Page 11 of The Maleficent Faerie
A thought wakes in my mind—perhaps it’s not my place to kill him. Perhaps I should let Eonnula judge him in her own time.
Perhaps I should flee instead. I can’t use my wings while they’re glamoured to be intangible, and I can’t change this glamour until it wears off; but I could hide somewhere until then. Once the glamour is gone, I can fly back to the border in my usual form. Or perhapssneakback to the border—I don’t want to be shot down by the Daenallan guards.
Yes, fleeing is better than murder. I should do that right now.
I withdraw the blade, scooting back, my boot soles ruffling the Void King’s feathers.
My boots—I didn’t change my boots. I should be wearing Dawn’s delicate leather shoes. These are the boots of a servant or a soldier, not a princess.
I wonder if the Void King noticed.
I’m about to turn and run off into the forest when a shout catches my attention, and hoofbeats thump against the carpet of pine needles. A rider is approaching—the one the King called Fitzell—and a raven flies in front of her, threading its way between tree trunks.
I bolt, but the raven is faster. It releases a loudcawand swoops at me, talons extended. I duck, swiping at it with the knife I stole off the King.
“Drop the weapon,” shouts Fitzell. She’s holding a crossbow, with a dart trained on me. Her horse skids to a stop near the Void King’s prostrate body. “Drop it, Princess. I won’t ask again. We don’t need you in perfect health to accomplish the King’s plan.”
Gritting my teeth, I let the knife fall.
Behind Fitzell is another mounted knight, leading a third horse, presumably for the Void King. His skin is tinted lightly blue, though otherwise he looks human.
“Shit,” says the blue-skinned knight. “Did she kill him?”
“No.” Fitzell swings off her horse. “He’s sick from using too much magic. I told him, didn’t I? I said he needed to be careful.” She shakes her head, stalking over to him, while still keeping the crossbow pointed at my heart. “Bastard doesn’t listen to me. And now look at him. You’ll have to help me get him onto the horse, Andras. Him and those huge rutting wings of his.”
“What about her?” Andras gestures in my direction.
“She’ll ride with me,” says Fitzell, pulling off her helmet to reveal tightly curled hair, bright brown eyes, and coppery skin dotted with dark freckles. “And if she tries anything, she’ll regret it.”
It takes another hour to reach the Void King’s camp, which places it a brisk two-hour ride from the border. The location makes sense, because someone as high-ranking as him wouldn’t want to stay in one of the Daenallan garrisons near the wall; he’d want some distance, in case my people attack.
It also makes sense that the Maleficent One would be lingering here, close to the border, since Dawn’s birthday is only three months away. He’s been waiting for an opportunity to get to her.
And by helping Dawn slip out of the palace, allowing her to go to the Festival, I gave him that chance.
I could lay some blame on the King and Queen, I suppose. They’re the ones who gave Dawn permission to join them at the summer palace for a week, even though it’s close to the border—even though her twenty-fifth birthday is coming up so soon. But the summer palace is heavily fortified, with multiple thick walls and countless magical defenses surrounding its pools, fountains, and game lawns. Dawn has visited many times. They expected her to be safe inside such a fortress.
And she was, until someone intimately familiar with all those defenses helped her get out. I flirted with the stable-boy so he’d prepare the horses. I bribed the carriage driver and the keeper of the west gate. I convinced the two guards to accompany us. I smuggled Dawn to the gatehouse, avoiding the house-mistress and the maids charged with tending to us.
All the defenses of the summer palace are designed to keep intruders out. They weren’t designed to keep Dawn from leaving. Her parents aren’t cruel—they don’t want her to grow sad and sallow, locked within some tower for her safety. They allow her some free time outdoors, even though she must remain within the confines of the castle walls. They let her move from palace to palace, despite the occasional attempts on her life and freedom. They love her, and they want her to have a pleasant existence in spite of the curse.
By association, I’ve had a fairly pleasant existence as well. Despite having to stay constantly alert for danger, I’ve enjoyed all the perks of royal life. I eat the same food as the Princess, read the same books, play the same games, swim in the same pools, and benefit from the same tutors. I’m even dressed by the same tailors. There are times when other guards take over for me so I can train, sleep, or spend time with my mothers—but otherwise, Dawn’s life and mine are nearly identical. And I like to think her parents regard me as one of the family… almost.
They’ll be sorry to hear I’ve been captured. But I think they will be proud of me, too, and grateful that I saved their daughter from falling into the Void King’s hands.
Not that the Void King’s hands are a particularly dangerous place to be right now. He’s slumped in the saddle of the horse his knights put him on, held in place with a few loops of rope. His wingtips droop perilously close to the ground.
As we ride into camp, the other knights gather, concern etching their faces at the state of their king.
“Nothing to worry about,” calls Fitzell. She pulls her horse to a stop and dismounts. “The King has expended too much magic, that’s all. Just like he did at the Battle of Fargonnath. He’ll be all right. Alert the physik, one of you, and tell her to prepare a restorative. The rest of you—rejoice, because we have taken the prize of this quarter-century—the Princess of Caennith!”
A low rumble of approval rolls through the group, and several of them pound their chests or slap each other’s armored shoulders. Some of the knights in the camp wear bluesteel armor, which marks them as human. The Fae do not wear that kind of metal, since it impedes their magic.
I’m surprised that Fitzell, who appears human, wasn’t wearing bluesteel during the foray into Caennith. Perhaps the black armor is fortified in another way, by some fell magic of the Void King.
The interaction of both races feels familiar, at least. No animosity between Daenallan Fae and humans, as far as I can tell. I’m a little disappointed; I could have used such feelings to play them against each other.
“The King will rest tonight,” Fitzell continues. “Tomorrow we make for Ru Gallamet and the Spindle, where our Lord will do his great work.”
