My heart skipped a beat. I hadn’t heard from Lyrèlie since the royal funeral. She made history by sending an emissary bearing gifts of flowers.
The tiny fae both bowed deeply and not at all in unison.
“Princess,” they pronounced in greeting, once again not at all in unison.
“Uh – a message from the Yvrette, I presume…? And how do you know where my room is?” I asked.
They straightened up and laughed in their grating, high-pitch way.
“No, no, no. Not Yvrette. Well, not today,” said one.
“Not tomorrow either,” added the other.
For the tenth time that day I groaned inwardly. The last way to calm one’s nerves is to have any form of discourse with the fae. It is a true test of patience.
“Alright, let me ask a different way. Who are you, where are you from, and why are you here?”
The two of them chittered in another language between themselves, making a mock display of false secrecy, before responding to me in Old Sylvan.
“I’m Mitah,” said the first.
“I’m Cirro,” said the other.
“But my name is also Cirro,” said the one who had already said his name was Mitah. “I have both names.”
Then they both went off again in their own nonsensical language, squabbling to the point of blows.
I had to physically restrain myself from hitting my head against the wall in frustration.
“Alright! It doesn’t matter exactly who’s who. Just tell me why you’re here, and who sent you. Please.”
They dropped their little spat and breathed in, as if in anticipation of a big announcement.
“We were sent to tell you about your friend, the magician! He’s going to die. And your dreams are in danger. And so are you!” said Mitah, who could have just as equally been Cirro.
My friend the magician? He couldn’t have meant Ortham, could he? And what did he mean about my dreams? I screwed my eyes shut in confusion.
“No, no, all wrong! We’re supposed to tell her that she’s in danger, and her dreams are dying! And it was sent from her friend, the magician,” said the one who could have been Mitah or Cirro or even both at the same time.
Either way, I was just as confused by this new statement. But of course, before I could get any clarity, they broke down into an argument.
I looked out into the darkening sky. The pinks had turned purple and the purples turned black.
I wasn’t going to get any more sleep that night. That much I knew for certain.
“Alright, tell me again. Why were you sent here, and who sent you?”
4
Ortham
It really didn’t have to be this way. It didn’t.
Yet here I was, waiting around for a couple of winged idiots to deliver a message I really should have delivered myself.
I paced back and forth, roaming the twilit garden. It was Dawn’s private garden, and actually the place we first met. Only a few months ago, now. Things had changed so much. Even the garden had changed. Each bush and vine was heavy with blossoms, the flowers lilting in the fading sunlight. So different from early spring.
I tried not to think of the past. Was there any point in mulling over old misdeeds? I had always had a terrible habit of brooding over things long gone. Letting memories fester and sour. Guilt was a heavy burden I refused to put down.
Now, though, I wanted to put it all behind me. The first few weeks of my release from the Black Cohort were muddied with conflicting emotion. There was a sense of weightlessness, a heady sense of being free; but there was also bitterness, bitterness at ever having not been free. Regret for having done things on the Black Cohort’s behalf. And sadness for having a hand in the death of an otherwise righteous king. And while Dawn had never mentioned her father’s death being in any way my fault, I knew that I had a hand in the affair.
Everyone knew.
So maybe I hadn’t let it all go – maybe I couldn’t.
Instead, I had resolved to not resolve anything; I would simply ignore the past. I would ignore everything, both the elation of freedom and the weight of regret. Even memories of home were now hazy, distant, inconsequential. I might as well have been born not in a cottage but in the mud, crawling fully formed and ready to don the dark robes of the Black Cohort.
I resolved to think of myself as a two-month old infant in a grown ur-man’s body. Everything would be new to me. No memories at all.
I looked up to the high walls of the royal keep. Its immense shape loomed over me, over the garden, silhouetted against the evening sky. Dusk was fast approaching. Windows glowed softly with candle light all along the imposing keep, more palace than fortress.
I paced the garden. Had Dawn got my message? I wished I could have just gone to speak with her myself. It would have been much easier than this. But it was nigh impossible to speak directly; the only opportunity I had was during court, and I wasn’t entirely welcome there. My presence was barely tolerated even in the lowest servant’s quarters. I shared an immense dormitory with all sorts of menial laborers. In a way this was comfortable for me; I hadn’t ever lived alone, ever had my own space. But here, in Naraya, a black cloud hung over me; all seemed to know I was a bad omen. All knew I had something to do with the princess’ kidnapping, the king’s death, and that awful mercenary spectre.
Things could have been so different… Dawn and I had such happy plans. We were going to run away and live alone in the woods and never remember any of this. Thinking back, it was a ridiculous idea. Always had been. Me, running away with the heiress apparent of Céin Urthia, the largest sylfolk kingdom west of Vindaya?
Laughable. Shamefully laughable.
It was her idea to begin with, I always consoled myself. Her idea.
And now she was to be queen. High Queen. Superseding her mother and her unborn sibling. Everything had changed. She wasn’t carefree, she didn’t long for freedom, at least not that I could see. She had taken up her father’s mantle of authority. And with that, I was abandoned.
It was a selfish thought. But it was all I had for a while. Things had been briefly happy, briefly hopeful in the strange interlude between her kidnapping and her ascension to the throne.
Briefly.
I broke off a willow branch and dipped it in the water. I watched the inky ripples lapse over one another. The reflection of the glowing windows shivered and bent, blurring into nonsense.
I perked up as a shuffling sound reached my ears. I didn’t turn around immediately, instead waiting until it stopped not far behind me. There was a long pause and I let the willow switch slide into the spring, let it drift away.
“I don’t have much time,” came a voice.
My heart jumped in my chest, even though I was expecting this. It was Dawn.
I turned around. In the shadows I could make out her face. She wasn’t smiling.
How long had it been since we were alone together? Weeks, many weeks.
I took off my hat and nodded my head in greeting.
“Well?” she prompted, folding her arms. “I don’t have much time. I got your cryptic message.”
“Yeah, the message. I’ll make this brief…”
“Thank you,” she curtly interjected.
I stopped. A sudden discontent swelled inside me. It was bad enough that I was pushed to the side, all but forgotten, but now she was just being rude.
“Alright, first of all, why do you hate me?” I blurted.
She opened her mouth to reply, then closed it. She sighed and shook her head.
“I would understand needing to avoid me,” I continued, “you’re about to be crowned High Queen. We can’t be seen together. I get that. But you don’t have to be so cold about it.”
I took a few steps back and retreated into the umbral cover of the arching willow tree. Its long, slender limbs draped over my shoulders and head.
“Ortham, it isn’t like that…” she quietly
replied, voice softening.
I kept backing away, ever deeper into the willow’s embrace, ever closer to the water’s edge. Its trunk was half in the spring, half on the grass-swathed land.
“It isn’t like that? Well it sure feels like that. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for weeks. I know you’re occupied, I know...” I said, and as I said it I began to falter.
I began to see reason again. She had her purpose in avoiding me. I put a hand against the rough tree trunk and breathed out, facing away from her.
“Things could have been different…” I said.
“Ortham…”
I turned back around slowly. She came closer, passing through the willow’s veil. The branches caressed her antlers as she approached, causing them to sway gently. She wasn’t dressed in any courtly finery, but instead in a simple cloak that dragged ever so slightly upon the grass. Her wavy, chestnut hair was down, framing her pretty face. I fought back a thrill.
This wasn’t the time for longing.
We stood but an arm’s reach away.
“Ortham, I’m sorry about all this. I’m sorry. I am. But the kingdom needs me. It needs –“
“I know. It needs a leader. It needs you. I just thought you had… other plans,” I said, voice dropping to a hush. “I thought you wanted to leave. Be free.”
She grimaced and looked away.
“I… I did. I do… I always will… but I can’t. I can’t right now.”
My spirits rose ever so slightly.
She still wanted to leave, at least.
“I understand.” I whispered, stepping backward.
As I did she grabbed my arms.
She looked up into my eyes, locking me in place. They glittered in the penumbral light.
“I won’t forget,” she said firmly.
I knew what she meant. I returned her grip on my arms.
“I won’t either,” I replied.
Her hold relaxed and I knew it was time to let go. Reluctantly we separated. At least now the distance between us was less of an impassable gulf.
“So… that message,” she finally said, clearing her throat.
“Oh yeah, the message. Of course,” I said, and leaned against the willow tree.
“Where did you get those two fae? They didn’t act like real messengers.”
“Don’t worry about that. Long story,” I said, waving my hand to dismiss her questions.
I didn’t feel like explaining how I first met those little scoundrels, or how calling them worked. That was a story for another time.
“They weren’t very clear. They mentioned something about my dreams. It was pretty ominous,” Dawn said.
“Alright. So,” I said, clapping my hands together. “When I was in Glenn Mereillon for the second time, on my way back here, Lyrèlie stopped me. She gave me a vision, I suppose. A dream. It was of a giant, burning sun over a huge lake… I’m not sure what it means, if it means anything at all. But it came with a feeling, a sense of foreboding. Like a crushing weight, something horrible…”
Dawn nodded, urging me to continue.
“Anyway, Lyrèlie made me promise to protect you. Or something to that effect. She said something about your dreams, and that it was urgent – “
“And you’re only telling me this now?” Dawn groaned.
“Well, we haven’t exactly had many chances to talk in private, now have we?”
Dawn paced toward the edge of the spring. She gathered up the cloak tightly around her. Despite the balmy, summer’s eve air, she looked cold.
“What else did she tell you?” she asked, still looking out into the darkness beyond.
“I don’t quite remember.”
She turned on me.
“That’s not very helpful, now is it?” she said.
“Hey, there was a lot going on. I had only just narrowly avoided death,” I said defensively.
Dawn looked back out over the spring. Fireflies had begun to dance above the water’s surface, and their reflections danced in return, baldering in the distorted mirror-world below.
I waited as she thought in silence. Somewhere in the surrounding woods a nocturnal bird sang dolefully. Crickets chirped a discordant tune.
“We need to go back,” she finally said.
I pushed myself off the willow and stood up straight.
“Back to Glenn Mereillon?” I asked.
“Yes. Back to see Lyrèlie.”
Dawn turned away from the spring and started heading toward the keep, then stopped suddenly just before the willow’s veil.
“Were you really going to just wait so long to finally tell me, Ortham? Because this seems pretty important,” she said curtly, clearly annoyed.
“I tried a few different things, but all of them fell through. This was my final desperate attempt before I was just going to sneak in. I even sent a letter to Herace.”
A look of surprise broke over her face.
“You what? Why would you send a letter to Herace? I thought he hated you.”
“No, we actually get along just fine. He was one of the only ones to talk to me at the king’s funeral. Even the servants avoided me.” I said, then surveyed the private garden. “In fact, we even shared a wineskin up here a couple days before Ithtine.”
Dawn seemed really confused. I didn’t offer any further explanation. It was more amusing that way.
“I mean, we aren’t close or anything,” I continued. “I’d call it mutual respect. So when I sent the letter, I signed it as you. So I’m surprised he never showed up…”
“You did what?”
“I… I signed it as you. I wrote a letter to Herace asking him to come to Naraya. And I used your name, because I knew he was more likely to come.”
Dawn shook her head in utter disbelief.
At first I thought she was angry. It certainly looked that way. But after a moment a small smile flickered onto the corner of her lips.
“I’m disappointed, but I suppose it’s hard to change the bend of a tree…” she said, but really didn’t sound disappointed. She seemed amused.
“I even carved a fake crest out of wood to seal the envelope,” I continued unabashed. “Took me a whole day.”
“You’re unbelievable, Ortham. Unbelievable,” she said, barely containing a laugh. “What will we do with you?”
I shrugged.
“I mean, you could probably punish me by ignoring me and forcing me to sleep in the laborer’s dormitory…”
“Very funny. I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to make me feel sorry for you,” she said, taking a step toward me and playfully jabbing a finger. “You really think you’re going to get rewarded for faking the royal seal? Keep dreaming.”
I danced away from her toying advances and laughed.
After a moment she straightened up and smoothed out her cloak, sobering herself. I could tell she just wanted to stay here, stay away from the keep.
“I should go. Before anyone notices my absence,” she said in a subdued voice, casting a glance at the high windows above and beyond.
“I understand,” I said, replacing my broad-brimmed hat upon my head.
“I see you’ve got some new clothes,” she said, motioning to the second-hand labourer’s garb I had picked up. “Doesn’t make you stand out as much. Aside from that hat, of course.”
“I know. I just can’t seem to part ways with it,” I said, tapping my skull.
“Fair enough. It looks good on you, in a silly way. But really, I must go,” She said again, this time more resolutely. “Tomorrow morning, just past sunrise, meet me back here. I’ll tell my handmaidens to leave me for a few hours so I can bathe and practice archery. That should give us time to plan our trip to Glenn Mereillon.”
“We’re going to Glenn Mereillon? When?” I asked excitedly.
She rolled her eyes good naturedly.
“Why do you think we’re meeting to
morrow morning, Ortham? To plan this kind of thing out. We’ll decide tomorrow. Now, goodnight,” she said, and turned away.
The willow branches delicately parted to allow their future sovereign pass.
“Goodnight,” I replied quietly and leaned back against the willow’s trunk.
The shuffling of her cloak upon the dewy grass was soon out of earshot, smothered by the chirp of crickets and mournful cry of birds.
Tonight had gone far better than expected.
I watched the fireflies dance upon the water. And as I did, a lifetime’s worth of melancholy slowly began to melt away.
5
Daz
I resisted the shiver of cold that sunk into my bones. My knees were pressed into the fine, ashy soil as I sat and waited. A pre-dawn mist hung gloomily over the endless plain.
This was the worst part; the waiting.
It was designed to be the worst part.
My bare legs, arms, and midriff prickled at the surrounding chill. My foggy breath mixed with the dry, cool air. Though it was mid-summer, the nightly cold always came. It never truly left.
I longed for the rising of the sun. Then we could begin, and then my body would start to warm. Somewhere in the haze-choked east the sun languished, just out of sight.
At least I was not alone in this painful ritual. We were nine that morning, as every morning, as every day, as every moment of our lives. Every myrmidon from the Hallowed Mount of Ashrahaz was made of nine, and mine was no different. We were all property of the Empress. All part of the Flesh Tithe.
Other myrmidons and cohorts were neatly clumped all around, spread across the plain, kneeled as we were, steam rising from the small bowls placed in front of each. Even though the menfolk had no need to shave their naturally barren heads, they still partook in the humbling ritual.
I struggled against the rising shiver that threatened to shake me. I refused to move. I refused to show weakness to the others, just as they refused to show weakness to me. Far-off, in the east, the sun edged against the cusp of the distant horizon as behind us Ashrahaz loomed impossibly tall, a lone peak jutting crazily from the silty, unmarked plain.
Day of the Hunt (The Faun Quartet Book 2) Page 3