“Best worry about Elseny,” Anne replied. “She’s far the more beautiful, and it is, after all, her birthday.”
Robert trotted his horse over and took Anne’s hand. “Lady,” he said, “my brother has three beautiful daughters, and you are in no way the least of them. If some man has said this, tell me his name and I shall see the ravens pecking at his eyes before nightfall.”
“Robert,” Muriele said, a hint of irritation in her voice, “do not flatter my daughter so unmercifully. It’s not good for her.”
“I speak only the truth, Muriele dear. If it sounds flattering, well, I hope I will be forgiven for it. But really, where is your bodyguard?”
“There,” Muriele said, waving her hand to where the king and his retinue made their way along. “I wanted to speak to my daughter alone, but they are there, and quite alert, I assure you.”
“I hope I haven’t interrupted anything. You seemed serious.”
“Actually,” Anne replied—brightly, she hoped—“we were talking about Lesbeth’s upcoming wedding. Isn’t it exciting?” Too late, she saw the warning in her mother’s eyes.
“What’s that?” Robert’s voice suddenly had a certain coldness to it.
“Lesbeth,” Anne said, a little less certainly. “She asked Father’s permission last night.”
Robert smiled briefly, but his forehead was creased. “How odd that she didn’t ask mine. Goodness! It seems the joke has been on me!”
“She was going to tell you today,” Muriele said.
“Well. Perhaps I’d best go find her and give her the opportunity. If you will excuse me, ladies.”
“Of course,” Muriele said.
“Remind Lesbeth that she promised to see me today!” Anne shouted, as her uncle rode off.
They continued silently for a moment or two.
“You should perhaps be more careful about what you let drop,” Muriele said. But somehow she didn’t sound angry any longer.
“I—the whole castle knows by now. I thought she would have told her own brother.”
“Robert has always been very protective of Lesbeth. They are, after all, twins.”
“Yes. That’s why I thought he would know.”
“It doesn’t always work like that.”
“I see it doesn’t. May I ride with Austra, now?”
“You should join the royal party. Your granuncle Fail is here—Oh, it looks like he’s ridden off with your father. Very well, you may be standoffish if you wish. Tonight you must be sociable, however. And you must be agreeable at your sister’s festival.” She pulled her reins and started off. She cast back over her shoulder. “And stay proper on your horse, you hear me? Today of all days.”
The Sleeve curved and rose gradually to the top of Tom Woth, a broad-topped hill that looked down on the reaches of the city east, and upon its twin, Tom Cast west. There was erected an open-sided pavilion of brilliant yellow silk, flying the banner of the bee and the thistle, the imaginary standard of Elphin.
An enormous floral maze surrounded the pavilion. Its walls consisted of close-planted sunflowers and pearly nodding-heads. Up and about those substantial stalks crept scarlet trumpet vines, morning glories, and blossoming sweet peas. Courtiers were already dismounting and making their way into the labyrinth, laughing and giggling. From someplace in the maze a delicate music played on hautboy, croth, great harp, and bells.
Austra clapped her hands. “It looks delightful, don’t you think?”
Anne forced a smile, determined to enjoy herself. Things, after all, could be much worse, and the festival atmosphere was infectious.
“Very,” she said. “Mother’s outdone herself, this time. Elseny must be positively bursting.”
“Are you well?” Austra asked, almost guiltily.
“Yes. I don’t think Mother knows about Roderick, either. Maybe I tore up the flower, in my sleep.”
Austra’s eyes grew round. “You have done such things! You used to walk about, perfectly unaware of anyone trying to speak to you. And you mumble and mutter most constantly.”
“That must be it, then. I think we are safe, my dear friend. And now I need only entertain three young fellows, and everyone will think well of me.”
“Except Roderick.”
“I shall make that up to him later in the day. You’ll make the arrangements?”
“Of course I will.”
“Well, then. Dare we enter Elphin?”
“I think we so dare!”
They dismounted and approached an archway that had been erected at the entrance of the maze. On either side stood two men wearing chain mail made of daisies. Anne recognized them as players from the household troop.
“Fair ladies,” one said, in high manner. “What seek you, here?”
“Why, an audience with the queen of Elphin, I suppose,” Anne said.
“Milady, betwixt you and that glorious queen lie the twisty courts of the phay, full of beauty and deadly danger. In all candor, I cannot admit you without you be accompanied by a true knight. I implore you, choose one.”
Anne followed his pointing finger, to where a number of boys stood dressed as knights. They wore outlandish armor of paper, fabric, and flowers. Their helms formed into masks, so it was difficult to tell who they were.
Anne strode over to them, and they formed a line. It took only a few moments for her to be sure that Roderick wasn’t among them.
“Which one?” she said aloud, tapping her chin. “What do you think, Austra?”
“They all look quite brave, to me.”
“Not brave enough. I have another in mind. You, sir knight of the green lilies, lend me your sword.”
Obediently, the young man handed her his weapon, which was, in fact, a willow wand painted in gilt and furnished with a guard of lacquered magnolia petals.
“Very good. And now your helm.”
He hesitated there, but she was, after all, a princess. He removed the masked helm to reveal a young, somewhat homely face she didn’t recognize. Anne leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I thank you, sir Elphin knight.”
“Milady—”
“May I have your name?”
“Uh—William Fullham, milady.”
“Sir Fullham, you will save a dance for me, when we reach the queen’s court?”
“Of course, milady!”
“Wonderful.” And with that, she donned his helm and marched back to the guards.
“I hayt Sir Anne,” she proclaimed, “of the Bitter Bee clan, and I will escort the lady Austra to the queen.”
“Very well, Sir Anne. But beware. The Briar King is said to be about.”
When he said it, something went wrong in Anne’s belly, as if she had stepped off of something higher than she thought it was, and the image of her dream flashed behind her eyes— the field of black roses, the thorny forest, the hand reaching for her.
She staggered for a moment.
“What’s wrong?” Austra asked.
“Nothing,” Anne replied. “It’s just the sun.”
With that, she entered the maze.
10
The Taff
Aspar left Tor Scath before dawn, departing the King’s Road and striking across the uplands of Brogh y Stradh, through meadows blazing with red clover, lavender weed, and pharigolds. He found the Taff near its headwaters, surprising a small herd of aurochs stamping the stream bank into a musky quagmire. They watched him with suspicious eyes as he, Ogre, and Angel picked their way through the twisty maze of ancient willows that surrounded and canopied their watering place. The wild cattle smell followed him downstream, long after the bellows of the bulls faded.
Everything seemed well, but it wasn’t. He was more certain now than ever. It wasn’t just the things Symen had told him.
Yes, he believed some of the old man’s babblings. Ultimately, the knight was trustworthy when it came to reporting what he had seen. The dead bodies, the mutilations, the strange absence of wounds all were undoubtedly true, though Aspar wanted to see for himself.