Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1)

by Missy Sheldrake

  “She did it!” he cries, his voice adorably uneven, much like an older boy who is becoming a man.

  “I knew she could!” Flit laughs and pops into view. The two collide together in midair, grasping hands and linking their feet at the ankles. They spin gleefully until both are just a blurred ball of color floating before our eyes. Margy claps and giggles and throws her arms around me.

  “Is that your Flit?” she asks. “Twig told me about her. Oh, I’ve wanted to see her! She sounds so very pretty.” The spinning ceases abruptly and Flit dives to Margy, stopping short right at her nose.

  “I’m not her Flit. I’m my own.” She jams her fists onto her hips and glares, challenging the princess.

  “Of course you are,” Margy says gravely, “I misspoke, will you please forgive me?”

  “Okay!” Flit gives her a peck on the tip of nose, and then she and Twig go back to spinning. I watch them for a moment, dazed, until Margy tugs on my sleeve.

  “She is awfully pretty. Exactly as I’d picture a fairy to look.” She picks up the book again and begins turning the pages, “Imagine what it must be like there...” I look down at the pictures of the warrior and think of my mother. I wonder whether the whirling shadows have returned, whether she’s fighting right now, as I sit here tucked away in the palace. I think of our guild, rushing to save her, riding straight into Redemption’s ambush orchestrated by Viala and the prince.

  I need to do something, and my first instinct is to jump up and run for Rian. Run to the horses, ride hard for Kythshire. Get away from Eron. Warn the guild, especially Uncle. But then I remember all of the reasons that I can’t. They are several days’ ride ahead of us now; we’d never catch up to them. I can’t fight without Rian’s ice sword, and Rian can’t rise to the Sixteenth Circle for two more weeks. Neither of us would be good in a fight, so what help would either of us be, even if we did reach them in time? Not only that, but we’d be defying the direct order to stay where we are, and I can’t leave Da behind, asleep in his room, cursed.

  I decide that our first step is to get a message to them quickly. Then we need to break the curse, and somehow stop Eron and Viala’s plotting. I have no idea where to even begin, and then the thought strikes me.

  “The king,” I whisper, and the fairies stop spinning, and Margy stops giggling at them. “I have to tell him what Eron’s planning. He can help.” Margy starts to say something and then stops and looks at Twig.

  “What is it, Margy?” I ask her. Twig slumps his shoulders and nods as if to say it’s okay.

  “Paba knows already,” she whispers. “Knows a little of it, anyway. But Eron doesn’t know he knows. Paba’s trying to keep it quiet. He doesn’t want Brother to get in trouble. He’s trying to figure out a way to stop him without him knowing. He has a lot of faith in his Elite, but it’s all making him very tired. I think it’s even making him sick.” Her eyes go wide. “What if it’s a spell? She could be making him sick with her magic!”

  “Oh, Princess,” I whisper. It’s all such a mess, and she’s so young to be so heavily burdened with secrets like this. She curls against me and I hug her close. “You know there are wards all over the palace, wards on you, and on His Majesty. Complicated shield spells that protect against anyone who might try any spells against him. The Mages keep you safe, remember? But wait, he knows?” I think of the threat against my family, my guild, and my blood goes cold.

  “Not all of it, not all of it,” Twig darts up to me. “He suspects that Viala has a grip on the prince, and he sees how they are trying to influence him to change the laws governing magic. He doesn’t know about the ambush, though, or what Viala is truly after.”

  “But why?” I ask. “Why do they want to kill us?”

  “Oh! Questions! Do you want to play?” Flit does a little flip in the air and then comes to sit in the fold of my dress at my knee.

  “No, I don’t want to play,” I say sternly, “I want answers. This isn’t a game.”

  “If you want answers, then we’ll play. If you don’t want to play, then...” Flit shrugs, “you’re no fun.” Margy looks back and forth between us, her eyes wide.

  “Azi’s right. It’s time to be serious,” Twig says.

  “Well, I don’t like serious,” Flit says. “Not much, anyway.”

  “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like, so we can hold onto the things we do like.” He winks at her and pushes off from Margy’s shoulder to hover in front of me. Flit crosses her arms and makes a face at him as he watches me. “Now you know the stories. You know what the prince is plotting. What will you do?”

  “I need to be able to defend myself. I need to know how to break the curse,” I say, and Twig nods.

  “I think so, too,” he says. “Though it isn’t really a curse, you know.”

  “I know, but can you tell me how to reverse it? Does it have to do with the treasures on that list?”

  “In a way,” he says. “The key is to make a selfless gesture toward Kythshire. Can you think of why it didn’t work for the prince?” Flit giggles a little, and when I look down at her she turns her head away and covers her smile. I knit my brow curiously at her and turn my focus back to Twig.

  “Well, his gesture wasn’t selfless. He thought he was returning a treasure to break his curse, and that treasure was my mother. He thought based on the story that if she crossed into Kythshire, she’d most likely stay. He knew our guild would go searching for her, so he set Redemption up to take care of them. But why do they want to kill us?” I ask again.

  “Think about the story,” Twig says. “The protectors, your line, have sworn to watch over our lands for generations. That kind of vow, honored for so long, holds a great deal of power. They believe they won’t be able to take the Wellspring while your family still lives.” He winks again at Flit, who is chuckling at my knee as she watches our exchange, and then turns back to me with his question. “Why are you so intent on breaking the curse, as you call it?”

  “It’s not as much for me, as for my father,” I say. “If he can’t wield, then his life will be ruined. He’s a good man, and he truly loves my mother. When he crossed the border, he was only trying to keep from losing her,” I explain. “I’d do anything if I could bring her back and cure him. Is there a way?”

  “There is always a way,” Twig says. “Knowing what you know now, can you think of how the curse could be broken, and your parents reunited?” Flit’s giggles erupt into full-out laughter which spills over to Margy, who’s pressing her fingers to her lips to hide it.

  “Oh, will someone please let me in on the joke?” I cry, exasperated. Flit sits up.

  “No, no, no,” she holds her stomach, trying to catch her breath. “By all means, don’t let us interrupt you not playing the game!”

  “He,” Margy giggles. “He’s tricked you, see? You’ve been playing all along!”

  “Shush!” Twig waves at her. “She’s almost got it!” They all go quiet and stare at me, and I feel my cheeks go hot. At first I’m angry at being tricked, but then I can’t help but laugh. I’ll give it to them, fairies are clever creatures. Infuriating sometimes, but definitely clever. I sigh and shake my head.

  “She isn’t going to get it,” Flit whispers to Twig.

  “Quiet!” He hisses at her. “Give her some credit!” Margy chews her lip, looking from the fairies to me, her fine eyebrows raised so high they nearly touch the sparkling circlet in her dark hair. I look down at the blonde warrior in the storybook, and I think of Eron’s list with my name just below my mother’s, and suddenly I know what I have to do.

  “A selfless act. I could break the curse for Da. Be his returned treasure. I could take my mother’s place and fight the shadow cyclones myself. They could be together.” I look to them. “Would it work?”

  “Huh. You were right.” Flit says to him. “She got it.”

  “That’d work,” Twig says. “But could you really do it?”

  I think it over. It would be difficult and stra
nge to leave my life here behind and start a new one, a life I never planned on. But when I consider all that I’ve worked toward, I realize this is the path I was meant to take. I’ve never been interested in treasure hunting, or exploring new lands to claim for Cerion, or gaining riches. My training has always been with the hope that one day I could protect those who needed it. If I chose this, I would be guarding an entire race of creatures who are too small and too gentle to defend themselves.

  My gesture would keep peace between Cerion and Kythshire, and protect the magic of the Wellspring. Uncle Gaethon could deal with Viala, and Rian—this is where a lump rises in my throat. Rian. Could I leave him behind, knowing we might never be together again? The notion sends tears to my eyes almost immediately. Margy, who has been silently watching me, scoots closer and hugs me around the waist. I close my arms around her and sniffle.

  “I would miss you so much,” she says. “But we could see each other in the dreaming place.” I realize that she must have been to the wheat field as well, and I think of Rian’s practice in Rumination. He and I could still be together there, maybe. But would I be able to feel his hand on my cheek, or the tenderness of his kiss?

  “Think on it,” says Twig gently. He drifts to Margy and wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “Buck up, little princess. Things are starting to shine again, see? And now you don’t have to be alone with your secrets anymore.”

  Flit, who has suddenly become unusually somber, comes to rest on my shoulder.

  “You’d better get back to the ball,” she offers quietly, “before they start to talk. You know how they are. Typical.”

  The melody of a gentle waltz drifts through the corridor as I follow the princess on a different course back to the ballroom, one on which we’d be unlikely to bump into Eron. In a daze I let her lead me through the dimly lit and highly polished hallways while my thoughts race with the information I have now. The decision regarding my parents hangs on the precipice of being made. I know what I have to do, and I would do it for them in a heartbeat if it wasn’t for Rian. I don’t know how I’ll bear being away from him. I need to see him, right now. He needs to know that his parents and his mentor are in danger. And Bryse, and Cort. And Brother Donal. They’ll reach the border soon. We need to warn them, and I hope that Rian knows a way to do it that’s faster than a bird.

  “Shadow Crag,” Flit whispers into my mind. It’s a moment before I realize that we’ve stopped in the alcove where Eron held me. Margy is gazing up at the same tapestry on the wall, clinging to my hand.

  “I know this place,” I whisper, and start to reach up with my free hand to touch the rich woven fibers depicting shadowy crag and the white lightning. Margy squeezes my other hand as I look closer. The black foreground is littered with tiny bodies and the bodies of men, all half-obscured by whirling shadows.

  “I don’t like this picture,” says the princess. “Paba says it was the end of a dark time for everyone, but the start of a bright future for our family. It started the Plethore Dynasty. The Age of Peace. The Great War that ended King Diovicus’s reign. He was a powerful Sorcerer-king, you know. The last ever of those. Paba thinks like everyone else, that we were too late to save the fairies, and none of them survived. I wish I could show him that it’s wrong. I think he’d love Twig. But everyone else thinks so too, and Twig says it’s safer for the fairies to be a secret, and he says we don’t want people to think Paba’s crazy.” She whispers that last bit.

  “See there?” Flit emerges only slightly from hiding, so that I can see parts of the tapestry through her as she rises up to point at the figure of a man standing on the crest of the mountain. I look closer and shiver as I realize why I hadn’t noticed him before. His skin is completely blackened by the Mark so that he looks like part of the jagged shadows of the stones. Even the whites of his eyes are filled in. He stands beside a great rock that looks almost like a giant face.

  Flit blows a raspberry at him and Margy giggles as the fairy fades from view again. Margy pulls me away from the dark image, toward the rising sound of the musicians and the revelry of the ball. Even as the richly dressed guests and sparkling dancers come into view, the images of the dark, twisted bodies of fairies and men alike haunt me.

  I find Rian where I left him, at the center of the dance floor with Princess Sarabel. He looks so perfect among the distinguished group of dancers with the princess on his arm that I find myself wondering whether he’d suit her. As he twirls the princess around and she laughs merrily, I think he could be happy here in the palace. Sara would be happy, too. Then he looks away from her, and in the moment that our eyes meet, his brighten so much that his love for me is obvious. I smile and give a little wave, and then a tap on my shoulder startles me.

  “Oof! Rude!” Flit’s plaintive cry echoes in my head as I turn to the Page.

  “His Royal Highness Prince Eron requests a dance,” he says.

  “Of course,” I answer, curtsying my compliance even as my heart drops into the pit of my stomach.

  Chapter Fifteen: The Unknown

  My pulse races as I follow the Page through the throngs of guests to the Prince. The image of him pressing Viala into the wall, kissing the Mark on her arm burns into my memory. I think of the tapestry and feel his hot breath on my shoulder and his rough hands on me. I’m desperate to think of a way out of it, but nothing comes to mind as the crowd parts and we approach Eron standing beside his father. The prince eyes me with a cold sort of greed and I duck my head and grip my skirts tightly to hide my shaking hands as I bend my knee to them. When I rise, the hand that’s offered to me is not his, but the king’s.

  “I’m sure you don’t mind, Azaeli, if I take this dance. That is, if Eron would be so kind as to allow his old father a moment of levity?” With a glint in his eye, he turns to Eron, who offers a reluctant nod.

  “If it pleases you, Father,” he murmurs, obviously annoyed.

  “Excellent.” The king offers me his arm and I rest my hand gratefully on it. As we cross the floor together, I dig deep into my mind trying desperately to remember any scrap of Mouli’s teachings on etiquette in dancing with royalty. I curse myself for not paying better attention to her, but my worries are completely unfounded as we take to the dance floor. His Majesty is a gracious partner as he moves me swiftly across the ballroom in time with the other guests, and my long skirts hide the mistakes in my steps. I catch glimpses of Rian as we twirl and spin, and when we get closer to the musicians, the king leans in close to my ear. I feel Flit push off from my shoulder and land on the opposite side as he begins to talk to me so quietly that I can barely hear him above the music.

  “Your family and mine have served Cerion for many years, Azaeli. You know this.” I nod. “Your grandfather and my father were great allies, and I count your family among my most trusted friends.”

  “Thank you, your Majesty,” I say, feeling humbled by his praise.

  “That is why,” he tips his head even closer and whispers, “I would advise you to keep your distance from my son and his dealings.” His eyes meet mine, and the exhaustion in them is plain. “I was unaware, when I sent the quest decree, what he was plotting. I did not want to believe him capable of such plots, and so I saw it only at face value. Since then, I have begun to see evidence of more selfish intentions. I owe you and your family an apology, Azaeli. I never meant for any harm to come to them.” He bows his head to me as the music closes, and I curtsy. The musicians start another waltz, and he offers me his hand again.

  “I would ask you to right it,” he says as we glide across the floor, “if you can, as quietly as possible. I fear for my son. He is consumed by greed and lust for something that can never be his, and I am quite aware there is a stronger influence at work. I shall lend you any aid you need that is within my power. But Eron must not know, nor must anyone else.” His request startles me.

  “Your Majesty thinks too highly of me, surely you have other resources...” I say quietly.

  “None that could
be so discreet. If there is to be any hope for my son, then you and yours are my best course.” As we come to dance beside Rian and Sarabel, I realize that my hands are sweating. To have the king himself put all of his faith in me this way is something I never could have foreseen.

  “I can think of no one else more invested than you, at this time, or more suited. You do not give yourself credit where it is due.” he says, and I know with his words there’s no room for argument. He slips his hands from mine and bows to Rian. “Apprentice Rian, I do hope you will relinquish my daughter for one dance.” He offers his elbow to Sarabel, who takes it with a wistful smile back at Rian. Rian bows to both of them as they twirl away, and as I rise from my curtsy, he sweeps me off across the floor and into the crowd that loiters along the edge of the dance floor.

  His hand tightens around mine as we weave through the milling throngs and finally push onto a grand patio overlooking the sheer cliffs that drop down to the vast black sea below. He pulls me to a quiet corner where we lean against the railing, tucked away from onlookers. I turn my back to the frightening drop and try to collect my thoughts. There’s so much to tell him that I have trouble deciding where to start. I settle on the most immediate threat, tipping my head to rest on his shoulder so that my whispers carry straight to his ear.

  “I saw them together,” I say. “The Prince and Mistress Viala. “They were...quite friendly.” I look up at him and his mouth drops open slightly. He taps his temple. He had an idea. “Much more friendly than they ought to be. They’re plotting together, Rian. Redemption isn’t searching for my mother, they’re setting up an ambush to get rid of the others when they arrive at the border. They want Uncle dead. Mum and me, too.” Rian holds me away at arms’ length. He searches my eyes and then shrugs his shoulders to his ears, shaking his head. Why, he asks silently. “Viala wants us out of the way,” I whisper. “She said once our family was out of the picture, the Well—“