“It’s all we could find,” one said, sounding grim. “The wolf must still have the game spooked.”
“We did manage to find some honey dots,” the second man said, raising his shoulder, from which dangled a rather full, bumpy looking bag.
“It will have to do,” Malachite said.
The men went inside the cottage. “What are they doing?” Natalia asked. Her throat felt raw, though she hadn’t actually shed any tears. She supposed she had spent them all back at the clearing where Midnight died.
“Cooking,” Malachite said. “In Thesper, it was customary for people to prepare a meal for neighbors who had befallen a misfortune.”
Natalia nodded. “Of course,” she said, starting to rise so she could help.
“My Lady, please,” Tristan said, walking up to her. There was still a catch in his step, and though his shoulder was wrapped in a tourniquet, he looked relatively unscathed. “I’ll help them. You should rest.”
She gave him a weary smile and nodded. After he walked off, she turned back to Malachite. “That was the same prayer you said for my parents.”
“It was.”
She paused. “Have you ever lost your faith?”
He sighed. “Several things have tested me, yes, but that’s exactly what they are: tests to see if you will break, or if you’re ready to move on to the next stage.”
“What’s the purpose of having faith when you know bad things are bound to happen?”
“Then it wouldn’t be called faith,” he said, with a small smile and a twinkle in his eyes. “The world may throw its darkness at you, but if you can still manage to see the light through it, then you’ll know you’re strong enough to walk through fire.”
See the light.
The smell of roasting pheasant and rabbit filtered outside as the dwarves lingered by the grave, huddled together and looking much more like scared, sad children than ruthless little monsters. They didn’t even seem to notice the events taking place around them. Natalia knew that feeling. She hadn’t paid much attention to life outside her grief either when she lost her parents.
Tristan appeared in the doorway. “It’s ready.”
Natalia went over to the dwarves and gently laid a hand on Wormwart’s shoulder. He startled, looking back at her with a jerky motion.
“Come inside,” she said, giving him a sad, kind smile.
The abandoned look in his eyes scared her. It was as if he wasn’t there. He nodded absently, stumbling around and shuffling toward the cottage. The others, like animated dead, mutely followed after, their movements sluggish.
Their faces betrayed their surprise when they came back in and discovered a massive pot of soup and freshly baked bread. Even Natalia was surprised by how wonderful it all smelled and looked.
“We found some flour in the cellar,” Tristan explained, carrying a tray of steaming honey dot bread and setting it down on the table. “I remembered seeing it there the night they tied me up.”
“And yet you still cooked for them,” Natalia murmured.
The dwarves sat down to eat without a single word of thanks, but she didn’t have the heart to chastise them for their lack of manners. Natalia and the others gathered what the dwarves didn’t take, nibbling on the food in silence for a few minutes. The meat was bland without any spices, but it was delicious at the same time because she hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now. Being sad consumed a lot of energy.
Malachite finally broke the dreary silence.
“We should head back to the Den.” He paused. “My Lord and Lady, a word?”
Natalia glanced at Caspar. He nodded, placing a hand at her back and guiding her outside.
Malachite glanced around, lowering his voice. “The serpents were the Queen’s doing, weren’t they?”
Natalia swallowed and mutely nodded.
“I know you’ve been through a lot and you just lost a friend,” he said, pity in his eyes, “but it’s time for your exile to end. We must figure out a way to storm the castle and kill the Black Witch. You must become the queen if this land has any kind of a future.”
Her breath caught. Though she craved to kill the Queen, she hadn’t really given much thought to who would rule once she was dead.
Fisting her hands, she met Malachite’s gaze with fire in her eyes. “What did you have in mind?”
Malachite frowned slightly. “We’ll head back to the Den and try to gather what men we can. From there, I’m not sure.”
“How many do you think will aid us?” Caspar asked.
Malachite paused before answering. “A few hundred, I hope.”
“That won’t be enough. The Queen’s army will have thousands.”
“All is not lost,” Malachite said, eyes dropping to Natalia’s belt. “We still have the Fey Horn.”
The horn. She had completely forgotten about it. “Yes, but what good will it do?”
“He said we can only use it once. I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” Malachite said. At her doubtful look, he added, “Never underestimate the power of the Fey. They are the children of the land, and their magic runs deep.” He paused, thinking. “We need to act within the next few days, before the Queen decides to attack again.”
“The next few days?” Natalia asked, unsure if she heard him correctly. “But – my powers – I’m not –”
“We do not have months for you to learn how to control your abilities!” Malachite hissed. “If we wait too long to initiate a counterstrike, we could all be dead.”
“We may very all end up dead if we act too soon,” she said, steeling her voice. “At least give us a week to prepare.”
His eyes locked with hers. “After what happened today, are you willing to risk your sister’s life so you may stall the inevitable?”
Her blood chilled. “No,” she said, voice tight and tiny.
“Then take three days and no more. Mourn, prepare yourselves, do whatever you need. On the fourth morning from now, come to the Den armed and ready to fight. We’ll meet before sunrise and finalize our plan. I have some ideas, but I need time to think them through.”
“Father!”
Tristan ran up to them. “I want to go.”
“Absolutely not,” Malachite said.
“But I want to help!”
“Maybe you can,” Natalia murmured thoughtfully. “That magic dagger you created back at the cave was brilliant. Do you want to practice Conjuring tomorrow?”
Tristan gaped at her for a few seconds, blushing. “It’d be my pleasure, my Lady.”
“Not a bad idea,” Malachite said with an approving nod. “I’ll have a group escort my son back to you tomorrow. Tonight, though, we all need to rest.”
His eyes lingered on hers, and she gratefully nodded. She needed tonight to think and to sort out how she felt about all this.
“Then it’s agreed,” Malachite said. He motioned five of his men over. “I’ll leave my best fighters here tonight in case you need them.”
Natalia looked at them all. “But you shouldn’t –”
“The subject’s not open for discussion, my Lady,” Malachite said gently but firmly. “The Queen could attack again.”
“Not likely,” Caspar said. “It’s my experience that you never attack immediately following an assault because the enemy will be on their guard. It’s best to wait a while and let things die down so you can attack when they least expect it.”
Somehow, that made Natalia feel worse. She swallowed down her protests, at last giving Malachite a reluctant nod. “Be careful.”
“Always.”
He bowed, as did Tristan, and they set off for the woods, disappearing into the shadows.
The men stood around awkwardly, glancing at each other as if unsure what to do with themselves.
“You don’t have to guard me all the time,” Natalia said tiredly. “Besides, I’ll be going to bed soon, I think. It’s been a long day.”
“My Lady,” one of them said, bowing slightly.
She gave him a small nod and then started for the cottage, intentionally ignoring the fresh grave.
“Wait,” Caspar said, catching up with her. “I’ll walk you to your room.”
She didn’t argue.
The dwarves were not in the dining room when she reentered the cottage. When they went up the stairs, she could hear voices coming from the bedroom, though they were too quiet for her to make out what they were saying. Slither still hadn’t shown back up, for which she couldn’t say she was sorry.
After pushing open the door, she hastily crossed the room to her little blanket-of-a-bed, removing the red cloak as she did and letting it crumple to the floor in a scarlet heap. Wincing, she gingerly lay down on the blanket’s coarse surface.
Her eyes froze on a thick volume lying next to her. It was the history book Midnight and she had read together.
Tears blurred her vision, and she hastily wiped them away and tore her gaze off the book, unable to look at it any longer.
Caspar knelt beside her, laying the cloak over her like a blanket. He brushed back a few strands of hair from her face. “Sweet dreams,” he whispered. Soft lips brushed her forehead as he leaned down and kissed her. Her face heated at his touch, and he rose, leaving and shutting the door quietly behind him.
She had no idea if her dreams would have been sweet, because she never slept long enough to find out. No matter how hard she tried, she kept waking up, the cramps in her sore body making it impossible to sleep. Finally, she stood up, donned her cloak, and walked outside to the grave. The air had taken on a chill, but she hardly noticed it. For the most part, she felt numb all over.
It was a bit brighter outside than before. Though the sky was largely covered in silver-lined clouds, the moon poked its face out whenever it could.
She knelt before the mound of earth, crowned with the tiny stone they used to mark the burial spot. Moonlight dappled the ground, making it shimmer with cold, silver beauty.
She sat there, staring at the marker, her hands folded on her lap. Anger and regret toiled inside her, mingled with grief, and she clenched the cloak in her fists. What if she had never come here? Would Midnight still be alive? Would her sister not be in so much danger, if she weren’t already dead?
Would everyone have been better off if she had died back in the catacombs?
She hastily shook her head. No, she couldn’t think like that. All of this sadness and despair was the Queen’s fault. And yet no matter what she told herself, she couldn’t shake the lingering guilt that Midnight was in the ground because of her. Her eyes stung, and she harshly swiped at them with the hem of the cloak.
“Moonlight suits you,” said a low voice.
Natalia startled and turned, finding Caspar leaning against a tree a few feet away. She hadn’t even heard him come up.
She faced away from him, hoping he hadn’t seen the glossy shine of her tear-filled eyes. Slow footsteps crunched toward her, and he knelt, his knees bumping hers. She could feel the heat of his body through the cloak, and she gulped as her heart picked up speed.
She looked at him. “What are you doing out here?”
Caspar shrugged off her question. “Sometimes I just like to sleep outside.” He gave her a smile. “That is, until someone woke me up.”
“You were sleeping out here? Under the open sky?”
“Yes, more or less, wherever I can find a comfortable nook in a tree, or a nice fat log to shield me.”
“But…” Her nose wrinkled. “There are bugs.”
He laughed, and the sound warmed her heart. “Forgive me, but I think I’d be more worried about the flesh-eating rabbits and blood-sucking plants than a few measly insects.” His laughter faded away. “Then again, I saw a spider the other day the size of my fist wrapping a bird up in its web, so I don’t suppose the insects are much safer.”
All the color left her. “Where did you say you saw that?” she asked in a small voice, glancing around. It took her a moment to notice Caspar’s growing smirk, and she shoved him. “That’s not funny! Do you have any idea how terrified I am of spiders?”
His green eyes sparkled. “I think you’re the first girl I’ve ever met who would rather slay a twelve foot snake than face one teeny, tiny spider.”
“Spiders are scarier,” she murmured, staring ahead. A patch of moonlight spotlighted on the gravestone, and her expression turned somber.
Caspar quieted and followed her gaze. “You know,” he said softly, “I’ll bet wherever he is, it’s a lot prettier and safer than it ever was here.”
“He didn’t need to die. He wouldn’t have if I hadn’t…” Her voice stuck in her throat, and she sucked in a tight breath, fighting the tears that wanted so desperately to spill over.
Something warm covered her hand, and she looked down to see Caspar’s pale, thin fingers resting over her own. She stared at them, heat rising in her face. “You can’t blame yourself for the Queen’s wickedness,” he said gently. “I’m sure I speak for Midnight when I say he would rather see you safe than harmed. You’re the brightest hope we have, Snow.”
She squeezed her eyes shut at that last statement. So many emotions were trapped inside her, pressurizing until she thought she would explode. “It’s too much; the Queen, magic, the dwarves, this place, all of it.” She shook her head, sighing hard. “How can I hope to be of any help when I can’t even summon my own magic when I need it most?”
She thought back to the clearing, when she had tried calling for her powers and they had failed to come. What if she wasn’t powerful enough to defeat the Queen?
What if she wasn’t enough?
She felt the night’s chill as Caspar removed his hand, reaching around the other side of him where she couldn’t see. Her eyes widened slightly as he pulled forth the flower she had revived, lit up by moonlight in brilliant, breathing color. He leaned forward, laying it at the base of the stone marker. “Mastering magic, I imagine, is just like learning any other skill. All it requires is a little practice.”
She gazed at the flower, so beautiful and alive with its vivid green leaves and soft, velvety petals.
“How many times have you tried summoning your magic before?” Caspar asked.
She paused, counting. “Only a handful.”
“Then I wouldn’t call you a master just yet.” He smiled, gazing at her with an emotion she couldn’t quite place. “Fondly” would come closest, she supposed. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Snow. You’re giving up before you’ve even really begun.”
“I’m not giving –”
“Yes, you are.” Caspar held up a hand, silencing her. “I can see it in your eyes, and in the set of your shoulders. You’re stronger than you think. Remember what Malachite said about faith? Well, it’s not just about having faith that all the outside events you can’t control will work out. You must have faith in yourself, and you should because the rest of us do.” He paused, smiling at her. “I do.”
That phrase sent a jolt through her. White-hot fear nearly ripped her resolve in half. No one had ever told her they believed in her before. She knew Rose did because she needed her, but this was different. Someone she had known for only a few days had told her he thought she was capable of the impossible. What if she didn’t live up to his expectations?
“I’m sure if your parents were alive, they would believe in you too,” Caspar added quietly.
Her expression soured and she looked away.
Caspar watched her carefully. “What happened between you and your father?” he asked.
Natalia’s throat felt tight. Finally, she said, “We were always so close, when I was growing up, that is. Then when my mother died, he closed in on himself. I think a little piece of him died that day, too.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “Then one day he was gone. He left me alone when I needed him the most.” Her voice shook with the effort of struggling to contain her anger and sorrow.
Caspar didn’t move. He sat there, a hard look of understanding o
n his face.
“Why do the people I love always leave me?” she whispered. “Why is it when I get close to someone they die?”
He reached out, pulling her into his arms. She fell into him and welcomed his embrace as his arms slowly twined around her. Resting his chin on top of her hair, he rocked her back and forth.
“Snow?” Caspar inquired gently, concern in his voice.
Her eyes flashed open. She had nearly dozed off. Caspar’s green eyes refocused, and she saw the admiration there – and the deep, dark secret, the one that taunted her.
“What are you hiding from me, Caspar?” she asked, searching his eyes.
Surprise flickered across them and then they returned to normal. “Everyone has secrets, Snow. But as for whether or not I’m hiding something from you, the answer is no.”
“Yes, you are. I can sense it.”
“So now you can read my thoughts?” he asked, grinning slightly. “My Lady, that would be a dangerous gift around me.”
Blushing, she quickly sat up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and looking away.
“You have to kill the Queen,” he said quietly.
“I know,” she whispered. Her gaze hardened. “And I will.”
The grave lay before her, shimmering in the moonlight. If she didn’t succeed – if she never even tried – then that could be not only her fate, but the fate of everyone she knew. Death would rule the land with an iron hand, and she would be to blame.
She clutched the crystal, as if trying to draw strength from it. Please, Rose, don’t be dead. I’m coming for you soon.
He started to stand. “It’s late. You should rest.”
“Wait,” she said, catching his hand.
He froze.
“Stay with me?”
His mouth opened slightly, like his breath caught.
“Please?”
A White So Red Page 26
