“Get your things. We are leaving this place. I cannot abide her another night.” Father walked to my wardrobe and flung the doors wide. He began pulling riding breeches and shirts from the large closet willy-nilly, throwing them onto my bed. More than half the things he flung aside landed on the floor, but he never looked back to see.
I stepped forward and took him by the wrist. He stopped and turned to me. “I have to go,” he said. His voice was tight, and I could see by the throbbing vein in his temple and the cords of muscle standing out at his neck that he was holding himself in check with the greatest of difficulty.
“I understand,” I said, keeping my voice low and calm. I spoke to him like I did to Thunder, the skittish war horse in the stables that never let anyone save my father or Rogim the Stablemaster ride him. “You cannot stay with her any longer. If you do, you will return to a place that you do not wish to revisit. So, you must go.”
“You must go with me,” Father said through gritted teeth.
“Yes,” I said, picking up some of the clothes on the floor and putting them on the bed. That act, that mundane act of stooping to pick up an ice-blue blouse, snapped him out of his rage-induced trance. He shook himself all over, as if he were a dog climbing out of a river, and looked at me with sad eyes.
“I am sorry, Ygraine,” he said. “I have tried. For years, I have endured the sniping, and the belittling comments, and the infidelity, but tonight…”
“Tonight, she struck you,” I said with a nod.
“Tonight, she struck me,” he confirmed. “I told her long ago that I would tolerate many things from her: I would turn a blind eye to a great deal of horrid behavior for the sake of the love I bore her and for the sake of the child she bore me. But I warned her, I am still a man. I am still a man, and I am still a warrior, and I will not be struck. Tonight, she has crossed that line. I cannot retaliate in kind, for if I do, it will mean only two things.”
“Your death for laying hands on the queen,” I supplied the first, and most likely, outcome. The throne passed to my mother through blood. The Fae are always ruled by queens, and the duty is passed down to the firstborn daughter. Our “kings” are truly prince consorts, king in name only. Some queens entrust much of the duty of rule to their consort. My mother was not such a queen.
“Or civil war within Winter,” Father said.
I looked up at him but saw nothing of jest upon him. He was a popular consort, and many called him king in all sincerity, not the empty title so often bestowed upon men of his station. He nodded down to me, lips pursed in a tight scowl.
“The generals are all loyal to me, and much of the Guard. Your mother has never been popular with the people, and even less so with the members of the Court who have endured her temper. Were I to attempt it, I may very well be able to take the throne by force.”
I thought about it and decided he was quite likely correct. Mother was a capricious, temperamental, and often downright dangerous monarch, prone to overreaction to the slightest insult, real or imagined. I had long heard muttering among the guards and servants about her behavior toward them and could only guess how the men who fought her wars felt about the treatment they received should they darken the doors of the castle.
“What will you do?” I asked.
“I must leave,” Father said. “I will not be put down like some rabid dog for defending myself. Your mother is no fragile snowflake—she is Winter itself. She is the most powerful sorceress in the realm, and even should I wish to harm her, I doubt I could. But I have no desire to.”
I looked up at him, and his blue eyes were sad under his mop of curly dark hair. His trim beard was shot through with gray where none had been just a few short years before, testament to the strain of living with Queen Mab.
“I love her, El,” he said, pulling me close. “Gods help me, I still love her.” He took me by the shoulders and held me at arms’ length. “And that is why I must go away. Tonight. I can no longer live with a woman who has no love or respect for me, and if I stay here, it will either be the end of me, or the end of Winter.”
“Where will you go?” I asked.
“I do not know,” he said. “But we must leave now, before a servant tells her that I was seen rushing to your rooms. She will never let you leave with me, not her heir. So, if we are to go, it must be now.”
I didn’t say anything, just turned to the bed and started sorting clothes into piles. “Meet me at the stables in half an hour,” I said. “I need to assemble my things, and we can’t be seen leaving the castle together with packs. I have a friend among the stable hands who will let us out the Merchant’s Gate.”
He smiled down at me, warmth flooding his face. “I will see you there, my daughter. We will go far from this place, somewhere your mother can never find us, and we shall be happy.”
I hugged him, almost crushing the air from him with the ferocity of it. “I will meet you there. Now go, before she decides to come here and berate me for being born of a worthless sot like you.”
I motioned him to the door, and he dashed out, my tall, handsome father. He stopped at the door and smiled at me, knowing that in less than an hour we would be free of mad Queen Mab and her temper, creating a new life for ourselves somewhere in a hidden corner of Faerie.
That was the last time I ever saw my father.
3
I packed nothing. Not a stitch of clothing, not even an apple to eat on the road. I dressed like my bedroom was on fire, in the plainest garb I owned. I pulled on breeches that I often used when mucking out my favorites horse, Paisley’s, stall. I threw on a tight-fitting undershirt and a loose, shapeless shirt I had pilfered from my father’s rag bag over it. I tied my hair back in a low ponytail to cover my ears and put a thick woolen tunic over everything. I belted on a light sword and a knife, then tucked a pair of throwing knives into the tops of my riding boots.
I glanced in a mirror as I bustled to the door, looking at myself in this rough-hewn disguise. My clothes were obviously made with quality, and I would not fool anyone looking closely, but from a distance, I more resembled a boy from a middling prosperous family than a Princess of Winter. My clothes were faded tones of gray and once-white, rather than the sparkling blues and silvers of the Court. My three-year-old boots, while well-made were scuffed and worn, obviously several years old, and spoke of a family that had money for luxuries such as boots only every so often. I left the two newer pair sitting in my closet, one of them never worn.
I knew I was leaving behind a life of unparalleled luxury and comfort for one of hardship and possible danger. I had my magic and my wits, but there were many in Faerie who would love to hold a bargaining chip against my mother, and the life of her heir was one she would be unable to ignore. I knew all this, and still I threw open the door to my bedchamber and strode down the halls to the stable as though I had not a fear in the world.
Nothing could have been further from the truth. I carried no food because my stomach was in such knots that I became ill at the very idea of eating. I passed through the kitchen and picked up a pair of waterskins from a hook by the door, my only concession to my body’s needs. I crossed the courtyard into the stable, waterskins in one hand and my heavy hooded cloak in the other.
“Wake up, Barris!” I called. “I need to ride at once.”
The tow-haired stable boy peered over the edge of the hayloft, straw poking out from his hair. “Whossat? Princess? What you doing here in the middle of the night?”
“I’m leaving, Barris. I have received a message from the gods and must go at once to the Forest of Ekwan to pray for guidance.” Ekwan Forest lay far to the south, a three-day ride in the best of circumstances. By the time Mother sent someone there after me, I planned to be far west of our citadel. I knew she would send a second rider north; that’s why I had no intention of going in that direction.
Barris climbed down the ladder without further complaint or question and moved to Paisley’s stall. I called out to him. “No, Barri
s. I won’t be taking Paisley. Saddle Cinnamon instead.” It pained me to leave Paisley, but she was a lovely animal and very distinctive. Pure white in color, with obvious breeding in her lines, she was an amazing horse. Cinnamon was brown, slow, and plain in every way. If you did not know horses well, you would never know that she was bred from lines of old war horses and cart horses, taught from birth to carry a rider for days on end, capable of managing any terrain with almost no trouble at all.
Barris saddled Cinnamon without a question, accustomed as he was to the quixotic nature of the Fae in general and of the household of Queen Mab in particular. He brought her to me as I finished packing a light pack of oats and a few apples to keep the horse happy if we had trouble finding forage. My mother’s tendency to coat her land in snow made it challenging to keep a mount fed unless you knew where the way stations were, and I would be unlikely to stop anywhere that Mab might have magical minders looking for me.
“Thank you, Barris, and I’m sorry,” I said as he brought the docile animal out to me.
“Sorry for what, my lady?” the slightly dim boy asked.
“Sorry for this,” I said. I held my open hand up to my face, palm up, and blew across it. A shimmer of dust flew into Barris’s face, and he collapsed to the stable floor, unconscious. He would awaken within an hour, with no recollection of the past few minutes. Hopefully it would provide enough of a lead for my father to be unable to pursue me.
I put my foot through the stirrups and hopped into the saddle, petting Cinnamon’s neck when I was settled. I leaned down and spoke softly into the horse’s ear. “Let’s go, girl, but softly. We don’t need to alarm the gate guards.”
The guards nodded at me, then raised the massive iron portcullis. It wasn’t an ordinary occurrence for one of the Court to leave under the cover of darkness, and less typical for it to be one of the royal family, but it also was not so unheard of as to be challenged. They would remember my passing and which way I turned out of the gate, so I went half a mile in the wrong direction, then doubled back once I was out of sight of the castle and took the Western Road.
I rode until sunrise, then led Cinnamon off the trail into the woods. I left her lightly hobbled and fashioned a pallet for myself from branches and my saddle blanket. With my head on my saddle for a pillow, I wrapped myself in my cloak and slept for a few hours.
I woke to the sun high in the sky and the sensation of the wards I had set around Cinnamon and myself being tested. “Hello,” I called out. I felt no fear. I was a strong sorceress, if young, and we were within the boundaries of my mother’s kingdom. I had full faith in her ability to keep the most unsavory of the Fair Folk from our lands, so anyone crossing my wards would be a bandit at worst, and a charitable soul with some breakfast at best.
“Hello, young human,” came a growling voice. Or an animal, I thought. I opened my eyes to see a giant wolf standing over me, its head cocked to one side. “Why are you sleeping in the forest? Do you not have a den?”
I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “Good morning, Wolf,” I replied. “I have a den, but I had to leave it. I grew weary, so I slept in the forest. Is it yours? I apologize if I trespass.” I have always found that it is best to treat wolves with the utmost courtesy. They are lovely animals but can be prickly if they feel they are being disrespected.
The wolf chuffed at me, a laugh of some sort, I suppose. “The forest belongs to no one but herself, little fairy. If she allowed you to sleep here, then it is beyond me to challenge your right. But you are likely not warm, and likely hungry as well. You may follow me to my den, where you will sleep among my cubs and share their food.”
“I thank you, Mother Wolf,” I replied. “I am not one who is bothered by the cold, but I will happily share your food.” I was telling the truth, by the way. I am the Heir of Winter. The cold no more bothers me than does air.
I saddled Cinnamon, who watched the wolf warily but maintained her placid poise. I led the horse behind the wolf to a cave to the west, near the road but farther back than where I slept. I looped Cinnamon’s reins around a low-hanging branch, loose enough for her to pull free if there was trouble, and went inside. It was a cozy cave, big enough for me to stand upright at the front, but quickly narrowing until I was forced to creep along on my hands and knees after just a few minutes. I crawled deeper into the cave, my eyes adjusting to the total darkness, and soon found myself buried in a pile of warm fur and discontented yips as I crawled right into the middle of four wolf pups.
“I told you it would be warmer here,” Mother Wolf said as I snuggled into the pile of fur. She was right, it was very cozy. Even though I am unharmed by cold, I can feel its touch, and the warmth of the cubs was welcome.
“Sleep now, and when you wake, we shall eat,” Mother Wolf said. I would have agreed with her, but the warmth and comfort of being surrounded by doggie snores and dream-barks had already overwhelmed me. I closed my eyes and drifted off almost instantly.
I woke some time later all fuzzy-headed and covered in wolf pups, which while pleasant enough, is a little hard to breathe. I wormed my way out of the pile of fur and paws, took a few moments to handle my morning ablutions near a stream that ran beside the cave, and knelt at the mouth with Mother Wolf.
“Thank you for your courtesy and hospitality, but I must be on my way,” I said.
“You have not yet eaten,” said the wolf. “I have caught a fat rabbit; you should tear off a leg before you go.”
“I cannot,” I said, my mouth watering at the thought of nice roasted rabbit. “I would have to build a fire and cook the rabbit, and I must be away before time for that.”
“I never understand why your kind finds it necessary to ruin good meat with fire,” the wolf said with a sniff. “But I understand. It is your way. I hope you are well, young hairless one.”
I nodded to her. “Thank you, Mother Wolf. I hope all your cubs grow to be strong and hale.” I wrapped my cloak around my shoulders, saddled Cinnamon, and walked back to the Western Road. I mounted my horse and rode off into the afternoon sun. With any luck and a clear road, by midnight I would be convincing the Witch of the Western Wood to open a portal out of Faerie and to my new home.
And that is where our tale becomes interesting.
4
As soon as I set foot in the Western Wood, I knew I was unwelcome. A huge oak leaned over the path and turned its branches to me. A face appeared in the bark and said, “You should go home, princess. You are not wanted here.”
That’s clue enough even for a starry-eyed little girl to understand. I looked up at the tree and said, “My apologies, fair dryad, but I have no home to go back to. I have left the life of Queen Mab’s daughter and seek to make my own way in the world.”
“You will have neither way nor life if the Mad Queen hears those words,” the dryad said. She stepped out of the trunk of the oak, her branch-arms drawing back within herself. “Why have you left the Winter Queen’s Court?”
“My father, Oberon, has left her, and I feared for my safety. I must find sanctuary from Mab’s displeasure,” I said, seeing no reason to lie to the tree spirit.
“There will be no sanctuary for you in the lands of Winter. Mab is our queen, and capricious though she may be, we live to serve her. None will shelter you within her boundaries.”
“This I well know,” I replied. “That is why I have come to the Western Wood. To leave the lands of Winter behind and travel to the human lands.”
The dryad drew back, the leaves of her hair trembling in shock. “Why would you do that, you silly princess? The lands of man are built with cold iron, that heartless rock that sucks the very magic from our bones. Even the oldest trees there have lost the ability to speak.”
“I must go there,” I said. “There are few places Mab cannot follow, and the lands of man are among them. I must find the Witch and convince her to send me there.”
“What do you have for payment, princess?” the dryad asked. “Jewels? A crown?”
I lo
oked at my feet. “I have nothing.”
The dryad laughed, making her leaves shake in that dry rustling sound again. “Then you may as well return to Mab and throw yourself on what minuscule mercy she has, for the Witch grants no favors and logs no debts. She will be paid or you will not pass through her circle.”
“That is not for you to say, Oaklet,” said a gnarled old woman who slid between the trees with the grace of a panther and less sound. She was hunched over a walking stick, with hanks of gray hair falling over her face and spilling out from the hood of her tattered brown cloak. Liver spots dotted her twisted twig-knuckled hands, and a hooked nose stuck out crooked on her craggy face, which held more wrinkles than teeth at this point.
“You are Mab’s child?” the ragbag woman asked in her voice like an uncoiled hinge.
“Aye, ma’am,” I replied with a slight curtsey.
She laughed at the gesture, a hacking, coarse thing that sounded like a woodpecker tapping into rotted wood. “Such manners, child. Your mother-queen has taught you well. Tell me this, child. Do you fear me?”
“No, ma’am,” I said honestly.
“Do you find me beautiful?” the hag asked.
“No, ma’am,” I repeated, just as honest.
She chuckled a little at that. “Would you believe me if I told you that I once had men falling at my feet asking for my hand?”
“No, ma’am,” I said for the third time.
This time, the Witch cackled, throwing her head back and flapping the wattles on her neck in the air. “Good, child! For I was born ugly and got better at it with every passing year. There were never men, or women, plying me with sweet words and empty promises. You are an honest child. It is no wonder you wish to leave Mab’s court.”
Monsters, Magic, & Mayhem: Bubba the Monster Hunter Season 4 Page 2
