Izzy gasped as a pressure lifted from her mind. She surged up to hunt the faeries, to attack in a way she hadn't been able to imagine moments before. "Cowards!" Izzy slashed out with her thorn sword—but it was fading. It was just a thorn, and her shield a withered leaf crumbling in her hand.
"Izzy." Siofra's voice shook, and Izzy turned to search the dark, eyes still hazed by faerylight. Izzy saw her at the edge of the trees and they moved together, met halfway. Siofra wrapped her long arms around Izzy, clinging despite the armor. She was real and warm and human and Izzy held her tight. Her heart beat like a rabbit's against Izzy's cheek.
"I'm so sorry, Izzy. It took us so long to realize you hadn't come back. They haven't been seen since my grandmother's time. I didn't think, and they almost got you," Siofra was babbling. Meanwhile Izzy was detailing exactly how she was going to hunt the faeries down and destroy them.
"They made me—" Izzy's voice choked off, the reality of what had happened burning the rage into nothing but terror. "They made me want to obey." She squeezed her eyes shut against tears. They'd reached into her heart and her mind and changed her.
"I would have followed." Siofra's fingers pet Izzy's short hair, and she pressed desperate little kisses to Izzy's forehead. "I would have followed you underhill and dragged you back out. I love you too much to abandon you to faery land."
Izzy lifted her face to take a kiss from Siofra's lips. "Your buckthorn leaf kept me safe." Izzy had thought so little of the charm when Siofra first gave it to her. She couldn't bear to think of what might have happened if she hadn't had it.
"That was your own will." Siofra shook her head. "I gave you tools, but you held against them yourself."
"It's gone now. It crumbled." Izzy touched where the charm had been on her armor, missing it sharply.
"I'll make you another," Siofra promised. "I'll make you dozens of charms." She tugged Izzy's hand, turning away from the glade as rain pattered down. "Let's... let's go. I don't want to be here. The others are waiting."
"My sword and helmet," Izzy remembered. They found them when the clouds broke, shined metal gleaming in moonlight. Izzy had discarded them like they were nothing, and some of her fear settled with her helmet on her head and her sword in her hand, even if they were no protection at all from faery magic.
They climbed together down Imp Hill. It looked like Tom and Martel had set out every last ward they had and built up the fire to light the camp with bright, flickering gold. Lee had on her breastplate over her sleep clothes, sword in hand, and she'd even remembered to put her despised helmet on. Her jaw was set like she was ready to fight the whole world and everything in it, but her eyes were wide and frightened.
Izzy didn't let go of Siofra's hand, even once they were safe within the wards.
Lee pounced on Izzy, clinging tight in a hug. "You can't," she demanded, a harsh whisper against Izzy's neck. Her breath was shaking. "You're Ser Izzy and nothing can defeat you and you're not allowed to leave me on my own. I'm not… not ready. You can't."
Izzy held Lee as close as she could without letting Siofra go. This was real, her squire who was her responsibility and was worth far more than a faery's tantalizing temptation. "I'm here," she promised, and it was as much for her own reassurance as it was Lee's. "I'm not going anywhere. Siofra's charm kept me safe, long enough."
Lady Siofra wrapped Izzy up in a hug from behind, and Izzy reluctantly let go of her hand. Human contact, being squished between Lee and Siofra, had never felt better. Some of the terror squeezing Izzy's heart finally eased.
"How do we prevent this?" Izzy asked, mind turning to tactics. "How did this happen? I was within the wards." The Winter Star did not stint on the magical protection for their traveling knights. No imp had ever gotten through the camp wards to cause mischief, and yet they had done nothing to protect Izzy from the faery king and queen.
"They are only basic wards, not nearly enough against stronger magic." Siofra explained. "The reaches of Greatbriar have always been wilder than most, with the green magic so strong in my family's blood. The faeries could not come in, but they lured you out." She let Izzy go. "I can fix this." She stepped quickly to the wagon for her satchel of herbs. Izzy reached out halfway, as if to catch her, but clenched her fist and stopped herself.
Siofra's magic could protect them all, and that was more important than Izzy's momentary comfort. She tugged Lee down and pressed a kiss to her forehead before setting her loose too.
"Here, duck. I've made a spot of tea," Martel offered, and it took Izzy a moment to realize that 'duck' was her right now. Not even when she'd been dazed with a cracked head had she been duck. The tea was a bit sweeter than Izzy typically liked, but the warmth of it was settling.
Lady Siofra quickly wove four charms, of what looked like nettles and thorns, and walked the perimeter to reverently set them at the cardinal points. A shiver crawled down Izzy's neck when she put the last one down, the tickle of strong magic.
Siofra returned to the fire, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead and tired smile on her lips. "There. The strongest protection I can give us, at the moment. It will do."
Martel immediately clucked over her and gave her a cup of tea too—mothering her strongest instinct in stressful situations—and Izzy held out an arm to welcome Siofra close. There was a companionable quiet around the fire for a few moments while they all drank their tea. They were all here, all close and safe. Izzy was not the only one looking from person to person to be sure of that.
"Write up what you did," Izzy requested of Siofra as she set aside her empty cup. "I'll carry the recommendation to the Winter Star. None of our knights should be so unprepared again."
"Not tonight," Martel decreed before Lady Siofra could do more than nod her agreement. "We've had more than enough excitement. It's time for sleep." She firmly herded them into the wagon.
Izzy tried to take her usual place, the hammock closest to the entrance, but Lee wasn't having any of that. "I'll be on watch tonight," she declared, pushing Izzy deeper into the wagon. Lee's expression was mulish, and Izzy, bemused, allowed her to take charge.
It was Izzy's responsibility to protect the caravan, but it was also her responsibility to nurture Lee into a good Knight and a credit to the Winter Star. This protective instinct was a good sign. And Izzy was tired, and she did want to be surrounded by real people and be as far from the woods and the faeries that were in them as possible, despite trusting Siofra's wards.
Izzy put her armor up, but kept her sword close; though when Lady Siofra lay down in the hammock beside hers and reached toward her, Izzy gladly held her hand instead. Her presence was far more safety and reassurance than Izzy would get sleeping with even the best sword in her hand.
*~*~*
The entire company was more on their guard after the incident at Imp Hill, but there was no more major trouble as they traveled through the duchy of Greatbriar. One of the wagon's wheels grew wobbly and needed repair, and one of Lee's saddle straps wore through and needed replacing, but this kind of thing was expected and easily dealt with.
They were out of the wild reaches, and into more civilized farmland, when the moon was full again. Lady Siofra found a farmer to haggle with for a bottle of milk and left her empty-handed but wreathed in flowers and smiles. "I have been invited to join a few of the local women in their moon rededication!" she gushed, eyes bright.
"Let's set up camp then," Izzy said. The day was early, but they were making decent time, and a moon rededication was—as Siofra had made so clear their first full moon together—necessary. Of course she would want to do so among other women of choice, if she could.
Lady Siofra laughed and kissed Izzy on the cheek in thanks. "Will you join me, as well?" she invited, almost shy.
"If you like," Izzy agreed, heart warming. She had been invited to join her shield-sisters in their ritual a few times before. It was trust, to be allowed in so close, and Izzy could treasure it. It also made her feel a little safer, that she would no
t be expected to leave Lady Siofra alone with strangers.
Not that Siofra was incapable of protecting herself.
They made camp on the edges of the farmer's field. As evening fell, Izzy and Lady Siofra followed the farmer and a few other women, young and old, to a little meadow beside the stream. There were blankets on the grass and hampers with sharp cheese and dark crusty bread and cold roast chicken. There was even a bottle of apple wine, to turn it into a fine little celebration as they waited for the moon.
"It's just simple fare," the farmer who'd invited them apologized, bobbing a curtsy to Lady Siofra. "Not what your ladyship will be used to, I'm sure."
"It is wonderful, mother," Siofra soothed, placing her hand on the older woman's. "Tonight, we are all women beneath the moon. Nothing more."
The gathered women chatted about their lives, shy around Siofra at first, but warming to her as the night deepened. Izzy was, gladly, not expected to contribute much and could enjoy the food and the cool night air, Siofra against her side, and the voices of women around her.
Crickets sang their reedy songs, the moon rose, and presently the oldest of the women decided it was time. Three of them, and Lady Siofra, rose to stand in a circle. Siofra was given the honor of holding the silver basin, the eldest poured the milk into it, and the rest placed their pendants within
They all chanted together, voices joined as one. The ritual was short, but so important. One by one the women took their recharged pendants from the basin, and their little group separated—smiling and happy. They held their hands out to the friends they'd brought with them, and Izzy rose from where she had been bearing witness with the rest of the women of birth to hold hands with Siofra on one side and a girl she did not know on the other, all of them bound in a single circle. All of them women together.
"We give thanks to the Goddess, for her blessing," the eldest woman said.
"We give thanks," Izzy echoed, along with the rest. It was a far simpler prayer than would be spoken in a grand shrine or a temple, but no less sincere for its lack of adornment. The circle broke, and women spoke and laughed again as they gathered their things.
"We never thought we'd have the honor of sharing the ritual with your ladyship," the farmer told Siofra earnestly as she packed up the blankets and empty hampers, echoed in quiet murmurs by several of the others. "You don't know how much it means, knowing our future Duchess is a woman like us. Though of course far more grand! No offense meant."
"I will not forget your kindness in inviting me," Siofra broke her off, before the woman could become more nervous. "It does my heart good to know how many sisters I have here in Greatbriar."
The other women would not hear of Izzy and Siofra helping them pack, and it was late, so they excused themselves to return to the wagon. Siofra all but glowed, a bounce in her stride and white night blossoms blooming in her braids and in the grasses around her feet.
"I love this," Siofra held her arms out wide, spinning around to indicate the whole world. "Walking my land. Seeing my people. This is what I am meant to be."
"It suits you," Izzy agreed. "I like to see you this way."
Lady Siofra laughed and spun herself into Izzy's arms, the kisses from her laughing mouth as sweet as wine. And if they lingered in the hedgerows, away from the sharp ears and eyes of their caravan, there was only the moon to see, and she told no secrets.
*~*~*
No journey could last forever. It ended, as it was always bound to, when Izzy saw Siofra safely home.
Greatbriar Palace was nestled in the town of Brightwater, and all the townspeople came out to see Lady Siofra return. They lined the road, cheering when she smiled. Lee carried the standards, and Izzy rode beside her with Siofra riding pillion behind. She was dressed as the Forestyne she was, her hair freshly braided. Boots and Thunder arched their necks and stepped high, knowing they were on parade and doing the Winter Star proud. Tom and Martel followed with the wagon.
"Welcome home!" people called. "Welcome home, Lady Siofra!"
"Thank you!" Siofra answered, smiling, waving, and holding tight to Izzy with her other hand. "Thank you. It's good to be home."
They entered the palace grounds through an honor guard of soldiers at salute. Siofra nodded regally to them and leapt lightly down at the end. The palace servants were lined up along the steps, and the Duchess of Greatbriar waited at the top.
Lady Siofra swept up the steps as smooth and poised as though she were wearing the most elegant of gowns. Lee and Izzy dismounted to flank her ascent. They were mostly there to make her look good, but Izzy would see Siofra safe into her mother's arms as she'd been charged.
Lady Edythe floated down the last few steps to meet Siofra, hands outstretched, and they fell into each other's arms. The Duchess's face was lined and her curls silvered, but they looked very much alike—same nose, same height, same bright eyes.
"Oh, my baby girl," Lady Edythe drew back to cup Siofra's face between her hands. "Look at you, all grown up."
"Mama," Siofra answered, eyes tearing up, and Lady Edythe drew her into another hug. "It's good to be home."
They were both more composed when they parted, and Lady Edythe rose to her full height to complete the theatre of greeting. "Knight Isolde, you have my gratitude."
Izzy bowed, hand over her heart. "It was my honor, Your Grace."
"With your bravery you have done the Winter Star proud," Lady Siofra said, a smile twinkling in her eyes before she turned to address the people gathered to see her return. "I have been too long away from Greatbriar. I intend to see it all, to walk as a Forestyne and tend to the richness of my land and the strength and wellbeing of my people. I could think of no better Knight to accompany me than Ser Isolde. If you would do me the honor?" She held her hand out to Izzy, eyes smiling and sweet roses in her hair.
Izzy bowed over Siofra's hand, reverently pressing her lips to the back of it without ever breaking eye contact. This journey was ended, but that only meant another could begin. "My Lady, I would like nothing better."
The Heartless Knight
Heather Morris
Isi had been off balance all day, warm and muddle-headed and slow, and that was before Prince Tom decided that the chief aim of the night would be getting everyone scandalously drunk. The Frog and Feather was their fourth stop of the night—"We must have four," Tom had slurred early on in the evening, "for luck and glory!"—but at least it would be their last. Isi usually imbibed at a slower rate than his friends, but even he was already drunk enough that time seemed stretched like molasses candy.
As they stumbled their way to their usual spot amidst the din of the public house, Isi tripping over his suddenly too-large feet, Isi tried to categorize the state of his friends. Emery Pin was giddy, hopping around like a giant, uncoordinated bird. Sol Bright was bleary-eyed and edging towards morose. Walter Ames was handsy—hanging all over some blonde girl they'd picked up at the last place. "Want to see my big sword?" he kept asking her, and, well, Isi might have been drunk and inexperienced in the finer points of seduction, but even he knew what Ames was really talking about, and it wasn't the sword at his hip.
But Tom was definitely the worst off—or best, depending on the perspective—of the bunch.
The prince was well known to enjoy a drink or four, but tonight he was flamboyantly, spectacularly drunk.
And Isi was right there with him.
Normally he kept to the sidelines, where he could keep control of his actions and emotions while the others had their fun. But tonight was different. Tonight, he was officially a knight of the Court of Four, one of the oldest institutions in Skel, raised so far above his station that he could hardly think straight. He wasn't sure yet how to feel about this, so he'd decided that he may as well get hammered.
Sloshed. Malty. Pickled. Smashed. Take your pick. Since landing on the shore of this bewildering isle at the age of nine, Isi had made a habit out of collecting all the ways Skellans said things, and the words for drunkenness were among
his favorites. Mheztil just called a drunk man a fermented fool and had done with it. As with everything else in their language, Skellans gave drunkenness scope.
Prince Tom took the national passion and made it something of a personal mission. Six nights of seven, he could be found winding through the inns and ale halls of outer Skelhome, boosting the local economy with his surfeit of coin. It wasn't that he was a drunkard, precisely. Everything was a matter of degrees. But Tom did enjoy any excuse for a celebration.
Well, tonight was certainly a celebration. And for once, Isi was keeping up with Tom and the others. Drink for drink.
Sozzled. Isi wasn't entirely sure if that was a real Skellan term, or if he'd simply made it up to add to his store of drunken words. No matter. He was quite fond of it.
He was thoroughly sozzled.
"To our liege lord!" Emery proclaimed in toast. No, Sir Emery proclaimed in toast. He hefted his tankard high. "Our notorious, disreputable, wool-brained, impious, scandalous prince!"
And what was Isi to do with that excellent chain of words but add to the chorus of Heres and take another swallow of The Frog and Feather's finest ale?
"To my knights!" Tom roared in reply, causing another swell of agreeable shouts about the room. "May they long live as emblems of justice in this flawed world, and protect my pretty head for years to come."
"Pretty empty," Anne Derry teased, ruffling Tom's already-disordered, overlong black hair. His bastard half-sister, she was probably the only person in Skel who could get away with such a taunt.
Grinning sloppily, Tom thrust his half-empty tankard her way. "You know, I think it's high time that someone made a lady out of you. Perhaps one of my new knights can indulge us. Sirs! Which of you shall take up my dearest sister as your paragon of virtue and love? For the sake of poetry, and chastity, and all that fairytale rubbish."
A refrain of guffaws answered, the loudest from Anne herself. Isi recalled the rawboned girl he had first met on the riverbank ten years ago. In short order she'd thrown stones at the Skellan boys making fun of his accent, taught him four excellent cusses that she swore could get him out of any knotty situation, and then dragged him into the mud to hunt caimans with her, though she had only heard of caimans in the penny adventures and was not clear on what they looked like, as they did not live in this part of the world. Even now, at nineteen, she was still more boy than lady, any day.
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