I looked out into the umbral gloom of the far walls where only a little light fell from the ceiling.
“Yes, I see it.”
“No, Dawn, not just here. Not just Naraya. All of this. What it represents. All of Céin Urthia, the entire Untouched Wood. You are connected to it more than any living creature.”
“I know, I’ll be High Queen one day, and I’m responsible-”
“No, Dawn. That’s not what I mean,” she said fervently, cutting me off. “You are the Untouched Wood. All the magick it holds can pass through you. Your soul is vast, my dear, more vast than you could imagine!”
Her voice echoed off the walls.
“King Aral forbade your training. He didn’t want you to die like his brother. Magick is no toy, it is no simple game. There’s a reason he abolished the court wizards. But this evening, Dawn, this evening I was contacted by an old friend,” she said in a hushed voice, her eyes sparkling. “An old friend, who told me she felt now is the time. She was such a great talent. She will be able to train you well. I would entrust no one else to such a task.”
I had never seen my mother so impassioned. My head was still foggy with all this new information; I wasn’t sure how to feel.
I looked down at my hands. I didn’t feel very magickal. I could move bushes aside, but any sylfolk royalty could in their own Sacred Place. Hardly special.
“But… why? Why do I even need to know how to use magick?” I asked. “I’ve got along fine so far.”
“Your understanding of magick is flawed, my dear. It isn’t just something to use. It is not simply an instrument, as some may have you believe. Magick is an extension of the world, an extension of the Maker. By honouring your inborn talent you honour the Maker and your role in all that He designed. By using good magick, by using it righteously, you become sanctified.”
I had never heard my mother preach so openly. Her words were priestly and convincing. I was aware that Céin Ifith, the now-confederated princedom of which my mother was rightful inheritor, had been a place of magick veneration. With my father gone, my mother was falling back on her older beliefs.
She then stood up, and so did I.
“Now, it’s time to retire. Long past time,” she said, and put her hands on my shoulders.
She held my gaze.
“You will be a great ruler, Dawn. A great example to your kingdom, to me, and to your future sibling,” she said, motioning to her stomach.
I thanked her and toyed in my head with the fantasy that my unborn sibling inherit the throne instead of me. It was a distant dream, but still a dream. A guilty dream. I realized that no matter how much I tried, I would never want to be queen.
As I walked back up to my room I cursed myself for not mentioning my plan to go to Glenn Mereillon. In light of our conversation, it seemed as though she would never fully tolerate Ortham’s presence. I knew what her opinions must be regarding his battle magick. While considered neutral in essence, battle magick was by no means a ‘veneration’ of the Maker. That much I could already assume. I had never guessed that my mother was such a devotee.
I pulled off my clothes, tossed them onto a divan, and then threw myself onto my bed. There was so much to think about, so much to consider.
Who was this new tutor my mother had arranged for me? An old friend of hers, she mentioned. Could I really learn how to use magick? And if I had such great capacity for it, then why didn’t I have any proof? I seemed to be about as magickal as a block of wood.
I sighed and rolled over onto my stomach, burying my face in linen sheets.
I missed when things were simpler. I missed having so few responsibilities. Back then I knew I would one day be High Queen, but it was a distant thing, just a shadow on the horizon. The day of my ascension, once so far off, had now almost arrived. It was practically upon me.
I got up and sat on the edge of my bed, looking out between the half-drawn drapes to the starry night beyond. Om, the gargantuan red moon, drifted across the dark sky, face rusty and cankered.
Tomorrow I would have the day all to myself. I would do what I wanted, not listen to advisors, and tell my handmaidens to leave me alone. I would go see Ortham by my private spring and I would practice archery and do whatever I felt like doing. And I would figure out how I was going to slip away to see Lyrèlie in Glenn Mereillon with Ortham.
I laid back down on my bed and closed my eyes.
8
Ortham
I woke that day at sunrise.
I left the servant’s quarters and wandered the still streets of Céin Urthia’s capital. The air was humid and warm. As the sun climbed upward it lit the towering cedars and hemlocks with a pinkish hue. Mist dissipated as it hovered about the ground.
It was strange, being so alive. I breathed in the perfumed breath of midsummer, let it flicker in my lungs, took pleasure in its floral scent. When had I felt this way before? So glad and weightless, unburdened by the past, my cares… While I hadn’t quite broken my ritual of reliving the past for no other purpose than to torment myself, I was trying. And some days I succeeded.
I passed through the curtain wall to the royal keep and made my way up the grassy slopes to where the private garden lay in verdant splendor. About halfway I had to pause; the glorious dawn was too much to ignore. I sat down in the dewy grass and watched the wispy clouds, illuminated with bright pink and orange from the breaking sun. I saw the ghostly forms of Ip and On hovering above the canopy, colouration crisp and clear like freshly minted coins. The sky itself burned bright.
No painting could replicate these morning sunrises, no tapestry could do them justice. Only memory could capture the moment in anything akin to its true glory.
Maybe I could replace every black yesterday with the image of a majestic dawn.
A wave of melancholy washed over me as I sat alone beneath the burning clouds. It was without warning and I struggled to resist its awful pull but I was soon drowned. I laid down in the grass, heart sinking as I did. Slowly the weight of it all crushed me, pressing me deeper into the grass. Down, into the dirt, the mud where I belonged, deep beneath the surface.
I closed my eyes and didn’t open them for a long time.
When I did, I opened them to a blue-white summer sky. Clear but for the horsetail clouds, far away and benign. I sat up and looked down into the grass for a while. I took off my hat and held it in my hands.
Maybe I couldn’t shake off the accumulated tar of all those years so easily. But I could try. I could certainly try. I had to try.
I looked up to the crest of the slope where the hedges of the garden lay. The slender limbs of the willow trees were motionless in the placid morning.
Somewhere up there Dawn would come to me. She might already be there, bathing in her private spring, hidden by the willows and reeds. Maybe she was even waiting for me already.
Gradually my spirit rallied.
I stood up. I smoothed out my hat. I placed it on my head.
I walked up the slope, headed for the garden. With each step the weight of melancholy fell away, dripping off like water. By the time I reached the hedges I was feeling recovered, if weary from my lonesome struggle.
The beauty of the Sacred Place of Céin Urthia was on full display in the garden. Each leaf, every petal on every flower was bright with colour; vines laced between the hedges, blossoms nodding. Oak trees were latticed with ivy and surrounded by lush, golden grass. The garden was a maze, narrow footpaths linking up with wider trails made for two. Every twist and every turn revealed more flourishing life than the last. It equalled any fae enclave in floral splendor – even though I had only ever been to one. Greenery outside the fae enclaves and outside the Sacred Places simply could not compare. Yes, there were sweeping plains and calm meadows, towering mountains and deep forests; but it was a different kind of beauty. Awe-inspiring in an alternate way.
I had travelled far in the service of the Black Cohort. I had even rounded the
Great Cape, bypassing the Bulwark Mountains to see distant shores, strange to the eyes. I had traversed the foothills leading to the Empire of Un in the mist-cloaked east. I had rode the breadth of the land between the Bitter Frosts and Vindaya, Vindaya and the city-states of my own scattered race. Along mighty roadways and pristine wilds, thrashing coasts and meandering rivers.
And now here I was, pacing my way through a sylfolk garden, inspecting the drooping heads of deciduous heath, somewhere far in the west. It was the furthest west I had ever been. Beyond here, maps were hard to find and harder to interpret. It was fitting that I ended my service to that evil entity and came to rest here, at the edge of it all. At the edge of all I ever knew.
“There you are. You’re late.”
I turned around to see Dawn wending her way through overhanging boughs of blossoms. She was dressed in a loose brown tunic and her wavy hair was back, off her face, and the warm morning sunlight glowed on her faintly freckled cheeks. My heart skipped a beat at the sight.
“I thought we agreed on meeting at the spring right past sunrise,” she said, poking a playful finger into my chest.
She had her bow and quiver slung over her shoulder.
“Sorry, just got caught up…” I began, trying to come up with an excuse, but I faltered. There was no good excuse.
“Caught up? With what?” she asked.
We walked side by side through the garden, headed for the treeline.
“Oh, nothing really. Staring at the clouds. But that’s not important. We have a trip to plan, don’t we?” I said, skillfully redirecting the conversation by changing the subject.
“You can’t change the subject that easily. I can tell it was something unhappy. I can feel it.”
I began to stammer a response, but gave up with a sigh.
“I was just thinking about things. The past, my home… things I regret, I guess,” I said, even though it was no guess. It was all regret. “Watching the sunrise alone probably didn’t help my mood, either.”
We left the garden through an ivy gate that parted at a wave of Dawn’s hand. The way ahead led us into the surrounding forest of gargantuan trees, a region of the Untouched Wood known as the Amber Bower, ancient beyond counting.
She touched my elbow with a gentle hand. It was a small gesture, but soothing. It felt like all the weight of my soul was eased a moment, the tarry sadness draining out my arm and into the ground below.
“I’m sorry, Ortham… what is it you regret? You’ve told me a bit. Is it the same?”
We walked on in silence for a ways, her question hanging delicately in the air. We passed by the mammoth trunks of soaring cedars and hemlocks that rose from a sea of feathered ferns. The last wisps of morning mist dissipated in the shade. I could smell the pines and the loamy earth.
“The regret?” I repeated, turning to her. We stopped and stood in the pathway, facing one another. “It’s endless. I try to escape it, but I can’t. Sandy, the Black Cohort, leaving home… even the king’s death. It’s my fault he’s dead. We both know it.”
“Ortham…” she began, but I cut her off.
“No, it’s true. I don’t think you understand. I know you’re trying, but you don’t understand. I have done evil things, Dawn. Cruel things, murderous things. It doesn’t matter if I didn’t want to. All that matters is that it’s been done.”
My face burned with embarrassment but I couldn’t stop it. I was revealed, my emotions bubbling to the surface. And to think, this morning I felt good, I felt in control. I felt far removed from it all.
I turned away and hurried down the path, but she soon caught up. She grabbed my arm, this time less gently.
“Ortham, I can’t understand if you don’t explain it to me. Explain it to me. Please,” she said, looking into my face. But I wouldn’t return the gaze, couldn’t return it. “Please, Ortham?”
I opened my mouth, but no words would come out.
“Let’s just go. I’ll tell you later. I can’t right now,” I eventually replied. “Let’s just go.”
Dawn relaxed her grip on my arm.
“Fine. But I’m holding you to it,” she said firmly.
We continued down the path in silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence; a peaceful, neutral quiet, broken only by the distant cry of birds. I felt bad for unloading in front of Dawn. I couldn’t help it, and that was the worst part. I had brooded for so long, kept myself in check for so long, and now for some reason I couldn’t.
Soon we reached the well-cleared gulley where Dawn practiced archery. There were a few targets on the opposite side of the shallow depression. We spent a while there, speaking only a few choice words. I didn’t want to disturb her focus. I sat in a clutch of ferns while she drew back, released, and repeated. Once she cleared her quiver we walked up together, collected the arrows, and started over again. I was impressed with her consistency.
At some point she wordlessly decided it was time to end her practice. She unstrung her bow and we headed back down the trail, through the immense stand of trees, and up the gentle slope to the private garden.
“Well, I suppose we should really start discussing our plan, hm?” she said, breathing out exultantly, as if greatly refreshed.
“I suppose we should.”
We returned to the clear, warm spring. She placed her bow and quiver in the grass.
“Turn around,” she said.
I turned around.
“So, I spoke to Queen Boralia last night. It seems she’s dead set against us spending any time together, let alone being seen together. So that puts a kink in our plan,” she said, and I heard her toss her clothes to the side.
Sitting down, I leaned against a willow tree and studied the distant tops of trees. It was strange, these sylfolk; they had a very different sense of modesty than the ur-men, than the elves. Even commoners back east wouldn’t undress nearby those of the opposite sex, and yet here was a princess bathing not but a few arm-spans away without a care in the world.
“I expected your mother to resist,” I said. “I thought we were just going to go anyway, without telling her.”
Dawn laughed. I listened to the sounds of rippling water.
“I don’t think I can just sneak away for a few days. She’s always watching me now, and I don’t blame her. In fact, someone’s probably watching us right now.”
I resisted the urge to look up to the keep where I knew there were windows peering down.
“So what are we going to do? Convince her to let us go?” I asked.
Again Dawn laughed.
“I don’t really know what we’re going to do. I think I’ll just tell her I need to go to Glenn Mereillon for diplomatic reasons. She knows we made contact with the Yvrette.”
“I could probably help with that. I mean, I convinced your father not to kill me. Well, I had a little help from Herace...”
“My mother is a bit different than my father. Trust me. She’s… stubborn.”
“And King Aral wasn’t?”
“He was. But the queen is a downright zealot. She can’t be convinced, especially in regards to her beliefs around magick. Trust me,” she said. I heard the sound of water dripping, then silence, then quiet hoof-steps nearing. “We’ll have to meet outside of Naraya. You can meet me on the way.”
I could sense Dawn standing right behind me. I refused to look up from my seat, knowing she would take the opportunity to chastise me, to tease me.
“Hey Ortham, can I borrow your cloak?”
“Sure, let me just…” I began, and unclasped my cloak at the neck.
I handed my cloak up to her, unsure why she would need it.
“Thank youuuu,” she sang and, I assume, began to dry herself off.
She only had it a moment before tossing it back to me. It landed damply on my head. I tried not to laugh.
“Alright, let’s go,” Dawn then said.
I got up as she retrieved her quiver and bow from the gr
ound nearby. Her still-damp skin glistened in the late morning sun, hair wet and dark and falling all about her face in thin locks.
“Go where? I thought we weren’t supposed to be seen together.”
“What’s the point of hiding? Like I said, they’ve probably been watching us all morning. My mother already knows,” Dawn pushed hair away from her face and looked up at me. She tugged playfully at the brim of my hat, obscuring my vision. “You said you could convince her, didn’t you?”
I grimaced and looked away. She really knew how to run circles around me, and for some reason I enjoyed it.
“Alright. Fine, let’s go,” I said with false bravado, tossing my damp cloak over my shoulder. “Lead on.”
She barely missed a beat. We walked out of the garden, up the slope, to a simple door set into the base of the keep. It was a strange keep, more a palace than a stronghold. It had only just been built during the late king’s reign, and clearly for its political strength rather than its military. Real fortresses didn’t have back doors.
She swung the door open, and barely a few steps in we were immediately confronted by a worried-looking faun handmaiden. Her worry changed to shock as she laid eyes on me.
“Oh! Princess, my lady, the – the queen requests your presence immediately, my lady,” she managed to stammer, eyes going back and forth between us.
“Alright, I’ll be right with her. Go to my quarters and fetch me a dress, would you?”
“Of course, my lady,” said the handmaiden, bowing before scurrying off, hooves clacking on the stone.
Once she was out of sight Dawn and I shared an exasperated look. No words needed to be said. The queen really had been watching.
The handmaiden returned with a simple green dress, silky and summer-thin. Dawn stepped away for a moment with the servant to change, and when she returned, she returned alone, having traded her clothes and the bow for the dress.
“Thanks for waiting. Shall we continue? It seems my mother wants to speak to us, just as we want to speak to her. Oddly perfect timing,” she said.
“Let’s go,” I said once again.
Day of the Hunt (The Faun Quartet Book 2) Page 6