by Lea Doué
Orin stopped at a field far larger than his small flock could need, but the geese recognized it. They flapped and waddled eagerly into the sea of grass. A few wandered over to a small pond. Orin settled on a boulder underneath a tree and patted the rock beside him.
“Join me.” He put True down to graze and laid his bow and staff nearby.
She sat down, tossed her satchel on the grass, and twisted her fingers in her dress. Eben scouted the edge of the woods that surrounded the field and then returned to take a position near the boulder. She couldn’t remember when she’d had a day like this. No duties, no expectations, no crowds. Orin had this every day. Did he get lonely, too?
“We don’t have fields like this in Frits.” He stretched out his legs. “Even our geese learn to climb mountains.”
Eben snorted.
“You think I’m kidding, but you should see the steps leading to some of the man-made fields. If that’s not mountain climbing, I don’t know what is.” Orin kept his eyes on the geese, which was oddly comforting.
Lily felt no pressure to add to the conversation.
“This one’s friendly,” Eben said. True pecked at Eben’s boots, and Eben shifted, trying to discourage the bird. It didn’t work.
“She’s mine. Or I’m hers.” Orin pulled a handful of grass and threw it at True’s head. The goose honked at him, but she gave up on the boots and waddled towards the pond. “She’s a strange old bird. Found her in the forest on my way through Osha. No flock. I guess she thinks I’m it.”
Orin continued to talk about his home in the mountainous city of Frits, his six older stepbrothers, his older brother, and his baby sister, who wasn’t a baby anymore; but as the only girl in the family, everyone favored her, including him, so she might as well be. Lily enjoyed listening to him, and she lost track of time as he told story after story of a life that involved far fewer responsibilities than she’d ever known.
He stopped in the middle of recounting his sister’s first experience on horseback. “I’m talking too much. I know I am. Shall I read? Wait!” He stood and waved his hands in front of him, eyes wide in panic.
Eben tensed.
“You don’t have to answer that! Ugh. Sorry. Princess Melantha told me not to ask you any questions.” He patted his throat. “Your voice. Uh . . . I’ll just read then. True likes for me to read.”
She smiled, and he wilted with relief. She wondered what Melantha had threatened him with if he failed to do as she asked.
He pulled out a small book tucked into the quiver with the arrows and sat with his back against the boulder. True waddled back over and settled on the grass at Lily’s feet as Orin read. It was a history book; one of the most boring ones to be found in either the public or royal library.
Orin stopped reading after two pages and checked the cover, mumbling something about giving better instructions to servant boys sent to fetch books. “Sorry.” He continued in a more animated manner, doing voices and adding sounds in inappropriate places.
She managed not to laugh, but when he tried to bark like an entire pack of dogs, she pinched herself hard, stretched, and indicated that she was going for a walk. Orin kept reading to True.
She slung her satchel over her shoulder and wandered over to the edge of the woods. Eben joined her, his posture relaxed, and they made their way around the perimeter. The sun warmed her back, the top of her head, her arms. Sweat beaded under her braid and tickled its way down to her collar.
Prince Tharius had never known such warmth. What she took for granted was the stuff of his daydreams and longings. She might safeguard her sisters by spending her days in seclusion, but she wouldn’t solve any problems this way. She was hiding, and she knew it.
Eben wouldn’t approve. He’d never hidden from anything. He was here now, even knowing she was keeping something from him. Come to think of it, he’d been around a lot lately. The captain was flexible with the guards’ schedules, but he usually assigned personal guards more evenly. She was glad she couldn’t ask about it now, hesitant to have the situation corrected. She’d always enjoyed having Eben around, even if their interactions were limited when he was on duty. His visits to the library had become less frequent, or maybe it was her own visits, as her responsibilities slowly increased year after year.
She wouldn’t let herself imagine what it would be like to have him by her side always. Prince Tharius wasn’t the only one with daydreams out of reach. Eben was a guard, an orphan, a nobody. She’d heard the words often enough, and she repeated them to herself as they skirted the forest. It didn’t work. She still didn’t believe it. He was one of the best friends she’d ever had, and she would lose him soon. One way or another. Maybe he felt it, too. The ending of something they’d never been able to admit they had. Maybe that’s why he was showing up more. Maybe he was trying to say goodbye the only way he could.
“We have a following.”
Five geese waddled behind them, easily keeping up. She dug in the satchel, her hand bumping against something that was not lunch. Her sketchbook—Wren’s contribution. That would keep her occupied for the afternoon. She gave Eben some bread, and they crumbled it into the grass for the birds. She tossed down the wilted daisy for dessert.
Orin was eating when they returned to the boulder, but he didn’t refuse when Lily offered to share her own food. Gwen had packed enough for three.
True devoured some radish tops and then settled in to sleep; but a moment later, her nap was interrupted by honking and hissing near the woods. She watched the other geese flap their way to the pond, surely making enough noise to scare off whatever had scared them. Unimpressed, she tucked her head back under her wing.
Eben gripped his sword.
Orin popped the last radish into his mouth. “It’s probably just a hopper.”
Lily grinned. The squirrel-sized dragons were certainly no threat to geese, but they could be noisy jumping among the canopy.
“Gets them every time, but I’ve never actually seen one,” Orin said.
“They taste good with mushrooms,” Eben said.
Ew.
While the boys discussed snaring techniques, she flipped through her book, not sure if this was the one with the sketch of the tree hopper. It was, and she’d taken the time to color it. Eben had been her guard that day, too, and had noted how pale the hopper was, a lettuce-green. She held the book up and tapped it to get their attention.
“May I see it?” Orin said, and then smacked himself in the forehead. “Sorry! No questions. Sorry.”
She smiled to let him know it was okay and handed him the book.
He puffed out a relieved sigh and studied the picture. “I didn’t realize they were so small. What a bunch of chickens I’m herding.”
True twitched in her sleep as if she’d heard the insult. Lily stroked her soft wings while Orin flipped through the pages. She seldom got past the doodling stage, and most of these sketches were for stories she had translated for the girls. Something caught Orin’s attention.
“A red dragon?” He tilted the book for her to see and didn’t seem to notice that he’d asked her a question again.
She bit her cheeks to keep from smiling. She’d drawn Melantha riding one of the wingless red dragons from Xafila and brandishing a sword in a downpour. She’d been practicing the rain effect that day, having never seen a red dragon in person, but she was sure Orin wasn’t interested in either of those things.
Melantha wouldn’t be pleased, and Lily wouldn’t be the one to tell her. And not just because she couldn’t speak.
Eben had other things on his mind. “Lily, you can’t speak, but can you write?”
She froze. Neylan hadn’t been able to write anything but gibberish. Could she write something? Even nonsense? It might alert Eben to something being wrong. But if she tried, and the curse interpreted her actions as trying to speak, then she’d doom her sisters to life underground. She couldn’t risk it. Tears stung her eyes.
She shook her head, took the b
ook from Orin, and started sketching True.
Eben said nothing. He stalked off to the woods where the geese had started their commotion and then made a round of the field. Orin joined him at the pond. She heard snatches of their conversation, enough to know that Melantha had spoken to both of them. Apparently, she’d warned them to keep their questions to themselves. About everything.
The afternoon passed quietly. Lily fell asleep for a short time. Later, Orin led them back to the goose sheds and bid them goodbye. She gave him the sketch of the tree hopper and the one of Melantha and the red dragon and was rewarded with his bright smile. She hoped her evening would be as untroubled.
The guard at the gate dashed that idea. Mother wanted to see her again.
Chapter Eleven
What have I done now?
Lily had been in a field all day, trying to save her country from being ruled by a sorcerer with questionable sanity and trying to save her sisters from a life of darkness. Or, at the very least, trying to stay out of trouble so she didn’t doom everyone. How could she keep facing people—especially her mother—if she couldn’t explain what was going on? Even to herself. She couldn’t do anything. She wanted to punch something.
She entered the king’s study, and Eben stationed himself outside.
Mother stood gazing out the window with her arms wrapped around her middle. The Guardian River sparkled yellow and orange, purple and blue in the setting sun, painting her face and hair with a rosy glow. She didn’t turn around.
Lily had no one to speak for her, no one to make excuses. This could only end badly.
Mother didn’t ask about her day, how she felt. No small talk.
“I wish Brido was here,” she whispered.
Father wouldn’t be home for days.
“Even Millicent.”
Grandmother? She’d retired years ago and seldom visited anymore.
“They would know what to do right now.”
Did Mother know Lily was in the room?
Lily understood, as all the girls did without talking about it much, that Mother’s mental state wasn’t the best this time of year. She wished she could take back her harsh words from the other day, or even apologize. She agreed with Mother about one thing—Father would know what to do.
Unsure what Mother wanted, she stepped further into the room.
“We have to be the strong ones, Lily.” Her voice fell soft like the fading light. “We have to make the choices in the end. Your father has given you time beyond tradition to choose who you will have rule beside you. He would give you more. As much as you want, but . . .”
Mother pressured him the most for her to choose a husband. Did she want a grandson so desperately? Or did she doubt Lily’s ability to do what she’d been trained to do?
Mother turned, arms by her side, hands clenched. “We have to make the choices, but we must always consider the greater good. Many decisions you make will be difficult. You’ll agonize over them and wish you could pass the burden off to someone else. But some are easy, Lily. So easy that we start doubting if it’s the right choice.”
Her gaze slipped past Lily to the door. Or to something beyond. “Sometimes it can be hard to tell the difference.”
The silence ran on until Mother’s attention snapped back to Lily, and her voice hardened. “Have you nothing to say?”
Lily shook her head.
Mother closed her eyes long enough to take a deep breath. “Lord Runson informed me of his meeting with you and Prince Holic in the gardens yesterday. He’s under the impression that you are playing hard-to-get and insists that if he had time with you as Prince Holic had, that he would not fail to win your hand.”
Oh, dear. She clenched her hands to hide the trembling.
“Since you have not seen fit to face him, I can only assume that you’re undecided in the matter. Can you give me a reason to put him off once and for all?”
How could she respond? A simple “yes” or “no” wouldn’t be enough here. Mother would throw her to the wolves. Or wolf. How could Lily refuse Runson, if it came to it? He would take her silence as acceptance, probably make the announcement then and there, and she wouldn’t be able to stop him. What would Prince Tharius do? She couldn’t tie herself to anyone with the curse in place.
“Have you still nothing to say?”
Lily’s breaths came too quickly, but she made no move.
“I’m beginning to wonder if there is some truth to the rumors that you intend to never make this choice, to remain unwed and pass the crown to Gwen and any children she may have.”
She’d never told anyone that!
Mother’s eyes narrowed. “Your father has been too indulgent with you,” she muttered and returned to the window.
Lily waited. She fiddled with Melantha’s dagger, adjusted the satchel, wiggled her feet in the hot boots. She counted to one hundred.
Mother turned slowly and locked her gaze on Lily. She spoke with authority. “I expect to hear an announcement of your betrothal at The Starlight Ball.”
That was in four days! She shook her head vehemently, all warmth draining from her body.
“Have you anything to say!” Mother came as close to shouting as Lily had ever heard.
She stilled, and a single tear escaped past her lashes. She hated this. She could make any decision she wanted about anything right now, but she couldn’t tell anyone.
“Say something, Lily. Anything! This childish behavior has gone on long enough. Give me some indication that you understand what I’m asking of you.”
Lily stared at her feet, barely nodding her head.
“You will inform me of your decision before the ball. You are dismissed.”
Lily’s legs were leaden. Father would never behave this way. Under normal circumstances, Lily would never behave this way, either. Understanding Mother’s frustration didn’t help.
The door closed, and she stopped with no memory of walking out. The carpet here was wearing thin. They should have it replaced soon. She plucked a white feather from her bootlace.
“Your Highness? Are you okay?”
Eben was here. Of course, he was; his shift hadn’t ended. He ducked his head to meet her eyes.
A few tears escaped before she could stop them.
He stepped close and handed her a frayed handkerchief. “Lily, what’s wrong? What is it?”
She let out a frustrated breath and shrugged, flapping her arms out helplessly and letting them fall. She wanted so badly to tell him. She wiped her tears and put the cloth in her satchel.
Eben seemed to remember Melantha’s instructions about questions. “Is there anything I can do?”
She shook her head. Except for the guards, the hallway was empty. Where would the girls be right now? It was too early for bed. Maybe the dining hall. Or out in the city watching fire jugglers or burning their mouths on hot meat pies. Mara might be in the kitchens.
Eben anticipated her next move. “Why don’t I take you to the kitchens? Get you some hot tea. Or soup.”
A smile was too difficult right now. She let him lead the way.
*
They slid onto the bench in their usual corner by the windows. Even on duty, Eben joined them for supper. He’d said once that the kitchens were the safest place in the palace. Over a dozen well-armed women, not to mention a butcher popping in from time to time, and a few poker-laden lads were enough to deter all but the craziest adversaries.
Mara fetched hot soup and cold sandwiches, and then removed her apron and hurried off to the dining hall.
Coral, Azure, Ivy, and the twins sat at the table already. Coral and Azure chatted about their visit to the city. Ruby and Wren interrupted frequently with questions; they’d cut their hair to hide the bruises on their foreheads.
“Are you okay?” Ivy whispered next to her, stirring a nearly-full bowl of soup.
Lily squeezed Ivy’s hand under the table and managed a lopsided smile, shrugging her shoulders—the best reassurance she could gi
ve her at the moment. She listened to the conversation politely, aware that the little girl kept stealing glances at her. Eben watched her, too.
She took her notebook out and sketched idly. A maid placed another candle on the table. Azure told a story about a flurry of honeysucklers that had descended on a sweets stall, demonstrating with her hand until she knocked over her water glass.
Lily lifted her book before the spill reached her.
Ivy squeaked, her spoon clattering into her bowl and splashing them with tepid soup. She shook, staring at the sketchbook.
Lily dropped the book as if she’d been scalded. Glaring at her from the paper was the gazebo, the one with the black morning glories. It could have been any gazebo, but it wasn’t, and Ivy knew it. So did the other girls. She half listened as they struggled for words to discuss it. She hadn’t fainted, but she didn’t know if that was a good sign. Brows furrowed, Eben chewed the last bite of his sandwich. He often said he didn’t understand half the things girls got excited about.
Wren went too far looking for words and passed out, slumping against Coral’s shoulder. Lily’s muscles unknotted. The curse was still in force. No one would be stuck in the undergarden. Yet. Ruby slid off the bench, and Eben picked up her limp sister. She looked tiny in his arms.
Lily shoved the sketchbook into her satchel.
Eben followed them to the tower and into the sitting room, where he laid Wren on the couch. “Can I send a maid, or something?”
Lily shook her head. She managed a smile this time.
“We’ll be fine.” Coral untied Wren’s boots. “Too much excitement today.”
Not to mention last night, and the night before that.
“I’ll be on duty for another hour.” He spoke to Lily. “If you need anything.”
She nodded, not breaking eye contact.
He lingered, as if he wanted to say something more. He even opened his mouth, but Azure called and interrupted him. He bowed and left.