Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) (9 page)

“Typical. Mages.”
Flitt tisks as she settles on my shoulder. No one else notices her, not even the gate guard as I hand him my invitation. She keeps herself well-hidden from humans, for her own protection.

“It isn’t typical,”
I push to her as a Page greets us.
“It’s worrisome. It’s not like him.”

“Don’t worry,”
she giggles,
“he probably got caught up reading some old tome or something.”

We follow the Page through burnished walkways where tall windows spill bright sunlight over polished stone floors. Colorful tapestries line the walls opposite the windows, stretching up to the impossibly high arched ceiling. Despite the summer heat outside, the air in the palace is much cooler and more crisp. So much so that I find myself wishing I’d brought a wrap or at least worn sleeves.

We pass through the indoor gardens, which are only slightly warmer, and up a winding staircase that leads to a long, low corridor. Here, the doors are carved with intricate reliefs of vines, flowers, mushrooms, and fairies. Guards stand at attention on either side of a double set of doors. I recognize one of them as Finn, Her Highness’s personal detail. He offers a slight nod as the other guard, who I don’t recognize, looks us over and the Page raps lightly on the wood.

“
Strange,
” I push to Flitt as Saesa and I glance at each other with worry,
“High Lunch in the princess’s private rooms?
”

The door opens a crack and the princess’s nurse greets the Page.

“Sir Azaeli Hammerfel of His Majesty’s Elite, Squire Saesa Coltori of House Ganvent, Young Master Tibreseli Nullen of House Ganvent,” the Page announces. The nurse nods. Instead of allowing us in, she steps out and closes the door behind her.

“That will be all, thank you, Elan,” she says to the Page, who gives a respectful bow and rushes off. She waits until his footsteps fade at the bottom of the stairs and then turns to us. “You will do nothing to excite or upset Her Highness. You will not discuss the trial. You will not discuss any distressing news of incidents outside of the palace, including any untoward actions or rumors regarding the peasantry. You will not address her condition. This is to be a friendly, lighthearted visit to lift the princess’s spirits. Do we have an understanding?”

“Her condition?” Tib crosses his arms over his chest and gives Finn such a glare that I fear he might lose his temper and throw a punch. Finn raises his chin ever so slightly as if to dare Tib into action. Saesa is busy staring at the door, her face pale with worry at the nurse’s list of restrictions. I reach past her to Tib and rest a hand on his shoulder.

“Of course we agree,” I say, tightening my grip on his shoulder. “Right, Tib?”

“Sure,” he says, and wriggles free of my hand. “Whatever you say, m’lady,” he murmurs, still glaring at Finn.

“What’s got into you?” Saesa whispers to him as the nurse pushes the door open to allow us in. He only shakes his head in reply, and at once our attention is drawn to the canopy bed at the end of the ornately painted room, where the princess sits propped on pillows of satin and silk.

I try to think of the last time I saw Her Highness. It was a trial day just a week ago. She looked well then, if not tired. Small, but as the baby of the Royal Family, that’s expected. Despite her youth, she has always had an unexpected wisdom about her; an understanding of the world that many twice her age have not yet grasped. Still, she looked well then. Even now she seems well enough, like a little cherub almost swallowed up by the rich, billowing silk robes that spill over the bedside in pools of shimmering lavender.

“My friends!” she cries and holds her arms out to us. “You came.”

“Now, princess—” the nurse starts, but Saesa rushes across to the bed and gingerly accepts the princess’s hug.

“I must insist—” the nurse starts, but Princess Margy interrupts her.

“Thank you, Tirie,” she says dismissively, her arms still tight around Saesa.

“But Your Highness,” Tirie wrings her hands.

“Thank you, I said,” Margy’s tone is firmer this time, and Tirie huffs.

“I’ll be just outside,” the nurse gives a reluctant curtsy.

“Very good,” Margy nods. She waits for the woman to show herself out and then rolls her eyes at the rest of us. “I’m twelve years old and they still think I need a nurse. I ought to have ladies in waiting by now. Sara did, at my age.” She shakes her head and scowls. “Oh! It’s safe now, Twig.”

“Find me!” A tiny voice calls out from the wall near the window. Margy giggles and slides off of the bed. She takes Saesa’s hand and pulls her toward the voice.

“Are you sure you should get up?” I ask the princess, but she and Saesa are too busy in their search. Tib is looking, too, but it’s obvious his focus is not on finding the fairy. He goes to the opposite side of the room where the princess’s dolls are neatly arranged around mushroom-shaped pillows. As I follow him, I feel Flitt push off of my shoulder.

“Come out, Twig!” she calls in a sing-song voice.

“Oh, Flitt! You came, too!” Margy claps. “Help us find him. Sometimes he’s up in the branches.” She points up at the trees painted across her ceiling, and I turn my attention back to Tib.

“Tib,” I whisper as he starts rooting through the princess’s collection, “what are you doing?”

Tib

I don’t spare Azi a glance. I have to find it quickly, before anyone realizes I’m looking. Before Finn comes in and sees me and stops me. It must be here. That’s what’s making her sick. I look for a glint of silver, a flash of jewels, but all the princess’s dolls are silver and gold and glitter.

“Looking for something,” I finally mutter in response. I kneel at the center of the mushrooms and close my eyes. Maybe if I can’t see it, I can feel it. Maybe it will reveal itself to me.

“For what?” Azi whispers with concern, “What’s the matter?”

“A vest.” I say, still searching. “A vest with magic. It’s silver and jeweled and powerful. I saw Finn bring it into the palace yesterday. It’s dangerous. I saw what it could do.” I don’t feel anything, though. No magic in here except for the fairies. And the princess.

“Found you!” Flitt cries from across the room. “That was tricky!”

I keep searching. I’m running out of time.

“Help me,” I hiss at her, “I think it’s what’s making her sick.”

“Think of what you’re saying,” Azi whispers as she crouches to look through the dolls, “Finn would never endanger the princess.” Still, she doesn’t stop her search.

“I know what I saw,” I say under my breath. I don’t care if she believes me. I only care about finding it.

“Princess,” Tirie calls through the door, “you aren’t out of bed, are you?”

“No, Tirie,” Margy fibs. Her robes and gown trail behind her as she crosses the room to me and Azi. Twig flies beside her. He’s a dirt-covered fairy, with ragged green clothes and messy black hair. He smiles at me as the princess sits down and I slump back against a mushroom, defeated. It isn’t here.

“Why are you supposed to stay in bed?” I ask the princess.

“Tib, we’re not supposed to talk about that,” Saesa whispers.

“Because Tirie forbade you?” Margy raises her chin. “Don’t listen to her. She’s got too many rules.”

“To keep you safe,” Azi says quietly.

“To shelter me,” Margy scowls. “I’m not a baby. I’m growing up, and they refuse to let me.”

“Are you sick?” I press. I want an answer. She looks okay. A little dark around the eyes, maybe, but not too sick. Just tired.

“Tib!” Saesa gasps.

“It’s all right,” Margy says.

“No, it’s disrespectful,” Saesa turns to me. “She’s our princess.”

“She’s my friend first,” I say.

“That’s right,” Margy beams at me. “You see, that’s why I asked you here. You three are my most trusted friends. Two of you know my secret.” She nods at me and Saesa. “Now it’s time for me to tell Azi.”

She turns to Azi, who looks very confused. Their eyes lock for a while, and at first I think Azi might be doing Mentalism, but there are no tendrils of gold between them. They’re just looking at each other. Like Margy is deciding whether it’s really safe to say something.

“When you came to the palace that night,” she says to Azi quietly, “you were different. You learned to do something. It was dangerous. I knew it. I could tell you were trying to fight it and that it was a danger to Paba. I didn’t understand at the time, and I was angry with you.”

“But how did you…” Azi shakes her head. “How could you know?”

“I sensed it. I could feel it. Strange magic. Not a magic I was used to. Not a magic I knew.” The princess watches her carefully. I know the secret she’s planning to tell. It’s a dangerous one. She has magic within her, Princess Margary. I saw her use it once to revive Mevyn and restore his power. If it was discovered, she’d be severely punished. Perhaps put to death. Twig helps her curb it. Helps her hide it.

In Cerion it’s forbidden for royalty to learn magic. Something to do with a Sorcerer King generations ago, who nearly destroyed everything because of his greed. When the Plethore Dynasty took over after that, they swore they’d never use magic. They’ve kept their promise for generations. This isn’t Margy’s fault, though. Magic wasn’t taught to her. She didn’t seek it out. She was born with it. She’s fought it her whole life. Kept it secret. She knows it could start a war. A revolution. Especially now, when the peasants are already rallying. She’s smart to keep it to herself. Nobody else knows. Not even the king.

“Maybe it would be better,” Twig says to the princess gently, “if you read the story first.” He hovers in front of Margy, his stick-like wings moving so fast they’re almost invisible. After a little thought, the princess nods. Inside the circle of mushrooms, everyone settles in on their pillows. Saesa sits beside me. Across from us, Margy slides a book from beneath a pillow. It’s old-looking. The cover is embossed with patterns of vines and leaves. It reminds me of a place I’ve been. Ceras’lain. The White Wall, where the elves guard their lands against outsiders. Saesa and I exchange a glance. She recognizes it, too.

“It’s in Elvish, so forgive me if I’m slow to translate,” Margy says.

“You speak Elvish?” Saesa gasps.

“Of course,” Margy smiles. “Paba insists all of his children learn the languages of his allies.” She looks a little sad at the mention of her father. A little more tired. Probably because of her brother, I think. It’s only a matter of days before he’s found guilty. Margy looks at each of us and smiles. She opens the book and starts to read.

“There is a place of legend and lore, a tale passed from mother to son and father to daughter and written here for the eyes of innocents. Once carried in whispers on the wind, it speaks of a city like no other. It is the tale of Brindelier, a kingdom obscured by mist and cloud. A palace out of reach, golden and bright. A land of promise and peace, where no wish goes ignored, and no desire is unfulfilled.

“Within walls of sparkling gold and silver, tucked away in their tower, the heirs to the city wait. Prince and Princess, brother and sister, hand in hand they abide, wrapped in enchanted sleep until they are woken by one worthy to rule beside them. Of royal blood the suitor must be. Their kingdoms shall unite, and none shall divide them. They will be a beacon of power, where magic flows freely and all manner of creatures are welcome as equals. Only those with true intent may enter the hidden gates, for Brindelier is a place well-guarded by enchantments and strong magics.

“If you are capable of reading these pages without difficulty, or if you are listening to the tale and words do not fail the storyteller, then you have already proved yourself worthy. The gates of Brindelier shall open to you, should you seek the kingdom in the clouds, and marvels beyond measure shall be yours to delight in for all time.”

The princess strokes the page with her fingertips. Caresses the words written there. The rest of us sit quietly, waiting for more. I glance at Saesa again, but she’s distracted. Watching Margy. Thinking. I reach into my vest pocket and find the coin. Feel the strange bumps along the edge of it. Think of the image carved in its face, the tower in the clouds. Brindelier.

“Eron,” Margary says, startling all of us, “read this to me once many years ago. Before…” she sighs. Shakes her head. Squares her shoulders. “I remembered it and asked him to read it to me again just a few years ago, but he couldn’t find the page. I tried to remind him of the story, but whenever I spoke of it I would lose the words.” She blinks tearfully. “Now I understand why. I used to look through its pages, but I could never find the tale. It revealed itself to me again days ago, and now I can only think of the twin heirs in their castle, sleeping. Waiting for their worthy suitor. It calls to me.”

“Princess,” Azi offers gently, “you can’t mean that you wish to seek out this place? It’s a legend. A story.”

“Typical,” says Flitt from her perch on Azi’s shoulder. “Weren’t we the same to you once? Just a story? A tale for children? We proved that wrong.”

“It isn’t that I simply wish to, Azi. I must,” Margy says tearfully. “I must. I belong there. I feel it calling to my heart. If I remain here, as I am now…” she trails off. Looks at Twig. He gives her a nod of encouragement.

“What do you mean, as you are? You’re beloved in Cerion, Margy. You’re the sweetheart of the kingdom. Everyone adores you,” Azi says.

“I won’t be. Not for long. Not if they find out, and they will someday, because I can’t hide it forever,” Margy sighs.

“Princess,” Azi says with a mix of worry and amusement, “what could you possibly have to hide?”

“This,” Margy says. She stands up and lifts her hands, palms up.

At first nothing happens except a soft, warm breeze. It rustles our hair and clothes. Glints of light sparkle at Margy’s palms and drift away to settle around the room. Slowly, the branches of painted trees along the walls shift. The carpet beneath our feet becomes grass. The leaves wave playfully in the breeze. The lights become stars, sparkling in the sky. Birds chirp and sing all around us. I can even smell it: the damp soil, the tree bark. It’s as real as any forest could be. It’s more than a simple Mage spell. This is magic at its purest. Raw and perfect.

Azi stands and walks slowly to the wall. The yellow silk of her dress trails out behind her. She rests a hand on a tree. Looks up along the trunk, up into the leaves. Into the sky. The stars drift down. They collect on her arms, her legs, her body like a suit of shimmering armor. In her hand they form a sword, long and elegant. She raises it like a golden statue. A statue of a perfect Knight. The princess stands up and goes to her. Takes her free hand.

“Be my Champion, Sir Azaeli,” Margary says. “Please. I could think of no one more worthy than you. Seek out Brindelier. I know in my heart it is real. Find it for me. Please.”

The lights begin to fall away. The trees flatten to the walls again. The princess slumps a little, but Azi catches her as the magic fades away. She’s different, Azi. The Princess’s spell weaves around her, unseen. Azi lifts the princess easily and carries her to her bed.

“I’m sorry,” Margy whispers. “It drains me.”

“I’ll go,” Azi says. “If it exists, I’ll find it for you, Princess. I promise.”

Margy looks so small as Azi tucks the blankets around her. Like a child again. The princess nods. Closes her eyes. Azi bends close. Whispers something. Flitt and Twig hover at the pillows. Beside me, Saesa leans close so her shoulder touches mine. I turn to her.

“Will you show the coin to Azi?” she whispers. “It’s got to be linked.”

I nod and give it to her. When Azi comes back to us there’s a glow around her. I can feel it more than see it. A protection, an excitement. A sense of purpose. It’s not just a feeling. It’s some sort of power she carries now. The promise of a quest.

“My lady,” Saesa whispers. “Tib found this this morning.” I hand the coin to Azi just as the door opens.

“Ah, as I thought,” says Tirie a little smugly. “This visit was too much for the little dear. Come, luncheon is set for you on the East Terrace. Leave the princess to her rest.”

“This way,” the page calls to us from the hallway. When we file out, the fairies follow us. Twig, too. That surprises me. He isn’t known to leave Margary’s side. I glance at Azi. Her gaze is distant as we follow the page. Full of concentration. Twig sits on her left shoulder, Flitt on her right. She looks down at her hand, closed around the coin.

“
Why has no one ever mentioned such a place before?
” I hear Azi’s words form slowly. See them in my own mind. Ideas, tinged in gold. “
A city in the clouds. Certainly there would be legends. Bardsongs.
” This is how they talk to each other sometimes, she and the fairies. Through the Half-Realm. Into each other’s thoughts. It’s a different sort of magic, but I can still detect it.

I can’t help eavesdropping. I’m too curious.

“
I can’t believe you’re still doubting after everything you’ve seen and done
,” Flitt pushes to her.

“
I’m not doubting
,” Azi says. “
Just…I don’t know,
” she sighs and hands the coin back to me as we’re shown to the terrace. A table is set here, shaded from the hot sun by a canopy. Bright silks flutter in the sea breeze. The rest of them keep talking, but I’m too distracted by the view of the ocean. The ships. The port. I go to the stone rail and watch the lifts. Watch the comings and goings of captains and cargo. Think of my contraption, nearly finished, waiting in its dark hiding place. Think of Valenor, my friend. Dreamwalker. The one who gave me the idea. Who planted it like a seed in my mind. Did he know, somehow, about the city the princess would seek?

At the corner of my eye, I see a flash of silver. I’m torn from my thoughts, suddenly aware of the woman standing quietly beside me. Tall and slender, with dark, rich skin that glows in the sunlight. She’s dressed all in silks and veils of purple so deep they’re almost black. A crown of silver gleams in her black curls, but that’s not the silver that caught my attention. No, that silver is lower. It flashes again. A vest. A boy at her hip.

“Princess Amei,” Saesa says from beside me. She nudges my rib hard. Ducks into a low curtsy. I bow, but I can’t look away. It’s unmistakable. Loren’s vest fits perfectly on the young prince. Its jewels sparkle brightly as he giggles and reaches for me. I remember Celli. The red swirls. The screaming. The Mark. The prince’s skin is smooth and tan. No Mark. He leans closer, nearly tipping out of Amei’s arms. I reach to catch him and feel it, same as I did when I tried to take it from Finn. A tingling in my arm. A powerful magic. Amei pulls him back. Holds him closer.