by Jocelyn Fox
“Both of our queens have a hidden penchant for cruelty,” said Corsica. She glanced at Ramel again and narrowed her eyes. “Squire,” she said, “how long does it take to pour two goblets of wine?”
“I apologize if I stood here overlong, my lady,” Ramel said quickly, bowing to her. He swallowed down the panic that threatened to fizz up into his throat at the thought of being caught listening to such a conversation. “It is just that my master is very particular when it comes to his wine, and I was so distracted by your beauty that I could not remember what he had asked me to pour.” He smiled sheepishly. Lady Corsica regarded him for a moment more but then the suspicion slowly cleared from her face, replaced by a considering look.
“Tyr,” she said, taking a sip of her own wine, “didn’t you say that the Knight said to be courting your Princess has not chosen a sigil yet?”
“Indeed, you miss nothing, Corsica,” said Tyr. The bard looked at Ramel with plain appraisal. The similarity to Rye was so striking that Ramel felt heat rising to his cheeks – it felt as though Rye was standing there assessing him rather than her twin. Then the bard beckoned to Ramel. The squire set down the full goblets on the table and obediently walked over to the trio. Corsica and the Seelie man stepped aside slightly. Ramel gave them all a courteous bow.
Tyr looked at Ramel steadily. The bard wasn’t heavily muscled like the Knights and Guards; Ramel found himself thinking that Rye was probably the equal of her twin if not the stronger of the two of them. Yet there was a magnetic strength in his eyes that compelled Ramel to stand a little straighter. It felt very much like Finnead’s penetrating gaze.
“You know my sister,” said Tyr, his eyes steady.
“Yes.” Ramel answered truthfully, and he told himself that such was his commitment to his honor that he would have said the same thing no matter what. But somehow, under Tyr’s gaze, his thoughts quieted, and he found himself waiting silently for the next question to answer. The feeling intensified as the seconds ticked past. He felt increasingly like a moth caught in a glass jar, beating his wings uselessly against the cool unyielding glass.
“You serve Knight Finnead,” said Tyr.
“Yes,” Ramel heard himself answer as if far away. He felt a spark of alarm when he discovered that he couldn’t move…or rather, he didn’t want to move. Every time he thought of turning and fetching the goblets and walking as far away from the velvet-voiced bard as the courtyard would allow, a sinuous voice in his head smoothed away his desire to move.
“Really, Tyr, are you any better than them if you compel him with your skill?” Corsica asked, though she didn’t sound particularly concerned for Ramel.
“You said yourself that his Knight is courting the Princess,” Tyr returned, but Ramel felt the invisible claws holding him in place flexing slightly. He concentrated hard and found that himself able to speak of his own accord.
“Finnead is not…courting…the Princess,” he said, sounding as though he’d just completed a round of sprints up the hill outside the western gate.
Corsica hummed. “And it seems like he’s a bit stronger than you thought, Tyr.”
“I would expect no less from a young man who fascinates my sister so,” Tyr murmured, arching an eyebrow.
Ramel shuddered as the unseen force released him completely. He took a deep breath and straightened his squire’s vest. “Thank you.”
“How much did you hear?” Tyr asked.
Well, now was the time to test his true obedience to his squire’s oath. “Some,” he replied. “Though I don’t understand all of what you were discussing.”
“See, he tells the truth even without your claws in him,” said Corsica.
Tyr looked thoughtful. “You hold my sister in high regard?”
“The highest,” answered Ramel. That question, at least, was a bit easier to answer truthfully, though he felt color rising to his face. Corsica didn’t help matters by chuckling. “She is a very intelligent and interesting woman, sir.”
Tyr nodded. “So, you must understand that it is for her sake that I can’t let you keep those memories.”
“Tyr,” sighed the Seelie man.
“He is the squire to the Knight who, if he is not courting the Princess, certainly will be soon,” replied Tyr.
“Do it,” said Corsica in a low voice laced with anticipation.
Tyr stepped forward and brushed two fingers against Ramel’s forehead. The squire stumbled back in shock at the sudden silent explosion that shuddered through the hall. He glanced about wildly, but no one else seemed to have felt it. He blinked in confusion as a Seelie man caught his elbow and kept him from falling.
“I apologize, sir,” he said thickly. “I don’t…I don’t know what came over me.”
“Think nothing of it,” said the Seelie man almost kindly, a strange sympathy in his eyes. “You just stumbled on your way to retrieving your master’s wine.”
Yes, he’d been getting wine for Finnead and the Princess. Ramel blinked and winced at the ringing in his ears.
“Are you quite all right?” asked the beautiful Seelie woman on the other side of him. He felt as though he should know her name…but that didn’t make sense, because she was part of the Seelie delegation. How would he know her name?
“Maybe you should sit down for a moment,” the woman continued.
Ramel took a breath and straightened, embarrassment heating his cheeks. “I apologize for my clumsiness, sir. Thank you for your concern, my lady, but I will be fine.”
The third member of the small party looked intensely familiar to Ramel. He realized it was Rye’s twin, Tyr, and he bowed slightly to him.
“I hope to hear one of your songs in person tonight, sir,” the squire said politely. “I have heard your talent is quite extraordinary.”
Tyr nodded courteously. “Of course. I will be performing at the Queen’s pleasure.”
The Seelie man released his grip on Ramel’s elbow. The squire murmured his thanks again and turned back to the table with the pitchers of wine. A strange whirl of nausea clenched his stomach for a moment. He took a deep breath until it passed, realizing as he stood at the table that he had no memory of the moment before he’d almost fallen. Odd. Perhaps he had simply trained too hard that day and his body was protesting. After another deep breath, he picked up Finnead and the Princess’s goblets and made his way back across the courtyard.
“Are you all right, Ramel? You look a bit pale,” said Rye as he handed the goblets to his master and Princess Andraste.
“I had a moment of dizziness on the way to the table,” said Ramel truthfully, “but I’m quite fine now.”
Concern creased Rye’s forehead. “You’re not taking sick, are you?”
“No,” said Ramel, embarrassed to be the center of attention as Knight Finnead and Princess Andraste paused in their conversation to listen to the exchange. “In truth, I am fine. Thank you for your concern.”
Rye stepped closer to him. After a moment, Finnead and Andraste resumed their conversation. Her pale eyes traveled over his face with disconcerting intensity, lingering on his forehead for some reason. “Did you enjoy your conversation with my brother?”
“One of his companions kindly saved me from falling when I stumbled in my dizziness,” said Ramel. He blinked; his thoughts didn’t fit together properly. As he spoke of it, he realized that the edges of his memories jarred against one another. “I…barely exchanged pleasantries…with your brother.”
“I see,” said Rye darkly. She gazed balefully across the courtyard at her twin.
“Have I caused offense?” asked Ramel. Confusion clouded his head.
Rye turned back to him and gave him a small smile. She even reached out and touched his arm. “Not at all, Ramel. You did nothing wrong at all. I am just glad that you did not fall during that spell of dizziness.”
Ramel nodded in agreement. Knight Finnead glanced at him but didn’t pause in his conversation with the Princess.
“I take it everythin
g has been…smoothed over...between the two of them?” Ramel said quietly to Rye.
She nodded. “I believe so. It is just growing pains, I think, that will naturally resolve themselves in due course.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Rye smiled slightly. They had drifted a few paces away from the Knight and Princess, enough distance between them that they could talk without fear of being overheard. Ramel blinked and thought that he’d overheard something interesting lately, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember it.
“I mean that Andraste is simply farther ahead in her feelings for him,” said Rye. “I think that Finnead will catch up in due time.”
“You think that he’s going to fall in love with her?”
Rye chuckled. “Where is your silver tongue, Ramel? That was rather bluntly put. But yes. I do. And I think it is a good thing for both of them.”
“Do you think the Queen will…approve?”
“There are many questions without answers,” said Rye. “I think it is not up to the Queen to give anyone leave to love.”
“She is the Princess,” said Ramel.
“Indeed,” said Rye, watching her mistress laugh at something that Finnead had said. “Indeed, she is.”
The sunset painted the square of sky above the courtyard in brilliant orange, blushing to a deep pink and then slowly fading to the gray of dusk. Delicately strung taebramh lights winked into existence, hung on the walls of the courtyard and strung over the Queen’s dais, imparting a soft glow much more romantic than the harsh flare of torches. Ramel heard the chime summoning the rest of the Court to dinner, and he thought ahead to the rest of the night. He’d have to serve at the high dais; if Knight Finnead was seated beside Princess Andraste, which meant he would be serving the Princess as well. He had a sudden horrible premonition that he’d spill wine down the front of the Princess’s gown and be banished from the Hall in disgrace. Then he calmly told himself to stop acting like a nervous little first-year page. This was not his first time serving in the Hall, and it was not his first time serving at the high dais. It was no different than any other night.
Finally, the Queen rose from her magnificent white throne. The courtyard quieted as she raised her arms. Ramel thought he had never seen anything quite so beautiful, the taebramh lights shining like miniature stars above the Queen’s head, her peerless loveliness only heightened by the soft touch of the shadows.
“Let us welcome once again our beloved cousins to our Court,” she said. Her melodious voice contained a hint of wildness behind it, hinting at the wind whispering through a night forest and the gentle song of a brook flowing down a mountain.
The Seelie delegation, a dozen strong, had gathered to one side of the dais, and Knight Niall stepped forward with an elegant bow to the Queen. “Queen Mab, our Queen Titania sends her love and her fond wishes for the health and happiness of your Court. She looks forward to the day when you will meet again as crown-sisters.”
Queen Mab inclined her head. “She honors me by sending you as emissary, Vaelanseld.” She glided down from the dais, and the Seelie Vaelanseld gracefully offered his arm. She rested her white fingers upon his arm and nodded to the rest of the gathered courtiers. “Let us go to the Hall.”
Knight Finnead offered his arm to Princess Andraste, and she slipped her arm through his with a little smile. Rye looked at Ramel and raised her eyebrows at the more intimate style that Andraste adopted with her escort. Ramel had to admit that Rye knew what she was talking about. She was a woman, after all, even if she was one who knew how to fight like a man. Rye fell into step beside Ramel as they followed the Knight and the Princess. The Seelie delegation walked behind them, and the rest of the courtiers unfurled like a ribbon through the halls of Darkhill as the Queen led them to the Great Hall.
Ramel again reminded himself sternly that he was not a nervous first-year page as he took his place behind Knight Finnead. The Queen sat in her silver chair at the head of the table, and the movement rippled down from the high dais with comforting familiarity. Finnead settled the Princess in her chair with gentlemanly grace. Ramel filled both their goblets, and then Rye’s as well, since she sat on the other side of Finnead and there was no squire to attend her. She smiled at him, her pale eyes glimmering.
The murmur of conversation rose in the Hall as the first course was served. Queen Mab took a delicate bite of the venison and then leveled her gaze at Knight Finnead. Ramel could barely breathe. He had never spent so much time so close to the Queen, and while she was beautiful, she was also terrifying.
“Knight Finnead,” she said with a small curved smile.
“My Queen?” Finnead acknowledged her with his typical courtesy.
Ramel noticed that Princess Andraste went very still as her sister turned her attention to Finnead.
“I have heard that you have very intimate knowledge of the forest,” the Queen said. The intensity of her gaze belied the casual tone of her words.
“It is part of my duty as a Knight to understand my surroundings,” replied Knight Finnead.
“Oh, I think your ventures into the forest have to do with a very particular understanding, do they not?” The Queen smiled icily.
From his vantage point standing behind Knight Finnead’s chair, Ramel saw Princess Andraste clenching her napkin in her lap, both her hands white-knuckled. The high dais had gone quiet, the Seelie delegation and the Queen’s most favored courtiers all watching the exchange between Queen Mab and the Princess’s dining companion.
“I must apologize, my lady, for I do not quite understand your meaning,” said Finnead, his face a mask of gallantry. “Perhaps my mind is not as quick as it should be, owing to a few blows to the head in training.”
A few of the courtiers chuckled at the Knight’s good-natured self-effacement, and the Queen’s smile widened fractionally.
“Then let me make my meaning quite clear, Knight Finnead,” she said in a low voice that reminded Ramel of a snake sliding through the undergrowth, silent and deadly. Her small smile now seemed venomous. “You may find one day that a terrible fire has ravaged a certain part of the forest of which you seem to be exceedingly fond.” The other diners at the high dais looked anywhere but at the Queen and Knight Finnead. Andraste sucked in a shaking breath and held it. The Queen tilted her head and her smile became genuine, which made it all the more frightening. “After all, it is about to be summer, and that is the season in which these unfortunate incidents occur.”
Knight Finnead inclined his head stiffly. “Such a fire would be a tragedy for all involved.”
The Queen reached out and delicately curled her fingers around her wine goblet. “Indeed, Knight Finnead. A terrible tragedy.” She sipped her wine contemplatively. “But that tragedy does not need to occur, if you understand my meaning now.”
“I believe I do, Your Majesty,” said Finnead in a quiet, controlled voice.
Queen Mab smiled at him and then turned to the Seelie Vaelanseld. “Now tell me, Knight Niall, what music has come into fashion at my crown-sister’s Court?”
Ramel stepped forward to refill Knight Finnead’s cup, but Finnead waved him away. Rye watched her mistress intently. If they had been dining at a lower dais, Ramel was sure that Finnead would have excused himself from the rest of the meal, but they were trapped by courtesy at the high dais. To leave during the course of the meal would be considered a grave insult to the Queen herself, and that was something that Finnead plainly couldn’t afford.
As he stepped back and waited to serve the next course, Ramel let himself mull over the Queen’s words. A chill ran down his back again as he thought of the casual cruelty required to burn down a tree known to contain a nymph. Why would the Queen be opposed to one of her Knights seeing a tree nymph? Then he chided himself for his stupidity. The Princess’s earlier words and the Queen’s unsettling threat all fell into place. Princess Andraste wanted Knight Finnead to court her, and the nymph Shaleh was an obstacle in her way…though he had to
admit, the Princess didn’t look pleased when her sister so plainly warned Finnead not to continue his relationship with Shaleh.
The conversation between Finnead and the Princess for the rest of the meal was strained and then non-existent; Andraste turned to the Seelie Knight seated on her other side, and Finnead spoke a few words to Rye but mostly remained silent. Ramel thought with trepidation that they still had to navigate the perils of polite conversation when the Princess and her small party retired to the courtyard again after the meal.
The Queen seemed to take a strange pleasure in prolonging the meal, inviting Tyr to entertain them with his songs even after the last course had been cleared away. Ramel watched the tense set of Finnead’s shoulders and thought that if this had been any other night, the Knight would saddle his war-charger and gallop off into the forest. But that outlet had been taken away from him. He knew Finnead wouldn’t put Shaleh in danger by risking Mab’s wrath.
Finally, Tyr finished a song and bowed to the Queen, murmuring with a smile that his voice could bear no more that night, unless the Queen commanded it. For a moment, Ramel thought that Mab would command the bard to continue singing, but she smiled and dismissed him with a flick of her wrist. Her eyes traveled over the diners at the high dais, lingering for just a moment on Andraste and then Finnead. Then she smiled and lifted her hands. “Shall we adjourn to the night gardens?”
The Seelie Vaelanseld stood and offered the Queen his arm; her own Vaelanmavar followed behind them as the rest of the Court stood and decided their own activities. Knight Finnead stoically offered his arm to the Princess. She took a breath as though to say something, but then sighed and placed her hand on his arm. Rye raised an eyebrow at Ramel, and though it wasn’t strictly proper, he offered her his arm at her invitation. She grinned and linked her arm through his, sending little shocks of awareness at her closeness through his body.
“This is shaping up to be quite an evening,” she said to him in a low voice.
“At my master’s expense,” he replied darkly.
Rye sighed. “My mistress isn’t happy about the manner of it, either.”
