by Jim C. Hines
Talia actually blushed. “Yes, Mother.”
“What rules?” Snow demanded.
Talia shrugged. “No wandering the tops of the walls or sneaking into the city. No stealing from the patients.” She glanced at the vines. “No ripping those accursed things from the ground and burning them.”
Khardija chuckled as she led them into another hallway. They passed several other women in black robes before stopping at an arched doorway. Khardija pushed a curtain of goat wool to the side, waiting as they passed into an unfurnished room. Heavy carpets covered the ground. Several sleeping mats were rolled in one corner. A single lamp sat in a round window.
The ceiling was a heavy woven mat of undyed wool, stretched taut over the brick walls. Wooden pegs protruded from the walls just beneath the ceiling. Six black robes hung on the left wall.
Khardija gripped Talia’s arms, an odd expression of pride and anticipation on her face. “Welcome back, Princess.”
Snow waited for her to leave before asking, “What next?”
Talia paced slowly through the room, brushing her fingers over the wall. “There’s little more we can do tonight. You’re safe here, for now. Eat, rest. Tomorrow we hunt Zestan.”
Talia’s bare feet made no sound as she finished her walk. She kept the hood of her robe pulled low, hiding her face. Khardija wasn’t the only one who might remember her, but she was the only one Talia truly trusted.
The temple hadn’t changed in her years away. The same dusty air, the same cracking walls, the same bland food. Even the temple cats were familiar.
She watched a lean young cat disappear into the garden, stalking prey Talia couldn’t see. One of the tuft-tailed mice that were always nibbling the shoots in the garden, no doubt. Talia could see the kitten’s resemblance to its mother, a pitiful old thing named Akhar’ba who had the same mottled fur, at least where that fur wasn’t falling out in clumps. Danielle would have liked her. The sisters had tended to Akhar’ba with the same care they provided their human patients.
Talia checked to make sure the hallway was empty before pushing back her hood and looking upward. The skies of Lorindar were rarely so clear. She searched until she found the faint band of light that stretched across the sky. The River of the Dead, the old priests used to call it. Guarded by Halaka’ar the dragon, who made sure each soul found its proper destination.
A cry of pain made her flinch. The sounds of the injured were familiar as well, though that was one thing Talia hadn’t missed. Without conscious thought, she found herself hurrying to the front of the temple to help. She smiled, remembering Mother Khardija’s voice. If you’re to stay with us, you can make yourself useful, princess or no.
Talia spent the next hour holding a young boy in place while another sister attempted to remove splinters of glass from his hands. She had fought grown men who struggled with less ferocity, but eventually the last of the glass was removed, and the boy’s father was able to rock him to sleep.
Talia ignored the thanks of the sister and returned to her room before anyone else could try to talk to her. She found Snow sleeping against one wall, her mirrors still maintaining the illusion of her brown skin. Roudette was curled tightly in the corner, twitching as she dreamed.
Danielle sat beneath the window, holding her bracelet in her hands. Talia had no doubt that if she looked, she would see Prince Jakob’s sleeping form in the glass. One of the temple cats was curled in Danielle’s lap. Talia remembered this one: Haut el’Faum, the fish thief. Haut had lost part of his tail as a kitten, making him easy to recognize.
“Hello Talia,” Danielle said softly. “I tried to sleep, but—”
“You’re not her.” Talia glanced at Snow. “Falling through fairy rings or traveling across an ocean doesn’t bother her in the slightest. You’re different. You worry.”
Danielle pressed her lips to the mirror, then returned the bracelet to her wrist. “I never understood how hard it must have been for you when you first arrived in Lorindar. Everything is so different. The language, the clothes, the smells—”
“Anything was preferable to staying here to be beheaded for murder.” Talia sat down beside her. “When I first awoke, Arathea was almost as alien to me as it is to you. You wouldn’t believe how much can change in a hundred years. I nearly pissed myself the first time I heard a cannon fired. Everything was strange, with just enough similarity to remind me of what I had lost.”
Danielle smiled. “It’s still your home. You’re more relaxed here, even with fairies and nobles hunting you. Especially here in the temple . . . you trust these people.”
“They saved my life.”
Her smile grew. “One of the first things you ever told me was that I was too trusting.”
“You are.” Talia rested her head against the familiar bricks of the wall. “Khardija risked the lives of everyone here to protect me.”
Danielle scratched Haut’s neck. “Snow told me some of what Khardija said in the gardens. About the vines from your hedge.”
Talia rubbed her right hand, remembering the night an assassin had given her the teardrop-shaped scar in the meat of her palm. He had come upon her in the afternoon. Dressed in black with a simple ribbon of red round his brow, he had attacked the instant he spied her.
Talia could still remember the zaraq whip lashing out like a snake. She had dodged the first attack without thinking. The weighted tip of the whip shattered the window behind her head. Talia tried to flee. He followed her into the hallway and attacked again.
Fairy-blessed reflexes allowed her to block the second strike with her palm. A stupid move, looking back. A direct blow would have shattered her hand. Even deflecting the weight had broken one of the bones.
The barbs of the weight tore her flesh. Blood welled from the wound. Talia fell, and with her, so did three hundred years of her family’s rule.
She glanced at Roudette to make sure she was asleep before saying, “Once my family fell under my curse, the rumors spread quickly. Only a true prince, the rightful ruler of Arathea, could awaken Princess Talia from her slumber. Soon every man and child with any trace of royal blood was traveling to the palace to try his luck.”
“The hedge killed them?” Danielle guessed.
Talia allowed herself a small, bitter laugh. “Not directly. That would be a violation of Siqlah and Siqjab both. The fairy church teaches that their race was sent to protect us, even from ourselves. The hedge was simply meant to shelter me from the unworthy. So my would-be rescuers lived. Impaled by thorns, trapped within the hedge, they survived for weeks or months. Sometimes even longer. Every effort was made to free them. Nothing succeeded. No blade could cut the vines, no shovel penetrated the earth. Not even fire would burn the hedge. Those who tried to fight the hedge often ended up impaled as well.
“The first temple arose to care for those trapped princes. The sisters used bowls attached to long poles to deliver food and drink. They used those same poles to send medicines to ease the pain. For those who asked, they would send other medicines to end it all.
“One prince survived for three years, five months, and eleven days. That was the longest, though he was mad at the end, his mind destroyed by his imprisonment and the heat of the desert sun. Others died when their wounds festered or disease took them or they simply gave up, refusing food or drink until they withered away.
“The temple did everything they could to turn princes away. They asked any prospective rescuer to spend a week working in the temple, tending the poor fools stuck in the hedge. It was enough to save a few souls, those smart enough to recognize what awaited them, but most were too headstrong to be dissuaded. They were royalty. You know how they can be.”
“I’ve learned,” Danielle said dryly.
“Each one was certain he was worthy to pass through the hedge and save the sleeping princess trapped beyond. Each one failed, and with every death, Arathea fragmented further. By the time Prince Jihab arrived, Arathea had spent most of a century at war, and the Tem
ple of the Hedge had spread across the country, offering their services to all in need. Most of the royal bloodlines donated generously to the temple for the care of their sons. By the end, the temple’s coffers rivaled those of the fairy church.”
Danielle glanced at Snow. “How are they at treating injuries to the head?”
“I doubt there’s much Khardija could do for her that Tymalous hasn’t already tried.”
“I’d still like to ask, if there’s time.”
“If there’s time.” Talia pursed her lips. “Snow won’t be happy.”
“I’ll deal with Snow.” Danielle looked around at the plain walls, the frayed panels overhead. “I take it the temple’s fortunes changed?”
Talia massaged her scarred hand. She rarely spoke of what came next, not even to Snow. “Prince Jihab and his family brought enchanted axes against the hedge. The hedge had claimed Jihab’s father years before. By the time Jihab arrived, the curse was dying. For weeks they hacked their way through, until finally they reached the palace. Jihab entered alone. When he was unable to waken me, he returned through the hedge, the first prince ever to emerge alive. He declared me dead and ordered the palace sealed from the outside. Rumors spread that the temple had known, that they had lured princes to the hedge in order to fund their growth. Jihab was a hero for discovering the truth, and the temple was nearly ruined.
“Nine months later, I awoke.” She flexed her hand, remembering the pain of bone still broken after a hundred years. “Everyone I had ever known lay dead. Jihab’s family murdered them in their sleep, to prevent them from ever awakening to challenge their rule. I’ve no doubt he would have done the same to me, if not for his uncertainty as to what my death would do to the curse. He left twenty men to guard the hedge, and the temple remained to help care for the handful of surviving princes. Jihab refused to let his axes be used to free them.”
She shook her head. “When I awoke, childbirth had left me torn and weak. I staggered from the ruins of my home and made my way through the path Jihab’s men had carved. The hedge was dying, but retained enough evil to bloody me as I escaped. Its final act of hate. My awakening had broken the remains of the curse, and the hedge died soon after.
“One of Jihab’s soldiers nearly killed me that day, thinking me a demon escaped from the thorns. When they realized who that bloody, whimpering creature was, they brought me to the temple. The sisters did what they could to tend my wounds. They sent someone to retrieve my children from the castle—”
“You left them behind?” Danielle asked. Talia simply looked at her until she turned away, saying, “I’m sorry, Talia. I don’t mean to judge.”
“I didn’t know who they were. Even if I had, I couldn’t have carried them with a broken hand.” Only deep down, she had known. The pain and blood from her loins had been proof enough. She simply hadn’t wanted to believe. “Jihab’s men sent word, and he came for us soon after. He and his mother had already seized power, but I was the key to sealing their rule. He had awakened Sleeping Beauty. Surely he was destined to be king.
“We were married the day we returned to his palace.” She closed her eyes, knowing better than to fight the memories that followed. If she resisted, they would only grow worse. Their wedding had been a hastily arranged farce at the palace, officiated by a fairy priest with a beard so thick it had creatures living within it.
“After I killed him, I fled and made my way to Jahrasima.” She remembered the warmth of his blood on her hands, the way it stuck between her fingers as it dried. He was the first man she had ever killed. “I came to this temple, not knowing where else to go. They protected me, even after they learned I had murdered the ‘rightful’ ruler of Arathea. If I was discovered, this temple and everyone in it would have been burned to the ground. Instead, Khardija and the rest did what they could to help me.”
Few had known the true identity of their patient. Talia smiled, remembering the day Sister Faziya learned the truth. She had erupted with a string of profanity to make even Talia blush.
Her muscles, already tense, tightened further at the thought of Faziya. What could have been so important as to make her leave? Talia glanced toward the doorway, wondering if she should have pressed Mother Khardija about Faziya’s whereabouts. Not that it would have made any difference. In all her time here, Talia had never once won an argument with Mother Khardija.
She rubbed her eyes, pushing back the old emotions until she regained her composure. “You should try to sleep, Princess.”
Before Danielle could answer, the cat in her lap hissed and leaped to the floor, fur raised. He ran to the doorway, then raced back to nip Danielle’s palm. He hissed again, tail lashing.
“What’s wrong?” Danielle asked.
Talia was already on her feet. Far in the distance, she could hear the barking of hounds.
“They’re coming.” Roudette stood and pulled her cape tight. She strode toward the doorway. “I’ll need a weapon.”
“Who’s coming?” asked Talia.
Roudette yanked back the curtain and peered into the hallway. “I warned you this would be your last night as a free woman without my help. Zestan has been hunting for you, Princess.”
The baying of the dogs had grown loud enough to wake even Snow. She yawned and looked around, the magic of her choker brightening the room. “Arathea is too noisy.” She frowned. “Those dogs aren’t natural, are they?”
“The hounds signal the arrival of the Wild Hunt,” said Roudette. “They’ve come for Talia.”
CHAPTER 9
ROUDETTE STOOD, EYES CLOSED as she listened to the Wild Hunt: the howling of the dogs, the hoofbeats pounding over the streets, and the screams of those caught in their path. The sounds taunted her, and her limbs twitched with eagerness.
“This isn’t the full hunt.” She knew too well the sounds of the Wild Hunt and their victims. “Zestan must know you’re in Arathea, but she doesn’t know where. This scene is playing itself out in towns throughout the country. Talia, come with me. The rest of you stay hidden.”
Talia blocked her way. “You don’t give the orders here.”
“Have you ever faced one of the fairy hunters?” When nobody responded, she pulled her hood up over her face. “If you want to protect your friends, you’ll do as I say. Who knows, with both of us fighting together, we might even survive the night.”
Talia looked to the others. “My spell binds her,” Snow said. “She has no choice but to protect us.”
Talia’s expression was easy to read. I don’t need her protection. But she said nothing.
Danielle retrieved Roudette’s hammer, pressing it into her hand.
Talia and Roudette slipped into the hallway. Talia twitched at every cry from the street, her tension visible even through the robe.
“You knew about this,” Talia said.
“I knew they would come for you,” Roudette agreed. “If not tonight, then soon.”
“You should have—”
“It would have made no difference.” For a moment, Roudette was a child again, running through the woods, branches tearing at her cape and hair. “The Wild Hunt ride wherever they choose, or they did until recently. They’ve been sighted more and more often in Arathea, though they rarely enter the cities.”
“Zestan?” Talia asked.
Roudette twirled her hammer. “Had you asked me a year ago, I’d have told you no one, human or fairy, could command the Wild Hunt.”
Two sisters ran down the hall toward them. Roudette recognized the old woman who had brought them in, Khardija. The other was unfamiliar. Both smelled of fear, though the older one hid it better.
“Do you know what’s happening?” the old one asked.
“Keep everyone in their rooms,” said Roudette. “Remain calm. If you flee, the Hunt will ride you down.”
The sister looked to Talia for confirmation.
“Do it,” said Talia.
“The Wild Hunt rides from midnight until an hour before dawn.” Roudett
e moved into the garden, assessing its value as a place of ambush. “They’d be upon you already if my cape hadn’t obscured our trail.”
“Since you’re the one who dragged me back here to begin with, I’m having a hard time feeling grateful.”
“You will once you face a hunter.” Roudette pointed to the far side of the garden. “That doorway is closest to the main entrance.”
“I’ll lure him into the garden,” said Talia.
Roudette shook her head. “You’re his prey. When he spots you, he might summon the rest. Wait by the wall. I’ll keep his attention on me. Strike quickly, and the Hunt won’t realize they’ve lost one of their number until they depart before dawn.”
Talia moved to the right of the doorway, crouching against the wall where a row of olive trees would help conceal her from view. She waited with a short curved sword in one hand, a knife in the other.
Roudette moved into the middle of the garden, making sure the moonlight shone upon her red cape. She gripped her hammer in both hands as she paced around the pool.
Even a single hunter was enough to rouse the wolf’s hunger. She fought the urge to don the skin and charge into the night, chasing down the hunters and ripping them from their mounts. Tearing into their throats until every last one of them lay dead before her.
The next howl was closer, eliciting cries of fear from within the temple. Roudette heard the sisters rushing through the hallway, doing what they could to calm their patients.
She smelled the hunter before she saw him. The sulfurous stink of a fairy curse mixed with the bloody musk of the hounds. Two hounds, but only a single huntsman. The leather- wrapped handle of her hammer creaked in her grip. She could remember her first glimpse of a fairy hunter, though she hadn’t known what he was at the time. Fool that she was, she had believed him to be a rescuer, come to save her from the wolf that had consumed her grandmother.
Shouts broke out from the yard. Footsteps pounded through the hallway as the more able-bodied patients fled, ignoring the pleas of the sisters. The hounds’ barks grew louder in response.