“Has the Crow King forgotten his own name, then?” asked Gwyn.
“Far worse, he has forsaken it, as he forsook his people.”
Gwyn shook his head. “But why? He was the heir to his throne. Heir to magic. His parents were benevolent and kind. What could he gain in betraying the Ilidreth?”
“Nothing,” Celin answered. “That is the question that has plagued me longest. No Ilidreth who remembers can find the answer. We only know that Prince Kovien invited an evil into the True Wood, brought it to the very heart of our lands, and cast its spell across the whole of our domain. It has claimed most of us. It will claim the whole of us in the end. The Vales are fading. Memory is fading. Beauty is fading. Soon all shall be lost.”
“No,” Gwyn whispered, clenching his fists. “No.” He turned to the Ilidreth. “Fight with us, Celin. Simaerin will stand against the Crow King. Bring your kin, whoever will fight, and stand with us against his madness.”
“What chance have you against the Crow? Simaerin loyalties remain with the crown, and none believe he is a usurper.”
“Some know,” Gwyn said. “And…” He inhaled. “The line of Wintervale is not dead.”
Celin’s eyes widened. “You, Gwynter. You are a king? Yes, I see it in your eyes. Even that first day we met, I saw it. Do you know when the Wintervale line gained its magic? It was granted to them by Lord Roth five hundred years ago. Shalesta’s brother Cygmund, first of the Crane Kings, had two sons. The eldest became his heir. The second allied himself with Simaerin through marriage and became king upon the passing of his wife’s father, carrying on the Wintervale line until the Crow King crushed it. But here you stand, the last remnant of ancient roots. The Weave has chosen you. Aluem has chosen you. Perhaps even your Afallon has chosen you.”
“I don’t desire to be a king,” Gwyn said, “but I cannot deny what I am by blood, and if it gives me the power to defy the Crow King, I must use what I have. Wrongs must be righted.” He extended his hand. “Will you and your kin stand with me?”
Celin considered him. The silver blossoms of the Vale swayed on a fragrant gust. “You will try to save Kive and overthrow the Crow King? Do you not hear the folly of your own words?”
“The greatest folly would be in doing nothing to change the evil of now.”
Celin frowned. He sighed and shook his head. “I am sorry, heir of Wintervale, but I will not risk the remnant of the Ilidreth against such a force of arms. Better to fade in our home than leave it behind to be slaughtered en masse.”
Gwyn stifled his disappointment behind a soft smile. “I understand, though if death were the only outcome I could see either way, I would choose to stand against the delivering hand, if only to claim I never gave into it. As it is, you have already handed the Crow King your sword. You are defeated.”
“Perhaps that is so.” Celin turned toward the pool and the shapes flowing above its depths. He swiped a hand through the air and the water broke apart to fall back into the glistening pool as pattering droplets. “Go, Gwynter ren Terare of Wintervale. Fight your battle. Attempt to win. But first, gaze a last time on the Vale, for soon it will fade.”
“I will fight,” Gwyn said as he stood within the ancient realm of light and life, “and though you remain here to hide, I will struggle to keep this Vale and all those like it from fading. Such beauty should never be lost. It should never be forsaken.” Gwyn looked around the glowing Vale, drinking in the wonder of its magic. He turned and reentered the mundane world.
He headed back for camp, lost in his thoughts, until the sound of approaching feet brought his head up, hand falling to his sword. Lawen stepped into view among the trees, relief washing over his face.
“There you are. Are you well?”
Gwyn offered a grim smile. “I found Celin.”
“And? What did he say of Kive?”
“Kive is still alive. I must go on ahead.”
Lawen nodded. “I understand. Let’s break the news to the others.”
Chapter 43
Unicorn and rider pressed so fast Gwyn lost track of hours and days. His mind burned with a kind of fever, his body throbbed, and only his magic sustained him.
The silence of the woods persisted, growing thicker as the two companions entered the True Wood. Gwyn’s blood stirred; perhaps his magic responded to the Crow King’s presence. The sensation never ceased. On they raced, and Gwyn’s thoughts switched between concern for those traveling behind him, and fear of where Kive might be. Had the Crow King caught him? Was Gwyn too late to save the wretched creature he’d grown strangely fond of? It had been so long since Gwyn had seen Kive, yet his memories of the fallen Ilidreth were sweeter at each reflection, and his desire to aid the tortured soul burned hotter. Compassion spurred Gwyn on — and rage. Rage toward the Crow King. To torment and destroy one’s own kin was unfathomable. Gwyn had risked his life to save his brother. He had no doubt Lawen would do the same in return. How could a man do otherwise?
Perhaps the Crow King had been tortured himself. Was the king responsible for his actions, or had he been driven to them as Kive? None now knew. Did Gwyn have the right to condemn the Crow King, or should he pity him and try to save him as he intended to rescue Kive?
Gwyn didn’t want to pity the Crow King. While Kive appeared monstrous at first, while he ate what he perceived to be rats, even back then there had been a childlike innocence in him. He was more animal than man, and not deliberately cruel. The Crow King destroyed and tortured his own people, knowing well who they were and who he had once been. He made them eat their own. He delighted in war. Chained magic. Murdered mage children. Whether or not he had chosen this course on his own, he could not be allowed to continue upon it.
Gwyn must stop him one way or another.
The Crystal Way glistened under a full moon and autumn breezes kissed its surface. Aluem trotted along it for several paces, then halted, ear flicking toward the southwest. Gwyn strained to hear above the chill wind.
There. A rustle in the brush. Was that a footstep or his imagination?
A figure appeared in the moonlight, cloaked and cowled.
Gwyn snatched his bow and nocked an arrow.
“There is no need of your weapon, Gwynter ren Terare.”
Starting, Gwyn lowered the bow. “Celin?”
The figure glided nearer. “You are a difficult pair to catch.”
Aluem flicked his ears and pawed the water.
Celin inclined his head. “Greetings to you as well, my friend. Is it true that you intend to bond with this boy?”
If Aluem responded, Gwyn did not hear his words.
“I once thought you the wisest of your kind. But it is not my affair.” Celin lightly shrugged and pulled back his cowl. “I shall accompany you to Shaeswéath, though it may doom us all. Your words struck my soul deeply, Gwynter, and few can manage that in this age. Thus, I shall see for myself whether you are a man worthy of Ilidreth loyalty. Shall we?” He motioned to the Crystal Way.
Gwyn smiled. “I would be honored by your company. But we ride swiftly.”
“Yet I have found you. Show some faith. I shall manage.”
“I realize he’s worried about Kive. I am as well. But to ride ahead all alone! That’s exactly what we came along to avoid.” Nathaera wrung the reins of her steed like they were Gwynter’s neck. “He’s always so reckless with his life.”
“I’m worried for him, too,” Lawen said. He rode beside her, one hand draped over the pommel of his sword. Adesta rode in the rear, a bow at the ready. The prolonged stillness of the trees clawed at Nathaera’s nerves, and the little company moved as carefully as their trot allowed. Even at this speed, Nathaera knew Gwyn rode days ahead by now. Soon he would reach Swan Castle and face the Crow King utterly alone.
“Stupid, foolhardy…” She sighed, more scared than angry. Gwyn had to ride fast. Already it might be too late. But couldn’t he have taken her with him? They could both ride on Aluem’s back and still race as fast through the Tr
ue Wood.
She’d scarcely spoken to Gwyn since she confessed her feelings a week ago. It seemed a lifetime now since Vinwen. Perhaps the trees had swallowed up time.
Gwyn had never responded to her feelings. It was possible, even probable, he harbored none of the affection she so keenly held. I’m just a spindly wisp of a girl, while he’s a tall, noble, fool-headed, reckless, self-serving—
Nathaera knocked a fist against her forehead. Even her thoughts had turned prejudiced in her worry.
Her horse’s step faltered.
Lawen snatched her reins. “Hold up.” He drew his blade. “I think someone is watching us just ahead.”
Adesta’s bow hummed a note as he tightened its string.
Lawen urged his horse forward a pace. “Whoever you are, reveal yourself.”
A cloaked figure staggered from the trees, slumped over, breathing hard. The figure raised its head, strands of long black hair tangled against a blue-tinged pale face and blood-colored eyes. Nathaera gasped.
“Kive!”
She threw herself from her horse and raced ahead of Lawen, even as he shouted a protest. Nathaera reached out and caught Kive’s thin arms in her fingers.
“My poor Kive, where have you been? Let me look at you. Are you well?”
Kive stared, lips parted, eyes vacant. “Little rat, little rat. How juicy you are.” He reached up and stroked her hair.
Nathaera flinched. “Oh, Kive. No, no. I’m not a rat, remember? Dear Kive, I’m Fairy Wren, remember? It hasn’t been so long as all that. You can’t have forgotten me already, after everything. We went to Fraelin together, remember?” She looked over her shoulder and found Lawen and Adesta standing close, weapons ready but not raised. “See there, Kive? Remember Rabbit? He brought you such nice rats in Fraelin. You remember him, surely.” A sob caught in her throat.
Kive’s eyes wandered to Adesta. “Nice juicy rat.”
“No, Kive. Rabbit. And I’m Fairy Wren.” Nathaera snared Kive’s face with her hands. His eyes met hers. “Fairy Wren, your friend. And Shiny — Shiny’s nearby too. You went looking for him, right? Well, he’s here. You must remember Shiny, Kive. You simply must.”
He considered her, eyes searching, lost and tinged with feral instinct. “Fairy…Wren?”
“Yes, that’s right. I’m Fairy Wren, Kive.”
“Fairy Wren. Shiny’s Fairy Wren?”
She flushed even as she laughed. “Yes, yes, Kive! Shiny’s Fairy Wren. You do remember.” Fresh tears welled up.
“You must come. I found you.” He caught her wrist and pulled it from his face. “You must come with Kive.” His airy, breathless tone seized her body and she followed him as her mind reeled.
“Where are we going, Kive?”
“Master said to bring Shiny’s Fairy Wren. Bring her to him. I must bring Shiny’s Fairy Wren.”
“Stop, Kive,” cried Lawen.
Adesta raced forward and snatched Nathaera’s free arm. “Release her. She can’t go with you.”
Kive turned a cold stare on Adesta. “Release Fairy Wren and let us go.”
Adesta gasped as his arm dropped to his side. Kive pinned his gaze on Lawen.
“You will stay. You will not follow.”
Lawen remained where he stood, sword in hand, eyes blazing. “Where will you take her? To Swan Castle? Is that where your master is?”
“Come,” Kive said, tugging Nathaera forward. “Master waits.”
She stumbled on his heels. As Kive pulled her into the trees, she glanced back and caught Adesta’s stricken stare and the frustration gathering against Lawen’s brow. “Gwyn will find me,” she called. “Please don’t worry!”
They disappeared beyond the trees and Nathaera straightened to gaze around her. The forest stretched high overhead, cold and ominous. She dropped her gaze to Kive’s back. “Please try, Kive. Try to remember me.”
The fallen Ilidreth didn’t respond, but dragged her ever deeper into the woods, where the trees grew close and confining, like bars in a dungeon window. Nathaera shivered and sent a prayer to Afallon.
Evening crept into the wood, casting a deeper gloom than before. Droplets of water dripped from the canopy above and Nathaera wondered if a storm hung low in the sky. Kive led her into a clearing, where the trees grew about five feet apart in a near-perfect circle, though the sky remained invisible beyond a thick canvas of leaves tinged with autumn gold. A little brook burbled through the clearing, and Nathaera’s parched throat tightened.
Kive dragged her to the bank where she sank to her knees, dipped her free hand in the cold water, and drank handful after handful. Kive said nothing until she finished, then he tugged her to her feet and plunged into the brook. The water reached his ankles. He pulled Nathaera in after him, and she squeaked as freezing water drenched her slippers. The current yanked against the hem of her coarse grey dress — attire borrowed from Lady Mair’s cook for the journey.
Kive reached a hand toward the leaves overhead. “Amondel ré tiéthwé Shaeswéath.” Black tendrils of ink-like liquid shot from his hand and the flutter of wings echoed across the air. Light filled Nathaera’s vision, blinding yet dark as pitch, and she flung a hand over her eyes. The world contorted; her head spun. Wind rushed through her ears. A high-pitched note, nearly a scream, caught on the torrent.
All fell still. Nathaera lost her footing and landed against cold stones.
A silken voice floated down to her. “You must be the girl who has caused me such trouble. I am glad to meet you at long last, Nathaera ren Lotelon.”
Nathaera lowered her arm. Icy fear pricked her skin like thousands of needles as her eyes sought the fair face of the Crow King. “Your Majesty.”
He smiled gently where he stood upon a crystal dais. Behind him, faintly glowing like moonlight, rose two thrones carved from a peculiar, opalescent-white wood shaped to look like swans’ wings.
She knew at once where she was. Swan Castle.
“Well done, Kive. Thank you for your obedience.” The Crow King extended a graceful hand, and Kive scurried forward to take and kiss it. He fell to his knees upon the dais steps and bowed his head, trembling as he released his master’s hand.
The Crow King considered Kive with a kind of condescending affection. Nathaera studied the mad king where she sat upon the floor in the ruined throne room swathed in ancient clouds of spiders’ webs and curtained in dust. The king’s expression darkened. Cruelty curled the corners of his mouth and he lifted his hand. Kive flinched. His shoulders hunched and he closed his eyes. The king struck his cheek; the slap resounded across the vast chamber. Kive slumped sideways, then coiled into himself, cowering.
“Master, please…Please, no.”
“You’ve disappointed me, Kive. You’ve wounded me by your betrayal.” The king’s tone glided across the air, soft, gentle. “Have I not given you all the rats you need to live? Have I not protected you from the cruel men who would have destroyed you? Yet you choose Shiny and his ilk? Why, Kive?” He stooped and caressed Kive’s matted hair. “Do you not love your master?”
Kive sobbed and turned his head to rest it against the Crow King’s palms. “Master, please.” He snatched the king’s wrists and pulled them close to kiss the knuckles of his hands. “I serve my master only. Forgive Kive. Forgive me.” He pressed his forehead against the king’s hands and wept.
“I know you serve me, though not as faithfully as you should. But, Kive, you haven’t answered my question.” The king bent close to Kive’s pointed ear. “Do you love master?”
Kive bobbed his head and choked out his answer: “Yes, yes, Master!”
“Ah, Kive. Why then did you betray me?”
Kive wailed and dropped his head to the steps. He looked so wretched, tucked into himself, swathed in tangles of his long hair, cloaked in tatters, barefoot. Nathaera’s heart throbbed until she thought it might burst. Not long ago, Kive had been well groomed, hair neatly braided, adorned in fashionable apparel from Fraelin. She’d even managed to c
onvince him to wear boots in public. He knew to eat his rats alone at night, away from people. He’d learned so many animal names to give the people in his life: Rabbit, Deer, Purple Giraffe — a personal favorite. The dignitary so named had been likewise delighted. Kive was learning his colors. Learning about plants and seasons; even numbers, so long as he pretended to count out rat tails: ‘One rat tail, two rat tail, three rat tail.’
But all of that, a year’s worth of healing, had faded away in the mere weeks since. Had crumbled before the wrath and majesty of his tyrant master. Kive had fallen again into the pathetic, miserable creature skulking in shadows, dining on human flesh.
Tears wended down her cheeks, hot and bitter. Her throat burned. “Please leave him alone!” She meant to speak, perhaps only to whisper, but the words came out as a scream, hoarse, hysterical. “Haven’t you hurt him enough? Haven’t you—” She choked against a sob.
The king stroked Kive’s head as he might stroke a bird’s feathers as his pale eyes lit on Nathaera. “This is your doing, not mine. Kive was not conflicted before. He knew his place, understood my expectations. You and Gwynter are the ones who have hurt him most.”
Nathaera’s lips parted. She shook her head. “You don’t really believe that, surely.”
The Crow King rose and stepped from the dais, leaving Kive to weep alone. The king approached Nathaera, tall and graceful, cloaked in deep red velvet. Crow feathers trimmed the cloak’s lining, glossy even in the faint light that streamed through the broken ceiling above. A full moon poured light upon the chamber. Night had fallen. Under the moon’s influence, the king’s head appeared crowned in light.
“Gwynter rides this way, but even upon the back of his noble friend, he will not arrive tonight. Indeed, the wait may be several days. You will need shelter and food in the meantime. Perhaps a tower room will suffice? Kive already occupies the dungeon, you see. He favors it, for all the rats.”
The Complete Duology Page 25
