by A. E. Wright
“JESTIN!” A new voice had entered but in contrast, this one belonged to an angry male. I looked toward the doorway to see the trail of a deep green robe enter the room behind the queen. It was Alphus, the king and he was terrifying in his temper.
“Have you been stealing from my kitchen, again? Your brother has reported at least two pheasants and a grouse have been taken.” He growled.
“And how exactly was I meant to have taken these things when I have not left my chamber?” Jestin was sharp with the king. I had never heard him speak with such disrespect before. King Alphus responded to Jestin’s insolence by throwing a huge, golden candelabrum across the room in rage before stalking out of the door defeated. The queen followed closely behind uttering calming but unfathomable reassurances to her now rampant husband as he careered down the corridor screaming Balthus’s name.
I edged myself from under the bed digging my hands into the hard wood floor in order to propel myself forward when I felt a familiar rough length of twine beneath my fingers. I spun onto my back to survey my discovery better. My necklace! Why was it here, under Jestin’s bed? Why had Jestin hidden it from me? There was only one explanation that made sense, but I didn’t want to believe it. Had he been planning to use it all along? Make me fall in love with him and then lure me to the gate so he could let in the Gnarls. What an idiot I had been. He was clever, so clever to play the hero when all along he had been the biggest villain of them all. The traitor, it was Jestin! The heat burst like flame, a fire of emotion rising up within my body. The anger and heartache I felt took the physical shape of the fist that was forming in my hand. As Jestin leaned over the edge of the bed to ascertain why I hadn’t appeared. I hit him, hard, my hand acting as a cathartic vessel for the hurt I felt at his betrayal. Whilst he was monetarily stunned, I scrambled from under the bed and shot like an arrow for the door. He made a grab at my ankle but I had darted down the corridor before he could catch me.
Flashes of gold and red walls, pictures of Worlen princes, dusty statuettes and busks of Worlen royalty, lined the corridors. I only saw them fleetingly as I bounded down the hall as fast as my legs could carry me. I couldn’t hear anybody behind me so I sanctioned myself a small recess to allow for the oxygen to once again fill my, now burning, lungs. I placed my hand against the wall, momentarily distracted by its softness before I became conscious that I was actually leaning against a picture of some sort. I surveyed the scene briskly, at first intending to set back off running as fast as I possibly could but the picture intrigued me. This wasn’t just any picture. This picture was inscribed with the words The Worlen Monarchy, The Defeat of Agrona.
The king looked solemn and true to his supposed miserable character. His shoulders hunched, his head bowed and his left hand crossed above his right. His blood-red cloak however, looked utterly unsympathetic. I noticed a shining pin of a crescent moon penetrated by a fang. He held a sprig of rosemary in his hand. I was sure Jestin had previously told me that in Worlen culture, it was a sign of loss for the dead. I found this very odd. The queen, who was noticeably thin and dangerously unwell, did not smile. This did not surprise me. I didn’t think I would feel like smiling if I had been left to the mercy of the most evil sorceress that ever lived, by my own husband. All because he was afraid, she had made him look weak. The young princes’ Jestin and Idris stood at either side of the royal couple. The picture, painted before the birth of Jestin’s younger brothers. Idris looked around the age of, what would have been, thirteen for a mortal human. Arrogant even at that age, with his self-satisfied smile, seemingly unaffected by the death and destruction Agrona had left in her wake. The other young prince, with his vibrant raven curls and his dazzling green eyes, seemed to be around eleven. Jestin! He was my Jestin, he hadn’t fooled me but I had been a fool. He couldn’t be the traitor, he was too young at the time of Gweniveev’s death to have been the malevolent man in that field by the brook. Whoever the traitor was, they were here, in the castle. They had planted the necklace intending for me to find it. A blunt pain to the head and then my lights went out.
I felt a warm wetness spread across my cheek. Groggily, I put my hand up towards my face, wiping at the slimy substance. A hard wet nose nuzzled my hand, indicating the presence of a dog. I sat up on my elbows and shooed the gigantic wolfhound off my face. A whistle came from one of two huge four-poster beds similar to Jestin’s. The royal green curtains were open rather than drawn, pulled back by golden ropes and tied around the posts of the bed. On each bed sat a different version of the same boy. They were twins but not identical. Both of the boys had mid-length hair. Small curls licked their shoulders and they both had deep leaf-green eyes but that was where the similarities ended. The more confident of the boys had the same light-blonde hair as his mother. His frame was more muscular and he was slightly taller than the other boy who sat shyly on his bed. The second boy tenaciously avoiding my gaze, his dark brown hair hid most of his face. Unsure what to do about my presence in the room, he shifted uncomfortably. These were the youngest princes.
“Cay, go fetch our brother, tell him we’ve caught a Banshee scout in the halls.” Directed the blonde prince.
The brown-haired boy took off out of the door. I had to get up, who knew which brother the Cay had been sent to summon. If it was Idris, I was doomed. He would have me tried as an intruder in the royal manor. Balthus had told me on our way up that intruding into the royal home was a crime punishable by death here in Forge Gate. I reached for the bonds tied around my feet but the young prince growled his protest, a warning not to touch. I had left my bow back at the terrace house, underestimating how dangerous entering the manor might be. I would never have hurt the young prince but at least if I had my bow I might have been able to convince him to let me leave in peace. Cay re-entered the room panting.
“He’s here.” The words left his mouth at the same time that a bruised Jestin pushed open the door. He shut it quickly behind him, letting the wooden bolt fall into place. The blonde-haired boy spoke proudly,
“We caught her Jestin, snooping round the house, looking for you no doubt.” His lip curled slightly in anger. The radiance of Jestin’s smile, not spoilt by the small purple patch, sat just under his eye where I had punched him.
“Oh, yes I see a Banshee guard. Did you catch her by yourself Cavill?” Jestin’s tone was slightly mocking, in a non-maleficent older brother kind of way.
“I hit her on the head and Cay helped me drag her back here.” Cavill retorted proudly.
“I see and have you checked the eyes?” Jestin questioned.
“Why would I do that?” Cavill answered looking perplexed.
“Because brother, if you check our ‘Banshee scouts’ eyes you will realise that they aren’t lilac as a Banshees would be.” Cavill looked from me to Jestin and back again, his face blushed red in embarrassment. Jestin kneeled on the floor next to me and released my feet from the bonds.
“I must congratulate you however because you have managed to capture the person that did this.” Jestin pointed to the small but angry mark under his eye. Both boys raised their brows in surprise. I looked at the floor in embarrassment. How stupid could I have been? The necklace, obviously planted, and I had been so foolish as to believe, without question, that Jestin withheld it from me. I deserved to be tied up here. I was a raving lunatic.
“I’m sorry.” I managed to cough pathetically under my breath.
“I will take her away for further investigation boys, many thanks for your help in seizing our prisoner.” Jestin maintained his tone of mockery. I didn’t quite know if his teasing was aimed at me or his brothers.
We crept slowly down the corridor and back into Jestin’s chambers without anyone noticing. This time he bolted the door. He was grinning stupidly, revelling in my embarrassment,
“Do I get an apology?” He asked.
“I’ve already apologised to you.” I stated defensively.
“I mean a heart-felt apology.” He smiled his delicious smile.
I knew what he wanted but I wasn’t going to allow him the triumph.
“I truly and sincerely am very sorry for my actions towards you on this day.” I smiled in my stubbornness but my victory was short lived as he pulled me in towards him, leaning in for another kiss. I was powerless to resist, eventually I pulled away feeling that I had to explain myself.
“I thought that you…” He held up his hand to stop me mid-sentence.
“I know, I saw the necklace after you ran out of the room. You’re fast you know, it’s probably a good thing.” He sounded impressed.
“Good for what, running away from psychotic witches who are trying to steal your heart?” I smiled. He simply smiled in return, obviously uncomfortable at my frankness, he did not reply.
“Why did your brother think I was a Banshee guard anyway? Are the people of Forge Gate so paranoid that they think every stranger is here to attack?” I asked.
“You don’t know?” Jestin looked puzzled.
“Don’t know what?” I answered.
“Dahlia’s father has been killed. He was found on the beach at Blossomdown, the Bobbin’s think a Gnarl has somehow managed to open the gate, a theory I agree with. The Banshees however think it is a werewolf attack. Queen Evangelista is beside herself and Dahlia hasn’t been seen for a couple of days now.” It took a few minutes for the information to sink in.
“I need to go to her, she’ll be devastated.” I replied. Poor Dahlia her father had been the only close relative she had before she met her mother. Now it was the reverse and I needed to be with her, to help her through. She would have done the same for me.
“You can’t, the Banshees have insisted that any unauthorised visit to Thistlewick Marshes will be considered as an act of war. Anyway, Idris is going back as diplomatic representative to try and convince the Banshees that it wasn’t a werewolf attack.” Anger flared up inside me again, my hands shook.
“The only person, werewolf whatever, I have met that is capable of murdering anybody is that creep. He’s not going near her again.” My voice was shaking.
“Idris is the only one who is able to go.” Jestin was adamant.
“What?” I had never heard anything so ridiculous in my life. “Why would you send Idris when he was probably the one who did it?”I was almost shouting now.
“That’s not fair Violet. Idris couldn’t have done it; he couldn’t have opened the gate. You’ve seen the portrait, my brother is an evil scheming demon but he’s not the traitor.” Jestin was right Idris wasn’t the traitor; he was too young just like Jestin. He couldn’t have opened the gate either without Merl or me present. The attack could quite easily have been the Gnarl that had watched me jump through the gate, maybe it had somehow worked out a way to open the gate without a key. So why did I feel it in my heart that Idris was the one who had done this to Dahlia’s father?
“Ok so let’s say that he didn’t do it, so what, we can still go there instead of him.” I pleaded.
“We can’t. The coach he is travelling in has already set out for Thistlewick.”
“Then we get there before him.” I was determined that he wasn’t going to get near Dahlia, not now, not ever. Jestin seemed frustrated, angry even.
“We cannot go Violet because the Banshees think that I killed Dahlia’s father and that you were the one that let me through the gate.”
Our conversation was brought to an abrupt holt by the heavy footsteps of someone running towards the room, had we been caught? Balthus burst through the doors, breaking the heavy wooden bolt in two. Carrying a plump looking pheasant under his arm, he guided me, dumbstruck, though the dark winding corridors under the manor.
Chapter Twelve - As the Crow Flies
ON THE MORNING that we had trespassed at the royal manor, Ambrose, the huge bat that I had mistaken for a light fitting in Merl’s sitting room, arrived at Balthus’s small home. A sweet smelling scroll of parchment he had couriered had been laid carefully on the table. Bettery and Merl sat anxiously, awaiting our return, we arrived mid-afternoon. I was shaken by Jestin’s revelations. How could the Banshees think it was us? We had no reason to hurt anybody let alone the gentle hearted Solomon Dixon. I always liked him, he was kind and friendly. He didn’t deserve to be dragged into this situation, I couldn’t think of any logical reason that someone would want to cause him harm. Even if the Gnarls managed to open the gate, why would they kill Dahlia‘s father and leave him there on the beach to be discovered? It didn’t make any sense. Surely, they would want to remain unnoticed if they did get through to give them more time to find Agrona’s body. It was true that Dahlia had been due to go back home in the next couple of days, maybe someone wanted to hurt her but found Solomon instead? I banished the thought, what benefit would it be to anybody if Dahlia were hurt? The questions raced around in my mind but with no immediate answers.
Merl pulled at the silk ribbon that held the parchment in a cylindrical shape and let the paper unfurl across the table. The handwriting looked rushed. It rose across the page in an unusual arch as if the parchment had been placed at an odd angle. It was a message from Rosamaylind. In it she explained that the Banshees were readying themselves for war. Queen Evangelista, driven mad by grief had ordered every female Banshee to arms and there was a planned advance on Forge Gate in the next couple of weeks. Rosamaylind explained that, even though the queen had only spent a few brief months with Dahlia’s father, when a Banshee procreates with another they are mated for life. The connection is always there, as prevalent as if the person was with you each day. Evangelista was not coping well with the shock and Dahlia, who had already been found, had not spoken for days. Rosamaylind wrote that she did not believe that Jestin and I had opened the gate or murdered Solomon, but it seemed like she was one of a few. Most of the Banshees noticed during our time at Thistlewick that Jestin and I had been alone together a little more frequently than we should have. Some even speculated that we were trying to start a war to divert attention from our hidden love affair, which was absolutely ridiculous. Others had observed the tension between Dahlia and me. They seemed to think that I had opened the gate and Jestin had killed Solomon as an act of aggression against her. It didn’t help that Dahlia and Jestin clearly didn’t like each other, but this was even more preposterous than the last suggestion. It made no difference however absurd I thought these theories were, they were out there and it seemed they were the accepted version by the majority.
Even the queen, who we had both fought alongside against the Changelings’ thought we were responsible in some way for his death. Rosamaylind’s letter ended with a plea to Merl to try to unite the two fractions before a war broke out. Rosamaylind was right, this was the worst time for a war to begin between the Worlen and the Banshees when the witch was about to rise. Bettery was the first to speak,
“Terrible thing is grief, does strange things, even to the most brilliant of minds.” She looked at Merl reflectively.
“What a load of ruddy nonsense! At least Princess Rosamaylind has the presence of mind to realise that something has to be done before Agrona awakens, but what?” Merl began to run his frail hands through his wiry beard.
“We are trying to reason with them, Idris has been sent as part of an envoy to explain that no Worlen had the opportunity to open the gate.” Balthus offered hopefully.
“That mendacious buffoon will most likely do more harm than good.” Merl’s words echoed my own thoughts. The table went silent. With each of us trying to untangle the disastrous situation in our minds. To offer some kind of explanation, some reason behind the murder but there wasn’t any. After a long pause Balthus rose from the table, pulling on his huge bear-skin robe despite the fact that it was still summer, he decided it was time to distribute the meat he had stolen from the manor to the hungry. Bettery started busying herself at the small stove, actually, it was more like a stone chimney used for cooking, but it served its purpose well enough. She began whistling melodiously as she baked strangely coloured, yellow bread. Mer
l too rose from the table, beckoning me to follow. I walked silently from the small kitchen into the adjacent sitting room. He stopped just before the narrow stairwell looking around to ensure that we were the only two people in earshot before he began to speak.
“As you have probably guessed the heart of Agrona is concealed here in Forge Gate, I have been to the place it is hidden and fortunately it is still there.” He whispered.
I breathed a sigh of relief at least we knew for sure she hadn’t been awakened yet. He continued,
“Her body however is hidden in your world. The grave is protected by magic but it is possible with the right knowledge that the body may have already been recovered. We have to travel there tonight and make sure this is not the case.” By ‘we’ Merl meant him and me. Given the situation, I couldn’t understand his sudden urgency. We had known that Agrona was due to rise since Thistlewick, yet we were going to make sure her body was still in place now?
“Can’t it wait until we have gotten to the bottom of who killed Solomon?” I asked. It was a long shot, he had clearly already made up his mind but I wanted to stay and help clear my own and Jestin’s name so that I could be with Dahlia, she needed me.
“My beard! If it could wait, do you not think it would?” Merl was losing the little patience he had. “Think Violet, why would the killer have left Dahlia’s fathers body on the beach at Blossomdown rather than in the wood on your side of the gate?” Merl questioned.