by A. G. Howard
“Temporary vessel? Ashen Ravine?” Selena furrowed her eyebrows. “What are you all talking about?”
Queen Nova shushed her daughter. “Vesper, please, think of our people. They are the reason we chose to omit certain . . . details.”
“I am thinking of our people. As if I’ve been able to think of anything else over the past five years! My blood can no longer aid them, so I must bring the sun back. I understand that, and will do what it takes. Even if it means marrying someone I don’t love. I’m simply trying to ensure that the one who truly cured me is safe.”
Selena stepped into their circle, still wearing her bewildered expression. She looped an arm through Vesper’s in a show of support. “I want to know what details you’ve been keeping from Vesper. From all of us.”
Queen Nova dipped her head, feigning interest in a row of pearly crickets still clinging to her hem.
Vesper snarled. Part of him understood; he was indignant the day his lord father slipped away . . . indignant and unbending. He had done something irreversible and shortsighted. “I realize you and Dyadia were desperate to save me all those years ago. However, to sway who I loved, what I believed—all for a foretelling? No wonder my faith in this prophecy wavers more with each passing hour.”
“Can you forgive us, my son?” Queen Nova asked, having the decency to look ashamed.
Vesper grimaced. “What choice do I have? You’re my lady mother, and I love you.” He shifted his gaze to Dyadia. “And I need your conjuring and portents.” A splash of acid churned in his stomach. “But oh, to be that stallion again, to crash every piece of furniture in this room; to gallop down flights of stairs, and leave everyone who dares stand in my way in a wake of flame and fury, without a thought as to consequences.” He ground his teeth, seeing the shame on Queen Nova’s face creep across Dyadia’s own. “You both expect me to behave as a gentleman king, after having tasted the power and freedom held within the heart of a beast.” He felt Selena’s eyes on him. Her fingers trembled where they held his bicep. “I fear that’s impossible, because I rather liked being the beast. But, there’s hope for you yet, should I find her. She has a way of reasoning with me, defusing my rage with honesty . . . a talent you both seem to lack.”
A sudden, yipping howl rang out—familiar, yet completely foreign to his kingdom. Vesper glimpsed through the window. Beneath the haze of moonlight and beyond the castle wall, a splotch of red fur settled on its haunches and looked upward. Vesper leaned closer, forehead pressed against the cold glass. As if it had been waiting for him to look down, the svelte creature yipped again, hopped up on four legs, and shook out a long, fluffy tail. Leaving prints on the whitening ground, it sauntered toward the badlands along the flower path.
Vesper’s heartbeat thumped wildly against his sternum. The ancient scrolls had told of winter wolves chasing out all the smaller wild dogs before the earth closed. Although this might appear to be an ordinary fox, it was a miracle, for wherever there was Luce, Stain would be close at hand.
“Clever fox,” Vesper mumbled, thumping the glass with his finger. “I take back every bad thing I ever thought about you. Almost.”
“Who are you talking to?” Queen Nova and Dyadia moved in to see.
Selena bobbed to the other side, peering around his shoulder. She gasped. “What . . . is that a—? No such creature has graced Nerezeth for centuries!”
Vesper left the room without another word, leaving his lady mother and Dyadia still staring out the window.
Selena followed him down the corridor, rushing to keep up with his pace. “I want to know what happened. What’s all this talk of horses and flying in the ravine?”
“When I get back, I’ll tell you everything.”
“Tell me on the ride over. I’m going with you. Should I bring Nysa to help track?”
He draped his arm around her shoulders. “Leave her in the kennels. We have a fox for that.” He glanced down at her, already in her traveling tunic and trousers. She’d been dressed for a fight while keeping vigil over him at the shrine. He had a poignant thought then, of his little foundling girl in torn rags and bare feet who had never had the chance to wear anything pretty. “Let’s stop by your wardrobe first. I believe she’s close enough to your size.”
Selena looked up into his face, curiosity tugging at her silvery eyebrows. “What’s her name, brother . . . this girl you seek? And what is she to you?”
“They call her Stain. She’s my true heart’s mate. I’ve no idea how to proceed . . . no idea how I’m to bind my life to another, when I already belong to her—body, mind, and soul.”
28
Princess of Ash and Thorns
Lyra awoke with a start, jolted by snuffling sounds on the other side of her sticky cocoon. A sour film of mud, soot, and soggy leaves coated her tongue. She smacked the taste away and attempted to move. Every ligament and bone crackled, as if she’d rusted all the way through. Her resultant groan silenced the odd snuffles for an instant before they resumed.
She stretched, and the nightsky withdrew into the lacewing cloak, freeing up the shadows. They seeped away to find new hiding places. Upon their retreat, an icy chill crept in, along with the sound of dripping water. Shimmering blue light pierced through the tracery of vines still swaddling her. Harsh tugs began to pull at the weave from the outside, in synch with chomping, smacking, and swallowing.
Lyra stiffened with horror. Her cocoon was being eaten. She couldn’t scream . . . couldn’t cry out for help. Her fingers moved instinctually, pinned as they were at her waist, though whatever beast would eat spider silk, flowers, and ivy wouldn’t likely have acumen enough to read her pleas for mercy.
She twisted her shoulders to bend her elbows, then dragged her hands along her body, forcing them up the tight casing until they settled beside her chin. Sucking in a breath, she shoved her fists out of the slit for her mouth then tore away the webbing, luminous petals, and stems in clawing motions. It was like being born again . . . into a cool, dripping cave.
Her head and shoulders plunged through, and her attackers pranced back—some snorting, some growling, others whinnying nervously, their pronged heads held high. Several had glowing flowers and leaves hanging from their muzzles, half-chewed. She leaned closer for a look at the gleaming scales upon their backs and chests. One in front—taller than the others by two prongs—lowered its antlers in warning. The horns glittered in the dim blue light. Two more pawed panther-like forelegs along the stony ground, their scratching claws reverberating through her spine.
Peeling the rest of the cocoon from her clothes caused the lacewing cloak and saddlebag to slip from her shoulders. Chill bumps raised along her skin beneath her damp tunic and pants. Lyra attempted to stand. Her legs went out from under her. A surge of dizziness forced her to sit and she stared, in awe of the graceful, magnificent creatures around her. In his letters Vesper had spoken of his gatekeepers. If these were indeed brumal stags, she was at the juncture between Nerezeth and the Ashen Ravine.
Vesper. A tearing sensation scored her chest. Last she saw him, he was still dying. Prickles of heat teased her tearless eyes, but even if she had the ability to weep, she wouldn’t. She must have faith. She’d freed his lips, his nose. His throat had opened enough to share breaths between them. Even if she hadn’t cured him, it was possible the sorceress could’ve awoken and healed him. She had to find out.
She pushed herself up, propping an arm on a rock formation for support. One of the stags brayed in warning. Lyra shook off any reservations. Just like when she’d first stumbled upon her Pegasus, she felt a kinship to these beasts. The stags were partially made of moonlight like her; their scales and antlers gleamed with it. To look upon them had the effect of reviving a soul’s hope and serenity.
It fed her desire to find some way to Nerezeth and take back what was hers . . . if in fact she had anything left to fight for.
Fingernails clawing into the rock, she stepped alongside it, slowly regaining strength. Glancing over
her shoulder, she scrunched her nose. The source of the shimmering blue light—a tunnel on the far end—painted the cave’s walls with an incandescent glaze. Her eyes lit to see even farther: the dripping stalactites and cascading streams that ran from high above to make puddles here below. Flower petals and leaves floated atop the water. The shoots and blossoms, having propelled her cocooned form into these depths, trailed all the way up a wide, winding ledge in a glowing trail. They gave off a gentle heat. They’re what had kept her from freezing on the journey here.
At the highest point overhead, moonlight radiated from an opening. That had to be the entrance to the cave. She could follow the flower trail out and retrace the way she came, though she had no guess how long it might take to cross the terrain.
Hours? Days? Vesper mightn’t have that long. She’d heard his cry of pain.
Considering the frigid cold outside, and all the creatures of the winter wilds that she’d seen in Dregs’s booth: cadaver brambles and rime scorpions, tinder-bats and bone-spiders, it would be no easy trek. Unsettling sounds stirred overhead . . . rubbery flapping wings and scuttling, bone-tipped legs, reminding her she’d first have to make it out of the cave. She stifled an uneasy crimp in her gut and turned again to the stags. Could these majestic creatures help? But as she watched, she realized some were weaker than she felt herself.
Beyond the stags watching her with interest and wariness in their eyes, were others that appeared ill, lying upon the ground. Smears of shimmering gold, reminiscent of Vesper’s blood, coated the rocks close to them. They took turns resting their heads upon it.
A horrifying thought clawed through her: what if, by introducing sunshine to their world of ice and frost and warming their cave, she had harmed them? Yet the light seemed to strengthen them—it was why they each grappled for a spot beside the rocks. That must be why the healthier stags were eating her cocoon; the flowers shimmered with sunlight, as did every single blossom that now wound around the cave.
Following a hunch, Lyra began to pluck the ones closest to her, tossing them toward the sickliest of the herd. They stretched their necks, nibbling the petals, and one by one gathered strength enough to stand and totter closer to the supply. Once she’d made a sizable pile that the stags ate from contentedly, she gathered the lacewing cloak and saddlebag, then started toward the winding ledge alone. Three healthy stags stepped into her path, blocking her. Their stances weren’t threatening so much as determined. They meant to keep her there.
She shook her head. They didn’t understand that she’d left her kingdom in the hands of an imposter. That she didn’t know how much, if any, of her mind-speak had reached Vesper, if he’d heard what he meant to her. She dug through the saddlebag, in search of the dried apples and cheese she’d packed for their trip to rescue Crony, hoping to distract the gatekeepers with fruit. She’d only just cupped a handful of spongy bits when the stags began to bray. The entire herd turned their long lionlike tails to face her, circling a silhouette that appeared out of nowhere.
A familiar voice grumbled, though she couldn’t quite place it. Lyra dropped the apples into the bag and inched forward, straining for a glimpse through the line of antlers. At the sound of stomping feet, the newcomer came into view, rising in height to tower over the stags.
Dregs’s bulbous eyes spanned the cave before coming to rest on her. “Princess!”
Lyra clapped her hands over her mouth, too stunned to attempt asking how he arrived or if he’d seen Crony and Luce.
He smacked his lips and tsked. “Blasted Edith said the drink would find my kin, not land me in the brumal den.”
His cryptic words wouldn’t have made sense a day ago, but after using magic herself to arrive at Vesper’s side, she understood. What she wouldn’t give for another dose now. When last she’d saw the goblin, he was searching for his cousin. Edith must’ve used the same spell for Dregs. But why would it have brought him to this place?
Dregs waved a hand, trying to shoo a path through the stags. “Have you seen any goblins, dead or alive? Could be just one, or as many as five . . .”
Before Lyra could answer, threatening growls and panicked nickers rumbled through the stags, cutting the conversation short. The leader lowered his head, and with a throaty neigh, charged the goblin. Dregs yelped and lost balance on his tall heels.
He smacked the ground and the lead stag led the others to attack, claws out and antlers lowered for goring. The sickening sound of grunts and ripping cloth filled the cave. Lyra snatched her lacewing cloak and whipped it on, commanding the nightsky fabric to lift her in the air like before. The move landed her on the lead stag’s back. The creature reared but she hugged its neck tight, her stomach rocking. Her aching fingers and hands cramped. They wouldn’t be able to hold for long. Dregs cried out again.
Desperate, Lyra pressed her forehead beside the stag’s ear, sending soothing thoughts. We’re not here to harm you . . . We’re here to help your prince . . . your king. Vesper, she offered, hoping as a night creature it would hear her somehow. I need to get to Prince Vesper . . . Nerezeth’s evening star. Her throat cinched tight on a silent sob.
Enough, the word tapped her mind on Vesper’s voice. Her heart leapt upon hearing him, though he wasn’t speaking to her: No harm shall come to these two. They’re here on royal business.
The stag stopped bucking. It panted, its ribs expanding and compressing where Lyra straddled it. The other stags gathered round with ears perked, also attuned to their king’s voice. Dregs, no worse for wear other than a few scrapes and bruises, crawled out from the circle of legs and tails and clambered onto an outcropping of rock where he groused about his shredded clothes.
Lyra slid from the stag’s back and dropped the lacewing cloak at her feet, looking around her, seeking him. Vesper. She sent up the thought, hungry to hear his voice again.
“Up here.” His answer, aloud this time, echoed and drifted from the heights where he and his horse took the long, winding ledge down alongside her trail of flowers. There were three silhouettes waiting at the top, not yet following, with two horses alongside them.
Dregs leapt from his rock and scrambled forward. Standing back, Lyra gathered the saddlebag and held it to her chest like an anchor to keep from floating away on a flutter of nerves.
Did Vesper remember how she touched him? Kissed him? Or did the sorceress save him, leaving only the memory that Lyra abandoned him in the moon-bog to die?
As Vesper arrived, Dregs bowed to him. Vesper laid a hand on his head. They shared a whispered conversation, then he sent the goblin toward the cave’s entrance where Vesper’s companions still waited, too high up to identify.
Vesper dropped his horse’s reins as the ledge leveled to the ground. He shrugged out of a fur cape dotted with snow and let it crumple in a heap behind him. With the hood gone, several strands of dark hair fell into his face—as unruly as Scorch’s mane ever was. He wasn’t dressed as royalty now, but as the man she saw in his tent at camp, the man who sat with her in the moon-bog, trying to convince her of his identity. A light-colored shirt and black leathery breeches conformed to lean, muscular lines and showcased a graceful stride as he approached—all limps and physical limitations gone. The burnished depth of his skin was healthy and flawless, aside from the scars he would always have as reminders.
He was cured, but by whom?
Lyra’s pulse sped, hammering in her wrists and at her collarbone. The stags cantered around her in a stampede. Even the weaker ones joined the fray, though plodding slower. Their passage swished the jagged hem at her ankles. They surrounded their king with soft nickers of greeting. He fussed over each of them as one would a beloved child. Then, upon his mental command, they parted and returned to the pile of glowing flowers.
Vesper watched her, unmoving. Lyra waited, too. It was like starting over—standing on this altered bridge, trying to find her footing, wary of the rapids that waited to swallow her should she move too fast and slip off.
She attempted to hid
e her trembling hands by tightening her hold around the saddlebag. Then, remembering it belonged to him, she held it out.
“So, you’re just willing to give those gifts up without a fight, after how hard you worked for them?” His deep, husky voice echoed off the walls. Blue light flashed across his face, his long lashes shadowing the emotions in his eyes. She didn’t know what he meant; didn’t know how to read him in this form. Was he teasing? Angry? Even without seeing his gaze clearly, she knew it was as inscrutable as a raven’s. She was vulnerable beneath it, stripped down to her shorn head and lacy rags.
Say something, he prompted in her mind.
She struggled for a response. Everything was too big for words, too life-changing. She finally settled on I am afraid.
He tilted his chin. Of this moment?
She shook her head. Of you.
He frowned, as if taken aback. Why? You know me to my bones. And I’m safer now . . . no hooves itching to trample. No flame threatening to char.
She squeezed the bag against her chest. You can hurt me more as a man than you ever could’ve as a horse.
Ah. What if I make an effort not to be such an arrogant jackass in this form? Will that help? He raised his eyebrows teasingly.
She huffed a surprised laugh, relieved. Of course he wasn’t angry. He was unsure of where things stood between them, like her. But they’d been here already—connecting beyond their differences and the inconceivable circumstances that had thrown them into one another’s paths.
Reaching into the saddlebag, she dug out the apples. She dropped the bag and took a step forward with palm outstretched, the fruit balanced atop her scars.
He took a step toward her, lips twitching in an almost-smile. So that’s how it’s to begin again . . . first you rescue the beast, then you hand-feed him.
