The Autumn Fairy (The Autumn Fairy Trilogy Book 1)

by Brittany Fichter

  “Every time something in the village went wrong, she was the one blamed.” Peter’s grip on Katy’s shoulders tightened. “When she was three, one of the village’s largest fishing boats caught fire. My father had to make all sorts of threats to keep them away when they tried to storm Emma’s cottage to see where the girl was. It was that way every time. It was always easier to blame the girl from the forest.”

  “Where did you say her parents were—”

  “There it is.” Peter interrupted Benjamin as they broke through the trees. Dawn’s first rays were spilling over the eastern mountain. The air was crisp with the promise of autumn, and clear enough to see the hangman’s noose being prepared in the town square.

  “Are you ready?” Antony turned and studied him.

  Peter took another deep breath. “I’ve been ready for the last eight years.” With that, he pushed his horse as fast as he could go without letting Katy slip. “It’ll all get better from here,” he whispered in her ear. “I promise.”

  * * *

  “Antony and Domnhall, as soon as I’m done here, take Katy to the village inn. It should be two streets up. When you get there, get her a room and have the innkeeper’s wife call for a physician. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Everyone else spread out among the crowd in case things get ugly. Oh,” he stopped and pulled his cloak’s hood up so it covered his face, “and be discreet.”

  The men did as he said, and it wasn’t long before Peter was standing alone at the edge of the crowd with Katy in his arms. Well, as alone as Antony would allow him to be. Twenty feet of distance was asking much of his friend.

  He couldn’t help feeling sick as he noticed just how many villagers had brought their children to witness a hanging. Old and young, men and women were there, chatting away excitedly as though they were at a spring picnic. The town had grown since Peter had left. Most of those present couldn’t have even known Katy, as she’d been banished from the town eight years before. And yet, here they stood grumbling about how long the hanging was taking as though she’d done them all some personal wrong. Peter hugged her sleeping form closer. He had the sudden urge to take Katy and run with her, not stopping until she was safe in the confines of the royal city.

  But no. She would be safe with his men. He had a wrong to right first. Justice demanded it. His father deserved it.

  As Peter took in the placements of the village guards, a group of young men began to pour from the direction of the forest back into the square, panting. Before they could report to the governor, however, who was standing on the hangman’s platform, a shout went up from across the sea of faces. Peter’s heart leapt a little at the familiar voice.

  “Now, see here, Odhran.” Firin Reaghan pushed his way through the thick crowd, his tattered red cloak draped awkwardly around his shoulders as though he’d thrown it on in haste. “This isn’t right.”

  “I don’t have time for a lecture.” The governor grimaced.

  “You’ve no way to prove she was responsible for the storm. Or for any of the things you’ve accused her of, for that matter. And the king’s law demands proof!”

  “Firin, we’ve been over this.”

  “You sentenced the girl to death for existing! She wasn’t even thirteen!”

  “It’s against the king’s law for olcs to live here.”

  “But you have no proof!” the firin sputtered.

  “Firin, please leave before I’m forced to have you escorted home again.”

  Firin Reaghan continued to protest, but he was interrupted by the whispers that went up as Bearnard appeared at the edge of the crowd and approached the hangman’s platform.

  “Where is she?” The governor scowled down at his son. Bearnard began to stammer out some frightened response when Peter decided he’d seen enough.

  “I have her!”

  Odhran looked away from Bearnard and squinted at Peter’s hood. “Why are you just standing there? Bring her up!”

  Peter began walking toward the platform. He could see Odhran’s confusion as he took in the way Peter was cradling Katy against his chest. Odhran’s confusion slowly turned to panic, however, as Peter climbed the stairs and stood before him.

  Peter couldn’t help feeling smug when Odhran was forced to look up to meet his eyes. He might not be as burly as Carey or as muscled as Briant, but he had grown taller than Odhran in his time gone. He certainly wasn’t the skinny boy he had been when Odhran had sent him into the mountains to die.

  Peter gently handed the girl’s body to Domnhall, who had come to stand behind him, before turning and facing his father’s old friend directly from across the platform. Then he pulled back his hood. The villagers gasped, and a few even uttered his name, but he kept his eyes welded on Odhran.

  “You’re alive.” Odhran took a step back.

  “So it would seem. No thanks to you.”

  “But how?”

  “You mean how did I survive the most dangerous road on the isle, alone, at the age of fourteen? How did I stay alive when some forest spirit chased me the entire way?” He stopped inches away and leaned in. “I can only attribute that to Atharo. Luck would have had me dead the moment I set foot on that mountain road.”

  “Who are you,” another man’s voice called out behind him, “that you can come in here and interrupt justice?”

  Peter glanced at Bearnard. He was even uglier than Peter remembered, his face puffy from drinking too much and his dark eyes far too bright for a situation involving life and death. He turned back to Odhran, raising his voice so it would be loud enough for the entire crowd to hear. “Yes, Sir Odhran. Why don’t you tell them who this group of men is that we might have the audacity to interrupt such an example of supreme justice?”

  Odhran stared up at him. His hands trembled, but in his eyes was unmistakable hate.

  “You’re the cr—”

  “No. Not that one. Who are we? Louder so they can hear you.”

  Odhran huffed. “This is the Kingsguard...the king’s personal knights.”

  Gasps and even a few oaths went up from the crowd. Peter could hear clothing rustle as they began to kneel. The front first, then those in the back as word spread.

  He had imagined this day for the last eight years. Where he had expected to feel ecstasy, however, at justice, and elation at righting nearly two decades of what had been wrong, he was surprised to feel only bitterness. He’d had a grand speech planned, detailing all the wrongs that had been committed against his father and Katy, but now that the moment had come, he simply drew his sword instead.

  “Kneel.”

  Odhran’s eyes popped. “No! Please! I beg of you.” His voice fell to a whisper. “Strip me of anything else you wish. Just...” He shook his head so hard that his gray hair slid out of place and fell limply on his shoulders. “Anything but that.”

  Peter just glared.

  “I saved your father’s life!”

  “And then you tried to end mine.”

  Odhran stared at him for a moment longer, mouth hanging open as he silently pleaded with his eyes. But when Peter only held his gaze, he finally collapsed onto his knees, tears streaming down his face.

  “In the stead of King Finnen, ruler of the Third Isle of Learis,” Peter placed his sword on the man’s shoulder, “I strip you of your knighthood. You have become unworthy, and all honor that was once yours is now revoked in the eyes of the crown and Atharo.” He turned to address the people standing around them. There were far more than there had been the night he’d fled from Downing, and he tried to remind himself that most of them had never known him or his father. They’d had nothing to do with Odhran’s treatment of him and his family.

  And yet here they were, gathered to watch Katy die with hardly a wet eye to be found.

  “I have further business with this man,” he called out, “but in the meanwhile, my knights are the authority here. All complaints shall be brought to their attention until I appoint a new governor in Hanigan Odhran’s stead.” He threw O
dhran a withering glance. “You have something that belongs to me.”

  Peter had to work to keep his face neutral as he and Odhran made their way to the familiar house on the hill in the center of town. Peter had always hated going to the Odhrans’ house to play, but he’d never had the choice when he was a boy. His father and Hanigan had spent hours together, brooding over maps and schemes of all sorts. And he’d been left to play with Bearnard.

  A morbid curiosity bade him to look around and see what had changed in his absence, but he knew better than to give in. This trip was difficult enough as it was. No need to call up memories unnecessarily.

  When they were finally in the house and it had been cleared of family, servants, and visitors, Peter followed Odhran up the stairs to a study he had once known well. Two chairs sat before a large hearth. Expensive rugs covered most of the wooden floorboards, and the walls were decorated with Odhran’s trophies from his time as a royal knight.

  Odhran made his way wearily to one of the walls. After prying one of the slats loose, he reached inside the wall. Peter’s breath caught in his chest as Odhran drew the weapon into the light.

  How many times had he admired the sword as his father had practiced with it, moving with the agility of an animal, the green diamond–edged blade reflecting the sunlight? Even now, it looked as though it were waiting for its master to return.

  He cleared his throat. “You weren’t wearing it.”

  “Of course not!”

  Peter looked up to see Odhran staring at the weapon as well. He shook his head slowly as he handed it reverently to Peter. “I cared for your father. A day hasn’t gone by when I didn’t mourn his death.”

  Peter pulled his sword from his sheath and replaced it with his father’s blade. “I find that hard to believe.” He kept his eyes from Odhran’s face. If he looked, he might begin to believe the man. So Peter took a deep breath instead and stared into the flames. “I need to know why. Why you always hated her so much. Why you tried to kill me.”

  Odhran sank into a chair in the corner and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I only wanted what was best for the kingdom, Peter. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that would involve you.” He paused. “It was all her fault.” His voice grew tight. “Everything changed the night he brought her home.”

  “You blame a baby?”

  “I blame what she is!” Odhran jumped to his feet. “Your father may never have told you what she was. He may never have even told her. But he told me!” His eyes burned with the sudden intensity Peter remembered. “And then when a widow and her sickly daughter agreed to take the babe, he still couldn’t leave well enough alone! He had the fool notion it was his responsibility to be the father figure she never had. And in doing so, he put you right in her path!”

  “So is that why you tried to send me to my death?”

  “I regretted the decision I had to make, but I did it in the best interest of the kingdom!”

  “Killing me was in the best interest of the kingdom?” Peter was shouting now.

  “A dead p—”

  “Don’t say it!”

  Odhran startled at the sudden ferocity in Peter’s voice, but Peter lowered his voice to a growl.

  “In order to come back to this forsaken patch of land, my men and I worked hard to keep my absence a secret. If you don’t follow suit, I’ll have to do something drastic.” He glared at the old man. “Now what were you going to say?

  Odhran glowered at him, his lip curling back with his whisper. “A dead boy can’t break a promise!”

  “So what had you planned to do if my father hadn’t died? Or did you orchestrate that, too?”

  “Absolutely not! Your father’s death was unexpected. He left me with a mess, and I had to make the best of it.”

  Peter walked over to the window. If he didn’t, he was afraid he might throw the traitorous wretch out of it. “My uncle would beg to disagree.”

  “You know very well what happens when a—”

  Peter sent him a warning look, and Odhran’s voice dropped to a whisper again.

  “You know what happens when someone of your stature fails to keep a promise! And the promise you made to that...creature was impossible to keep from the start!”

  “First of all, you will treat her with respect.” He grabbed Odhran by the shirt and yanked him up so their noses were only inches apart. “She was good to me. Kinder than you or your children or wife ever were.” He released him, letting the man fall to the ground. “Second, I will find a way to save her. Who I am has nothing to do with it.”

  Odhran gaped up at him. “You don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?”

  “What happens if you break a promise!” His eyes somehow got even wider. “You haven’t told your uncle of the promise yet, have you?”

  Peter scoffed. “I told him I’d promised to come back here for her. He’ll know of the other one when he needs to. All that matters is that I’m going to do what I said I would.”

  “But she’s an olc!”

  “She is different!” Peter roared. Then he leaned down to Odhran’s level. “I will save her. And Atharo help the man who tries to stop me.” With that, he turned and stomped from the room.

  “You’ve let that old man’s superstition into your head!” Odhran screamed from behind him. “You’re gambling on dreams!”

  But Peter didn’t stop as he left the big house for the last time.

  9

  Put Out

  “Peter!”

  Peter turned to see Firin Reaghan coming from the direction of the inn, and despite his dour mood, he couldn’t help but smile. The firin’s short hair was more gray than brown now, and his face a bit more lined than Peter remembered, but, he realized, he had missed the man immensely.

  “How is she?” Peter asked.

  “I’m trying to get some food down her tiny gullet. She’ll need another night or so before she’s strong enough to go anywhere. But with some regular meals and dry clothes...” He looked back at the inn. “I knew food was scarce for them, but I didn’t know it was that bad. And to think she visited me even last week.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for sending for me.”

  “I was hesitant to send the bird, as I didn’t know whether or not you had really made it,” the firin looked at the ground and fingered the edge of his robe, “but when they started hunting with the dogs this time, I—”

  “They used dogs on her?” Peter tried to recall if he’d heard barking.

  “They would have.” The firin’s mouth turned up just a little. “If they had managed to catch her.”

  Peter rubbed his eyes. He could hardly get over how weak she had felt in his arms. On the way back, she had stirred once, and her dark hair had fallen over her face in the rain. She had looked as though she hadn’t even the strength to turn her head to push it aside.

  “If…if you don’t mind me asking, what took so long?”

  Peter frowned. “Walk with me. I want to see her.”

  They moved quietly for a few minutes. The town had long before come to life, as nearly everyone had been present for the almost-hanging. People called out their wares as they pushed their carts or led their animals through the streets with various kinds of fish, vegetables, fruit, and bread. Most lowered their eyes, however, when they saw him looking in their direction.

  “I’ve been begging my uncle to let me return since the moment I recovered from my journey over the mountain.”

  “He didn’t approve?”

  “Oh, he agreed to let me return.” Peter rolled his eyes. “But he tried to delay me with every tactic he could think of. Sword lessons to better defend myself from Odhran. Horseback-riding lessons. Venturing out with the knights to learn the ways of the forest he said I would have to encounter on my way back.”

  “The forests stopped growing here soon after you left,” the firin said. “I assumed it had done the same all over the isle.”

  “It did.” Pete
r scowled. “But when you’re fifteen years of age with you-know-who for an uncle, you have less control over your life than the scullery maid down the hall.”

  “So how were you able to convince him to let you go this time?”

  “Simple. I told him about the promise to come back and fetch her.”

  The firin stopped before a wide two-story wooden building and clasped his hands behind his back. For a moment he said nothing, just studied Peter with that piercing gaze that had always made Peter feel as though the firin were peering into his soul. Apparently, he still had the ability to make Peter squirm like a small boy.

  “You also agreed to do something in return, didn’t you?”

  Peter could only give him a wry smile. “It was worth it. Now really, how is she?”

  The firin looked up at the last window of the inn’s second story. “In truth, she waited a long time for you.”

  “But?”

  The firin sighed and shook his head. “When someone tells you something for long enough, you begin to accept it as truth.” He looked up at Peter. “When an entire village tells a lonely young woman that she’s a monster, and she has no friends to refute the lie for eight years, such words are even harder to reject.”

  Peter wanted to kick himself. Eight years had seemed like a long time when he’d left, more than enough to fetch her and find a way to save her. But now that he was here, he had only a few months. Selfish. How selfish he had been to think he could find another way to get back. He should have known better the moment he’d met his uncle. Should have told him that first day he’d arrived dripping and half-dead at the castle. “Did you tell her what my father told you?”

  “No. Your father wanted both of you to be free of the burden such knowledge would create.”

  Peter squared his shoulders. “I figured it out before he died.”

  “I always thought you probably had. But either way,” he said, taking two apples from his robe’s pocket and handing one to Peter, “she turns twenty-one years in less than two months. You don’t have much time.”

  “Is her power growing?”