by Shea, K. M.
Angelique shook her head and stood. “No. I’ve been in contact with Rider Neera, but at the moment I would rather not alert anyone to my presence here. It is rather a shot in the dark, but I’m running out of ideas.”
Quinn nodded slowly. If it’s that secret, I ought to give her my name—and perhaps Sergeant Jennabeth’s contact information in case she needs help while I’m on patrol—and leave her.
To Quinn’s surprise, Angelique turned to stare into the forest and continued. “I’m actually not here on Farset’s behalf—though at the Summit held to review the widespread calamities that have been hitting the continent, Rider Neera did speak of the sudden increase of wraith and troll attacks. I’m here for the elves.”
“I see. I’m afraid I can help you even less, then,” Quinn said. “No one has seen much of the elves for over five years now.”
Angelique still peered into the shadows of the trees. “They’re cursed.”
Shocked, Quinn let her pleasant façade drop. All signs of a smile departed from her face as her eyebrows raised. “What? How is that possible?”
Every soldier—every civilian—of Farset knew something was wrong with the elves, but even Quinn had never entertained the idea that the elves had been cursed. They were too powerful—in both the physical sense and the magical sense of the word. Who could possibly overpower them? And how? The elves are some of the most powerful beings on the continent! Only Lord Enchanters and Lady Enchantresses can rival their best.
Angelique tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know. I still haven’t spoken to them. I found out my information only because a friend of mine has made contact with them. She doesn’t know the particulars of their curse, for it seems they cannot speak freely of it.” She finally pulled her gaze from the forest and swiveled to face Quinn with a grim expression slanting her mouth. “I spoke of it to the Veneno Conclave, and they sent several representatives to the Alabaster Forest to inquire. They were not able to meet any elves, which meant they could not enter the woods. As the Alabaster Forest is the sovereign land of the elves, entering their home without their permission is considered an act of war.”
“What will the Conclave do?” Quinn asked, referring to the organization that governed all good and noble magic users.
“Not much. It seems there is not much they can do.” Angelique pursed her lips. “Politics has their hands tied. Any elf-friends may enter, of course, but those are unfortunately far and few between.”
Quinn frowned as she internally organized the information. “Except for your friend?”
“Ahh, yes.” Angelique eyed Quinn for a moment. “Odette makes…deliveries for them.”
“Can you not meet the elves with her?”
“She does not meet them often and will not meet with them for several more weeks. I will wait until then if I must, but I rather hope not. By then it may be too late.” Angelique once again grimly stared into the forest, the defeated look returning to her eyes. “Or perhaps it is already too late. Our enemy…the Chosen….”
Quinn held in a shiver at the name. The Chosen were a group of rogue mages who used magic for nefarious purposes. They had first popped up hundreds of years ago in Verglas, before the famed Snow Queen tore their forces apart and banished them. Since then, according to Bridget—who spoke frequently with Rider Neera, the king's cousin—the Chosen had bided their time and built up their forces.
Angelique shook her head. “But enough. As you can see, I’m afraid no one can help me except the elves themselves, and it seems they are in a position that makes them unable to respond.”
“I understand.” Quinn nodded and nearly performed an automatic salute. “I would still like to give you my contact information, as well as the name of my commanding officer, so you may find me should you need it.”
Angelique tilted her head, and the ageless feel that magic gave her seemed to slide off as she studied Quinn with child-like, widened eyes. “You really are fearless. I give you all of that bleak information, and it doesn’t scare you off?”
Quinn finally renewed her smile. “I am a soldier in the Farset army. We are trained differently than most forces.”
In addition to Farset’s emphasis on teamwork, soldiers were trained to act more like forest rangers—most obviously in the way they moved nearly invisibly through the forest, but also in that they were drilled to help and protect citizens first. The differences may have been due to the influence of the elves. For centuries they helped train the Farset army, but since they had all but disappeared that tradition had been set aside.
“Prince Severin of Loire told me previously that the Farset army was very unique—and undefeatable in forests. But even with your training, I thought the threat of a curse would have spooked you,” Angelique said.
Quinn relaxed marginally. “Ah, perhaps that is because the Twelve Princesses of Farset have been under some strange sort of compulsion for a few years now. Most believe they, too, are cursed.”
Angelique massaged her forehead. “I had nearly forgotten about them. By Pegasus’ feathers—there are too many curses plaguing the lands,” she grumbled.
“My army band and I have volunteered to investigate the princesses’ curse,” Quinn said.
“Have you? In that case, I have something that may help you.” The Lady Enchantress unhooked her black cloak and offered it to Quinn.
Quinn backed up a step and shook her head. “I couldn’t.”
Angelique’s lips curled slightly upwards. “You would refuse a gift from an enchantress-in-training?”
“It is fall. Farset nights are usually cold, but soon they will turn bone-chillingly freezing,” Quinn said.
“Ahh, again your noble kindness. But don’t worry—my dress is spelled, just like this cloak. I could wear just my dress in Verglas and still be fine. Which reminds me, I ought to show you how the cloak works. Here.” Angelique briskly threw the cloak around Quinn, latching it over her right shoulder.
“There’s a heat charm to keep you from freezing, a cooling charm for hot days, and a fire resistance spell, so it won’t catch on fire. Those are all passive spells—meaning they’re active all the time. What I think you’ll find most useful is the invisibility spell.”
Quinn tried to discreetly test her mobility while wearing the foreign-fitting cloak. “Invisibility?”
“Yes! It’s a hard spell to put into cloth goods, but this cloak used to belong to a Master Craftmage. He infused all the spells himself.” Angelique smiled fondly at the cloak. “To activate it, hold the fabric up to your mouth so your breath can touch it, and say shroud. To release the spell, do the same thing, only speak the word reveal.”
Quinn lifted her arm and whispered to the fabric, “shroud.” Her breath hitched when she felt something in the cloak shiver, and a soft silvery weight seemed to settle over her. Her body faded from sight, like a rabbit blending into his surroundings.
“Yes, exactly like that,” Angelique said.
“Reveal,” Quinn said, breathing more easily when the weight of the spell slid off her like water and she could once again see her own body. “Incredible—I have never seen anything like this.” She shook her head, awed with the gift. “Are you certain you wish to give this to me? It seems…overly-generous.”
Angelique shook her head. “Believe me, it’s not. It’s little more than a cast off, but I’m glad you are so pleased with it. I should warn you, it does have some limitations. The invisibility spell will last only for a few hours—though you’ll be able to feel it when the spell starts to weaken so it won’t be a sudden failure. It’s also true invisibility—so you can’t be seen, but you can still be heard, and if a person walks into you they will feel you.” Angelique tapped her lower lip in thought. “The spell will affect anything attached to the cloak, so your face won’t show, nor will your clothes if the cloak happens to open.”
Quinn peered down at the cloak, inspecting the well-worn cloth. “Does that mean two people, perhaps, could hide in it?�
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“It is powerful enough to cloak two people, yes. Though moving around in it would be rather difficult, I imagine,” Angelique said.
“Thank you, Angelique.” Quinn bowed low to the enchantress. “This truly is an amazing gift.”
Angelique smiled. “I hope it helps you as you have helped me.”
“I have done nothing to aid you.”
“No, you have. I cannot tell you what your offer of assistance means to me. Unfortunately, I should continue with my search.” The stoop returned to Angelique’s shoulders, and her smile turned uncomfortable.
“I understand. But first please let me tell you how to contact me, should you change your mind,” Quinn said.
“I would appreciate that, thank you,” Angelique said as her dress bloomed into the purple color of the early morning sky.
“Also, I request your permission to inform my superior officer of an enchantress in the area. I will not name you, give your location, or mention the details of our meeting,” Quinn said.
Angelique sighed. “When the king hears a report, it will be fairly obvious it is me. I’m the only enchantress on the move at the moment—but I imagine it will be fine.”
I suppose, Quinn thought as she gave Angelique the necessary directions. This shows how important it is to dispel whatever mystery surrounds the princesses. I need to give it my all, not just because Roy asked, but also for the sake of my country.
The thought of Roy still gave her a slight pang, but already it was getting a little better. It had to. I will not allow my feelings to upset the balance of Band Gallant.
* * *
“So sometime after you drank the wine, you fell asleep?” Quinn briefly tweaked the tip of her hair braid before she made a note on a piece of parchment.
“Yep.” The tinsmith—who had volunteered and failed to uncover the princesses’ mystery four months ago—smiled kindly at Quinn as he straightened his tools.
“For all three nights?” Quinn asked.
He nodded. “I’m ‘fraid so. I didn’t hear anything—didn’t even wake up until the maid shook me awake the following morning.”
“I see.” Quinn made another note on her parchment. “When you woke, did you feel at all different from normal?”
“I was a wee bit groggy.” The tinsmith stared thoughtfully at the rafters of his workshop. “And my mouth felt like I had been chewing cotton all night.”
As I suspected. That’s the only detail given by all seven accounts I’ve heard thus far. After retrieving the list of failed volunteers from Leigh, Quinn managed to speak to six—seven including the tinsmith—of the volunteers.
Their stories were limited—they had all slept through their three given nights, after all—but Quinn found the lack of details frustrating. Not one of the volunteers could recall the princesses doing anything besides giving them wine. They didn’t recall any odd smells or sounds either.
They’re civilians, not trained soldiers. I guess they wouldn’t be as suspicious as me or anyone from Band Gallant, Quinn reasoned.
“The princesses were all very kind and charming.” The tinsmith mopped his forehead with a worn handkerchief, the smile lines around his mouth softening as he sorrowfully shook his head. “’Tis a shame their curse affects them so.”
Quinn, hearing the surety in his voice, looked up from her parchment of notes. “You are so certain it’s a curse?”
“It has to be,” the tinsmith said. “The princesses would never do anything to upset their father. They’re good, generous girls.”
“I see…” Quinn added his thoughts to her notes. I will have to ask Bridget about it. As the Red Rider, she has met the princesses on occasion. I don’t recall her ever having such great faith in their goodness…
“Thank you for your time and explanation, sir.” Quinn smiled brightly at the tinsmith.
He shrugged. “I’m sorry I cannot be of more help.”
“I must disagree; your account was most helpful,” Quinn said truthfully, bringing the cheer back to the tinsmith’s face. “Comparing your story with the others I have heard thus far will hopefully reveal observations not otherwise obvious.”
The tinsmith laughed. “The king should have put a clever thing like you on the case sooner! I do wish you luck, soldier. May you free our princesses from this terrible plight.”
Quinn bowed. “My band and I shall do our best.” She left his workshop with a wave and carefully rolled up her parchment so she didn’t smear any of her notations. She glanced at the sky—which was turning a purple-blue hue as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. I may as well set off for the inn. I won’t have time to interview another failed volunteer before then.
Whistling, Quinn set a jaunty pace as she wove through the streets—smiling to the vendors taking down their stalls for the day and nodding whenever she saw a fellow soldier making his or her patrol rounds.
It wasn’t long before the Sappy Pine’s defining feature—a giant pine tree that grew out of the center of the tavern—was visible above the other rooftops.
To be correct, the tavern was actually built around the ancient tree. Legend said the inn’s founders had met beneath the tree and fallen in love before building the tavern in commemoration.
It was a good-sized inn, clean—though more prone to bird visitors than most places—and smelled heavily of pine and fresh wood even though the wooden walls were older than the royal family.
Quinn strolled into the tavern with a quirk of a smile, which turned into a grin when she saw Bridget already seated at a large table, her Red Rider cloak spilling around her seat as she traced the rim of her mug.
“Bridget!” Quinn folded her tall frame into the chair next to her petite sister. “Thank you for not minding that the rest of the band is joining us.”
Bridget shrugged. “Of course not. They’re practically family given how close you are to them. Though I could brain Roy for his idiotic and selfish idea.”
Quinn focused on casually tossing her braid over her shoulder. “Oh? I think it’s noble to want to free the princesses.”
Bridget snorted like one of her war horses. “He’s not doing this to be noble. He’s doing it because the princesses are beautiful, and he’s selfish enough to take advantage of your kindness and your feelings for him.”
“He doesn’t know about that,” Quinn countered.
“Oh, absolutely,” Bridget said. “And my prized gelding, Incendo, also recently became a purple pony.”
“I’ve been hiding it.”
“He’s a soldier trained in the art of observation. Either he knows, or he’s bad at his job.” Bridget took a slug of her drink.
“Talking about the idiot, are we?” Leigh plopped down in a chair with a scowl that mirrored Bridget’s. “I cannot believe his gall, to moon over an impossible dream when he could have you.”
I’m starting to regret this meeting… “It’s not Roy’s fault he does not feel the same for me,” Quinn said loyally.
“No,” Bridget agreed. “But it is his fault he has the sense of a broody hen.”
“Talking about Roy?” Kenneth asked as he joined the group.
Leigh laughed loudly. “How could you guess?”
“I am concerned this undertaking of his may affect our teamwork.” Kenneth caught the barkeeper’s eye and held up a hand.
A few moments later, one of the bar maids delivered five mugs of ale. Kenneth slid a drink each to Leigh and Quinn.
“I’m not going to let this affect me. Band Gallant means too much to me,” Quinn said.
“I don’t think you’re what he’s worried about,” Bridget muttered into her mug.
Leigh brushed an errant pine needle off the table. “I think everything will work out—but only because Quinn’s so dang loyal. It will take all of us, though, to get Roy through this task alive.”
Kenneth nodded thoughtfully.
“Gallant—hey, there!” Roy called from across the tavern when he and Guy barged through the front doo
r. Roy was all smiles as he joined the table, settling into the empty spot between Kenneth and Quinn. “Bridget—you’re looking well!”
Bridget did not reply but instead sipped her drink.
Guy sat down, eagerly reaching for one of the drinks Kenneth had ordered. “How goes our impossible task?” he asked.
“I spoke to Jennabeth about our patrol schedule,” Kenneth said.
Roy leaned forward eagerly. “And?”
“She has put us on a temporary city and palace guard rotation.”
Leigh collapsed further into her chair. “Thank the stars. I was starting to think my neighbors would know more about my own children than I would.”
“I’m glad,” Guy said. “It’s been a long while since we’ve been off forest patrol.”
“It’s temporary,” Kenneth repeated.
A barmaid brandishing a tray of food sashayed past, and Quinn’s nose twitched at the smoky scent of roasted duck and spicy smell of baked apples. “Any idea how much time we have?” Quinn asked.
Kenneth nodded and tapped the side of his mug. “Approximately four weeks.”
“Not bad. We should have the princesses’ mystery wrapped up by then,” Roy said. “Speaking of which, I have established contact with them. They don’t pay me much attention due to my role, but they all seem to act normally enough.”
“Bridget, can you give us any information about them?” Quinn asked. “Are there any we should watch for, or any who are easier to approach than the others?”
“What are their names?” Guy asked.
Leigh nearly snorted her drink up her nose and coughed. “You don’t know the names of our royal family?”
“There are twelve of them,” Guy said. “It doesn’t seem worth the effort.”
“The oldest four are Alena, Brittany, and the twins Carrill and Cassya,” Bridget said. “They were born to the first queen: Queen Ita, who died in childbirth.”
“Next is Diana and the second set of twins, Ellena and Eva,” Quinn recited. “They were born to the second queen—Lady Raya of Kozlovka. She died of a wasting disease.”