Once Upon a Romance 03 - With True Love's Kiss (11 page)

Bianca
dismounted stiffly, and moved with far less grace to untie the queen’s other
leg. Isabelle rubbed vigorously at her legs as the knots came free, and sighed
in relief. “I can’t tell you how badly those have been itching. Well worth it,
though, Robin, and I thank you.” She held out her arms and let the huntsman
help her from the saddle. “I can’t say I’m much the worse for my day’s ride.”

“You do seem
to have borne up well.” Bianca smiled at her friend. “I’m concerned about you
taking a chill, though. A small fire won’t do much to keep you warm.”

“I have my
blanket; I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Isabelle was
fine, while they moved about setting up camp and preparing a simple meal, but
she was tired, and while Robin and Bianca chatted about nonsensical things, she
pulled her blanket around her shoulders and curled up to sleep. Without some
exertion to keep her warm, the cold soon began to take its toll. Bianca could
see her shivering even beneath the layers, and she interrupted Robin
mid-sentence.

“Bring the
sleeping rolls over by Isabelle.”

Bianca
spread one heavy cloth on the ground, moved Isabelle onto it, and piled both
the blankets on top of the shaking queen. Isabelle’s shaking eased, and before
long she fell fast asleep. Bianca smiled ruefully at Robin, and spread out the
other sleeping roll.

“At least we
both have a place to sit.”

He looked at
her quizzically. “Don’t you want to sleep?”

“Not yet.”
Bianca replied “I’d rather you tell me a story first.” She settled herself on
the sleeping roll, motioning Robin to come sit beside her.

He eased
down on the blanket. “Will that not disturb Isabelle?”

Bianca
looked over at the queen, who was now snoring softly. “I doubt it.”

“Very well.
I shall tell you a teaching story that I learned from my grandmother, many
years ago.”

Bianca
wrapped her hands around her knees, and leaned forward a bit, as Robin began
his tale.

“In the
mortal world things alter, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse, but
always and always, they change. The mists are a different realm, and although
they shift, like the ebb and flow of a tide, they do not evolve. The basic
nature of the lands, and all the inhabitants, is fixed. Or at least, so it was
always believed to be.

“For the
past age, though, the mists have been changing. Slowly, to be sure—so slowly, in
fact, that a mortal might never note it, given how swiftly your lives pass—but
the changes are obvious to the denizens of the mists.”

“Changing
how?”

“That is not
part of this story. Patience.”

She
grimaced, but held her tongue.

“When first
the changes were noted, a great clamor arose among the Fae. Messages were sent
to every tribe, every camp, to all beings, light and dark, that make their home
in the shifting mists. Mab summoned them to her palace, and there they came.
Fair and foul, wicked and kind, all came to a great summit to speak of the
changes. For season upon season Mab’s palace crawled with representatives of
all the mistlings, while the wisest among us tried to determine the cause of
these alterations.”

Bianca
leaned forward, intent on the story. “And?”

“In the end,
they realized that it was the mortal world. Your world had become so volatile,
the change could not be bounded by your borders. It was bleeding into the
mists.”

“But why?”

He smiled at
her. “I asked the same question. I will answer you as my grandmother answered
me: Can you not guess?”

She thought
a moment, her brow wrinkling up. “I confess, I haven’t a clue. Did you guess?”

“I did, but
I have an advantage on you, as I already knew more. You see, this summit was
not recent. Not even by the way that the Fae judge time, let alone by the brief
life spans mortals possess. Does it help you to know that the earliest signs of
the changing mists were seen shortly after the time that your kind first drew
breath?”

“You mean it
was us? Human beings?” Bianca gaped at him.

“Is it so
hard to believe? The mortal world changes, to be sure, but your kind propels
the change faster than nature ever could. It explodes from you and spills
across the boundaries between our worlds.”

“What did
you do when you realized?”

“I? I did
nothing. I am hardly older than you. A mere infant.” He grinned at her, and she
rolled her eyes.

“What did
your people do, then?”

“They
argued. For years. Some wanted to end humanity, to stop the changes. Some
wanted to isolate the mists, to separate our worlds further, so that yours
would stop affecting ours.”

“But neither
of those groups prevailed.”

He cocked
his head. “How do you know?”

“We are
still here; it’s obvious we haven’t been eradicated. And you are here, so I
assume our worlds are still close.”

“A fair
enough assumption, but perhaps not the entire truth. Shall I continue with the
story?”

“Please.”

“Two
champions came forth. Black Annis declared that she would lead her band to
destroy mankind, and take glee in the slaughter. But she was opposed. Jenny
Burnt-Tail rose against her, crying foul against such a malevolent plan, saying
that she would take her maids and shroud the mists from the mortal world
forever. Mab’s palace became a battleground, with each side fighting for
supremacy. Many of the Fae were wounded; more were slaughtered, ending lives
that would have lasted centuries, had strife not come to our people.

“At last, a
third voice rose over the clamor of war. Leanan the lovely appeared before the
assembled hosts of the Fae, and showed them her belly, swollen with the child
of her mortal lover. She offered an alternative to slaughter or imprisonment in
the mists. She offered the child of her body, living evidence of our power to
combine our natures with that of mortals, giving us a chance to survive the
changing of the mists, a chance to do what the Fae never could. To alter our
fundamental nature.

“The
fighting stilled. The gathered mistlings pondered Leanan’s alternative, and
hope began to rise. Even the most bloodthirsty of Black Annis’s band could not
deny that they would miss the sport offered by human prey. Even the wildest of
Jenny Burnt-Tail’s wisps did not desire to be lost in the mist forever, never
again to play beneath the mortal moon. Leanan smiled on all the Fae, knowing
she had brought them salvation, not only from humankind, but also from each
other.”

Bianca held
her breath, for she could see the gathering sadness in Robin’s eyes.

“Alas. Alas
for the pride of the Fae! One more voice rose to speak out, and that voice
belonged to Carabosse. She had taken neither side in the fight, for she had no
care if the humans lived or died, or even if the mortal world ceased
altogether. Now, though, her voice rang out, scathing and harsh, condemning
Leanan. Calling her growing child a curse upon the Fae, a stranglethorn in a
verdant forest, a perversion. And, fools that they were, some of the gathered
emissaries believed her.”

Bianca’s
eyes were wide. “What happened?”

“More
fighting. More war. Now it was not just factions; none stood apart. Every
mistling, from the highest Fae to the smallest pixie, fought for a side. At the
last, Mab’s hand was forced, and she called a stop.”

“She can do
that?”

Robin’s
serious demeanor lifted for a moment. “She is Mab. She could bring the world to
a halt if she deemed it necessary. Calling a stop to the war was trivial.”

“Then why
let it begin in the first place?”

“It is hard
to explain. Mab is our queen, but she does not rule us, not the way you mortals
view such things. Her power is vast, but not tame. She does not wield it often,
lest it escape her control and wreak destruction.”

“Very well.
Go on.”

“Mab brought
Leanan and Carabosse together, and forced them to come to a settlement, to
bring about the end of the struggle, lest we destroy the mists for trying to
save them. The Daoine Accords are the formal agreement to end that war, and
every Fae born, on his or her naming day, is taken before the great chalice in
the crystal chamber, and gives up a drop of blood, agreeing to abide by the
Accords.”

“But what do
they say?”

Robin shook
his head. “I have told you a tale, and no one may take offense. To tell you
more I would need the right of blood, which I do not have. I cannot risk
breaking the Accords, just to satisfy your curiosity.”

Bianca was
irritated. “I think you just enjoy being mysterious. It isn’t as though Carabo—”

Robin’s
fingers pressed against her lips, stopping the name half-said. “Shhhhh. That is
not a safe name for mortals to speak. Not here in the wilds, where all of
nature is listening. You could summon that which you do not wish to meet.”

Bianca felt
a shiver pass along her spine. At first it stemmed from horror at the idea of
meeting an ancient fairy in a lonely meadow, but as Robin’s finger stayed
pressed against her mouth, the thought of a wrathful Fae was banished by the
tingling feeling that spread from where his skin met hers.

She looked
up at him, and their gazes locked together. Bianca felt poised on the brink of
a precipice, as though she might tumble off any second, were she not held
firmly by the bright blue eyes so close to her own. Robin’s fingers fell away,
but so slowly that it felt like a caress, sliding across her bottom lip and
brushing across her chin. Another shiver went down her spine, but this she
recognized as being wholly born of desire and longing. She waited, breathless,
to see what he would do.

She heard
him draw in a deep, unsteady breath, and then he let it out on a sigh. He
leaned back, away from her, and stared up at the sky, with no sign of his
thoughts written on his features.

“Go to
sleep, Bianca.” Robin’s words were barely a whisper in the chill air. “Tomorrow
will come all too soon.”

He pushed to
his feet and walked away into the dark night, and Bianca was left alone, with a
longing in her heart that she knew was unwise.

They
traveled slowly through the mountains, falling into an easy routine as the days
passed. While the sun was overhead they rode along abandoned trails and
long-forgotten passes. When they came across still pools, Robin would take a
few moments to check with Merriweather, and was heartened to find that the
huntsmen had returned to Inisle, unable to find their trail. Even so, he pushed
them harder as Isabelle healed. There was no reason to prolong this rather
uncomfortable trip to Albion.

Every night
they made camp, and every night, after Isabelle fell into an exhausted sleep,
Robin and Bianca would sit on the one remaining sleeping roll and whisper to
each other. Robin knew he should be more distant, but he couldn’t help holding
the soft conversations while the fire flickered low beside them. Sometimes
Bianca would tell him about Fain, her foster-brother, or her cousin, Vivienne.
Sometimes Robin would talk about his earliest excursions into the mortal world,
and the mistakes he’d made, and the lengths he’d gone to in order to keep his
grandmother from discovering them. Robin chuckled quietly when Bianca described
Vivienne’s habit of tormenting Brannon’s toadies. Bianca clapped her hand over
her mouth to stifle her giggles when he told of the mess he’d made with a love
potion one midsummer. And, through it all, they both kept their faces lifted,
watching the stars. Occasionally one of them would turn to the other, then
hastily turn back again, causing the conversation to stumble for just a moment
into awkwardness. They didn’t discuss it, though. And he never, never allowed
himself to touch her.

Robin cursed
himself for a fool, but he couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of their nightly
talks. Throughout the day’s ride he looked forward to the evening, despite
knowing that he would be waging a constant battle with himself, to keep his
eyes turned skyward, and keep his hands on his knees or folded over his chest.
It was with a mixture of regret and relief that he led them down out of the
mountains. After they left the foothills behind they were no more than a day
from Albion’s royal palace, and once they were there he could hand Bianca and
Isabelle over to their loving relatives, and free himself from this
fascination.

Robin was
watching the clouds billowing overhead in the late afternoon when he heard
Isabelle call his name.

“Is it going
to rain, do you think?”

He glanced
over at her. The queen was tired, and filthy, but every step they’d taken
towards her family had brought a further glow to her cheeks. Less than a day
from the palace and she was beaming, even at the thought of a spring downpour. “Almost
certainly.”

“We should
find shelter, then.” Bianca had pulled up beside Isabelle, and was also
anxiously surveying the sky. “We aren’t going to make it tonight, at any rate,
and Isabelle really shouldn’t get soaked if we can help it.”

“Tell me,
dear, just how long do you plan on treating me like an invalid?” Isabelle was
teasing, and Bianca smiled as she answered.

“Another
day. Then I’m going to collapse in a feather bed and let King Regal treat you
like an invalid for a while.”

Isabelle
sighed in happiness, then looked to the sky, startled as the first few drops
splattered on her head.

Robin
wheeled his horse around. “The fields we are passing have been tilled, there
must be a farm—” The rest of his words were lost in a loud crack of thunder,
and Robin set his heels to his mount. “Ride!”

They raced
over the fields, laughing even as they tried to outpace the deluge. Robin
spotted a grain silo, and led them towards it. The building would be empty at
this time of year, and the farmer would hardly mind travelers taking refuge
there, with no grain to be spoiled by their feet. The door was too narrow for
the horses, but they would be fine, huddled on the lee side of the building.
Robin threw himself from the saddle and swept Isabelle down, carrying her in
his arms in an attempt to get her inside while she was still dry. Behind him he
heard Bianca clucking to the horses, leading them part way around the small,
stout building to hitch them out of the wind. He had just set Isabelle down on her
feet in the dark silo when the skies opened up, and the rainstorm unleashed its
full fury on the fields.

Bianca was
still outside, and Robin ran back out, anxious to give her any help she needed
so that she, too, could seek shelter. The horses were hitched fast to the silo,
but Bianca wasn’t with them. Robin cast his eyes out over the fields and
spotted her. Her arms were thrown wide as if to embrace the storm, and her feet
flickered as she spun through the soft, tilled earth of the field. When the
next flash of lightning split the sky he saw, rather than heard, the laughter
roll from her as she danced to the crashing thunder.

“Bianca!” He
had to yell to be heard above the storm.

She turned
at the sound, and her face held a wild delight he had never seen before. He ran
to her, feet splashing in the swiftly forming puddles, and caught her by the
hand.

“Come
inside, you will be soaked.”

“I’m already
soaked!” Another thunder cloud crashed overhead. “And this is too marvelous to
miss.”

He looked at
her, in the flashes of light that ripped across the sky. Water streamed in her
hair and over her face, running down to soak through her clothes, plastering
the fabric to her body. She seemed unconcerned, reveling in the fury of the
storm, in the beauty and the terror of the winds and rain, and in her glorious
freedom. It was as though she possessed the best and brightest aspects of his
people, without the prison of their immutable natures. In that moment he truly
understood, for the first time, what Leanan had envisioned for all the Fae.

And
Bianca—Bianca smiled at him, her midnight eyes rimmed with sparkling,
rain-filled lashes. She glittered in the storm, in the bright bursts of light
that flashed across the sky, and he could not deny, in that moment, the pull he
felt between them.

So he did
the unthinkable.

Leaning down
he pressed her lips with his own, tasting the rain on her mouth. She froze for
a moment, and Robin could feel her frantic heartbeat pulsing in her fingertips.
Then she leaned into the kiss, opening her mouth in invitation. His arms drew
her close, until their bodies were separated by nothing but the wet fabric of
their clothes.

And the
energy began to flow.

He ripped
away from her, severing all contact with her skin. The energy flow cut off,
shut down as though it had never been. Her wide, blue eyes stared at him in
wonder.

“Robin, what
was that?”

He felt the
shock on his face. “An impossibility.”

He turned
and walked off in the storm. Heard her protest behind him.

“What do you
mean?”

“Go inside
and take care of Isabelle.” He threw the words back over his shoulder, refusing
even to turn around. “In the morning I shall finally take you both where you
belong.”

“Robin!” He
kept walking, letting the sound of the rain drown out her voice pleading behind
him.

“Robin!”

***

Bianca woke
to warm sunlight streaming in through the cracks in the silo. Isabelle was
sitting quietly beside her, holding a cup of clear water. Without a word, the
queen handed it to her, and Bianca drank thirstily. Isabelle must have spent
many a night in tears, herself, and known that one woke up thirsty after.

Bianca
nodded her thanks, and handed the cup back. She stood, to stretch, and Isabelle
spoke softly.

“Do you want
to tell me what happened last night?”

Bianca shook
her head. She had refused the same request the night before, for a variety of
reasons, not least of which was because she didn’t know what had happened. Oh,
she could relate the events, but she didn’t understand why Robin had left her,
standing alone in the rain.

The night
before she had been hurt, but now, pacing around the silo, trying to work the
kinks from her shoulders, she began to be angry. Why was he behaving that way?
What right did he have to treat her so poorly? By the time she heard him call
to them from outside the silo, she was ready to get some answers.

She blazed
through the door, throwing it open so forcefully that it slammed back to bounce
off the silo wall. Bianca ignored it regally, and strode out into the sunlight.
Robin had their horses waiting, and she stalked forward to haul herself into
the saddle, ignoring his offer of help. Instead of smirking at her fit of
temper, as she’d half expected, he gazed at her soberly, and then walked away
without a word. Isabelle emerged calmly once the door had stopped swinging, and
allowed Robin to boost her into the saddle. She had long ago ceased the need
for the bindings holding her in the saddle, so all that was left was for Robin
to mount up and lead them back towards the road they had been traveling the
night before.

Isabelle
gave Bianca a significant look, and then pulled gently on her reins, dropping
several lengths behind the other two. Bianca heeled her horse forward, until
she was keeping pace with Robin.

“Well?” She
spat the word out, clipped and sharp.

“Well what,
my lady?” His voice was full of pain, but she ignored the upwelling of sympathy
that coursed through her.

“Do you want
to explain yourself? Or rather, will you deign to explain yourself? Or must I
muddle along, making assumptions?”

For a while
he was silent, and Bianca fumed steadily, but at long last he nodded at a small
cottage, nestled next to a giant barn amidst the fields. “There is a girl that
lives in that house, yonder.”

Bianca
glanced at it, then looked back. “And?”

“This winter
the snows were deep, and every day her mother bundled her tight and let her
play among the drifts. She built friends from the snow, little snow girls and
little snow boys, each with a name, each dear to her in its own unique way. She
cherished and loved them, until one day, only a few short weeks later, they melted
away in the steadily warming sun, and she was left to grieve their loss.”

“So?” Her
voice was belligerent.

“Bianca, do
not do this. You understand me.”

“I am not a
snow maiden!”

“You are.
You are pure, and lovely, and unspoiled, like a fresh fallen snow. And in a
very small fraction of my own life, yours will be over. All that will be left
for me is to mourn you. I do not know if I have the strength to accept that.
You must let me think.”

He urged his
horse into a canter, and left her staring after him, her anger gone, leaving
only an ache in her chest and tears in her eyes.