Page 31 of The Pastel Prince

“RIGHT, NOW REMEMBER TO ASK YOUR GRANDMOTHERto send along some of those candied apples you like so well or to cough up her recipe,” Agathe was telling Bissori the following morning as we gathered together to set out.

I sat atop Atriel, my goodbyes to a sleepy Eldar made, and gazed up at the steep inclines we would be climbing by day’s end. I scanned the skies for snow in the air as well as the shape of a raven. Neither were seen. That worried me. Not the lack of snow, for that was a blessing. I was chilled to my bones already, and we had not yet started properly. Too many years spent in the warmer climes had made me softer than ripe squash.

“I’ll ask, but you know she’ll tell me to bugger off,” Bissori replied as he hoisted himself up onto the back of a stout gray mule that he called Cornbread. “You know, she plans to take her recipes into the stone with her. Now kiss me and let us be on our way.”

Agathe rose to her toes to plant a kiss on her husband’s hairy face. Several kisses. I glanced shyly at Beirach atop his gelding in full dark bark armor. He looked resplendent. Tezen was sleeping in my hair, using my braids as a hammock, her snores and snorts floating into my ear.

“All right, you feisty wench, enough. You keep kissing me like that and the lads will have to wait for me to take you insideand give you a good riving,” Bissori chuckled, tapped his heels to Cornbread’s side, and took off at a clip.

“Thank you for keeping my brother,” I said once again before Atriel took her head. Well rested and filled with sweet hay, she had energy to spare today.

“He’ll be up and about in a tenday, you’ll see,” Agathe called while waving us goodbye.

During my morning prayers, I’d asked the goddess to watch over Eldar. Then I requested she guide us to the sacred door. Thoughts beyond how to battle a necromancer, and one that was possibly the offspring of the man I loved, were far removed from my grasp. My powers were measly, my knowledge of dark arts meager. What I could add to this upcoming encounter, I could not assume to guess.

We rode along with Bissori doing the talking for all of us. Tezen awoke at midday with a sour temperament and a dyspeptic stomach. The midday meal was eaten under a tall mountain pine with the sun on our faces. The landscape was changing gradually. Where once we were moving through the Verboten forest and into the valley the woods hugged, now we were scaling a rocky environ. The trees were thinning out, the oaks and elms replaced by sturdy but slim evergreens and tenacious bushes with bright berries of red, yellow, and dark green. Also, the temperature was slowly dropping. Not low enough that one saw their breath but dipping enough that I pulled a thick brown bear pelt from my bags, thankful yet again for Beirach’s cousin and her husband. It was their skins that now kept me warm. I did my best not to dwell on the fact that this pelt keeping the elements from my back once did the same for a rock bear. Keeping my druidic ideals intact was not always easy or practical.

Night arrived quickly, the skies darkening in the late afternoon to drop some rain on us. The pelts kept us dry andwarm, although the smell of wet rock bear wasn’t pleasant. Bissori rode us up to a small copse of stately mountain pines as the rain began to pelt down with gusto.

“We’ll set up camp under these trees,” the dwarf announced over his shoulder. Cornbread seemed happy with the sight of the trees, for she hee-hawed loudly and made for the circle of pines with speed. Our horses plodded along, manes and tails soaked, unhappy about the weather. I could not blame them. We took care of our steeds, staking them inside the evergreens to keep an eye on them. “Fire will keep the cliff wolves away…or should. Might be we want to set up shifts for a watch just to be sure.”

I took my shift in the middle of the night, Beirach and Tezen snoring away as Bissori roused me from my sleep.

“Quiet as a holy sister’s curly gates,” the dwarf said around a yawn, then crawled into his bedding of furs. He joined the duo of snorers, making it a hearty trio. Half asleep I pulled myself from my bedroll. The rain had stopped, thankfully, and the skies were clear. Using the base of a pine for a backrest, I plopped down with my bear pelt pulled around me and listened. For hours. The side of the mountain was as dark as sin. A few howls bounced along the rocky hillsides but nothing that upset the horses or Cornbread.

I had several hours to mull over how I had come to be on this cold mountainside facing down a threat to all druid kind. As a child, I never would have imagined my life taking this path, yet here I was. And while this was not how I envisioned my life’s journey, it had led me to meeting Beirach, the man who had won me over with his spirit, gentleness, and bravery. The goddess did move in mysterious ways, but her wisdom could not be denied, for she had directed me to my true heart’s desire. I hoped against hope that I could somehow make a difference when the shite got deep as Tezen was known to say. I resignedmyself to putting my fate in Danubia’s hands. She had always carried my future, anyway. I just had to have faith.

A roaring snore reached my ears, a deep one, masculine, that I knew to be Beirach. Bissori then cut loose. Tezen joined in. I chuckled to myself, snuggling into my pelt, and enjoyed the rumbling melodies as the night crept along and the cliff wolves brayed at the fat moons overhead.

Dawn brought with it stiff backs, cold toes, and a dwarf who liked to sing as he urinated over the side of a drop-off.

“He can’t carry a tune for shit,” Tezen stated while dousing the campfire with tiny cups of water. When her efforts were getting her nowhere, I kicked some snowy dirt over the flames. “Thanks. You big folk need to build smaller fires.”

She darted off to chatter with Beirach, who seemed to be intent on what he was carrying in his saddlebags.

“Right, now that I’ve drained my dragon, let’s go over what we’ll be doing today,” Bissori announced as he strode back into camp. “We’ll be reaching Mother Moth before sunset. The yeti lookouts will know we’re there before we get a peek at the falls. I’ll be hanging back. Them and my people have this kind of pact that we don’t dig under their camps and they don’t cut off our heads.”

“Seems like a fair pact,” I mumbled while tightening the girth strap on my saddle. Beirach hummed in agreement.

“People say us dwarves got rocks for brains, but that ain’t true. We just tend to be rockheaded at times. So, I suggest you get your sparkly offerings out ahead of time. When we get near the falls, you wave them bastards over your heads like the king’s banners. That’ll be the sign to the outlooks that you come to barter for entrance to see Mother Moth.”

“I have nothing particularly shiny to offer them,” I confessed. “I packed only what little I could find that seemed sturdy or practical. As well as my herbs and potions for sickness or healing.”

“It’s okay,” Tezen said as she flitted down to give my nose a fast squeeze. “I got some trinkets from home that will get their attention.”

“Reckon you have some lovely treasures, my lady, but being so small and yeti having rather poor eyesight, they won’t be able to see what you’re offering from a distance. I brung some fool’s gold and a couple pewter mugs that—”

“I will offer them this,” Beirach broke in as he withdrew the golden flute.

“Oh well, that will get their furry peckers right hard. They love music. Can’t play a lick since they don’t read well but they do love to listen to it,” Bissori said as he clambered up onto his mule.

“Beirach, no, that flute has special meaning to you,” I insisted, walking over to where he stood beside Methril, the musical instrument in his hand. It was a beautiful flute crafted out of soft gold with small swirls worked around the fingerholes. “That belonged to your wife.”

“Yes, it did, and she is gone. She’s been gone for many years. My heart has healed and is now filled with a new love.” He looked down at me, his light blue gaze sincere. “If passing this to a yeti assures we are admitted to the falls and the white oaks, then I am sure Saffanah would insist we give away her flute. She would not wish her people to be further maimed by our son.”

“We do not know that it is—”

He smiled sadly at me. “I know. In my heart I know.” I moved closer so I could touch his face. He turned his nose into my palm, eyes closed, and placed a soft kiss on my hand.

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