Again I was running, pursuing the bobbing light.
“Leah! What’s going on?” Faxon said as I passed by.
“The door! Follow that torch!”
The three of us assumed the formation we had in the woods: Reldion in front, myself in the middle, and Faxon at the rear. Though I didn’t look back, I knew Latule was getting closer. Their voices, indistinct before, now formed intelligible words. The soldiers wanted blood, both for the fallen and to redeem themselves in the eyes of their Lady, a title which, I had no doubt, meant Lady Lavinia Latule.
We did not have far to go before the torch on the wall stopped.
“Here!” the voice said. “I will unlock it.”
We waited, looking in desperation from the door to the way we had come, the way Latule now followed. Had I been more skilled with elements, I might have swept our path away with a wind, but I could not risk destroying the Autumnstead wall. As the sounds came closer, Reldion’s eyes narrowed. I imagined he was considering what weapon from his personal arsenal he wanted to exercise next. Faxon’s hand rested on his sword hilt. In his face, I saw weariness and fear that though we were on the doorstep of safety, we still might not make it.
“We’ll be alright, Faxon,” I whispered.
Faxon made such a slight nod in response, I almost wondered if he’d heard at all.
On the other side of the wall, I heard footsteps, the clank of keys. Faxon, Reldion, and I looked at one another hopefully.
Then I heard a chair or stool scrape back. “What are you doing, you fool? This door is to remain shut, by order of the queen!”
“But Roderick! The Princess is out there!”
“Balthas, you sot! Is this another of your drunken dreams?” A slot in the door at eye level drew back. Two eyes with bushy black brows regarded us with squinting suspicion. I almost expected him to say something like “What’s the password?”
“How do you know she is the princess?” Eyebrows said instead. “Latule follows her, or do you not see?”
“They pursue!” Faxon yelled.
And pursue they did. As we wasted precious seconds on this argument, the enemy rounded the corner of the wall, their faces grim.
“Get ready to fight,” Reldion warned. He reached into his coat and let something fall to the ground. Blue light sparked from it, a pillar almost knee-high. Our shadows, distorted to enormous size, stretched across the wall. Daggers flipped into Reldion’s hands.
“Please open the door,” I pleaded with Eyebrows.
“I can’t let you do this,” Eyebrows said, shutting the giant peephole. “Latule is very clever; this could be another of their ruses.”
“You’re going to get the princess killed!” the other guard shouted. I heard the scuff of boots on a hard floor, then the crash of furniture.
Faxon, meanwhile, had freed his sword. “Stay back,” he warned me. “Do not get involved in the battle unless we fall.”
“But Faxon!” I protested. “I can’t let you get hurt!”
Light exploded around us. I shrieked and covered my eyes.
Reldion had used some kind of firework to blind the enemy and throw them off guard. Five lay dead on the ground, Reldion’s daggers buried in their throats.
“Your intentions are noble,” Faxon said, “but I have a promise to keep.”
“Promise?” I echoed.
“To Tolliver. I told him I’d protect you!”
With that, Faxon hurried to Reldion’s side.
Together or apart, Faxon and Reldion were a force to be reckoned with. Between the two of them, they cut down a good ten Latules before they were forced back. No matter how great their skill, however, Latule had the advantage in numbers. Inevitably, they backed us into the wall. There was no question of surrender on either side. With each moment that passed, each new blow that landed on my companions, I knew death alone would end this fight. It was ironic, I thought, that after all we’d been through, it would end here, with my back pressed against the door that led to safety.
Suddenly, inexplicably, said door gave way. Strong arms grabbed me, pressed me against something soft. Then in a dancing whirl, I was standing before a man dressed in the Autumnstead guards’ uniform: steel plate armor, a green tunic so dark it was nearly black, and a gray cloak. What must have been three days of or more scruff and his disheveled hair - white and wild, almost mad scientist-esque — somewhat ruined the military effect.
“You’re safe now, Princess.”
The wine on his breath brought tears to my eyes, which, under the circumstances might actually help me. “My friends! What of them?”
“They’ll not enter!” The man from the slat - I recognized him by his thicket of dark eyebrows - limped toward us, his hand on his sword. One eye had a dark bruise around it and had swelled shut. The other swept back and forth with a wild energy. “I will not abandon Autumnstead to the whim of a drunken geezer!”
“I will kill you if I have to!” the so-called drunkard roared. “We cannot leave these good people to die amongst the enemy!”
With a roar, Eyebrows flung himself at Drunken Geezer. Steel clashed on steel. I dodged behind a barrel. Maybe their skirmish would give me the chance to let Faxon and Reldion in. Other soldiers, hearing the fight, abandoned their posts and gathered to egg on the contenders. As I’d hoped, the fight gradually moved from the foyer to the gateway, and then to the village streets. I crept to the door, occasionally glancing behind when the crowd’s shouts or the clang of swords seemed too close.
Luckily no one had replaced the crossbeam on the door. That still left me with around twelve feet of phone-book thick wood to push open against the snow and wind.
Leaning forward, I pushed all my weight into the door. It didn’t budge. I took a deep, trembling breath and tried again, only for it to hold fast. Maybe I was supposed to pull the door instead? I tried this technique with what felt like the absolute last of my strength. The hinges gave the barest hint of a cranky creak.
Through the slight crack, I heard Reldion shouting in the Wagoner’s language, guttural and intimidating. I did not hear Faxon but hoped his voice had simply been drowned out in other noise. Then I remembered the slat. Feeling like a fool, I drew it back and scoped out the battle. In the undimmed blue light of Reldion’s fireworks, Faxon huddled behind the Wagoner, no longer fighting. He must have been wounded. Latule continued to press them. Hope fluttered its wings in my chest. It had seemed a hundred years since I’d been pulled through the door, but it hadn’t really been that long.
“Faxon!” I called through the slat. “Push the door!”
Our combined meager strength got the door open just enough for a person. Faxon grabbed Reldion by the coattails and dragged him in after him. Before anyone could follow them, the Wagoner was able to get the door shut. The Latules gave a shout of dismay I heard through the thick wood. Grinning, Reldion replaced the bolt. “Take that, you bastards,” he bellowed out the slat. He looked to Faxon for agreement. The slender man smiled weakly. The torchlight was too dim for me to see where he had been wounded and its severity. Before I could ask, a company of Autumnstead guards trooped in, led by Eyebrows. Two guards had the drunkard by the arms. “She is the princess!” he insisted. “Just look at her!” A murmur ran through the guards. Many turned to me, and several raised their torches.
“We still don’t know,” Eyebrows insisted. “See how she has let others from outside in? We should search the area to make sure she has not allowed Latules to enter as well!”
“You cannot think the princess would travel with no one to guard her!” Faxon said.
“Then you have no knowledge of our princess!” Eyebrows said. “She is a savage, as strong as a man, a stubborn mule who goes her own way, regardless of who it hurts.”
“As sure as my name is Reldion le Valen,” the Wagoner said, “I guarantee Princess Fiona stands among you.”
“The word of a Wagoner is slippery and sly!” Eyebrows retorted. Talk about the pot and the kettle, I thought. I was beginning to realize if I didn’t intervene, we’d be here until sunrise. My stomach flip-flopped as I considered what I had to do to end this.
“Enough!” I declared in a voice that surprised me with its steadiness. “I am Princess Fiona Arencaster. My companions and I have traveled far through many hardships. I demand the respect due to me and my protectors, this instant!”
“But the princess was enchanted, unable to speak!” Eyebrows sputtered, aghast.
“It was a simple matter for the mages at Valeriya to restore me,” I declared. “Since my homecoming a season ago, I have used my long silence to reflect on what I have done and how my selfishness has hurt others.” The guards nodded or murmured their agreement. Eyebrows gazed around in dismay, a man realizing his ship was sinking. “Release the soldier who was so kind to open the door for me. What is your name, good sir?”
“Balthas, Your Highness,” the drunk said.
“Your aid will not be forgotten, Balthas.”
“Your Majesty,” another guard piped up. He wore a breastplate with elaborate etchings of leaves and swirling designs, and a long plume trailed from his helmet. “As Captain Chisum, I apologize on behalf of the entire Wall Company. Shall I have Roderick arrested for his doubt and unseemly conduct?”
“Is that him?” I gestured toward Eyebrows without pointing. (My Portalis training hadn’t left me.)
“Yes, Princess.”
I waited a deliberately long time to answer. “No,” I said at last. Eyebrows all but collapsed into a heap of relieved jelly. “Autumnstead needs all her soldiers to fight. But as you see fit, assign him a week of menial duty, hard labor and cleaning perhaps.”
“Yes, Princess.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Reldion grinning ear-to-ear. My own mouth twitched; I bit back a laugh. “We require a soldier to escort us to the palace to prevent similar misunderstandings. The rest of you may resume your duties.”
Although the captain assigned another soldier to take us where we needed, Balthas insisted he should come along instead. He chattered nonstop the whole time: how glad he was that he’d recognized me, how it was high time Eyebrows had gotten what was coming to him; this new building and that; the people of Ivenbury housed here; a brief touching on the fortunes of war before launching into his opinions on Latule (no good bastards!), their doings, and the fate he hoped they met.
It was a good thing I wasn’t an impostor sent by Latule, I thought with a wry glance at Faxon. Or Autumnstead would have been in grave trouble indeed, with this free flow of information. At first, I tried to listen. Balthas had saved us all; it was the least I could do. As the walk went on, my energy died out. I had to let his words rush past me, an endless flowing river of talk.
We brought Faxon to the new infirmary, a converted stable at the side of town closest to Castle Autumnstead. While I felt bad leaving Faxon alone, Reldion and I needed Balthas. For one, I didn't trust Reldion enough to travel alone with him. And two, if there were any zealously suspicious guards at the Castle Autumnstead doors, Balthas could lend us credibility…well, somewhat. Better than we'd do on our own, anyway.
It didn’t take long to traverse the cobblestone streets to the Castle Autumnstead grounds. Gaining entry proved a simple matter. Reldion refused my offer of a guestroom, stating, “I will seek an inn, Princess. T’will be a much better place for one like me. And, I hope to share drinks and company with soldiers, the better to tell the tale of this night.”
Balthas practically danced for joy at this statement. “I shall come, too, good Wagoner!” he announced. “Captain Chisum has made me your escort this entire watch. I shall gladly fulfill my duty to drink and share tales with you and all we may gather to us! Ah, how Fortune favors me this night!”
I rolled my eyes but supposed it was better this way. For all I knew, Ivenbury eminents occupied all the guestrooms. Personally, I wouldn’t want to be woken by Reldion’s fierce grin and burning blue fire eyes.
In addition to the escort, Captain Chisum had sent a page to inform the castle guards of my return. Those at the front gates let me in with hushed greetings and praise for my return.
As I made my way to Fiona’s room, I passed several additional pairs of guards positioned at strategic points in the castle, another reminder of the war and how such conditions affected everything.
In Fiona’s room, servants had lit a fire. I didn’t bother removing my clothes. I buried myself in blankets musty from unuse and lowered myself gratefully into the dark waters of sleep.
I dreamed myself into the sun-splashed foyer of my parents’ old townhouse in the hills. By the blue gingham sundress I wore and the stillness of the front porch wind chimes, I knew it must be a summer day. Gerry had a gallon of lemonade in one hand and a picnic basket slung over his shoulder. Excitement danced through me like sunlight reflecting off the water. We were finally going on the date I’d often longed for: an afternoon picnic at a beautiful green park nearby.
“We can’t go, Leah.”
“What do you mean? The picnic’s ready. I spent all morning packing it.” (Gathering food Gerry could eat meant trips to several grocery stores. I’d gone today so it’d all be fresh.)
“It’s too late.” Blood oozed down Gerry’s face in wide tear tracks. “You waited too long, Leah.” His body crumpled. The picnic basket and lemonade hit the floor, food and drink flying in all directions, like they’d all been made of glass. Though his body lay on the ground, Gerry’s bloody face floated above me, grimacing, accusing.