13. Camp Willow
Camp Willow
Cypress reached for the hilt of her sword while Torren raised his hands and said, “Be at peace. It is Torren Lefay and a friend.”
“What was the late Queen Mother’s most prized possession?” One of the Fair Folk demanded, drawing their bowstring taught to the side of their face.
Cypress felt as if the point of the arrowhead was already speeding toward the space between her brows.
“A single moonbeam captured in an olivine crystal, set in a ring,” Torren answered easily.
Cypress couldn’t help but glance toward his hands raised on either side of his head to see if the ring he described was around any of his fingers.
While each of Torren’s digits were indeed adorned with rings of various sizes and shapes, Cypress did not see one that matched the description he’d provided.
“Is it truly you, Torren?” Someone called from the rear of the group, and Cypress immediately noted the shift in Torren’s stance, how some of the tension lining his shoulders dropped.
“Aye, Ellisar, and I have brought a new friend,” Torren said, motioning to Cypress behind him.
The next few moments were a flurry of activity.
Blades were sheathed, arrows sliding back into quivers, while sentinels slowly disappeared back into the wilderness, and others returned to camp.
Guards who were only moments ago pointing weapons at Cypress were now helping her off her horse and pressing a waterskin into her hands.
“Welcome home, Prince,” was muttered more times than Cypress could count as she and Torren were led into the camp.
Cypress held the strands of the willow tree out of her face as she followed the sentinel’s lead through the thicket.
As soon as she stepped foot beyond the veritable wall of willow trees, Cypress immediately recognized the feel of the space she’d entered.
The Fair Folk camp had been erected within the bounds of the largest Faerie circle she had ever seen, let alone fathomed.
Willow trees were prone to growing in dense groups, Cypress knew. But, she’d never seen them grow in a perfect, dense circle like this.
“You could have warned me that your people were going to be hostile,” Cypress remarked when she was walking side by side with Torren.
“I wouldn’t call that hostile, necessarily."
“Weapons were pointed at me, Thief,” Cypress drawled, crossing her arms over her chest.
Torren scoffed. “Lass, we met at a joust.”
Cypress was loath to admit he had a point. “Still, you could have warned me.”
“Oh, relax, for a night, Lass. You’re safe within the circle, as you have been in all the others. Let's see you be fun like I seem to remember being promised.”
“I never promised to be fun,” Cypress grumbled, rolling her eyes at him.
Torren had kept his word in that regard. Cypress had remained safe during their travels.
“No, but you’ll relax anyway,” Torren said with a grin.
“I think I’d rather be horrible, actually. Can I do that?”
Torren pulled up short with his hand around her bicep, pressing in on her space. The difference in their height made it so she couldn’t look directly into his eye when they were this close without canting her head back.
Cypress took a half step backward, only to have her spine hit a tree trunk, Torren’s knee between her thighs.
“You’re in my territory now, Lass. We made it here because of me, so now, it’s your turn to sit back and stop being a brat while I get caught up on what I’ve missed since we’ve been gallivanting across the fucking known lands.”
Cypress had her foot hooked behind his knee before Torren could take another breath. She shoved him hard, and then the heir to Faerie was sprawled on his back in the midst of his people. Again, arrows, spears, and daggers alike were pointed toward Cypress. She paid them no heed.
“If you ever grab me like that again, I will kill you where you stand,” she growled, leaning down into his space.
Torren bared his teeth at her from his place in the dirt, but said nothing. Slowly, he stood and brushed himself off.
When he looked at Cypress again, all signs of hostility were gone from his face. The storm grey eyes never left hers when Torren ordered his men, “Put your weapons away.”
“Have I made myself clear?” Cypress asked, fists bunched at her side.
“Crystal, in fact,” Torren muttered, and tucked his hands into his pockets.
“Fantastic. Go do whatever it is you need to do. I’ll be… around,” Cypress said, wiggling her fingers in the general direction of the middle of camp.
“Stay out of trouble?” Torren said, though Cypress did not miss the barest hint of a question in the command.
“Don’t insult me,” Cypress said, then turned on her heel and left Torren where he stood.
“I mean it, Lass. Don’t cause trouble with my people!”
Cypress merely waved her hand at him as she kept striding away, aimed toward what looked to be the center of the camp. She followed her nose until she came across a large pot of stew, a Small Folk stirring the contents slowly from the top of a very large step ladder.
She only knew the Fair Folk by sight, as they had once been in the Keep. Now that Cypress knew Torren’s suspicions about Caelith, she couldn’t help but feel as if the lack of Fair Folk in and around the Keep was a sign he was right.
“Hello, dearie. Are ye hungry?” The Small Folk asked. She wore a pretty blue cap with a rolled rim and a daisy pinned to the side, and a dusty purple frock beneath a worn and stained apron. Her skin was the color of new grass after the first frost.
“I suppose that depends on what is in the stew,” Cypress countered.
Picky eating habits had been cruelly stamped out in her youth with the persistent threat of starvation. Still, Cypress preferred to at least know what was in the food she ate.
“Venison and root vegetables,” the Small Folk said with a smile.
Cypress nodded, having assumed as much by the aroma. “Sure, I’ll take a bowl, please.”
The Small Folk ladled out heaping scoops of the stew into a bowl, handing her a spoon as well. “When you’re done, just drop it over there, we’ll take care of the rest,” She said, pointing toward a long table with a barrel of water sitting next to it and several clean bowls stacked on the surface.
Cypress accepted the bowl of stew from the Small Folk and nodded her thanks.
Before walking away, Cypress asked one more question. “So you… Do you all follow Torren?”
She couldn’t let the opportunity to learn more about her current companion pass. Anything she learned could be vital information.
“Oh, yes, dearie. Prince Torren will lead Faerie back to life.”
“Back to life? What does that mean?”
The cook shook her head and instead replied, “Go, enjoy your food, child,” while motioning Cypress away with a wave of her hand.
And so, without learning anything worthwhile, Cypress wandered away through the camp while sipping the broth of her stew, eating the finely chopped bits of venison stew meat that were cooked to an incredible softness.
The burned, crackly, crisp edges of the meat led Cypress to believe it had been grilled before being added to the broth.
With every draught from the stew, it was almost as if the weariness from the road withered away, sloughing off of Cypress’s body in waves.
She almost wondered if there was magic in the stew. Perhaps being prepared by one of the Small Folk made the stew inherently magical.
As she wandered, Cypress took note of the conditions, how all of the Fair Folk seemed to have their place and had friendships across the camp.
Cypress wondered if anyone ever had to prove their loyalty to the Fair Folk Prince, like Caelith was fond of requesting.
While she lingered around the edges of camp, she heard only two more interrogations as other people entered the ring of willow trees, but the questions were different for each, and different from Torren’s.
Begrudgingly, Cypress had to admit that their security measures were quite thorough when it came to entry to the camp. And, Cypress doubted anyone could escape notice when the trees that they walked through were the best sentries for the job.
While she was walking through the camp, taking stock of Torren’s people, Cypress couldn’t help but notice how efficiently these people interacted, forming a cohesive group where every person was helped and respected.
The staff at the Keep, however, were almost like a carnivorous beast, where everyone was as much your adversary as they were a potential ally.
Everyone on Caelith’s staff thought that way.
The King’s favor was immensely coveted, and just about anyone would bend as far as Caelith wished to get ahead.
Here, Torren’s attention wasn’t coveted in the same fashion, but Cypress could tell his opinions and concerns were of the highest priority for the people of Faerie. Loyalty was born from love here, not from fear.
Cypress’s movements mimicked what she could see of Torren and the one he called Ellisar as they slowly walked through the camp.
Ellisar had an average build, similar to Torren. Though with one marked difference. The male had a set of iridescent wings between his shoulders, and they shimmered lightly in the dappled sunlight as they walked around the camp.
Everywhere the Prince went, he was greeted by smiles, often a clap on his back, and offers from their fires.
Toren was loved and cherished in a way that neither Caelith nor Cade was.
When Cypress’s thoughts turned to Cade, she couldn’t help the sick feeling in her gut at the idea that someone else was taking the helm of her station. Who else could act as Captain in her absence?
Realistically, that would be Oswald, but still, her pride did not like the idea of him taking her place.
Cypress had earned the title of Captain and the privilege to guard Cade through her blood, sweat, and tears. The idea of someone else taking Cypress’s command–even her second– sent a bolt of hideous anger straight through her.