“Prince Borel, I and my men will aid you in any way we can, for if it were not for you, we would yet be cursed. But again I ask, won’t you join us in my citadel, my friend? As I say, it is not far.”
Borel glanced at Flic and then said to Arle, “My lord, because of your iron and my Spritely friend here, this I ask: how far is the citadel above the town? That is, how far away from the ville will iron be from Flic?”
Arle shrugged. “A mile more or less I was told.”
Flic said, “A mile is certainly enough to allay the twist of aethyr.”
Borel grinned and said to Arle, “This then I propose: We will accompany you as far as your town of Níone, yet for the sake of my Spritely friend, we will stay in the ville, while you go up to your citadel. I need to purchase a bronze long-knife, and acquire three horses and the supplies we will need to return to the Winterwood. Shortly thereafter we will ride to the Summerwood, for my brother is betrothed, and the wedding comes soon, and I would be there when that happens.”
“Staying in Níone will also give you a chance to rest and heal,” said Chelle.
“A minor matter,” said Borel.
Chelle smiled ruefully and shook her head and said, “Men.”
“After the wedding,” continued Borel, “we need find a magicien or sorcière to combat Rhensibé, and then we will come and ask you for help in freeing Lord Roulan and his household from Rhensibé’s curse.”
“Well and good,” said Arle, smiling. “We will be ready.”
That night, with Flic and Buzzer on a leaf nearby, Chelle and Borel slept by the small fire well away from King Arle’s camp. Borel—exhausted, drained from two full days without rest, much of it loping o’er field and stream and sand—fell aslumber the moment he lay down. On the other hand, Chelle spent much of the night watching him sleep in the illumination of the full moon, noting how the silvery radiance played o’er the planes of his face, how the argent beams highlighted the sheen of his hair. At last she sighed and lay down against his back and held him close.
The next morn, following the directions given the evening before by King Arle, Flic and Buzzer flew away, the Sprite to be far from the iron the chevaliers bore. Shortly after Flic took to wing, Arle rode nigh, dogs running alongside, and in tow he had a horse.
“André would be honored if you would ride his steed,” said Arle.
“My lord, what will he ride?” asked Borel.
“One of the packhorses unladed of its goods.”
“A chevalier’s mount belongs to none else, my lord. Chelle and I will ride the packhorse in André’s stead. Besides, ’tis easier on the animal if two ride bareback than one in saddle and the other across the withers.”
“Oh?” said Chelle. “You were planning on riding on the withers, Prince Borel?”
Then Chelle broke into laughter, and Borel’s guffaws joined hers.
Arle said, “Ah, a spirited demoiselle. You have chosen well, Lord Borel.”
Borel’s laughter stopped, as did Chelle’s, and they looked at one another. “My lord,” said Borel, “I remind you: but for a brief time long past, until yester we had only met in dreams. And even though my heart is most surely hers, I would court her properly.”
“Ah, yes,” said Arle. “I had forgotten you were not yet lovers.”
Chelle blushed and Borel sighed and Arle laughed. Then the king said, “I would hear your own story, Lady Michelle, as we ride this morn.”
Borel mounted the steed and gave Chelle a hand up, and with her riding behind, they rode to the chevaliers’ camp and dismounted.
Over André’s protests, the prince and his lady rode bareback upon a gentle gelding, and as the cavalcade wended its way toward the town of Níone, King Arle reined back until he rode alongside the pair. “Your tale, my lady?”
Chelle nodded and said, “My father—the duke—decided well in advance that on the day of my majority he would hold a gala. And so he invited many to attend—nobles, Fairies, merchants and other townsfolk. And they all came, Fey Folk on horses with silver bells, merchants in broughams, nobles on prancing steeds, and even some Fey who flew in.
“Ah, the party was splendid, with croquet and quoits and darts and blindfold tag, with music and dancing, and the food, oh the food, it was delicious—roasts and quail and breads and fruits and pastries as well as sweet candies.
“And the gifts were considerable. The Fairies gathered ’round and spoke as if their gifts had been given to me at my birth, though I don’t know what those might have been.
“Regardless, one of the Fey Folk, a most gracious and beautiful lady who had somehow arrived unnoticed and unheralded, drew me aside and asked if I would see her offering. Of course I said I would, and she took me to the unused chamber at the top of the turret, and there sat a lovely spinning wheel, a gift I had not heretofore seen. And this Fairy asked me to try the treadle, to see how easily the wheel spun. I sat on the stool and pressed it but once, and it ran without needing another press, but it squeaked horribly, yet it also somehow made music. It was then that Rhensibé dispelled the glamour surrounding her, and she showed her true self to me. She laughed cruelly, and I tried to flee, yet I did not even reach the stairwell, but collapsed instead. What happened thereafter, I cannot say.”
Chelle fell silent, but Borel said, “That’s when the terrible black wind carried the entire vale away unto the Endless Sands, leaving a bare stone valley behind.”
Chelle shook her head. “I still cannot believe that took place eleven years and eleven moons ago, as mortals would reckon time. It seems just yester to me.”
Arle said, “As Prince Borel told us last eve, you were in an enchanted sleep, Lady Michelle, in which I deem all time did stop.”
Chelle sighed and said, “You must be right, King Arle. But even so . . .”
They rode a moment without speaking, and then Chelle said, “Rhensibé came to me in my dreams, and she laughed in glee and told me that I was trapped. Then did I seek you out, Borel, for I knew you would come.”
“And that was but a moon ago?” asked Arle.
“A few days more, my lord,” said Borel. “Yet it was not until there was but a bare moon left that I knew Chelle was real and not just a dream. Then did I set out to find her.”
“Hai! And find her you did, my prince, and found me and my men as well.”
“But not in time for d’Strait,” said André, who had been riding nearby and listening.
“He did not die in vain,” said Arle, “for it was his blade allowed Prince Borel to fight his way through the thorns.”
André nodded. “He would have been proud to know of that, and if his wife and children were yet alive they would have been proud as well.”
“Perhaps they do know,” said Arle, glancing at the skies above.
And they rode along in somber silence.
A delegation welcomed King Arle and his chevaliers to Níone, and when they discovered that Prince Borel of the Winterwood and Lady Michelle of Duke Roulan’s vale accompanied King Arle, nothing would do but that the prince and his
amour
take up residence in a temporarily vacant hillside chalet owned by the mayor himself. Not only that, but he would send a cook and a ladies’ maid and a valet to serve them as well.
And so it was that Borel and Chelle and Flic and Buzzer found themselves ensconced in very elegant and private quarters rather than in rooms at an inn.
A healer was sent to deal with Borel’s thorn-given wounds, but Flic had already prepared tisanes and balms and anodynes, and Borel was well on the mend.
Over the next several days, as Borel healed he acquired three horses—two for riding, one to be a pack animal—and sufficient supplies to get them to the Winterwood. He had his leathers repaired, where the thorns had scored and torn and punctured them. And he sent his tricorn to the milliner to be cleaned and blocked as well. The prince obtained a bronze long-knife to replace the one he had lost during the wild Pooka ride. But when he tried to use the remaining Gnome-gifted coinage to settle with the various merchants, the tradesmen waved him away, saying King Arle had paid for all.
Each evening, in deference to Flic’s intolerance of iron, King Arle shed his arms and armor and came down from the citadel to dine with them. Chevaliers took turns accompanying the king, and there were celebrations every night for a sevenday, with singing and dancing and merrymaking all ’round, as well as tale-telling, and here Flic did shine. He strutted about and waved his silver épée and—striking
en gardes
and lunging and parrying and making running
flèches
, sometimes afoot on tabletop, other times awing in air—he told of how he and Argent had routed the dreadful Shadows, also mentioning as an afterthought that King Arle and his men did help. And Arle roared with laughter at the antics of his wee friend.
And Chelle and Borel danced the bee dance, showing the townsfolk how ’twas done. And when they were asked where they had learned such a step, Borel spoke of Buzzer, and then there was nothing for it but that Buzzer had to be strutted out for display the very next day. And the townsfolk
Ooh
ed and
Ahh
ed as if they had never before seen a bumblebee. It is said that in the days after, many folk suffered stings while trying to make pets of bees.
After each gala and upon returning to the chalet, Borel and Chelle oft stood on the balcony and looked at the moon and spoke of inconsequential things as well as things substantial.
During the days, as well, they strolled about the town, and Chelle outfitted herself with boys’ riding breeches and boots, for she would not go sidesaddle all the way to the Winterwood.
Borel smiled and said, “ ’Tis not ladylike, my lady.”
“I suppose your sisters never ride astraddle?” asked Chelle.
“Oh, they are not ladylike either,” said Borel, and he broke out laughing.
Too, Chelle acquired a supply of feminine necessities she would need for the journey, and one special sheer garment for herself. Borel made himself scarce during that shopping trip, and instead chose tack and supplies for his horses, now that he knew how the Lady Michelle would ride.
And every day they strolled along the mossy banks of a burbling stream, or played échecs, or whiled away the time at other idling but oh so important tasks.
And always they remained quite circumspect, and yet . . .
On the fourth night in the chalet, as they stood before her bedroom door, Borel said, “Chelle, perhaps you do not remember, but I courted you throughout our dreams, and I tried to not take advantage, for you did not know we were dreaming, whereas I did. Yet you fired my blood, and you still do, and I often lost control in the dream, and it is all I can do to not lose control now. For I would sweep you up in my arms and—Chelle, what I am trying to say is that you have my heart and you occupy my every thought. I would court you truly if I may and if it is your will. You need not answer now, my love, and—”
Michelle silenced him with a kiss, then she quickly stepped into her room and closed the door behind.
Borel, bewildered, walked to his own chamber.
Slowly he undressed, and lay down, yet he could not sleep, Chelle filling his mind: her scent, her sweet breath, her hair, her eyes, her laugh, her slender form and grace and elegance.
In the middle of the night with the moon shining in, Borel yet lay awake when his door softly opened, and, barefoot, Chelle came padding in. Borel turned to see her standing in the moonlight, her negligee sheer and revealing.
She came and stood at the side of his bed, her blue eyes unseen, enshadowed, though not by a magic spell but by the night instead. “My love, I remember every one of our dreams,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “And in them I told you I have loved you since a time long past when I was but a child.” She let her delicate gown slip away unto the floor, and with her golden hair falling across her bare shoulders, she said, “But I am a child no more.”
And Borel reached up and drew her into his bed, and he kissed her soft lips and her eyes and her throat and her breasts and lower, and though she had no experience, she moaned with need and caressed Borel, running her hands along his firm muscles and across his flat abdomen and more. And they made gentle love and passionate love and wild love throughout the moonlit night.
“My, but you look chipper today,” said Flic.
“Do I seem to be walking on air?” asked Chelle, scooping slices of melon onto her trencher, along with eggs and rashers and crêpes with syrup and toast with butter and a bit of cheese on the side.
“Where’s Borel?” asked Flic, eyeing the enormous mound of food on Chelle’s plate.
Chelle shrugged. “Perhaps yet abed,” she said, taking up a bit of melon and popping it into her mouth.
Flic grinned. “Uh-huh, as if you didn’t know.”
Chelle smiled and looked about to see if anyone were near, and then she whispered, “Oh, Flic, it was wonderful, and we are lovers. Isn’t it grand?”
“Well, it took you two long enough,” said Flic.
“Long enough for what?” said Borel, walking into the room. He stepped to the sideboard and filled a plate of his own.
“Long enough to, um, plight your troth,” said Flic.
Borel sat next to Chelle. “If she will have me, we are betrothed,” he said. He turned to Chelle. “Will you marry me, my love?”
Chelle’s eyes sparkled and she answered, but what she said neither Borel nor Flic understood, her mouth stuffed with food as it was. And both Borel and Flic looked at one another, and they shrugged and turned up their hands.
“I think she said ‘No,’ ” said Borel, a twinkle in his eye.
“I believe you’re right, my lord,” said Flic, grinning.
Chelle frantically shook her head and groaned a wordless protest, and both the prince and the Sprite broke out in laughter.
Finally, Chelle swallowed and this time clearly said, “Oh, yes, my love, I will marry you.” And she threw her arms about Borel and kissed him soundly.