Authors: Kate Sparkes
It was similar to a horse in appearance, as the stories said, and yet not. Even without the shining, pearlescent horn that twisted from the center of its forehead, one would never mistake this for a common beast. Its coat shone like sunshine on waves—even its mane and tail, which hung in thick, matted ropes nearly to the ground.
Had I been human, the sight of the near-mythical beast would have left me breathless. Even in eagle form, I felt myself drawn in by its power and strength. Never had I imagined that a unicorn would live up to the legends, but there it was.
I dropped closer, and the unicorn reared on his hind legs. His forelegs paddled at the air, balancing him. He kept his eyes on me, as well as his horn, which looked as though it could run a dragon through with little difficulty.
Green leaves tangled in the unicorn’s mane and the long hair that covered his lower legs, but he seemed to repel all other dirt. Even his dark golden hooves remained spotless as he lowered himself to the ground and paced around the muddy perimeter of the pond. He shook his mane and made another threatening gesture with his horn.
I won’t hurt you,
I thought, and wondered how the creature seemed to know what I was. After one last, long glance, I climbed to the clouds. When I looked down again, he was gone.
People like me weren’t supposed to see unicorns. I’d always suspected the “pure of heart” bit was mere fable, something to enchant the minds of good little children and keep them in line, just in case they might happen upon a unicorn one day. He hadn’t appeared happy to see me, but he hadn’t run, either.
So much for fairy tales.
Still, the sight of him made my heart soar higher than my wings could ever carry me. His beauty and strength were surely a part of it, but there was more to it. His wildness had taken me by surprise. He looked nothing like the clean, groomed, nearly domesticated creatures from story books. And his warrior spirit, the certainty he’d projected that he could and would run me through without hesitation, had pleased me. You couldn’t cage such a creature, couldn’t chain it to a life it didn’t want or make it become something it wasn’t.
Not one person in ten thousand found a unicorn by chance. I wasn’t superstitious enough to think of it as an omen, but I still couldn’t help being pleased about it. It would be my secret. No one would understand what I’d felt—or if they did, they’d think less of me for it, and speaking about the unicorn would diminish it in my mind somehow.
Perhaps I would tell Rowan, if the chance arose, but even her questions would make the memory too solid, to earthly.
I flew on, and soon found patches of forest cut away to make room for fields and roads. I passed over farms, and then a quiet town. Too quiet. A child played in a tiny, fenced garden, and a few adults moved with hurried purpose from building to building, but considering the beautiful spring day and the size of the town, the streets should have been bustling. No carts moving over the roads, no one out tending gardens... even the farm fields were deserted.
Springtime should have meant the people leaving their homes, preparing their fields, opening the earth and encouraging growth that would feed them through next winter. Something serious had to have happened to make them ignore those duties.
My unease grew as I flew over more towns, more farms, all of them quiet as graveyards. This was Xaven’s province, and his people. If Severn had found out that Xaven helped me find my father, if he’d suffered the same fate as the Wanderers, I wouldn’t get a chance to deliver the message.
The only other sign of human life visible before I reached Xaven’s home was a group of travelers who I took to be farmers on their way to Luid. They moved at a good pace, but didn’t seem to be fleeing, and their carts appeared to be filled with early harvest and last year’s goods, not their belongings. I took that as a good sign, but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
No smoke from the chimneys at Xaven’s house, no servants working outside. I flew closer, but there was nowhere on the steep roof I could land to look inside.
Had my luck been better, I’d have found Xaven outside and been able to give him the message without need of explanation. The limitations of this form meant I couldn’t communicate with a servant, should one answer the door, and changing in front of them would be awkward for all involved. I remembered my cousin Morea, who I’d met on my last visit, and the pretty blue-skinned maid who had served us tea, and hoped everyone was safe inside, or well away from whatever trouble might be brewing.
I needed another plan, but none presented itself. How had the old messengers done it? Perhaps they’d been as skilled as my grandfather, who could change from human to fox and back, taking his clothes with him. Or they’d worked out speech in animal form, something I hoped to achieve some day. But for now...
I landed on the porch railing—or rather, I tried to. My landings had improved greatly over the past months, but I’d never had to do it with one foot. I slowed correctly in my approach, reached out, grabbed the railing, and promptly tipped forward. Hard as I flapped, I couldn’t stop my descent, and I crashed head-first into the oak boards beneath me.
Well done, Aren. Most impressive.
I only let myself rest for a moment as the white fairy-lights faded from my vision, then righted myself. At least no one had seen me. I hobbled to the door and rapped at it with my beak three times.
No answer, and no sounds from within. I tried again.
Still nothing.
I glared at the door and hopped away, trying to balance on one flat foot and the clenched toes of the other, and made my way around to the back of the house. The scroll was being crushed by my talons, but there was little I could do about that. I found the kitchen door and repeated my knock there. When no one answered, I shrieked. Knocking with my face gave me a headache.
A faint shuffling noise. I backed away from the door, ready to fly, to destroy the message if someone other than Xaven tried to take it from me, to attack if one of Severn’s soldiers answered.
The door opened a crack and an eye squinted out, taking in the sight of an eagle crouched in the grass. I held up the scroll, and my uncle opened the door farther.
“Who’re you?”
I shrieked again, more quietly this time. He grabbed a heavy overcoat from somewhere behind the door and tossed it to me. “I’ll not let you in if you can’t state your business.”
Better him than Morea. I changed and wrapped the coat around me as I stood, scroll in hand. “Good afternoon, Uncle. I hope you’re well.”
His expression tightened, and his gaze darted behind me, to the sides, to the service road that ran behind the barns. “Get in,” he whispered, and held the door wide. As soon as I’d stepped through, he slammed it and twisted the lock.
In the fading light from the windows and the flickering flame of his oil lamp, my uncle’s appearance became ghastly. In mere weeks the lines on his face had deepened, and the skin on his face hung looser than it had when I last saw him. I hoped it was a trick of the light that made him appear ill. The sight unsettled me more than the empty fields and roads had.
“Aren, I wasn’t expecting you. Come upstairs, we’ll talk. Is that for me?”
I handed him the letter, and he carried it upstairs with him. As we walked, I slipped into the coat and filled him in briefly on what had happened since our last visit, when he’d given me information that changed everything. He listened without comment or question.
“I can’t say I envy you,” he said as he opened a door to his rooms. All of the furniture save for the bed and the wardrobe were draped with white dust sheets, which he moved off of a pair of chairs so we could sit.
“You’re looking well,” I said. “As is your home.”
A rueful smile pulled at his lips at the obvious lie. “Aren’t we, though? I’m afraid my age is catching up with me now that Morea’s not here to keep up with my potions. I’m down to dried teas. Feels like it’s about time to go find my daughter.”
I was about to ask more when he held up a finger and opened the letter. He sipped from the teacup on the covered table next to him as he read, then set the letter on his knees and closed his eyes.
“What do you think?” I asked.
That smile again. “I think I know your father too well. Shall I write out my response, or trust you with it?”
“I’m fairly trustworthy.”
“Good. Should this information fall into the wrong hands, it would put many lives at risk. Your father has asked me for troops, and you can tell him that they’re ready and waiting in Wildwood.”
“I’m sorry?” Wildwood was only a short distance from Luid.
Xaven smiled, pleased with himself. “Some time ago, we received word that we should increase goods already being shipped to the city. I suspected Severn was nervous after he lost you. The request became a demand a few weeks ago, which interested me. I hoped it meant you’d been successful in your mission and were returning, but no one could tell me anything.”
“So Severn is preparing for siege.”
Xaven nodded. “I believe so. I sent the goods as Severn requested, and extra items as a sign of my support. I had supplies left in Wildwood, weapons and armor and such, but I hope Severn never knew that. Certainly more than enough reached Luid. I sent my people to make the deliveries, and when they had done that I told them to stay in Wildwood instead of coming home. And then I sent more. And more. So instead of twenty people making the trip six times...”
“You have a hundred and twenty in Wildwood now.” I spoke quietly, almost superstitiously, as though saying it out loud might shatter the truth behind the words.
He nodded again. “More than that, actually, but that’s the idea. It’s hard on those left behind to care for the farms and the shops, but they’ve pulled together, and thus far no one there or here has let information slip.” He rested his head in his hands. “The people I sent aren’t warriors, though I did send some militiamen, and a few with magic who we managed to hide from Severn. Kept a few here, just in case. It doesn’t do to leave folks unprotected, you know. But we’re spread thin, all of us.”
“So why are you hiding here? And where’s Morea?”
Xaven stretched his legs out in front of him and clasped his hands over his belly, which was only slightly less impressive than it had once been. “My dear Morea insisted on being one of the first to go. I presume she’s safe in Wildwood, but can’t be sure.”
“She won’t be fighting, I hope?” I remembered her as pleasant, kind, and well-mannered, but hardly the warrior type. More the refined sort of Potioner one found working for the wealthier families of the city.
“I don’t know,” he said, and stared at the ceiling. “The girl knows her mind, and she’ll do as she sees fit, whether it’s tending to the wounded or picking up a sword. Don’t think I haven’t had her trained to defend herself, and to attack if need be. She’d have insisted if I hadn’t, I’m sure.”
I smiled. “Of course.” I hardly knew my cousin, but she sounded like someone it would be good to have on our side.
He grunted, sat up, and drained his teacup. “It’s time for me to go, too. I was going to leave it a few more days, but if your father is on his way, I’d like to be there to greet him.” He glanced out the window at the late afternoon sunlight. “Bad time to set out, but I can’t stay now that you may have been seen here.” He left the dirty cup and saucer on the table, reached behind his chair, and pulled out a leather suitcase with brass buckles. “Not ideal for a long trek, I know, but I’m accustomed to traveling in comfort. My servants took the more practical luggage when they left. Walk me down?”
I followed him to the small barn behind the house, where a black horse waited, already hitched to a cart. “You know my mind better than I know it myself, Stanwold,” he called into the shadows.
A lean figure stepped out and nodded. “When your visitor arrived, I suspected it might be time to go.”
Xaven hoisted his suitcase into the cart and rearranged boxes and sacks to cover it.
“You’d be safer here, Uncle,” I said. “I don’t think my father wished for you to join the battle.”
“I’m sure he didn’t,” Xaven sighed. He climbed onto the seat of the cart, and Stanwold joined him. “But the fact is that I’d rather die doing something worthwhile than stay here, hiding under my bed until Severn sends his soldiers for me.”
“He won’t send them if we win.”
Xaven took a deep breath of hay-scented air. “And I’m going to help make sure you do. Be safe, Aren, and fly carefully. We’ll see you soon enough.”
I watched them ride off into the dusky evening, then changed again and flew back toward my father. I’d have to stop for the night, but I could make some progress now and find something to eat before I settled in.
I’d caught my uncle before he left, delivered the message and received good news. Perhaps the unicorn had been a good omen after all. But I still couldn’t rid myself of the certainty that every bit of good fortune was an illusion, and it would soon come crashing down.
28
NOX
T
he same instincts that had once led a starving child to food now brought me to my best chance for finding a cure for a king, and perhaps preventing a war.
A sad, sickly thing, in fact, struggling to grow in a patch of rocky earth. Had the seed fallen a few paces in any direction, the wild barbarose would have flourished. This area had water, rich forest soil, and warm spring breezes, and yet this stunted little plant wouldn’t have one blossom this year.
So much depends on the soil,
I thought as I crouched to rub a thin leaf between my fingers.
“Well?” Rowan asked.
Ulric had ordered her to help me in any way I asked, and as far as I knew, he hadn’t spoken to her since. She carried a basket over one arm, full of plants that were useful, but not quite what I needed. Kel stood behind her, watching me work.
“This is it,” I said, and shook my head. “The plant is right, but I need petals. Victoria?”