by Jocelyn Fox
Ramel stopped. We stood in a small clearing, a good distance from the barracks. I wondered if it was safe to stray so far from the stronghold, but I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax.
“You have to believe me, Tess,” Ramel started, his voice heavy. He stood with his back to me, and I had to strain to catch his words. “I didn’t know.”
I frowned. “Didn’t know what, Ramel?”
He raked his fingers through his hair, the line of his mouth hard and unhappy. “I didn’t know you were the same girl. It’s hard to recognize mortals after a few years. You change…so quickly.” He shook his head. “But I should have known anyway.”
“So we did know each other,” I said softly. I knew we should have been talking about the attack on the patrol, my escape from Darkhill, my discovery of my power—but the subject of my past, my very first years of life that lived in the hazy reaches of my memory, drew me like a moth to flame.
“Back in those days—I know it wasn’t long ago, even in mortal time, but there was still much less darkness in these lands,” he said, gazing out into the woods. “I was younger, and foolish enough to trust one of the White Queen’s ladies.” He smiled crookedly. “You see, I thought I was in love with her, and…” He shrugged. “Love makes a man do stupid things.”
“Are you talking about the blue rose garden?” I asked softly. “Because yes, it was a shock to me too, to realize that I did know you from someplace else, that it wasn’t just simple déjà vu.” I shook my head. “But I can’t see why that’s such a stupid thing.”
“You were young,” Ramel said. “Such a very pretty mortal child. I came to think of you as my younger sister, really.”
I winced a little, thinking of our kiss. “I guess you got over that,” I said, my voice light and teasing.
“I should have realized,” he said, his voice hard.
“What happened?” I asked softly. “Please, just tell me.” All the anger that I had felt at Ramel for keeping the knowledge of the blue rose garden—and my abilities—from me evaporated, replaced by a sickly anticipation.
“Do you know what a changeling is, Tess?” Ramel asked suddenly, half-turning so I could see the glint of his eyes in the fading light.
“In fairy tales,” I said, feeling sick, “that’s when the fairies steal away a human child, and replace it with a fairy child.”
He nodded.
“I’m not…but I’m not Fae,” I burst out.
Ramel smiled mirthlessly. “No,” he said flatly, “you’re not.” He turned to me with that humorless smile still on his lips. “Changelings were against the Code—are against the Code. Even before the Code they were a matter that was never directly addressed, a nasty little habit of certain members of the Court that was overlooked for propriety’s sake.” He shook his head. “But I should have known that something was afoot when Evaine asked me to take you.”
“You couldn’t do it,” I said, relief and a peculiar feeling of empathy washing over me.
“No.” He shook his head. “I failed. I couldn’t even spirit away a mortal child.” With a glance at me, he smiled again. “I never did figure out how you managed to slip away from me…how you knew what to do. I wasn’t sure about it to begin with, even though Evaine assured me that Titania would take good care of you. I had no doubt about that, but…it still didn’t seem right. And so when you came to the blue rose garden that night, we played your favorite game—”
“Marbles,” I said softly. “You always brought marbles with spinning lights in them, and jacks that jumped about on their own.”
A ghost of a smile touched Ramel’s lips. “You were a precocious child, but you always liked old-fashioned games.” Then he seemed to shake himself. “But in any case, we finished playing marbles, and then I took you on my hip, and began to walk through the garden toward the gate.”
“The rose garden,” I said. “It wasn’t in my world or your world, was it?”
“No,” Ramel replied. “It exists in the ether-world, between the mortal world and this one. I’m not a Walker, so Evaine brought me. Except that last time. She gave me a candle to burn, and it brought me to the rose garden on my own. When the candle-flame went out, I would be taken back to Faeortalam—along with anyone that happened to be touching me at the time.”
“Why did they want to take me?” I asked softly, crossing my arms over my chest.
“They knew,” said Ramel. “They must have known that you were of Gwyneth’s blood.”
“Why not Liam? He’s older and stronger than me,” I said.
“Stronger physically, but a priestess’s power favors the girl-children of her line.”
“So Liam doesn’t have any power.”
“He may, or he may not. It might just manifest differently than yours—often mortals misconstrue the lingering power of the old days, and they call it a sixth sense, or something like that.”
I nodded. “He probably has some of it then. He can read people well, and he’s told me that he has a sort of sixth sense when it comes to danger on the battlefield.” I swallowed. “Why didn’t you take me, Ramel?”
Ramel chuckled. “You didn’t want to go, and you…you got away from me.”
“I got away from you?” I said blankly. “You were what, at least a squire or something then, weren’t you?”
“I was Finnead’s squire, actually.”
“I was about six?” I said.
“Five, actually. Just before your sixth birthday,” Ramel corrected me blithely.
“So…please tell me how a six-year-old girl got away from a Sidhe squire.”
Ramel grinned. “You wanted to play hide and seek again, so you blew out the candle. And you disappeared.”
“And you never got a second chance,” I said, thinking with a cold feeling of the roses on my father’s casket, the withering petals on his grave when we visited the next week. “You weren’t…punished…were you?” I asked breathlessly, taking Ramel’s elbow.
He shook his head. “It was a secret that few knew…and Evaine never spoke to me again. That was punishment enough. But I realized eventually that she was probably just carrying out an order from her Queen.”
“From Titania,” I said.
“Yes.” He looked at me. “But maybe it would have been better for you, Tess.”
I stood silently, looking into the gathering darkness.
“If you would have been here…if Titania would have taken you under her wing, trained you, taught you how to fight and how to use your powers…”
“Then maybe Molly wouldn’t have to try and be the hero,” I said when he trailed into silence. “But I can’t imagine…living here. It’s beautiful, and I love it now, but…” I shook my head. “I wouldn’t have had a childhood. I wouldn’t have known anything about mortal life.” I spread my hands. “That’s what made me who I am,” I said, “because even though losing my dad, and seeing Liam searching for something to hold onto, and seeing my mother let us down, let herself down…even when I was the only one who didn’t have a date to the senior prom, and had to go with my best friend…that’s what makes me, me,” I said earnestly. “I can’t imagine what I would have turned out like if I had grown up here. No offense, but I can’t imagine Titania being the maternal type.”
Ramel nodded. “You would have been trained to hold a sword as soon as you could, and by now your arrows would take out a squirrel’s eye at two hundred paces.”
“Yeah, that would’ve been nice,” I agreed, “but I like to think that I turned out all right anyway.”
“You’re different than the little girl in the rose garden,” Ramel said slowly.
“How’s that?” I asked.
“I can’t explain it. But when you first came to Court, there was something missing from you that the little girl had in
the rose garden…something you just recaptured, because I didn’t recognize you without it, and now…I don’t know how I ever mistook you for a stranger.” He smiled at me.
Tilting my head to one side, I asked, “If I hadn’t blown out the candle…would you have taken me?”
Ramel stared into the distance for a long while. Then he finally said, “No, I don’t believe I would have. You talked about your brother Liam. I knew he loved you very much, and I would not have been able to take you away from him.”
Grinning, I poked him in the side with one finger. “Well, look at that. I do believe there’s a real heart underneath all that sarcasm and flirtation after all.”
Ramel arched one eyebrow as he looked down at me. “If you tell another soul that I have real emotions, I shall hunt you down in your sleep.”
I laughed. “Duly noted.”
He suddenly looked a little sheepish. “I know this isn’t exactly in keeping with my roguish nature, but…may I give you a hug?”
I smiled, suddenly feeling very much like a younger sister again. “Yes.”
Ramel hugged me fiercely, as if to make up for all the years since he had seen me last. A ghost of a childhood memory drifted across my mind—I faintly remembered his scent, a wild blend of something like pine needles and snow.
“You smell like Christmas,” I murmured into his shoulder. He stiffened in surprise, and then ruffled my hair. I made a sound of protest and he laughed.
“Yes, you’re certainly her,” he said. “You told me that before, and you were equally as fussy about your hair when you were a small human.”
“I am not fussy about my hair,” I said in protest. “I just don’t like it to be all frizzy and—oh, never mind.” I shook my head. “Boys never understand.”
Ramel chuckled. “So I’ve been told.”
We stood in comfortable silence for a few moments, watching the last stain of light fade from the sky.
“So I’m guessing that when I stopped Walking,” I said thoughtfully, “it became a lot harder to find me, or track me.”
“In a sense, yes. Mortals who use the taebramh are very easy for us to find in the mortal world. Otherwise, it is like finding a camel in a haystack.”
I cleared my throat, suppressing my smile. “Um, I think you mean needle in a haystack. It’s ‘needle in a haystack’ or ‘camel through the eye of a needle.’”
“Oh.” Ramel grinned. “That makes much more sense, actually.” He glanced up at the sky. “Well, we’ve still got a bit of light. I hear you’ve been getting extra instruction from the Glasidhe.”
I grinned. “Oh, yes. They’re hard little taskmasters, too.”
“Worse than me?” he asked in genuine surprise.
“It’s a tough call,” I replied.
Ramel drew his sword, the metallic hiss ringing out in the small clearing. A few passing Sidhe paused in their errands. “So,” he said, tossing his sword from hand to hand and swinging it idly, “do you need time to warm up, or shall we just have at it?”
Swinging the quiver from my back and laying it atop my cloak and bow, I drew my own sword, testing the soreness of my legs. My muscles protested stiffly, but a few lunges and toe-touches cured most of the creakiness. I was careful to hold my sword solely in my left hand, even though Flora and Forsythe had relentlessly drilled me with my sword in my right hand as well. Curiously, I wondered what the taebramh would do with sore muscles; I called up a tiny spark, barely enough to see in my mind’s-eye, and split it, sending one minuscule glimmer to my left leg, and the other to my right leg.
Ramel misinterpreted the look of surprise that flitted across my face, calling out teasingly, “Did you forget the weight of a sword, Tess?”
I shook off my surprise, replying, “Something like that.”
My legs felt good. They felt more than good—they felt better than when I was at the peak of conditioning, well-rested and full of energy. I knew that using the taebramh would cost me in energy later, but for now I was delighted with the idea of giving Ramel a surprise. I grinned, and lifted my sword.
“First to three touches?” Ramel suggested.
That was longer than our standard spar, but I felt like I could run a marathon. I barely noticed the small group of knights and guards that had gathered at the edge of our make-shift sparring ground. “Sounds good to me,” I said. “Do we need a referee?”
“It’s a friendly match. No need,” said Ramel, but there was a glint in his eyes that suggested something other than friendship. A surge of adrenaline washed over me, my own competitive side rushing up fiercely to meet the challenge in my mentor’s eyes.
Ramel made the first move, lunging forward and swinging his sword in a crescent pattern. I blocked the stroke almost effortlessly, my feet dancing across the grass in the complex footwork of the counter-sweep. The clash as his sword met mine rang out through the open air. I quickly disengaged, spinning away and resuming my guard. If it came to raw strength, Ramel would win, so I needed to avoid locking my blade with his in close quarters.
A flurry of quick strokes tested the defense that Flora and Forsythe had so carefully drilled into me. They had taught me how to best use my strengths against a larger, stronger enemy, so I didn’t let Ramel have any rest after his series of attack strokes, launching a volley of my own that drove him back across the grass. A small frown appeared on his brow—he usually scored the first touch within a few strokes, and we had gone through three attack-and-defense series already. I felt sweat prickle on the back of my neck.
Ramel scored the first touch when I failed to recognize a feint, his blade pricking me coldly on my left shoulder. I smiled at him and then coolly dissected his defense, watching for any opening, and his eyes widened when I snaked my sword past his blade to nip his chest.
“Well done,” he said, grinning.
“Not the first time I’ve scored a touch on you,” I pointed out with an answering smile as I shifted my grip on my sword.
“But it’s the first time I haven’t let you,” Ramel replied.
I had enough time to feel a flash of indignation before Ramel lunged into a series of attacks that left me stumbling back across the grass. He caught my sword in a down-stroke and slid his blade so that we were locked in a cross-body press, the worst situation for the weaker opponent. I clenched my teeth as he bore down mercilessly, and as I tried to slide away my knee buckled under the weight. He laid his sword against my neck as I knelt in the cool grass, my face burning at the murmurs from our impromptu audience.
“Would you like to let it be at best of three, instead of first to three?” Ramel asked, not unkindly.
I stood and brushed the grass from my knees. “If it’s all the same to you,” I said coolly, “I’d like to go to three.”
He shrugged with a cocky smile. “Very well.”
We circled each other warily, swords held in guard, the blades catching what little light remained. Then I noticed that it was suddenly much easier to see: the Glasidhe hovered well above our blades in a ring, our own faery stadium lights. I grinned and concentrated on Ramel’s chest, watching for indication of his next move. He feinted to the left, then thrust at my right side. I blocked his stroke with a reverse crescent, and rather than swinging my blade back to guard, I tossed my sword into my right hand smoothly, cutting inside Ramel’s guard and neatly touching the tip of my sword to his chest. His eyes widened gratifyingly in surprise, and the appreciative sounds from the crowd bolstered my confidence. Ramel had never fought me right-handed, but he adjusted quickly, keeping more of a distance from my blade and watching my wrist carefully so that I couldn’t surprise him by switching hands again.
The next touch would win the sparring match. I concentrated grimly, shoving my own surprised thoughts into the back of my head. The taebramh in my chest burned brightly, its glow sprea
ding warmth outward like a burning swallow of whiskey. I leapt forward, throwing myself into an assault that tested every aspect of Ramel’s defense. The clash and clang of our swords accompanied my heavy breathing, sweat sliding down my back as I thrust the point of my sword at Ramel’s torso. He blocked, and then his sword snaked around mine. I realized his intent an instant too late: he flicked his wrist and my sword was wrenched from my hand. I struggled not to show my disappointment as he touched the point of his blade to the tender spot just above my breastbone. Ramel lowered his sword and retrieved mine from the grass, gallantly offering it to me hilt-first.
“You are almost an entirely different swordsman,” he said. At my baleful look, he corrected quickly, “Swordswoman. My apologies.”
I shook my head and smiled, taking my sword from him and sliding it back into its sheath neatly. Ramel touched my shoulder and motioned to the side with his sword.
“Looks like you’ve attracted quite a crowd, pretty one.”
About a dozen Sidhe had gathered in a loose semi-circle around us. I’d noticed them during the spar, but I had been so focused that it hadn’t mattered. Now I felt a blush burn my cheeks.
“Why are they still staring, Ramel?” I asked under my breath as I picked up my quiver, bow and cloak, using an edge of the cloak to wipe the sweat from my face.
“Maybe because you haven’t introduced yourself,” Ramel suggested in an undertone. He raised one eyebrow. “How rude.”
“What, should I just say…hey, I’m Tess, the new mortal in town?” I whispered fiercely as I rerolled my cloak.
“Something to that effect,” Ramel replied.
I rolled my eyes at him and stood, facing the loosely gathered group. “Hello,” I said, clearing my throat. “Well, I’m no good at introductions,” I continued awkwardly, the beginnings of a blush surging up through my cheeks once again. “I’m Tess, and I…” I trailed off, trying furiously to think of something to say.
