The Scarecrow King: A Romantic Retelling of the King Thrushbeard Fairy Tale (12 page)

He gave the woman a sunny smile. “Stew would be lovely, thank you.”

The farmer’s wife smiled. An uncomfortable silence fell for a moment. “I knew your mother,” the woman said shyly as she sat down next to me. “She was a lovely woman.”

The world seemed to crawl to a halt. My throat dried and I felt strange – like hope mixed with anxiety. It was an odd feeling. I swallowed hard, gathering my thoughts. “You knew my mother?”

The woman nodded, shifting the baby on her hip and then standing up again. “We grew up in the same village. She was a good woman. So happy to marry your father.” She looked as if she wanted to say more, but had thought better of it. Instead, she took the baby and placed him in a rickety wooden chair at the end of the table, next to where I sat.

My eyes widened a little as the baby’s chair creaked and shifted as the woman turned back to the stew. The baby wiggled happily, but it looked terribly unsafe to me. I reached for my needle, pricked my finger, and rubbed a little bit of the blood on the chair leg closest to me. I felt the magic flow out of my blood and into the chair, and the next time the baby wiggled, it didn’t seem to shake as much. Thank goodness for that. I glanced over at Aleksandr.

He was frowning in my direction, as if unsure of what to make of my actions.

I sat up a little straighter, giving him a defensive look. I didn’t care what he thought of my anxious gesture. Better to be safe than sorry.

“What brings you two out so far from the palace?” She gave the pot a stir and then replaced the lid, glancing back at the two of us.

My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, no clever response springing to mind. What could I say?

“We’re heading to my homeland of Lioncourt,” Aleksandr explained, leaning across the table and wiggling his fingers at the baby. It laughed at the sight, and reached for his hand.

“A long journey,” agreed the woman. The look on her face became curious. “And you both traveling without a retinue?”

I opened my mouth to reply and Aleksandr placed his hand over my own. “We’re traveling in quiet,” he said before I could speak. “It’s not safe for a princess to travel with a retinue, so we’re posing as commoners.”

“We?” I couldn’t help asking, raising an eyebrow at him.

He flushed. “Rinda is,” he corrected. “It’s important that she not be recognized. It could endanger her life.”

The woman’s eyes widened and her gaze rested on me. “What can I do to help?”

“We’d like to trade you for some supplies. Dried meat, some bread, enough to last us for a week’s journey,” Aleksandr said. “We can trade you the horse.”

The horse? I pulled my hand out from Aleksandr's and glared at him. “Won’t we need the horse?”

“I don’t wish to deprive you of your mount,” the woman began.

“We won’t need it where we’re going,” Aleksandr continued. He reached for my hand again, and before I could protest, lifted it to his mouth and kissed my knuckles. He squeezed my fingers as he did so, a subtle urge for me to be silent.

Fine. I could be silent. I gave him a gritted-teeth smile back and remained quiet. He was going to hear plenty when we were alone again, though.

He winked at me.

I rolled my eyes.

“I’d be happy to trade you supplies for the horse,” the woman said excitedly. “My husband needs a second horse to pull the plow, but we haven’t been able to afford one. I can give you some of today’s bread and some meat from the smokehouse and we have some vegetables from the garden. Lots of carrots,” she said, and then blushed again.

“Whatever you can give us will be wonderful,” Aleksandr said, his voice warm and happy.

I, of course, had misgivings. What would we do without our horse?

~~ * ~~

The woman – Joanne – was so warm and friendly that it was hard for me to stay upset about the horse. My temper grew better when she pulled out a wash-basin and gave me water to wash my face, as well as a new change of clothes from her own trunk. The dress was worn and a bit too short at the ankles and the most unbecoming shade of brown, but it was clean and comfortable. Joanne admired the fabric of my dress and I ended up giving it to her – she wanted to make nice things for baby Ninae when she got a bit older. I didn’t see how anything nice could be made from that fabric any longer, but perhaps Joanne had cleaning skills I did not.

As we waited for the food, Aleksandr chopped wood while Joanne braided my wet hair by the fire, and told me stories about my mother as a young girl. Stories about the mischief they would get into during the long, boring winter months. Stories of my mother letting out the neighbor’s goats because she thought he was mean. Stories of my mother laughing and happy and lighthearted. They were good stories, and there were far too few of them.

I liked Joanne. She had been kinder to me than most people in the palace, who had muttered compliments out one side of their mouth, and then laughed at me behind my back. I vowed that if I married the king of Lioncourt, I’d send Joanne a dozen horses in thanks for her kindness.

Then, after we ran out of her memories of my mother, she talked about how much she liked Aleksandr. “He’s a good man, Your Highness. I can see it in his eyes. And he’s very much in love with you.”

I did not comment on her words, choosing to keep my reaction to myself.

A few hours later, with hot food in our bellies and full packs of rations strapped to our backs, we waved goodbye to Joanne, baby Ninae, and the horse. Aleksandr immediately chose a path for us through the thick of the woods once more, but it was not hard to determine where we were headed. The nearby mountains loomed ever closer. By late afternoon, the terrain had changed to rocky cliffs interspersed with trees, and we continued to move along the valley below.

That night, Aleksandr kept watch again, and I fell into an exhausted slumber. My shoes had been fine for riding on the back of the horse, but they were no match for hours of walking, and my feet and lower legs ached madly.

The next morning, I awoke to a hand pressed over my mouth. My eyes flew open and I went to scream, silenced by the look on Aleksandr’s face and the finger he had pressed to his lips. He looked exhausted, the circles under his eyes pronounced. I was just about to give him a scathing retort when I heard it, too.

Soldiers. Searching through the woods.

I froze in place, sitting up and clutching at his sleeve. We sat in silence, watching as flashes of blue and green – the colors of the Lioncourt military uniforms – moved through the forest, calling out to each other. They slashed at ferns and poked at nearby trees, walking the woods. Looking for something, or someone.

Looking for us.

Aleksandr gently pushed on my head, indicating that I should flatten to the ground, and I did so without a word of complaint. The grasses that grew here were not tall, but our campsite was surrounded by thick ferns and canopied by heavy trees. I glanced over at him as he lay down next to me, his eyes on the soldiers, his sword gleaming in the grass next to us. I glanced over at our small green tent, terrified that they would see it and know we were here. They were so close.

Out of habit, I reached over and skimmed my thumb on Aleksandr’s sword. He looked at me like I was crazy, but I rubbed my thumb in the grass, feeling the tickle of Birthright magic and thinking hard about what I wanted it to do.
Don’t let them see us. Make them walk past
.

Whether it was my poor magic or something else, the soldiers eventually turned away and began to head back the way we’d came. After a few minutes, they disappeared from sight and we could no longer hear their conversations echoing through the woods. I heaved a sigh of relief and glanced over at Aleksandr.

He smiled over at me. “That was lucky.”

I scowled at him. Was that a jab at my poor magic? “Let’s just get out of here before they come back.”

We hastily broke camp, our movements quiet as we rushed to get out of the area. Once our things were packed, Aleksandr grabbed my hand and we tore through the woods at a fast pace, the branches tearing at my hair and long skirts. I didn’t protest – being bruised and scratched was far better than being dead.

After a time, we felt safe again, and Aleksandr slowed. He pulled out his dagger and began to show me moves with it, and mentioned some of his stories as a soldier. I could tell he was trying to distract me from the close call we’d had, and I allowed him to do so. They were silly stories, designed to make me laugh and take my mind off of my aching feet and the heat of the day. I knew that, even as I laughed at one story of how he’d knotted two horses’ tails together before they’d ridden into battle.

“So tell me about the Scarecrow King,” I told him. “What’s he like?”

His brow wrinkled and his smile grew faint. “Why do you wish to know about the king?”

So I can decide if he’s worth marrying
, I thought, but kept it to myself. Instead, I shrugged. “He showed up wanting to marry a princess and looked like he’d been living in filth. Is he stupid, do you think? Or do you think he just enjoys being dirty?”

He stumbled, then looked back at me in surprise. “Stupid? I…no, no I don’t think he’s stupid.” Aleksandr’s smile returned, with a tinge of a blush on his cheeks. “Travel is hard and I imagine he is just used to being around men. Maybe he did not give much thought to his appearance as he was trying hard not to be too late for the engagement party.”

I snorted. “Then he failed on both accounts, did he not? Not only was he late, but he looked revolting.”

He gave me a pained grimace. “Anyone can clean up, Rinda.”

I supposed he had a point. He seemed awfully uncomfortable discussing the king. Perhaps because he was such a lowly type himself? I eyed him skeptically as we walked, then asked, “Why did you choose to be a minstrel? You seemed to enjoy being a soldier. And I daresay you were a shade better at swinging a sword than you are at singing.”

He scanned the cliffs at the side of us, then the sky, and it seemed to me that he was reluctant to answer.

“Aleksandr?” I prodded.

“Call me Alek, please. Aleksandr is so formal.”

“Very well. But you’re avoiding the question,
Alek
.”

He glanced back at me with a grin, then shrugged his shoulders. “Sometimes we are called to do something that does not seem perfect for us, but that we must do nevertheless. And besides, I hear minstrels have far more luck with ladies.”

“You’re not being serious,” I protested. “And being a terrible minstrel is not exactly something that one is called for–”

Alek put a hand up in the air, silencing my words. “Do you hear that?”

I waited. Nothing. “Hear what?”

And then I heard it – my voice echoed back to me, repeating over and over again.

“The echoes in the valley,” Alek recited, calling out the words of the song. “
And when they emerged from the Ghost Roads / Their voices rang against the mountain walls / Echoing voices, echoing their joy / Free of Lioncourt / They made the new land their home / And called it Balinore
.” He glanced back at me and extended his hand for me to take. “We’re close. Come on.”

Ignoring the shiver of fear that traced over my skin, I placed my hand in his and followed him along the base of the cliff.

It took another half hour of walking before we came upon the first entrance to the Ghost Roads. The walls of the valley had narrowed out, until there was barely enough room for Aleksandr and I to walk side by side. It made me afraid but when I pulled closer to Alek, he reached for my hand and squeezed it to reassure me. Oddly enough, that did make me feel better, and I gripped my dagger in my other hand.

The opening to the Ghost Roads lay carved into the side of the cliff. The door was impossible to miss - rounded and arching, it was like a gigantic hole cut in the side of the cliff, the walls perfectly smooth and circular, as if someone had simply cored the side of the mountain like an apple. Vines and greenery hung over the edge, marring the perfect circle cut into the side of the cliff, and old, broken fencing had been placed over the entrance – likely to keep out small wandering children. A wooden sign, grey with age, showed the slashing double-mark of a blade – the universal sign of danger.

Alek paused at the gaping mouth of the entrance, and glanced over at me. "Does it make me a coward if I say that the hair on the back of my neck is standing up?"

I shivered and moved a little closer to him, my hand reaching for his again. "Not unless it makes me one too." I stared into the darkness of the cave. It looked so very…black. Lightless. Deep. Dark. Scary.

Alek moved forward and touched his hand to the side of the wall, running his thumb along it. "It looks like they melted the wall, rather than carve it." He turned wide eyes to me. "How did they do this?"

"The song says it was magic," I replied, clearly not nearly as fascinated by the thought as he was. I'd seen magic do all kinds of impressive things. "Perhaps when the mages left Lioncourt, they had someone that could work stone."

He made an impressed sound in the back of his throat. "Amazing."

"Yes, fascinating," I said in a bored tone, and tugged on his hand, trying to pull him away from the entrance. "But I think I have changed my mind, Alek. I think I should like to leave." There was something about the gaping maw of the cave that unsettled me. I knew that it went deep into the mountain, and the thought of going through there instead of over the roads - no matter how dangerous - was more than a little frightening to me.

He shook his head at me. "We can't leave. We have to go through there.”

“People are being warned away from the cave,” I said, flinging my hand out to point at the frightening symbol. “Danger! That means we shouldn’t go in there.”

“Those signs are likely to ward away small children and hunters. And whatever danger there is in there cannot be nearly as dangerous as if we were to be captured by the same men that took down the Lioncourt retinue.”

I hated that he made sense. Frowning, I stared in at the blackness. It had seemed like a good idea yesterday, when the sun was shining hot overhead, and I'd been so tired of climbing over hills and dodging trees and tripping over roots as we made our way through the forest. But staring right into our new option….I wanted to change my mind. "This is a bad idea."