Once Upon a Romance 03 - With True Love's Kiss

by Jessica Woodard

  Bianca dismounted stiffly, and moved with far less grace to untie the queen’s other leg. Isabelle rubbed vigorously at her legs as the knots came free, and sighed in relief. “I can’t tell you how badly those have been itching. Well worth it, though, Robin, and I thank you.” She held out her arms and let the huntsman help her from the saddle. “I can’t say I’m much the worse for my day’s ride.”

  “You do seem to have borne up well.” Bianca smiled at her friend. “I’m concerned about you taking a chill, though. A small fire won’t do much to keep you warm.”

  “I have my blanket; I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  Isabelle was fine, while they moved about setting up camp and preparing a simple meal, but she was tired, and while Robin and Bianca chatted about nonsensical things, she pulled her blanket around her shoulders and curled up to sleep. Without some exertion to keep her warm, the cold soon began to take its toll. Bianca could see her shivering even beneath the layers, and she interrupted Robin mid-sentence.

  “Bring the sleeping rolls over by Isabelle.”

  Bianca spread one heavy cloth on the ground, moved Isabelle onto it, and piled both the blankets on top of the shaking queen. Isabelle’s shaking eased, and before long she fell fast asleep. Bianca smiled ruefully at Robin, and spread out the other sleeping roll.

  “At least we both have a place to sit.”

  He looked at her quizzically. “Don’t you want to sleep?”

  “Not yet.” Bianca replied “I’d rather you tell me a story first.” She settled herself on the sleeping roll, motioning Robin to come sit beside her.

  He eased down on the blanket. “Will that not disturb Isabelle?”

  Bianca looked over at the queen, who was now snoring softly. “I doubt it.”

  “Very well. I shall tell you a teaching story that I learned from my grandmother, many years ago.”

  Bianca wrapped her hands around her knees, and leaned forward a bit, as Robin began his tale.

  “In the mortal world things alter, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse, but always and always, they change. The mists are a different realm, and although they shift, like the ebb and flow of a tide, they do not evolve. The basic nature of the lands, and all the inhabitants, is fixed. Or at least, so it was always believed to be.

  “For the past age, though, the mists have been changing. Slowly, to be sure—so slowly, in fact, that a mortal might never note it, given how swiftly your lives pass—but the changes are obvious to the denizens of the mists.”

  “Changing how?”

  “That is not part of this story. Patience.”

  She grimaced, but held her tongue.

  “When first the changes were noted, a great clamor arose among the Fae. Messages were sent to every tribe, every camp, to all beings, light and dark, that make their home in the shifting mists. Mab summoned them to her palace, and there they came. Fair and foul, wicked and kind, all came to a great summit to speak of the changes. For season upon season Mab’s palace crawled with representatives of all the mistlings, while the wisest among us tried to determine the cause of these alterations.”

  Bianca leaned forward, intent on the story. “And?”

  “In the end, they realized that it was the mortal world. Your world had become so volatile, the change could not be bounded by your borders. It was bleeding into the mists.”

  “But why?”

  He smiled at her. “I asked the same question. I will answer you as my grandmother answered me: Can you not guess?”

  She thought a moment, her brow wrinkling up. “I confess, I haven’t a clue. Did you guess?”

  “I did, but I have an advantage on you, as I already knew more. You see, this summit was not recent. Not even by the way that the Fae judge time, let alone by the brief life spans mortals possess. Does it help you to know that the earliest signs of the changing mists were seen shortly after the time that your kind first drew breath?”

  “You mean it was us? Human beings?” Bianca gaped at him.

  “Is it so hard to believe? The mortal world changes, to be sure, but your kind propels the change faster than nature ever could. It explodes from you and spills across the boundaries between our worlds.”

  “What did you do when you realized?”

  “I? I did nothing. I am hardly older than you. A mere infant.” He grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes.

  “What did your people do, then?”

  “They argued. For years. Some wanted to end humanity, to stop the changes. Some wanted to isolate the mists, to separate our worlds further, so that yours would stop affecting ours.”

  “But neither of those groups prevailed.”

  He cocked his head. “How do you know?”

  “We are still here; it’s obvious we haven’t been eradicated. And you are here, so I assume our worlds are still close.”

  “A fair enough assumption, but perhaps not the entire truth. Shall I continue with the story?”

  “Please.”

  “Two champions came forth. Black Annis declared that she would lead her band to destroy mankind, and take glee in the slaughter. But she was opposed. Jenny Burnt-Tail rose against her, crying foul against such a malevolent plan, saying that she would take her maids and shroud the mists from the mortal world forever. Mab’s palace became a battleground, with each side fighting for supremacy. Many of the Fae were wounded; more were slaughtered, ending lives that would have lasted centuries, had strife not come to our people.

  “At last, a third voice rose over the clamor of war. Leanan the lovely appeared before the assembled hosts of the Fae, and showed them her belly, swollen with the child of her mortal lover. She offered an alternative to slaughter or imprisonment in the mists. She offered the child of her body, living evidence of our power to combine our natures with that of mortals, giving us a chance to survive the changing of the mists, a chance to do what the Fae never could. To alter our fundamental nature.

  “The fighting stilled. The gathered mistlings pondered Leanan’s alternative, and hope began to rise. Even the most bloodthirsty of Black Annis’s band could not deny that they would miss the sport offered by human prey. Even the wildest of Jenny Burnt-Tail’s wisps did not desire to be lost in the mist forever, never again to play beneath the mortal moon. Leanan smiled on all the Fae, knowing she had brought them salvation, not only from humankind, but also from each other.”

  Bianca held her breath, for she could see the gathering sadness in Robin’s eyes.

  “Alas. Alas for the pride of the Fae! One more voice rose to speak out, and that voice belonged to Carabosse. She had taken neither side in the fight, for she had no care if the humans lived or died, or even if the mortal world ceased altogether. Now, though, her voice rang out, scathing and harsh, condemning Leanan. Calling her growing child a curse upon the Fae, a stranglethorn in a verdant forest, a perversion. And, fools that they were, some of the gathered emissaries believed her.”

  Bianca’s eyes were wide. “What happened?”

  “More fighting. More war. Now it was not just factions; none stood apart. Every mistling, from the highest Fae to the smallest pixie, fought for a side. At the last, Mab’s hand was forced, and she called a stop.”

  “She can do that?”

  Robin’s serious demeanor lifted for a moment. “She is Mab. She could bring the world to a halt if she deemed it necessary. Calling a stop to the war was trivial.”

  “Then why let it begin in the first place?”

  “It is hard to explain. Mab is our queen, but she does not rule us, not the way you mortals view such things. Her power is vast, but not tame. She does not wield it often, lest it escape her control and wreak destruction.”

  “Very well. Go on.”

  “Mab brought Leanan and Carabosse together, and forced them to come to a settlement, to bring about the end of the struggle, lest we destroy the mists for trying to save them. The Daoine Accords are the formal agreement to end that war, and every Fae born, on his or her naming day
, is taken before the great chalice in the crystal chamber, and gives up a drop of blood, agreeing to abide by the Accords.”

  “But what do they say?”

  Robin shook his head. “I have told you a tale, and no one may take offense. To tell you more I would need the right of blood, which I do not have. I cannot risk breaking the Accords, just to satisfy your curiosity.”

  Bianca was irritated. “I think you just enjoy being mysterious. It isn’t as though Carabo—”

  Robin’s fingers pressed against her lips, stopping the name half-said. “Shhhhh. That is not a safe name for mortals to speak. Not here in the wilds, where all of nature is listening. You could summon that which you do not wish to meet.”

  Bianca felt a shiver pass along her spine. At first it stemmed from horror at the idea of meeting an ancient fairy in a lonely meadow, but as Robin’s finger stayed pressed against her mouth, the thought of a wrathful Fae was banished by the tingling feeling that spread from where his skin met hers.

  She looked up at him, and their gazes locked together. Bianca felt poised on the brink of a precipice, as though she might tumble off any second, were she not held firmly by the bright blue eyes so close to her own. Robin’s fingers fell away, but so slowly that it felt like a caress, sliding across her bottom lip and brushing across her chin. Another shiver went down her spine, but this she recognized as being wholly born of desire and longing. She waited, breathless, to see what he would do.

  She heard him draw in a deep, unsteady breath, and then he let it out on a sigh. He leaned back, away from her, and stared up at the sky, with no sign of his thoughts written on his features.

  “Go to sleep, Bianca.” Robin’s words were barely a whisper in the chill air. “Tomorrow will come all too soon.”

  He pushed to his feet and walked away into the dark night, and Bianca was left alone, with a longing in her heart that she knew was unwise.

  Chapter 15

  They traveled slowly through the mountains, falling into an easy routine as the days passed. While the sun was overhead they rode along abandoned trails and long-forgotten passes. When they came across still pools, Robin would take a few moments to check with Merriweather, and was heartened to find that the huntsmen had returned to Inisle, unable to find their trail. Even so, he pushed them harder as Isabelle healed. There was no reason to prolong this rather uncomfortable trip to Albion.

  Every night they made camp, and every night, after Isabelle fell into an exhausted sleep, Robin and Bianca would sit on the one remaining sleeping roll and whisper to each other. Robin knew he should be more distant, but he couldn’t help holding the soft conversations while the fire flickered low beside them. Sometimes Bianca would tell him about Fain, her foster-brother, or her cousin, Vivienne. Sometimes Robin would talk about his earliest excursions into the mortal world, and the mistakes he’d made, and the lengths he’d gone to in order to keep his grandmother from discovering them. Robin chuckled quietly when Bianca described Vivienne’s habit of tormenting Brannon’s toadies. Bianca clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles when he told of the mess he’d made with a love potion one midsummer. And, through it all, they both kept their faces lifted, watching the stars. Occasionally one of them would turn to the other, then hastily turn back again, causing the conversation to stumble for just a moment into awkwardness. They didn’t discuss it, though. And he never, never allowed himself to touch her.

  Robin cursed himself for a fool, but he couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of their nightly talks. Throughout the day’s ride he looked forward to the evening, despite knowing that he would be waging a constant battle with himself, to keep his eyes turned skyward, and keep his hands on his knees or folded over his chest. It was with a mixture of regret and relief that he led them down out of the mountains. After they left the foothills behind they were no more than a day from Albion’s royal palace, and once they were there he could hand Bianca and Isabelle over to their loving relatives, and free himself from this fascination.

  Robin was watching the clouds billowing overhead in the late afternoon when he heard Isabelle call his name.

  “Is it going to rain, do you think?”

  He glanced over at her. The queen was tired, and filthy, but every step they’d taken towards her family had brought a further glow to her cheeks. Less than a day from the palace and she was beaming, even at the thought of a spring downpour. “Almost certainly.”

  “We should find shelter, then.” Bianca had pulled up beside Isabelle, and was also anxiously surveying the sky. “We aren’t going to make it tonight, at any rate, and Isabelle really shouldn’t get soaked if we can help it.”

  “Tell me, dear, just how long do you plan on treating me like an invalid?” Isabelle was teasing, and Bianca smiled as she answered.

  “Another day. Then I’m going to collapse in a feather bed and let King Regal treat you like an invalid for a while.”

  Isabelle sighed in happiness, then looked to the sky, startled as the first few drops splattered on her head.

  Robin wheeled his horse around. “The fields we are passing have been tilled, there must be a farm—” The rest of his words were lost in a loud crack of thunder, and Robin set his heels to his mount. “Ride!”

  They raced over the fields, laughing even as they tried to outpace the deluge. Robin spotted a grain silo, and led them towards it. The building would be empty at this time of year, and the farmer would hardly mind travelers taking refuge there, with no grain to be spoiled by their feet. The door was too narrow for the horses, but they would be fine, huddled on the lee side of the building. Robin threw himself from the saddle and swept Isabelle down, carrying her in his arms in an attempt to get her inside while she was still dry. Behind him he heard Bianca clucking to the horses, leading them part way around the small, stout building to hitch them out of the wind. He had just set Isabelle down on her feet in the dark silo when the skies opened up, and the rainstorm unleashed its full fury on the fields.

  Bianca was still outside, and Robin ran back out, anxious to give her any help she needed so that she, too, could seek shelter. The horses were hitched fast to the silo, but Bianca wasn’t with them. Robin cast his eyes out over the fields and spotted her. Her arms were thrown wide as if to embrace the storm, and her feet flickered as she spun through the soft, tilled earth of the field. When the next flash of lightning split the sky he saw, rather than heard, the laughter roll from her as she danced to the crashing thunder.

  “Bianca!” He had to yell to be heard above the storm.

  She turned at the sound, and her face held a wild delight he had never seen before. He ran to her, feet splashing in the swiftly forming puddles, and caught her by the hand.

  “Come inside, you will be soaked.”

  “I’m already soaked!” Another thunder cloud crashed overhead. “And this is too marvelous to miss.”

  He looked at her, in the flashes of light that ripped across the sky. Water streamed in her hair and over her face, running down to soak through her clothes, plastering the fabric to her body. She seemed unconcerned, reveling in the fury of the storm, in the beauty and the terror of the winds and rain, and in her glorious freedom. It was as though she possessed the best and brightest aspects of his people, without the prison of their immutable natures. In that moment he truly understood, for the first time, what Leanan had envisioned for all the Fae.

  And Bianca—Bianca smiled at him, her midnight eyes rimmed with sparkling, rain-filled lashes. She glittered in the storm, in the bright bursts of light that flashed across the sky, and he could not deny, in that moment, the pull he felt between them.

  So he did the unthinkable.

  Leaning down he pressed her lips with his own, tasting the rain on her mouth. She froze for a moment, and Robin could feel her frantic heartbeat pulsing in her fingertips. Then she leaned into the kiss, opening her mouth in invitation. His arms drew her close, until their bodies were separated by nothing but the wet fabric of their clothes.


  And the energy began to flow.

  He ripped away from her, severing all contact with her skin. The energy flow cut off, shut down as though it had never been. Her wide, blue eyes stared at him in wonder.

  “Robin, what was that?”

  He felt the shock on his face. “An impossibility.”

  He turned and walked off in the storm. Heard her protest behind him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Go inside and take care of Isabelle.” He threw the words back over his shoulder, refusing even to turn around. “In the morning I shall finally take you both where you belong.”

  “Robin!” He kept walking, letting the sound of the rain drown out her voice pleading behind him.

  “Robin!”

  ***

  Bianca woke to warm sunlight streaming in through the cracks in the silo. Isabelle was sitting quietly beside her, holding a cup of clear water. Without a word, the queen handed it to her, and Bianca drank thirstily. Isabelle must have spent many a night in tears, herself, and known that one woke up thirsty after.

  Bianca nodded her thanks, and handed the cup back. She stood, to stretch, and Isabelle spoke softly.

  “Do you want to tell me what happened last night?”

  Bianca shook her head. She had refused the same request the night before, for a variety of reasons, not least of which was because she didn’t know what had happened. Oh, she could relate the events, but she didn’t understand why Robin had left her, standing alone in the rain.

  The night before she had been hurt, but now, pacing around the silo, trying to work the kinks from her shoulders, she began to be angry. Why was he behaving that way? What right did he have to treat her so poorly? By the time she heard him call to them from outside the silo, she was ready to get some answers.

  She blazed through the door, throwing it open so forcefully that it slammed back to bounce off the silo wall. Bianca ignored it regally, and strode out into the sunlight. Robin had their horses waiting, and she stalked forward to haul herself into the saddle, ignoring his offer of help. Instead of smirking at her fit of temper, as she’d half expected, he gazed at her soberly, and then walked away without a word. Isabelle emerged calmly once the door had stopped swinging, and allowed Robin to boost her into the saddle. She had long ago ceased the need for the bindings holding her in the saddle, so all that was left was for Robin to mount up and lead them back towards the road they had been traveling the night before.