While they had been hunting, the guests that would attend that evening’s celebration had arrived, and as the Royal Hunt rode into the clearing, a cheer arose from the crowd that had gathered along the path. Each of the marquees had been turned into a well-appointed waiting room furnished with rugs and chairs and pillows for those who had come to dine and to dance that night. The hunters gathered in a semicircle facing what was now a central avenue leading toward the grand pavilion, and Prince Aidan and Kaisa went forward to meet the King and Queen, bowing deeply to them. Then Kaisa turned to an attendant behind her and gestured for him to bring the stag’s head, which was wrapped in a dark green cloth. She took it by the antlers and laid it on the ground at the foot of the King, and when she removed the green cloth the crowd gasped, for the head was an eerie sight in the torchlight.
The King reached out and grasped Kaisa’s shoulder and said, “Well done,” and she bowed her head to him. Then he said to all who were gathered: “We shall celebrate tonight’s success with a great feast. But we shall also celebrate my son’s decision that by the time this year has come to a close, he will have chosen a bride.” The crowd shifted excitedly when the King said this, and Prince Aidan came to stand beside his father and mother.
“Beginning tonight,” the King continued, “Prince Aidan shall search for a lady worthy of becoming his wife. We shall invite every eligible young woman to join us at a grand ball on Souls Night to deliver her suit to the prince, and by the time of the Yule celebrations, he will have made his decision.”
The crowd burst into whispered conversation until Queen Melisande, her golden hair swept up beneath a jeweled coronet, raised her hand to quiet them. She stepped forward and took the arm of her son, whose face, with the marks of the stag’s blood like dark slashes in his cheeks, was downcast. “Now, ladies,” the Queen began in a voice accented with the round vowels of a Concordian, “please be advised that my son shall not be choosing only based on beauty, for I am sure that every young woman here tonight is beautiful enough to win his heart.” Laughter twittered through the gathered crowd, and the Queen continued, “He must make a good match for this country, as well. He has told me that he wishes to take a bride from his own land, even though I have urged him to choose one of my own countrywomen.” The Queen frowned at her son, who gave her a weak smile.
“But Aidan has always been a stubborn boy and has grown into an even more stubborn man,” said the Queen, “and so it is with a mother’s loving heart that I bow to his wishes. I trust that my son will choose wisely and well.”
Prince Aidan leaned toward his mother and kissed her on the cheek, and though she could not be sure, Ash did not think that he seemed particularly thrilled by his parents’ announcement.
After the horses had been watered and fed, Ash joined the rest of the Royal Hunt as they made their way toward the pavilion, where Kaisa had gone ahead with the royal family. Ash walked with Lore up the avenue, and Lore said to her, “You rode well today.”
“Thank you,” Ash said, nonplussed, for Lore had not seemed to be particularly interested in befriending her.
“I admit I was surprised,” said the apprentice, grinning at her.
“Why?” asked Ash.
“You said that you had never ridden in a hunt before,” Lore said.
“I have been…practicing,” Ash said.
Lore nodded. “Kaisa told me.”
“She did?”
“She spent much more time here last summer than she has before,” Lore said. “I wondered what was keeping her occupied.”
Ash looked at the apprentice, unsure of how to interpret the slightly teasing tone in her voice, but Lore had turned her face away, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.
During the hunt, the pavilion had been transformed into a great ballroom. The forest floor had been carpeted in rugs of dark brown patterned with leaves of gold, and at the north end of the pavilion a dais had been raised, upon which rested a long table covered in creamy linen. At the center of the table were two massive, carved oak chairs, and the King and Queen were seated there. To their left was Prince Aidan and his younger brother, Prince Hugh, and to their right was Kaisa. The pavilion was lit with hundreds of lanterns hanging from the wooden ribs that held the pavilion’s roof aloft: globes of light suspended in midair. Long, cushioned benches were set around the perimeters of the pavilion, and on the south end a trestle table was piled high with food for the guests, who were filling their plates with roasted meat and bread and steaming potatoes. Attendants carried pitchers of wine around the room, and on a smaller dais directly facing the entrance, musicians were playing.
Ash began to turn toward the buffet table, but Lore touched her arm and said, “No, come and sit with us.” They sat at one end of the King’s table with the other members of the Royal Hunt and were served roasted game hens and rabbit, dark bread and rich butter, charred roasted potatoes and carrots, sharp cheese and ripe, sweet green pears. “There will be venison,” said Lore, “just when you think you’ve eaten too much.”
When most of the dishes had been served, Kaisa left her place at the center of the table and came to sit with them, and Ash listened as they talked about the chase that day: which horses had done well, whether the lymer’s oldest hound should be retired, their plans for this new season. Ash watched the huntress, who was gesturing with her left hand as she spoke, and the ring she wore—a gold signet ring stamped with the seal of the Royal Hunt—winked in the light. She glanced at Ash in mid-sentence and Ash quickly looked away, feeling overwhelmed by it all: Kaisa, the hunters, the banquet hall, the King and Queen, barely twenty feet away from her. She stared down at the gold leaves embroidered on the cuffs of her shirt, and they seemed almost alive, as if they might grow into sinuous vines and twine themselves up her arm, making her sleeves of glittering foliage. She closed her eyes, willing herself to be rooted there, in that chair, and she gripped the armrest until the pattern carved in it rose up to meet her fingers, solid and reassuring. When she looked up again, the hunters were talking of Prince Aidan’s recently announced quest for a bride, and Kaisa seemed just the smallest bit tired from the long day, and it was as ordinary as a royal feast could be.
After the venison, when the last of the food had finally been cleared away, Ash leaned back in her chair and wondered if she would ever be able to stand again. The musicians were playing a stately pavane, and she watched with heavy-lidded eyes as Prince Aidan and his brother descended from the dais to choose partners from among the young ladies fanning out before them like the brightly colored feathers of a peacock’s tail. Prince Aidan took the hand of a slight, golden-haired girl wearing a gown made of pale blue trimmed with black ribbons, and Prince Hugh chose a redhead in a black silk dress with diamonds at her throat. Then Kaisa left the dais, and as she began to make her way along the edge of the pavilion, she was met by a black-haired woman in a red dress, who put her hand on Kaisa’s arm and smiled at her. Kaisa stopped, and Ash watched as the huntress led the woman toward one of the cushioned benches where they sat down together, and the woman leaned toward the huntress, the light shining over the curve of her lips.
Lore, who was still sitting at the table with Ash, said, “There are many who would cast themselves as the huntress’s lover.”
Ash looked at Lore, blinking slowly, for the wine made her feel as if she were walking through cobwebs. “What do you mean?” Ash asked.
Lore smiled at her almost pityingly. “I thought you were one of them,” Lore said.
Ash felt heat rise in her cheeks at Lore’s words and asked, “Why would you think that?” She wondered uncomfortably if she had done something to suggest it. And if she had—did she feel that way? The idea was unsettling; it made her feel vulnerable.
Lore had opened her mouth to respond, but then one of the hunters appeared on the other side of the table and said, “Lore, come and dance with me, will you?” He saw Ash’s reddened face and added, “Unless you have other designs?”
; Lore laughed at that and said, “I’ll dance with you, Gregory.” She pushed her chair back and followed him down to the dance floor. Relieved to be free of that conversation, Ash watched Lore and Gregory bow to each other before they entered into the elaborate roundelay that was in progress, the ladies’ many-colored gowns spinning outward like blooming roses scattered over the ground. Toward the center of the pavilion she saw a woman dressed in bright pink, her hair woven with white ribbons, and when the gentleman she was dancing with spun her to face the dais, Ash realized the woman was her stepsister, Ana. Ash stiffened, but Ana had not seen her; all of her attention was focused on her dance partner, a middle-aged man with a balding head of graying hair. Ash looked around the perimeter of the pavilion until she found her stepmother and Clara seated on a bench on the far side of the dance floor. They were watching Ana as well, but Ash was too far away to see their expressions. She realized, when she looked around, that she was the only person remaining at the table; even the King and Queen were dancing. If she stayed, it was only a matter of time before her stepmother noticed her there. She knew, then, that she had to leave.
She stood up to go, and as she made her way toward the exit, skirting the borders of the dance floor, she saw the huntress in the crowd ahead of her. They came together amid the throngs of people dressed in crimson and purple and rich black velvet. “You look as if you are leaving,” said Kaisa, and those around them turned to look at whom the King’s Huntress spoke to.
“I am,” Ash answered, schooling her face into a blank expression so no one might read the tension within her. She worried that her stepmother would see her; she worried that Kaisa would somehow discern a new awareness in her, in the way she held herself, her body tilting slightly, self-consciously, away.
But Kaisa seemed merely disappointed. “You will not stay?” she asked. “There is much more dancing to be had.”
Ash shook her head. “I am sorry. I must leave.”
“Then let me walk you to your horse,” said Kaisa, and Ash nodded. They went together through the dancers then, and when they exited the pavilion the night felt cool and dry. There were few people outside, and the torchlit path leading past the marquees was almost deserted.
“You rode well today,” Kaisa said.
“Thank you for allowing me to come with you,” Ash said formally.
“You must join us again. We will hunt tomorrow, and though the King and Queen will return to the City, the hunt will remain here for several weeks into the hunting season.”
“I will try,” Ash said.
They passed a couple walking back toward the pavilion arm in arm, the lady giggling as she held up her long skirts to avoid tripping over them on the uneven ground. When they were alone again Kaisa asked, “Is something wrong?”
She spoke lightly, as if Ash were a nervous sight hound who might be spooked by a more serious tone, and Ash managed to say, “No, of course not.” She wasn’t exactly telling the truth, but she wasn’t entirely lying, either, for she did not believe that wrong was an accurate description of her feelings. Perplexed, yes; uncertain, yes; but beneath it all something as yet unnamed was coming into focus.
They turned off the main path toward the working area of the hunting camp where the horses were tethered, and Kaisa said, “I hope that you enjoyed yourself today.”
There was something in her voice that sounded the tiniest bit affronted, and Ash looked at the huntress and said quickly, “Oh, I did—I will never forget today.”
The huntress let out her breath in a small laugh, and she said, “I am glad.”
Afraid to let silence come up between them again, Ash asked clumsily, “You said—you invited me—how long will you hunt this season?”
“I am not sure yet,” Kaisa answered. “It will depend on how successful we are in the next few weeks.”
They reached the smaller path leading toward the horses, and Kaisa stepped back to allow Ash to go ahead of her, as if she were a lady. Ash almost stopped, confused—and then she asked, to hide the quick rush of nerves in her belly, “Have—have you ever lost a stag during a hunt?”
“Of course,” Kaisa said, following her onto the path, “but not for many seasons. The last one I lost—he was a quick one. He crossed the river and took a path I did not know existed. It led into a ravine deep in the forest, and we could not follow.”
“Why could you not follow him?”
“There were too many hunters with me that day. It would have been impossible for us all to follow. But later I did go back to that place, and it was so strange—I found the path to the ravine; I know it was the right one because the branches had been broken by the stag’s passage. But I could not find the ravine. It was as if it had vanished, and I kept tracking the stag’s trail in circles until I gave up.”
“There is a story,” Ash said, “of a stag that runs into a valley, and of the huntress who followed it.” They had reached the horses by then, and Ash went to re-saddle Saerla, who turned her moonlight-colored nose toward them as they approached.
“What did she find?” asked Kaisa.
“The entrance to the valley was hidden, but there was a secret entrance that was revealed only by the light of the full moon, and one night the huntress was watching that very location and she saw the entrance revealed. So she went in.”
“What happened when she went in?”
“In the valley there was a cave. Inside, it was like a palace made of gold, and the huntress walked down many richly appointed corridors before she came to what seemed to be a throne room. And on the throne was a woman dressed all in white, and she was incredibly beautiful, but she was also incredibly sad, because she had been cursed to spend her life locked in that cave, and the only time she could leave was as a stag.”
“What did the huntress do?” Kaisa asked.
Ash finished buckling the saddle in place and said, “The woman asked the huntress to chase her down, as a stag, and to kill her. And then, she could finally be free.”
Kaisa asked, “Is that your favorite fairy tale?”
“No,” Ash said.
“I would still like to hear it,” Kaisa said quietly, and the expression on her face was indistinct in the dark.
“I am not sure, anymore, what my favorite is,” Ash said. The horse nudged her shoulder as if to remind her that she had to leave. “I am sorry,” Ash said. “I must go.”
Kaisa seemed about to ask her a question, but she did not. “Safe journey home, then,” she said, stepping out of the way as Ash mounted the horse.
“Good night,” Ash said, and Saerla turned toward the path that would lead away from the hunting camp.
“Good night,” said Kaisa, briefly bowing her head to her, and Ash was reminded, uncomfortably, of the bargain she had struck with Sidhean. It did not seem quite right to think of Sidhean and Kaisa at the same time—there was something disloyal about it. But though she tried to separate the two of them in her mind, she could not, for the bargain, she knew, included all three of them.
Chapter XVI
Ash dreamed that she was walking through the Wood at midsummer, and when she looked up through the canopy of leaves she felt the warmth and heat of the sun on her face. There was someone walking beside her, and she was not surprised to turn and see the huntress, who smiled at her and extended her hand, and Ash took it. Small white flowers bloomed all around them, and as they walked the flowers became vines that climbed up the tree trunks until it was as if the trees were hung with blossoms made of snow. When they came to a stop, Ash saw that the path ended on the edge of a cliff, and before them was a ravine. She could not see the other side, but the white flowers continued to twine down over the edge of the ravine like a rope ladder, and the huntress squeezed her hand and said, “Shall we find that poor stag-princess?”
“Are you going to kill her?” Ash asked, and her voice sounded strange, as though she heard it from outside her body.
The huntress smiled and shook her head. “No, but you will.”
<
br /> Ash awoke, gasping, and sat up in the dim morning light in her small room behind the kitchen. There was a pounding on the front door, and from upstairs she heard a bell ringing. Dazed, she threw off the covers and dragged herself out of bed, pulling on her wrinkled dressing gown as she stumbled through the kitchen and front hall. Her stepmother was standing at the top of the stairs in the dim morning light and said crossly, “Why aren’t you awake? Someone is knocking on the door! Go and answer it.”
Blinking and bleary-eyed, Ash went to the front door and opened it, and the rising sun flooded into the hall, momentarily blinding her. A man was standing on the doorstep, holding out a sealed letter. “I apologize for the early hour, madam,” he said, “but we have many of these to deliver this morning.”
She took the letter he handed her and before she had a chance to reply, he bowed and retreated. She saw him mount a horse draped with the royal insignia and ride off, and then her stepmother called from upstairs, “Close the door! You’re letting a draft in. Who was it?”
Ash shut the door and looked down at the letter, but the light was too dim to make out the details of the seal. She took it to the bottom of the stairs and showed it to her stepmother. “They brought a letter,” she said.
Lady Isobel came downstairs and took it from her, handing Ash the candle to hold while she broke the seal. Ash watched her stepmother’s eyes widen as she read, and a triumphant smile came over her face. “How wonderful!” her stepmother cried.
“What is it?” Ash asked.
“The King has invited us to a masquerade on Souls Night,” Lady Isobel said with satisfaction. “He says that I am to bring my daughters. Ana must have made a favorable impression on His Royal Highness at the hunt.” Lady Isobel took the candle and headed back upstairs, calling, “Ana! Ana, wake up—you’re going to be a queen!”