Fellowship & Fairydust

After a goodly time had passed the man in the scarf quietly detached himself from the shadow of the fence and glided inside the vineyard again as well. He had waited long enough that the princess was already passing through the door that Fia had first recognized her at, and whatever the purpose of this strange meeting in the dark, the thing was ended.

Fia’s concern now was to get back into her room and into bed before she caused half her family frantic worry over her.

To be extra certain that there was no way she would be seen she didn’t move a muscle until the scarved man had also disappeared through the door into the gardens.

It won’t take too long, she thought, to hurry back. There was no one to see her now and therefore no need for caution. The breeze picked up again as she made her way carefully back down through the branches of the oak, and finally dropped to the ground.

Now run! she urged herself. She hoped Jithra hadn’t waited for her at the gate all this time. Hopefully Jith had assumed that her sister had found another way in. But if Jithra had left that stubbornly locked gate, Fia really did need to find another route or be stuck in the garden all night; for now there would be no one to send a message by. Her feet flew as she pelted down the aisle of trellises, her thoughts already anxious to be curling up inside her bed.

A shadow leaped out from one side, intersecting her hurtling path, and took her down in a heap. The other recovered himself first as it was he that had done the tackling. She twisted her head around and saw his face beneath the hood, stern as steel and, to someone in her position, terribly frightening. She would have screamed if she had been that kind, but instead all the air left her lungs in a quiet rush.

“What are you doing here, girl?” he demanded roughly.

She couldn’t answer. She wouldn’t have known what to say even if she’d been given all the time in the world to answer. And at the moment she was frightened nearly out of her wits, which was not good for thinking. All she could do was give a squeak as he clenched her shoulders with gloved hands and gave her a shake.

“Who are you?”

“I…” she gasped and couldn’t think of anything more.

Making a decision, he hauled her to her feet and propelled her towards the garden door. At this her wits began to return to her, and as they both crossed the threshold into the garden she took action. Kicking out at his knee at the same time that she twisted her head and bit his hand, she was only a little off balance when his grip was loosened.

She took advantage of it and dashed off through the arbors faster than she had ever run in her life. She could hear his steps behind her, and although he was gaining it only renewed her burst of speed. Rounding a trellis she dashed through a passageway… and ran flat into someone else.

Vice-like hands clamped firmly on her upper arms and Fia knew she was stopped for good this time.

In fright or hope, she could not have said which, she drew her head back, and the bottom dropped out of her heart as she saw the black-scarved visage of the man she had first followed. For some reason she was even more deeply scared of him than she had been of her recent captor.

That worthy was right behind her, and as she was brought up short by the scarved man, the hooded one was with them immediately. He seemed to quickly twitch at his hood as if to better hide his face, but the black-scarved man didn’t miss a breath.

“What are you doing here?” the man in the scarf asked the other. “It is not wise—”

“This girl,” the cloaked one indicated Fia by way of response, “she was skulking.”

“I shall see that the matter is taken care of,” said the scarved man. “You should go now.”

Something seemed to catch the hooded man’s attitude. “You know…?” He left the question trailing in the air.

The other nodded deeply. “I do,” he replied. “I am her guard.”

The hooded man started to turn away, and Fia knew he was leaving.

“No!” she cried out suddenly. “Don’t leave!” From the moment she had first seen his shadow she had been terrified of this man with the black scarf, and although she was fairly frightened of the hooded one, she wanted more than anything not to be left all alone with the man who had her now.

The man in the hood hesitated.

“Would you leave me in the hands of a ruffian, sir?” Fia anxiously inquired. “A creeper about in gardens? No man of repute would be…”

“Quiet!” commanded the black-scarved man, and she complied by default. There was a sudden surge of terror along the back of her neck and she lost track of what she had been saying.

“Who are you?” he demanded sternly.

Fia was still trying to gather her words together, and she certainly wouldn’t have told him her name regardless, even if she had been able to.

“Lesser nobility,” assessed the hooded man in a quick tone, as if it didn’t take him much thought. “Provost’s daughter, perhaps.”

“What is your name?” her captor asked roughly.

“What is yours, sir, if you have the right to ask?” she retorted, and realized she was suddenly angry. No matter what schemes were underway in the king’s gardens, she was a guest; here by royal decree, and that alone, by rights, ought to give her a sort of immunity from midnight prowlers.

Although she wasn’t sure they would recognize it that way. Still, there was only so much shaking a girl could take.

Reminding herself that she was partially in the right, and had every reason to demand an explanation, worked wonders and stiffened her spine.

“I’ll give you no name, churl,” she went on, fully intending to be as insulting as possible while remaining within the bounds of being proper. “Until you give me yours, and explain why you go about in the king’s gardens like a night-rat, waylaying guests of the king?”

If she could make him angry enough perhaps he would let slip a clue as to his identity, and besides, speaking haughtily was good for her courage bolstering. With an imperious look she tried to step back, and to her surprise found she was able to.

He had loosed her from his grip. Now to get the blood to return to her arms.

“What goes on here?” demanded a feminine voice in a low but urgent tone. Fia looked jumpily in its direction. The Princess Illyria stood wrapped in her green cloak, a stern look upon her face.

“This girl was in the tree beyond the vineyard,” the hooded one said quietly. “I saw her jump down after you left, and so I caught her. Perhaps you would know better who would send her as a spy.”

“I’m not!” Fia said desperately. All her bravery was swept away by the presence of the king’s daughter. “I only… got lost.”

“Got lost into an oak tree?” the black scarf inquired.

“No! Got lost into the gardens.” She tried to take a deep breath and think. She hated to look incriminating, especially in front of the princess. It was she Fia had been trying to help, but how to explain that at this point seemed difficult.

“Well, this isn’t helping anyone,” Illyria noted practically. “She must explain herself to the Chancellor. And you,” she turned to the hooded man, “must leave immediately. I will leave this matter in the Chancellor’s hands.”

Her tone seemed to be reassuring him. He hesitated only for a moment, then nodded swiftly and was gone through the doorway. And Fia was left with the black-scarved man and the princess.

Illyria turned and started off, just naturally expecting everyone to follow. Fia hurriedly fell in behind, but the man kept step with her, apparently not trusting her out of his reach. He took a good strong finger-hold of her purple sleeve and they walked along silently in the princess’s wake, Fia desperately trying to compose an explanation that didn’t sound completely foolish.

Illyria made short work of the garden paths and soon they slipped into a little-used door, wove through a pantry, and were steadfastly navigating the halls of the palace. Fia bit the inside of her lip. If only she’d had half the knowledge the princess showed, she’d never have gotten lost in the gardens!

They soon crossed a threshold guarded by a beautifully carved door. Completely bewildered by the princess’s turnings, Fia found herself in a room that seemed to be a sort of parlor. Before she had a chance to guess where they were going next, the man with the black scarf released her sleeve and he and the princess each headed through different doors.

“Wait here,” the princess commanded before she closed the door after her.

Fia exhaled slowly and then stood silently in the middle of a crimson carpet with a knot in her stomach, while the wicks in the lighted lamps slowly burned down. She carefully looked around. Though it seemed that this room was little used, it had all the makings of a comfortable sitting room, if needed.

Time seemed to drag on forever, but she didn’t dare leave. Sleepiness made several attempts to overcome her, but it was always repulsed by the terrifying question: what had she done? Somehow she knew to the deepest marrow of her bones that she was in serious trouble. Would Father’s position be hurt by her actions tonight? Her heart cringed at the unanswerable questions her mind asked.

At last she heard the sound of footsteps in the outer hall and knew her inquisitor was coming. The door swung on its hinges and a man in full court regalia entered, medallions and ribbons filling up the broad front of his white tunic. His golden hair was heavily tinged with silver and his face was somewhat creased with years, but the thing most striking about him was the way his blue eyes seemed to peer into you, with an expression of perplexed sadness.

The princess was close behind him.

He crossed to a chair in front of Fia and sat down in it with a sigh. She could see he had come straight from the doings of the court.

“Is this the girl?” he asked, a weary determination in his tone.

“This is she, Chancellor.” Illyria took up a position beside his chair.

“Hm,” the Chancellor replied. “And what is your name, girl?”

His voice was tired and yet concerned; for her, it seemed. It made Fia want to tell him everything and have him make it right again.

“I am…” She straightened with her hands behind her back. “I am Fia Brithin, sir; my family and I arrived at the palace only this evening. We came from Scelane, my father is provost there.”

He listened carefully, his elbow on the arm of the chair, and then he nodded.

“And how did this…” he gestured uncertainly, but she knew exactly what he referred to, “…come about?”

“Well, sir, it was quite by accident. When we came back from supper my sister and I went out to see the gardens, because she had seen them, a little, before supper, and I hadn’t, and she wanted to show me a carved fountain…” The story unfolded as simply as she could make it, not excluding the cloaked figure that had followed the princess, and the strange meeting beyond the vineyard walls.

“Hm,” said the Chancellor. “And you have told me everything, then?”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded.

“Do you know who either of the men you speak of are?”

“No, sir.” Fia shook her head.

“Would you recognize them if you were to see them again?”

“Oh, yes, indeed, sir,” she replied. “I’m sure I would know the man in the hood, although perhaps not the one with the scarf around his face.”

The princess and the Chancellor exchanged an uneasy glance, and then he stood up.

“Wait here a little longer. I will return shortly.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, and the Chancellor and the princess left her by herself again.

After a long while standing, Fia sat down on the rug. She sat very straight, determined not to drift off to sleep. She blinked and focused on the trimmings of the room, paying special attention to the fresco encircling the walls right below the ceiling. With an eye for the ornamental, her imagination was caught by the graceful way the pattern repeated itself so naturally that one hardly noticed the repetition. Woodland creatures leaped and posed amidst a forest backdrop.

The style of jewelry from Olayin House was like that, the airy lightness designed so carefully that the intricate perfection seemed a natural thing instead of carved in wax and poured in hot gold.

If I work hard, Fia thought, I might be able to get good enough to do that.

Her worrying mind kept pulling her back to her current situation with interminable, unanswerable questions. She felt she would drive herself mad with them if she didn’t stop. She shook her head decisively and concentrated on the fresco’s pattern, deciding to memorize it thoroughly before she left the room. Perhaps someday she really would be good enough to use it in a jewelry piece.

Ages later she heard a scuffing at one of the doors. She blinked as Eilma crept softly in. Fia realized she must have been only a few steps away from her family’s rooms all this while.

“Eilma!” she whispered in amazement. “What are you doing here?”

“Father and Mother must speak with the Chancellor,” the eight-year-old said, her eyes wide and serious. “Are you in trouble?”

“Oh.” Fia sighed uncertainly. “I don’t know.”

She was thankful for the hug her little sister wrapped her in. Eilma was supposed to be in bed, but Fia didn’t bother to ask why she wasn’t. It couldn’t possibly have been because she wasn’t tired; they were all fairly drained after the long journey from home.

“I heard them talking to Mother.” Eilma spoke unhurriedly. “You weren’t there to say goodnight to. Jithra came back and told us you’d fallen over the wall, and Mother said she’d find someone to send for you. She told us all to go to sleep, and the others did.

“But I stayed awake,” she finished with a yawn.

Fia tucked her sister’s head under her chin and put her cheek against the downy hair.

“What happened?” Eilma asked sleepily.

“I’m not sure,” Fia replied. “I got lost, I guess.”

“Well,” Eilma sat up straight, “I came to find you. And I don’t care what you’ve done. It isn’t your fault you fell over the wall.”

Fia smiled weakly; technically it was her fault. It couldn’t have been anyone else’s. And if she’d only had Jithra go in for help in the beginning, instead of trying to save face and find a way in by herself, none of this would have happened. She paused uneasily. But what had happened, anyway?

They sat on the rug, Eilma sitting beside her wordlessly, her soft eyes watching sympathetically. Fia drew her knees up and hugged them fiercely. It was bad enough to have ventured out and done such a thoughtless thing, but now to have Father and Mother called into a special session with the Chancellor was nearly enough to make her faint from humiliation.

“Oh, what a fine mess I’ve made!” she moaned, and sank her face into her knees. It wasn’t every day a well-bred young lady was caught spying on the royal princess, or poking her nose blatantly into political intrigue. For political intrigue it certainly must be, or she was a squirrel in Scelane Forest. Whatever would become of her? An infamous tripper-after-er, a fool that thought the king’s gardens was a child’s playground? Anyone who heard of it was sure to add their opinion, suspicions, and conjecture until by the time it reached Scelane it would be so distorted the only thing recognizable would be her name.

Oh, that would be carried through ever so faithfully. The one item she would most like to be blotted out would remain unaltered to the door of her birthplace. And beyond… wherever tales were traded and gossip freely shared.

Which meant it might not stop at the borders, but even spread to countries Fia had only ever seen on maps. An unlearned bumpkin playing royal spy… it was just the sort of rare fodder that might make it that far. Again she groaned inwardly.

Eilma reached out and patted her arm in silence. She couldn’t think of anything cheerful to say, and so said nothing, but Fia wasn’t sure if she might have preferred a few completely untrue assurances.

“It’ll be all right,” Eilma said at last, feeling the relativity of the words lent themselves to truth.

Her sister shook her head in doubt. “I don’t know how.”

Suddenly Eilma was up on her feet, and as quick as a flash she vanished through the door by which she had come, leaving Fia getting to her feet in bewilderment. But not for long.

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