by Shea, K. M.
Roy grinned at her. “Of course, we can! They’re ladies of elegance and royalty.”
“But there’s no proof,” Leigh said.
Roy rolled his eyes. “We don’t have to be so dramatic and suspicious.”
“No, Leigh and Quinn are right. It’s best to refrain from making unfounded guesses about motivations,” Kenneth said.
“Yes, sir,” Roy muttered.
“We do know the princesses are cursed,” Quinn said. “And that those who tried to uncover their curse ended up cursed as well—though it seems all but the princesses remain behind with the elves.”
Guy picked at his nails with his knife. “Quinn’s Lady Enchantress previously said the elves were cursed, so they can’t be the cause of the princesses’ spell.”
“Even without the Lady Enchantress’s knowledge, we can be certain they aren’t responsible,” Kenneth said. “Elves are naturally averse to dark magic—like casting curses.”
“But what is their curse?” Roy asked. “They danced the night away—that doesn’t seem like the behavior of a cursed race.”
“Or is it?” Quinn asked. “It seemed like the party and celebration was a nightly event. And before they made a toast and drank something, they did not seem enthused about it. That’s not normal. Perhaps that has something to do with their curse.”
Kenneth set the silver twig on the table. “It seems like a reasonable assumption.”
“It does bother me that Midnight and I were nearly wrapped up in…whatever is happening in the Alabaster Forest. I was moments away from diving face first into a banquet table,” Roy said.
“Seems to me the only reason you two escaped was because there were two of you,” Guy said.
“It’s possible…though I would have thought King Dirth would have dispatched more than one person to watch the princesses,” Quinn said.
Kenneth shook his head. “The king does not know the elves are involved.”
“Right.” Roy snagged an apple off Quinn’s tray. “All he knows is that his daughters go through shoes like candy, and anyone who tries to follow them disappears.”
“But what about the curse nearly grabbing you?” Guy said.
Roy wrinkled his nose. “I already said that bothered me.”
“No, Guy has a point.” Quinn pushed her half-eaten tray in Roy’s direction, letting him pick over her leftover food. “Roy and I weren’t wrapped up in the curse and trapped in the Alabaster Forest with everyone else. We might actually be the first pair to escape the curse. But how did we do it?”
“We know it’s not safe to drink anything there because of Princess Diana’s words, but I wonder if it’s the same case for food.” Leigh tapped her fingers on the table, then fussed with the cuff of her uniform.
“I’m not certain safe is the right word. All the other humans—except for the princesses—ate and drank,” Roy said.
“And yet the princesses ate, and are the only ones who are free to return to their normal lives during the day,” Quinn said.
“It seems odd that they would deem something unsafe, when obviously those who partake in the food and drink are not adversely affected—at least not obviously so,” Leigh said.
Kenneth nodded and swung his gaze to Quinn and Roy. “Did Reeves or Lady Llyr seem at all…changed?”
“I never knew them personally, but they didn’t act oddly,” Roy said.
“No vacant stares, apparent illness, or odd behavior,” Quinn added.
“Then what is so unsafe about the food?” Guy asked.
“Perhaps something happens during the day that we haven’t witnessed. Either way, they obviously can’t leave as no one has seen them since they disappeared following the princesses,” Roy said.
“So, when you return for your second night, you should again refrain from eating and drinking,” Kenneth said.
“When do we follow after them again?” Quinn asked.
“Next week,” Roy said. “Which will give us more time to scout the borders of Alabaster Forest in our off time,” Roy said.
“You want to go skulking around the edges of a possibly cursed forest?” Guy asked.
“You bet,” Roy said. “This curse is obviously tied to the elves—who are also in some sort of trouble. If we can figure out what’s wrong with them, we might be able to free the princesses!”
Leigh waved to a soldier she knew across the mess hall and snorted. “You must be joking. At least I hope you are.”
“I’m serious,” Roy insisted.
“Why?” Quinn asked.
“Yeah, why?” Guy added. “In order to snag a princess as a prize, all you have to do is tell King Dirth what his daughters do every night. You don’t have to free them.”
“They are our princesses. We owe it to them to save them if we can,” Roy said.
“Wow, have you got it bad.” Guy peered at Roy with something akin to awe. “I haven’t seen someone so stupidly besotted since Quinn—”
Curses, does the whole army know? Quinn cleared her throat and cut Guy off before he could continue. “Strategically, I think it would be wisest to pinpoint the curse and then tell the king and our superiors,” she said. “There are many more capable who could save the princesses.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Roy winked.
“You are such a flirt,” Leigh grumbled, her chin cushioned on her fist.
Eager to change the topic, Quinn offered Roy a smile. “Can I see your sample of the silver tree?”
Roy blushed and stammered. “Uh, I actually, um, don’t have it anymore.”
Leigh snorted. “Don’t tell me you planted it in hopes of growing a silver tree for yourself?”
“No,” Roy muttered, barely audible over the morning chatter of the other soldiers.
“Then what did you do with it?” Quinn asked. “That’s a piece of evidence—if the princesses see it, they’ll know you followed them.”
“They already know that—or, at least…one of them does,” Roy said sheepishly.
Guy raised his eyebrows. “You gave it to one of them, didn’t you?”
“I put it in her morning bouquet,” Roy said.
Quinn sighed, but the idea didn’t pain her as much as she would have expected. It seems I have learned to accept his disinterest in me.
Guy blinked lazily. “After this conversation, I think I can safely relinquish the title of Gallant’s requisite dunce and crown you the new King of Idiots.”
Kenneth stood up. “We need to leave, or we’ll be late for our first patrol rotation.”
Roy hurried, shoving in a few forkfuls of eggs that Quinn had left behind as the rest of the band stood and tugged their uniforms straight. He took a slug of his ale, then hopped up. “What about checking on Alabaster Forest’s borders? We should set up a time to test them.”
“Tomorrow we have patrol in the afternoon and evening hours,” Kenneth said. “Morning is our only available time.”
“’Fraid I won’t be available—I’m taking my brats to see my mother.” Leigh spoke around a leather lace she held between her lips as she pulled her hair back in a low ponytail.
Roy shrugged. “Fair enough. Then Kenneth, Guy?”
Kenneth shook his head. “Officer meeting.”
“I’m going to sleep,” Guy said unapologetically.
Roy frowned, making his forehead wrinkle. “I’ll need to work for the gardener to provide my cover…” he shifted his gaze to Quinn. “Are you free, Midnight?”
Quinn held in a sigh and instead made her usual smile a little bigger. “I’m free. I can scout out the borders for an hour or two while I ride Din.”
“You’re the best of us!” Roy beamed. “Always putting Gallant first like we’re trained to—unlike Guy.”
“I resent that!” Guy protested.
“I’m not sure what good it will do,” Quinn warned him.
Roy slung an arm over her shoulder as they walked across the mess hall. “That won’t matter. Just being there is enough.”
“If we frequently check the borders, we may be able to catch any abnormalities,” Kenneth said.
“I’ll keep my eyes open,” Quinn doubtfully promised.
Kenneth nodded as they reached the doors of the mess hall. “Our thanks in advance. Now, Gallant, turn out.”
“Hoo-ray!”
* * *
Quinn nudged Din through the forest, directing the mare around a large bush that had dropped most of its leaves in the chill of fall.
Din snorted and shook her head, and Quinn placed a soothing hand on her neck. “Easy. It’s fine.” She narrowed her eyes slightly as she scrutinized the forest. The woods were bright and quiet as usual. Only the crunch of squirrels gnawing on nuts and the crackle of dried leaves broke the silence. But since they had ventured off the road and into the forest, Din had taken to shying easily, and Quinn didn’t blame her.
They had found (eventually) the border of Alabaster Forest and had been following it for half an hour. The dew-drop feel of elf magic and the extra zing that seemed to flow from their land made Quinn grimace. It was tantalizing, and she had little appreciation for anything that threatened to blanket her mind or dull her senses. But that wasn’t what alarmed her. The air on the border felt…stale. Usually the elf woods were the lushest and most alive bits of the woods, but standing at the border made her feel like a treed racoon.
Heaving a sigh, Quinn slid out of the saddle. She patted her horse on the shoulder, then took her reins and started to lead her forward. “It doesn’t look like anything is wrong, but it feels off,” she told the mare as they walked along.
Maybe there is a wraith nearby? But horses always seem to be more sensitive to magic than people, so Din would react. Quinn glanced at Din. Though the mare snorted, she did not show the whites of her eyes or dance in place, so it was unlikely she could sense anything tangible.
Quinn pursed her lips as they walked, Din swishing her tail and making the occasional greedy grab for one of the last few green leaves.
“Din,” Quinn said sternly when the mare made one such grab, “cut that out.”
The mare pressed her warm muzzle to Quinn’s cheek.
Quinn rolled her eyes, then glanced across the border and into the elf lands again. A small sapling tree had snapped at the trunk and fallen against a large, grandfather-of-an-oak tree. On the trunk of the sapling sat a velvet black mouse.
Quinn pulled Din to a stop and stared at it.
Mice in general were common enough—the chief cook kept a collection of cats to keep them out of the barracks and mess hall. But Quinn had never seen an all-black mouse, and its behavior was rather odd. Quinn had sat with plenty of mice when on a mission with Band Gallant. One of the Farset Army’s strengths was that all its troops were trained for forest stealth, so much so that even animals would not know they were there. But Quinn and Din were—in terms of noise—practically crashing through the forest. So why hadn’t the little creature run off yet?
As Quinn stared, the black mouse twitched its whiskers and tilted its head up at her. “What? Haven’t you ever seen a mouse before?” The mouse inquired in a voice that, at odds with its small size, was deep and rich.
Quinn stared at the mouse to confirm it had indeed spoken. She then bowed to the mouse and abruptly turned on her heels. “Come, Din.” She resolutely led her horse in the opposite direction.
“Go ahead, run away!” the mouse called after her in a snotty tone.
Quinn calmly ignored him and continued to lead Din away.
A talking mouse could only be one of two things: A talking animal or a shape-changing mage.
Talking animals were at least slightly magical, and often were rather rude to speak to, which meant it would do no good to hang about the mouse if he was merely a magical animal.
If the mouse was a mage who had taken on a mouse form for some mysterious/magical purpose, there was even less of a reason for Quinn to linger. Shapeshifting oneself was not a common magic. Not even all Lord Enchanters and Enchantresses mastered it. As such, shape changers were a rather temperamental lot and, in Quinn’s experience, were better off being left alone. (Roy had run into one once, and he had walked away from the exchange as a skunk—a form he was trapped in for two whole weeks before the mage finally removed the spell.)
In almost all situations, Quinn saw it as her duty—as both a human being and a soldier—to step forward and offer whatever help she could. The sole exemption was scheming shape changers.
Din nickered, as if to say she agreed with her decision. Quinn kissed her soft muzzle. “Thanks, Din. I’m glad someone stands with me. Though I will have to mention this to Kenneth…”
Quinn kept her ears pricked as they walked away, but she heard nothing more from the talking mouse. She had just about put the matter behind her when Din abruptly shied, lurched sideways, and snorted forcefully. Her nostrils flared as she looked back in the direction from which they had come.
Quinn slipped two daggers from hidden sheaths on her wrists and stared into the forest, standing as still as a tree.
A few moments later, she heard an irritated shout that could only be the talking mouse, followed by the wicked cackling of a goblin.
Chapter 5
The Mouse Rescue
Quinn sighed. “Of course.” She slid her daggers back in their sheaths, checked her short sword, then unhooked her bow from Din’s saddle. Next, she unbuckled the reins from the bridle so they wouldn’t tangle and slipped them in her saddle pack. “Return home,” Quinn told the mare, hoping she would obey the order. (One of the pluses of being sister to the Red Rider was that Bridget had been able to train Din—an already excellent mount—a few extremely helpful commands, like return home. Unfortunately, as Quinn wasn’t even half the rider Bridget was, the mare seemed to pick and choose when she decided to follow the order.)
Din pawed at the ground and trumpeted in the direction of the shouting mouse.
“I mean it: return home.” Quinn pointed the mare towards the city, then headed back towards the mouse. She jogged—moving along bare patches of ground and avoiding piles of crunching leaves and twigs that could snap and announce her presence. When she heard the goblins crash through a bush that did not sound far away, she climbed a tree—hugging the trunk—and watched for the mouse.
She saw him, running along the open ground like an idiot as three goblins chased behind him. “You festering, sorry excuse of a cave dweller!” he declared in his deep voice. “I bet your mother was ugly!”
Definitely a mage. A talking animal would be smart enough to hide. Quinn fitted an arrow to her bow and studied her targets as they drew closer. She waited, motionless, in her tree as the mouse ran past. When two of the three goblins passed, Quinn shot the straggling goblin through the throat, downing it before it could scream.
She scooted around to the other side of the trunk and, when she had a clear shot, downed the second goblin with a gurgle.
The leading goblin turned to look over his shoulder. Quinn expected that he would retreat to search out what had killed his cohorts or attempt to summon “friends.” She did not expect him to renew his chase, tucking his head down and zig-zagging so he made a more difficult target.
Quinn leaped from her tree and stepped into the shadow of a bush before whistling.
The shouting—and now swearing—mouse got the hint and made a wide turn, leading the goblin back in Quinn’s direction.
The surviving goblin fitted a horn to its misshapen mouth and blew one short note before Quinn, still in the shadows, shot him.
She switched her bow to her off hand and nudged the goblin with a toe, taking in its gray, dappled skin. A mountain goblin? What is it doing in Farset—we don’t have caves! She rubbed her chin as she thought. It blew its horn, so there must be more goblins nearby. I’ll have to inform Sergeant Jennabeth myself before patrol. There are too many goblins here to be stragglers from Sole.
The swearing mouse ceased running and returned, stopping near Quinn’s boo
t. “I suppose I should thank you.” He sat on his behind, his nose furiously twitching.
Quinn bowed slightly but kept most of her attention on the problem the goblins represented. “I am glad I was in the area.”
“Glad you were in the area? Are you a member of the hero’s guild in your down time—oh, stop it!” the mouse said angrily to himself as he involuntarily tried to scrub his little pink paws through his black whiskers.
He must not be an experienced shape changer, or the animal behavior wouldn’t overtake him so much.
“There is no such thing as a hero’s guild,” Quinn said.
“Obviously,” the mouse said, his deep voice scornful. “That was sarcasm to match your useless reply.”
Inexperienced…but very opinionated.
Quinn smiled pleasantly. “If it pleases you, next time I can leave you to your own defenses.”
The mouse placed his paws over his quivering nose—probably to still it. “There will not be a next time. These forests are peaceful—goblins and their ilk do not live here.”
Quinn finally snapped her gaze from the goblin and stared at the mouse. “What are you talking about? Farset has been plagued by wraiths and trolls for weeks—years even.”
The scorn finally dropped from the mouse’s throaty voice. “What?”
Quinn opened her mouth to respond, but she paused when she heard something crash through the underbrush. “Reinforcements,” she said grimly.
She swiped up the mouse, eliciting an irritated “Watch where you grab me!” before she slipped through the forest, leaving the fallen goblins behind.
“If I put you on my shoulder, can you hold on?” she whispered to the mouse.
“Yeah.”
Quinn set him on her shoulder and gave him a moment to grab the fabric of her brown shirt, frowning a little when he latched on with his teeth. “You better hope you don’t put a hole in my shirt.”
“Why? It’s such a plain thing,” he said through the fabric in his teeth.
“It’s camouflage.” Quinn took off jogging before he could reply, taking care to run on bare patches of ground and soft moss. She winced when she heard the goblins shout—a phlegmy, wet noise like stale marsh mush—and give chase.