by Jocelyn Fox
“We could not have asked for a more gracious or beautiful place to rest after our long journey from our homelands,” continued the king. Ramel noticed that the rest of the ulfdrengr watched their leader, not Queen Mab…except for the sorceress with the scarlet stripe down her throat. She watched the Queen with an intent, predatory gaze that made Ramel’s skin prickle.
“And for all of this, we thank you,” said the wolf-king. Ramel remembered feeling the gaze of the great wolf upon him as he sat on the moonlight-silvered hill above the forest. He could certainly see a similarity between Haldvyk and this massive warrior, so composed and eloquent as he addressed Queen Mab.
“Yet for all our gratitude, we cannot remain silent for the sake of courtesy.” The ulfdrengr’s voice hardened slightly. “We have greatly appreciated your hospitality, yet we cannot depart without protesting your orders concerning a number of warriors of Sidhe birth who wish to continue their journey with us.”
Ramel didn’t know if it was his imagination, but the Great Hall suddenly felt noticeably colder. Queen Mab’s eyes narrowed slightly as she continued to watch the leader of the ulfdrengr.
“We are a free people, lady Mab, and we welcome any who would live among us with a willing heart and a strong body,” said the Northern king. Omitting the Queen’s title for a second time now sounded like an insult. “We respectfully urge you to reconsider your mandate forbidding these young warriors from walking this path.”
The Vaelanseld addressed the wolf-king stiffly, restrained fury behind his words. “Sir, you will call our queen by her proper title. It is grave breach of courtesy to refuse to honor her name.”
The sorceress – the volta, Ramel’s mind supplied triumphantly – grinned and looked at the ulfdrengr king. He inclined his head slightly to her: a signal granting her permission to respond, it seemed.
“Sir,” said the volta in a voice richer than the velvet of the Queen’s gown, “we mean your lady no dishonor, but she is not our queen. We are a free people, bound by no word except our own.”
You wear your chains willingly, but someday you may notice their weight. Someday you may want to run free. And here, we are not truly free.
Rye’s words echoed in Ramel’s mind, and he suddenly shivered. It wasn’t his imagination. A frigid wind wended its way through the Great Hall. Ramel spied a delicate pattern of frost lacing the flagstones around Queen Mab’s chair. He found he didn’t want to look at the Queen anymore; the idea of her anger struck fear into his heart, for reasons he couldn’t quite articulate even in his own thoughts.
“We traveled here in a spirit of fellowship and stewardship of our world,” continued the volta, ignoring the Vaelnseld now and addressing Mab directly. “We came to warn you of a darkness that we have seen manifesting in our lands, so that you will not find yourself surprised when you encounter it.”
Queen Mab turned her head slowly and precisely, gazing now at the volta. Watching the two women stare at each other felt akin to watching two dragons face each other before battle. Ramel had seen the illuminated manuscripts depicting the dragons, and he thought that Queen Mab and the Northern volta looked more fearsome than the great beasts.
When Queen Mab spoke, the silence that fell over the Hall was absolute. “You say you come here to warn me of danger, yet now you presume to tell me how to govern my own people.”
“You are not our queen,” said the volta again in her rich, clear voice. The scarlet stripe down her throat seemed to waver like a snake slithering over her pale skin. “We are a free people, and we cannot remain silent when freedom is withheld without reason.”
At the volta’s words, Queen Mab stiffened, and all the Knights and Guards at the high dais stiffened as well, their hands going to their sword-hilts. Ramel swallowed hard. If a battle broke out in the Great Hall, would the wolves find their way into Darkhill to protect the ulfdrengr? Would the volta cast a spell on them all? Would Queen Mab freeze them all in pillars of ice in her fury?
“We merely wish to say, my lady, that the chains of servitude invoke obedience, but perhaps not loyalty,” said the volta, her low words nonetheless carrying into the far corners of the Hall.
You wear your chains quite proudly.
Ramel caught his breath and took a step backward, his own hand drifting to the knife he wore at his belt. He watched Knight Arian, knowing that it was his duty to guard the Knight’s vulnerable back if a true fight broke out.
Queen Mab raised an eyebrow and shook her head slightly, smiling. “All this trouble,” she purred, “over a few wayward children.” Then her face hardened, and the cold wind whipped through the Hall, tearing down a few of the tapestries. “Get out,” she snarled at the Northerners, her face suddenly ugly with fury. Her Three stood, their hands on their sword-hilts, the gems pulsing with an agitated light. A cold wash of fear streamed through Ramel, though he swallowed hard and gripped the hilt of his dagger with determination.
The volta merely smiled at the furious queen, even as Princess Andraste leaned closer to her sister and said something in a low voice. But the Princess’s words seemed to have no effect.
“You will rue your dismissal of our warning one day,” said the volta. “Just as you will rue the chains you have placed on those you consider your people.”
Queen Mab seemed to lose what self-control she had left; she sprang to her feet. “Get thee gone from my sight, Northwitch!” she spat.
The volta stood, a bemused smile on her face. She shifted her gaze to the king, who said a foreign word that surged over the table like the sinuous movement of the wolves that Ramel had watched outside the forest. As one, the Northern delegation flowed to their king, their movements sleek and breathtakingly graceful. None of them put a hand on their weapons, though their watchful eyes took in every movement of the Knights and Guards nearest them.
“I regret that we have angered you, my lady,” said the wolf-king. He inclined his head to Queen Mab, who still seethed with fury. The volta led the delegation out of the hall, with the king half a pace behind her and two female warriors guarding their exit vigilantly.
For a few moments, the cold in the Hall lingered. The Queen gripped her chair with claw-like hands. Ramel couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen such anger from their beautiful, benevolent Queen.
Perhaps she is not so benevolent after all, whispered a voice in the back of his mind that he hastily silenced. When Knight Arian took his hand from the hilt of his sword, Ramel released his grip on his dagger and stepped back to his proper place behind the Knight’s chair. The silence in the Hall grew to what seemed like a deafening roar, until finally Princess Andraste stood.
“My lords and ladies, let us not remember this as more than a disagreement between cousins,” she said in her bright, clear voice. “After all, we consider those in the North to be our kin, by fellowship if not by blood. And so there may be times when we do not see eye to eye, as there are always differences of opinion between family.” She smiled, and a few of the courtiers also tentatively smiled. Princess Andraste opened her hands, encompassing the whole Hall. “Let us enjoy this night and this meal as we prepare for the Solstice.”
With that, the gradual hum of conversation in the Hall returned, even as Queen Mab sat silently at the head of the high dais. Princess Andraste spoke more than Ramel had ever seen her, seemingly taking over her sister’s role for the night as she gave permission for the first course to be served. The page finally ran guiltily to the tapestry that concealed the door to the cellars, and Ramel knew he’d have to reprimand him smartly for running – in plain sight, no less – when he returned.
“That does not bode well for the future,” sighed Knight Arian, mostly to himself.
Ramel thought he agreed with him, though he shifted his focus to the more immediate future of serving the rest of the meal without grievous error. But in the moments between filling Knight Arian’s cup and serving portions of each course to the Knight and the lady beside him, Ramel found himself thinking about Rye
and her sinuous words on the hilltop. He remembered her pale eyes and the feel of her lips on his skin, and then thought with chagrin that he would have to forego the possibility of exploring any burgeoning romance after Finnead chose him as his squire. And then he wondered if he’d imagined Rye’s wintry scent and the heat in her pale eyes as she leaned toward him…but her words still echoed in his head, traitorous and sweet, a strange and intoxicating combination.
Chapter 16
The sun shone brightly down on the Queen’s Forest, printing latticework shadows through the green, trembling leaves. Finn breathed deeply, savoring the scent of spring. It had taken him almost five years, but he’d finally divined the site of Kieran’s grave, prizing different pieces of information from Knight Arian and Knight Lochlan through a combination of favors, bets and outright threats. It was common practice not to mark the graves of the fallen squires; they became one with the forest and the gauntlet, or so the Knights said. Finn had almost gone to blows with Knight Lochlan about it, barely a fortnight after he’d received his sword from the Queen at the Solstice. Only Knight Arian speaking to Knight Lochlan and Ramel physically holding Finn back had prevented them both from disgracing themselves in a petty fistfight.
Finn shook the memory from his mind. He slipped through the shadows on light feet, counting his steps as he ventured farther from the path and checking the moss on the trees to verify his direction. Eventually he arrived at a small clearing, really nothing more than the space between four huge trees, their roots knotting the ground. Between the north and the west trees, Lochlan had said. Finn slowly approached his friend’s final resting place. He couldn’t see anything different about the ground; enough time had passed for the moss and shrubs to cover the scar of the grave. A chill traveled up his spine as he felt another presence. He instinctively dropped into a slight crouch, warily searching the shadows. Something shimmered in the air near the northern tree. Finn let his hand drift toward his sword hilt. The wavering air bloomed into a woman, at first almost indistinguishable from the trunk of the tree. Then she stepped away, into the sunlight.
Finn stood up and moved his hand away from his sword. The nymphs of the Queen’s Forest didn’t often reveal themselves, even to the Scholars. He didn’t understand why one would appear to him, but he bowed slightly to her and waited respectfully for her to speak.
The body of the nymph reflected her tree; this nymph lived in one of the great oaks of the forest, and so she stood as tall as Finn, her green eyes the color of spring leaves and her skin the rich brown of acorns. Her hair was a nimbus of moss and bark hues. She was not willowy and slender, like so many of the Court ladies. Far from it. Her solid legs and muscular arms represented the grand trunk, deep roots and sky-reaching branches of the massive oak. She wore a banded top and skirt fashioned out of spring-green oak leaves, and her bright eyes, made all the more vivid by her dark skin, watched him knowingly. When at last she spoke, her voice sounded like nothing Finn had heard before in his life, words formed by rushing wind and rustling leaves and the small sounds of branches pushed this way and that by a storm.
“We wondered when you would come,” the nymph said. She gestured with one muscular arm to the other three trees. Finn swallowed as he became aware of other beings watching, but not appearing. The other great trees listened to their conversation, branches swaying far above them.
“You are here for him, are you not?” The nymph cocked her head slightly to one side.
Finn swallowed. “I don’t…understand. What…? Yes, I…I knew Kieran. If that’s who you’re speaking about.” He found himself unsettled in a way that had become less and less familiar to him as he adjusted to his new role in Court as a young Knight.
The nymph looked down at the forest floor, where Finn had surmised Kieran’s grave to be. “His blood soaked the ground,” she said softly. Finn thought that her voice sounded sad, though a voice made up of the wind and the sound of leaves was not structured to express emotion. “I do not choose what I drink. I cannot tear up my roots and refuse.” She looked back at him and smiled ruefully. Finn’s stomach turned and he had to swallow hard as he realized the import of her words.
“What…what happens, when you taste blood?” he asked in a voice barely more than a whisper. Something about this exotic nymph with the body of a warrior made him feel like a page again, stumbling and ignorant.
The nymph’s smile faded. “I had never tasted blood before. It is not something I wish to repeat.” She shivered slightly, a few strands of moss falling from her hair. “His pain…his death…” She shook her head. “It is not for us to feel these things.” Her eyes, when she raised them again to meet Finn’s gaze, were filled with a strange mixture of anguish and anger.
“It was not our intent to cause you any harm,” said Finn honestly. “I doubt any of the Knights understood that you can feel such things.”
“In the normal course of things,” the nymph said, “we do not feel the creatures that are returned to the earth.”
A sudden, visceral image of Kieran’s corpse assailed Finn. He shut his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. A hand touched his arm, and he jumped when he opened his eyes, finding the oak nymph barely an arm’s length away, one hand resting against his arm in sympathy.
“It is our lot to watch,” she said. “To watch and to shelter, to shade and to stretch to the sky. But to feel…this is something I did not think I could do.”
“What did…what did you feel?” asked Finn. He’d never heard the full story of Kieran’s death. Lochlan had refused to talk about it, even when he was in his cups, and as a young Knight Finn still had to respect certain boundaries.
The nymph tilted her head, looking past Finn to the center of the small clearing. “I watched him fight.” A small smile curved her dark lips. “He was very good, even as tired as he was. All creatures are beautiful to me, but he…he had a special kind of beauty.” A crease appeared on her brow. “At the end, there was another swordsman in a red mask. He fought Kieran, and during the fight…” The nymph blinked rapidly. “It looked…I did not see, it happened so quickly. I think one, or perhaps both of them slipped, and the red swordsman’s blade caught Kieran on the side of the neck.”
Finn shuddered, clenching his jaw against the cry that tried to escape him. The grief that had gradually faded with time came roaring back, as sharp as the day after the gauntlet.
“Dark blood,” said the nymph, lost in her reverie. “It tasted of…strength, and youth, and hope. Toward the end…anger and then a stoic resignation. And then hope again.”
“Hope again?” echoed Finn hoarsely.
“He was thinking of you, right before he died,” said the nymph, her gaze clear as she looked at Finn. “I saw your face in his thoughts, and I felt the hope that he felt…hope that you’d made it, and you would honor them both with your service as a Knight.”
Finn felt his mouth open wordlessly. The tide of raw sorrow, mixed with love for his lost friend, swept him away.
“You feel so deeply,” said the nymph. She stepped closer, one hand reaching up to stroke Finn’s hair, as delicately as a child might pet a kitten. Finn trembled with the effort of containing his emotions. “My sisters and I do not judge. We watch, and we shelter, and we comfort. It is not our place to chastise you for how deeply you feel.”
Finn had never wept over Kieran. He had never had a chance to truly say farewell to his brother-in-arms, and now, standing by his grave with a nymph telling him of Kieran’s last moments, the tears blinded him. His sorrow choked him, and the nymph sank down with him onto the spongy forest floor, gathering his head onto her mossy shoulder.
“The other swordsman, he held Kieran and spoke to him like a father speaks to his son,” whispered the nymph into Finn’s ear. “After Kieran died, he buried him between our roots. And I have held him ever since.”
Finn let the emotions wash over him: sorrow, and then anger. Anger at Knight Lochlan for his clumsiness, anger at Kieran for not displaying his us
ual nimble reflexes, anger at fate for aligning the stars against such a well-favored and good-hearted man. Finally, his anger ebbed and he felt his tears run dry. The nymph still let him rest his head on her shoulder for a moment more, one of her hands tracing an idle circle on his back. He raised his head finally, heaved a shuddering sigh and looked into her eyes. “So, he is a part of you now.”
She tilted her head thoughtfully. “In a way. In the way of all things returning to the earth. Perhaps in another way as well, since I watched and listened and tasted his blood.” She pressed one hand to his chest. “I do not have a heart to ache, but if it is any comfort, the sun will rise and the wind will blow and the rain will fall long after you are returned to the earth as well.”
Finn smiled. “That seems a rather fatalistic comfort, but I understand your point.”
The nymph smiled. “I am but the spirit of a tree. I watch and I listen. I understand the world through the whispering of the wind and the tidings of the creatures that make my branches their home.” She slid her hand over his hair again. “Sometimes we may help heal, once in every century or so.” Her hand traveled to his mouth, laying two fingers gently on his lips as he began to ask a question. “We could not have saved your brother, not even the four of us. The wound was too grave, the loss too fast.”
Finn nodded slightly. The nymph traced his lips with her fingertips.
“I wondered when you would come,” she said again, her quiet voice composed of the sighing of wind through the forest and the patter of raindrops on leaves.
