by H. R. Rekow
“Look at this!” Olivia opened her eyes and saw Krea spin with arms spread as she stood in the middle of the chamber. “What a room!” she exclaimed with a childish smile. Olivia glanced around for the first time and a glimmer of a smile broke through the shadow in her eyes. The four women gazed in awed silence.
A dozen candles sat on long holders throughout the room as they waited for night to fall and their wicks to be lit. An open window allowed light to shine through and illuminate the space. A rug of gray sheep’s wool was placed in the midst of the stone floor, and a bed, made of a wooden frame and a hay-cushioned mattress, rested in a corner. Three woven mats were rolled up and tucked to one side for Nan, Krea, and Cedany to roll out and sleep upon.
Two tapestries lined the walls on either side; their thick fabric helped ward off the late morning’s cold. The stitched handiwork depicted a great battle between Tulaun and the Wilder tribes from Deep Wilds. In the midst of the chaos stood a tall, strong figure dressed in a blood Red robe with white hair billowing behind him. He stared out across the battling knights and painted barbarians, eyes burning silver. Olivia stepped closer to the artwork as she studied the Red-clad warrior. She reached up and lightly touched the man, the detailed stitches smooth over her fingertips. Nan watched as Olivia leaned closer to the One in Red and her fingers curled until they dug into the tapestry. With a heavy sigh, she turned and looked away.
“Ah, sweetie . . .” Nan shook her head and Olivia looked with sagged shoulders. Nan frowned and turned to the younger ladies-in-waiting. “Krea, get food for the mistress. Cedany, check on that bath.” The two women nodded and bowed to Olivia. They took one another’s hands and rushed from the room with whispers and giggles. The door shut behind them and Nan walked to her mistress’s side, taking hold of Olivia’s hand.
Olivia stepped back and shook her head, her eyes turned to the floor. “I wish he could tell me his will.” She eyed the One in Red, the focal point of the tapestry, and sighed. “Life would be much simpler if The Wizard was always beside me.”
“Ah . . . but you be with him.” Nan grinned. “Not the other way ‘round.” Olivia looked away, but said nothing. She shook her head and smoothed back a loose strand of hair. “He has a right idea for you, sweetie.” Nan stroked her hand and her smile grew. “And it’ll be nice, and whence you’re old, you’ll look back and be glad.”
Olivia shook her head and swallowed. “I will be unloved. And misused—”
“Earl Quinn’s just one man.” Nan frowned and her grip on Olivia tightened. “Not all be like him.”
“And to be queen!” Olivia threw her hands in the air and crossed them over her chest. “How . . . I just . . . I can’t! I can’t be in such a position!”
“Sweetie.” Nan reached up and tilted Olivia’s chin so that their eyes met. “Do you trust The Wizard?” Olivia’s lips tightened to a thin line as she looked away and nodded. Nan grunted and put her hands on her hips. “Then stop this worrying. He’s got a plan. He always does.”
“Yes, however—”
Nan held up a hand and shook her head. “None of that talk! If you trust him, then trust him!”
Olivia looked at her, jaw clenched as her eyes misted. At the last moment, she sighed defeatedly and her arms fell at her sides. She sniffed and removed her cloak.
“It’ll be all right.” Nan leaned closer and the hard look in her eyes softened. “All things work together for good . . .”
“To those who are called according to his purpose.” 2 Olivia put her head in her hands as she recited one of The Wizard’s several songs from the Highest Melody; a vast collection of magic-filled songs The Wizard sang in creating the realms. She sighed and looked at the pale light that streamed through the window.
Easier said than done.
✽✽✽
It was raining again.
The air was cold as water poured and lightning lit the night only long enough to see the shadows. All lay asleep in Crown Haven, save the guards. They huddled close around fires along the battlements and cursed Sin Jo Lyn, the Han Ciese goddess of rain. Even the stars looked for shelter against the chill and thunder, for the night was unusually dark.
Lightning flashed like rage.
A distant white bird could be seen, a snowy owl. Darkness covered her as the lightning hid. Thunder rumbled past and the night split again. The bird drew nearer to the estate, her powerful wings flexing with white swoops. None saw her reach the castle. None saw her dive through a window.
Without a sound, the owl sailed into a room and a pale, gloved hand stretched out for the bird to land on. Her six long toes gripped the hand; the black talons dug into the glove. Frost ringed the owl’s icy blue feet and crusted along the glove. The bird’s pure feathers were fluffed against the cold, yet it did not hinder her.
Once landed, the owl shook water droplets from her shoulders, splattering them on the floor. She was a Flavencen fowl, from the most northern country ruled by dwarves and giants with whispers of legendary frost dragons. It was an icy white wilderness where hearts only as cold as the land could survive.
The snowy owl looked like a common owl, save her blue feet. Yet, she was not common and her blue feet, if sighted, scared most away. She was a Cold Speak, a beast whose tongue had been trained in the art of words. Such birds were rare and only came from Flavency. Their sole purpose was to relay messages and information, and they could only say what they were instructed to say, not a word more.
The Cold Speaker stared at the one whose hand she rested on with unblinking eyes.
“Hello, my talkative friend,” the owl’s comrade whispered, careful not to touch the owl’s blue feet. The bird looked at the speaker, her gaze strong and concentrated. “The master failed us. Lady Olivia is still alive.” The speaker sighed and continued, “Killing a fearful dame during her journey here should not have been difficult! They think it was only peasants who entered her camp. Peasants could have been more effective than the master’s own assassins! Poisoned air . . .” The owl’s snowy head cocked to one side. “No matter. Tell the master his men failed him, though he may already know. He probably does, that all-seeing man with his Wraith Eyes and violent ways! As for me . . .” The shadowed speaker grimaced and hesitated. “Ask him what my orders are.”
The snowy owl spread her wings and lifted from the hand. She shot through the window into the cold night once again. She battled against the rain and turned her sights to her destination, a distant forest.
Wraith’s Hollow.
Chapter 3
An Unexpected Messenger
It had been two days since Olivia and her companions’ arrival, and the buzz of their coming had taken its toll on the young lady. She sat beside a window, her emerald eyes turned out to the unfamiliar horizon. A lazy wind brushed her cheeks and loose hair, the locks crowning her in threaded gold. She had succumbed to the longing of freed hair and undid Krea’s work that morning of braiding and looping and fastening. Though unpinned hair was unladylike for a woman of Olivia’s position, the risk was worth it. Her shawl slipped from her sage green dress’s shoulders as she plucked a fiddle laying on her lap. Her fingers skipped from one string to another and created a thread of notes knotted together until it was a balled mess.
She was in a silent passageway between the Lesser and Greater Halls. An unlit torch rested in its sconce on the wall behind her, and the occasional pitter-patter of servants’ feet broke the silence. Olivia had been with Countess Primis and the other ladies of the house for the retelling of Sir Garen the Brave and his valiant adventures.
It had not taken long for Olivia’s worries to return upon hearing Sir Garen’s so-called knightly stature; it reminded her of the strange man who was to call her his wife. She could not sit there and listen to such outlandish acts of love and of men of valor, always true, always noble. Chivalry. What does that even mean? Memories of Earl Quinn proved that not all men were as the stories portrayed.
Haunted by questions, Olivia slipped from the room of women and f
ound the lonely window to sit by and think. She knew Countess Primis would scorn her, but a moment’s peace was worth it. Her thoughts blurred together with the fiddle’s song.
Olivia gazed to the lands at the edge of the sky, her brows knotted together. She longed to be there, to be free and out in the wild world. She wanted to walk the plains, as the commoners did, and see the world at her own will. Oh! What would she find out there? She would hike the Blue Ridge and ride across the Hilled Country on a white horse with her hair down like a Suvarian she-elf. She would do so much and find so much more. Maybe a man, a good man, was out there. Someone who would love her, and she would stand by his side no matter what. Was there such a man?
Definitely not a prince. Olivia swallowed as the fiddle’s song jarred from one note to another. He will always demand his way. She knew she would be another prized horse in his stables, something to parade before his lords, the same as her uncle had done to Countess Primis.
Olivia looked down at the fiddle and blinked back tears. But she was not a horse, not spoils from war to be paraded! Her stomach trembled. Olivia groaned and threw the fiddle from her lap. The wooden instrument clattered across the floor until it slammed into the far wall and spun to a stop. Olivia put her head in her hands and longed to meet the prince. Just get it over with. This is torture!
“My lady?”
Olivia gasped and sat up straight, eyes wide.
“Whoa!” A knight took a step back and held up his hands. “Calm yourself; I didn’t mean to startle you.” Olivia breathed out as her shoulders relaxed. Red flooded her cheeks and she pulled up her fallen shawl.
The knight’s armor had been removed, yet he still wore his padded arming coat, boots, and sword. His dark brown eyes looked away and he bowed in respect, his arm sweeping as he stepped back. “My apologies, my lady.”
Olivia’s eyes flickered over him and she noticed his firm physique and dirty blond hair. She turned away as the crimson in her cheeks deepened. The knight straightened and rested a calloused hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyes narrowed when he saw her uncustomary loose hair. Olivia lifted her chin and smoothed her hair down over her shoulders in defiance. “’Tis how I like it,” she stated, knowing he would not question her.
The knight half smiled and turned away. “I have a message from Prince Theron,” he said.
Olivia’s heart leapt into her throat and choked the words she tried to speak. “He—he’s here?” Her voice cracked and she swallowed hard. “He has arrived?”
The knight glanced at her with eyes narrowed, his head tilted at an angle.
“He was to be met with celebration and, and everyone in the house out to see him!” Olivia laid a hand over her mouth as she looked outside, and her eyes darted to and fro across the land. “He couldn’t be here yet!” She shook her head and firmly gripped her hands. “Can’t be . . .”
The knight looked her up and down as a muscle in his jaw twitched. “The honored prince sent me on ahead. He is encamped a half a day’s journey away and will arrive tomorrow.”
Olivia closed her eyes and let out a long sigh, her body loosening. She smoothed the creases in her green dress and put her head in her hands. She smiled and forced a relieved laugh.
The knight turned away and shifted his weight. “You act like it’s, um . . .” He cleared his throat. “Like it’s Lord Demus you are to marry, instead of the prince.”
Olivia sighed as she straightened her back and regained her composure. She shook her head and shrugged. “Demus . . . the prince . . . what does it matter?”
The knight’s brows rose.
“I could be marrying a tyrant, just as horrid as Lord Demus. I could be marrying a corrupt man, a harsh man, a man who sees me only as a pretty thing to show off, not a companion to cherish!” Olivia ducked at her harsh words as they echoed from wall to wall. She glared down at her white-knuckled hands and bit her tongue, realizing the magnitude of her pent-up distress. The knight watched her without a word. She continued, but her voice was a low whisper, “I will be getting a stranger, and he . . . he will be getting a plaything.”
The knight lifted his chin and breathed out with a slow whoosh. He smiled, but, just as Olivia’s laugh, it was not real. His brown eyes were wide with surprise and rimmed in sadness.
“He will be getting a companion,” he said and cleared his throat. Olivia turned his way and held his gaze, her eyes narrowed. He continued, “A partner to share life, and the kingdom, with.”
“Yet, he will not be there when dangers come.” Olivia forced a smile and shook her head, though the shadow did not lift from her stare. “You know we’re going through Wraith’s Hollow? Yes. We are. He doesn’t know me. Therefore, why would he stay by my side if attackers befall us, heathen Wilders or Shadow Minstrels? Hags of dark magic. Wild Elves with their bows and axes! Even, Wizard save us, Lord Demus! No one can resist that Spellbinder! The prince won’t stand by me! Why? Why would he? I am a weak girl, you know. Weak and scared. No. Who would love that?” She shrugged and looked out the window. “Who would . . .” she whispered as she wrapped the shawl tighter around herself and rubbed her arms.
The knight watched her for a moment, then moved forward and looked away. “My lady. May I speak freely?”
Olivia eyed him.
“As to share from a man’s perspective, for I personally know Prince Theron. I have for several years.”
Olivia lifted her chin and breathed out heavily. Hadn’t Mistress Sobriina asked her the same thing? “Just this once,” she whispered and folded her hands in her lap.
The knight nodded and looked out the window. “The prince is a good man. A warrior in his own right. His honor and own conscience will not permit him to leave you when danger comes, as you claim. And . . .” The knight half grinned. “And you’re not the only one, my lady, who does not know who you will marry. You are a stranger to him, too.”
Olivia saw the sincerity in his soft gaze and had to look away, her brow furrowed. The knight cleared his throat and stooped to pick up the thrown fiddle, holding it out to her. “Any man, prince or commoner, would take one look at you and vow to protect you, against the world if need be.”
Olivia glanced up at him.
“Any true man, that is.”
“And the prince?” She took the fiddle and he met her gaze. “Is he a . . . a true man, as you say?”
The knight nodded, then shrugged. “As true as he can be.”
Olivia swallowed hard and looked down at the instrument. She ran her fingers along the taut strings and the carved wooden sides.
“Do not worry, my lady.” The knight put his hands behind his back and looked out the window once more. “The Wizard knows all.” Olivia smirked, but said nothing as the knight glanced at her and smiled. “Yeah . . . never enjoyed that one either.” Olivia grinned. He sighed and scratched his scruffy chin. “The fact that The Wizard knows what will be hasn’t always been . . .”
“Comforting.”
“Yes, that.”
Olivia looked the knight up and down and plucked at the fiddle, the notes loud in the quiet hall. She turned away as color seeped into her cheeks, admiring his shamelessly calm confidence. She hummed a sigh as she strummed the fiddle and glanced out the window. Far across the land, thin columns of smoke rise into the air amid flagged poles. The prince’s camp, she thought. Olivia’s smile faded and she looked down at the instrument in her lap with a heavy sigh. “Is the prince like you?” she whispered.
The knight glanced at her and blinked with widened eyes. “Um . . . My lady?”
“Never mind.” She shook her head and rubbed the back of her neck, her shoulders ducked in embarrassment. “Forgive me. What was the message?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. “Message?”
“The prince. He had a message?”
“Oh, yes, yes, yes!”
Olivia stifled a laugh and set aside the fiddle to hear the news.
“Prince Theron bids you welcome.”
Olivia leaned forward and waited. “And . . . and that’s all?”
The knight nodded. “What more is needed, my lady?”
Olivia shook her head and sat back, her arms crossed. “I don’t know. I just thought . . . never mind. Thank you kindly for coming, dear knight.”
The knight bowed and stepped back. “The honor is all mine, my lady. Now, I must return to camp.”
Olivia frowned and stood to her feet, dress swishing about her. “You must be tired from your journey—”
“Indeed, yet the prince wishes a report on the well-being of his lady.”
Olivia turned away, her frown deepened, and she cradled herself in her arms. “I see. Well, report all is fine and she waits with anticipation upon his arrival.”
The knight frowned skeptically.
Olivia noticed his stare and shot him a look. “I’m not telling him I’m horrified at his coming! Oh! And please don’t—”
“I will only tell what you wish me to tell.”
Olivia’s shoulders relaxed and she nodded. “I thank you.” She smoothed a crease in her shawl, and gave the distant camp a sharp, quick look.
“And I thank you, for giving me the chance to meet my future queen.” The knight stooped and took her soft hand in his calloused grasp. He leaned forward and kissed it gently.
Olivia smiled sheepishly.
“My Lady.” The knight smiled and pulled away. He stared at her a moment longer, then turned and walked down the hall.
Olivia watched his long strides and high chin and straight shoulders. Her grin blossomed, but she shook her head and looked out the window to the camp. She thrummed the fiddle’s strings again, yet her song was no longer irregular. It flowed from one note to the next as the young lady sighed and lifted her chin. She hummed to herself, a song of The Wizard’s might against a storm, and a smile danced in the emerald depths of her eyes.
Chapter 4
Sacred Creature
“Ain’t proper to keep that hair down!” Nan cried. She crossed her arms and watched Olivia walking from her chamber, the young lady’s long hair ending below her waist and flowing behind her. “You’re no she-elf or barbaric Wilder heathen!”
