by Aderyn Wood
“A shame the prophecy has not yet come to pass,” Sa’r Atapole said. “Your daughter was quite breathtaking in combat today, Your Majesty, but I think we have to accept the fact that she may not be the saviour we all hoped she would be.”
Dale swallowed a hard lump. She was tempted to run down the stairs and take Stella for that ride, now. But her legs refused to obey. She itched to hear what they really thought of her.
“Be careful with your words, Sa’r Atapole. The queen has foreseen the prophecy herself, and to doubt it is to doubt her.” Sa’r Coneril spoke swiftly.
“Indeed, but the hordes are gaining. If they continue at this rate, they will reach the Stonwold Mountains within another moon’s turn and the first of our cities will be sacked. When do you suppose your daughter will rise to the occasion, Your Majesty? I don’t mean to appear impolite, but you assured us she would find her… ‘stride’ once she came of age, once she was re-bonded, and then once she finally saw the prophecy for herself. Well, all three events have now come to pass and if today’s efforts are to be judged, well I say again, she is a nice little fighter. I’ll give you that. But her magic is inconsistent, and rudimentary at best. Or should we have her join our soldiers? Is that what the prophecy means? That she will save us with her sword?”
“Master Atapole, you forget yourself!” Sa’r Coneril’s voice was raised now.
“Well, I don’t care for the way it was expressed," Sa’r Aehthyll spoke up in his usual conciliatory tone. “But I have to agree with the general gist of what Sa’r Atapole is saying. With respect, Majesty, is it possible your mother’s love has blurred your judgment? Such emotion can play on the minds of the best sorcerers. You only have to remember what happened to Gareth to realise that. His love for that demon sorcerer, Natalia, has been a needle in our side for centuries. In all my time training Princess Dalendra, I’ve failed to get her to draw on the power of the elements with any kind of consistency. She doubts her skill at every turn. And it seems Jaral has had little success teaching her in my absence. Perhaps the real saviour is someone else? Take Agathina for example. Such mastery of the aether, such strength in spells we have not seen in centuries. It could well be that Agathina is the one the prophecy has pointed to all this time. It tells us the saviour will be a changeling. But to my knowledge, it has never stipulated the changeling is from Earth. A changeling who dwells among the Third, yes, but that could be Dryadalis or Gloryll. Why must it be Earth? It is entirely possible that Agathina could indeed be the saviour.”
“Entirely possible, my thoughts exactly,” Sa’r Atapole announced.
“We’ve had our say. It's time we heard what our queen thinks,” Ma'r Sivylla interjected.
Dale crept forward on all fours, past the statue and looked through the beam of lamplight through the open door. In the slim gap, she spied her mother seated by the fire, her gaze on the flames as though she studied a scene far away.
“Your Majesty?” Sa’r Coneril asked gently. “Anwyn?”
Dale took a shuddering breath. What would her mother say?
The queen looked at them and then stood and turned so that her back was to the fire and she faced her councillors who remained seated. She drew herself up to her full height and the crown glistened on her head. She’d been wearing it a lot lately.
“Hear my rule,” she said with a voice that carried and seemed to fill every inch of the room, the landing, the very palace. “On the morrow, Rhys shall return to Earth as planned. He needs to go back now that he has been re-bonded, so the balance may be paid. But he will not stay long. On his immediate return to Arcadia, he shall ready to leave for the front, with my council, the new sorcerers and soldiers.”
“And Princess Dalendra? What of her?” Master Aethyll asked.
The queen lifted her chin. “My daughter shall remain here in Arcadia, until such time as the prophecy makes it known she is ready.”
“But, Your Majesty,” Sa’r Atapole’s voice shook a little when he spoke. “I think you have put too much faith in your reading of—”
“Do not presume to question my rule.” The queen’s voice was loud and strangely morphed as though deeper, almost sinister. “Leave me. We will meet tomorrow at noon to confirm military strategy.”
Dale jumped up, skipped along the rugs, and flew down the stairs until she came to the fourth floor and her own room where she closed her door.
So, that was it. Everyone who could contribute was to leave in two days, but she was to stay here and remain a burden to her mother. Dale slumped on her bed and sighed when her head hit the pillows. She was too exhausted to cry or to think anymore. She was too exhausted to feel.
7
More dreams of Ness had filled the night, and fatigue weighed heavily when the sun rose and cast its golden rays through the elaborate woodwork of Dale's shuttered window. Shadows of birds and flowers fell on her bedroom wall. But images of the dreams filled her mind. Images of Ness dying. A full day had passed since she’d sent Esme. She chewed her bottom lip; it was time to call her little sprite back to find out what she’d discovered.
Dale got out of bed and washed her face at the basin, blinking out the last of the sleep. She dressed in her most comfortable woollen breeches and a plain white linen top with an equally plain black corset that was easy enough to tighten and tie without assistance. She gave her hair a quick comb before opening the shutters and letting the full morning light warm her face. Then she stepped back and stood in the centre of her room facing the window.
“Esme,” she said.
The morning song of a nearby thrush replied.
“Esme?”
Her room remained silent and still. Dale pursed her lips; Esme rarely ignored her summons.
“Esmeralda!” Dale shouted and then jumped when at last her little sprite appeared in a rush of purple.
“What took you so long?”
Esme, standing near the window, peered up at her with a long face. Her shoulders slouched, dark rings circled her eyes, she looked as tired as Dale felt.
“You didn’t find her did you?”
Esme shook her head, and a tear rolled down her rosy cheek before she disappeared.
Alone again, Dale tried to shake the bad feeling that lingered from the dreams. Were they just her way of dealing with her grief? Probably. Her magic remained so weak and inconsistent, she couldn’t be sure the dreams were a sign that Ness was still alive or not. The dreams seemed to suggest Ness was starving to death. But it had been over a year since she’d been gone. If that were the case, she’d have died a long time ago. Presuming Earth's time still matched that of the Borderlands.
Dale stepped out onto her balcony. The sun was higher now, she’d overslept, and she wanted to see Rhys before he left. She hurried back inside and put on a pair of leather sandals, then dabbed a spot of juniper oil on her cheeks. She combed her hair and plaited it, then rushed down the stairs, narrowly avoiding Helgda polishing a porcelain vase.
Once out of the palace, she jogged down the mountain path saying good morning to the few villagers, elders mostly. At the river, she turned east. Soon enough the stone houses and villas were left behind and the forest along the riverbank grew more dense. Some of the trees bore their first flush of autumn leaves. The birds were still busy hunting morning insects. Then she saw him ahead. Rhys sat on the fallen log near a common point for entering and leaving the Borderlands; he wore a plain woollen sorcerer’s robe.
Rhys smiled as she approached. “Are you here to say farewell?”
She nodded and sat on the log beside him. “How are you feeling? How is your leg?”
“Completely healed, and I’m feeling good. Just different since the exchange. It’s hard to explain, like an extra weight has been added, another layer of gravity, and every day it gets heavier. That is the pull apparently; the way Earth pulls me back to restore the balance. But I suppose you already know all of this. You must have felt it yourself before our exchange.”
“Ah, well, it’s pe
culiar, but I’m not sure I did feel it.”
“But surely you feel different now that you’ve been re-bonded with the Borderlands?”
Dale shook her head. “Not really, I don’t feel any different at all in fact.”
Rhys squinted. “Well, that’s odd.”
“Do you think it means something?”
“Perhaps, I don’t know.” Rhys stood and dusted off his robe. “I’ll be leaving soon. I’m just waiting for your mother. She wanted to meet me here before I return.”
“What will you do when you get there?”
“Not much. I’ll do some scouting, from a distance. See if I can find Ricardo, or Natalia, and discover what they’re up to. I've been back a few times over the last year. But I’m only going to stay for the day this time.”
“So you should be back tonight?”
“Well, that all depends on the planes and the tides.”
“Of course.” The Borderlands were connected to three other worlds through a series of naturally occurring portals, but time wasn’t aligned. Sometimes it was almost synchronized, but other times a moment on Earth could be a day in the Borderlands, or the other way around. Although, recently, the Earth had grown more closely aligned to the Borderlands and Master Aethyll had wondered whether the Unseelie sorcerers now manipulated the ebb and flow of the astral planes to produce such an effect. And if they had, it was a frightening revelation of their power.
Dale licked her lips. “I wondered if you could do something for me while you are scouting.”
Rhys raised an eyebrow. “Of course, what would you have me do?”
Dale took a breath. “I keep dreaming of Ness.”
He lowered his gaze. “You think she might still be alive?”
“I know it’s unlikely. I’ve spoken to my mother about it but her scrying hasn’t received a response. I’ve sent my sprite to find her and she also comes up with nothing. But, I can’t shake this feeling that Ness is suffering somewhere, that she’s dying.”
Rhys frowned, then stepped forward and held Dale’s hands, making a streak of giddiness swirl through her core. “Dale, I don't think it would do any good. Your mother says she's gone.”
"Please."
“Are you ready, Rhys?”
They turned.
The queen stood beside the river. Today she was dressed in her riding gear – dark breeches and a light linen top, similar to Dale’s own attire. She must have gone riding at dawn. Stella would be happy about that. The queen’s light blue eyes darted to their hands still held together and Dale snatched hers to her side.
“Yes, my queen, I am ready,” Rhys said, his eyes lingering on Dale for a second longer before he moved to stand closer to the river.
The queen stepped next to Dale as she spoke to Rhys. “Above everything else I want you to remain safe. I know you want to look for Ricardo, and perhaps others.” She glanced at Dale. “But do not risk your life. He has already taken Ness, and Gareth, we cannot afford to lose another sorcerer to that evil man.”
Rhys nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty, I understand.”
“And you have your crystal?”
Rhys removed it from his robe, it was shaped like a natural rock with no cuts or refinement, and wisps of white and black clouds spiralled within. He clenched it in his fist.
The queen nodded. “Farewell.”
“Farewell, my queen.” Rhys turned to Dale. His black eyes shone with energy.
Dale’s blush loosened itself from her grip when she remembered the way he'd kissed her a year ago. She blinked. In another second, Rhys had shifted form to the owl – just like his hysbryd. An owl as large as a man, his substantial claws sprung him upward and powerful wings flapped twice, thrice. The wind from the beat of his wings moved the shrubs and branches on the trees, and in another heartbeat, the fog in the portal grew and took him and Rhys was gone.
Dale took a deep breath; he’d be back on Earth now.
“You have feelings for him?” Her mother said, her eyes roaming the air around Dale’s body, no doubt assessing her aura.
Dale resisted the urge to hide her aura, or try to at least. It was one of the annoying things about sorcerers; they could pry into one’s personal feelings. But this was her mother, and she didn’t want to keep secrets from her. “I think so.” She remembered the way Jaral had kissed her too, and the hidden pleasure it had awakened. “I don’t know, it’s very confusing.”
Her mother laughed. “Yes, you are so right, my darling. Love is confusing.” Her mother plucked one of the few remaining summer daisies from a shrub and put the flower in her daughter’s hair. “But there’s something you should know about Rhys. Because you were exchanged, well, you have a bond.”
“He mentioned that to me once. That we’d have a special connection because we were changelings. You mean it makes us attracted to each other?”
“Not necessarily. In some cases, yes that can happen. But in others it’s quite the opposite and some changelings have hated each other.”
Dale frowned; was that why he was attracted to her? It would make sense. There was nothing else that would do it. She had ugly red hair and no confidence around boys. And what about Jaral? Was he attracted to her or was that all a show? She shook her head. Romance was the last thing she should be worried about.
“Come.” Her mother took her hand. “Let’s breakfast together.”
Dale’s heart bloomed. Yes, she needed more than anything to talk with her mother. Dale smiled as she wound her arm through her mother’s. She hoped the councillors would let them breakfast in peace.
8
Dale and her mother sat in the sunshine on the queen's balcony, rather than in the dining hall. At last, she had her mother to herself for a few precious moments. She’d grabbed a tray of fruit and yoghurt in the kitchens as well as some hot bacon from the frying pan when Ma’r Warmston wasn’t looking. It burned her mouth as she'd gobbled it up. A fresh pot of Ma’r Warmston’s famed rosehip tea went on the tray last, and she balanced it as she climbed the stairs to the queen’s suite.
Dale studied her mother as she nibbled on a slice of apple, wishing she’d snatched more of the bacon. The queen was beyond beautiful – like a statue the gods had carved from fine marble. But today, dark rings blemished the skin beneath her eyes, and her shoulders seemed to slouch making her smaller; so different to her usual statuesque presence. This war and the drain of her responsibilities were weighing her down.
“Stop it, Dalendra.”
“Stop what?”
Her mother chewed the rest of a fig. “Stop worrying about me.” She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’m the last person you need worry about. Now, pour me some tea and tell me what’s on your mind.”
Dale smiled and did her mother’s bidding, watching the steam from the teapot spiral and curl. “I came up to see you last night, but you were busy with the councillors.”
Her mother squinted over her teacup. “Did you hear somewhat of our discussion?”
“I’m sorry for eavesdropping.” Dale squirmed. “I’m not going to the war front, am I? I’ll be the only novice staying here.”
“Not the only one, Dalendra. Quite a few of the others will be staying behind. Some skilled with the sword will act as guards and sentries here in Arcadia, others will take up novitiates. We’ve decided Athadnar would be best suited to return to his hamlet and help his father with harvest. Three Worlds, but we could do with the grain.”
That was no surprise. Athadnar was about the worst swordsman Dale had ever seen. His style was akin to how Mr Bean would fight – all thumbs and elbows.
“Orgatha will stay as well. Ma’r Warmston will take her on as novice in the kitchens. And Balthrop, of course, will remain to study under Sa’r Atatpole.”
Likely predictions. Orgatha could handle a mace well enough, but she lacked the mental fortitude needed for battle. Dale had heard the gossip. Orgatha had run to the stalls when the combat trial started, as fast as her little legs
could carry her, with tears streaking her round, rosy cheeks. As for Balthrop, Dale doubted he’d ever picked up a sword. His talents lay in his aptitude for history. Balthrop knew names and dates like they were his oldest friends. Mr Nugent, back on Earth, would love to have Balthrop as a student.
"So you see, you won't be the only one staying behind."
“I’m to stay until my magic works properly? I thought maybe my skills with the sword… well, I wondered if I could go to the front for a little while at least. I want to be helpful, Mother.” I want to kill some Unseelie monsters to get some pitiful vengeance for Gareth, for Cat, and for Ness.
The queen sipped her tea, her gaze locked on Dale. “Your skill and grace in battle was well-noted by everyone. There's no doubt you are a dragon with that sword.”
Dale let a smile slip.
“But, there are others with such skill. I need to keep you safe. Yesterday, when you healed Rhys, it was evidence that your magic, your power has begun to be tapped. It is only a matter of time.”
“But, I thought we had no time. The Unseelie—”
“We have some time. Just a little.”
Dale nodded, but the look of doubt in her mother's eye made her wonder if they had any time at all.
"The war council will be meeting first thing tomorrow morning. I want you there."
Dale raised an eyebrow. "Of course."
"It's time you experienced the responsibility of leadership. You are a princess now, but one day you will be queen. You can help me shoulder some of the burdens we face."
Dale took a deep breath. “I’ve been wanting to ask you about the traitor Rhys mentioned before he left for battle last autumn.”
Her mother’s brow creased. “What of it?”
