“Perhaps it was the crow that guided the brigands here,” said Darci, a ginger-haired tall girl to Theon’s left.
“An ensorcelled bird?” Theon asked.
Darci nodded. “Bewitched by one of the sisters.”
“Oh,” said Henriette, fluttering her hands about,
“please let us talk of something other than bewitchments and death.” A silence fell on the gathering, and finally Gilles said,
“I hear you are on a quest, Sieur Roel.”
“Oui. My sister and two brothers are missing, and I go to find them.”
“Missing?” said Marielle. “Oh, how thrilling. Where are you bound?”
“Wherever they are bound is where I am bound,” said Roel.
Marielle frowned. “I don’t understand.” Gilles smiled and said, “ ’Tis a play on words, Marielle. Bound and bound-one means confined or imprisoned; the other means where one is headed. Ah, and there are also the meanings ‘to leap’ and ‘to set a limit,’ but they do not apply to Roel’s words. Only ‘confined’ and ‘going’ are relevant: he is bound where they are bound.”
“Oh, I see,” said Darci, giggling, but Marielle still looked on blankly.
Roel took pity. “When Gilles will let me, I am heading south, for that’s the direction a sage named Geron told me to go, once I entered Faery, that is.”
“South?” asked Marielle.
Roel looked about and took a bearing and then pointed.
“Ah, sunwise,” said Marielle.
Now it was Roel who looked puzzled. “Sunwise?”
“Directions are uncertain in Faery,” said Gilles. “So we name them sunup, sunwise, sundown, and starwise.
Sunup and sundown are self-explanatory as to where they lie; sunwise is in general the direction of the sun at the noontide; starwise is the opposite.”
“The Springwood border you head toward,” said Vidal, “is very tricky-it leads to many different domains. If you cross just a few feet off course, you’ll end up somewhere altogether different from where you intend, and many of those realms are quite perilous to life and limb.”
“That’s why we intend to escort you, Roel,” said Celeste. “Else you’ll not likely reach the port city of Mizon.”
Roel shook his head. “Princess, as I said, I cannot ask you to share my peril, for there are Changelings involved.”
“Changelings!” shrieked Henriette, her spoon clattering to her plate. “Oh, Mithras!” Again she made a warding sign, as did Marielle and Darci.
“The princess and I have conferred,” said Anton, glancing at Vidal, who nodded. “We intend to take the warband and accompany you.”
Roel held up a hand of negation. “I repeat, I would not have the princess in peril.”
“Did you not say that I had saved your life, Roel?” asked Celeste.
All the guests looked at Roel.
“You did, my lady, for you have great skill with the bow.”
Rather like spectators at a badminton match, the guests turned toward Celeste.
“And if I were a man with that skill, would you object to my guiding you?” she asked.
Following the shuttlecock, they looked at Roel. .
“Princess, you are not a man.”
. . and back to Celeste.
“I am well aware that I am not a man, Roel, just as most surely are you. Even so, that does not answer my question; hence I ask it again: if I were a man with that skill, would you object to my guiding you?” The guests waited for Roel’s reply.
“Nay, my lady, a man with your skill would be welcomed.”
“You object only because of my gender?”
“I object because I would not see you in dire straits and because you are my beloved.”
A muttering went ’round the table, the women sighing, the men looking at one another somewhat startled, though they nodded in agreement with Roel’s words, especially Captains Anton and Theon.
“Just as I would not see you in peril either, Roel,” said Celeste. “You need my skill; thus I will go, for you are my very heart.”
Marielle squealed and clapped her hands, and Darci pressed a palm to her own breast and said, “Oh, my.” Henriette glanced about with a smug smile, and Amelie looked across at Vidal, pleasure in her eyes.
Vidal grinned, for he had long wished the princess would find love, while both Anton and Theon looked at one another and then at Roel and grinned. Gilles laughed aloud and stood, goblet in hand. He raised the drink first to Celeste and then to Roel and said, “To the madness of love!”
Madness! shouted Anton and Theon together, standing as well and hoisting their goblets and then downing their wine in one gulp.
Gaiety filled the room, and even dignified Vidal and staid Amelie joined in the many following salutes.
Celeste laughed and Roel smiled, but in the back of his mind, he knew though Celeste would ride with him; into peril they would go.
7
Idyll
“You do not play echecs, my love?”
“Non, Princess. I have often thought I would find the time to learn, but I never did.”
“Then I will teach you, Roel, for it is a splendid pastime.”
“Then let us have at it, Celeste.”
They quickly finished their breakfast, and then hurried to the game room. “Choose the color of your doom, Roel,” said Celeste, gesturing at several tables, the echiquiers arrayed with men.
“Well, if it’s my doom, I suppose black is as good a color as any.”
The princess smiled. “Ah, then, let us sit here. I will play ebon, you the ivory.”
“Ah, I see, then: you are my doom, eh?”
“Ever, my love. Ever.”
After they had taken seats, Celeste said, “These are the names of the pieces: here arrayed in a row along the front are the spearmen, eight altogether; here in the back row, these two on the outside are the towers; next to those are the chevaliers, sometimes known as cavaliers; followed by the hierophants; and then the roi and reine-the king and queen-though the queen is also known as the dame. And this is the way each moves, and how they capture opposing pieces. . ”
“Argh!” exclaimed Roel, “six defeats in a row. I will never master this game.”
“Master echecs in six tries?” Celeste laughed. “I have spent many a candlemark at it, and still I am but a novice.”
Roel frowned. “But all other games I have essayed have come easily to me. This one, though, the possibilities are endless.”
“Ah, but you lasted much longer, my love,” said Celeste.
“Only because you coached me, Princess.” Celeste grinned. “As was I coached by my brother Borel. He’s much better than I.”
“That is hard to believe, Celeste,” said Roel, setting the pieces up for another game.
“Borel defeated the Fairy King at echecs,” said Celeste. “No one had ever done that before. Yet, heed, Borel is not the best of us.”
“Not the best? Then who?”
“Camille, Alain’s beloved. She defeated Borel handily.”
“Remind me to never play against her,” said Roel, grinning and moving his roi’s spearman forward two.
That evening, in the soft light of paper lanterns, they sat in the gazebo out on the front lawn, Celeste with a violin, Roel with a lute. Also under the roof were Marielle with a flute and Laurette, a fair-haired, petite demoiselle, playing a small harp. Gathered about on the lawn were members of the staff of the manor, those who were free of duty, all sitting and sipping wine at this impromptu concert. And they oft applauded over a well-executed, difficult riff, and over the sweet voice of Celeste as she sang ballades, as well as the baritone of Roel as he sang humorous ditties, mostly of knights bettered by wily maidens.
When it came Roel’s turn again to sing of knightly exploits, he set his wineglass aside and announced, “The Crafty Maid.”