by Malinda Lo
Harmony: This was the heart of nature. Every living being—plant, animal, human, fay—had its place in the cycle of life and death. In this cycle, countless creatures worked in tandem as well as against one another. All of these beings formed a complicated whole that shifted and changed in order to maintain that harmony.
Elowen had taken many lives in order to extend her own. Her stockpiling of power had wreaked havoc on nature. Her death was justified. But that did not mean that harmony was restored, for harmony is never achieved through murder.
And Kaede had to accept her part in that. Tears slid down her face. The experience of killing Elowen—of death on her hands—would be imprinted on her always. She had been given an extraordinary gift in Elowen’s fortress: a second life. She understood that now, and she knew she had a responsibility to live up to it—if the unicorn allowed her to.
He lowered his horn until the point came to rest lightly against her chest. The touch of it sent a shock through her. All he had to do was push forward, and she would be dead. But he remained still. He was not finished with her.
He showed her that although she may have held the knife, it was the Fairy Queen who put it there, and the Queen had acted out of desperation and self-hatred. She did not want to accept her own responsibility for the tragedy of Elowen’s life. Now the Queen was paying her own price: She was dying, and so were her land and her people.
If the Queen died without an heir, the ash that had blanketed Taninli would spread, sifting into the cracks and corners of the Wood, sinking into the Nir until the river became thick and slow. There would be no summer; there would be no autumn or winter or spring—only this never-ending grayness, as if all the color had been leached from the world.
This could not be allowed to pass. The Fairy Queen must live, so that her land could heal. Kaede knew that the Queen would never be the same again. Her time to die would come soon. But she needed to live—for now.
The unicorn lifted his head and gave Kaede permission to draw his blood with her knife, the same one that had killed Elowen.
With shaking hands, she slid the blade across his throat, holding the horn cup beneath it, and drop by drop, his life fell into her hands.
The Huntsman looked as if he had aged a decade when she returned to his camp. Her horse had found his way back on his own, looking none the worse for his experience in the unicorn’s grove.
“Is it done?” the Huntsman asked.
She held up the horn. “Yes.” She was drained, exhausted.
Relief flooded into the Huntsman’s face, making him look almost human. “Then we must return,” he said, and called their horses.
He pushed them hard on the journey back to Taninli. Every day that passed brought the Queen one step closer to her premature death, and he could sense the Wood already beginning to wither. The sun, now, was always covered by cloud.
When they returned to Taninli, they found the city much changed. The layer of dust that had fallen over the palace had spread to the streets. The scent of burning hung heavily in the air.
At the palace courtyard, they dismounted quickly. Kaede had slung the horn over her shoulder, and the knife slapped against her hip as she hurried after the Huntsman. In the throne room, the Queen still lay in her crystal chair, and Taisin and Con paced near the windows as if they had never left. But Kaede could not spare more than a glance for them, for the Queen was on the verge of death.
Kaede climbed the steps to the dais and knelt before the Queen as she had knelt before the unicorn. She unlatched the cap and dipped her fingers into the blood, which was as warm as it had been when it dripped from the creature’s throat. She smeared it in long strokes over the Fairy Queen’s sunken cheeks, and words came to her mouth as though the unicorn were speaking through her: “As life is in the blood, so you shall receive it, for it is blood that brings life.” She lifted the horn cup to the Queen’s mouth, and a great shudder ran through the Queen’s body.
As the blood spilled over the Queen’s tongue, Kaede’s world lurched. The floor seemed to shake beneath her, and she clutched the horn cup, feeling dizzy. The Queen leaned toward her, and she was so close now that Kaede could see the Queen’s pupils dilating. The Queen’s mouth opened in a gasp. Kaede saw the smear of blood on her lips, and somehow Kaede, too, could taste it, metallic and bitter. She felt it traveling through her body as if she had drunk from the cup herself. She realized that iron was burning through the Queen—iron from the unicorn’s blood—and it would kill her just like Kaede’s dagger had killed Elowen.
The Queen’s eyes were almost entirely black now; only a thin rim of gold encircled her pupils, and a chill was spreading over her skin like frost. She was dying. Kaede wanted to sob: This was not what she had intended. The Queen was supposed to live!
She closed her eyes; she did not want to see the Queen die. A memory rose like a ghost between them, and Kaede could see it just as the Queen did: a birth. A night of pain, horrible pain, followed by the sweetest dawn of the Queen’s life. A baby girl with eyes of gold and hair the color of sunlight. Elowen.
Another ghost of a memory appeared: A hot summer afternoon in the Great Wood. A man alone, lost. There was something beautiful about him: the openness of his face, the strength of his hands. The Queen had no intention of keeping him for long, but he was so different from her many courtiers, with their elegant clothes and cool, appraising blue eyes. This man’s eyes were the color of the earth, and his mouth was warm.
Kaede felt the Queen’s heart pounding. Moments before she had felt the chill of death on the Queen’s skin, but now there was a rising heat. Kaede opened her eyes and saw the Queen’s face glowing as if she were lit by a fire within. The light grew until the Queen was bright as a star; she was the brightest, strongest star in a constellation, and every living creature was in orbit around her. But even the Fairy Queen was not invulnerable, for even she could be wholly changed by the smile of a handsome young man on a hot summer day.
The Queen was alive; she was reborn. Joy and relief swept through Kaede, and she took the Queen’s hands in her own, discovering that the Queen was clutching Elowen’s medallion in her fingers. The chain rustled as it slid between their hands; the stone warmed as the Queen’s papery skin became strong and smooth, and her cheeks bloomed pink as a rose.
She smiled at Kaede, a smile that sloughed off Kaede’s lingering doubts and sadnesses, and she said, “My huntress: You shall have your reward for what you have given me.” She leaned close to her so that she spoke in Kaede’s ear, and no one but she could hear.
“My name,” she whispered, “is Ealasaid.”
When she drew back, Kaede saw her for who she truly was, and she wept to see the Queen’s love for her dead daughter, and what difference there was between fay and human was erased, for both understood the sorrow of loss.
Chapter XL
Afterward there was a great celebration, and Kaede, Taisin, and Con were granted free reign to go where they pleased within all of Taninli. Con spent many hours with the Fairy Queen, discussing the terms of a new treaty between their lands, for they both agreed that the time of isolation should end. He planned to present the treaty to his father as soon as he was back in Cathair, and if possible, he would bring the King himself to Taninli the next year.
Kaede and Taisin spent their last night in Taninli in the rooms they had been given during their first visit. Though they could have joined the revelry in the streets below, they were content to simply be near each other, for they both sensed that something precious was coming to an end.
It was Kaede who finally said the words, for she could not bear to pretend. “You’re going back to the Academy, aren’t you?”
Taisin looked away, but she could not deny it.
“I understand, you know,” Kaede said resolutely, though it felt like her heart might break.
Tears trickled from Taisin’s eyes. She covered her mouth with her hands as if that would hold the emotion inside.
Kaede got up an
d walked the few steps to where Taisin was seated nearby, and pulled her close. Taisin’s shoulders shook as she cried, her face pressed against Kaede’s stomach, her arms wrapped around her waist. It was a long time before she could speak, and Kaede knelt down and held her hands while she listened to her.
“It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted my entire life,” Taisin said, her voice breaking. “I’ve dreamed of becoming a sage since I knew what a sage was, and I’ve always known what sacrifices it would require. There is still so much for me to learn, and I have so many questions to ask my teachers. But I love you so much. How can I give you up?”
“You’re not giving me up,” Kaede said, and she kissed her hands. “You’ll always have me.”
Taisin’s eyes welled up with tears again. She dragged one hand free and wiped them away, drawing a ragged breath. “Kaede,” she said, and she had never before realized how much she loved the sound of her name, the way it felt to say it, the look on Kaede’s face when she heard Taisin call her. “Kaede, if I become a sage, you know what that means. I have to take a vow of celibacy. I will be with no one.”
Kaede had planned to tell her that she should not give up her lifelong dream for her; that she had proven herself too gifted in her power to not continue her training at the Academy. But she also ached deeply to think that she might never hold her again. It was like someone was digging a hole in her and dragging out her heart, and she didn’t know if she could bear the pain. “It’s a ridiculous rule,” she said bitterly, startling a laugh out of Taisin.
“There is a reason for it,” Taisin said gently.
“What reason?” Kaede demanded.
Taisin stroked Kaede’s hair back from her face, her fingers tangling in the black strands. “Every time I look at you, Kaede, I—” She stopped, breathless, her cheeks reddening.
“What?” Kaede said, the core of her quickening.
“Every time I—I—you know I can’t think, Kaede. You make me stop thinking.” She gave a brief laugh, and when Kaede’s hand ran over her thigh, she shivered.
“You think too much,” Kaede murmured, and she pulled Taisin’s hand from her hair and kissed her bare wrist, pushing back the sleeve of her tunic. Her skin was warm and golden and unmarked.
Taisin sighed, her whole body coming alive. “I’m not a sage yet,” she whispered, and they kissed, and kissed, and a few minutes later, they left the sitting room and went to the round chamber overlooking all the city lights, and they closed the door.
It was easier to say some things in the dark.
“When we leave here—”
“—things will change.”
“It’s better this way,” Taisin said. “We’ll have to get used to—to the way things are going to be.” She felt as though she were kicking herself in the gut.
“You should change the rule.”
Taisin smiled. “No matter what happens, I’ll always love you.”
“Taisin—”
“Wait,” Taisin said, putting her finger over Kaede’s lips. “Let me say this. I’ll always love you, but I make no claim on you. You aren’t bound the way I’ll be. I know that. There’s no reason for you to be alone—”
“Taisin,” Kaede said, raising herself up on her elbows and looking down at her. “Stop it. I love you, and right now, that’s all there is.”
Chapter XLI
The Huntsman and several of his riders escorted them through the Wood as far south as the river Kell.
One morning, Kaede emerged from her tent to find a wreath woven from new leaves and perfect pink and white flowers. She stared at it, confused, until the Huntsman told her it was a gift from the wood nymphs, who had visited during the night.
“A gift? Why?”
“Because you saved them, and you saved their queen.”
She blinked at the wreath; it was so lovely, a crown fit for a woodland princess. She gave it to Taisin, who blushed to receive it, and thanked her with words so formal that Kaede’s heart ached. They did not know how to tread this new path they had chosen, and sometimes it hurt so much that Kaede had to turn her back on Taisin. When she stared out at the Wood, at the trees and the sunlight and the pattern of oak leaves against the sky, it helped, if only a little.
One night, Con asked her why things had changed between her and Taisin, and when she told him, he was saddened. “Are you sure?” he asked softly. Taisin had already gone to sleep, burying herself in her blankets so that she might not have to stay awake beside the person she had decided to be parted from.
“No,” Kaede said, “and yes. How can I ask her to give up what she wants most?”
“She wants you.”
“Not only me, and that’s as it should be.” Though it pained her to say it, she was beginning to discover that she believed it. “Her path is different from mine.”
“And what do you think your path is?” he asked.
She looked at the Huntsman, who was standing with his riders some distance away. “I think… I think my path lies with them.”
Con glanced over his shoulder at the Xi. “With the Fairy Hunt?” He was surprised.
“With the Xi. And with you.” She looked at Con. “When you bring that treaty to your father, I want to be there.”
He nodded. “The Queen asked me to bring you next year, when I come back with my father.”
“Did she?” Kaede said, and she found she was pleased to hear it.
“Yes. So: Will you come back with me?”
“I will,” she said immediately.
“We’ll have to give you some sort of title,” he mused. “We can’t keep calling you the Chancellor’s daughter.”
She smiled. “A title. I’ll think about it.”
When they came to the river Kell, Kaede could hardly believe her eyes, for there was a bridge. It was obviously old, and barely wide enough for one rider, but it seemed sturdy enough.
The Huntsman walked to her side and said, amused, “Did you think there was no crossing?”
She glared at him. “You saw us that day—of course we had no idea! Where are we? Are we south of where you found us?”
He glanced up at the blue sky. “South, yes, I think a little bit. If only you had gone a bit farther.”
“How would we know?” she cried, exasperated. “All the maps are inaccurate.”
“Then it’s certainly time to correct them,” he said, and gave her a warm smile.
She was overcome with bittersweet emotion. “Thank you,” she said, “for everything.”
He bowed his head to her. “We are grateful to you. And you—and Con and Taisin, too—will always be welcome in our lands. Perhaps your kingdom has a need for a huntress, to tend the Wood south of this river. You might ride with us one day, and we could teach you.”
“You are very generous,” she said, and tears came to her eyes.
He seemed to struggle with some emotion of his own, and Kaede wondered if he had ever had a daughter, for she thought he would make a good father.
South of the Kell, the Wood was awakening from its long slumber. Sunlight streamed through the branches overhead, each one heavy with green buds. Flowers bloomed along the edges of the trail, pink and purple and white, and birdsong filled the air every morning. It was like an entirely different forest than the one they had traveled through on their way north. There seemed to be no sign of the malignant Wood that had taken their friends Tali and Pol, and nearly taken Shae, as well.
Con intended to stop first at Mona’s cottage, in case she was still waiting for them, and the closer they came to it, the more quickly he wanted to ride. Kaede and Taisin understood his eagerness, and the three of them pushed their horses hard on the first day without the Xi. On the third day, they were startled when Con left them behind in a cloud of dust, galloping down the trail toward a horse they could not quite make out in the distance. As they drew nearer, Kaede recognized it, and she said to Taisin, “It’s Shae.” She and Taisin halted their horses some distance back, not wanting to int
rude on their reunion.
Con pulled his horse to a stop and slid out of the saddle, but when his feet touched the ground he felt unexpectedly shy. Shae dismounted from her horse, but she left one hand on the saddle to steady her, for her leg was still not entirely healed. Her hair had grown so that it fell softly around her face, and though she was thinner than she had been before the journey, Con was glad to see that she had color in her cheeks, and some of that color, he hoped, was due to seeing him.
“Con,” she said, and gave him a tentative smile. “Well met.”
“Shae,” he said, and before he could lose his nerve, he went to her and kissed her, cupping her face in his hands. She let out a little sob, reaching up to put her arms around his neck.
Kaede turned slightly away, not wanting to stare. She had worried that the sight of them might make her mourn what she couldn’t have with Taisin, but instead, it awakened something warm and alive inside herself. She was only happy for them, and when she glanced at Taisin, she was glad to see that Taisin felt the same way.
“Do you think it will make a good story?” Taisin asked. “The prince and the guard, who fell in love on a journey to the Fairy Queen’s city.” The sun seemed to shine especially brightly on this part of the trail. It gave Taisin’s hair a halo of deep, dark red; it made her face glow.
Kaede smiled, and though her heart still ached, the love she felt was stronger than the pain. “It will make an excellent story,” she agreed. And after they had given the prince and the guard another few moments to themselves, Kaede and Taisin rode down the trail to meet them.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Even though a writer sits at her desk alone, there are many people who stand behind her. Thanks to my wonderful agent, Laura Langlie. Thanks to my awesome editor, Kate Sullivan, who shares my storytelling vision. Thanks to my early readers, Sarah Pecora, Lesly Blanton, and Cindy Pon, for your feedback. Thanks to the whole team at Little, Brown Books for Young Readers who help to bring Huntress into the world: Barbara Bakowski, Kristin Dulaney, Alison Impey, Zoe Luderitz, Stephanie O’Cain, Ames O’Neill, Jen Ruggiero, Victoria Stapleton, and Amy Verardo. And last but not least, thanks to my partner, Amy Lovell, who witnesses good writing days and bad, and loves me anyway. This book is for you.
