Song of the Fairy Queen

by Valerie Douglas

  Orland had actually used the words she’d given that day in Oryan’s tent, as if that weren’t bad enough.

  “Is John of Orland still alive?” she demanded. “Because if he is, I will hunt him down and kill him myself, just for that benighted song.”

  That brought laughter all around.

  Which was when the rebels appeared and surrounded them, stepping out from behind rocks and trees, drawn bows in hand, arrows nocked.

  Gawain and Gordon were still laughing like loons, the rest grinning while Kyri put on a long-suffering look, although her pretty mouth twitched, despite her best efforts.

  All of them went still. No one reached for a weapon, keeping their hands in clear sight.

  It’s about time, Morgan thought, with a glance to Kyri and Caleb. They’d been making enough noise to have raised the dead.

  Her eyebrow lifted, the same thought clear in her eyes.

  None of the rebels looked amused.

  Morgan looked at them. Most appeared pretty ragged, but they were all clean and that was a good sign.

  “Who’s in charge?” he asked quietly.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” one of them said, his tone sharp.

  “They’re not King’s men,” another said.

  Morgan said, “It depends on which King you serve.”

  There was a moment of silence as a dozen pairs of eyes fixed on them, all of them stiffening.

  As they were escorted at sword and arrow point Kyri observed, “They have no sense of humor.”

  “Quiet,” one of the rebels said.

  She rolled her eyes, glancing at the others. “See what I mean.”

  Her irreverence eased the tension a little, as even some of the rebels glanced at each other over their companion’s overzealousness.

  The trees opened up onto a clearing and a neat, well-organized and well-run camp.

  A dark-haired man of medium height stood outside one of the tents, his hands thrust into his belt. His face was triangular and foxy, with dark eyes.

  Morgan remembered him well.

  As did Kyri.

  Morgan smiled. “Detrick.”

  Detrick could only stare in shock as they rode toward him, his mouth agape.

  It couldn’t be. He was seeing things. Two people that he hadn’t seen in…well, forever…and had thought never to see again, much less together in the same place. One of whom was supposed to be dead.

  That deep voice, though, that fair hair and those distinctive eyes… There couldn’t be two of him.

  “Morgan?” he asked, incredulous.

  “For a dead man he looks very good, doesn’t he?” Kyri said, grinning, crossing her forearms on the pommel of her saddle. “Hello, Detrick.”

  Detrick’s eyes went to her and then to Caleb. “Kyri? And Caleb. I’ll be damned. It is Morgan then? Really? I’m not seeing things? It’s the man himself?”

  He waved his people off.

  “It’s me, Detrick,” Morgan said, amused.

  The man walked up to Morgan’s horse in a daze with his hand outstretched, shaking his head in wonder as Morgan and the others dismounted.

  Morgan took the offered hand.

  “It’s good to see you, Morgan. Welcome,” Detrick said, “What the hell happened? Where did you go?”

  “Haerold’s secret prison in Caernarvon. They turned Jacob. Kyri and these others got me out,” Morgan answered.

  “Oh, hell, Morgan,” Detrick said. His voice sounded sick at the first bit of news. “Jacob, damn. So Kyri finally found you, huh?”

  Kyri had been searching?

  Morgan gave her a curious look.

  Somehow she hadn’t mentioned that. The thought eased something else inside him. He hadn’t been entirely abandoned as he’d believed, it seemed they’d all been looking for him.

  Kyri, though…Why hadn’t she mentioned it?

  Now wasn’t the time to talk about it, Morgan thought, but they would talk. And soon.

  “We’d heard stories, Morgan, that you were dead, captured, all kinds of shit. Gods, it’s good to see you back, Morgan. Stand down people.”

  The rebels all stared at Morgan in disbelief. To many he was a legend and a mystery that had been whispered about around campfires.

  Detrick clapped Morgan on the back.

  “I can’t believe it. Morgan. I’ll be damned. What can I do to help?”

  “First, tell me Oryan is still alive,” Morgan said.

  Gesturing them all to sit, Detrick signaled for wine and food. Folk ran to get it, whispering to each other in astonishment.

  “Yes, he’s alive,” Detrick said, but there was something in his voice…

  “What’s wrong?” Morgan asked. “What happened?”

  Shaking his head Detrick said, “It was inevitable, I suppose, that a patrol would stumble on the traveling castle, the Kingdom in Exile, sooner or later. They fought them off. Oryan is alive, but there were casualties. Philip’s dead. He put himself in harm’s way for the King. But Oryan is still alive.”

  Kyri caught her breath at the loss of Philip, remembering the sweet and gentle man who’d been so badly damaged by Haerold’s torture. She pressed her fingers to her lips, bowing her head as she fought back her sorrow.

  Her gesture caught at Morgan, seeing those bright eyes dim even as grief moved through him, too. Philip had been ill-served for his good heart.

  Gently he reached out, touched her hand, giving her a look.

  “I’m sorry, Kyri,” Detrick said gently.

  Taking a breath, she smiled a little. “I’m all right.”

  She met Morgan’s concerned look and it nearly broke her control, it was so nearly like the Morgan of old times.

  Biting her lip, she nodded. “Truly.”

  Frowning a little, Morgan nodded and let it go.

  Now Kyri knew how Haerold had gotten hold of the scrying bowl. It must have been lost in the battle. The wizards would have known at once what it was.

  “Fill me in, Detrick,” Morgan said. “I’ve been gone a long time. How bad is it?”

  Shaking his head, Detrick said, “It’s bad. We’ve lost a lot of ground, Morgan. Once you were gone everything fell apart. We lost a lot of people to Haerold’s spies and turncoats. We’re a lot more careful these days. A lot more careful. With you gone for so long, if it weren’t for Kyri and Caleb there, my people wouldn’t even have let you in. Even though she’s been gone for a time longer, everyone knows Fairy can’t lie. Best recommendation you could get. Caleb, of course, is Caleb.”

  That last Morgan couldn’t deny. Caleb was like an old hunting dog and that was no insult. He was as faithful and as loyal as they came.

  As for Kyri, it seemed she’d been holding something back from him. She knew a lot more than she’d said. Why? He needed to talk to her, in private, which would be difficult, but he wanted answers. And soon.

  Given the scrying bowl, though, Morgan wanted to move on. Needed to. The longer they stayed, the more likely it was that they might lead Haerold right to Detrick and his people. They still didn’t know if Kyri was successfully blocking it. Had Haerold’s wizards spotted him among them and gone to Jacob because they couldn’t find them? Or had they scried them in the city and needed a place to start looking?

  “We can’t and shouldn’t stay long, Detrick. I need to find Oryan and quickly. Can you put us on to him?”

  “I can get you started,” Detrick offered. “Put you on the right track. They’ll check you out at every level. I’ll give you my warrant, but it’s up to them then. We’ll give you the directions and the passwords. They’ll watch you. After that…”

  Morgan couldn’t ask more.

  “Thanks, Detrick,” he said.

  Gawain had enough sense to wait until they were riding west as instructed and somewhat alone, before he asked the question that nagged at him. He was a smart young man.

  “Why didn’t you tell him who I was?” Gawain asked.

  Morgan looked at him. “The fewer pe
ople who know, the better. The fewer who might go running to Haerold with the information that will make them rich, putting people like Detrick at more risk. That’s why we didn’t stay either, although we could have used it. Unfortunately from now on we’re at the mercy of others. Now, though, we know how they got hold of the scrying bowl Kyri spoke of. Kyri, is there anything we can do about that?”

  With a sigh, she shook her head.

  “I can’t even be sure I’m blocking it, Morgan,” she said, her worry and frustration clear.

  “All right,” he said, “there’s nothing that can be done about that either then.”

  Chapter Forty Seven

  The safe house was much bigger than any of them had imagined, a two story farmhouse surrounded by a broad veranda in a quiet, pretty little valley near the southern border of the Kingdom. Nearby was a good sized barn. Around it were golden fields of grain and a large green pasture filled with grazing horses. It was beautiful, serene, a place out of time in these darker days. Colton of Fairfield was clearly a large landowner and continued to be, somehow, despite Haerold’s taxes.

  Until an hour before they hadn’t even known where they were going. That had been when a rider had ridden over the ridge to intercept them.

  Almost plain and nondescript, with shaggy brown hair and sharp brown eyes, the man rode up alongside them.

  “So, you’re the infamous Morgan,” the man said, a slight challenge in his voice.

  “I’m Morgan,” Morgan acknowledged warily.

  With a brisk nod, the man said, “I’m Arthur. I’m to escort you to the safe house.”

  So someone had been watching as Detrick had warned and Kyri had sensed.

  Kyri’s eyes met Morgan’s, a slight frown on that lovely mobile face.

  Now they were here as directed.

  “Just so you know,” Arthur said softly, as they rode into the dooryard. “Colton is with us because of his wife. She was in to market when the Hunters came and she became their target. She was a pretty woman.”

  From what Caleb had told them stories like that were all too common these days. The Hunters ran virtually unchecked around the countryside.

  A young girl of about eight ran up to take their horses as they came to a halt.

  She looked up at Kyri with awe.

  “I’m Angela. Are you really a Fairy, wings and ears and all?” she asked.

  A little startled and dismayed that the knowledge was out, Kyri put it quickly aside. The little girl was sweet.

  Sliding off the horse, she bent at the waist, tucking her curls back behind one slightly pointed ear.

  She’d let her hair return to its own color, thankfully, and was encouraging it to grow again, as she’d missed the long length of it.

  “Ears and all,” she said smiling.

  The young girl’s eyes widened.

  “Watch,” Kyri said.

  Angela did, her eyes widening even more as Kyri’s wings unfolded above them, opening and spreading to catch the sunlight, each feather straightening, rainbow reflections glinting off and through them to surround the two of them in a shower of light.

  As always, the wonder of it caught at Morgan and he smiled to see it.

  The girl caught her breath, eyes widening even more in wonder.

  “Can I touch them?”

  Morgan went still.

  That particular question set off a series of shock waves through him, memories shifting deeply, a sense of his own wonder as he ran his hand down the smooth, feathered surface of a wing, conscious of both the strength and the fragility of it. The gesture was oddly familiar, close…. and intimate. Something inside him warmed and ached.

  Everyone else was enraptured with the picture of lovely Kyri with the little girl, golden head and red bent close, Kyri’s wings spread to sparkle in the sunlight, the small hand sliding across the graceful curve of it, the arch.

  The silken softness of the feathers warm beneath his palm, the strength and fragility of it.

  Something in Morgan’s stomach tightened, quivered.

  He could remember that, the strongly arched curve, how silky and warm the feathers had been beneath his palm. It had been an incredibly intimate moment, the sense of it shivering through him. His body tightened reflexively in memory.

  Picking lightly through the feathers, Kyri found one that was loose, ready to drop. With a small tug, she pulled it free and handed it to the girl. Even as she did it, the small feather turned to crystal in her fingers.

  “Keep that close,” Kyri said with a smile. “It’s protection against magic.”

  The girl held the crystalline feather in both hands in wonder, for the prettiness of it, holding it up to the sunshine, smiling, enraptured by the glittering, shining thing.

  Morgan clasped his hand around the one he wore on a silver chain around his neck, vaguely remembering the dark days in Haerold’s dungeon when they’d tried to take it off of him. It wouldn’t come off, nor would the chain be cut or broken. Even he couldn’t remove it. Protection against magic. What Fairy had given him his? He could almost remember.

  Arthur hurried up, another man in tow behind him, that one slower, more considered.

  “Morgan, this is Colton of Fairfield. Colton, this is the infamous, not so late, Lord High Marshal Morgan,” Arthur said.

  Dismounting, Morgan shook the offered hand, liking the look of the man before him.

  “Morgan is enough.”

  Of slightly more than medium height, Colton was a handsome, barrel-chested man, his hair thick and dark, more dark hair spilling from inside his collar. Big and bluff. Honest, with a solid handshake.

  Morgan smiled.

  “Come, we’ve food and beds for everyone,” Colton said, gesturing.

  With a groan, Gawain said, “A bed, a real bed.”

  He hadn’t slept rough so often or so long in his entire life.

  “You’re soft, boy,” Gordon said, shaking his head in mock dismay.

  Gawain gave him a look. “As if you haven’t been complaining about your joints from the first night.”

  “I have not,” Gordon protested, giving a look to Kyri.

  She raised her eyebrow and nodded.

  “Every morning,” she said wryly.

  A bed, Morgan hadn’t slept in a bed since….

  The pain moved through him more easily now although he knew it would never completely leave him.

  “Come on, Colton,” Arthur said. “And this is Kyri of the Fair, as you can tell.”

  “It’s a pleasure. You’ve made my daughter’s day,” Colton said, warmly. “Week, month, year…”

  Laughing, Kyri said, “Then it’s made mine, as well. Especially if the beds aren’t just a rumor.”

  He shook his head, “No, they’re real. Welcome to my home. Fair warning, my son is playing cook for us today. Most of the time it’s even edible.”

  It was quite edible and convivial as well.

  Again, for Morgan there were memories behind memories, of other occasions, of people laughing and talking. Angela peppered Kyri with questions. There had been other days like this somewhere…at Detrick’s camp? Somewhere else, trees towering high… It haunted him for some reason.

  It was a good day, but now Morgan wanted answers…

  Kyri staved off sleep for as long as she could, especially here where there were children at risk, so she stepped outside onto the veranda where the air was cooler to walk and to pace…. She’d also sensed Morgan’s increasing agitation, catching looks and glances from him she wasn’t certain how to read.

  A voice from the darkness said, “We need to talk.”

  She turned as Morgan stepped out of the shadows.

  It said something about her own distraction that she hadn’t sensed him there.

  There was something in his deep voice, though, that sent butterflies shivering through her. Taking a long slow breath, she sighed. She’d known this time would come. For Gawain it was a chance she’d had to take. With Morgan…?

&n
bsp; Watching him carefully, she nodded and started to walk away from the house and those inside. Into the darkness, where it was safer and where her face and eyes couldn’t betray her.

  “Detrick said you’ve been looking for me and the way he said it, he implied you’ve been looking for a long time,” he said.

  “Since the day you disappeared,” she said evenly, steadily.

  For a moment he stared. “Why?”

  There were a thousand answers to that, all true, but she didn’t know which one he wanted, or needed. Or which one to give him.

  “I knew that you were in trouble. I was coming to help. And then, you were gone. I couldn’t find you.”

  Kyri remembered it, the sense that something was wrong. She took a breath.

  The sense of wrongness had been bad, but when she couldn’t find him, she’d become frantic…. Her heart ached…

  Morgan could hear something in her voice, a deep and abiding grief, fear and pain.

  “I know you,” he said, bluntly.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Then why don’t I remember you?” he demanded, “Except for odd bits and pieces that keep popping up in my memory.” He curled his hand around the talisman, held it up. “This is yours, isn’t it?”

  “Actually,” Kyri said, “it’s yours, I gave it to you, but yes it came from me.”

  “Why don’t I remember you?” he repeated.

  The question was direct. She couldn’t lie and couldn’t avoid the answer.

  She swallowed hard. “Because I …made you forget.”

  Morgan stared at her, stunned. “You… Why?”

  “To make me less important in your life,” she said quietly, turning away, walking restlessly.

  He frowned, thinking about it, thinking it through and then he went after her.

  “You’re saying I was in love with you.”

  Something moved in him at the thought…

  “Yes,” she said, “and I with you.”

  She let out a breath.

  It was all pain now, her heart aching, the yearning nearly impossible for her to bear.

  That didn’t make sense.

  “I don’t understand,” Morgan said, “why would you do that?”

  “For a thousand reasons,” Kyri said breathlessly, on a laugh that wasn’t laughter, the pain of it constant, as ceaseless as the sea, letting out a gusty sigh, “but most of all because there is only one you, one Morgan. As we’ve seen.”