FOREVER ENCHANTED

by Maggie Shayne

  Only a handful of people awaited Bridin on the Dark Side of Rush. Mostly relatives and close friends. Very few people she hadn't known personally. It saddened her to realize that this was all that remained of those loyal to her, those who trusted her. Those who didn't actively want to see her head in a basket.

  But she'd take care of that... soon. Tonight.

  The few had gathered in a place that she recognized as soon as she neared it. The temple, much like the house she and Tristan had stayed in at the lake, but on a far larger scale. So this was the place he'd been brought to as a child, the place where he'd been isolated, and trained in the skills of war and of magic. The place where he'd taught himself not to love. Where he'd been convinced that the throne was his sole purpose for even being born, and for living. She liked to think she'd had some small part in ridding him of those errant thoughts, though the pain she was about to cause him might well resurrect the very darkest of them.

  It was like the other house, and different, too. Darker, more menacing, somehow. The windows here were barred, as if the children brought here were prisoners, never to be freed. She knew the bars might have been as much to keep enemies out as to keep the children in, but doubted a small child would have seen it that way. The stone walls were dark, on the inside as well as without, she noted as they ushered her slowly inside. Not bleached nearly white by the sun like those on the smaller version of the house. Torches, rather than lamps, lined the walls here. Torches she suspected burned all the time, since it was always night here. A cold chill snaked up her spine, and she shivered, imagining Tristan as a small boy, destined to spend his youth trapped in this place, this dark, cheerless place.

  No wonder he'd been so determined to win Rush back for himself.

  Well, he'd have it. Soon. But not soon enough.

  The others were as solemn as if they were attending a funeral. They welcomed her back, yes, but in sad whispers. Her reign was over. They all knew it, just as she did. There was nothing to be done.

  A woman had been cooking something in a large kettle over the hearth as they entered. And when the others all sat, Bridin followed suit. Marinda spooned vegetable stew into bowls and handed them to all present. They huddled round the single fireplace in the main room, which was too big and too empty. So much so that every tap of spoon against bowl, every footstep on the cold stone floor, every word spoken in a normal tone of voice, echoed from its barren walls. In natural response, they spoke in hushed voices barely above whispers.

  "As a welcome-home feast, it is somewhat lacking," the woman who'd been cooking said. "But if s all we have."

  "Thank you. I'm sure it's fine."

  "How fare your sister and her family, Sara?" Marinda asked the woman. She seemed more reserved than the rest and spoke in an even quieter voice. She was a fairy, far removed from the royal line, Bridin suspected. She didn't sit tall or show any hint of regal bearing. And she seemed, at a glance, devoid of magic. Or was it hope?

  "I received word yesterday," she said, speaking softly. "Her youngest is worse. Anna isn't sure she'll survive the week."

  Bridin sat straighter. "But why? What ails the child?"

  Sara looked surprised, but then sighed and nodded. "You've been away so long. You've no idea how bad things have become in the villages. No food, no money. The water's been fouled, apurpose if you ask me. Prince Vincent insists the only pure water comes from the castle springs, and he won't give it away. Makes the villagers trade for it, he does. Same for the firewood. And if any are caught hauling even a bit of deadfall from his forest to warm their family, or a drop of water from his springs, they're tossed into the dungeons. What ails my infant niece is poverty. The cold nights and hungry days." She drew a shuddering breath. "She's been sickly since she was born, poor and gaunt. But she has the most beautiful eyes you've ever..."

  Sara broke off, choked by tears.

  Bridin threw her dish of stew aside and surged to her feet. "Have we a wagon here?"

  "Yes, my lady, but—"

  "But nothing. See that it's in good repair. What about an ax? Have we one of those?"

  "There are tools in the cellars of this place," Marinda said softly. "Old and rusted, but perhaps usable. What are you going to do?"

  "I'll tell you what I'm not going to do, Marinda. I'm not going to sit here eating stew while my people—while innocent babies—starve to death!"

  Sara lifted her head, shaking it slowly.

  "They're not your people any longer, my lady Bridin. They've turned their backs on you, believed the lies Prince Vincent has spewed..."

  "They will always be my people," Bridin said. "And I intend to end their suffering."

  Marinda grasped Bridin's hand, stopping her when she would have turned to go in search of the ax. "Tristan's army will do that, Bridin. Once he retakes the throne—"

  "I heard him myself, saying it would take as long as a month to prepare his army," Bridin snapped. "But if he learns how very dire things have become, he'll launch his attack sooner. Perhaps before he's prepared, and that will only get him killed."

  "He might not learn the true state of things right away," Marinda attempted.

  "In which case he will wait. And, Marinda, that child will be dead by then, from the sounds of it. And how many others? How many?"

  Marinda shook her head slowly, mouth working, no sound escaping.

  "Even one baby is more than I can tolerate." She turned to the others in the room. "Find tools, axes, and some rope for snares, bows and arrows if any are to be had, and join me. This forest may be dark and barren, but there is wood. And game beyond the borders of this darkened land. We'll load our wagons with the bounty of the forest."

  "We'll be arrested!" one bent and gnarled old man cried.

  "No. I'll carry the goods to our people alone, beginning with Sara's sister and her family. I'll trust her to distribute the rest."

  "They'll catch you, Bridin," Marinda whispered. "They'll catch you and toss you into the dungeons."

  "She knows they will." Raze stood, and clasped Bridin's shoulders with both hands. "Don't you, Bridey-girl? You've had it all planned out since you set foot back here, and probably since you heard about that bastard's ultimatum." She lowered her gaze from his probing stare, and Raze shook his head, addressing the others. "Don't you see? She knows what Vincent's demands are. He wants her in his dungeons, and only when he has her will he put an end to the suffering of the villagers. She knew she had to turn herself over to him the second she heard that decree." He squeezed her shoulders. "Didn't you?"

  Lifting her chin, she met his eyes. "How can I sit here in comfort and safety while my people suffer and die?"

  "You can't," Raze said. "I've known you too well for too long to think different. But, Bridey, how can you trust that animal to keep his word? How can you know he won't keep right on with the mistreatment of the people once he has you beheaded?"

  "I can't be sure. But it's a chance, don't you see? I have to do this. Because if I don't, then those deaths—that baby's death—will be on my conscience."

  "I don't want to lose you, Bridey."

  "None of us do," Sara said. "My lady, I adore my sister and my baby niece. But I'd never wish you to die trying to save them."

  Bridin raised her chin higher, cleared her throat. "He won't execute me right away," she said, and she made her voice loud and steady and strong. "Part of his decree was that he would treat me mercifully. He gave his word."

  "His word is no better than horse dung!" Marinda said.

  "I know." Bridin fought the waver in her voice and kept her chin high, refusing to let these people see her fear. "But there's also a chance he'll keep me alive, because he believes I can tell him where Tristan is, and what he's planning."

  "You can't be sure of that," Marinda went on.

  "No. But I'm counting on it. I'll survive the dungeons, and elude the executioner as long as I can. And I'll hope that Tristan's army attacks the castle before I've worn out Vincent's patience. At least
this way there's a chance no more babies will die while Tristan prepares his army."

  Pog had been pacing, listening to her words. Now he stopped and turned, glaring at her. "There's more to this and you know it."

  "What more could there be?"

  "Don't play the innocent with me, Bridin of Rush! You know Tristan's soft heart better than anyone. And you know, too, as you've already admitted, that he's liable to rush into battle only half-prepared if he sees the terrible suffering in the village. You think that if Vincent suddenly eases his tyranny over the people, that brat prince Tristan will take the time he needs to truly prepare. So that when he does attack, it will be with a well-trained, well-equipped army, instead of the ragtag band he has now."

  "All of which makes perfect sense, my cousin."

  "It makes no sense. Let him ride in unprepared if he's foolish enough to do it, Bridin. Let him die in battle if that's his fate. All the better for you when your time comes to fight for your crown."

  "No."

  "You're as much as handing him the crown. If you die, he'll have only his brother to challenge him for it. And I think that's your intention." The way he said it made it an accusation.

  She lowered her eyes, and Pog came forward until he stood toe to toe with her. "You're doing this because you can't bear the thought of him being killed. You're in love with him, Bridin. You always have been!"

  She met her cousin's gaze unflinchingly. "What I feel for Tristan has no bearing on this decision, Pog. What I do now, I do for my land, for my people."

  "You're sacrificing yourself!" Pog accused. "You're handing your kingdom over to Tristan of Shara without batting an eye!"

  "Tristan of Shara is what's best for my people. And right now, Pog, he's their only hope." She turned then, so her gaze swept over all of them. "But know this. My sacrifice will be for nothing if Tristan learns what I've done. Because even if Vincent stopped tormenting the people, Tristan wouldn't wait. If he knew I was in his brother's dungeons, he'd attack the castle, no matter the odds against him. He'd do it even if he had to ride alone against his brother's entire army."

  "He wouldn't," Pog said.

  "He would," she said, her voice softening. "Twice now Tristan has stepped into the path of a blade meant for me. Twice he's offered up his life to save mine. And he would not hesitate to do so again. You must swear to me that you will not tell him. All of you. Swear it, now. Swear it for the love of Rush, and your families and friends. Your people."

  Sara fell to her knees, clasping Bridin's hand, kissing it and wetting it with her tears. "You have my devotion forever, my princess!"

  Bridin stroked Sara's hair, and searched the eyes of the others in the room until, one by one, each nodded his acceptance of her command. She drew Sara to her feet. "Come then. We've wood to chop, and game to kill, fruit to gather, and we'll fill jugs with water as well. Sara, there are herbs in the forest that will help your sister's child. I'll help you find them, and Marinda will make for her a broth. Go, find tools," she called, and her loyal ones sprang into action.

  Bridin saw the hope in their eyes. Now that they had something to do, something that would help their loved ones, they seemed to come alive. It was good, what she was doing. No matter the outcome, she knew it was good.

  Several hours later they loaded the oversize, rickety wagon with several deer and rabbits and game birds, baskets of fruits and berries, corked clay jugs filled to brimming with clear water. Raze worked with pieces of old harnesses he'd managed to put together to form one usable one, hitching Bridin's white mare to the wagon, while Bridin supervised the loading.

  "I only hope you get the food to the people before you're caught, my lady," Sara whispered in the darkness.

  "I give you my word, I will."

  Marinda came between them, with a small leather bag attached to a strap. The bag bulged with its contents, and Marinda reached around Bridin's waist to fasten it there.

  "What's this?"

  Marinda looked up, not bothering to brush away her tears. "The scrying crystal, my lady. You left it inside. I thought it might comfort you. I've fashioned this pouch for you to help keep it hidden. That evil prince will surely take it from you if he can."

  Bridin closed her eyes, and slipped one hand over the curving shape of the crystal ball. Then she pulled her tunic around to hang down over it. "Thank you, Marinda."

  "You can thank me by changing your mind," she snapped. "Let Raze or one of the others take these goods to the people, while you stay here, safe with us. You needn't sacrifice yourself this way."

  "My people think I let them suffer in order to save myself, Marinda. Unless I go, then what they already believe of me will be true."

  "But, Bridin—"

  "Hush." Bridin bent low, and kissed the smaller woman's forehead. "You know we'll meet again. One way or the other."

  Marinda lowered her head, weeping softly, refusing to say goodbye. Then Raze was there, taking Bridin's hand, leading her around the wagon to where Crystal stood waiting, tossing her mane, eager to be off. "She's all saddled, Bridey. Should you need to run for it, you just jump from the wagon onto her back. Pull this strap"—he touched the bit of harness as he spoke—"and the wagon will break free, leaving you to make a getaway."

  "Thank you, Raze." Bridin touched the strap he'd indicated, just so she'd be sure which one it was. Though she had no intention of running from Vincent's men. She knew what she had to do.

  "Let me come with you," he said suddenly.

  "Raze—"

  "I could protect you, Bridey. Watch over you."

  She shook her head. "Vincent might keep me alive because of the information I have, Raze. But he'd have no reason to spare your life. Gods, if I had to watch him kill you..." She shook her head clear of the ghastly images trying to haunt it. "No. You must stay, and make sure none of them break their word to me by running to Tristan telling tales. All right?"

  Raze tilted his head to one side. "You never answered your cousin's question, you know. You're in love with that fellow, aren't you, Bridey?"

  Bridin averted her gaze. "How I feel about Tristan doesn't matter," she whispered. "Our fates lead us on separate paths, Raze." She moved forward, stroking her horse's long, sleek neck. "And as for Tristan, he has vows of his own to keep. When he regains the throne, he'll need to take a wife, produce an heir to help solidify his rule." She shook her head, because she knew it was unlikely she'd live long enough to be the woman he chose. "We're sworn enemies, Tristan and I. Always have been, and I'm afraid we always will be."

  "And yet he'd ride alone against an army to save you," Raze muttered. "You know, for a smart woman, Bridey, you're awfully blind about some things."

  "If I were blind, as you say, Raze, this would be a great deal easier." She hugged him tight. "I have to go."

  "Be careful, Bridey."

  "You know I will." She climbed aboard the wagon, patting the ball in its pouch around her waist with one hand. Then she gathered up the reins, waved to all of them, and spoke to her horse. "Giddap, girl. We have a delivery to make."

  Chapter Sixteen

  She sat astride Crystal in a kind of reverent silence as her beloved city came into sight. Rush. Gods, it was beautiful, and it took her breath away every time she set eyes on it. Surrounding the city were high stone walls, all made of marble just as smooth and shiny as glass. And beyond them... beyond the walls lay the very heart of her kingdom. And she thought of it as she'd seen it last. The clean, cobbled streets, narrow and twisting among neat stone cottages. Piles of fragrant firewood stacked near the front of each one. The golden glow of oil lamps shining through the windows, made of glass. The thin spirals of smoke writhing from their small chimneys. The merchants' square, lined with larger buildings, businesses, some of stone and others of wood, with their hand-painted signboards swinging in the slightest breeze. The red shoe on the cobbler's sign. The foaming glass of ale painted on the one above the alehouse. The horseshoe drawn painstakingly at the smithy's shop. And
the silvery broadsword of the armorer.

  She could see none of this, of course, beyond those tall walls. But she could see the shining spires of the castle, piercing the night sky and glimmering nearly white beneath a full moon. Gods, how she'd missed it!

  The home of Sara's sister lay on the outskirts of the village, yet still within the city walls. The gate Bridin must pass through in order to reach the woman was guarded by two men in partial armor. One stood leaning back against the wall, while the other reclined in a nest of lush grasses on the ground.

  Swallowing her fear, Bridin drew her horse to a halt in the cover of the woods and climbed down from the wagon. She took her sword from its scabbard and placed it across the seat. If she approached them armed, they'd become suspicious. Raze had told her that Vincent had forbidden his subjects to bear arms within the city walls. Only he and his soldiers had the right to carry weapons.

  She pulled her hood up to cover her hair, and tucked the long braid within it. And then she stiffened her spine and moved forward. A twig snapped, and the men came alert, their eyes scanning the trees for her. She didn't hesitate but continued walking.

  "Hail, guards," she called. "I bring news of the treacherous Bridin of the Fay."

  The two lowered their swords and came toward her. Both wearing the blue and white tunics of Shara, over leggings of the same cloth. They wore no helms, though, and she could see them clearly. The larger of the two, with his dark beard and uncombed hair reaching in tangles past his shoulders. The smaller and younger one, smooth-skinned and lean. "And who might you be, that you know of that treasonous wench?" said the ugly one.