Shadows Past

by Lorna Freeman

  The king broke off as Finn appeared carrying the crown chair and trailing a line of royal servants bearing a variety of items, including a small table, a teakettle, and a tea tray. Apparently Bertram wasn’t the only one who moved in a blink of an eye. I scanned the royal servants, expecting to see his fair hair glowing in the relative dimness of the great hall. But he wasn’t present. Worried that Kveta might have done something to the boy, I had started to rise to my feet when the griffin chirped at me. Turning, I found myself staring into its luminous gray eyes and I slowly sank back down to the floor.

  Jusson remained silent as Finn set his crown chair next to the ones of Idwal and Lady Margriet and he continued silent as a servant presented his simple circlet on its velvet cushion—though his mouth did quirk at the tea tray, stepping aside as the servant with the kettle went to the fireplace and hung it on the hob. In a few very brief moments he was divested of his battle helm, armor, and sword, dressed in his austere clothing, and sitting on his chair drinking tea.

  And he wasn’t the only one the servants had descended upon. Surrounded by Finn and his crew, I was pulled from my warm, comfortable place by the griffin and stripped of my tabard, hauberk, shirt, and singlet. (I frowned at the amount of blood on the tabard and shirt, and started to reach for them, but Finn whisked them away.) Finn then began to dress me in clean clothes, but Laurel stopped him. The Faena stood for a moment, taking stock of my forming bruises, scrapes, and bumps, then with a low rumble, stalked over to the fireplace and pulled out from his carry pouch what looked like the vile tea he’d so liberally dosed me with back in Freston.

  I held in a sigh.

  “Why are you shivering, Rabbit?” Jusson asked.

  I turned to find the king also taking stock.

  “Uhm, because I’m half naked and it’s cold, Your Majesty?”

  “No, it’s not,” Jusson said. Shifting his teacup, he indicated the hall’s massive fireplace and I was startled to see that it was blazing. While I wasn’t standing on the hearth, I was close enough that I should’ve been basking in its heat. A shiver shook me and I looked down to see goose bumps on my bare skin.

  “Reaction, Your Majesty,” Suiden said, a teacup cradled in one taloned hand. Cais and Finn had spread out, serving tea to aristos, armsmen, troopers, and castle folk alike. Even Lady Margriet and Idwal had steaming porcelain cups, both looking rather bemused at being served by royal servants in their hall. However, Berenice remained tealess, her mouth still a flat line as she glared at the Forest Lord. My mind flashed back to the plain girl with a merry spark in her eyes and I wondered at the change in her. Then, she wasn’t the only one who’d had their mask torn away.

  Let it all burn.

  “Yes,” Thadro agreed, also nursing hot tea. “He’s in shock.”

  I opened my mouth to deny it, heard my teeth chatter, and closed it again.

  “I see,” Jusson said. He looked out over the great hall at the injured being tended by the castle women, lifted his eyes to the burned tapestries and scorch marks on the walls before allowing his gaze to drift over Berenice, Princess Rajya leaning against her father, stop for a moment on Munir, then drop to the leaf-covered necklet and blackened dagger being still held by the Forest Lord, move onto the griffin for another long moment, and finally end at Kveta. He remained silent as Laurel sent a servant running up the stairs, who quickly returned with Laurel’s satchel. He waited patiently as the cat anointed my bruises before moving aside and allowing Finn to wrap me in blankets. As soon as I was swaddled, Laurel appeared with a cup and stood over me as I drained it. Fortunately, Laurel had sweetened it with so much honey that it almost masked the bitterness. Almost. More important, though, I could feel its warmth spreading through me as it loosened the knots and kinks taking up residence in my body. Vaguely concerned that I was starting to actually like the tea, I sank down against the griffin.

  There was a sharp clink and I looked over to see that I wasn’t the only one who’d finished his tea. Jusson had set his own cup down and was now leaning back in his chair, thrusting his feet out before him and folding his hands over his stomach.

  “Bring the knife here,” he said.

  “Honored king,” Laurel began.

  “Your Majesty,” Thadro said.

  “That’s not wise, Elf King,” the Forest Lord said at the same time.

  “I’m not going to touch it,” Jusson said. He watched as the green man placed the blackened dagger on the small table and a slight smile crossed his face as the Forest Lord took a guarding stance next to it. The smile swiftly faded, though, as his gaze shifted back to Kveta.

  “Dragon curses and summoning of dark forces,” Jusson said. “Sorcery and madness. Abductions and imprisonments. The attempted murder not once but three times of someone who called you friend. Why?”

  Kveta remained silent.

  “I can find out, honored king,” Laurel said, his truth rune starting to burn brightly.

  “Yes,” Jusson said.

  “You’ll let the Faena loose on the wolf?” Munir asked, apparently forgetting that he was next on the king’s agenda. Or maybe not.

  “Why not?” Jusson said. “She’s a denizen of the Borderlands, not Iversterre. From all that we’ve heard, the Faena are in charge of their miscreants—and Master Cat here is head of all the Faena. So it seems to us that it’s entirely appropriate that we allow him to practice his craft—”

  As Jusson spoke, Laurel moved quickly to where Kveta lay on the floor, still held captive by the griffin. Before he could reach her, though, there was a blinding flash of light and Laurel flew back, the stunned cat falling into Wyln, who stumbled before recovering. The griffin let out an ear-piercing screech, but Kveta jerked away. Shoving past the green man, she snatched up the knife and turned, slashing at Jusson.

  And bounced off a solid wall of air.

  Kveta didn’t hesitate, spinning around to launch at me, but I struck out, using my staff as a quarterstaff, and she went down with a crack as her leg gave way. Howling, she lifted her hand, and I hit her arm. Before I could hit her again, Laurel was there, his truth rune brighter than the noon sun. There was another flash, this time from the Faena, and Kveta screamed, her body bowing in her extremity. Then she collapsed, sobbing. The air shimmered around her and the next moment she was a wolf once more, curled nose to tail, her body shaking as her whimpers filled the hall.

  Moving aside as the Forest Lord went past me to pick up the knife, I caught a glimpse of red against Kveta’s black fur and, stepping over her, I picked up my feather. About to tuck it in my braid, I hesitated, then shoved it in my trousers’ pocket. Turning to Laurel, I expected to hear pithy comments about symbols of covenants being held in hostile hands, but he paid no attention to me as he sat back on his haunches, looking at Kveta.

  “The runners killed her mate,” he said.

  “I see,” Jusson said. “Well, actually I don’t see. Could everyone please move?”

  Several had responded to the threat against the king, including most of the King’s Own, what remained of the troopers, the aristos, their armsmen, Thadro, Cais, Finn, Wyln—and the griffin, who stood in front of Jusson on his hind legs with his wings outspread. (The royal personal space was very crowded.) There was a momentary shuffle as everyone sorted themselves out, the griffin giving an embarrassed chirp as he dropped to all fours, his talons clicking on the stone floor as he made his way back over to me.

  “Who is that?” Thadro asked, momentarily diverted.

  “I believe it’s Bertram, sir,” I said. The griffin crouched down beside me and I once more sank into its warmth.

  “Our Bertram?” Thadro asked, astonishment on his face. A ripple of surprise washed through the king’s retinue. Bertram ruffled his feathers and gave a cheerful chirp.

  “Yes, apparently he can also shape-shift,” Jusson said absently before I could.

  “Doesn’t anyone keep the body they were born with?” an aristo muttered. Jusson ignored him.

  “So
this is about the smuggling ring from last spring?” the king asked Laurel.

  “Yes, honored king,” Laurel said. He ran a paw over his head, sending his beads gently clacking. “He and several of his pack were killed for their pelts. She is avenging their deaths.”

  “A pretty effective revenge, if it had worked,” Wyln said. “Besides our own deaths, if enough blood had been spilled here, it could’ve plunged the human kingdom into war with Tural, and probably dragged the People into it too.”

  The sea rise up and swallow them.

  Feeling me shiver, Bertram extended a wing and I burrowed under it.

  “Is that why she poisoned and then abducted Javes?” Jusson asked. “To involve the Qarant?”

  “The Qarant are already involved, honored king,” Laurel said. “Once the pelts reached Iversly, they were loaded on one of their merchantmen—along with other run goods.”

  There were shocked gasps and Idwal abruptly straightened, his eyes wide. Jusson, on the other hand, went very, very still.

  “A Qarant merchantman,” Jusson stated.

  “Yes, honored king,” Laurel said.

  “I see,” Jusson said. “What has she done with Javes?”

  “I don’t know,” Laurel said. “Her control is strong. The best I could get was that he was taken away. Where or why, I don’t know.” Rising to his feet, Laurel gestured and a thick hedge sprang up around Kveta. He made another gesture and his earth sphere split into four, surrounding the wolf and filling the air with autumn.

  “Did she cast the spell upstairs?” Thadro asked.

  “Now, that I do know, honored Commander, as I was there,” Laurel said.

  “Sneaked up on you, did she?” Wyln asked, briefly amused.

  “Caught us all off guard,” Laurel agreed. He reached into his pouch and began sprinkling in a crisscrossing pattern along the hedges something astringent that made me want to sneeze. “First a silencing spell, followed by one to imprison Cais, Finn, and me in the necklet’s mirror. Done quickly, with no fumbling or hesitation. Makes me wonder what she’s been up to during her free agent travels—”

  “Did she capture the butterflies also, Laurel?” I asked.

  Laurel stopped his sprinkling and stared at me. He then snapped around to stare down at Kveta.

  “By the Lady,” Wyln breathed, “Queen Mab’s courtiers.”

  The Forest Lord had been quietly listening, but at Wyln’s words, stirred. “Queen Mab? Not good to cross her or harm her people. Not good at all.”

  “Perhaps they were also imprisoned in the necklet, Master Laurel,” Cais suggested, looking worried. “There is more than one mirror.”

  Growling, Laurel quick-timed it over to the green man. “Remove the wards,” he demanded.

  The Forest Lord waved over the necklet and the next moment the leaves turned bright colors before falling off. Laurel snatched it from his hand, turning so that it fell in a shaft of sun from one of the hall’s windows, the tiny mirrors and crystals twinkling in the light. He then dropped the necklet back into the Forest Lord’s hand, wiping his paw on his coat.

  “They are dead,” Laurel said.

  “What?” Wyln asked, joining Laurel. I quickly rose to my feet and also hurried over. We were joined by Jusson and Thadro, while Munir twisted in his robes, trying to see too.

  “Look for yourself,” Laurel said, moving back to Kveta.

  Unlike Laurel, Wyln didn’t touch the necklet. Tucking his hands behind him, he bent to study it. He then straightened, his own face unusually troubled. “He’s right; Kveta killed them.”

  “How can you tell?” Jusson asked.

  “Look at the dragon bones, Your Majesty,” I said before Wyln or Laurel could respond. “See the butterflies on them?”

  “Aren’t those carvings?” Thadro asked.

  “No, sir,” I said, my voice thick. “Those are Queen Mab’s courtiers.”

  “Are you sure, Cousin?” Jusson asked. “They’re so tiny.”

  “A working, Your Majesty,” I said. “They’re entombed in the bone.” I swallowed, my throat tight. “She has killed with the talent.”

  “Yes, she has,” Laurel agreed, his voice quiet. “Dauthiwaesp.”

  “What?” an aristo asked.

  “Death magic,” Munir said before Laurel could respond.

  “Like what the demon did in Freston?” Thadro asked.

  “You keep talking about demons,” Idwal began.

  “Long story,” Jusson, Suiden, and several aristos said.

  “Yes, honored Commander. It’s a method of gathering power.” He indicated the necklet and Munir’s wand. “Much like why dragons are killed. Their death curse is what makes the bones prized by those who use them.”

  “Which should make it very interesting in Tural if the Dragon Lords ever return,” Wyln said. “Right, Munir?”

  Princess Rajya’s eyes flew open while the Turalian soldiers quietly flanking Suiden suddenly shifted, all of them glaring at the wizard.

  Laurel’s ears flicked back. “They most likely would not be happy.”

  “They wouldn’t be the only ones,” I said. “Queen Mab is going to want blood.”

  “So she will,” Wyln said, his amusement fading. “And she probably won’t care whose.”

  That was true. The Faery Queen was notoriously uneven tempered and prone to take out her frustrations and anger on the most convenient target. Walking over to where Kveta lay still curled in on herself, I leaned against my staff, not trusting my trembling legs to hold me up. “Why?” I asked. “Why spill innocent blood and damn yourself? They did nothing to you.”

  Kveta raised her head, the malice burning dully behind the pain clouding her good eye. “Innocent?” she asked back, her voice low. “There are no innocents here, little Rabblet. You think Her Majesty Queen Mab didn’t know what the High Council was doing with the runners and smugglers?”

  “Not all the Council,” Wyln put in. “His Grace Loran definitely didn’t know—”

  “Then he is a fool,” Kveta said, not bothering to look at Wyln. She kept her gaze on me. “Fools and hypocrites all. Even your precious Moraina.”

  “Honored Moraina lost a son,” I began.

  “And still mouthed pap about rapprochement with the guilty,” Kveta said. “Not caring about others’ pain, others’ loss. Not caring about justice. Only caring about her precious farseeing.”

  “So your solution is to kill me?” I asked. “What justice is that?”

  “Plenty, little Rabblet,” Kveta said. Lowering her head, she once more tucked it against her tail. “As you’re the biggest fool of all.”

  The hall went quiet, everyone holding themselves still. Then Idwal gave a soft laugh.

  “You invited her here.” Idwal dodged his wife’s elbow. “Your Majesty.”

  “Yes, we know, Mearden,” Jusson said. “None of this is your fault. We’ll have it carved in stone so you can mount it over your mantelpiece—”

  “What exactly did Moraina far-see?” I asked, not caring that I’d just interrupted the king.

  “Well, there’s a question,” Wyln murmured into the renewed silence.

  “What makes you think that whatever this Moraina saw had to do with you?” Idwal said to me, his lip curling.

  “We really should find the rest of the dragon bones,” Laurel rumbled not quite under his breath.

  “We suppose,” Jusson said not quite sotto voce to Laurel, “though it is fascinating to find out what has been bubbling under the surface all these years.”

  “I didn’t say that the farseeing did,” I said to Idwal. I dropped my gaze back to the silent Kveta, her face still tucked against her tail. But I noticed that her ruff was twitching. “But then, why waste the effort and energy to kill me? Assassinating the king, Princess Rajya, or even Captain Suiden would’ve done more than enough to plunge us into all sorts of chaos and warfare. Me, I’m just a newfound relation of the king—”

  “Not ‘just,’ Cousin,” Jusson said.
“You are my heir.”

  “Because you chose me to be your heir, Your Majesty,” I said, keeping my gaze on Kveta. “You could’ve easily chosen someone from any of the Great Houses and, sixty-four lines to the throne or not, no one would’ve said anything.”

  “It’s not quite as arbitrary as you make it out to be,” Jusson said, his eyes gleaming even as his mouth curved up in a slight smile.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” I said.

  “Elfin families,” Munir murmured, and Laurel gave a short chuff—then frowned as he realized whom he’d laughed with.

  Ignoring the byplay, I squatted down, resting my haunches on my heels, propping myself with my staff. Finding the hedge blocking my view, I absently waved a hand and a section of it disappeared. Munir made a choked sound and Kveta lifted her head and stared at me, her good eye wide. I ignored that too. “Still and all, if I were killed, the king would just choose another heir, and life would go on,” I said.

  “Again, not as straightforward as that, Cousin,” Jusson said, his smile broadening. “Look at the amir and Captain Prince.”

  “Unlike Captain Suiden, I am not crown prince, Your Majesty,” I said. “I will only be your heir until you have children of your own.”

  “Whenever that might be,” a quiet voice muttered from the back of the crowd.

  “You didn’t expend all that time and effort and talent to come after a mere fool,” I said to Kveta. “So what was it that Moraina saw?”

  Kveta remained silent, though her ruff twitched again.

  “We can ask honored Moraina herself,” Wyln said when it became obvious Kveta wasn’t going to answer.

  “Can you?” Thadro asked, interested.

  “Of course he can,” one of the aristos said before Wyln could respond. “Remember the fireplace chats in Freston? Those with the fire talent are able to use flame to communicate.”

  Another silence fell on the hall as everyone turned as one to look at Munir.

  “What?” Munir said.

  “If you can ask, Lord Wyln,” Jusson said, regaining everyone’s attention. “We admit we are rather curious. In the meantime, we suppose we should make arrangements for securing whatever prisoners we end up with.” Jusson turned to the Forest Lord. “We know that you’ve laid claim to Kveta, but the Church should also be involved.”