32. Farron
32
Farron
S o this is how the High Prince of Autumn returns to his realm. In chains.
I pull against my bonds despite knowing they’re unbreakable. The metal was mined from Spring, received in exchange for our bountiful lumber, and then forged in fire milked from the dragonmouth plant. I doubt even Keldarion could find a way out of this steel.
We are marched through Keep Oakheart and into the war room, then forced upon our knees, hands cuffed behind our backs. Our chains are connected, binding us in a row: me, Kel, Ez, Dayton, Rosalina, George, Astrid, and Marigold. Dom and Billy hover nervously nearby, not happy with the situation but unwilling to stand against our mother.
Perhaps cowardice runs in the family.
I’ve hardly been in the war council room, even after I took the mantle of High Prince. It’s an imposing chamber, the furniture all built of dark, polished wood. Ornate tapestries hang by the enormous windows, depicting scenes of great battles fought on the back of the legendary Storm Rams, a mystical vanguard that was said to have long disappeared into the Emberwood.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. Looking over, I see Dayton’s piercing blue eyes. His face is twisted in worry. “You’re okay, Fare,” he whispers.
I have to be. If the wolf gets the best of me here, in a room with those I love most…
The bargain. The thought sends a searing pain through my neck. Caspian has sworn his magic can control my beast. I can’t believe I’ve resorted to trusting the star-damned Prince of Thorns.
I breathe in shakily and survey my friends. Kel somehow manages to look imposing, even on his knees. He stares up, ice chip eyes unblinking, mouth so natural in a frown. Ezryn’s still, save his hands. He’s pulled off his gloves and is slowly running his fingers over what metal he can touch. Does he recognize this steel?
Dayton starts yanking on his chains. “You should know better than to contain me, Niamh,” he snarls, using my mother’s first name.
“Dayton,” I warn.
But my mother says nothing. She stands behind the massive oaken table, its surface inlaid with intricate carvings of towering trees. I remember being a boy and sitting on her lap, trailing my fingers over the designs. She’s staring at Rosalina.
Out of all of us, she is the stillest. She holds her chin high, deep breaths making her chest rise and fall. Fear flickers in her gaze, but there’s strength there, too. I close my eyes. If you can be strong, so can I.
Strangely enough, George seems delighted by the whole ordeal. His head swivels around like an owl, and he keeps asking the guards what the sigil—a golden emblazoned ram with a crown of red and orange leaves—on their breast plate means. They all ignore him.
Astrid trembles. Marigold is mercifully silent—for once.
“Mother,” I say. “Please, let me explain.”
Slowly, she sweeps her gaze from Rosalina to me. Her golden eyes flicker like a breeze through a wheat field. “Where were you to explain,” she says, “when our villages fell to the frost? Where were you to explain when the refugees showed up at Coppershire and we had no food to give them because our crops have failed?” Her body shakes, voice growing raspy. “Where were you to explain when I traveled to the border with a host and watched them fall one by one to the frost and I could do nothing because I’d passed along Autumn’s Blessing to someone who took the power and hid?”
“I-I…” Words start and stop in my throat. Mother’s statements rain upon me like a volley of arrows, each one penetrating deeper. But there is nothing to say to defend myself. No defense I deserve. My body weakens, and I stay upright only because I’m bound to Kel.
My mother sighs deeply. “I should force you to pass the Blessing back to me right now.”
“Excuse me,” Rosalina says, her voice soft. “I’m sorry about this frost. And about your crops. And your people. I truly am. But you have no idea what Farron’s been through. What he’s accomplished.”
“Rosalina,” I croak. “Don’t.”
I don’t want her protection. I don’t deserve it. What have I accomplished? We have nothing to show for our work. The only one of us who has any chance of breaking the curse refuses to do so. I have no conclusions, no progress. I’ve lost control of my realm. Worse than that, I’ve lost my mother’s love.
My mother walks out from behind the table and stands over Rosalina. She looks just as she did when she was High Princess: her dark hair mixed with silver and tied in a tight braid, a gown of brass chain-link with a tartan sheath, and a golden sword holstered to her side. She was the finest leader the Autumn Realm had ever known.
She’d willingly passed the title to me, her eldest son.
There’s a great bumbling sound as the guards are pushed aside and then an absolutely enormous man blunders into the room.
“Fare-Fare!” he cries and grabs me around the shoulders, squeezing and lifting me all at once. The force of the movement yanks Kel and the rest of them along, and I’m suffocated by his immense red beard.
“Father,” I try to say against all the hair. He smells like my childhood: bonfires on crisp nights, mulled cider, and stag.
“Paddy,” my mother warns.
My father Padraig slowly lowers me, looking sheepish. “Niamh, is this really necessary? You’ve got our boy in chains. He’s not a threat to anyone!”
I know my father is standing up for me, but it stings anyway.
“Look who he’s chained to,” Mother says. “Farron has been consorting with High Prince Keldarion. I will have no traitors in my midst, even if they are of my blood.”
“Even if they possess Autumn’s Blessing?” Dayton snarls. “Hi, Paddy. Great to see you.”
“Daytonales!” My father walks over and ruffles Dayton’s hair. “Fit as ever, boy.”
Marigold gives a deep sigh. “Now there’s a man if I ever did see one.”
Mother looks like she may burst into flames, the way the hooves of the Storm Rams did in legend. “Paddy, if you do not stop fraternizing with my prisoners, I will have you removed.”
“Enough of this,” Keldarion growls. He rises to his feet, tugging all of us with him. The guards shoot forward, spears drawn, but my mother waves them down. “Princess Niamh, please trust me when I say I have nothing to do with—”
“Trust you? Trust you?” She stalks forward. Though she’s far shorter than Keldarion, her presence towers above him. “The only reason our realm still stands is because we didn’t trust you. You nearly destroyed Winter all those years ago, and you would have brought all the realms with you. ‘Trust me’, he says. Does the High Prince of Winter think I’m a fool? Word has spread of your Winter Solstice Ball. You’ve aligned yourself with the Below again.”
“Caspian was not bidden in my realm,” Keldarion says. “I will never make that mistake again.”
Pain burns along my neck. Keldarion might not, but I have.
Mother moves in a flash, pulling a bronze dagger from her sleeve, holding it right beneath Keldarion’s chin. “I shouldn’t give you the chance.”
“Not so quick, Princess,” Dayton says, a darkness to his words. “You don’t want to make trouble with the High Princes when there is none. Remember who is a ward of Summer.”
Fear flashes in my chest at the threat, and I turn to Dayton with wide eyes.
“You dare threaten my daughter, Daytonales?” Mother whispers.
Word came to Castletree two years ago that my sister Eleanor, the youngest of us four, had chosen to be a ward in the Summer Realm.
“With all due respect, my lady,” Dayton says, his voice pure silk, “you’re the one with a knife to the neck of my brother.”
Kel flicks his gaze at Dayton and there’s a flash of respect between the two of them, a rare gift from Keldarion.
Mother’s lip twitches and she snags Dayton’s chin, looking down at him with repulsion. “Last I checked, Daytonales, you had no more brothers.”
A knot forms in the pit of my stomach as I try to comprehend the cruelty of her words.
Dayton stares up at her blankly. She drops his chin and staggers back to the desk. “Look at you four. High Princes of the realms, indeed. Autumn and Winter are on the brink of war. Summer’s being run by a child. And no word has come in or out of Spring in months.” She looks back. “The Queen left High Rulers for a reason. To keep the people safe. And you lot have all but turned your backs on us.”
A heavy silence permeates the room, and I hang my head in shame. She’s right. Just as the Enchantress was long ago.
“What if we can fix it?” Rosalina pipes up. “What if we can figure out what’s causing the frost and stop it? Would you call off the war against Winter?”
Mother raises a brow. “Who is this human?”
I stare at Rosalina, her shining eyes, the resolute set of her jaw. “She’s the Lady of Castletree,” I say. “And she’s going to help us stop this frost.”
Mother strides over to her and takes Rosalina’s chin in her hand, moving her head back and forth. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”
Rosalina gives a nervous laugh. “I think I would have remembered you.”
“Hmph.” Mother walks behind Rosalina, trailing a hand through her long dark hair, running a finger over her round ears.
“I know you don’t trust us,” Rosalina says. “Any of us. Why should you? Your people are dying. You’re scared. But I promise, Keldarion did not cause this frost. And Farron will do anything for his people. No one else needs to die. Let us show you what strength remains in the people of Castletree.”
My father laughs from the corner of the room. “The human’s got spunk. What say you, Niamh?”
Mother holds up her bronze dagger, pointing it at Rosalina’s back. I intake a sharp breath, my blood growing hot. Then Mother uses it to click open the chains. She goes down the line, releasing each of us in turn.
“At the rate the frost is moving, it will arrive at Coppershire in about two months’ time,” she says. “Fix it before it reaches the capital. And if not,” she holds Keldarion’s gaze, “Autumn will march on Winter.”