Tales of Arilland (16 page)

“Jack was released from my family’s household fourteen years ago,” said Rumbold. “Uncursed, hale, whole, and fully human. He continued about his adventures and heroics, his flights of fancy and feats of unsurpassed bravery—all the adventures they sang about and more. His last valiant effort came about saving a young girl in the north from a wolf…which he did, but not before the wolf claimed his prize. I myself sliced open the wolf’s belly.”

He eyed the gold on Jack’s father’s chest. If Rumbold had the chance to wear the medallion again, what would it think of him now?

“The beast was empty. Jack was gone. That medallion was all that remained. And so I had it returned to you, sir, with a missive explaining everything. You obviously received it.”

Jack Woodcutter Senior had lied to his wife. He had lied to them all and kept that lie safe for over a decade simply to dwell in his own petty hatred. The medallion that had been returned to his beloved’s father marked the punctuation at the end of a life his Woodcutter siblings had never known he had. Whatever the rest of his story might have been, Jack Junior’s tale had not ended in Arilland.

Seven Woodcutter’s eldest son had lived.

Rumbold’s heart went out to Sunday’s mother. His own father was an evil, arrogant bastard, but he had never pretended to be otherwise.

“You will not marry my daughter.” Woodcutter was adamant, but his command no longer carried the strength of his previous rantings.

Seven’s hand dropped from her husband’s chest. “Yes.” The one word dripped ice and cut like a razor. “Yes, he will. It has been said. I have spoken the words. Not even you can change that, Jack Woodcutter.”

A weathered hand reached out to him. Rumbold looked up into the steel gray eyes of his true love’s mother. “Thank you,” she said.

Rumbold nodded in acknowledgement and added no further explanations; he had done enough damage this night. Seven began to pull away until she noticed the tiny silver and gold shoe he held far too tightly in his hand. “Shall I take that back to her?”

He couldn’t bring himself to release this last shred of Sunday. Not yet. Moreover, he didn’t want to. “I’d like to return it myself,” he whispered. “If you don’t mind.”

B
eyond this page
lies the original Chapter 20 of the novel
Dearest
.

If you have not yet read
Dearest
,
I strongly suggest that you do not read past this point.
Because I love you and don’t want you to ruin the story for yourself.

xox

~Alethea

T
he messenger arrived
the night before, though he did not make an appearance until daybreak. Conrad had no notice of the man’s arrival, but for the sixth sense that all messengers have when someone else turns up bearing important information.

Instead of making his way to the palace, the man ran straight to the Guards’ Hall. Conrad had watched his progress from the windows of the palace before running outside and tracing his footsteps like a whisper. Crouched in the hedges outside Duke Velius’s chambers, he stayed just beyond the square of lamplight cast from the open window. He heard the messenger crash through Velius’s door, presumably collapsing on the floor there.

“Erik!” the duke yelled at the man. “Erik!”

There was no answer. More guards arrived at the bedchamber door.

“He’s exhausted,” said the duke. “See if you can rouse him enough to for a hot bath, and then get him into bed. Have food waiting when he wakes.”

There were grunting sounds as the guards complied with the order. Conrad nestled deeper into the bushes as the duke approached the window.

“Gods help him,” Velius said to the starry sky. “Gods help us all. Eh, little bird?”

It was then that Conrad realized the duke was addressing
him
. He stepped out of the bushes as if it had been his intention to announce himself all along. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“You are a wise and talented young man,” said the duke’s dark silhouette. “You will go far in this life, father than you have ever journeyed before.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“I would recommend discretion at this time. I will not order you as a duke; I ask only as a man. A friend. A fellow soldier who cares for the princess you serve almost as much as you.”

Conrad removed his hat and gave a small bow. He had witnessed Velius in action, seen him fight, knew a little of what great and terrible powers he could wield. “What is it you would have of me, Your Grace?”

“This has been an evening full of joy,” said the duke. “I suspect the news my friend brings will unsettle us all once again.”

Conrad suddenly remembered where he had seen the messenger man before: upon his arrival at the palace in Arilland, dragging the body of a dead angel wrapped in a voluminous patchwork skirt—the angel he had come to know as Friday Woodcutter, the aforementioned princess who had taken him as her squire. The man had been bigger then, not stooped with fatigue, and his hair had been bright copper, not lank and dark with dirt.

Conrad wondered if King Rumbold appreciated the undying loyalty of those who served at his side. Tireless men like this guard, delivering his message at whatever cost. Wise men like Duke Velius, whose council took both the well being of his king and his country into consideration. Conrad had met a great many kings on his travels, and few could boast of such friendships.

“Wake your mistress after dawn,” said the duke. “That should be plenty of time. I’ll summon the rest of the family.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.” Conrad bowed again and sped off into the night.

A
t daybreak
, Conrad returned from the kitchens with a warm pot of tea and some sweet rolls for Friday. He slid the tray onto the table and woke the princess as gently as he could, letting her know that she was wanted in the Great Hall. Then he slipped out the door and waited for her to ready herself.

Her talents undoubtedly sensed the anticipation in the air, because she was dressed in a flash.

“Should we fetch Tristan?” Friday asked as they made their way to the Hall.

“His presence was not requested,” Conrad said formally.

Friday obviously caught his tone. “Goodness. Do you know what this is about?”

“No,” Conrad said in earnest, for he did not. He only knew that the guard had arrived, not what message he bore, but he mentioned neither of those things to Friday. Conrad had learned the hard way the folly of delivering similar tidbits of vital information out of context.

As they entered the Grand Hall they saw the guard before them, cleaned and dressed and looking far less dire than he had upon his arrival. Friday ran to the man and embraced him. She, too, called him “Erik,” as if he were simply another one of her brothers, but Conrad knew otherwise.

Erik swept the princess up into an enormous bear hug that made Friday giggle like a schoolgirl. The guard smiled at her laughter, but his worry lines remained. He set Friday down and politely greeted the rest of the Woodcutter family as they assembled before delivering his message.

Conrad noticed Erik’s jaw tense slightly as Friday’s ethereally beautiful eldest sister glided into the room. Neither the guard’s body language nor his aura seemed threatening in any way, so Conrad maintained his post at a respective distance. When Princess Monday’s eyes lit on the guard, however, his worry was accompanied by an immense sadness.

Duke Velius had been right. Whatever message Erik had come to deliver, it was not good. “I came from Rose Abbey as fast I could,” he said without preamble.

“You just arrived?” the king eyed his guard’s livery with suspicion.

“It was late in the night,” Erik said humbly.

“And you waited until now?” Rumbold clicked his tongue. “I’m surprised, Erik. You’re usually quite the gossipmonger. I expect better from you.”

The guard did not rise to the king’s jest, and the anxiety already building in the room became stifling. Immediately, the duke stepped forward. “Blame me,” said Velius. “It was I who gave the order for Erik to wait.”

King Rumbold sighed dramatically. “From you, Velius, I expect nothing but chaos.” The king kept his jovial tone, but his wife and the rest of the Woodcutters remained tenuously silent.

“Last night was a time of reunion and happiness,” said the duke. “I could not in good conscious ruin that for my king, my queen, or anyone else in Arilland.” Velius looked to Friday specifically, who nodded. Her aura was still bright and aflame with love.

“Thank you for your consideration, Velius,” Queen Sunday said in earnest.

“Besides, Erik stunk to high heaven. It was not a pretty sight. Or smell.”

A few chuckles erupted in the room, including Erik’s.

“Thank you for
that
,” said the king.

“Can please I finish my story now?” Erik asked impatiently.

Both the king and the duke motioned for the guard to continue.

Erik addressed Queen Sunday. “Your Aunt Tesera is not dead; she has fallen prey to a sleeping sickness.” He paused, clenching his jaw before he spoke again. “I’m sorry, but your mother has also been struck by this affliction.”

“Is it contagious?” The young Queen Sunday’s voice bordered on hysteria.

“Is Saturday safe?” asked Friday.

“When is Saturday ever safe,” said her brother Peter. “Is it a plague?”

“Only if the plague’s name is Sorrow,” said Erik. “The suspicion is that she’s attacking all her sisters in order to steal their power.”

“Can she do that?” asked Friday.

“If it’s possible,” said the duke, “Sorrow will find a way. And none of us will like the outcome.”

“How was Aunt Rose when you left her?” Princess Monday delivered her question from her perch on the edge of an overstuffed chair. In her voluminous white gown, she looked pretty as a portrait.

“Determined,” said Erik. “She will do everything in her power to protect her sisters while they are under her care. She believes the Abbey is the best place to mount a defense as any. Sorrow will have less power outside of Faerie.”

Conrad had never before heard of this fey Sorrow, but he was predisposed not to like her.

“What of my other daughters?” asked Mr. Woodcutter.

“Thursday’s ship had to leave without her when the ocean vanished, so she made her way westward, to the sea. Saturday and Peregrine traveled east to Faerie, to find Trix.”

“Peregrine?” King Rumbold asked suspiciously.

“Saturday’s
boyfriend
.” Erik broke into a stupid grin completely inappropriate to the situation.

“You’re kidding.” Queen Sunday was clearly incredulous.

“Afraid not, Your Shortness. They’re quite the pair. He’s a prince from some godforsaken township in the frozen country and has a golden-eyed chimera for a pet. They’ve been under a spell all this time, and Saturday rescued them.”

Golden eyes
, thought Conrad.
Interesting
.

“That sounds like our Saturday,” said Friday.

“You have no idea,” said Erik. “She wears pants, he wears skirts, and the two of them can swing a sword as well as any of our guards here.”

“I take it our girl finally got around to practicing,” said Velius.

“Not much else to do while trapped in the White Mountains, I suppose. Between them they vanquished a witch and woke the Dragon of the North.”

“They did
what
?” yelled Velius.

“Right,” said Erik. “I hadn’t mentioned the dragon yet, had I?”

The guard didn’t have time to explain. There was a commotion at the door, and one of the two men stationed there poked his head in.

“What is it, Sir Griffin?” King Rumbold asked.

“Forgive me, sire, but there are three young people here to see you, and they will not be turned away.”

“Send them in.”

Conrad expected John, Wendy and Michael to come through the doors. Three slender, towheaded children entered instead. The eldest was a girl of about sixteen. The boy looked a few years her junior. The youngest was small enough to be only five or six. Their clothes were simple, but their elegance did not go unnoticed by Conrad. The children bowed politely before the king and queen.

“We are Shear, Dart, and Pearl,” said the eldest girl, presumably Shear. “We bring you both good tidings and bad.”

“Let’s have the good first, if you please,” Queen Sunday requested.

“The esteemed seamstress Yarlitza Mitella is alive and well,” said Shear.

An uncharacteristic whoop of excitement erupted from Friday at the news. “My dear mentor! How wonderful! She is safe?”

“As safe as houses,” said the boy, Dart. “She broke her leg in the flood, but she still made it back home to us.”

“She is our godmother,” said Shear. “She swore to care for us if our mother ever fell ill. Unfortunately, that day has come to pass.”

“Who is your mother?” asked the king. “From whence do you hail?”

“That’s the bad news,” said Dart. “Our mother’s name is Teresa.”

Conrad thought he had misheard the name. Hadn’t the Woodcutter siblings already been notified of this aunt’s illness? But the queen and her sisters all gasped at once. Conrad recalled Erik’s announcement and realized that the name Shear spoken had been “Teresa,” not “Tesera.”

“Aunt Three,” breathed Prince Peter, confirming Conrad’s supposition.

“The third Mouton sister struck down,” said Mr. Woodcutter. “A sleeping sickness, no doubt?”

“Yes, sir,” said Dart.

“This is ridiculous,” said Mr. Woodcutter. “Sorrow must be stopped!”

Friday’s father, already a bit of a giant, seemed to grow even larger in his fury. Friday stepped forward and took the hand of Pearl, the smallest girl, to keep her from being scared. Velius laid a hand on Mr. Woodcutter’s shoulder and the large man calmed a bit, but his cheeks remained flushed and his eyes stayed wild.

“We will do what we can,” said King Rumbold. “In the meantime, welcome, cousins. Please allow me to introduce you to your family.”

“Thank you,” said Shear.

“First, though,” Dart said excitedly, “did I hear something about dragons?”

Once again, the room filled with laughter.

Conrad had told Friday that as soon as the atmosphere in Arilland stopped being strange and wonderful, he would return to the road. Omi had told Conrad that his journey would end when he found the place where his heart waited for him. He knew, deep down, that his soul had yet to find its true destination, but for now, he planned to stay right where he was.