“I remember the King’s Huntress before you,” Ash said. “She came to Quinn House once, when I was a child, during Yule.”
“Did she?” Kaisa said, turning her head to look at her. “What do you remember about her?”
“She was…she frightened me at first,” Ash said. “Her hunters came with her, of course, and they brought a bloody stag’s head inside with them.”
Kaisa smiled. “Taryn did like a bit of theatrics.”
“And then she told me a story about a huntress who went to retrieve a stolen princess from the Fairy Queen.”
“Eilis and the Changeling,” Kaisa said. “She did love that tale.”
“Why?”
“I think it was because Eilis proves them all wrong in the end,” Kaisa said. “All those who had no faith in her—who said she was too young—were mistaken.” She turned her head to look at Ash and added, “She even outwits the Fairy Queen.”
“I asked her…,” Ash trailed off, hesitating, and looked down at the ground. Kaisa’s shoulder was only a hand’s breadth away from her.
“What?” Kaisa prompted.
“I asked her if she had ever seen a fairy,” Ash said, feeling somewhat embarrassed.
“What did she say?” Kaisa asked curiously.
“I think she said something vague—I am sure she didn’t want to disappoint a child.”
Kaisa propped herself up on her elbow so that she was facing her. “Well, even if she had seen a fairy, she would never have been able to let on that she had,” she said. There was a mischievous tone in her voice.
“Why not?”
“The office of the King’s Huntress has many secrets,” Kaisa said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Any knowledge of fairies or magic, of course, must be kept closely to the vest.”
Looking at the huntress, Ash felt a surge of happiness within herself, as if she were unwrapping an unexpected gift, and the realization of it sent a blush of pink across her cheeks. She looked away uncomfortably and asked, “Why did she give up her place as King’s Huntress?”
Kaisa said, “She fell in love.”
“And she gave up hunting?” Ash was confused. “Why would she do that?”
“Her lover asked her to,” Kaisa said, and there was a curious note in her voice that Ash did not understand. But before she could dwell on it, Kaisa said, “Why don’t we ride upriver today? We haven’t been that way before.” She got up in one quick motion, extending her hand to Ash. Caught off guard, Ash took it, and though Kaisa’s grip was sure, she looked away, and Ash saw a rosy flush along the curl of her ear.
As summer advanced, the heat came heavy and damp, and Ash sweated through her day’s work while her stepsisters sat crossly fanning themselves in the parlor. Ana’s romance with Lord Rowan had stalled, for most of the Royal City had gone south to Seatown during the hottest part of the year, but Ana had not yet received an invitation from Lord Rowan—or anyone else—to visit them there. That meant that Ash could not leave the house either, so when the invitation arrived at last, just after midsummer, even Ash was excited to deliver it to her stepsister.
“Finally,” Ana said in relief, tearing open the letter in the front hall. “My aunt has invited us all for a fortnight to her villa in Seatown!” She looked at Ash, who was closing the front door, and added, “Unfortunately you are not invited; my aunt already has a lady’s maid and you are not needed.”
“I would expect nothing else,” Ash said, a bit sarcastically, but Ana did not even notice. Overjoyed at finally being able to go to Seatown, she had already run upstairs to tell her mother the news.
But when Ash was once again alone at Quinn House, days passed with no sign of the huntress, and Ash felt anxious and low. In the past, she and Kaisa had made plans when they could, and when they could not, Kaisa eventually came to the garden gate to find her. It was almost as though Kaisa had a sixth sense about it, for she never came when Lady Isobel was home. Ash didn’t ask how she knew, afraid that if she drew attention to it, Kaisa would stop coming. It was better, Ash told herself, to let it be as it was, for it would surely end soon enough. But now it had been weeks since they had seen each other, and Ash wondered, her heart sinking, if it had been the last time.
After several days of waiting in the empty house, listening for any sound at the garden gate, she decided go for a walk, unable to stand being inside for another minute. It was a hot day, and she almost immediately regretted leaving without changing into a lighter dress. Sweat was sliding down her back even before she reached the trees, and the shade was not much cooler. At the deserted riverbank, she knelt on the ground in the full sun and cupped the cold water in her hands, drinking deeply. She splashed the water on her face and ran her wet hands through her hair, pulling it loose from the knot at the nape of her neck. She undid the top buttons of her dress and splashed the cool liquid on her skin, sighing in relief as it trickled down her neck. She did not hear the footsteps behind her, and when she stood and turned to go back into the shade she was startled to see Kaisa standing there.
“I thought I might find you here,” Kaisa said with an amused smile. She looked as if she had just done the same thing that Ash had done: Her black hair was damp from the river, her collar unbuttoned and wet, the skin of her throat pink from the heat.
“It is a hot day,” Ash said inadequately.
“It is indeed,” Kaisa agreed. “I would suggest that you come into the shade.”
Ash did not know what to say, suddenly feeling shy, so she stood there at the very edge of the shade and looked down at the ground. Kaisa’s dark brown boots were comfortably worn and scuffed, the leather lined and aged. In the silence between them the buzz of insects in the hot summer air seemed to crescendo: thousands of tiny wings beating. At last she looked up at the huntress, who was watching her with a curious expression on her face; when Ash met her gaze she thought she saw Kaisa color slightly, but perhaps it was only the heat, for the air was sticky with it. Ash twisted up all the courage inside herself and said, “I was waiting for you.” When the words came out of her they seemed to hang in the air in a cloud of desire, and the texture of them surprised even Ash.
Kaisa said gently, “There was no one at your home.”
“They went to Seatown.” She could feel the summer heat surrounding her as if it were rising from her body, and she reached up and squeezed the last droplets of water from her hair.
“Why did you not go with them? It seems as though the whole City has gone there.”
“Ana said she had no need of me there,” Ash answered. “And she thinks it is a hardship for me to stay here, in the heat. But I am glad that I stayed.” Because I wanted to see you, she almost added, but the words caught in her throat.
“I am glad, too,” Kaisa said. The quiet afternoon opened up between them like a woman stretching her limbs. Ash felt the water from her damp hair sliding down the back of her neck, but she was still suffused with heat.
Kaisa said, her tone carefully conversational: “I dislike Seatown in the summer. It is all young ladies and their mothers, seeking out suitable husbands.”
Ash let out a laugh of recognition. “That is what Ana went to do.”
The huntress smiled. “Besides, I had work to do. Prince Aidan will be hunting with us this fall after several years away, and the King wishes to hold a great hunt at the beginning of the season. It is only a few weeks away.”
“Oh,” said Ash, feeling slightly disappointed. She suspected that once hunting season began, her days with Kaisa would end.
But Kaisa said, “If you would like to ride with us, I would welcome you.” Ash was simultaneously overjoyed and worried—her stepmother would never give her permission—and her hands flew up to cover her mouth, but she could not contain her smile. Kaisa laughed at the expression on her face and said, “I take it that means I can expect you to join us?”
“I will try,” Ash said, and at that moment, she had never wanted anything more in her life.
&
nbsp; When Ana returned from Seatown, her cheeks were blooming with what Lady Isobel described as the invigorating sea air. As Ash unpacked Clara’s trunks, her stepsister reported that progress had been made with Lord Rowan. “He seemed quite intent on proposing this fall,” Clara said, “but I am not sure if Ana will continue to entertain him.”
“Why not?” Ash asked, unfolding Clara’s blue gown.
“Because everyone says that the King will announce that Prince Aidan shall choose a bride this year,” Clara explained. “It was all anyone was talking about in Seatown.”
“Does Ana somehow think he will choose her?” Ash asked dryly.
Clara laughed. “You have no faith in my sister’s abilities to twist things to suit her desires.”
“If there is one thing I believe Ana capable of doing, it is that,” Ash said.
“All she needs,” Clara said, “is for Lord Rowan to believe that she has a chance with the prince.”
“Why?”
“It will make him jealous, of course, and he will propose more quickly. You really have no idea how these things are done, do you?” Clara gave Ash a condescending smile, and Ash bristled.
“And you do?” Ash said. “You are only sixteen.”
“The Queen was betrothed when she was sixteen,” Clara said.
Ash turned from the wardrobe and looked at Clara incredulously. “Do you think that you will make the prince fall in love with you?”
Clara’s cheeks turned pink and she looked slightly embarrassed, but she said indignantly, “Why not? Everyone says the King is going to announce that Prince Aidan will choose from among all the eligible girls in the country. I am eligible.”
“Well, in that case so am I,” Ash said, “but I doubt the prince will choose me.”
Clara gave her a strange look and said, “You may be our servant now, but you are the daughter of a gentleman, and you must know that you are far prettier than Ana.” When Ash simply stared at her, dumbfounded, Clara said, “It may not be your dream, Stepsister, but do not scoff at those who do dream of it.”
The next day a messenger came to deliver an invitation stamped with the royal seal, and Ash hovered in the doorway to the parlor as her stepmother unfolded the letter and read it. “There will be a hunting party to open the season,” Lady Isobel said, scanning the notice, “and afterward we are invited to attend upon His Royal Highness at the Royal Pavilion in the King’s Forest, where he shall make a special announcement.”
“When is the hunt?” Ash asked.
Her stepmother looked up at her and said, “In a fortnight. What interest do you have in it?”
“Perhaps she wishes to present herself to Prince Aidan as a possible bride,” Ana said sarcastically, and Clara looked down at her embroidery, saying nothing.
Ash frowned at her. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.
“Ash, go and clean something,” her stepmother said, irritated. “You have no call to be here.” She stood up and closed the parlor door in Ash’s face, and Ash heard Ana break into laughter.
Sidhean met her that night by the side of the river, where she sat on a rounded boulder holding the medallion in her hand. For a moment she thought she had seen a glimmer of light in its depths, but it had quickly faded and now the stone seemed as black as the night sky. She did not hear him approach, but she felt him—the air shivered a bit before his arrival—and when she looked to her left he was standing there motionless, his hands behind his back as he looked down at the gurgling water. “How do you know where I am?” she asked.
There was a small smile on his face as he said, “Magic.”
She had not seen him since he had given her the medallion. Now, she realized that the part of her that had once been always aware of him had quieted. And yet, seeing him again, she felt something within her bending toward him as though drawn on threads pulled taut by his hands. But he did not come closer to her, and she had the distinct impression that he was holding himself back, even though his face was expressionless. He asked, “What is your wish?”
Ash opened her mouth to reply, and hesitated. She had heard many tales about men and women who had been foolish enough to make wishes in the presence of fairies, and for a moment she wondered what she was getting herself into. Though Sidhean might grant her wish, she knew there would be a price to pay. In all the tales, the price for a life was a life—to bring back the dead, a newborn child would be given up. But what would be the price for a day of freedom? She told him, “The huntress has invited me to ride with them on their first hunt of the season.”
“Ah,” he said, and she noted that he did not ask why she was invited, or how she had come to know the King’s Huntress, and she suspected that he already knew—that he had known—what she would ask for.
“The prince has proclaimed that he will make some sort of announcement at the hunt,” she continued, “and my stepmother and stepsisters will be there. I wish to go without them knowing.”
He stood there for a long moment in silence, and to her astonishment he had never looked more like an ordinary man—with his head bowed and his shoulders slumped, he seemed almost weary. At last she stood up and went to him, putting her hand on his arm, and he was very real: He wore linen, and it was as pale as the starlight, and when she pushed his hair out of his eyes it was as fine as silk. She looked up at his shadowed eyes and asked, “If you grant my wish, will there be a price to pay?”
He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, and he kissed her knuckles. She felt lightheaded then, as if she had drunk a very great deal of wine, and if he had not caught her she would have stumbled. But he held her steady and answered, “There is a price for everything, Aisling.”
“What is this price?” she asked.
He said: “You shall be mine. That is the oldest law between your people and mine. But you must agree to it freely; if you do not, then I will not grant your wish.” The way he spoke gave her the impression that he had said those words many times before.
With his hands on her shoulders, she could feel the pulsing of her blood within her as if it were rushing up to meet his skin, and the price did not seem so high. Part of her thought, at last, and that part would have given herself up at that very moment. In a trembling voice, she asked, “When must you have payment?”
“You will know,” said Sidhean, “when the time is right.”
“Then I wish it,” she said quickly, before she could lose her nerve. She felt his fingers tighten on her shoulders, and she wondered if he were imprinting himself on her: Would the mark of his hands be visible? For now they were surely bound together.
“So be it,” he said, and then he stepped away from her—she felt the absence of him like a black cloud blotting out the daylight—and he bowed, and that disconcerted her more than the knowledge that she would have to pay.
Several days before the grand hunt, Ash began to see wagons full of crates and rugs and rolled-up canvases driving down the road from West Riding into the Wood. The shopkeepers in West Riding were nearly as thrilled as her stepsisters about the hunt, for it meant good business for them, and each time Ash visited the milliner’s to pick up another frill or tassel for Ana or Clara, there was fresh gossip about what Prince Aidan would announce at the feast after the hunt. But though the entire village was abuzz with preparations, she did not see the huntress, and at times she wondered if she had imagined their conversation that hot day by the river.
There had been no sign of Sidhean since the night she had struck the bargain with him, either, and she wondered whether her wish really would be granted. Sometimes she hoped that it would not, for in the light of day, with her hands raw from scrubbing the stairs and her dress stained with wash water, it did not seem that she had made a wise choice. But the night before the hunt, after she had banked the kitchen fire and finished washing the supper dishes, she opened the kitchen door and sat down on the doorstep. She looked out at the twilight garden and felt a thin but bright thread of excitement within her. Tomorro
w, she knew, her life would change.
Chapter XIV
Ash was awake well before dawn on the morning of the hunt. She slept fitfully all night, waking nearly every hour to see that it was still dark, and when she finally gave up on sleep she felt groggy and slow. She went into the kitchen to make tea, and as she waited for the water to boil she watched daylight creeping into the cracks around the shuttered windows. Just as she was taking down the teapot, there was a knock on the kitchen door. She went to open it, apprehensive about what she might find. The early morning sky was flushed pink over the Wood, and the air smelled of the last of summer, that scent of slowly fading grasses combined with the first hint of cool winter. On the doorstep at her feet there was a satchel made of finely tooled leather, drawn shut with a gold silk rope. The tassels glowed in the morning light as if they were on fire.
Just then she heard the kettle begin to whistle, and she hurriedly picked up the satchel and brought it inside, leaving it on the kitchen table while she made her tea. Then she took the satchel into her bedchamber and emptied the bag onto her bed. There were riding breeches made of creamy leather and a tunic of dark green, embroidered at the cuffs and collar in rich gold thread that matched the pattern of leaves and vines tooled into the leather satchel. There was a brown hooded cloak made of light wool, and brown leather riding gloves, and at the bottom of the satchel there was a pair of riding boots finer than any shoes Ash had ever worn. She sat down on her bed and pulled the medallion out of her pocket, and looking at the luminous, smoky stone she whispered, “Thank you, Sidhean.”
After she dressed, she wound her hair up and pinned it tightly at the nape of her neck, and when she looked at herself in the square mirror hung on the back of her door, her eyes were unusually bright. She wondered how her absence from the house would be explained that day. She felt as though she had stepped into an enchantment, and her heart raced. She went outside, her new boots molding to her feet as they touched the earth for the first time—as if they were feeling their way into existence—and waiting at the garden gate was a gray mare, her coat speckled with white on the right shoulder in a pattern of stars. The mare arched her neck as Ash approached, her brown eyes flecked with gold. Her saddle and bridle were made of fine dark brown leather, and the saddle blanket was woven of gray and white wool that nearly matched the horse’s coat. In the corner of the blanket a name had been embroidered in black: Saerla. “That must be you,” Ash said to the mare, and when she put her hand on Saerla’s neck, she felt a deep sense of calm.