A Crown of Echoes

by Brindi Quinn

  “Better keep your eyes ahead. I don’t trust that stag of yours won’t lead you smack into a tree.” Windley could sense me watching him. Had I been staring? “Like rider, like beast, I guess,” he continued, tapping the side of his head. “Dull in the wits.”

  Good, he was relaxing more into his old self. I felt better too, knowing that we were taking action. And if ever I began to dwell on Beau’s whereabouts, I diverted my focus to the path ahead. An air so crisp and earthy propelled us forward as if the forest too were urging us to find its lost oracle.

  It was evening by the time we broke out of the of the woodlands. We emerged into a wide plane dotted with red-glowing firebugs and a few farmhouses. Emberlike, the firebugs dimmed as we rode through them and lighted again in our wake. Ruckus chomped at them, never catching one between his teeth.

  Albie referenced his map by moonlight while the rest of us stopped to admire the landscape. I loved the way things became silhouetted like that at this time of night. Blackest black and reduced to shapes—like shadow puppets.

  Rafe took advantage of the clear sky by unsheathing his sword for a charge. Stoic was his silhouette against the rising orb and backsplash of forest.

  Windley waited beside me with folded arms. “Ugh. What even IS he?”

  “A funny question coming from you,” I said.

  The moonlight reflected wickedly in Windley’s dark eyes. “Heh.”

  “Rafe is of a clan of elementals from the north,” I said. “They used to be quite common, but a plague wiped out most of his bloodline over a century ago, and it seems they aren’t all that good at repopulating.”

  “A charmer like him?” said Windley. “Hard to believe.”

  Albie was still fiddling with the map and trying to orient himself as Rafe performed an enchantment in the distance. I lowered my voice. “Say, do you think Rafe’s acting… peculiar at all?”

  Windley shrugged. “Couldn’t say. He’s not all that personable of a chap.”

  “Again, funny coming from you.”

  Windley used my shoulder as an elbow rest. “Ah, Queen Merrin, you never disappoint.”

  There was comfort in that gesture. He had done it many times before.

  “Alright, you three,” Albie summoned in his gruff voice. “There’s a country town south and west of here. They’re bound to have an inn.” He came over to me and tenderly pulled up my hood. “Like when we visited the Queendom of the Canyon,” he said with a nod.

  Yes, that was why I sported a guard’s cloak and not a queen’s.

  In-cog-nito.

  I’ve always believed that a good ruler is not one who orders others about but she who isn’t afraid to get in the thick of it.

  Maybe that’s why, to this day, I prefer donning guard’s attire to that of royalty.

  I gave a thumbs-up. “Understood, Albie.”

  “Good luck fitting that mane under there,” Windley crooned, cupping his mouth with one hand.

  “This journey should give you ample time to come up with new material,” I jested back. But damn it all, he was right. I struggled to fit my hair into the confines of the hood. Too bad Beau wasn’t here to tame it for me.

  Beau.

  The thought hit me like an arrow to the chest. Albie noticed and put an earnest hand to my cheek, whispering low so that only I could hear, “Stay strong, My Queen.” He tipped his head in the direction of Rafe and Windley. “For them too.”

  He was right. I raised my chin.

  “Thank you, my knight.” It was a moniker that always made him twinkle in the eye.

  Yes, thank goddess for Albie.

  I was tired by the time we reached the bucolic town of which Albie spoke and downright exhausted by the time we made it to the inn—a cozy place where the locals gathered for drinks and stories. Rather lively for an otherwise quiet thoroughfare. The gathering area was ripe with lulled conversation and warmth from the fire. Windley fetched us a meal from the maid and Albie a room from the innkeeper. I waited beside Rafe who was eyeing the barrels behind the bar.

  “Feel free to have a drink, Rafe, if it suits you.”

  “I’m fine,” Rafe said dully. That apathetic expression he almost always wore had returned. Maybe he was back to normal. Maybe the previous night had been my imagination.

  It was hard to tell the inner thoughts of a person so hard to read. I noticed a vapor emitting from under his cloak—a result of a freshly frosted blade. “You may want to conceal that,” I said. “I don’t know how common your power is around here.”

  He looked down before closing his garb. “Right. Thanks, Your Maj—” He stopped himself. He wasn’t sure what to call me now that I was in disguise. ‘Merrin’ was fine by me, but I knew that would make him uncomfortable. I chuckled to myself over his inner turmoil.

  “Look at you,” said Windley, sliding me a tray of food. “Abstaining tonight? I expected you to be drowning your worry in a pitcher of mead.”

  “And I expected you to be over flirting with the locals. There’s a chesty one, did you see?”

  “I take offense to that. I am a royal guard, I’ll have you know.” The corner of his mouth was beginning to curl. “Therefore, I only flirt with queens.”

  I knew that better than anyone, for I suspected I was his favorite target. “Too bad they never flirt with you back. Rejection hurts,” I said, offhand.

  He drummed his fingers along his cheek with a sinister gleam to his eye. “They don’t know what they’re missing.”

  Windley was a good distraction, making things feel normal and helping push away the waves of anxiety crashing in my soul.

  I was grateful to him, too, for I knew he must also be dealing with similar anxieties over the loss of his queen, yet he was making efforts to keep me entertained. Strange that one of the least couth might also be one of the most consoling.

  We ate quickly before retiring to the rented room. Therein were only two beds, which Albie and I took while Rafe and Windley took to the floor. It was rare that I shared my quarters; but given the emptiness I felt as a result of Beau’s disappearance, I was glad for the company… that is until Albie began his crescendo of snoring.

  If Rafe minded, he didn’t say. Windley on the other hand made a fuss— “Oh, come on.” And dramatically readjusted his pillow to shield his ears.

  “It will stop once he turns to the side,” I assured. I remembered so from when I was a child. On nights when I was too afraid to sleep alone, usually after a particularly frightening fable from Poppy, Albie would read poetry to me from the armchair in the corner of my room, often falling asleep himself.

  I didn’t like poetry on its own, yet I cherished it because it reminded me of Albie.

  Eventually, the snoring stopped, and I fell into darkness.

  Sometime later, the creak of floorboards alerted me to movement in the room. Through the fog of sleep, I saw Rafe sitting at the window, chin resting on his knuckle as he gazed off into the red-dotted night. There was no need for him to keep watch, for the room was on the second floor and had a sturdy latch. Perhaps he couldn’t get comfortable on the floor? Windley seemed to be doing alright.

  Surveying the night, Rafe didn’t look as indifferent as usual; he looked soft… and forlorn. After a few minutes, he raised a palm to the pane of the window, leaving the frosty imprint of his hand.

  It was hard to tell for sure through sleep-laden eyes, but I could have sworn I saw a faint mirrored handprint on the other side of the window linger long after Rafe’s had faded.

  Though it was probably just a trick of the night.

  Chapter 6

  The Cove

  In the chill of early morning, before any other tenants rose, we continued our journey, passing only the most dedicated of workers out in the fields. The country had an appeal separate from the Clearing and Crag. Life out here was humble yet hearty, and the air smelled different—of oxen and hay.

  Windley, who again rode beside me, didn’t share my fondness. He curled up in his hood li
ke a tired child and rested against the velvety horns of his stag.

  “Because someone kept me up all night with their snoring,” he pretended to pin me as the culprit.

  “Wasn’t me. Lions purr.”

  He eyed me sidelong in search of a comeback but didn’t have the energy for it. “You know,” he said instead, “you’re probably the only queen that rides in pants.”

  “Can you imagine if I didn’t? Ruckus would be engulfed!” I tapped the stag’s head fondly. Ruck seemed glad to be out in new pastures, though it was even harder to direct him than usual with so many foreign sights and sniffs. A chipper here, a new friend there. Ruckus was much fonder of the wildlife than it was of him. Still, we made much better time now that we were out of the woods. Albie said we would make it to the Cove in no time if we kept up the pace.

  But we didn’t make it to the Cove that day nor the next. We passed through miles of country followed by bursts of civilization followed by more country. The farmlands started out new and exciting but dulled as green and tan blurred on the horizon. My interest perked each time we passed a traveling merchant or a group of children waving from their homesteads but quickly dwindled as we rode longer alongside the setting sun. Each night, we found welcoming lodging and a robust meal, and each dawn we set off again.

  It would have been better had I been able to talk to Windley or Albie or even Rafe, but not long into our journey, the wind picked up, making it hard to converse, and so we rode on in near silence until even Ruckus grew bored.

  I’m sorry, captive ones, for I know this isn’t the most exciting part of the story. We want action, nay adventure, nay flirting and swooning! But don’t worry, I’ll get to all that soon.

  At long, long last—after riding for what was, in all likelihood, much shorter than I remember—the wind brought a change, and it was a taste I recognized.

  Salt. Sea salt, to be exact.

  At some point, that boorish blur of green and tan had melted into a new palette of richer golds and deeper greens. We were approaching a coast. I knew it as I knew the beat of my own heart.

  “Albie!” I shouted and slowed to take in the changed terrain of scabby brush and jutting rock. “We’re nearing it, aren’t we?”

  “To be fair, we’ve been growing nearer the whole time,” Windley countered.

  “Yes, but we’re near near now. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “Aye,” said Albie, trotting up alongside. “Not too much farther now, My Queen.”

  Even Rafe was relieved, or at least his posture appeared to liven. He likely enjoyed the days of silence the rest of us had suffered. Newly invigorated, I pushed Ruckus faster than ever before. The stag could sense my excitement and complied with fervor, bounding over rocks and around needly undergrowth, the salt-touched air thickening with every advance.

  It was the palace I saw first, breaking the horizon like a beacon. Fittingly, its topmost pillar was crescent-shaped, like a scythe. Next came the surrounding city, ripe with life and clustered around the half-moon cove. Last was the coastal tide itself, withdrawing as if to pull us closer.

  I had never visited the Queendom of the Cove before, but in many respects, it felt like coming home. Eager for human interaction, I barreled toward the city, drawing the attention of those residing in the outskirts, until a cloud of kicked-up dust cut me off.

  “Wait, My Queen!”

  Ruckus slammed to a halt beside a confused child playing in a thicket so as not to crash directly into Albie and his steed.

  “You’re not decent to meet the Queen of the Cove. If we go in like this, they’ll think us ne'er-do-wells.”

  Oh yes. I had forgotten. We weren’t in the wilds yet, and there was a certain amount of pomp that would go into meeting the southernmost queen.

  “Do we really have time for that?” said Rafe. He was peering over his shoulder in hopes of continuing on, as though the diversion were a bother.

  “Indeed, we must make time,” said Albie in his grizzled voice. “I want to find Queen Beau as much as anyone, but the lands beyond are dangerous and uncharted. While you two restock our supplies, I will meet with Delagos to find out what he knows of the lands beyond.”

  Captain Delagos, he meant. His ‘old friend.’

  It seemed Albie was choosing not to acknowledge that one in our own party was from ‘south-ish’ and was probably the best person to ask for such advice. Windley didn’t speak up either. He was picking at his nails.

  “Queen Merrin should use the time to acquaint herself with the Queen of the Cove. Even in duress, maintaining political relations is important.” Albie bowed his head respectfully. “Does this plan suit you, My Queen?”

  He was right. Beau’s disappearance aside, I was still a queen with queenly duties, and it would serve my people well to acquaint myself here.

  “We shall do as Albie says,” I decreed. “But we leave tomorrow at first light.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Rafe bowed.

  “Yes, your holiest of highnesses.” Windley bowed deeper, never taking his eyes from mine, jester’s grin in full.

  “Enough.” Albie smacked him on the back of the head.

  On the edge of the city, we found a mercer’s shop with a changing room. Here, they sold jewelry, combs, hand mirrors and woven shawls—the wares carefully fashioned by the Cove’s craftsmen. Albie handed the shopkeeper a pair of coins to take his leave while Rafe and Windley stood guard out front. It was challenging getting dressed in royal garb without my handmaids, but Albie was a suitable step-in. He laced me in the back and helped let loose my hair from its ties, fanning it out around my shoulders.

  I had no jewelry along, save my mother’s necklace, which I always wore and was simple by royal standards, and an emerald ring to prove my identity. I stood in the mirror and examined myself. Albie had done a fine job. No one would confuse me for a ne’er-do-well now. “Thank you, Albie. Shall we?”

  “One last thing, My Queen.” From his pack, Albie pulled out a thin crown of silver ivy. It wasn’t THE official crown but a substitute I used whenever visiting foreign nations. Beau had a similar one in gold. Of course Albie had thought to grab it. From behind, the proud knight placed the crown atop my mane of hair.

  Per usual, he was right. Now I really did look like a queen, albeit a smudged one. I cleaned my cheeks with a handkerchief and dolled myself with a few drops of winterberry perfume. “Do I smell okay?”

  Albie cracked smile. “Like a lady. Just wait and see how the hounds react.” He shot a displeased glance toward the door.

  I didn’t understand the depth of what he meant at the time.

  I gathered my gown and stepped out into the sun. The shopkeeper knelt when he saw me. “Please, don’t.” We couldn’t have that happening all through the city. While I appreciated my own people showing adoration, it felt unwarranted when others did it. I had done nothing to earn this man’s respect. “Windley, my cloak?” I summoned the guard before turning back to the shopkeeper. “Really, thank you. It isn’t necessary.” I called back over my shoulder. “Windley!”

  The moron hadn’t moved an inch and was just standing there, hair turned bright yellow and staring at me like I was an alien creature. Trying to come up with some brilliant insult, I assumed. Rafe wrenched the cloak from him and hurried to put it around my shoulders. With colder than average hands, he carefully pulled up the hood and tucked in my hair. “Thank you, Rafe. At least someone’s being helpful.”

  Windley cupped the back of his neck and looked to the ground. “You caught me off guard. Sorry.”

  “I’m kidding.” I poked him and he jerked, for I must have hit a ticklish spot. “I know you think all of this is stupid.” I gestured to my gown. “But I really do think it’s necessary if we hope to find Beau. Please bear with us. We’ll do whatever it takes to find your queen.”

  Because I loved her too.

  “When did I ever say I thought any of it was stupid?” He looked up from the ground with a sneer. “Presumptuous of
you. You have no idea what I’m thinking, do you?” He turned a cold shoulder to me. “Come on. Sir Albie’s going to have a conniption.”

  Oh no. I had read him wrong, and it had upset him, and now he was in a mood. I knew him so well, after all these years, and yet every once in a while, I felt like I didn’t know him at all.

  “Any idea what that was about? You two don’t really guy talk, do you?”

  Rafe didn’t answer right away, merely gazed off at a pack of gulls circling the market. I had sensed it on him that first night at the inn, and I sensed it on him again: forlornity.

  “You okay, Rafe?”

  He looked down at me, unflinching. “You okay, Your Majesty?”

  Fair enough. I didn’t want to answer the question any more than he did.

  We few outsiders strode through the happy city. Judging by the inhabitants, the Queen of the Cove was a good and fair queen. The fishing must have been aplenty, too, for the market was abundant with fishy smells and spiny sea creatures. It was different from the Crag but familiar. I felt in my soul that we were kindred queendoms. I would have to invite their queen to visit ours once this was all over.

  That’s what I thought before meeting her, at least. Oh, how quickly things can change.

  Albie dropped a few names and presented me to the castle’s guardswomen. True to Albie’s word, they had been expecting us, and they quickly opened the gate to let us in. “See you, Ruck.” I bade the stag farewell as a boy led him and the others down the grounds to the stables.

  The walkway to the castle was paved in seashells and polished pebbles, the doors carved in cove-shaped crescents. Rafe took my arm to escort me up the steps, while Windley observed from a distance.

  Waiting to greet us outside the castle door was a jovial man who could have been Albie’s twin… only stouter and redder in the cheeks.

  “Alb, you old bastard! Welcome! Welcome!” The man boomed, clapping Albie on the back.