Authors: Ann Hunter
Colin pushed her aside. “Shh!”
Glory clenched her fists. “I want Papa!”
“Be quiet,” Colin hissed.
Sobs echoed in the shadows. Colin unsheathed Ilyndiil. “Show yourself.”
Glory whimpered. The shape took its full height and pressed its form into the light. The face of a lion with great, furry ears and a shaggy mane rested atop the body of a man. He was muscular, clad only in a loin cloth, and otherwise human. His nose wrinkled as he took in the new scent on the air.
“What is it?” Colin whispered.
Glory’s head felt empty. “I don’t know.”
“Think! Now is not the time to forget Maeb’s stories.”
Glory squeezed her eyes shut, racking her memory. Maeb had mentioned such a creature that gobbled up its victims, save for the head, then sat and wept over it. Her whole body vibrated with fear. “Donestre.”
Colin’s hand tightened around Ilyndiil.
The donestre covered his face and bemoaned itself, then peered between his fingers at the children. His snout wrinkled, revealing gleaming fangs.
Colin’s breath was ragged. “Stay where you are.” Ilyndiil gleamed in the light. “I’m warning you.”
The donestre charged, snarling savagely. Glory screamed. Colin sunk Ilyndiil into the donestre’s ribs and spun away. The donestre doubled over and tumbled past. He groped the oozing wound then lifted his shaking, bloody hand to stare at it in the light streaming in from above. Colin tried finding a foothold in the earthy wall, but his boots slipped in the mud. He faltered. Glory caught his back and nudged him right again. With a bellow, the donestre rose and lumbered toward them. Colin gripped Glory’s arm and swung her away as he slashed the donestre across the back. The donestre reeled and pivoted, gnashing his teeth.
Colin reached for Glory’s hand. “We have to get out of here. We have to tell someone.”
“How?” Glory cried.
The donestre charged. Colin sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth, grabbed the donestre’s mane and plunged Ilyndiil into its left eye. The donestre howled, wobbling backwards. Colin remained on guard, watching with terror.
The donestre reached to pull Ilyndiil from his eye, wailing and shaking his head. His heel knocked against a skull on the floor, and he tripped over it.
Colin turned his face upward, searching frantically for a way out. He found a dry root and jumped hard, snatching the end. His legs and hips swung as, hand over hand, he pulled himself up.
“Don’t leave me,” Glory begged.
Colin disappeared into the sunlight. Glory quaked alone in the cell, which had grown quiet except for the constant drip of water in the background. She jumped, startled, when Colin’s head appeared over the edge of the hole. He leaned in as far as he could and reached down. “Give me your hand.”
Glory stood on tiptoe. She reached, but her hand swept through empty space. “I can’t.”
“Try!” Colin urged.
Suddenly, a massive form lurched through the shadows. Glory screamed as a bloody, one-eyed donestre hurled itself at her with snapping jaws. Glory leapt. Her fingers brushed skin, and she was propelled into the light. She barreled through the damp, hard ground on one of her shoulders.
Colin lay on his back, panting. Glory touched her fingers which were sore from being yanked so hard.
Colin swallowed as he caught his breath, then rolled over and pushed himself up. “Let’s go.”
Glory pulled herself together and rose. “Who should we tell?”
Colin marched toward a hut next to the castle. “My father knows every beast in the kingdom.”
“This morning magical creatures did not really exist. Why would your father know of this one?”
Colin paused. “I… because… I’m sure he will know what to do. Alright?”
The little thatched cottage sat on a hillside overlooking the kingdom. Smoke wound its way through a cobbled chimney into the clear blue sky.
As they entered, a young falcon sat on a perch, and food was on the table. A hearth fire crackled in the back of the hut beneath a bubbling pot.
Colin gently stroked the snowy breast of the bird whose eyes were covered by a rufter to keep it calm.
“Father?” Colin called.
Glory crouched by the fire, warming her hands. She wondered how anyone could live in such a meager home.
A door near the hearth opened, and a tall, burly man with brown hair and a beard entered, wiping his hands on a chamois rag. “What is it, boy?”
Glory had never met Colin’s father before, although she had seen him with the king in the bailey before their hunts. She got a good look at him now, clad in a buckskin tunic and leggings. She thought he looked like a tree with his barrel chest and trunk-like legs and arms.
Colin crossed over to him. “Father, Glory and I found something.”
Colin’s father glanced at Glory. He seemed surprised to see the princess and a bit put off in a way that made Glory feel very out of place.
“Let’s see it,” he said.
“Well it’s not really a thing, that is.” Colin shifted from foot to foot, rubbing the back of his sandy-blond head. He grew nervous. “We sort of fell into a hole, and there was a creature… in a jail cell.”
Colin’s father’s nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed. “Do not lie to me, boy.”
“He’s not lying, sir,” Glory said quietly. She felt intimidated by this man. She wondered if Colin did, too.
Colin opened the front door, and Glory followed his cue. “Let us show you,” Glory implored.
The man grunted and trailed behind.
Colin led them to the line of trees where they had been playing. As they drew closer, his father grew more and more agitated, huffing and muttering curses under his breath. “What in the name of the gods were you doing out here?”
“It’s not much further,” Colin called, ignoring him.
“Haven’t I told you not to play in the woods?”
Glory bit her lip.
Oh, Colin, please don’t say it was my idea. If Papa knew…
“This way.” Colin darted toward the hole. He picked his way around the muddier places carefully.
“You are wasting my time.”
“It was right,” Colin stopped, staring at the ground, “here,” he said blankly.
Colin’s father crossed his massive arms.
Colin stared at the ground where the hole should have been. “I swear by the gods it was right here, Father.”
“I cannot believe you called me out here for a child’s game. You have wasted my time.”
Colin shook his head. “It was here. We fell, and…”
Colin’s father began stomping away. Glory wondered if he had ever bayed at the moon or danced in the dark.
“It was right here!” Colin yelled.
“There was a donestre,” Glory called after Colin’s father. It stopped him in his tracks.
He turned, his eyes narrow. “What did you say?”
Glory felt very small and insecure all of a sudden, but she stepped forward. “We fell in the hole, and there was a donestre. Colin stabbed him in the eye and saved us.”
The man’s hands curled into boulder-like fists. His eyes shifted to Colin’s side. His expression turned dark. “Where is Ilyndiil?”
Colin’s hand went to his scabbard, but his hand grasped thin air. He looked to his hip with horror.
“You lost it?” the man roared. He lurched toward Colin and began boxing his ears. “You stupid, stupid boy!” He pinned Colin against a tree, backhanding his jaw. “How could you lose it? You’ve not yet had it a day.”
Glory staggered back. How could a father treat his child so? She watched as the man grabbed Colin by the collar and lifted him into the air, continuing his tirade. Spittle slung from his lips like a rabid dog with the force of his words. “Do you realize what you’ve done, you dim good-for-nothing whelp?”
“Please, Father!” Colin cried. “I can find it again. Please! Give me a chance.”
Colin’s father shook the boy like a rag doll.
“Please, if you let me go, I can find it… I’m sorry!”
Colin’s father grew red with pulsing, plump veins in his neck and forehead.
Glory couldn’t stand to watch anymore.
“Stop it.” Her voice was quiet at first as she cowered in the man’s presence, but it grew stronger. “I said, ‘Stop it!’”
She charged toward them. “Let him go.” She gave the man’s ankle a solid kick. “By order of the princess.”
The man growled and looked down at her.
Glory crossed her arms. “I charge you to let him go.”
Colin’s father gritted his teeth. “Or what?”
“I shall tell the king how you treat people.”
Colin’s father threw the boy to the ground and laughed. “That’s a good one, little highness.” He continued laughing. He laughed so hard that tears sprang to his eyes. He wiped them away and crouched down before Glory. He leaned in until his face was an inch from hers. “How I treat my boy is no one’s business but my own.”
Glory stared him down.
The man grinned, then gave a sudden snarl with a gnash of his teeth.
Glory wanted to bite him.
Colin’s father cut across to his son. “Do not come home until Ilyndiil is found. Hear me?”
Colin bit his already bleeding lip and nodded. His father stormed back to their cottage.
Glory offered her hand to Colin. He pushed it away, got up by himself, and started kicking the leaves and dirt.
Glory placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Colin brushed her hand away, sweeping through the leaves more fervently.
“Do you want help?”
Colin shook his head and stooped. “It’s gone. I left it in a hole that does not exist.”
Glory knelt beside him. “Don’t say that.”
Colin rocked back on his haunches, turning his head away and wiping at his face with his sleeve.
Glory knew he was crying. She slipped her hand into his. “What we saw was real. You are a hero.” She scooted closer and put her arm over his shoulders. Colin swept her into an embrace.
Glory’s eyes widened with surprise, but she assured him, “We will get through this together. We will find someone who will listen. Then we can get back your dagger.”
“I should have cut off its hand for proof,” Colin muttered. “It does not matter. I cannot return home until I have Ilyndiil.”
Glory blinked. “Your father doesn’t really mean that… does he?”
Colin was silent.
It had not occurred to Glory that Colin would be alone in the woods at night. He would be hungry, and cold, and unarmed. It was a very real possibility that he could perish, especially if there were any more creatures—like the donestre—lurking.
“Perhaps Papa could find you a new dagger,” Glory suggested.
Colin let her go and shook his head. “Father would know the difference.”
“Well at least come back to the castle with me. I will ask Maeb to speak with the scullery maid. You can sleep in the kitchen.”
Slowly, Colin put his hand into Glory’s and wove their fingers together. “I’d be lost without you.”
Stout Maeb waddled around Glory’s bed on creaky bones. She hummed a tune of her Fae-people, tucking in her charge for the night. Glory had told her about Colin’s predicament and kindly Maeb had seen to it that the boy was fed and looked after.
“Maeb, tell me more about donestres.”
Maeb was about to speak when King Balthazaar appeared in the doorway. “You will do no such thing, Maeb.”
Maeb grimaced, then gave Glory an apologetic look and left.
Glory sat up in bed. “Colin and I saw one today.”
The king smiled. “I do so love your active imagination, dear one.”
“No, honestly, Papa, we really did.”
Balthazaar shook his head and moved to her. “You saw no such thing. I fear if Maeb continues with her stories that you will have night terrors.”
Glory clenched her fists. She was going to tell her father how Colin’s father had treated him when Balthazaar extinguished her bedside candle, kissed her cheek, and murmured, “There’s no such thing as monsters.”
CHAPTER ONE
Morning Glory
Five years later…
White buds, like little delicate cowry shells, sprang from kelly stems. They blossomed into alabaster petals, and silvery dew hung from each frond until it dripped to thorns below. Ivy crept along the trellises of each latticework wall. Sunlight strolled through the land and leapt the bulwarks of Winterholme Castle, bidding the rose garden good morning, asking the buds to rise to its kiss like a sleeping lover.
Princess Glory stepped lightly over the cool gravel of the garden path. The golden beauty, radiant in a pale beryl gown, trimmed in silver filigree, hummed a simple, pretty tune that caused the robins to harmonize. Her fair hand grazed the coarse white mortar of the garden wall. She stopped by the lily pond to check her reflection, smoothing herself over, then wound her way to the middle of the garden and stopped. She stared at the ground, watching the sunlight edge toward her bare toes.