The Autumn Fairy (The Autumn Fairy Trilogy Book 1)

by Brittany Fichter

  “You were two. I was eight and often charged with keeping you busy when our mothers visited.”

  “You’re certainly looking more comfortable than the last time I saw you.”

  “The sickness is easing slightly.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I’m planning on walking around a bit tomorrow to see how my legs fare after so many weeks in bed.”

  Peter couldn’t tell if she was showing yet or not, but he decided he had no desire to know, so he kept his eyes on her face.

  “Now,” she said, “I’m sure you didn’t come to visit your dear cousin at this late hour just to chat.”

  His face reddened, which made her laugh for some reason. “I’m afraid you’re right.” He let out a gusty breath. “Something is wrong with Katy. But she won’t tell me what.”

  “Oh?”

  Peter went over to the largest upholstered chair and flopped down in it, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes. “I know you haven’t met her yet, but the Katy that I just left isn’t the Katy I know.”

  “Explain.”

  “The Katy I grew up with was feisty and had a will of iron.” He chuckled and shook his head. “If I threw a rock at her, she threw two back. And made sure they were well aimed.”

  “Peter! You threw rocks at a girl!”

  “I’m only giving an example! I just mean that she...she was never perfectly at ease. No one in her situation could have been. But she was confident. There was a fire in her soul, and no one could quench it. But now...” He gestured helplessly at the door. “People are cruel to her and she simply accepts it!”

  “Ah.” Muirin nodded thoughtfully as Agnes pulled her dark hair out of its braid and began to brush it. After a moment, she spoke again. “Have you spoken to Saraid about her?”

  Peter frowned. “What for?”

  Muirin shared a strange look with Agnes. “From what Agnes tells me, Saraid has been less than welcoming to Katy. And those whom Saraid welcomes in this castle are welcomed by all. If Katy has been snubbed by Saraid, how do you think the rest of the castle is treating her?”

  “But what does that have to do with Katy’s confidence?”

  “I don’t know the details of Katy’s upbringing, nor do I understand the situation that prompted you to rush in and save her life. But fleeing one place only to be unwelcome in another...that might injure anyone’s confidence. Especially,” she quirked one perfect eyebrow, “if her oldest friend’s intended was the one throwing around accusations of the direst kind.”

  Peter stood and walked over to a window. There was little to see, as the moon was barely a crescent. “How has Saraid mistreated Katy?”

  “Aside from fairly accusing her of witchcraft in front of the entire court at supper?”

  “How did you hear about that?”

  “Chloe told me. But don’t change the subject. I sent Agnes today to see how Katy’s ballgown was progressing, because I had a feeling it wouldn’t be.”

  “And?”

  “Not only had Saraid not sent her any sort of help in preparing a ballgown, but the clothing she had sewn for Katy’s daily court wardrobe is severely lacking. Fit for a lesser lady-in-waiting at best.”

  Agnes snorted. “Hardly even that. Some of her clothes are castoffs from the servants.”

  Peter stared. “And?”

  Muirin rolled her eyes and crossed her arms across her chest, patience finally disappearing like smoke. “Meaning Saraid has seen Katy as a threat since the moment she arrived. So when she was supposed to commission Katy a wardrobe as you instructed, she made sure Katy received far less.”

  This had not occurred to Peter. But of course, he was happy if he could properly match his own shirt and trousers. “But why would she do that?”

  “Peter, think!” she cried. “People become their worst when they feel threatened, and Saraid is most definitely frightened.”

  “Frightened of what?”

  “That you’ll see past that perfect face for once in your life! Especially when she stands beside someone so unspoiled by power and politics. Particularly as she now has the guarantee that you will eventually be king, and whoever your wife is will become queen.”

  Peter was saved from having to form a coherent response when Muirin then paled and turned into her pillows. As Agnes hurried to find her mistress a bucket, Peter quietly excused himself and began the long walk back to his own room. He felt like there were a thousand voices screaming inside his head.

  And he had absolutely no idea which one was right.

  28

  Consequences

  “All right, out with it. What has you so on edge?”

  “We’re on a routine scout. I have no idea what you mean.” Peter glared at Antony.

  His friend’s smile only grew more condescending. “You specifically bellowed this morning that Benjamin was not to be assigned to this ride. I know he can be a bit grating, but we all are at that age.” Antony narrowed his dark eyes. “Something is bothering you.”

  Peter nearly retorted that if everyone were as irksome as Benjamin, the world would be filled with only women because the men would have all killed each other, and humanity would have a very short existence indeed. But he bit his tongue.

  “No one can hear us. We’re halfway to the wood already,” Antony said, gesturing at the forest in the distance. “Now, would this have something to do with your intended? Or the other woman, perhaps?”

  Peter ignored the insinuation and clucked to his horse to trot a little faster. “I just can’t understand what she sees in me. What my uncle and the rest of the kingdom think they see in me that would make me a fit king.”

  “Oh, you’re referring to Saraid’s little speech last night at supper.”

  Peter wished he could forget it. He’d known from the moment she’d raised her glass that he should have just crawled under the table. Katy had been the wise one, eating in her room and feigning a headache.

  Instead of listening to his multiple requests not to do it, Saraid had proceeded to present a toast, and in front of his uncle at that, to the next and greatest king the Third Isle had ever seen. The way she had glowed, from her yellow hair to the new gown she wore to the slippers that peeked out from beneath her skirts, her joy at his fast-approaching coronation as crown prince was obvious. She’d never seemed so happy, not even that time he’d returned from a venture with the knights, barely alive after being attacked by a wolf.

  “I wouldn’t let that bother you too much,” Antony said. “The girl’s proud of you. Many men would like a wife they could say that much for.” Then he sighed.

  For the first time that morning, Peter noticed just how tired his friend looked. His beard, which was usually trimmed to the point of obsession, was thick, and stubble ran all the way up to his ears where it joined his hair. Likewise, his hair was unruly, and scattered strands of white Peter hadn’t noticed before dotted his head. Of course, Peter knew better than to speak of exhaustion to his friend.

  Instead, he tightened his grip on the reins. “It’s not just that. It’s that she doesn’t care what I think. She’s so blinded by her ambition for me that—Oh, never mind. Forget I said anything. You’re probably right.”

  They rode for a while in silence, coming near to the edge of the forest but staying far enough away that they could watch for signs of movement from a safe distance.

  “The air is rather wet today, isn’t it?” Peter finally remarked, looking up at the thick pile of clouds that suddenly towered above them. How had he not noticed those earlier? “The air should be drier by now. We’re close enough to autumn.”

  Antony had his eyes fixed on a distant point and wore a slight frown. “It is odd.”

  “Did you see something?”

  Antony shook his head and looked at the road once more. “Just an animal. I do have another question, though.”

  “I may or may not have an answer.”

  Antony chuckled. “Why does your little friend cringe every time someone says her n
ame?”

  “She hates the name Katrin.”

  “It is her name, isn’t it?”

  “The woman who took her in named her Katrin, but my father’s the one who called her Katy.” Peter’s eyes pricked at the memory. And with the memory came a flood of shame, as it always did.

  Antony paused but the apprehension didn’t leave his face. “I know you don’t wish to discuss it, but I must ask. Have you considered what Saraid said last week?”

  “About what?” Whatever it was, Peter got the feeling he wouldn’t like it any more than her toast.

  “The rumors...about Katrin.”

  “There!” Peter brought his horse to a halt. “I saw it, too!” He and Antony squinted in the strange afternoon light.

  “Well, whatever it was doesn’t want to be seen.” Antony straightened and turned his horse back in the right direction, but Peter remained for a moment longer.

  Antony put his horse back into a trot. “It is not my place to tell you what to do, but I can tell you that there is a reason people are trying to warn you about the girl.”

  Peter caught up with him. “What about her?”

  Antony turned to look him in the eye. “Peter, do you know how old I am?”

  “Thirty and five.”

  “Yes. And did you know that I was married?”

  Peter jerked around to look at his friend. “What? When?”

  “The court is kind enough not to talk about it,” he gave a shadow of a smile, “probably because your uncle forbade them from it.”

  “Talk about what?” Peter paused. “Benjamin must not know, or I’m sure I would have heard about this ages ago.” He’d meant it in jest, but Antony’s smile was gone.

  “He was too young to be in court at the time, or you’re right, we would have.” Antony shook his head. “I was nineteen when it happened. She was seventeen.” He kept his eyes straight ahead. “I met her just before being knighted. We were passing through her village on our way around the isle to see how much the forest had grown. It had just started, and we couldn’t find a reason.” Antony’s voice dropped. “She said she’d been taken in by an elderly couple in her village after her parents had died when she was a babe.”

  Peter’s heart faltered briefly. This sounded a little too familiar.

  “One night of her family’s hospitality, and I would have moved the world for her. We were married not three months later.”

  “What was her name?”

  Antony waited so long before responding that at first Peter thought he might not at all. But then he said softly, “Maria.”

  Peter averted his eyes from his friend’s face when it was clear he would need a few moments to collect himself. Instead, he looked up at the gathering clouds and the wind that turned the leaves silver as the trees bent and swayed.

  “We had everything,” Antony finally said, his jaw tight as he spoke. “We were in love. I earned my knighthood. She fell right into place with the other women in the palace.”

  Peter sighed. Katy hadn’t even been afforded that allowance. “What happened?”

  “Three years after we were wed, I began to notice odd happenings around our home.”

  “As in?”

  “The first time I noticed it, I had picked up a spoon that she’d set out for me to eat soup with. When I turned it over, the entire back of the spoon was covered in moss. After that, I began to find it all over the place. On clothing, shoes, anything she touched. Even the bread she baked would occasionally have moss inside.”

  Peter gave a start. Whatever he’d been expecting Antony to say, it wasn’t that. “Did she see you noticing?”

  “Yes, and it was unfortunate. She began to resent me.” Antony closed his eyes and shook his head. “Every time I rode out with the other knights, I would return to a woman more silent than when I’d left her. And the trouble was that I knew from my training what traits to look for in an olc. It all began to make sense.” He fixed a hard gaze on Peter again. “But I ignored my instincts and continued to turn a blind eye. And it nearly destroyed the kingdom.”

  “What’s that?” Peter pointed.

  “Don’t try to change the subject.”

  “No, really. Wasn’t that village still on the moor a week ago?”

  With a huff, Antony turned and looked at where Peter was pointing. But when he did, the sarcasm melted from his face. “This is Shaunette! The village has never had more than a few fruit trees!”

  Where there had been hundreds of people one week before, farming, gardening, sewing, weaving, shepherding, and running about, the town was now in a state of decay. Cottages and shops were abandoned, holes in the walls and windows as if no one had been there in years. The wind whipped through the streets, knocking over tools and pushing smaller objects through the streets. Not even a dog barked.

  “Where are they?” Peter asked, more to himself than Antony.

  Antony hopped off his horse and bent down to study the road. “Looks like they went to Boure. The tracks are new.”

  Peter was thankful to have at least one bit of mystery cleared up, and he was glad to know his people hadn’t been eaten alive by the forest itself. Still, he felt more unnerved than he’d felt since leaving Downing at the age of fourteen. “It’s as though the forest grew full halfway through its meal and gave up on eating.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it being finished.”

  The eastern half of the village had been swallowed by the wood. Vines thick enough to be a decade old were draped over and around cottages, gardens, fences, and even across wide streets. Trees with trunks as thick as Peter’s waist had grown wherever they pleased, it seemed, and had lifted or displaced walls and gates with their thick roots. How long would it be before the entire village was taken?

  “Has it ever been this aggressive?” Peter asked as they dismounted and walked the perimeter of the village that remained untouched.

  Antony shook his head and began walking down the first street. He poked at a vine with his sword. “Never. Not even when your mother and sister were killed.”

  Before Peter could ask another question, a movement caught his eye. “Antony!” But he was too late. Antony was on his back with his hands pressed against the creature’s neck. His sword had fallen just out of reach in the dirt.

  Its head was like that of a wolf, but its body was longer and leaner, muscle rippling where bone didn’t show. The beast snapped at Antony’s face with long teeth that curved outward, and its eyes bulged from their sockets. Its patchy fur was nearly a gray-purple, but its skin showed blood red underneath.

  Peter was upon the animal in seconds. As he plunged his sword into the animal’s side, however, the animal merely yelped before knocking him over. The wound that should have pierced its heart seemed to go unnoticed, and Peter found himself pushing the creature back with the flat side of his own sword, its snaps and growls growing closer by the second.

  He tried again to turn the blade so it pierced the creature’s neck, but when his sword failed to rupture the flesh, he narrowly missed having his face bitten off. Rolling to the side, he slipped out of the animal’s paws. But when he tried to get up, the animal was on him again. This time, it pinned his shoulders down, and for one split second, Peter and the creature stared into one another’s eyes.

  It was like looking into a tomb.

  Then the eyes were gone. The beast let out a piercing howl, and Peter hurried to scramble away. It pawed at the arrow in its neck, falling upon the ground and writhing. Peter leapt to his feet and raised his sword once more. In one clean slice, the animal’s head was severed from its body, and though the body lay wriggling upon the grass, its dead eyes hung open, looking at him no more.

  Peter stared blankly at the corpse, catching his breath, until it dawned on him that Antony had not joined him. Turning, he searched frantically until he spotted Antony propped against a broken wall. His face was white and covered in a sheen of sweat as he pushed himself up and clutched at his right shoulder.

&n
bsp; Peter bent down to examine the puncture marks. “Let me get my pack. I’ve got some of the physician’s salve.”

  Antony gritted his teeth and nodded, so Peter hurried back to his horse, giving thanks to Atharo that his horse hadn’t decided to bolt during the attack. He flipped through the saddlebags until he found the leather pouch of salve the castle physician prepared for the knights whenever they traveled. Then he ran back to Antony, who had peeled back his hole-ridden clothing and exposed his bare, bloody shoulder. Carefully, Peter dumped his waterskin over the wound, shuddering at the oddly torn flesh left behind by the creature’s teeth. Then he took some of the clear salve and ran it over the teeth marks, wincing when Antony let out a deep groan.

  “We had best return instead of going on,” Peter said as he began to wrap the wound with a clean cloth. “We have more to tell them from this morning alone than most quests discover in a year.”

  Antony only swallowed hard and nodded, grimacing and groaning again as Peter helped him stand. Getting him up on the horse took some effort, as Antony was more solid than Peter. But eventually, they were leaving the village of Shaunette behind.

  With the extent of Antony’s wounds, Peter thought they were done speaking until Antony cleared his throat.

  “So your father knew what she was, but he never told you?”

  It was a moment before Peter realized that Antony had returned to their earlier conversation. He refused to look up as he fumbled with his reins. “My father never treated her as anything but a little girl who needed the love of a father.” His grip tightened. “The kind of love she never received from her caretaker.”

  “But you’ve had your suspicions.”

  “I have never had any reason to suspect Katy of being anything but good and kind.”

  Antony took a long swig from his waterskin. Then he studied Peter for a long time. “So you’re confident in the path that you’ve chosen then?”

  Peter gave a sharp nod.

  Antony sighed and nodded to himself. “I know better than to try and change your mind when you’re set. And I told you once before, I trust you, so I will follow you and say nothing to your uncle for the time being. But if you’re determined to do this, you must be willing to accept the consequences of your choice. For the rest of the kingdom will have to live with them as well.”