Dearest (3 page)

“Found a friend, did you?” she said, catching them all in a bear hug and nodding to the puppy.

“He’s an orphan too,” said Michael.

“He got lost, same as us,” said Wendy.

“It was scary,” said John.

Friday rubbed the boy’s back reassuringly. Not yet old enough to take on an apprenticeship, John played the role of protector to many lost children. He did not admit weakness lightly.

She hoped her darlings had not experienced anything like the memories that flashed through her mind, all of them drenched in water the color of terror. Rain upon rain, puddles and rising seas as they desperately raced north. The screams of the horses. The tilt of the carriage. Mistress Mitella’s order for Friday to swim clear of the door . . . It was the last thing she remembered her teacher saying before the hungry waves consumed them.

Friday’s heart sped up and her breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t sure if it was John’s concern she felt or her own, but it was there all the same. In an attempt to distract the children she said, “I’m so glad you are all here. I was just dreaming about you.”

“You were?” asked Wendy.

“Was I a pirate?” asked Michael. “Did I have a sword and kill trolls? Did I chop off their heads?”

Friday laughed and tousled the boy’s hair. “Dearest Michael. Where do you come up with these things?”

“I have dreams too,” said Michael.

“Then one day you must tell me all about them. But today I will tell you about mine. Is that all right?” The three children nodded quietly. She wished Sister Carol were here to see them like this, all clean and obedient. According to the Sisters, Friday’s Darlings were usually anything but. This was not the church, though—Friday had surmised as much from her surroundings. She appeared to be back in the palace again, where her youngest sister reigned as queen.

“All three of you were there. But there were no trolls, and no swords. You were all birds. We were flying.” She poked Michael in the nose. “And you were arguing.”

“It would be a wonderful thing to fly,” sighed Wendy. “Imagine the places we could go.”

“What kind of birds?” asked John. Ever the practical one.

“Swans,” said Friday.

“Swans?” said Michael, clearly disappointed. “But swans are—”

The crash of a tray and breaking of glass against stone echoed through the room.

Friday chided herself for not realizing that there was someone else in the chamber with them. A scrap of a girl with mousy hair and a scullery maid’s uniform stared at Friday instead of the mess at her feet. Her large, muddy gray eyes almost swallowed up her gamine face. The wave of sadness that washed over Friday nearly drowned her again.

Friday slid out of bed without a second thought. “Let me help you,” she said to the maid, and then yelled, “FREEZE!” back to her obedient cygnets. “Do any of you have shoes?”

In any palace but this, things like shoes would be required. John and Wendy shook their heads. Michael scowled.

“Best stay on the bed, then. Michael, hold . . . what’s the dog’s name?”

“Ben the Brave,” said Wendy.

“Ben the Pest,” said John.

“Ben the Troll Killer,” Michael corrected.

The dog barked his own opinion.

“Ben,” Friday compromised. “Keep him with you until we’ve managed to clean this up, all right?” Friday was mindful of her own bare feet as they touched the cool stone floor. Broken crockery was another thing with which she was intimately familiar, be it shattered by idle hands or angry ones. A family as large as the Woodcutters was not without its messes. She shook out the cloth napkin and began scooping up what she assumed was meant to be her breakfast, or lunch.

The girl knelt beside Friday, thin fingers still covering her mouth, more in shock than shame. “Don’t worry.” Friday put the same tone in her voice that she used with new and particularly skittish orphans. “Everything will be fine.” The girl didn’t seem convinced. “Are you hurt?”

“She won’t say nothing,” Michael called from the bed by way of explanation.

“She’s mute,” clarified John.

“Cook calls her Rampion,” Wendy filled in. “She’s the herb girl. She’s been taking care of you all this time.”

“Taking care of
us,
” said John.

Friday risked one of those difficult questions she’d been waiting to ask. “How long have I been here?”

“Three days,” said a melodic voice from the doorway. “You’ve been blissfully asleep for three days. Wish I could say the same.”

Friday looked up to see Velius, Duke of Cauchemar, standing beyond the threshold. King Rumbold’s cousin, advisor, and closest friend was—among his many other great powers—a skilled healer. Friday was honored that this man would oversee her care . . . though her sister would have not settled for less. His beautiful fey body was the picture of health from head to toe, though Friday could feel his exhaustion from across the room. The shadow of his lithe, dark silhouette hid another boy, scruffy and slightly older than John.

Friday smiled and did her best to curtsey from her knees in the billowing nightdress. “Your Grace,” she said with an affected air. The children on the bed giggled.

Velius bowed low to her and the scullery maid. “Princess Friday, how lovely to see you are doing so well that you’ve decided to throw your lunch across the room.”

“I could not contain my joy upon waking.”

“Indeed.” Velius motioned to the upturned tray, and the shadow behind him ran into the room. “Conrad will help your friend clear the mess you’ve made.”

“Rampion,” Friday interjected. “Her name is Rampion.” It was important to Friday that every young person have a name besides “you there” and “child.”

Velius bowed again. “Forgive me, Lady Rampion.” The mute girl blushed and bobbed her head politely, clasping her still-trembling fingers together tightly. Velius helped Friday back to bed while Conrad and Rampion quickly worked to clear away the spill. Even in the most elaborate finery Friday felt short, chubby, and ungraceful next to Velius; her current pitiful state did nothing to help her self-image. But she knew from the pressure of his hand that he cared for her as the sister of one of his dearest friends, and he wished her nothing but good will.

“If the lords and ladies of the bed would excuse us, I would like to see to my patient.” There was much moaning and groaning on behalf of Friday’s Darlings—and much whining on behalf of Ben the Conqueror—but the trio saw themselves out. Conrad closed the door gently behind them.

Friday climbed back into bed, noticing as she did so the myriad scratches that ran the length of her legs. “Is Conrad your new squire?”

“He’s yours, actually.” Velius released her hand and pulled a chair up to her bedside. “It was Conrad who found you washed ashore and saw you safely to the castle.”

It was odd to think that she’d been washed ashore, since she’d never seen a seaside in her life. Now the mere mention of the ocean set her heart racing. Why? What had happened to her? More importantly: What had happened to the world she knew? Friday held her hand out to Velius again and he took it. Her friend. The voices in her head quieted.

“How am I?” She wasn’t sure if Velius would know what she meant; she wasn’t sure
she
knew what she meant.

“Remarkably well.” His voice was as smooth and rich as the silken sheets. “You may not heal at the rate that Saturday does, but it seems your body has the ability to set itself to rights quickly enough in its own time.”

“That time being three whole days?”

Velius patted the hand he held. “I was never worried. Nor was your family. Or the children.”

“Thank you.” Wise Velius knew exactly what words would most console her. Doubtless he had consoled many a distraught woman in his time . . . a length of time few could quantify. The fey blood ran strong in Velius, as evidenced by his dark hair and fair skin, giving him the innate ability to outlive many a mortal man while always maintaining the appearance of a hale and hearty youth. His father, born mortal yet addicted to magic, reputedly resided in Faerie to this very day. In his sire’s absence, all called Velius “Duke,” though Velius would be the first to remind them that he could not truly hold the title while his father survived.

“Forgive me, Friday, but I must ask. Do you remember what happened?”

Friday searched her mind, wishing she could recall more than the flashes of random visions that flickered before her eyes. With them, bubbles of sadness and terror burst inside her belly. She saw the swans again, and her mistress beside her, but those had been a dream. She did not want to disappoint Velius as she had disappointed her mentor. “I . . . I’m not quite sure.”

Velius enveloped her hands in his larger, warm ones. His palms were surprisingly uncallused for a knight, just as hers were despite all her years of sewing. This unblemished skin was a particular fey trait they shared.

“Close your eyes,” he said, and she obeyed. No harm would come to her in this world or any other with such a protector. Behind her lids the darkness turned to clouds of deepest indigo. “Breathe.”

As she did, the clouds brightened and parted before her. Trees full of chirping birds surrounded her; sun warmed her skin. A soft breeze rustled the leaves above her and danced through her hair. She wore her usual costume: a plain linen shirt, bodice, and full patchwork skirt. There was a basket in her hand. Velius stood by her side, unchanged from the formal court dress he’d been wearing in her bedchamber.

“I know this place.” She smiled into the sun and filled her lungs with fresh air that smelled of wildflowers and baking bread. “I often stop in this glen on the way to the church.”

“I thought more familiar surroundings might set your soul at ease before we proceed. Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” said Friday. “It’s lovely.”

“Many do not share your optimism as regards my use of magic. Especially in the wake of our former, unbeloved king.”

Rumbold’s father, King Hargath, had used magic to extend his own life by both literally and figuratively consuming the lives of his fey-blooded wives. Her sister Wednesday had barely escaped his clutches.

Friday raised her brows. “To decry the use of magic would slight both my own family and myself. So long as it is used for good and healing, I believe magic should never be shunned.”

The duke bestowed upon her the infamous smirk that set all women blushing. “I’ll be the first to admit my intentions are not always pure, milady.”

Friday was not immune to his beauty. She knew he meant it politely, but she was not used to being a woman that men sought out, even in jest. Normally, girls like her were destined to become dedicates of the Earth Goddess and one day, if they were very lucky, maybe even great abbesses like her Aunt Rose Red.

Then again, dedicates, acolytes, and abbesses didn’t normally fall in love with every person who came their way, either. Sister Carol might have seen this trait as a distraction, but Friday preferred to see it as a sign that she was destined for her chosen path. Humans and fey were all children of earth, and so Friday felt her seemingly endless capacity for love a boon to her Goddess. She would continue doing her best to stay true to the path of Earth;
Sister Carol would come around eventually.

Friday turned away from Velius, whose inner and outer beauty almost seemed to glow in this other-place. “Even so, it is not for me to judge, Your Grace. That is between you and the gods you favor.”

“You are too kind, princess.” He placed a chaste kiss on the back of her hand. “This world is sorely lacking in kindness.”

“Perhaps our new king and queen will set a trend.” She sat on the fallen log he indicated, straightened her skirts, and settled her basket. “Can I offer you some conjured dream-pastries? I’m sure they’re delicious.”

Velius chuckled. “Thank you, no.”

“Pity.” Friday replaced the biscuit in the folds of the napkin and sucked the golden crumbs off her thumb. It was, indeed, as scrumptious as she’d imagined. “To work, then.” She slid her hands back into Velius’s, which were so warm with power that she almost broke into a sweat. She crossed her legs at the ankle and took a deep breath. As she exhaled, the visions came to her again, more slowly and smoothly, as if she were relating a tale remembered from Papa’s knee. She forced herself to think of the recent events not as a memory, but as a story that had happened to someone else a very long time ago.

“I was in the carriage with Mistress Mitella on our way to her home in the north. We had made it as far as Hammelyn when the horses bolted.” She saw their rolling eyes and blocked out the memory of their screams before they reached her ears. “There was no warning, besides the horses, of course. The driver managed to cut them loose, but the carriage never stopped moving—the earth rose up and caught the wheels and we were at its mercy. Then the water came, raining from above and rising from below. It filled up the cab as if the gods had dropped us in a lake. Mistress Mitella opened the door and ordered me to swim free.” Her voice abandoned her briefly, and she paused to regain control. “That’s the last I saw of her.”

Friday might have been overcome with sadness had it not been for the calm strength of Velius radiating in warm waves next to her like a healing sun. Her brother Peter sometimes had this same calmness about him. “I’ve never been a very good swimmer.”

The duke did not laugh at her. “It would not have mattered if you were. It seems the gods took it upon themselves to turn the high seat of Arilland into a seaport. I’m only sorry you were caught in the middle.”

“Has there been any word from Mistress Mitella? Or the driver?” Friday stopped herself. If Velius had known, she would already have answers. “Who would have angered the gods so?”

“By all accounts, it was your sister.”

“Wednesday?”

“Saturday.”

Saturday? The least fey Woodcutter sibling of them all? This should probably have surprised Friday, but it didn’t. Velius knew, as she did, that even without a scrap of magic Saturday had the power to anger anyone. “By whose accounts?”

“Your father, your brother, and Monday,” said Velius. “Apparently, Trix spelled them all to sleep so that he could run away without your mother stopping him. Saturday did not succumb immediately, thanks to that damned sword of hers, and she managed to stay conscious long enough to throw a magic mirror after him. This particular mirror subsequently broke the world . . . and summoned pirates.”