“Very true, sire,” Thadro said, the worried look returning to his face. “Heaven knows what some of the more conservative doyens will do.”
“So we will bypass them and go directly to the top,” Jusson said. “As Lord Wyln tries to contact the Lady Moraina—”
“Tries?” murmured Wyln.
“—we will also write to His Holiness the Patriarch—”
“Send her back,” I said.
The hall went silent once more.
“Two Trees’son?” Wyln asked.
“Send Kveta back to the Border—back to Queen Mab and honored Moraina and the High Council. And send the necklet with her.”
Kveta tried to stand, but the leg I cracked with my staff gave way and she collapsed again with a yelp.
Laurel gave another chuff, his tail lashing, his pupils narrowed to slits. “An excellent idea.”
“I was toying with the idea of immuring her in a cell with just the dragon bones for company,” Jusson said. “But that does have merit, Cousin—”
The king broke off as the sound of the great hall’s doors opening reached us. Thadro immediately gestured at those of the King’s Own and troopers who remained standing and they hurried to the entryway. Quickly rising to my feet, I waved a hand at the gap in the hedge (Munir made another choking noise as the missing section reappeared), then hesitated before joining Jusson. But before the royal guards and soldiers could reach the foyer, a water sprite wearing the traditional minimum clothing stepped around the wooden screens and into the great hall. She was followed by a handful of yawning and also scantily clad tree sprites, a unicorn, a couple of sylphs, a massive bear, a broad-antlered stag, and a small fox. The Own and troopers came to an abrupt stop.
“More guests?” Lady Margriet brightly asked.
“Not quite,” the Forest Lord said. He turned to Jusson. “A few of my people, Elf King. Those who haven’t yet gone to their winter’s sleep.” He eyed the bear and tree sprites. “And those who should but won’t.”
The tree sprites remained silent, but the bear grunted and dropped its muzzle in a grin.
“We see,” Jusson said. He once more glanced around at the hall. Some of the injured had been helped from the hall, but a whole lot more remained, along with castle servants, their faces turned towards us, watching. “We suppose the first order of business is to find these pox-rotted dragon bones.”
Laurel nodded. “As soon as possible, honored king.”
“After that, though, we will sit down and discuss your marriage to Lady Berenice and all its ramifications—”
Berenice jerked upright. “What?” Her mother thumped her on her side and she dropped a hasty curtsey. “Your Majesty?”
“I would like to sit in on the discussions if I may, honored king,” Laurel said. “I might be able to, hrmm, help in explaining things to the various parties.”
“We’ll see,” Jusson said.
“But I don’t want to marry him,” Berenice said. “Besides, Lord Rabbit and I have an agreement—”
“No,” I said. “We do not.”
“Well, we could,” Berenice said, exasperated. “You’re a strong enough mage to counter anything untoward that might happen. And if you couldn’t, your two teachers can.”
“No,” Laurel said.
“ ‘Can’ and ‘will’ are two different things,” Wyln said at the same time.
“Is that why you invited me here?” I asked. “To help you weasel out of your marriage contract?”
“We made you an honest proposal,” Berenice said.
“The hell it was,” I said. “Honesty had nothing to do with you doing your damnedest to seduce me while you were promised to another.”
“I thought you were man enough—and chivalrous enough—to rescue me from a grievous misalliance,” Berenice said. “Apparently I thought wrong.”
“Leave my manhood out of it,” I said. “You cannot enter into an agreement and then repudiate it when it no longer suits you.”
“Contracts are broken all the time,” Berenice began.
“Berenice,” Lady Margriet said.
“So they are,” I said over Lady Margriet. “And penalties are paid. Are you sure you want to pay the price after having lived on the promise of that contract for six centuries?”
“I haven’t lived on anything for six hundred years,” Berenice snapped back.
“But your family has,” I said. “What did you say? All this time and Mearden has never fallen. Had never even been attacked in centuries filled with strife and turmoil. Who the hell did you think kept it safe? Kept it prosperous?”
“Well, it wasn’t him,” Berenice said, waving a wild hand at the Forest Lord. “You heard, he was asleep all this time.”
“Lord Idwal said that the Forest Lord had been stirring since your great-grandda’s time,” I said. “Even if he weren’t, his influence was still very much present. Six hundred years of prosperity and blessing, and you shrug it off, saying it has nothing to do with you.” I shrugged, suddenly very tired. “And then you try to drag me into this mess and call it honest. I think you and I have different ideas of what honesty means.”
“It is amazing how little she understands the obligations of her station, let alone the position she aspires to,” Princess Rajya put in.
“And the amir not only knows but has approved what you and Lord Munir have been doing here,” Berenice said back.
“Stay out of this, Daughter,” Suiden said before Princess Rajya could respond.
“There are provisions in the contract if either party does not wish to marry,” the green man said, reclaiming everyone’s attention.
“Ha!” Berenice said.
“Have you read them?” the green man asked.
“Well, no—”
“I suggest that you do,” the green man said.
“They can’t be that bad,” Berenice said. “Can they?”
“You’d forfeit your firstborn,” the green man said. “Among other things.”
There was a shocked gasp. “Just like something out of a children’s story,” an aristo whispered.
The Forest Lord shrugged. “The steward—and especially the steward’s wife—really wanted to make sure that the marriage would take place.”
“But surely the Church will not sanction a marriage between us,” Berenice said, desperate.
“I will speak with your church elder,” Laurel said. “I’m sure the king will speak with him also.”
“So we will,” Jusson said. “We will also include this in our letter to the patriarch.” His eyes gleamed. “It’s going to be a very interesting missive.”
“But—”
“Enough,” Lady Margriet said. “You have been indulged too much by your father.”
“I indulged her,” Lord Idwal said, indignant.
“You did not want—have never wanted—a son of Rafe even as a guest, let alone as a son-in-law,” Lady Margriet said. “Yet here Lord Rabbit is, dragooned here by you at the urging of your daughter. What do you call that?”
“But, Mama, Papa,” Berenice said over her father’s sputters, “he’s not a man—”
The Forest Lord waved a hand at his body. “What, this?” He shimmered and his form changed, and a stag stood in his place. He shimmered again and became man-shaped once more, but instead of his massive form, he slimmed down, his beard of moss and antlers disappearing, his features refining until, except for his eyes, he looked like any other man. Well, sort of like any other man.
Berenice’s mouth parted, Lady Margriet’s eyes blurred, and a stir went through the ladies in the hall. Even Princess Rajya blinked, then straightened, tucking her hair behind her ears.
Jeff sidled next to me. “Damn, Rabbit, he looks prettier than you,” he whispered. I made a rude gesture.
“Details,” the green man said, and shifted back to his prior form.
Berenice shook her head as if to clear it. “Uh—”
“I will talk to your elder,” Laurel said.
“Perhaps it would be better if we both officiated. There are customs and practices that I’m sure the honored lord would like to see, hrmm, honored.”
The Forest Lord eyed Laurel. “Follower of Gaia?”
Laurel bowed, his tail a graceful extension behind him. “Yes, honored lord.”
The Forest Lord nodded. “That is acceptable.”
The light pouring in through the windows suddenly softened and in the distance I could hear the sound of thunder. The fall rains were arriving. I allowed my head to once more rest against my knees, feeling the weather change in my bones. I heard a footstep and Jeff stiffened beside me. I looked up to see Arlis had walked over to the hedge surrounding Kveta and stood staring down at the wolf. He then looked at me, his face unreadable. Jeff made a derisive noise under his breath, but I shook my head and he fell silent. I heard another sound, one of fire crackling, and I shifted to find that the spheres had returned and were once more contemplating me. I stared back, not only aware of the weather change, but actually feeling the rain drumming on the earth as if it were my own skin, feeling the wild sea driven by storms, feeling the diminishing heat of the sun as the year waned, and the breath of winter dancing on the wind as it blew from the north—and the barriers I’d erected over a month ago began to crumble. As they fell, yearning poured in, filling me until I felt unbearably stretched. Kveta made a sound between a woof and a gasp, and I turned once more to see her staring back, her ears flat against her skull.
“Rabbit, you’re blurring,” Jeff said, his voice worried.
“Cousin,” Jusson said, rising from his chair.
“Two Trees’son,” Wyln said, walking quickly towards me.
Laurel also started towards me. “Rabbit, wait—”
My gaze still on Kveta, I let go and was gone.
Twenty-seven
It was raining, a steady downpour falling through the bare branches that framed the lowering sky, soaking me almost as soon as I formed. I was still wearing trousers and boots, though I the blankets Finn had draped over me were gone. Frowning, I thrust my hand into my pocket and pulled out my feather. It was bright red in the gloom, almost glowing against the truth rune and the gloom, almost glowing against the truth rune and symbols on my palm. I then reached down to my boot and found my knife. Relaxing some, I put them both back in my pocket and looked around. Apparently I was deep in Mearden’s forest as neither the road nor the castle tor was visible. I stood there a moment, feeling the rain course down my braid, plastering it against my bare back. I then gripped my ash-wood staff and started towards where I thought the castle was.
“This way, Cousin.”
I stopped midstep and turned to see Jusson standing in the opening of a tent that had been erected in a small clearing. Lamplight spilled out around the king, as did the scent of vanilla, orange, and spice, and I immediately changed directions, warmth bathing me as I stepped inside.
Though the tent wasn’t as large as the one Jusson had used when we left Freston, it was was spacious enough to hold a couple of chairs, a handful of small tables, and two lit braziers with plenty of room left over. A simmering ornamental pot sat on one of the braziers and a tarp had been laid on the ground over which had been placed thick Perdan rugs. I vaguely wondered if they’d come off Princess Rajya’s ship or if Idwal had them stashed in the castle someplace. There were also wall hangings—including the hunt one from the king’s chambers—keeping out the cold and damp. However, there weren’t any royal guards. There wasn’t anyone else either—no Thadro, no Wyln, no Cais. No Jeff, Bertram, or even Arlis. Trying to remember if I’d ever seen the king alone, I came to a halt just inside the threshold.
“You’re letting in the rain,” Jusson said.
I turned from the peopleless tent to look at the king before staring down at the growing damp patch spreading from my feet. Some of it was runoff from my sopping braid. But some was also from the rain blowing in from the tent’s opening and I moved all the way inside. Jusson immediately fastened the tent flaps behind me.
“Finn brought dry clothes for you,” he said. He moved to the wall and lifted another set of flaps to reveal a smaller chamber. It too was bright and warm with lamplight and lit braziers and it sported a large washstand with a large ewer full of hot water, my brush, comb, and shaving kit on its counter, a towel rack, and my King’s Own uniform laid out on a chair. Once more drawn by the warmth, I stepped inside, only to spin around at a noise behind me. But it was just the king closing the flaps. Left alone, I walked to the washstand and stared in the mirror.
I was vaguely surprised to find me looking back unchanged. My face remained unlined, my eyes still blue, my hair still dark brown. I did have what looked like a two-day-old beard. I ran my hand over it, feeling its roughness, before sliding down to my neck. Instead of being an angry red, the line Kveta had sliced over my jugular was thin and white, as if it were a several-years’old scar. My hand lingered there for a moment, feeling my pulse beat under my fingertips, before dropping. Leaning my staff against the washstand, I poured water into the basin and prepared to shave away all evidence of time passing.
A short time later I emerged from the small chamber reasonably neat and dry in my King’s Own uniform to find Cais standing with Jusson. The diminutive majordomo gave me a searching look, his eyes flashing purple in the lamplight. He then bowed.
“Good afternoon, my lord,” Cais said. He indicated a large tray with two gently steaming teapots and several covered dishes. “I brought luncheon.”
However long it had been, it had been without food. My stomach immediately grumbled, and Jusson smiled as he nodded at Cais. “Thank you. We’ll serve ourselves.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Cais said, and, with another bow, left the tent.
Jusson went to his crown chair. “Sit, Cousin.”
I remained on my feet even as the king sat, and looked around once more at the luxuriously cozy tent, my brow knitting.
“Ah, you’re wondering how we knew to meet you here?” Jusson asked. He waited a moment for my nod. “Wyln said you’d be here.”
I blinked.
“Something to do with the fact that he is your cyhn,” Jusson said. “Though the Faena cat rumbled something about elf families.” Turning to the tray, he lifted the cover from one of the plates. “Sit. Eat.”
My stomach rumbled again and I sat. There were rolls, pastries, and other dainties on the plates, and for a time I busied myself with their demolition. Jusson must’ve eaten earlier, for he just drank tea, his gaze on the brazier fire as he sipped, patiently waiting for me to finish. When I finally put the plate down, he nudged the second teapot towards me and a sneaking suspicion flashed across my mind. It must’ve also flashed across my face as Jusson’s mouth quirked.
“Yes, it’s Laurel’s tea. He said you’re to drink all of it.”
Not bothering to argue, I poured a cup and drank it straight without any sweetener. Holding back a shudder at the bitterness, I poured another cup and downed that too. Pouring a third cup, I cradled it in my hand, enjoying the warmth of it against my palm. Jusson went back to contemplating the brazier flames, the sound of the rain drumming on the tent roof filling the silence. After a bit, he stirred, placing his empty cup on the table.
“In a more ordered world, there would be always time for what one needs to do.”
I had been staring at the hunt tapestry, noting that the stag was once more gamboling with the dogs under a full moon and that the trees were free of obscure shadows. However, at Jusson’s comment, I looked at him. Who frowned.
“Can you talk?” he asked.
I thought about it a moment. “I think so,” I said. I thought some more. “Your Majesty.”
Tension flowed out of Jusson. “Good. Both Laurel and Wyln said that it was possible that you’d be affected in some way by your taking, and even if you weren’t, that it would still take some time for you to recover—” He broke off, then shrugged. “Well.”
“How long have I been gone?”
I asked.
“Two days,” Jusson said. “It’s been two days since you disappeared.”
So I wasn’t returning years or decades later, like some character out of a children’s story. It was my turn to relax. Somewhat.
“Again, both Laurel and Wyln said that you would return,” Jusson said. “Laurel said because of the oaths you’d sworn—”
“Yes,” I said. “Your Majesty.”
“—and Wyln said because no elf has ever been consumed by the aspects.”
I opened my mouth to say I wasn’t an elf, then stopped. My oaths and the feather covenant had pulled me back. But something else did too. Like someone saying my name, just on the edge of my hearing.
“Apparently sixty-four lines to an elf king and being adopted into the Fyrst’s family matters, Cousin,” Jusson said.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I murmured.
“Anyway, as I said, I wish there were more time,” Jusson said. “Though I suppose if we had vast quantities of the stuff, we wouldn’t value it at all and would squander it on frivolous things.
“My da used to say if we had all the time in the world, then nothing in the world would get done,” I said. I then blinked, not only at the words that had come tumbling out more or less in order, but also the memory that arose with them. I could see my da seated in his chair by the fireplace, looking like my da—not the wild, dissolute third son that others had painted. My da, his eyes crinkled in a smile as he relaxed after a hard day’s work, his hand reaching out to my ma to pull her laughingly, lovingly on his lap.
“I liked Rafe,” Jusson said, his voice quiet, “and when the queen died and I ascended to the throne, I sent a message for him and Hilga to return to Iverstere. He sent a letter back, refusing, saying they were happy where they were, and he filled the rest of the letter with the doings of his children and his farm.”
Something I hadn’t known had been jarred loose suddenly settled. “He did?” I asked.
“Yes,” Jusson said. “For obvious reasons, we didn’t continue to correspond. But I kept the letter and took it out from time to time to reread about Rafe, Hilga, and their fantastically named children. Including the one named Rabbit. And when you showed up Cosdale, training to be a soldier, I thought, Ah, yes. Rafe’s son. I also thought, Let him settle; there’s plenty of time to bring him to court so I can see whether he is like his father. And so there was, until time unexpectedly ran out.”
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