Rescuing the Prince

by Meghann McVey

  I consoled myself with the speculation that Faxon probably wasn’t much better at elements than I was.

  “Have you ever fought with a weapon?”

  “No,” I admitted. Why had he needed to ask, I wondered. In all my time here, I had yet to meet a warrior woman.

  “Then I shall retain my sword. Your weapon shall be your sight and your wakefulness. Do not fail, Leah, or it will be the ruin of us both.”

  Note to self: Faxon got really dramatic when anxious/tired. It was far from reassuring. “You go to sleep,” I said in a slightly commanding voice. “I’ve got this.”

  A faint smile touched Faxon’s lips. “You almost make me believe you. Maybe there is a reason people think you’re a princess.”

  The next five hours were among the longest in my life, ranking right up there with driving to family Thanksgivings in Nevada and my first day ever working at Portalis Park.

  What Faxon hadn’t told me was that though I was keeping “watch,” it really consisted more of listening. Other than the stars, night reigned in utter darkness. I couldn’t have seen people approach unless they carried some kind of light. For the first hour, every sound: the tree branches’ creak, the whispering wind, Bella’s whickering and footsteps alarmed me every few minutes. So much for silent nights.

  It wasn’t as if I had to do anything especially difficult if we were attacked. There was just something scary about waiting alone in the dark for something that might happen.

  For obvious reasons, Faxon and I had no lights except for the fire, which he’d hidden behind a small wall of snow. While I had every intention of patrolling our campground as Faxon had directed, the black night dissuaded me. I couldn’t stop envisioning myself stumbling through snowdrifts, trying to find my way back to Faxon after taking only a few steps away to “scan” the horizon in a different direction.

  I compromised by staying in the same spot, within a few steps, and turning in the different directions, using Zellia, the Other World’s north star to reorient myself.

  When the tiny fire faded, I woke Faxon. I was so glad for some companionship, I could’ve hugged him. Well, almost.

  I had thought I wouldn’t sleep at all after my first experience watching and basically being responsible for Faxon’s and my life. (No pressure!) Instead, I nodded off in no time, a deep rest without dreams or interruption. Maybe I was getting used to hard living. Faxon woke me at first light, a magical sight that turned the cloudless sky blue with violet edges that reflected in the snow.

  Late in the afternoon, Faxon declared that we were nearly upon the Autumnstead woods. I had to admit, his navigation skills impressed me. I wouldn’t have recognized that we’d crossed into Autumnstead, and not just because of the snow. With slight variations, all the Other World woods still looked alike to me.

  “Latule advanced into Autumnstead ere we journeyed to Ceredwyn,” Faxon said. “It would be foolish to think they have not seized the woods by now.”

  My heart sank. I hadn’t made the connection when I met Queen Arencaster in Ceredwyn Castle, but the war must be going badly for Autumnstead.”

  “I’m going to scout ahead and determine the safest path. You shall stay here and wait for me.”

  If my heart had been somewhere around my stomach before, now it descended to my feet. “I don’t want you to go,” I whispered, twisting my hands into my skirts.

  “I must,” Faxon said, his voice cold as he laid out the strategic facts. “I know the woods and can move faster alone. It shouldn’t take long for me to determine the safest path. If someone accosts you, pretend to be Princess Fiona. They will not kill or hurt you; they will want you for ransom. If I don’t come back, look for the Wagoners, the red-haired ones. They are long-time friends of the Arencasters,” he added with his usual overblown intensity.

  Now I felt like crying. I forced the tears back the way I did when my Portalis supervisors yelled at me. “Go on,” I told Faxon bravely, pretending this was just a movie scene (a trick my second therapist had taught me).

  Giving me a look of new respect, Faxon slipped into the woods.

  I spent the next few hours hiding with Bella a short distance from what Faxon had identified as the main road. I kept her reins in hand, though as the hours dragged on, I doubted the mare would have tried to escape. Without her companionship, I don’t know how I would have done this. Before long, I began talking to Bella, drawn in by her earnest brown eyes. At times, the mare seemed to pay attention, though most of it she occupied herself by sniffing the ground or the trees and bushes. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d fed her, I realized with a pang. That was something I could take care of while waiting for Faxon.

  A hunt through Bella’s luggage revealed an empty bag I’d seen other horses eating out of. Maybe she’d been due for a refill the night of the ambush. Our own food had grown low, too. I couldn’t imagine feeding a horse dried fruit and jerky. I’d have to ask Faxon what to do about it. Maybe we’d reach Castle Autumnstead tonight, and Bella could eat until she was full.

  Around us, the shadows closed in, and the temperature dipped from cold to colder. The pale moon and stars winked into being, but still no Faxon. The night before, he’d said he would never leave me. Suppose he’d lied? Regardless, I couldn’t wait forever, I realized. I might have to find my courage to mount Bella and ride (though I had no idea where). I sure wasn’t going to wait here for Latule, not while I still had Bella.

  Bushes rustled, and snow crunched. Someone was coming!

  And once again, I had no way to see who. Hiding behind Bella’s warm side, I waited. Surely Faxon would call my name.

  Whoever it was approached in silence. I held my breath, listening to their footfalls.

  Bella whickered in recognition. I almost fainted from relief.

  “Faxon!” I hissed.

  “The very same.” A light the size of a marble kindled in his palm. By its faint illumination, I was able to see his dark brows and pale eyes.

  “Did you find the path?”

  “I did. Though it was rougher than I expected.” Faxon rubbed his cheek. Something had darkened it, though whether blood or a bruise, I couldn’t say.

  “Do you want to rest?” I asked.

  “Just some food. Fighting is hungry work.”

  I handed him a strip of jerky.

  “Come.” Faxon beckoned, eating while he walked.

  I led Bella behind me. Despite how sure-footed she usually was, in the dark, her body brushed against the brittle brushes. Branches broke off with cracking snaps. I cringed. It seemed like enough noise to bring all the soldiers in the woods to this spot.

  Faxon stopped so abruptly I almost tripped over him. "Why’d you bring the horse?”

  “Bella’s one of us,” I said, fighting a sinking sensation.

  Faxon sighed. I pictured a father telling his daughter about a suffering pet. “She will draw too much attention,” Faxon said. “On her own, she’s more likely to find water and food.”

  “Where?” I demanded. Did Faxon think I was an idiot? (I mean, more than usual.) What could a horse possibly eat in all this snow?

  “The enemy,” Faxon said. When I gave him a puzzled look, he elaborated. “Horses are valuable, more so in times of war. I expect Latule will take her as their own and feed and care for her.”

  Once again, Faxon was right. It wasn’t his fault, but rage at him crept through my body.

  “We can’t abandon Bella! It’s because of her that we were able to escape Latule!”

  “Part of being a princess is doing what you have to.”

  His view of princesses contrasted so sharply from between that of the Portalis princesses who flounced around in pretty dresses and signed autographs, it hit me like a brick to the forehead.

  “She’ll be alright,” Faxon insisted. “Now come. There is no more time to waste.”

  “Goodbye, Bella,” I whispered, stroking her warm, soft neck.

  Chapter Twelve

  In and Out of th
e Woods

  My new friend wasn't the only sacrifice of this new, more dangerous leg of the journey. Everything in the saddlebags that couldn't be pocketed went with her, including Gerry's crown. At least I was able to keep his I.D. card.

  By Faxon’s marble-sized light, we crossed the forest’s silent, white border and passed into the trees. A sinister air hung in their bony canopy, one that I had not experienced while here in autumn. But more, something had changed the trees themselves so they grew closer together, sometimes leaning sideways to permit only one path through them. I could see why Faxon had found the way more difficult than expected. I felt sorry for the trees and wondered if such distorting magic were known at Valeriya.

  After seeing Faxon’s injured face, I strained to hear the slightest sounds. No soldiers were about to take us by surprise! Unexpectedly, silence filled my ears, deafening and more unnerving than enemy footsteps tramping toward us or raucous laughter around the campfire.

  The many twists and turns of our walk seemed to force us to march several unnecessary laps around the woods. Meanwhile, night grew colder around us. I could barely feel my feet. I thought with longing of the fireplaces of Valeriya and Castle Autumnstead. Or better yet, the scorching summers and Santa Ana’s that always came late to Orange County and lasted through October.

  Concentration took most of Faxon’s attention, except for occasional stops to motion me to silence. I couldn’t help it if the snow crunched or twigs and small branches snapped underfoot. I comforted myself by imagining all the commentary he wanted to deliver building up inside him. If this torturous path continued too long, he’d probably burst. I distracted myself for what felt like miles imagining Faxon in different states of exploding: popping like a balloon, splatting like a crushed grape…

  “Leah!” Faxon hiss-whispered. “Hurry!”

  Sheepishly, I gathered my skirts. The combination of fatigue and thinking must have made me slower. After that, I tried to stay within arm’s length. My good intentions caused me to crash into him when the slender man came to an unexpected stop.

  Faxon scrambled for balance, finally righting himself by grabbing a low-hanging branch. Narrowing his eyes at me, he pointed at the ravine ahead.

  “Sorry, Faxon.” It seemed like I was always apologizing to him.

  Faxon didn’t seem to hear; he was already absorbed in how we might get down. “I’ll go first,” he said at last. “Do what I do, and don’t worry about falling. I’ll catch you.”

  Gerry might be gone, but I still wasn’t thrilled about the idea. It made me think of those trust-building games they made us play during Portalis team building, the ones where the popular girls stepped up to “fall,” and the rest of us (guys always in front) caught them. I, obviously, never volunteered.

  While I mused, Faxon had descended the slopping ravine wall, spider-like, using a long, snaking root as rope to steady himself. My hands hurt just looking at him. Despite Fiona’s gloves, my fingers were already numb, and I could just see the fabric ripping.

  I entertained a brief image of simply leaping from the edge and making Faxon catch me. With more time to convince myself, I might have done it.

  But Faxon was gesturing like an air traffic controller for me to get down. I had to take action, like, yesterday.

  I scoped out the climb and groped for the roots, just out of reach. Leaning forward precariously, I could brush at them with my fingertips. However, if I started the descent, I could get close enough to grab one. It took all my courage to make the final step off the ledge. I felt every extra bread slice I’d enjoyed in Valeriya as I perched on a single tiptoe, reaching for other footholds with one foot and groping for the roots with my hand.

  I guess Faxon’s hands were bigger than mine, because the gnarled root I finally grabbed proved too fat to hold on to. Luckily, there were some thinner ones connected to it. I pulled the fat root closer and seized several better sized for my hands.

  Snap!

  For a horrible instant, the ground rushed up to meet me. I landed with a thud.

  “They were too thin to support your weight,” I heard Faxon saying, it seemed miles away.

  When I regained my senses, I found myself laying down looking up at the ravine. Something pillowed my head. As I slowly raised myself to a sitting position, I realized it was Faxon’s legs.

  “Are you unhurt?” Faxon said.

  “I guess so,” I answered, figuring that bruising and soreness didn’t count in the Other World. Especially with a war going on.

  “Good show,” Faxon remarked dryly.

  “I couldn’t see,” I retorted. “You didn’t make a light for me!”

  Faxon sighed. “I guess that would have helped.” It was as close to an apology as I was likely to get from him. “When you feel well enough, let us be off again. I hope to reach Castle Autumnstead by daybreak.”

  I was tempted to spend the night in the snow just to annoy him, but fireplaces and maybe a hot bath proved too great of a temptation. “Help me up,” I told Faxon.

  He sprang to his feet and extended his hand. His wiry strength reminded me of Gerry.

  The last thing I wanted to do right then was more walking. I wanted to sit, preferably somewhere warm and dry, and pout my fall away.

  Movement would make me less sore when my ravine disaster caught up to me, I tried to console myself.

  We hadn’t plodded for long when Faxon raised his arm. “Wait,” he whispered. “Do you hear that?”

  I cupped my hands around my ears and listened. Near the enemy camp, I had expected the noise of conversations, maybe the raucous laughter of drinking games. Instead, I heard only the occasional creak of leather and footsteps. Despite a crackling sound, I could discern no firelight, a beacon I’d depended on for sighting soldiers.

  “Their commanding officer has ordered silence in the camp,” Faxon whispered, so softly I strained to hear. “Likely to catch those who would pass through the woods and aid Arencaster. Though I don’t know how they hid the fire’s light.”

  I thought for a minute. A lecture from Valeriya came back to me, how magic users could command elements to turn the fire’s light back on itself. But this was not the time or place for that bit of trivia.

  “Take my hand,” Faxon said, holding out his.

  “Why?” Expecting a trick, I put mine behind my back.

  Faxon sighed as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We must be extra cautious as we near the Latule soldiers. I can’t risk losing you when I put out this light.”

  I still hesitated.

  “This is a critical time,” Faxon said with obviously strained patience. “Don’t be prudish.”

  Now I froze entirely, embarrassed by my reluctance. It wasn’t like Faxon was going to take this the wrong way or something. His slight build and hairless face reminded me of the man who flew over Portalis Park at Christmas dressed as the Sugar Plum Fairy.

  Still, there was a reason Momo, my closest California roommate, always joked I didn’t have any moves. I’d never been able to draw guys in with a toss of my hair or flash of my eyes.

  “Innocence Incarnate,” the Portalis Sugar Plum Fairy had once called me, enjoying a cigarette backstage.

  We were just two soldiers sharing a comradely handclasp to get through the dark, I told myself, putting my hand in Faxon’s.

  Faxon kept the trees between us and the soldiers. The narrow passage required us to keep close, practically rubbing shoulders. The threat on the other side of the trees and the sharp corners made the ordeal feel like a haunted house maze, only the danger here was real.

  Despite Faxon’s careful navigating, we couldn’t avoid the soldiers forever. Each time we came upon their camps, I waited with a gnawing in my stomach while Faxon investigated the area. Most of the time, he was able to redirect our travel path to avoid Latule. Until…

  “There is no way around,” Faxon said. The weariness in his voice mirrored mine. “The trees force you into the clearing, and the soldiers h
ave blocked the way to the other side.”

  “What can we do?” Fear choked my whisper.

  “Go through, what else?” I heard the clink of steel being loosed from its scabbard.

  “Faxon!” I hissed. “There must be ten soldiers in that clearing!”

  “It’s not a full company.” Faxon smirked. “I may not overpower them, but I can strategize.”

  My legs went wobbly, and I leaned against the reassuring solidness of a tree. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

  “When I give the signal, run to me,” Faxon said. “We will keep running until I say it’s safe.”

  Just the thought made me exhausted. “What’s the signal?” I asked, more than an edge of resigned annoyance in my voice.

  “I will screech like a falcon,” Faxon said.

  “That’s random, but okay.” At least it wouldn’t be easy to miss like a hand sign in the dark and shadows. I hoped it sounded something like what it was supposed to be.

  “Wait here.” Faxon guided me to the spot he wanted: not so close to the clearing that I’d be discovered, but near enough to hear his bird sounds.

  Ages ago, it seemed, I had seen Faxon melt into the shadows at the edge of the Autumnstead banquet hall. Now I saw him meld with those cast by the winter-trapped trees and creep up on the guards posted at the start of the clearing. Two men fell, their blood leaving a dark stain in the snow. My stomach lurched, but I didn’t dare look away. What if Faxon got in trouble?

  Shouting and pointing, two guards from the opposite side came running across the camp. The others, sitting silently around their fires, got to their feet. To my relief, they were not as fast as their comrades on watch. Several were unarmed. Eight against one was still dire, though. I watched and I waited, each heartbeat stretching out for an eternity.

  The two watchmen reached Faxon while their companions groped for weapons. I’d never seen Faxon fight before. Compared to Tolliver, the slight man was more agile. His moves were more refined and strategic, as though someone had actually instructed him. Meanwhile, the soldiers hacked at him, relying, like Tolliver, on raw strength. Faxon wounded one, then caught a blow from the other that sent him sprawling across the snow. Faxon was moving, but continued to lay there. My heart clawed its way to my mouth. The Latule soldiers eagerly pressed their advantage. As they neared, Faxon struck, slashing one across his hamstrings and burying his rapier in the man’s chest.