Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) (4 page)

Finn has sworn to protect Princess Margary. He’s her truest, most noble guard. He loves her like his own daughter. That much is plain. He would never put her in danger by delivering such an object to her. Princess Margary loves him, too. She trusts him. If he told her to touch that thing, whatever it was, she’d do it. But why would he? Does he know what it could do?

I watch the boy, Loren. He’s relieved, but still shaking. I can feel his fear like a blanket around him. He glances at the sailors and ducks his head again. His lips are still moving. He presses his forehead into his hand. A tavern maid comes over. Asks him to order something. He does. Good. He’ll be here for a while. I leave him to go chase down Finn. As curious as I am about the boy, I need to warn the princess.

I slip out of hiding among the crowded market patrons and run to the palace. I catch up to Finn just before the side gate. He’s hidden the bag away. Tucked it in the back of his belt and pulled his tunic free to cover it.

“Finn!” I call to him. He hesitates before turning to face me.

“Well, Master Tib,” he offers me a kind smile. Natural. Like he wasn’t just lurking in a low-class tavern conspiring with strangers. “Good to see you.”

“You too,” I cross my arms. Look him in the eye. There’s determination there. Urgency. No regret. No sign that what he’s about to do could be dangerous. He’s a soldier, though. He’s trained to be stoic. I glance past him at the guards at the gate, who are close enough to hear us. Choose my next words carefully.

“Nice day for a drink,” I say. Narrow my eyes. He scowls.

“I don’t partake on duty, Tib,” he says.

“But you’re not on duty,” I reply, pointing to his clothes.

“Not so,” he pats his sword. Chuckles. Tries to brush me off. “Why the sudden suspicion, boy? You have your sights set on old Finn?”

Zeze slinks around Finn’s ankles, purring and rubbing. He glances down at her and smiles. Doesn’t kick her away like most would. Looks back at me again.

“It’s dangerous,” I say. “I saw what it can do.”

With that, he glances over his shoulder. Puts a hand on my back. Guides me out of earshot of the guards.

“Best put it out of your mind,” he says to me as we stop along the low wall overlooking the sea. “It’s not your concern.”

“It is my concern. She’s my friend, and I won’t let anything happen to her.” I clench my fists at my side. His casual attitude about all of this really bothers me. If he had seen what that thing had done to Celli, he would have second thoughts about bringing it into the palace. He doesn’t care, though. He shakes his head. Looks like he’s going to say something, then thinks the better of it and turns back toward the guards.

“Don’t, Finn!” I shout as he starts to walk away. There’s nothing else for it. I dive at him. Grab the bag from his belt before he can react. He spins, giving me just enough time to reach in and close my hand around the object before he yanks the bag away. I have it though. It’s small. Soft. A baby doll’s vest woven of silver and gold and encrusted with sparkling jewels. Fit for a prince. It emanates magic. I can feel it tingling in my hand and trying to stretch along my arm like it did to Celli. It can’t, though. I’m protected. Magic doesn’t affect me.

Finn’s eyes go wide. He stalks toward me, seething. Yanks the thing away. Shoves it in the bag even as the red curls sizzle across his hand. Pushes me against the wall and holds me there.

“Go home, Tib,” he hisses between his teeth. “Go home before I change my mind and have you arrested for thieving. Go!”

I don’t think. I turn and run. Back through the market toward home. Back to Nessa, who keeps me safe. Past the market stalls. Past Seabird’s Swoop. I pause. The boy would still be inside. I slip into hiding again and step to the door. He is. Just there, tucked in the corner, finishing his supper.

Azi

“So you asked first: Where have I been? Answer: Kythshire. My turn!” Flitt giggles.

Flitt’s game verges on annoying on a good day, when I’ve had practice and I’m not teeming with questions that have been floating through my mind for months. Today, I have little patience for it and I’m out of practice, but I try hard anyway. I don’t want to do anything to upset her and make her go away again. She darts around curiously as I sit cross-legged on my bedroom floor and watch her. Her light dances over me, lifting my spirits. Despite the dark mood in the kingdom, I’m grinning like a fool and I don’t even care.

“My question is,” she rests on the windowsill, “how much longer do you think the trials will go?”

I’m not surprised that this would be the first thing she asks, since Flitt reports most of what goes on here to the Ring in Kythshire. They fairies there have a personal grudge against Prince Eron. They’re as eager for a verdict as any of us.

“I’d say weeks. Two, maybe three,” I sigh. “I’ve said that before, though, and then the appeals come, so who knows?”

“Nobody knows, apparently!” Flitt answers. “My turn again.”

I groan. My question wasn’t really a question, but it counts as one.

“Do you think they’re right to go through with it, if he’s guilty?” she asks. I’m thrown off by the question. She seems more interested in my opinion of the situation than the actual decision. My thoughts drift to Eron and my own experience of his wickedness. His plots with the Sorceress Viala. The way he used to look at me with hunger and desire to force his power over me. The coldness in his eyes when he ran his blade through Ki to end her life. His vow that he would rule not only Cerion, but Kythshire and every land he could conquer. Slowly, I nod.

“I do,” I reply. “I’m not usually quick to cry death, but Eron is too far gone. There are things that have come out in the trial beyond what we knew. There’s no hope for redemption. His heart is black. He wants only power, and he doesn’t care who he hurts to get it. He would see his own father dead to help him claim the throne. If he was ever able to be king, not only would Cerion be ruined, but he wouldn’t stop. His selfishness would destroy everything that the Plethores have worked so hard to build. I don’t see any way he could be allowed to live if we’re to preserve Cerion’s peace.”

Flitt nods thoughtfully and stretches out onto her belly in a beam of sunlight, facing me. She plucks a sugar cube from the dish I always keep full there, and takes a bit. Her wings slowly open and close, like a butterfly happily sipping at nectar.

“Your question,” she says, resting her chin in her hand.

“You were gone for a long time. I was worried and I missed you so much,” I say as I move closer to kneel at the windowsill. “Why were you gone for so long?”

“Lots of reasons,” she says, grinning impishly.

“Flitt! That’s not a real answer. Come on, don’t be so tricky,” I force a laugh, but my eyes brim with tears. I want to know. I need to know.

“Aw, Azi. I missed you, too,” she floats up to pat my cheek. “I’ll tell you, but you can’t tell anyone else, okay? Promise.”

“I promise, but, not even Rian?” I press my fingertips to the spot that she touched, which tingles warmly as they stick to the sugar she left behind.

“Oh, don’t be stupid. Of course you’ll tell Stinky. I’m not completely brainless, am I?” She rolls her eyes and settles again on the windowsill.

“I never said you were. We’re back to Stinky again, are we?” I ask. Poor Rian. Flitt loves to tease and torment him, and he tolerates it because he knows I adore her.

“Yup,” she replies, grinning. “This has to do with him anyway, sort of. So are you going to ask me again?”

“Okay. What kept you away for so long?” I glance out the window and see Saesa’s red hair bouncing along toward us. She’ll be headed to the training square. She’ll wait for me there.

“New titles,” Flitt says excitedly. “You’re looking at Flitter. Felicity Lumine Instacia Tenacity Teeming Elite Reformer. Can you believe it?” She jumps up and does a little celebratory spin in the air.

“Wow, two new names,” I exclaim, genuinely pleased for her. “Well done, Flitt!” Fairies earn new names as rewards and recognition for impressive deeds. The longer a fairy’s name, the higher her esteem. When I met her, she was Flitt. Since then, she’s earned three names. She giggles and straightens up a little, her chin raised proudly. “Elite Reformer,” I repeat. “That sounds rather important. How did you get those?”

“Oh, that’s the interesting part. I had some ideas about fairy relations. Old fashioned ideas. From the old days, you know. Way back when. I was just sitting in my grotto one morning listening to the chimes and it came to me. We should go back to it. The way things were. Once Prince Creepy is gone, I mean. Not ‘til then, because it would mean exposing ourselves a little, and we’d have to really make sure Cerion was on our side first. But your kingdom has respected our treaty for a long time, now, and we’ve been safe. The elves do it, you know. They do it in other places, too. And with Princess Margary how she is, Twig says she’ll be Queen. She won’t let bad things happen. And if it works, it’s like built-in protection. So that would make sense.

“But then I brought it up at the Ring, you know. And Crocus and Scree were wary. Shush was for it. Ember of course wasn’t. Twig was. There was a vote. There was lots of arguing, too. I almost got kicked out of the Circle for it, if you can believe it. There was so much dancing. Dancing for weeks and weeks. Some of them still hate me for bringing it up. I won’t be putting myself alone with Ember any time soon, if you know what I mean.”

I understand some of her rambling. The Ring is where decisions are made among the fairies of Kythshire. Crocus and Scree are the leaders, and Ember and Shush are members of the High Council, along with several other fairies I haven’t formally been introduced to. When there’s an argument or an issue that’s particularly difficult to discuss, the whole assembly dances wildly until their emotions about the issue at hand are as exhausted as their little bodies are.

“In the end,” Flitter goes on, “mostly everyone agreed on it. But Crocus and Scree wouldn’t pass an edict. They say it’s beyond them. They agreed to send me to the Palace of the Dawn to present it. You know, where our Queen is. I thought it might help if you came, too, so I can show them how good you are. Will you?”

“Will I…?” I trail off, thinking over her words, trying to make more sense of what she’s said. I can’t, though. Other than the customs at the Ring, I have no idea what she’s going on about. “Flitter, of course if you need my help, I’ll do what I can. But I don’t understand. What exactly did you propose? What do the elves do that you want to do, too?”

“Ah, ah!” she wiggles her finger. “One question at a time. Well, those were sort of the same question, so I’ll let it go this once. Oh, and by the way, you can just call me Flitt like always. Unless we’re in front of someone important. So: What did I propose? We’ll go with that question.”

I nod, a little bemused. Once she gets on a roll, she tends to be a little more lax about the rules of the game.

“Just this,” she floats up again and comes to settle on my shoulder so she can whisper. “Pairings. The elves call it
Ili’luvrie.
We fairies didn’t used to hide away all the time, you know. We were part of life with people. We paired up. Like you and me. Or like Princess Margary and Twig. Like Tib and Mevyn. Well, not really like them, actually. That was a little twisted and over the line. It’s supposed to be mutual, and Mevyn made it creepy.”

I start to say something, but she holds up her hand to stop me. It’s not my turn yet. Not until she asks a question.

“It was a good system. Fairies would find a friend. Someone they had things in common with. Someone they trusted. They’d help each other out. Learn from each other. Share magic. Protect each other. Give insight. It was mostly done with Mages, but every once in a while a fairy would find a child, or someone who was particularly pure and valiant. They’d get a tether, like you have, and they’d be good friends. And if one of them ever needed the other, they’d help each other out. Like you and me, see?”

“So,” I say thoughtfully, “you’re saying that if this goes through, if it’s approved by the Queen, then fairies wouldn’t be a secret anymore in Cerion. Isn’t that dangerous for all of you, though? It took so long for you to make yourselves forgotten.”

“That’s the big argument,” Flitt sighs. “Some of them think just that. They said I’m an idealist. They don’t want to expose us, no matter what. But They’ve been talking about something else at the Ring for a long time. Ever since the attack on the North. Your battle with the Sorcerers wasn’t the end of it. Something big is coming, Azi. Something we can’t handle on our own, no matter how much they convince themselves that we can. A threat we’ve seen for a long time on the horizon is moving closer, and the ones against the pairings are turning a blind eye to it. They don’t realize it could mean the end of us. All of us.”

She flies down to the long-forgotten silver pitcher that Margy fixed up for her so long ago. It’s the same as it was then, turned on its dented side and adorned with fringes of lace and piles of old satin. She rummages in the dusty scraps for a little while and then curls up and looks at me expectedly. We sit in silence, staring at each other. It’s her turn to ask, so I wait even though I’m dying to know more about this threat.

“Oh. My question. So, what do you think of that?” she asks broadly.

“A lot,” I reply with a teasing grin. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“Come on,” she says.

“I think a threat is always a good reason to make alliances, but you have to make sure that the allies are trustworthy. Are the fairies who agree to it really willing to pair with our Mages after all this time?”

“Well,” she grins. “There’s one who is. And he knows exactly who he wants, too. Can you guess who?”

“Rian,” I say without hesitation. As far as I’m aware, he’s the only Mage they know well enough to trust. “But which fairy?”

“Shush,” she replies. “He sent this with me. He said he hopes Rian accepts.” She reaches into her belt pouch and pulls out the tip of a quill. She keeps pulling and pulling and the object keeps coming, impossibly growing out of the tiny pouch. It’s a beautiful sleek bluehawk’s feather: royal blue edged with aqua, and with creamy spots speckling it from top to bottom. It isn’t the sort normally used for writing. It’s too fine and rare. She smoothes out the vane and hands it to me. “Fitting for a Wind fairy, don’t you think?”

“Definitely. It’s beautiful…” I turn it in my fingers and feel its silky fronds between them. “Rian will be honored, Flitt. I’m sure of it.”

“Eh, we’ll see. Stinky hasn’t really shown me a lot of patience,” she yawns. I consider reminding her that he’s probably impatient because of the way she constantly torments him, but I decide against it. This is a huge step for relations between our people. One that Flitt has apparently fought hard for, based on her relationship with me. I can’t help but feel a little pride at that. All this time she’s been away, she’s been fighting for us to be closer. I smile.

“Your question,” she says. I think for a while.

“Something big is coming, you said. The threat. What do you know about it?” I ask as I tuck the feather reverently into my vest.

“It’s complicated. It has to do with the…” she peeks out of the pitcher and looks around cautiously. “You know. The things where the stuff comes from.” I know what she means. The Wellsprings. I thought the only one was in Kythshire, but we learned that there was another in Sunteri that had been drained by its surrounding Sorcerers. Tib and Mevyn had something to do with restoring it. I thought I had been there to see it, but my memories when I try to recall it are too foggy. Perhaps because it was around the same time Rian proposed to me. I get too distracted by memories of that wonderful time when I try too hard to remember.

I nod to Flitt. “Go on.”

“Well, ours has been giving portents for a while. Since before you and I met. Warnings of dark magic all around. They’re linked, you see. All of them. They know what’s going on with each other, everywhere. And the threat is just that. Bad people trying to reach the link. Trying to learn what’s known. Oh, it’s too difficult to explain here where I have to be so secret. Give the feather to Rian and then come see us in Kythshire, okay? I have to go. I’ll try to come tomorrow again if there’s not as much dancing.”

“Wait, Flitt—” I cry and snatch up the pitcher but I’m too late. She disappears, leaving me staring into the bundle of silks in confusion and disbelief.

It’s a lot of information all at once, and it’s just like her to leave me so abruptly to try and sort it out without her help. I set the pitcher down and gaze off toward the Academy spires, pristine white against the distant blue sky. Most of Cerion’s Mages are trustworthy. It’s rare to see the Mark on any of them. Uncle makes sure of that, as do the King’s highest Mage advisers.

We’ve shown our respect for Kythshire’s Wellspring for generations now. But could it go on this way if the fairies revealed themselves, or would it go awry? I myself have felt the power of magic before. When I attempt to use Mentalism, it’s intoxicating. I avoid it at all costs because of that. I don’t like the out-of-control feelings it gives me. Would the pairings help curb that desire, or feed into it? I imagine it would depend on the partner. Still, I’m excited for Rian that Shush would choose him. The two seem like a perfect match for one another.