could learn something new about Crystallian horse husbandry. Perhaps they have different ways of doing things there. He admired the boy’s ease with the fairrier cat. He’s young, but there is something about that boy...
His thoughts were interrupted with Menard’s proclamation that the roast was ready. With great relish, Menard carved off slices of venison. There were no plates. Each hot piece of meat was skewered onto a pointed stick along with some of the roasted whole onions and handed out.
Cyril brought the princess a stick laden with venison and onion. He sat down next to her, vowing to make some kind of connection. Instead, his eyes flew to the boy’s gray-blue stare and Cyril was jolted as if a current ran between the two of them. Feeling off balance, he nodded gruffly at the boy and refocused on the princess.
“The roasted onion is very good. Menard said you spotted them.” The princess nodded at his statement.
“He certainly knows a lot about roasting venison,” she said. A long silence ensued. Both of them hid the fact that conversation was difficult by eating. The meat is good, thought Cyril. Menard had done a fine job. He leaned forward and looked at Spelopokos.
“Thank you, Spelopokos, for providing this meat.”
The great fairrier cat nodded, his eyes mere slits of green. Cyril noticed that Kenneth was finished eating and had thrown his stick into the fire. The boy stared at the flames with a faraway look in his eye.
Cyril regarded the servant’s high cheekbones and dark eyelashes and eyebrows. His features were refined, almost elegant, and his profile looked familiar, as if Cyril had met him before. Impossible. The only people Cyril had met from Crystallia were Sir Gavin and Stephen, the Crystal king, as well as about a dozen soldiers.
That night, as Cyril fell asleep, he contemplated the princess’s radiant smile. Somehow the princess didn’t move him as much as he had hoped she would. He conjured up the image of her riding Spelopokos and sighed. Perhaps something of their marriage plans could be saved after all. His father had always wanted a stronger alliance with Crystallia.
Then, unbeckoned, the thought of Ty letting Kenneth handle him slid into his thoughts. Ty, who never let anyone new approach him.
Catherine ran her fingers through her short, ragged hair. They had gotten a late start that morning, mostly because Pokos, making up for years of isolation, had felt like singing into the wee hours of the morning. The men of Candlewax had marveled at the cat’s voice and had heartily joined in with the lyrics they knew. Catherine had fallen asleep to a rowdy drinking song.
She rode next to Menard. Catherine liked Menard’s bright blue eyes and bushy gray eyebrows. Even though his manner was sometimes stern, his face was lined from years spent laughing and smiling in the sun. She admired his absolute loyalty to the king.
They were riding now through the outskirts of Candlewax and it was difficult for Catherine to feign a nonchalant air. The famed Candlewax trees could be spotted every now and then with their large horizontal branches covered with smaller, distinctive vertical ones. During daylight it was hard to see the burning tips, but Menard assured her that, just like the stars, the flames of Candlewax would come to life at night.
“It’s the pithy core of the wood that burns, drawing on the oily sap. The bark now, it doesn’t burn at all, just sort of crumbles away at the ends of the branches. Every night the trees burn and every day they grow a little more. Hundreds of years old and just manage to get a bit taller every year.”
“Doesn’t the rain put them out?” Catherine kept herself from craning her neck to take it all in.
“Only a downpour will do that. Makes a lot of noise hissing and steaming. Even then it only takes minutes for them to reignite. Don’t ever want to touch the tips—you’ll get burned even if it looks like it’s out. Every child in Candlewax learns it well. ‘Course some of them have to learn it the hard way.” Menard looked closely at the fingertips of his right hand and laughed.
“What about the other trees? Don’t they get burned?”
“Happens all the time. That’s why Candlewax Wood is so big. They keep growing and burning and the other trees catch on fire and burn down. Then more Candlewax seedlings take root where the other trees used to be. In my day the Wood has grown out by half a mile in all directions. Some folks worry about it, but the trees are easy enough to cut down once you know how to put them out.”
“But I thought you said that water doesn’t really work.”
“True, water by itself is useless. We put a little something in it that does the trick.” He dropped his voice to a dramatic whisper. “We dig up trodliks from Devona and pulverize ‘em. Mixed with water they’ll douse a tree for good. Not even much good for firewood after that.”
“Trodliks!” Catherine was horrified. “You know about trodliks and you actually bring them into Lackanay on purpose? Where I come from people don’t even think trodliks are real, much less go looking for them!” How they underestimate this danger!
Menard’s eyebrows went up. “Well, they’re dead o’ course. We crush them in Devona before we bring them in. We’ve always had a purpose for the nasty little nippers here in Candlewax. Live ones die anyway. They can’t abide Lackanay. Some say it’s because of the fairrier cats.” He looked at Catherine intently as if trying to read her expression.
“That’s true, Menard. As long as there are fairrier cats in Lackanay the trodliks stay away.” I wonder if Menard guesses how important Spelopokos is.
“Aye. That’s what Cedric thought too. Taught his son well. Cyril forbade us to draw arms when he learned it was a fairrier cat we were tracking.”
Catherine looked ahead at Cyril. Pokos was right about the Candlewax king. He was riding as close to Pokos and Bessie as Ty would let him, with Bessie doing her best to look regal. We just have to get through tonight’s feast. Then Pokos and I will secretly leave for the Cinna Gate, before anyone can stop us. Bessie had wanted to come, but no one knew what dangers lay in the Cinna Range or how long it would take. So, to Bessie’s dismay, Pokos had told her no. Besides, with Bessie playing the part of princess of Crystallia, it would be easier for Catherine to slip away with Pokos, unnoticed.
The Candlewax king. She suppressed a s
mile. Arrogant. Proud. Handsome. If I had known that he was this handsome I might never have run away. Why didn’t Father tell me? She thought back to their arguments about the marriage. Her parents had told her that it was important. They had told her he was a good king. Her people would be grateful.
She could forgive her mother, who had never actually met the king. But her father? Didn’t he think it was important that Cyril is young? That he is very handsome? That he loves horses?
But that was before Pokos. Her life was different now. That was also her father’s fault. If only he had told me the truth about the talisman. About Spelopokos and the prophecy. Things are complicated now. Lackanay needs its fairrier cats.
Their best hope was crossing through the gate into the Cinna Range, a feat, according to Pokos, that hadn’t been attempted in hundreds of years. Then they would have to find the other fairrier cat—or cats—and cross back through the gate into Lackanay. According to the prophecy, that had never been done. There were no songs or stories about Cinna. All anyone knew was that the ancient people of Tabrek had had some contact with Cinnans.
As Bessie had cut off Catherine’s hair with the dagger blade, Pokos explained that the most dangerous time for Lackanay would be when they were in the Cinna Range. No one knew how long it took for trodliks to awaken. If Pokos is indeed the last fairrier cat in Lackanay, as he suspects, will they start to crawl out of Devona the minute we pass through the gate? Will it take weeks?
Catherine felt for the pendant under her shirt, the ancient Tabrekian artifact that was the key to passing through to Cinna. She had spent hours trying to figure out its secrets. As her grandmother had said, the materials were simple: onyx and silver. One thing she knew was that the silver never seemed in the least bit tarnished.
The chain was heavy and well crafted. She had counted 468 links. Seven polished onyx stones were set in a decorative array of leaves and curling tendrils around a large, smooth central stone. There was nothing on the back but a slight indentation the size of her thumb. When she held the pendant she sometimes placed her thumb in the groove. It always felt a bit warm when she held it that way.
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