Hold Fast the Knight

by Lotus Oakes

  "Replace him." The girl pursed her lips. Her gaze was flat, but she seemed to look straight through him for a moment. "So why are you here?"

  "Because I want to help the prince," Edgar said. That at least came immediately and easily; that had been the idea from the very beginning. It was a good start to his potential career, wasn't it? Helping someone in need? And if it turned out to be the prince himself, so much the better. Right?

  "You think that you can appeal to him, and he'll make you a knight?"

  Edgar rubbed his neck harder, embarrassed again. "A little?" he admitted. "I mean that's part of it. But I mean," and here the words came faster, a nervous rush against her unblinking stare, "I also just think... I mean, isn't it weird? The crown prince disappears, and no one wants to find him? People know where he is, but no one's doing anything about it. If it were my son, I'd want to do whatever I could to find him."

  "What if it wasn't your son?" the girl said. She had focused on him again, and he almost took a step back at the look in her eyes, hard and flat. "What if it was your daughter?"

  "Does that make a difference?" Edgar asked, bewildered. His heart was pounding, as if he'd been running, and it took effort not to squirm under the weight of the girl's stare. She had a way of radiating suspicious disapproval that Honored Lise would have admired. "If it were my child, then. I'd want to help them."

  She studied him for a long moment. She kept her arms crossed and her posture stiff, and again Edgar wondered if she might not simply pick up her spinning wheel and chuck it at him.

  Finally, she said, "My name is Ariel falla Xavie Dortai. I was once the princess of this country."

  Dortai, that name Edgar recognized: the ruling family's name for the past four generations. On the other hand― "Princess?"

  "Princess," Ariel said. There was a sharpness in her voice, a veiled challenge. She stared at him like she expected him to laugh, or maybe disbelieve her, or even challenge her. And a part of him wanted to, confused, before he shoved it down. This wasn't the time. Instead, Edgar held up both hands slowly in a gesture of surrender.

  "All right," he said.

  Her face twisted for a moment, fierce and furious, before what he'd actually said seemed to register. She stared, her eyes going wide, and finally she said, "Really? That's all?"

  He shrugged a little, keeping his hands raised. The horse wandered back over to him―a part of him was relieved it hadn't gone galloping off for real―and nosed at his fingers. When it found no treats, went back to ignoring him. "I mean, I guess... Do you need rescuing?"

  "You shouldn't," she said. "It's too dangerous for you―actual knights have tried. Why do you think my parents haven't sent anyone for me?" Before he could answer, she rose to her feet and began to stalk toward him. She was as tall as he was, and she moved with an easy, fluid grace he envied; it looked like the steps to a dance. "It's because the witch who took me is so terrible, so fierce, so dangerous, that there is no way to take me from the forest and survive. Do you understand?"

  Edgar blinked. Ariel had very long lashes, spiky and dark and thick, and up close, he could see a very faint spattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose, just barely darker than her olive skin. He could almost ignore the implied sting of the phrase "actual knights."

  He dredged up a smile and hoped it was acceptable.

  "Yes, but," he said, "do you want to be rescued?"

  She stared at him. "Didn't you hear a thing I just said?"

  "I did," he said. His voice rose a little too loud and fast before he bit it back, trying to inject some bravado into his tone instead. Confidence was important, wasn't it? He'd get nowhere if he couldn't at least pretend to have faith in himself. "But you didn't tell me if you want to be rescued, because if you do, then I want to help you. I'm not worried about danger."

  As he spoke, he saw Ariel's gaze dart to the side. A beat later, her eyes widened and she caught his arm, yanking him back and to the side before she stepped forward. Edgar stumbled with a yelp, his sore knees protesting the movement, which sent fresh sparks of pain up his back. When he turned to look at where he'd been, he saw what Ariel had: the witch.

  She stood a head again taller than both of them, with heavy breasts and wide hips; her dress was cut so the neckline plunged all the way to her navel, exposing a wide swath of white skin, so pale the veins underneath showed starkly blue. Edgar wondered how she managed to keep the neckline in place. Her hair was long enough to reach her waist, falling in a straight shining blue-black curtain, framing a long oval face with large, bright eyes and a long, sharp nose. She strutted forward with a lazy, loose-hipped confidence, and just watching her made Edgar's face go hot. He didn't know where to look―her hips, no; her breasts, no; her face was so knowing he felt oddly naked, even standing there before her fully clothed.

  As she approached, Ariel pushed Edgar more behind herself.

  "Well," the witch purred in a low, silky voice, "what do we have here?"

  "He just got a little bit lost, Violette," Ariel said. Her voice was ringing and clear, the sort of voice one would use for grand speeches. A queen would sound like this, standing proud before an assembly to inspire them to action. She squared her shoulders and raised her chin; Edgar half expected her to draw a sword from somewhere and brandish it. "Never mind him and let him go."

  "Let him go?" The witch―Violette―leaned to the side, toward Edgar. Her eyes were lined in smoky purple and her lips were very red. It reminded him of the actors who would occasionally visit his hometown, overly bright and fantastically exaggerated. "What do you say, little man? Were you lost?"

  "I came here to rescue the prince from you, ma'am," Edgar said. He resisted the urges to fidget or to apologize. Part of him envied Ariel's poise in confronting her―but Ariel was a princess, and she'd been the witch's prisoner for years now. Surely she'd had practice. After a moment he bobbed his head, apologetic in spite of himself. "It's not really any different that she's a princess instead."

  Violette blinked. She took a step back and stared at him for a moment, then looked at Ariel. Edgar couldn't see the look on Ariel's face, though he at least guessed she must be equally surprised. "What. Really?"

  "Really," he said. "I don't really want to make it a fight, ma'am, but it's very rude to hold someone against their will. So if you're keeping her here when she doesn't want to be, then it will have to be one."

  That sounded a bit better. He sounded more confident, and that helped it feel a bit more solid. He straightened and though his gaze drifted for just a moment to her plunging neckline, it was easier to drag his eyes back to her face.

  "Seriously." Violette's eyes were wide and her lips pursed into a thoughtful little pout. "You want that?"

  "Violette, don't," Ariel said, at the same time Edgar shrugged and said,

  "I'm going to try."

  Violette stepped back and crossed her arms. She lowered her head to stare at Edgar, never once blinking, and the intensity of her stare made his face feel hot and his stomach twist. The gaze felt like a physical touch, dragging long and steady over his body. What if she said no? He wasn't a real knight. He was a boy playing pretend in his father's footsteps. When she looked at Ariel, he nearly blurted something else, something more embarrassing. A plea, maybe, or outright begging; he couldn't decide.

  Just before his patience could snap, Violette laughed, her voice loud and ringing. She threw her arms wide open―which again made him wonder just how she managed to keep the halves of her dress in place―and she said, bright as anything, "Very well! If you wish to save the fair princess―"

  "Violette, please," Ariel said, and dragged a hand down her face. To his vague surprise, she sounded more exasperated than angry now.

  "―I will give you that chance." Violette pointed at Edgar, her other hand set on her hip, and smiled at him. It was wide and sharp, her red lips slightly parted around equally sharp white teeth. "If you succeed in your challenge, then I will allow the both of you to leave unharmed! But if
you fail..." and here she snapped her fingers, so that a small baseless flame, blue and violet and white, sprang to life over her hand, bright and surprisingly clear even in the late-afternoon sun "…then your soul will be forfeit to me."

  Edgar stared at the flame. He bit back a laugh at the last second, though he could feel it rising, sharp and bubbling in the back of his throat, torn between relief and incredulous surprise. Some of it bled into his voice despite his best efforts; he could hear the way his words wobbled. "I don't mind so much having to do things," he said. "But the soul thing seems a little excessive."

  "You don't think I'll just hand her over now, do you?" The flame Violette had summoned flared larger, spreading until it engulfed her entire hand halfway to her elbow, like some strange flickering glove. She raised an eyebrow, her red lips pursed into a thoughtful little frown. "She's my princess. I'm not going to just let this slide. There has to be some sort of consequence if you fail."

  "Failing is already a pretty unpleasant consequence," Edgar said. "Father wouldn't be very happy to see me come home."

  That was an understatement. He'd be furious and he'd be smug both. If he allowed Edgar back into the family home, he would certainly never let Edgar hear the end of this failed adventure. He was usually quiet except for at the bottom of a bottle, but once he got started, it was nearly impossible to stop him. He likely wouldn't turn to violence, but there was still the threat of that too, looming large and heavy.

  "That's barely enough!" Violette said. Her voice was loud and sharp, and it cut into his distracted thoughts without effort. Edgar brought his head up in time to see her extend her flaming hand to him. Though it was bright enough to make his eyes sting if he looked for too long, it gave off no discernable heat. "If you're a true knight, then this shouldn't really matter at all, hm? No problem."

  Ariel snorted aloud at that, a distinctly rude sound. When Edgar looked at her, though, she had turned her attention back to her spinning wheel, and was pointedly ignoring the both of them.

  "I still want to negotiate on the 'soul' thing," he said. "Can we just say my life for now?"

  Violette clucked her tongue. She didn't stop smiling, though something of the tone of it shifted. Maybe it was just the late-afternoon sun across her face, softening it, or maybe it was just the adjustment of her weight, but she seemed more genuinely amused now. Some of the flames around her hand flickered and faded, still jewel-bright, but less intense to look at. Like this, she seemed only a few years older than Edgar himself, rather than an old all-powerful witch.

  "Very well," she said, casting her eyes heavenward briefly. Her tone turned long-suffering. "Succeed your task for the princess's freedom, or fail for your life. We can negotiate later, but for now, I'll accept."

  Edgar still hesitated for a moment. Making a bargain with a witch, of all things! Would he even be able to admit to it, later?

  And yet, what better opportunity was he going to get? Violette knew he was here now. She'd be watchful for anyone trying to sneak in and rescue Ariel under her nose. Wherever she'd been before, he didn't doubt that she had known he was there. Wouldn't it be better, then, to seize and use this chance while he had it?

  Bolstered by that thought, Edgar clasped her outstretched hand. There was a bit of an electric tingle at the contact, a shock that stung for a second, but nothing worse than that. Violette's fingers were long and thin and she had a grip like iron. Her nails dug in slightly against the back of his hand. The flames cast strange flickering reflections in her eyes, like marsh-ghosts. She looked nothing like he'd ever imagined a witch might, with her head held high and her smile so pleased that Edgar couldn't help but smile back.

  "All right," Edgar said. "I'll do my best."

  *~*~*

  What we need right now is a guard, Violette said afterwards. The last night of every month is the longest, and for someone like me, it's the most dangerous. Your task, then, Sir Would-Be Knight, is to patrol my property for the space of that whole night, and keep my home safe from those who would harm me.

  It was a strange request, in Edgar's opinion. Not the patrolling aspect―that he expected he'd be doing plenty of in time, once he was properly knighted―but the simple fact that he would be guarding a witch's house. He was guarding a witch, and the one who'd kidnapped the princess he meant to rescue. What a strange twist of fate. His father might laugh at it, if he didn't rage instead.

  "It's still two weeks until the end of the month," Edgar said.

  "So it is," Violette said. "You can stand guard as much as you like until then; let's call it practice."

  With that, she swept away, the long train of her skirt fluttering after her like spread wings. In the silence in her wake, Ariel gave him a small apologetic look even as she began to gather up her supplies. The wheel she left where it stood, but the basket piled high with spun and unspun wool she gathered in her arms, hefting to rest on her hip.

  "I'm sorry about Violette," she said. "She takes her image very seriously."

  "It's fine," he said, though some small part of him gibbered in protest at that. Edgar Marcusson, that is certainly not fine! "I was expecting worse―would you like help with that?"

  "I'm fine," Ariel said. "It's not so heavy as it looks. Since she's home so early now, dinner will be in an hour. You don't need to eat with us, of course."

  "I'd like to, if I can," he said. He followed after her as she headed inside the house.

  The first thing that hit him was the smell: green, pleasantly so. He couldn't pick the individual nuances apart, but he could tell there were both flowers and herbs, so that it was like walking into a kitchen and a flower garden at the same time. The lighting was dim but enough to see by, all coming from some unidentifiable source. Magic, he thought, and trailed after Ariel down a hallway and to a room off to the left. The house seemed much larger on the inside than it first appeared.

  After depositing her spinning and the wheel, she turned and led him down another long hallway, which ended in a kitchen that looked to be as large as the entirety of Edgar's childhood home, if all the walls were removed and the rooms merged into one. A large, heavy cauldron stood at one wall with a steady fire crackling under it; a bread oven stood opposite it, the door sealed with flour paste. Multiple tables were set up in a veritable hedge-maze, each neatly stacked with all sorts of cooking implements he couldn't begin to identify. Ariel navigated it with ease, only to stop short when she'd made it halfway across the room. Edgar, preoccupied with looking around, bumped right into her.

  "Sorry," he said, though she barely seemed to notice, saying at the same time,

  "Oh, I knew we were almost out."

  "Out?" Edgar said. He leaned around her, and saw that next to the cauldron stood a stack of metal shelves. The bottom one had a few thin logs of wood with powdery white bark, but the rest stood empty. "Firewood?"

  "I keep telling her to just tell me when she's using it," Ariel muttered, then turned to him with a sigh. "I'm sorry, it'll likely be more like an hour and a half. I need more than that to cook with."

  Edgar rubbed the back of his neck. He looked around the kitchen, then back to Ariel, and said, "If you need someone to chop wood for you, I could do it."

  She looked outright surprised at that, cocking her head to stare at him. A beat later, she frowned. "I couldn't ask you―"

  "Call it thanks for dinner," he said. "You're going to feed me, so, I mean... I don't have any money to pay for it, and I'd like to provide somehow." He squeezed the back of his neck harder, in a halfhearted attempt to comfort himself. It had sounded like a good idea in his head, but saying it aloud felt clumsy and awkward. Was he presuming? Would money have been better? El had been satisfied with putting him to work, but if he needed to scrape something together, he was going to be in trouble. "And I'll be out of the way for whatever you're doing in here."

  Ariel studied him for a few seconds, then nodded. Her expression was thoughtful as she said, "I'll fetch you an ax. There's a copse of trees in the bac
k. Only cut from there, and only the trees with white bark. Trust me on this."

  Edgar smiled at her and straightened up. He dithered for a few seconds, unsure of how to properly answer―should he call her "your highness"? What was the proper etiquette in addressing a princess who was also your fellow captive, in a way? In the end, he saluted her as smartly as he could. "Yes ma'am."

  It won a small smile from her, bemused but genuine. She led him down another long hallway to the back door and fetched him an ax from around a corner. When she opened the door, the sun had slipped down even farther, staining the sky a deep orange and the forest around them a dark, hazy purple. Now he could hear the insects that had been missing before, a thin, creaking chorus of sound. To his surprise, some of the tension bled from his shoulders at that. The Silver Forest might have magic, but it had crickets, just the same as any other.

  Ariel touched his wrist briefly, and then handed him the ax when he looked up.

  "As much as you can, if you will," she told him, and waved him off.

  The copse itself was only about twenty trees total, all taller than Edgar and thin as saplings. Most of them were dark and gnarled, but three of them had smooth, pure-white bark, which also struck him as odd until he considered that there were silver trees at the edge of this forest. White seemed a little more naturally possible.

  He'd taken a solid swing at one of the white trees when he heard something rustling just out of sight. He paused and looked around.

  There was no one there. He waited a few seconds, then shrugged. It was probably a deer or a rabbit; if the forest had insects, it surely had other fauna as well.

  But with his second swing the rustling came again, this time louder. And this time, it sounded less like something moving in the undergrowth and more like a whispering voice.

  Edgar set the handle of the ax against his shoulder and said tentatively, "Hello? Is anyone there?"