I bite my lip and look away. “I want to come with you.” I nudge a piece of straw with my foot, pushing it back and forth as I wait for his answer.
The stable smells like horse, but it’s not an unpleasant odor. Around me, the animals nicker and snort, and if I had the time, I would greet them all. I wander to a gray mare in the stall next to Galinor’s. She lifts her head from her breakfast and nuzzles my hair. I laugh and give her a pat. Finally I look back at Galinor.
“Do you have a way to protect yourself should we run into trouble?”
“Well.” I shrug. “I’ll have you.”
Galinor smiles, leaves his horse, and comes to me. “I mean besides me.”
“I scream very loudly.” I give him a wide smile.
He chuckles and plucks a piece of hay from my hair. “You’ll listen to me if there’s trouble? You’ll do exactly as I say?”
“I won’t leave Danver, if that’s what you mean.”
He crosses his arms.
“But other than that, I will.”
“All right. It’s a bad idea, but you may come.” He raises a hand in greeting, looking over my shoulder.
“You can ride with me this time,” Irving says from behind me. He drapes his arm around my shoulders.
I glance at Galinor to see what he will say, but he’s already turned back to his horse.
***
“What will you do when you return to Primewood?” I ask Irving.
Riding with him isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
“Well, since I didn’t win the tournament, Father will expect me to choose a bride.”
“That’s natural, Irving. You’re his heir.”
We’re in the woods again, but we have made better time today, and it isn’t nearly as late as it was when we were here before. We’re deep in blue bushes, and I believe we’re in an area we haven’t yet checked.
“I know that,” he says. “I do.”
“You still haven’t found her, have you?” I enjoy these rare talks with Irving, the ones where he’s serious for a change.
“Not yet.”
He sounds so dejected, I laugh. “You’ll find someone, Irving.”
Something bright, just on the edge of my vision, catches my attention, and I turn. “What was that?”
Irving looks into the still trees. “What was what?”
“Let me off.”
“Anwen—”
“Let me down,” I urge, already throwing my leg over.
Irving slows the horse, and I leap to the ground. I wait, watching for another sign of life, but I see nothing. I take a step into the woods and then another. I step over branches and around bushes, going deeper into the forest. Irving rushes behind me, and I wish he’d be quiet. He’ll scare them off.
“What did you see?” Irving asks, taking my arm.
“A floating light. I think it was a fairy.”
Irving’s fingers tighten. “A fairy…or a will-o-wisp?”
I pause mid-step and take a sharp breath. “I don’t know.”
“Irving!” Galinor calls from the horses.
I don’t see anything glowing now—no sign of fairies or their malevolent cousins. “I might have been seeing things.”
“Anwen, don’t move.” Irving’s voice is suddenly low and controlled.
I look around, my movements frantic. “What is it?”
He pulls me behind him, and we slowly back up the way we came.
“I don’t see anything,” I whisper.
I strain to hear something. A breeze rustles through the leaves in the trees, but there is no sign of any animals—not even a bird. At this hour, they should be chattering in the trees.
Nothing appears to follow us, but we keep our path slow and steady.
“Irving,” Galinor calls again, growing impatient.
Irving nudges me. “Get back to the horses.”
Danver is at my feet, nervous. I scoop him up. Instead of going to Irving’s horse, I hold my hand out to Galinor, who is closer.
Irving continues to scan the forest, but I still don’t see anything. When he turns back, he nods to Galinor. “Let’s keep moving.”
We continue on but hear nothing more. After a while, I relax.
“What happened back there?” Galinor asks.
“I thought I saw a fairy.” I twist to look at him. “Irving thought it might have been a will-o-wisp.”
He taps my shoulder. “You ran back to me when you got spooked?”
I grin. “You’re my protection, remember?”
A smile plays at the corner of his lips. “Yes, I remember.”
“Did you see anything?”
“No.” He looks at something in front of us, and his eyes widen with recognition. “But I see something now.”
I turn back to the front. There, towering over the clearing in front of us, is the eldentimber tree.
“You found it,” I whisper.
The gold leaves shimmer in the afternoon light, and a few swirl in the breeze around us.
Something is missing.
I turn back to Galinor. “Where are the fairies? Do you need to summon them?”
His face falls, and he looks irritated with himself again. “They should be here.”
We wait in silence, watching for something. Anything.
“Hello?” I call, my frustration rising. “If you’re there…” My voice falters. “Please.”
Danver leaps to the ground to sniff around. Now that my hands are free, I lower my face into them.
Galinor’s hand settles on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Anwen.”
***
We don’t speak as we plod through the forest on our way back to the palace. Even the horses seem to be in no hurry to return. There’s no hope I will find the fairies now.
I will have to begin my search again. Which way will Dimitri have taken his troupe?
I turn to Galinor. “Where are the festivals—”
Something screeches behind us, and the hair stands up on the back of my neck.
“What was that?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer, but his hand moves to the hilt of his sword.
“There it is again,” I whisper.
Galinor draws the horse to a halt, and then he turns to face the trail behind us. “I’m tired of its games.”
Irving follows our lead. He pulls an arrow from his quiver and readies his bow. We wait, our eyes on the woods. Danver stills near Galinor’s horse. He looks down the trail. Then, sensing something we can’t see yet, the hair on his back stands on end.
My heart pounds in my chest. Cold sweat trickles down my shoulder blades. The wind blows through the trees, startling a bird from her perch.
Goosebumps prickle my skin as I scan the woods. From the darkness of a cluster of underbrush, green eyes stare at me.
Then they’re gone.
“I saw something,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
Galinor tenses. “Where?”
“Between the large trees. I saw eyes.”
“Tell me—”
A screech comes from behind us.
The horses spook and swivel around to face their attacker. There, in the path directly in front of us, crouches an animal I have no name for. I inhale sharply; I can barely breathe.
Glossy black fur covers a pony-sized body. His muscles ripple as he twitches forward. Huge, feathered wings lay tucked against his body, but he flips them out now, making himself larger.
He hisses, creeping forward—a cat ready to pounce.
“He’s beautiful,” I breathe.
Galinor’s arm wraps around me, his muscles like bands of steel. “Don’t move.”
I call to the creature, mimicking a stable cat, and then I click my tongue.
“What’s wrong with you?” Galinor demands.
The feline’s ears twitch.
“Pretty kitty,” I coo, and then I click again.
The feline sits back on his haunches, confused. He tilts his head one
way and then the next.
Irving sits frozen on his horse next to us. Through clenched teeth he hisses at Galinor, “What is she doing?”
I inhale, elated at our progress. “You’re a pretty kitty, aren’t you?” I say, and then I turn my head just slightly to speak to Galinor. “Let me down.”
“Not likely,” he says in my ear.
I laugh and continue to call and click and mew. The feline stands, saunters to the nearest tree, and then rubs his side against it. He turns around, sits down, and then he meows back.
The horse is restless under me, shifting back and forth. I struggle away from Galinor, who seems to be too shocked to hold me back. I move slowly, holding my hand out.
The cat calls again, stands, and rubs against the tree. He repeats this action several times as I move closer. Finally, my fingertips touch his fur.
“Oh,” I say at the pleasure of it.
The cat turns his giant head and nudges me in the chest, running his ears along my arm. He promptly bursts out in loud, contented purrs and falls on the ground next to me, where he rubs his body against the grass under him.
I continue to pet him, running my hand down his glossy body in long, slow strokes. I look back at the men. “I think he’s friendly.”
They stare at me, dumbfounded.
***
“It’s still following us,” Galinor says, his voice tight.
I turn back and look over his shoulder. The cat, which Galinor has informed me is a blood-thirsty, night-dwelling glasseln, is indeed still there. He meows at me and flicks his tail as he pads along behind us.
“Hello, kitty,” I call back, and then I turn to Galinor. “Yes,” I say. “He is.”
“Can’t you make it go away?”
I meet Galinor’s eyes. “I can’t think of how.”
“Perhaps you should stop talking to it?”
I laugh at the idea and Galinor groans. Danver quivers in my arms. He’s not excited about the new addition to our party.
“It can’t follow us much farther. If they see it near the palace, they will kill it.”
“Why?” I demand. “He’s not causing any trouble.”
Galinor growls at me, irritated. “It’s a monster.”
I turn around and glare at him again. “Coal isn’t a monster. He’s a cat.”
“You’ve named it,” Galinor says, his voice deadpan.
I take his chin in my hand, lowering it so he meets my eyes. “It will be fine.”
“You can’t keep it.” Galinor’s gaze softens, but only a little. “He’s not a fox or a skunk or whatever other creatures you’ve adopted.”
“You just said ‘he’ instead of ‘it’!” I grin at the progress, small as it is.
Galinor rolls his eyes. “Can I please watch the trail now? Unless you think you can charm the horse into finding his own way back?”
I release his chin and settle against his chest. Danver stretches and then leaps from the horse. He freezes when he sees Coal. The cat watches him with alert, green eyes.
“Coal, no.”
The glasseln’s gaze flicks to me, and when he looks back at Danver, he seems only curious. Danver, however, is terrified. Suddenly the fox lunges into the forest, disappearing from sight.
“Danver!” I yell.
It’s almost night. If he runs far, he will be lost. I try to jump off after him, but Galinor grabs my waist and holds me tight.
“It will be faster and safer on the horses,” he says.
We go after Danver, but it isn’t easy to take the same path as a fox. Irving crashes through the brush behind us. I glance back to see if Coal still follows, but he’s gone. I bite my lip. It’s probably better this way.
I’m not sure how far we run from our trail, but it seems as if it’s been ages. No matter how many times I whistle for him, Danver doesn’t stop. Once again, I see the flash of white fox tail, but this time, that’s not all I see.
There are lights ahead.
Galinor slows the horse. “Do you see those?”
“Fairies,” I breathe.
I can barely believe we’ve found them.
“How do we approach?” Irving asks Galinor.
Galinor shakes his head. “I don’t know. We found them before by chance.”
We watch the lights twinkle through the trees. They appear to be in a clearing. They flit back and forth at an unimaginable speed, leaving trails of sparkling light in their wake. Out of the sky, a black winged-form descends, landing in the middle of the clearing.
“Look,” I whisper. “It’s Coal.”
The glasseln stretches out on the soft meadow grass. He seems completely at ease. Galinor urges his horse forward. As we near, I see Danver is amongst the fairies as well. We pause near the edge of the trees, none of us sure how to approach.
A bright circle of light zooms toward us, solving our problem. The fairy is a tiny woman, perfectly human, but miniature. Her wings move so quickly, they are but a blur.
I’ve longed for this moment, but now that it’s here, I can’t find words.
“Welcome.” The fairy motions us forward. “Please, come.”
We dismount. Feeling suddenly shy, I follow behind Galinor. He notices my hesitation and offers me his hand. I accept it. I feel better once his fingers wrap around mine.
Now that we’re near, I see the fairies have taken up residence in a new eldentimber tree. This one is younger than the last, its green leaves only edged in gold. The fairies float around us, and I can only make out a glimpse of them if they fly close.
A different fairy drifts from the tree and hovers in front of Galinor. “We remember you.” He doesn’t sound as welcoming as the first. “Why have you returned?”
Galinor’s hand tightens around mine. “We have come seeking an item.”
Around us, the white lights burst into laughter. This is probably not a good way to start.
“And what item is it this time, prince?”
Galinor squeezes my hand. It’s my turn to speak.
Wondering what the proper way to address a fairy is, I say, “Sir?” I let go of Galinor’s hand and curtsy. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
The fairy raises his tiny eyebrows and gives Galinor a pointed smirk before he looks back to me. “You are most welcome, fair one. What brings you to our glen?”
Galinor shoots me a look of disbelief, but he keeps quiet.
“A great many years ago, my father was given a gift by your kind. I have…” I try to clear the lump in my throat.
How do I tell them I was careless enough to lose it?
I say to the ground, “I was foolish, and I have given it away.”
The fairy flies close to my face. “Tell me what you have lost.”
“A changeling stone.”
Around me, the lights gasp.
The fairy in front of me remains expressionless. “I will speak with my king for you.”
He flies away, and the fairies around us are silent. Soon a bright, golden light descends from the tree. It floats near my face, and the fairy studies me before he speaks. His hair is dark, and he has strong features. Though he looks as young as Galinor or Irving, with fairies I’ve heard it’s hard to tell.
“I am King Brugpondam,” the fairy says. “We have much to discuss. Dine with us? Your animals will be well tended.”
I glance at Galinor and Irving, but they only shrug. I nod to the king.
“Do not be alarmed.”
Before I can respond, I begin to shrink toward the ground. I yelp in surprise and look at Irving and Galinor. They too are rapidly becoming smaller. Galinor reaches for me and pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around my back. The motion makes me feel nauseous, and I clench my eyes shut. Even after the shrinking has stopped, I huddle next to Galinor.
There’s a tap on my shoulder. Hesitant, I look up. The king is now our size—or rather, we are his size. I exhale sharply. Unnerved, I look back at Galinor.
“I think it’s all right,” he whi
spers.
I nod and step away.
Brugpondam offers his arm to me. “What is your name?”
Galinor frowns at the fairy, but next to him, Irving motions me on with a jerk of his head.
Hesitant, I take the king’s arm. “I’m Lady Anwen of Primewood.”
He pulls me close to his side and gives me a questioning look. “You don’t have a knife on you, do you?” His words tickle my ear.
He’s very handsome. It’s a little distracting.
I shake my head, and he grins. “The last time your friend visited us I almost lost my life.” He nods toward Galinor.
I’m not sure how to respond.
“You seem much more reasonable.” The king’s eyes twinkle at my bewilderment. “Now, come with me.”
I squeak as he wraps his arms around my waist and flies me into the tree. Behind me, Galinor and Irving both protest as they too are lifted off their feet.
In the center of the tree, thin limbs have grown together to form a deck. Hundreds of fairies sit at wooden tables. In front of them are bowls filled to the brim with all sorts of unnamable dishes.
“You will sit with me.” The king sets me on my feet. He takes my hand again and leads me to an elevated table.
The tables are lined with silk-spun tablecloths. On those tablecloths burn hundreds of candles.
The king pulls out my chair, and I sit down. Irving and Galinor are led to their seats across from us. A brunette fairy woman, resplendent in a yellow gossamer gown, pours the men their drinks. She gives Irving a coy smile, but it’s Galinor she lingers over. She murmurs questions and flatteries. I look away when she strokes his arm.
King Brugpondam takes the delicate glass pitcher from the fairy woman next to us and fills my drink himself. He watches me with dark, intent eyes. The candlelight glimmers on the gold circlet atop his head, making him look even more ethereal than he already is.
I’m amazed, however, at how completely human they all look—if a person can get past their wings and faint shimmering glow.
The king holds the goblet up. “Have you ever tasted fairy cider?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“You must call me Brug.” His mouth tips in a crooked smile, and he raises the goblet to my lips. “Here, try it.”
I flush, uncomfortable, but I obligingly take a sip.
Brug smiles, sets the goblet down, and steeples his fingers under his chin. “Now, Anwen, who in your family is cursed?”
Anwen of Primewood Page 5