by Shea, K. M.
“Not everyone disappears,” Roy reminded them.
“No, just most of the intelligent, competent folk,” Guy chimed in. “So you might be safe after all.”
Kenneth glanced at Quinn.
Quinn ignored it and tried to find something, anything to say. But the words wouldn’t come.
“I can’t believe you.” Leigh shook her head in disgust.
“It’s no more dangerous than the fights we face every day,” Roy said.
“Maybe, but you are being utterly heartless—” Leigh broke her sentence off and abruptly sat back in her chair.
A thick uncomfortable silence settled over the table. Kenneth cleared his throat. “This seems a bit impulsive.”
“Not really. I’ve been thinking about it for a year,” Roy said.
Well. I guess that shows how hopeless my feelings are. Quinn’s heart cracked a bit, and her eyes stung with the threat of tears.
“I’ve got it all worked out,” Roy continued. “I asked King Dirth to change the usual rules to the challenge—being given three nights to uncover the mystery and all that.”
Guy rubbed his long nose with the back of his hand. “He waived the rules for you?”
“Not exactly,” Roy said.
When King Dirth first instituted his challenge, he had created a framework for the volunteers. Each volunteer was given only three nights. They were locked in the princesses’ rooms with them, though they were given a maid’s room that split off from the royal sisters’ quarters. If the volunteer failed and slept through every night, he or she was disqualified. (These rules were put into place after numerous warriors failed to decipher the mystery night after night, and the king—though anxious to end whatever curse had befallen his daughters—was still a father and did not wish to have strangers sleeping with his children and potentially tarnishing their reputations.)
“I asked that the three nights I am locked in with the princesses would be spread out to give me time to make new plans,” Roy said. “I also asked that the king let me secretly study the princesses beforehand without their knowledge.”
“Pervert,” Guy said.
Roy rolled his eyes. “Not like that. I want to see how they interact with each other. So, the king has made me the newest gardener’s assistant! Each morning, I am to give the princesses a new bouquet of flowers.”
Guy squinted, his eyes nearly disappearing under his thick eyebrows. “A little old to be a gardener’s boy, aren’t you?”
While Roy squawked his outrage, Leigh leaned into Quinn’s side. “Hey, how are you handling this? Shall we make an excuse and leave?”
Quinn cleared her throat. “I’m fine.”
Leigh shot a dark glare in Roy’s direction. “You don’t have to be strong. I know you are sweet on ‘im.”
So does Kenneth, apparently, Quinn realized when the band leader discreetly glanced at her again. Embarrassment threatened to burn her cheeks—she hadn’t realized she had been so obvious.
“This was a chicken-headed thing of him to do,” Leigh grunted as Guy and Roy still argued over the believability of his false identity. “His chances of success are smaller than my youngest child’s coin purse. But cheer up, Quinn. We’ll pull him through—he won’t disappear.”
Quinn slowly shook her head. It wouldn’t change anything. Even if he survived, his feelings for her wouldn’t alter.
“Midnight, how can you be silent at a time like this?” Roy asked. “You’re supposed to be in my corner.”
Leigh bristled. “You…”
Quinn set her hand on Leigh’s shoulder to keep her from saying more, then cleared her throat and renewed her smile. He may not fancy me, but he’s still my band mate. I can’t abandon him—Band Gallant comes before everything. Even my pitiful feelings.
“It is a right foolish thing to do,” Quinn said, proud of the false cheer that warmed her voice. “But I’m in.”
Kenneth blinked. “You’re in?”
“We can’t rightly let himself get whisked away,” Quinn said. “Who will guard our backs? No, he’s of Band Gallant. We have to help our own.”
“Thanks, Midnight! I knew I could count on you.” Roy winked at her, but instead of making her happy, it only hurt.
“If he does pull a miracle off, he’ll marry a princess, so he’d be leaving Gallant,” Guy pointed out.
“Yes, I did figure that, Guy,” Quinn said through gritted teeth. Easy. I doubt he knows he’s rubbing salt in my wounds.
Roy planted a hand over his heart. “It pains me deeply to see how thick our comradery is when I need your help. Only Quinn has any mercy!”
Leigh sighed. “That’s because Quinn is practically a blessed saint, and I’m not. Fine. I’ll help you, too.”
“I wish you would have spoken to me of this plan before now,” Kenneth said.
“Does that mean you’ll help?” Roy asked.
Kenneth stared stonily at him.
“All right, all right. If all of you are going to join in on this impossible thing we may as well make it a Band Gallant mission. I’ll see it through, too,” Guy said.
“Thank you, my friends,” Roy said. “I know I’m facing a hard task, but with all of you helping, I think I can beat ‘em!”
“Want to calculate your odds?” Guy asked.
“No,” Roy said. “The first thing I planned to do was collect information.”
“We remember. You asked to secretly watch the princesses while they are unware of your study of them,” Guy said.
“Pervert-peeper,” Leigh muttered.
Quinn rubbed her eyes, trying to ward off the ache that was setting into her head. “You need more than information on just the princesses. We need to look into the volunteers—who has disappeared versus who has slept through their chances—and compare them to see if we can find any contributing factors.” She stared at the scratched-up table and tried to identify if the dried, crusty substance smeared on it was dried gravy or ale.
“How can we pull that off?” Leigh asked. “We have one day before we’re put on patrol again.”
Kenneth frowned, making his chiseled features look stonier than usual. “I will speak to Sergeant Jennabeth,” he said. “She might be able to find a shorter patrol or day missions that will let us return to Navia each night.”
“Thank you, Sir!” Roy grinned.
“I think I can secure a list of folk who’ve tried the challenge,” Leigh said. “The husband has a cousin who’s a scribe up at the palace.”
“Great. Midnight and I can talk to the volunteers who slept through the night,” Roy said.
“No,” Quinn said.
Roy peered at her, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “No?”
“You need to keep your front as the gardener’s boy,” Quinn said. “Guy and I can look into it.”
One way or another, I’ve got to get over Roy. Walking around with him will not help me on that front.
“I don’t like talking to strangers,” Guy said. “It’s awkward, and they never answer my questions.”
Leigh groaned. “I’ve told you before: you cannot ask someone you just met what herbal soap they use or if they are pregnant.”
“I’ll pick up the list from Leigh late tomorrow morning and begin tracking down volunteers immediately,” Quinn said.
Guy eyed Quinn’s food tray. “And meet up at the mess hall after to discuss our findings?”
“Quinn is going to dinner with her sister,” Kenneth said.
“Where?” Roy asked.
Quinn looked up. “At the Sappy Pine Inn.”
“Perfect!” Roy beamed. “We can all meet there, then! That is, if you don’t mind, Midnight?”
Quinn shook her head. Do I have a choice? “Not at all.”
Leigh eyed Roy. “Hmph.”
“I appreciate the help,” Roy said, ignoring Leigh’s narrowed eyes. “Does anyone want to go out for a drink? I’ll pay—it’s the least I can do.”
Leigh stood. “No, I need to get ba
ck to my husband and children. I’ve been here too long already.” She started away from the table, waving when they called farewell after her. “‘Night, Quinn, Guy, Sir.” Then, narrowing her eyes again, “Goodnight, Roy,” she growled.
“I’ll go!” Guy grinned. “It’s my policy to never pass up free drinks.”
Roy nudged Guy. “I should have expected as much. How about you, Midnight? You’re coming, aren’t you?”
“Can’t,” Quinn said. More like, won’t.
Roy’s sunny smile dimmed slightly. “Really? That’s a shame. Kenneth?”
Kenneth shook his head. “I will try to catch Jennabeth tonight.”
“I see. Thanks. I’ll grab some grub and at least eat with you, Midnight.”
Quinn glanced down at her half-eaten food. “Thanks, but I’m done. You two have fun.” She stood and gathered her tray, then nodded to the table. “Night.”
“Take care,” Roy called.
Quinn smiled at him despite her heavy spirits and nodded. Enough, she told herself as she turned from the table and trekked across the mess hall. I will not allow myself to turn into a mess because of this. I will help Roy and act as I always have. This matter is over.
Even with her mind made up, Quinn was glad that the barracks was empty when she returned to her bunk. She didn’t have to smile if no one was around to see.
* * *
Emerys stood on the invisible threshold that divided the elves’ domain in the Alabaster Forest from the rest of the woods. It was dawn, and most of the elves had collapsed, exhausted from yet another unwanted night of parties and dancing.
Even with the ètonse philtre procured for them by the Black Swan Smugglers, the years of forced celebrations night after night and the theft of their magic were taking a toll on the elves. Though they did not suffer emotionally as they once had—thanks to the philtre—they were nearing the limit of their stamina given the constant drain on their powers.
The elves would not survive much longer if Emerys didn’t do something soon.
He tried to push his toe into the human stretch of the woods, but he hit the invisible, unmovable, wall of magic that kept the elves imprisoned yet safe in their own home.
He grumbled. Never thought I would come to hate my own woods.
The Alabaster Forest was meant to be a haven to elves. It was one of the most magical places in the continent—and was certainly the purest. Or it had been. Until dark magic that Emerys hadn’t even known still existed fouled its roots. Until the elves had been cursed.
He passive-aggressively leaned into the invisible wall of magic, but it didn’t budge.
Just a few more days and I will have saved enough magic to test this rotten boundary.
Though the curse that kept the elves prisoners in their own home was powered—in terrible irony—by a constant drain on the elves’ magic, Emerys had managed to save a tiny strain of his magic every day. Due to the curse, he normally didn’t even have enough magic to light a candle, but after squirreling that tiny bit away day after day after day for years, he finally had enough magic stored to attempt a test on the boundary. Unfortunately, it was enough to do only that. He could never hope to save enough magic to break the curse himself. The curse requirements would have to be met.
If only Evariste were here…. The Lord Enchanter would be able to make quick work of the horrible curse that had befallen the elves.
But Evariste was in a world of trouble on his own—captured by rogue mages—and no one was strong enough, or learned enough, to stand in his place.
For a moment Emerys wanted to roar, to unsheathe his sword and slash straight through one of his beloved trees. The knowledge that the elves would likely die in their own woods—feeble, broken, and still dancing—was a weight of despair that threatened to crush him.
Emerys alone did not partake in the philtre that saved his people by wiping the pain—by wiping all emotion—and filled them with an endless desire to dance. It had been his decision since the start. He thought he was strong enough to resist the despair.
Unfortunately, he was also at the end of his strength.
He leaned against a tree, resting his forehead against the bark. “Nothing to humble a person like complete and utter helplessness. But isn’t there someone—anyone—who could shatter this?” he whispered.
The forest was oppressively silent. Not even a bird chirped. No, his home seemed to say. There is no one.
Emerys could only hope the thought was false. Or soon, the end would come.
* * *
Quinn pushed her rear deeper into the saddle and waited until she rounded a corner before loosening the reins and nudging Din forward.
Her mare surged ahead, cantering down the worn road that snaked through the forest.
Quinn laughed, her glee matching her horse’s. The ride was as much for her sake as it was for the mare’s. Only the woods and a good horse could soothe her like this when her heart still twisted from Roy’s announcement.
She collected her reins again and slowed the mare to a trot; the upcoming turn was a sharp one.
Din flicked her tail—though she was older, she still loved speed—but obediently trotted round the bend. Quinn was about to let her go again when she saw a figure collapsed on the side of the road.
Quinn pulled Din to an abrupt halt and vaulted from her back. “Hail there,” she called. She glanced up and down the road, searching for any possible ambushers, as she trotted back the way Din had come. The figure—swaddled in a black cloak and stooped over—had risen to its knees. “Are you alright, grandmother?” she guessed based on the figure’s pained posture.
The “grandmother” pulled back her black hood, revealing a gorgeous woman who looked even more miserable than Quinn felt. She was breathtaking, with glossy hair that moved from golden brown to copper chestnut in the span of a few moments, and with eyes that were so blue it hurt to meet her gaze.
Though she was beautiful, she had dark rings under her eyes, and a spiderweb of wrinkles creased her forehead.
“Grandmother?” the mage asked. (She had to be a mage—only those with magic could look so unearthly beautiful.)
Quinn could have kicked herself for her awful guess. But in my defense, she was stooped over and crumpled like an old woman. She skidded to a stop a few steps away from the mage and bowed. “My apology. Please forgive me for my grievous mistake.”
The mage sighed and sat, nestled in fallen leaves. “Your guess is not far off. I feel about as well as an infirm old woman.”
“Are you injured?” Quinn asked. “You weren’t attacked, were you?” Her army training kicked in as she scanned the woman for any injury. She isn’t holding herself in a wounded way, but she hasn’t gotten up yet, and that cloak of hers covers most of her body. It was only when the mage stirred that Quinn caught a glance of what looked like a pricey gown that shifted from a storm gray to an icy cold blue. She must be more than a mage to be able to afford color-changing clothes. A fairy godmother, perhaps?
“No, no. I’m fine. I was just investigating the woods and happened to trip.” The mage/possible fairy godmother stood and brushed dead leaves from her cloak—which latched over her right shoulder in a style Quinn hadn’t seen before. “It’s embarrassing to admit, but I merely felt too weary to rise.”
“I am glad to hear you are unharmed. If you’ll excuse my prying, you mentioned an investigation?” Quinn asked.
The beautiful magic user sighed, her shoulders stooping as if she bore the weight of the world. “Yes. I’m looking into a situation here in Farset that might involve dark magic.”
Ahhh, a matter of Farset’s defense. This is even more important than I thought. Quinn nodded crisply and shifted so she stood at attention. “I see. How can I help?”
The mage/fairy godmother blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are obviously on a mission of importance. I will do whatever I can to help.”
The gorgeous woman abruptly broke into tears—and not the
crystalline pretty tears of the stories, but great big sobs that wracked her shoulders and made her heave for air.
Oh dear. I must have said something wrong. Quinn softened her stance and took a step towards her. “I apologize if I offended you…”
“No.” The magic user plopped back down in the pile of dead leaves and scrubbed at her face, her too-blue eyes still leaking tears. “It’s not you, it’s just…y-you’re the first person to ask how you can help me in months!” She started sobbing again.
Quinn crouched down next to her and patted her back. “It sounds like you’ve had a difficult few months.”
“Try years.” The magic user pulled a fine handkerchief from her cloak and wiped her face. “Ugh. I hate crying! It doesn’t accomplish anything at all.”
Quinn whistled for Din and retrieved a small waterskin attached to the mare’s saddle. “That’s not true. It’s a proper release. If you never express yourself, you will only make yourself ill.” She offered the waterskin to the magic user, who took it with a grateful nod.
The beautiful woman took a few slow slips and flicked the last of her tears away with a sigh. “I don’t know that I agree, though I do feel a little better.” She handed the waterskin back and shook her head. “I suppose I ought to introduce myself. I’m Angelique—an enchantress-in-training.”
Quinn kept her expression easy as she hooked her waterskin back on to Din’s saddle. Internally, she was not quite so calm. An enchantress? Here? An old woman indeed. I should go back to basic training to refresh my apparently terrible observation skills. She cleared her throat and bowed slightly when she turned back to the enchantress. “Well met, Lady Enchantress.”
“It’s just Angelique, please.” The enchantress gave Quinn a wry quirk of a smile that made a little light return to her eyes. “I haven’t earned the rank yet. Besides, using a title with me seems silly considering I just bawled my eyes out in front of you.”
“Angelique, then,” Quinn said—even though bucking the formality made her want to cringe. “Please allow me to renew my offer. I am a mere soldier in the Farset army, but I will help you in any way I can. Do you need transportation to the palace? A meeting with my officers? An escort?” My offer is pretty pitiful—there’s not much I can do for an enchantress—but she seems rather…beaten.