Page 32 of The Queen's Huntsman
For months, whilst she’d lamented Loc’s repudiation of her, the memory of Málik’s kiss had sustained her, even fearing he might never return. In her heart, she’d contented herself with the notion that somewhere out there, someone cared for her.
At least that’s what she’d told herself, when she’d decided for Loc instead of him—that even if she never saw him again, she would carry his memory in her heart, cherishing his kiss above all.
Only now that he had returned, it seemed to Gwendolyn that he couldn’t care less about her, and yet she was still his burden, and his demeanor made that all too clear.
Well, at least he’d cared enough to leave her with the damnable cloak and his Faerie light. The flame hovered close by, as though watching her, pulsing with a gentle blue light.
“So here we are,” she said aloud, speaking more to herself than to the orb. So far as Gwendolyn could recall, Málik only ever spoke to it once, and in that case, she’d suspected his actual words were meant more for Gwendolyn than for his flame. So often, it simply did what he wished of it. And sometimes, there were more than one. They came and went, vanishing with the morning light, and returning whensoever they pleased. Gwendolyn didn’t know where the orbs made off to—perhaps out there luring some poor muggin to his doom. Like thepiskiesin Porth Pool, there was something otherworldly about them.
This one… like a wolf stalking its prey, it circled her, and Gwendolyn watched it suspiciously. “Are you his spy?” she wondered aloud.
The orb’s blue light brightened to white, and she said, “You are, aren’t you? That’s why you’re here? So you can tittle-tattle?” She eyed the flame with a lifted brow.
In answer, it bounced around, off the trunks of trees, crashing through leaves, burning brighter, then dimming and despite herself, it wrested a reluctant smile from her lips. But she was quite certain now that it was responding to her questions.
“Do you understand me?”
It brightened, but still she frowned. “I don’t understand you,” she lamented.
The orb dimmed.
“I don’t suppose you have a name?” she asked, feeling silly for asking.
It flickered, looking… bewildered?
“Name,” she said, pointing to herself. “I am Gwendolyn.”
She tapped her breast, but the orb didn’t respond, and Gwendolyn slid a glance about the campsite, hoping against hope that Málik wouldn’t return now to find her hopelessly gabbing with a ball of blue flame, as though she were so desperate for a friend.
But she was, now wasn’t she?
The orb followed when she gave a turn to inspect the camp, and she said, “Mayhap I should call youSterenglas?”
It meant blue star, and it suited the wisp well. It reminded her so much of a wee star borne to earth. “Do you know where he’s gone,Steren?”
Excitedly, the flame zipped over to Málik’s cloak, perching there, then blinking slowly like a cat blinking its yellow eyes.
Gwendolyn frowned. “That’s only his cloak,” she said, but the orb was undeterred, shimmying itself into its folds, snuggling—of a sort. Gwendolyn peered at the silly little sphere, half considering taking it up and tossing it into the woods to see where it might go.
“Well, I don’t care where he’s gone,” she told the orb. Spy or not, she didn’t intend to sit idly waiting for him to return. There must be something she could do.
Unfortunately, they had no blankets, and Gwendolyn had no belongings, except for what little she carried on her person—a handful of Prydein jewels and her cousin’s dagger.
And, really, much as she valued her mother’s belongings, they would eventually be of more use in the purchase of a mount and supplies. It would pain her immensely to surrender them, but she couldn’t justify keeping them only for the sake of keeping them. Although she might keep the armband, if only to prove her identity to her grandfather.
Since Málik didn’t wish for her to kindle a fire, there was really nothing more to be done, except sit and wait… and wait… and wait… and wait—something Gwendolyn should have become accustomed to by now, but there was nothing in her demeanor inclined toward indolence.
Princess she might have been, but she’d never actually considered herself a lady, and never in her life had she been content to sit about sewing or doing such things as her mother’s ladies clearly enjoyed—Ely could attest to that. So could Bryn.
Even so, here she was… again.
Waiting.
Still.
As though she hadn’t already waited months and months.
Unsettled by the persistent tingling in her scalp, her gaze returned to the Faerie flame still snuggled by the ash tree—directly below a small, sturdy limb growing sideways from the trunk. One corner of Málik’s cloak caught upon the limb… but that gave her an idea.
