by Anthea Sharp
“Surely it won’t come to that?” Anneth ate a slice of moon melon, but he could hear the fear in her voice.
Before he could reply—and really, he had nothing but empty reassurances to give her—Lord Calithilon stood from his place at the head of the table.
“Attention,” he said, his voice enhanced with magic to fill the room. “We have a very important announcement to make.”
The clink of cutlery and babble of conversation faded. Tinnueth rose to stand beside her husband, her expression austere and regal.
“It gives us great joy to announce the betrothal of our son, Prince Brannonilon Luthinor, heir to the Hawthorne Throne, to Lady Mireleth Anion. Let us toast to their happiness!”
A shocked murmur ran through the room, and Bran heard the questions rise: What of the prophecy? Does he love her that much? Is the Hawthorne Lord mad?
He ignored the buzz of speculation and concentrated on not openly scowling.
“You look very forbidding,” his sister murmured.
“It’s the best I can do,” he replied.
In contrast, Lady Mireleth was smiling broadly. She lifted her arm so everyone could see the betrothal bracelet.
“I’m so delighted that Bran has asked me to marry him,” she said in a voice pitched to carry. “I’m sure you all know we’ve been madly in love for years.”
Anneth nearly choked on her wine, and Bran tried not to wince at the outright lie. If he hadn’t already decided to leave immediately, Mireleth’s words would have sent him running.
So much for the brave warrior, he thought cynically. He was fearless in battle, but in the face of Mireleth’s court-sanctioned grasping, he felt like an untrained youth facing his first enemy in the field.
“Congratulations!” one well-wisher shouted, and the toast was taken up through the dining hall.
Bran raised his goblet and wet his lips with wine, acknowledging the cheers. He needed a clear head to travel on, despite the impulse to drain his cup.
He was gratified to note that several people sent him looks filled with commiseration, however, rather than congratulation. Not everyone believed Mireleth’s fabrications, or thought the betrothal was wise.
The Hawthorne Lord and Lady resumed their seats, and the musicians in the gallery struck up a jaunty tune on flute and cittern. As people’s attention returned to their food, Bran considered how quickly he could depart.
He’d make it through the last course, pen a note for Lady Mireleth saying he’d been unexpectedly called back to the battle, fetch his mount, and be well away from the Hawthorne Court before the palemoon set.
Chapter7
The rest of the market trip was uneventful, but despite the bright sun on her face, Mara’s mood turned gloomy. As expected, her mother had bought her the braided copper ring, and she twisted it back and forth on her finger as they returned home.
“We’ll have trout and spring greens for supper,” her mother said. “And honeycakes to celebrate your birthday.”
“That sounds lovely.” Mara tried to sound enthusiastic. “I’ll cut a bouquet for the table.”
She helped her mother put away their supplies, then took a pair of shears and a basket and went outside again. The late afternoon sun warmed the front stoop of their cottage, and mint and wallflowers were already growing there in profusion.
Mara cut a few stems of each, then went down the lane toward the Darkwood, adding forget-me-not and sweet rocket to her basket. Near the forest, she took a few ferns for greenery.
Other flowers grew deeper in the shadows between the trees: delicate columbine and pale lady’s mantle. She was tempted to venture in, even though she had plenty of flowers to make a pleasing arrangement. For a long moment she stood, staring into the forest and hoping to see golden sparks of light dancing toward her.
“Mara!” Her younger sisters waved to her from down the lane, carrying their slates and schoolbooks.
Nothing sparked or glimmered in the Darkwood. Well then. Mara took up her basket and went to join her sisters.
The rest of the afternoon and evening was pleasant enough, in a humdrum sort of way. All her siblings had remembered it was her birthday, and after supper they presented her with a book-shaped package.
“We put all our pocket money in,” Pansy said. “Of course, that was when we thought you’d be away forever, working at the castle.”
She sounded a little put out that they’d splurged for nothing, and that there would be no lavish reciprocal gifts bought with Mara’s salary as a maid.
Seanna rolled her eyes. “I’m sure Mara will enjoy it, regardless of her surroundings. Go ahead, open it.”
Mara carefully unwrapped the brown paper, pausing when the gilt-edged corner of the book was revealed. Had they found her another book of fabulous tales? Quickly, she pulled the rest of the paper free, and couldn’t help a little yelp of joy.
“It’s the sequel to my storybook! Oh, thank you all so much.” She went around the sitting room, giving each of her siblings a hug and a kiss.
“You’ll have to read us out the best ones,” Lily said.
“Hmph,” their father said. “An impractical waste of money.”
Mara’s mother did not agree, as she usually did. After all, she’d bought Mara a ring with the leftover market money. Despite her obvious disappointment that Mara had lost her position at the castle, it seemed she was happy to have her middle child home again.
If only to marry her off. Mara banished that thought and ran her fingers over the green cloth binding of the book. Tonight she’d stay up late, reading by candlelight, and let the tales take her away from the drab future awaiting her.
“Off to bed, the lot of you,” Mara’s mother said. “Morning comes early enough.”
Pansy and Lily made noises of complaint and dragged their feet upstairs. Sean and Seanna followed them, displaying far less reluctance. Mara stayed in the faded armchair, her new book in her lap.
“Happy birthday, love.” Mara’s mother kissed her cheek, then took up the oil lamp. “Don’t stay up too late, mind.”
“Foolishness,” her father said with a glance at her book, but he set a fond hand on her head. “Bank the fire when you go to bed.”
“I will. Goodnight.” A rush of warmth filled her as she watched her parents step down the hallway, a circle of lamplight surrounding them. They worked hard, and it couldn’t be easy raising five children, especially with all of them still at home.
No wonder her mother was in favor of Mara taking up with Thom.
But she wouldn’t let herself think of that—not now, not with the solitude of the night folding sweetly about her, and a new, tantalizing book of tales waiting for her to dive in.
Mara lit a fat beeswax candle from the flames still dancing on the hearth, then settled in to celebrate her birthday.
The cottage quieted as she devoured tales of dragons and magic and impossible quests. Although she wanted to read the entire book in one sitting, she made herself mark the halfway point and stop. She needed to have something to look forward to over the coming days.
Quietly, she rose and banked the fire, smiling at the thought that she wouldn’t have to rise before dawn to stoke it up again. She picked up the candle, noting how the reflection of the flame danced in the night-darkened windows.
Then she froze, eyes fixed outside. Carefully, she lifted her hand and shielded the candle flame, blocking its reflection.
The bright spark flickering beyond the window did not disappear. Her breath trembling with excitement, Mara blew the candle out.
At the edge of the Darkwood, a golden mote bobbed and beckoned. All around her, in the darkened cottage, Mara’s family slumbered.
Now.
She did not know if she breathed the word, or if the breeze rustled it through the distant trees. In the dimness, she set the extinguished candle down on the kitchen table. After a moment’s hesitation, she laid the book beside it.
Moving quietly, she slipped on her boots an
d cloak, then grabbed a kitchen knife and slid it through her belt. It wouldn’t do much to protect her from the wild beasts of the wood, but she felt a little better taking some kind of weapon, no matter how small.
The door creaked softly as she opened it. A cool breath of moist night air circled around her, carrying the scent of mint. Her heart thumped in her chest. Before she could question herself too closely, Mara stepped out and closed the door behind her.
Overhead, the stars winked brightly. The moon had already set. It felt very late; the still, deep hours of the night, when the fussiest of babies quieted and even the village cats slept. Mara moved like a shadow down the lane, past the few other cottages that stood between her family’s home and the Darkwood.
The light at the edge of the trees bobbed up and down, as if aware she was coming. A breath of cedar and hemlock issued from the forest. She quickened her step, but as she came closer to the forest, the spark receded, dancing back into the shadows.
She stopped, and the light stopped, then bobbed again. Clearly it wanted her to follow.
Mara glanced up at the tall trees, the peaks of the evergreens feathery against the starlit sky. What if she got lost in the Darkwood, or fell into a sinkhole, or was attacked by a wild beast? Her family would never know what had become of her.
Ahead, a second light joined the first, darting and dancing around the hemlocks as if urging her to hurry.
Standing just outside the forest, she knew she was on the edge of something momentous. This choice would never come again—return to the cottage and the safety of her familiar life, or go forward to meet the dancing sparks beneath the trees.
Now, the forest breathed.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the Darkwood.
The two motes of light twirled up into a spiral, then parted and continued to float expectantly beneath the boughs.
“I’m coming,” Mara said softly.
Gathering up her skirts, she strode through the sparse underbrush. The forest floor was soft beneath her boots, and faint starlight filtered through the trees, giving her barely enough light to avoid tripping over downed logs and getting tangled in briar thickets.
She glanced up from navigating around one such thicket to see that her guides had doubled in number. Now four sparks glimmered through the forest. They seemed a bit larger, too, as if she were closer to them.
What could they possibly be? Not fireflies, as her parents had suggested. They did not pulse and glow as insects did, and their movements were far more purposeful than the random flittings of bugs.
Increasing her stride, she made an effort to catch up to the motes of light as they wove in and out of the trees. The smell of moss and loam filled her nose. Around her, the wind stirred the trees and they sighed and whispered in the language of the forest. The sparks—now numbering five—glowed ahead, shedding a golden radiance through the Darkwood. But no matter how Mara quickened her pace, she couldn’t draw any closer.
A sound came from behind her, a low, guttural growl filled with menace. Her heart leaped into her throat, and she cast a fearful glance over her shoulder. The forest revealed nothing; only tree trunks receding into shadow, with pure blackness behind.
A sudden flare of light made her look up to see one of her elusive guides hovering just above her head. She sucked in her breath when she saw it was a small creature made entirely of light, its slim body borne aloft on butterflylike wings.
Her temporary wonder was smothered by another growl, closer this time. The light-creature fluttered urgently. Mara grabbed up her skirts in her clenched fists and ran, as fast as she could.
The bright flyer kept pace, lighting her way while the other sparks flew ahead, marking the path she must follow.
A rank scent drifted in the air: matted fur and old meat. Lungs tight with panic, Mara leaped over branches and dodged around tangled underbrush. Whatever was following seemed to be gaining, the crash of its passage growing louder as she sped through the forest.
Please. Just the one word, keeping time with her gasps for breath. Please.
The lights winked out, and she lost her footing in the sudden dark. A roar sounded from behind her as she tumbled over the edge of a hidden precipice. Stones and roots scraped her hands as she tried to slow her fall. After a sickening eternity she landed, dazed and breathless, at the bottom. She scrambled into a crouch, heart pounding, and fumbled for her kitchen knife. At any moment the dreadful creature chasing her would leap down to devour her.
Nothing happened.
No wild beast crashed over the bank. No growls filled the air, not even the crackling rustle of the underbrush. Only the rasp of her own breathing. After a few moments where she was not, in fact, mauled to death, she forced herself to stand. The kitchen knife was still clenched in her right hand, though somehow she’d lost her cloak.
The Darkwood was quiet about her. Stars peeked between the branches overhead. She pushed her sweat-dampened hair back from her face and tucked her blade away, then took a careful step forward, glad to discover she was only a little bruised from her tumble.
But where was she? She’d never be able to find her way home now.
Her fall had deposited her at the edge of a clearing. Two standing stones rose from the mossy ground, positioned about a meter apart and taller than her head. Her glowing guides hovered above them. The stones emitted a soft silver light that mixed with the golden radiance of the winged sparks, until the clearing was illuminated with uncanny brightness.
Mara pulled in a reverent breath. Clearly this was one of the deep secrets of the Darkwood.
She stepped closer, to see mysterious runes carved into the stones. The sparks whirled into a flurry as she approached. One of them flew down, made a circle around her, and then darted into the space between the tall stones.
It winked out. There one moment, gone the next.
The hair on the back of her neck prickled. This was true magic.
The night wind kicked up at her back, pushing her forward. Clearly the forest wanted her to step through.
Mara set her hand to her knife, took a deep breath, and walked directly between the two standing stones.
The air flickered. For a moment she glimpsed a land steeped in indigo shadows, a sky full of strange and brilliant stars. The sweet scent of unfamiliar flowers wafted on the warm air.
And then it was gone, and she fetched up on the other side of the clearing, the stones behind her. The wind died to a quiet sigh. Slowly, Mara turned to look at the doorway she had almost stepped through.
An owl hooted from a distance, the mournful cry giving voice to her disappointment. Whatever that place had been, it was full of a wild magic that stirred her senses.
“It didn’t work,” she said.
Perhaps this wasn’t to be her adventure after all. But why had she been led to these stones, if she was not meant to go through?
One of the other sparks spiraled down, flying close to the right-hand stone. Bits of mica glinted in the rock as it passed. Halfway down, it hesitated, then flew into the stone. No, not into the solid granite. It had gone into a small hole in the rock.
A keyhole.
“Oh,” Mara said, more sigh than word.
Slowly, she slipped her hand into the inner pocket of her dress. Her fingers brushed against something warm and solid. Holding her breath, she pulled it out.
The skull-headed key grinned at her, shining whitely against the shadows.
“You trickster,” she whispered. “You didn’t abandon me.”
She felt as though her heart would take flight like the bright-winged sparks now darting ecstatically above the stones. This was the moment she’d been waiting for her entire life. Her body was a bell, reverberating in a single, sure peal.
She took three steps forward, until she reached the stone. The golden light darted out of the keyhole, and slowly Mara inserted the glass key.
It slipped in smooth as water. She turned it carefully to the right. A soft chime filled th
e clearing, and the air between the stones shimmered. The key fell out into her hand.
She tucked it back into her pocket, lifted her head, and walked through the doorway between the worlds.
Chapter 8
A shower of sensation drenched Mara’s skin, as if she’d stepped through a curtain of warm water. She took a gasping breath of flower-scented air while her body realized it was not, in fact, drowning.
She stood between two standing stones in a clearing, similar to the one she had just left. Similar, and yet the air held a wild tang, and an unseasonably warm breeze wafted against her cheek. The sky above her was violet-black and spangled with unfamiliar constellations, including a bright spiral of seven stars high overhead. Silver light illuminated the tall evergreen trees surrounding her, and beneath them grew strange flowers that glowed dark purple and scarlet.
The trees, at least, were still hemlock and cedar, though they whispered to her in a language she could not understand.
A flicker of light danced through the air, and Mara was glad to see that one of her guides had accompanied her. It flitted to the edge of the clearing, then bobbed impatiently up and down.
“Very well,” Mara said. There was no reason to linger near the doorway when a magical new world awaited her.
She patted her pocket to make sure the key was still there—not that she trusted it to remain—then checked the knife at her waist. Before stepping under the trees, she turned and studied the clearing. The stones stood tall against the night sky. She could see no distinguishing landmarks—no twisted bushes or ragged stumps to signal the way back.
Well then. She’d just have to trust the winged sparks to guide her when it was time for her to return.
But first, she was truly embarked on an adventure.
The glowing creature lit a path into the evergreens, and Mara followed, her steps taking her through a deeper, richer version of the Darkwood. The scent of cedar and rich loam tickled her nose. The glowing flowers grew in clusters between the trunks, along with a soft moss that shed a faint emerald light. The trees were much taller than in her world, the trunks wider—some even as broad as a cottage. High overhead, the wind waved the branches in a hushing lullaby.