by K. M. Shea
Briar released the last of her doubts and kneed her horse, taking off like a streak.
Her other ladies-in-waiting shrieked, but she heard Valor swoop along to her left—shielding her.
When they drew close enough to feel the heat from the flames, Briar’s horse bucked and refused to go closer. The fire had grown, but Briar could see two children stranded in the hayloft.
Isaia threw himself from Valor and climbed the exterior of the barn, slipping in through the loft window in the front.
Briar ripped off a silk scrap of her dress and tied it around her mouth and nose. She grabbed a wooden bucket, swooped it through the water trough outside, then dumped the water on herself before she ran inside the barn.
The heat was almost unbearable as Briar kicked a stall door open, freeing two terrified goats. She did the same with a second stall—letting a terrified horse run free. She could barely see through the smoke and her tears as she checked the empty stalls one last time and ran to the front door.
It slammed shut.
She pulled and pushed on the door, hissing as the hot wood singed her skin. Her throat squeezed as she looked around the barn, her eyes landing on a window.
“Briar!”
Briar peered up at the loft where Isaia held both children. “There’s a window down here we can escape through.”
“I don’t wanna jump,” the smaller of the two children sobbed.
“Catch.” Isaia booted the crying child over the edge.
The child—a little girl—shrieked, but Briar caught her, fumblingly, and they both tumbled to the ground. While she stood back up, Isaia took the remaining child’s hands and dangled him over the edge before releasing him.
He hit Briar like a sack of potatoes when he dropped, but she remained upright this time.
The flames roared as they grew abnormally in size, creating a blistering heat.
Isaia jumped to the ground with ease as the children coughed in the smoke.
Briar tugged the collars of their tunics up over their mouths, then pointed. “The window.” She choked on smoke, then held her breath as she hauled the little girl towards the exit.
The flames spread like wildfire, licking at their heels as Briar and Isaia shoved the children through the window. Isaia boosted Briar through the window, then hopped through after her.
Isaia picked up the little girl, and Briar dragged the boy away from the burning barn. Just as they reached Valor, the barn door snapped open. The horse and children screamed. The insides of the barn were now a blazing inferno, but Briar could have sworn she saw an ominous figure.
A slithery voice whispered in her ear. Rosalinda…
Something around Briar seemed to reach out towards the figure with longing, and for a moment, Briar could have sworn she saw angry red bolts flicker around the edges of her eyesight.
Carabosso. Briar knew within her soul that the burning barn was his work. As she squinted at the shadowy figure, she thought she could make out dark eyes.
An arrow shot through the shadowy figure, momentarily warping it. Briar swung around to see Delanna reloading her crossbow with a grim look on her face.
Isaia dumped the little girl and ripped his shield from Valor. He murmured something as he stepped in front of Briar. The shield chimed like a tiny bell, then glowed white. “Take the children on Valor and go!”
Briar grabbed Valor’s bridle to keep the mare from bolting. “But—”
“Briar, go!” Isaia shouted.
She shoved the frightened children on the warhorse and scrambled up behind them. Valor’s ears were pinned back. The horse fought Briar as she turned towards Ciane and kicked her.
Screaming her anger, Valor lunged into a canter, almost colliding with Franco and his warhorse who galloped to Isaia’s side. She was almost to the city walls when she heard loud, angry shouts and vows behind her.
She halted Valor and turned around in time to see Firra and Donaigh mounted on sweaty, lathered horses charging out of a copse of trees.
“You have completely lost your touch, Donaigh,” Firra shouted. “There was once a day when you would have felt magic a mile away!”
“I will remember your insult the next time you are in need of a shield,” Donaigh replied. “Luckily, I’m a kind man, so I will still love you.” He slipped a sword from a sheath and jumped from his horse, then winked in and out of view as he tapped his speed magic. Though he reached the barn before her, it was Firra who ended things.
Firra—still riding like a madman—extended her hand with a snarl and clenched it into a fist. The fire roared and grew blue. Firra shouted and made her horse spook and bolt sideways. The fire evaporated into thin air, leaving behind a burned husk of the barn with no one standing in it.
Isaia, Franco, and Donaigh did not relax. They warily circled the barn until they had it surrounded—Franco’s shield shining white like Isaia’s.
Firra, her beautiful face fixed in a dark expression, directed her horse towards the barn, riding right up to the edge.
Briar’s shoulders heaved with relief. She considered going back to see if she could help, but Isaia had not called for her to return, she still had the children, and her lungs burned and ached. She relaxed when the squad of guards surrounded her.
“We will take the children, Your Highness,” a soldier offered.
“Thank you. Could you take them home?” Briar asked, lifting up her arms so the soldiers could slide the children off the warhorse.
“After you are in Ciane,” the squad leader said.
Briar nodded and looked over her shoulder one last time. Isaia watched her, wordlessly pushing her on. She coughed and nudged Valor towards the city walls.
There was no doubt, Carabosso had started the fire.
The burning thought in Briar’s mind was why?
The question continued to plague Briar as guards hustled her to her quarters. She felt like she was looking at an incomplete picture. So, it would be wisest if I spoke with those who know the whole sum: Firra and Donaigh. She would have to wait, though, for she was certain her family would want to see her first.
Her frightened ladies-in-waiting helped her wash and bathe, and by the time they were done, Briar’s father was ready to break down the door to her bedroom.
When they joined him in her sitting room, the tension melted away from his face. “Rosalinda. You’re uninjured.” He wrapped his arms around her and almost picked her up with the strength of his embrace.
“My throat’s a little scratchy, and I smell like I’ve been scrubbing a pub floor—even after my bath—but I’m fine,” Briar said.
“You shouldn’t have gone into the barn—that was reckless!” Prince Consort Filippo said.
“You heard already?”
“Indeed. Sir Isaia and Sir Franco are giving their report to your mother and grandfather right now. Mage Firra and Mage Donaigh finished by the time I came to find you.” Prince Consort Filippo offered his arm and then led Briar down the hallway, her ladies-in-waiting fluttering behind them. Briar distractedly realized she still hadn’t thanked Delanna for her help at the barn, but she suspected it would be for the best if she brought the matter up when her father was not present.
“Your mother almost fainted, and your grandfather is furious,” Prince Consort Filippo continued as they marched down extravagantly decorated hallways, their footsteps muffled by a royal purple carpet.
“I imagine he is. This is not exactly what he had in mind when he was lecturing me to change my behavior,” Briar said.
The prince consort eyed her, but he could not hide his brief smile. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I had Isaia with me,” Briar said.
“I don’t believe that will help your case at all, though I appreciate your thoughtfulness.” He winked at her as they swept into the throne room.
King Giuseppe was seated on his throne, his face as craggy as a mountain. Princess Alessia stood when Briar slipped inside. “Rosalinda!” she cried.
Briar stifle
d the desire to shift uncomfortably under the foreign name, then hurried forward to greet her mother with a hug.
Princess Alessia cried into her shoulder and held her with a surprisingly tight grip until Prince Consort Filippo gently pried her off.
“I’m sorry for worrying you, Mother, but those children would have died,” Briar said.
Princess Alessia pressed her lips into a thin line and shook her head.
“You needlessly risked yourself.” King Giuseppe’s voice was quiet, but cold.
“The children would have died,” Briar repeated.
“You are the future monarch,” King Giuseppe said. “Losing you would be detrimental to the country.”
“But would it really?” Briar placed her hands on her hips. “So few people seem to actually like me, and it’s not as if you think I’m fit to rule.”
“You are a d’Avalas,” King Giuseppe said. “It is your blood.”
“If a d’Avalas is not on the throne, darling, our society would crumble. And we love you so much; I could not bear to lose you again.” Her mother stroked Briar’s hair—which was only partially pulled back and braided due to its dampness.
There was love in Princess Alessia’s eyes, and it warmed Briar’s heart, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that her family—for all their wisdom—were wrong.
When she had lived in the woods and had cavorted in other villages, kicked up her heels in Sir Roberto’s halls, and traveled with Nonno during the summer, no one she met seemed to care who ruled Sole as long as they weren’t a tyrant.
“We will sacrifice whatever it takes to see you through the curse, Rosalinda.” Princess Alessia patted her hands. “For the sake of Sole, and for your future, you cannot take such a risk again. It is the job of soldiers and knights to fight. Not yours.”
“But I can’t sit by and listen to children die,” Briar argued.
“You have no choice,” King Giuseppe said.
As Briar looked from her grandfather to her mother, she realized that her grandfather had been right about her. She was different. There was an impassable gorge between what they placed value on and what she did.
They genuinely thought that the d’Avalas family was most important. That was why they never questioned Carabosso’s attack against them, and why they believed her death would rip Sole to shreds.
I think I’m glad I was raised away from the palace. I wouldn’t like the person I would be if I had stayed here. She veiled her rebellious thoughts with a slow nod.
“I am very sorry I frightened you,” she repeated.
“And?” King Giuseppe said.
She could tell them the truth and explode like she had when King Giuseppe announced she would be used to snag Sole a “proper ruler.” But that hadn’t solved anything then and wasn’t likely to help now. So, Briar took a moment to carefully choose her words. “And I understand what you have explained to me.” She curtsied, making her skin—still sensitive from the heat of the fire—prickle. It sounded like she agreed with them. She hoped they would assume it meant she would agree with them, even though mutiny surged in her.
Her father was stone still with a furrowed brow and slightly parted lips, as if on the cusp of asking a question and thinking better of it.
Princess Alessia exhaled deeply and smiled. “I am glad we were able to solve that without any yelling this time,” she said.
King Giuseppe finally stood from his throne and approached them. “I am glad you are uninjured,” he said. He surprised both Briar and, seemingly, himself when he hugged her awkwardly. He patted her on the back and cleared his throat when he let her go, abruptly looking away.
For a moment, Briar wanted to cry. If only he would listen to her.
Briar glanced at her father and was slightly alarmed at the new, thoughtful expression on his face. I better make my exit quick. “If you’ll excuse me, I am a little fatigued.”
Princess Alessia hugged her. “Of course, poor darling.”
“We will dine with you this evening,” King Giuseppe said.
“I’ll walk with you, Daughter.” Prince Consort Filippo was all smiles and happiness once again.
Darn it. With her father trailing her, she would have to follow him instead of sniffing out Firra and Donaigh. Reminding herself how glad she was to have a father, Briar smiled and tucked her arm in his. “Why thank you, Father.”
Together they strolled out of the throne room, pausing to wave farewell in the doorway. They walked down the hallway in silence, and it wasn’t until they reached the royal wing that her father spoke, addressing, to Briar’s surprise, her ladies-in-waiting. “If you will excuse us, ladies. I would like to speak to my daughter in private.”
Velvet, Silk, and Jewel curtsied and glided away with a whisper of their skirts. Delanna lingered a few seconds longer, then she, too, finally left.
Prince Consort Filippo clasped his hands in front of him, and his forehead puckered with wrinkles. “King Giuseppe is an excellent and wise ruler, and I love your mother with all my heart, but sometimes I think I better understand your beliefs than your mother and grandfather because I’m not a d’Avalas.” He looked her straight in the eye. “What you did today was very brave. I wish you wouldn’t do it in the future, not because I believe you are inherently better than anyone, but because you are my daughter and I love you, and I’ve come so close to losing you I can hardly bear the thought. I’m still proud of your actions though, Rose.”
Peering into her father’s face, she could see the same half-smile on his lips that Nonna used to lecture her for flashing around, and the light in his eyes told her he felt as she did when she was passionate about something. The ache in her heart eased, for her father was proof that she did belong to the royal family, even in this small way. “Thank you, Father.” Tearing up, she hugged him tightly.
“I know that you are not, in fact, going to your room to rest, but you have something you’re going to look into,” Prince Consort Filippo continued. When Briar gurgled, he added, “Giuseppe makes the same mule-headed tuck of chin when he is told he must socialize at a party. I understand that you likely don’t want to tell me, your mother, or your grandfather what you are thinking right now, and it is probably wise. But please, Rose, don’t try to tackle this on your own. When you are ready, tell me, and we can present your thoughts to your mother and grandfather. They are usually far more reasonable—they’re just as frightened of losing you as I am.”
Briar took a breath and stepped back. “Very well.”
He smiled. “That’s my girl. I best be off—I would appreciate it if you would wait several moments before you run off on your task, so I can truthfully tell Alessia I left you in the royal wing.
On impulse, she kissed her father’s cheek. “Thank you.”
He winked. “Anything for you, darling.” He sauntered off, leaving a much more positive Briar behind.
Scuffing her slipper on the floor—a tiled mosaic of some ancient king—Briar considered her thoughts. She didn’t believe for an instant that her grandfather and mother would actually listen to her—at least not until she was on the other side of the curse—and she didn’t think picking at Carabosso could wait until then. After all, she still needed to figure out why he was acting in the first place.
Her chin tucked, Briar set off down the hallway, slipping from intersection to intersection as she sought out Firra and Donaigh. It took quite a few discreet inquiries before she learned they were relaxing in the kitchen gardens behind the palace.
Briar approached the gardens with caution—Donaigh and Firra’s definition of relaxing was rather different than the average person’s. Sure enough, as she wove her way between rows of tangy-scented herbs, she found them.
“You must be tired today, Firra, for you are sooo much slower than usual.” Donaigh skipped circles around her, blinking in and out of view as he tapped his magic.
“Yeah, well your face looks like it’s in pain,” Firra said.
Donaigh paused. “My
face?”
Her right hand enveloped with blue flames, Firra aimed a punch at his sternum.
He laughed airily, tapped his speed magic, and smacked his face straight into the foot Firra had kicked up. He yelped and staggered backwards at her foresight. “You broke my nose again!”
“Call me slow once more, and I’ll burn your hat.”
He sighed. “I thought you would stop bringing your mood swings into our fights when you were no longer a teenager.”
Firra tossed her hair. “It’s because I’m a sensitive, delicate young girl.”
Donaigh adjusted his straw hat. “Ho-ho-ho, I’ll have you know, sister, we stopped being young over a decade ago.”
Firra lashed out with fire, and it looked like she was going to singe Donaigh to a crisp, but the war mage tapped his magic and moved at the last moment. He skidded to a stop next to Firra and stared cross-eyed at his nose. “You really broke it this time. It whistles when I run.”
“You deserve it,” Firra said.
“For reminding you how old we are?”
“No, I’m just certain you’ll do something idiotic in the next few days that will make you deserve it.”
Donaigh lunged for Firra. She fended off his first two attacks, but when Donaigh tapped his magic and zipped behind her, he grabbed her by the waist and flung her over his shoulder into a small gardener’s shed. Firra bounced off it and fell into a dirt bed filled with leafy green plants.
Briar judged it was finally safe to interrupt them. “Working off your adrenaline?”
“Little Rose, how glad I am to see you,” Donaigh said. “Perhaps you will improve Firra’s dreadful mood. She threatened to burn my hat!”
“And I’ll do it, too.” Firra popped out of the greenery. “I just snorted a bug up my nose from that plant.” She brushed leaves from her clothes, and when she joined them, she smelled strongly of mint.
“At least you smell pleasant,” Briar said.
Firra grinned and ruffled her hair. “Thank you. So what brings you after us rag-tag siblings, Little Rose?”
“I wanted to talk to you about Carabosso,” Briar said.
Donaigh nodded slowly. “Ahh.”
