25. Fire Vine Blossom
Fire Vine Blossom
Like A'aravos Paravale, the village of Jinemelle was situated in the center of a large Faerie ring. The circular enclosure of evergreen trees almost acted like a funnel, making the sun's light and warmth last longer into the day.
Before Cypress and Torren entered the village, twilight was upon the forest, the bioluminescent forest life emerging and illuminating everything as it flitted through the branches. Here, though, it was as if dusk were hours away, yet. Golden daylight still streamed into the clearing.
“Wow,” Cypress whispered, unable to contain the wonder at the sights before her.
A'aravos Paravale had been grand– majestic even. This village was no different in that regard.
The entire settlement was built beneath the surface of a great, tunneled hill, with large open archways on either side.
The interior of the hill was entirely hollow; the dirt had been removed, and in its place, cottages dotted the underside of the mound.
Fair Folk meandered through the streets underneath the hill, music played loudly from taverns, and voices carried through the clearing.
Merrily glowing lights dotted the under hill, and around it.
One single enormous tree grew in the very center at the top of the hill, roots dangling underneath and down into the cavern below, while other, thicker roots wrapped around the either side, almost acting like a bridge over the village before they sank into the hillside and disappeared.
Cypress couldn’t wrap her mind around how such a thing was possible, but nevertheless, the village lay before her.
Fair Folk danced, ate, and drank the night away below the enormous tree, entirely carefree.
“Welcome to Jinemelle, Lass,” Torren murmured quietly beside her.
“Are all of the Fair Folk settlements this… enchanting?” Cypress asked, itching to explore.
“Not all of the Fair Folk built their towns into a hill, but in short, yes. We have lived amongst these trees for a very, very long time, Lass.”
Cypress nodded silently and waved Torren to lead on.
“Do you have objections to leaving the pack horse? We’ll make better time back to the Keep without it,” Torren asked stiffly.
“No,” she answered in a hushed voice, unwilling to disturb the peace this place seemed to exude.
Torren nodded, leading his horse slowly through the streets of Jinemelle. As they passed, some of the Fair Folk recognized who now walked in their midst, bowed their heads, or laid a hand over their heart. And in return, Torren bowed his head, his hand pressed over his heart as well.
The gesture seemed to be the normal way to acknowledge the Prince of Faerie.
Cypress couldn’t help but think about how Caelith and Cade demanded to be greeted whenever visiting a town or village.
The people were made to line the streets, to bend the knee with their noses practically pressed to the cobblestone until the carriage passed.
And then the settlement would be forced to host the entire contingent that the royals brought with them.
Since the royals rarely visited settlements less populous than Grethnah's seat, this rarely posed a problem. Caelith's favored nobility each had shires that large, and extremely wealthy.
Still, Cypress remembered visiting a village during her early days as a Knight, before she’d risen to the rank of Captain. The village couldn’t have been much larger than this one.
While the contingents were staying at the village, they’d gorged themselves on the food, treated the residents poorly, and had left the place barren. Stores of food meant to sustain the entire village through the winter had been drained in just a fortnight.
Cypress couldn’t fathom doing such a thing to a place, and she suspected Torren felt similarly.
Torren led them down another street toward a larger building that had vines creeping up the far side and moss covering the thatched roof.
“The Inn is ahead. We’ll drop off our things and let the horses rest while we go see Havanj,” he said, pointing down another lane.
“Do you think the horses will be able to rest this time?” Cypress asked, thinking about the inn they’d visited in Dorne Towne.
Torren cracked a wry smile at her. “Don’t worry, Lass. You’re safe inside a Faerie Ring, remember?”
Cypress sighed and rolled her eyes at him.
A wire-framed woman with doe eyes and broad shoulders greeted Torren and Cypress when they directed their horses toward the back of the building, where Cypress presumed the stables to be.
Cypress dismounted her horse and stretched her limbs while Torren spoke with the woman.
“Evenin', Prince. Lady,” the woman said, bowing her head, revealing a pair of dainty horns peeking out from between her russet curls.
Torren nodded to her in return and dismounted his horse. “Ratha. It’s good to see you and to be back in Jinemelle.”
“What can we do for ye while you’re here?”
“Take care of the horses, they’ve been working hard. We won’t need the gelding on our way out, but he deserves a good rub down for all his hard work. Other than that," Torren shrugged, “Just a couple of beds and a hot meal would be fantastic.”
Ratha nodded, taking the reins from Torren. “I’ll let the kitchens know. Do you have business in the village?”
“Yes. We’ll be a little while yet.”
With another bow of her head, Ratha led the horses away, stable hands seemingly materializing out of the shadows to help remove tack and cool them down.
“You’re not even going to feed me before making me square up to my heritage?” Cypress joked while rolling her shoulders.
Being in the saddle for extended periods of time was well within Cypress’s abilities, but these weeks of endless travel had begun to make her feel weary for the next portion of the journey.
“In my experience, Lass, it is best to let a Diviner assess your blood on an empty stomach.”
Cypress wrinkled her nose. “You think I’m going to throw up?”
Torren pulled a face, his shoulders rising to his ears. “Others certainly have, but I think you’ll be fine. Probably. Maybe,” He said, walking back toward the streets with a single glance toward her to make sure she followed.
Cypress rolled her eyes, but strolled after him. “Wow, such confidence.”
“I don’t pretend to understand how the powers of a Diviner work.”
“Right, because you’re just Torren, not the heir apparent to the Wylds, and Grethnah, if you wanted to push the claim.”
“I do not want the human lands. They haven’t mourned a single day of my absence, why should I pine for them?”
“But you’ll work to save them?” She asked, unable to look away from the wonder that was the village even as she interrogated him.
Torren didn’t reply immediately.
Now that Cypress was beneath it, the underside of the hill seemed to be as far away as the clouds in the sky, the thick roots of the tree nearly as big around as she was.
The cover of night seemed to be draped over the Faerie ring as Cypress stepped under the hill, bringing with it the bioluminescence of the Wylds.
Everywhere Cypress looked, there were countless glowing fireflies, moths, and butterflies dancing merrily over the houses, through the grasses. Buds of flowers unfurled their blooms, filling her nose with the heady scent of wildflowers.
To her surprise and delight, Cypress found many bushels of her favorite Fire Vine flower blooming along the sides of the streets. Their spicy aroma warmed her to her toes.
When she bent to pluck one of the blooms, Torren reached out a hand to stop her.
“Don’t Lass- It’ll burn…ye,” he said, words trailing off as she plucked the stem without effort.
“What are you talking about? These are my favorite, I put them in my bath water,” Cypress said, shooting him a dirty look.
She appreciated his warnings most of the time. Other times, Cypress felt like he coddled her entirely too much.
“You.. You put them in your bath water?” Torren asked, eyes narrowing at each stumbled word.
Cypress raised an eyebrow at him. “That is what I said, isn’t it?”
Torren shook his head. “It’s a wonder no one connected the dots sooner, Lass.”
“What do you mean?”
“Fire Vine flowers are known to leave intense burns on contact. It’s only harvested by Pixies, who cultivate it into various tinctures and salves. More than that, though, a bloom picked too early is as volatile as a wildfire.”
Cypress looked at the flower in her hands, then back to Torren.
“You mean to tell me I’ve been bathing with essentially black powder for practically my whole life?”
Torren pressed his lips together, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “It sure would explain your… personality,” he offered with a wry smile.
Cypress threw the flower she’d plucked at his face.
“Aye! Watch it, Lass!” Torren shouted, ducking out of the way before the petals ever touched him.
Cypress threw her head back and roared with laughter.
“I’ll get you back for that, Lass. Just you wait.”
“Can’t wait to see you try,” Cypress countered, grinning.
Time stretched between them while Torren gazed at her face, storm grey eyes clouding over for the barest of moments. His teeth grazed over his bottom lip, indenting the flesh before he said, “Come on, Lass. Havanj is this way,” with a nod of his head toward the center of the village.
Cypress fell into step beside Torren once more and tried to focus more on the people than on marveling at the way the village was built beneath a hill, at the sheer amount of power that must have been used to create such a place.
Like before, when they’d entered the village, the Fair Folk under the hill all greeted Torren with a short bow of their head, hands pressed over their heart.
And in return, Torren would repeat the gesture or simply smile at the people.
Every face Cypress saw was friendly, joyous, even to see the face of their Prince.
“Forgive me if this sounds… rude, but,” Cypress began.
Torren laughed and asked, “What is it, Lass?”
“If your mother is dead… And Caelith is obviously not King of Faerie, why are you merely the Prince?”
“Ah, that’s not a rude question, Lass.”
“So… what’s the answer?” Cypress pressed, giving a fawn child a small smile in return when they waved at her while jumping up and down on cloven hooves.
“After the Hunt rose the last time, the human who proclaimed himself ruler in the aftermath forbade any other being heralded as King.”
“Caelith’s ancestor?” Cypress guessed.
Torren nodded. “By that point, our King had seen enough fighting, had already witnessed his people being destroyed, and entire villages being erased. He accepted the demand, despite how ridiculous it was. It is because the Fair Folk are nothing if not honorable that we have abided by that agreement ever since.”
“So in Faerie, Prince is really,” Cypress started.
“King,” Torren finished with a wicked grin.
Unable to let the moment pass without getting the last word in, she replied, “Yeah, okay, just Torren.”
Torren’s sudden burst of laughter surprised both of them. So much so that Cypress ended up laughing just as hard as he, clutching onto his arm to keep herself upright.
She had no idea how she ended up here, deep in Faerie territory. She’d slain apparently one of their most feared creatures and trekked all across the country– all at the side of the apparent King of the Wylds.
And, no matter his assurances otherwise, being the firstborn to King Caelith– and one that abided by the treaty between their peoples– made Torren heir apparent to Grethnah, as well.
At that sobering thought, Cypress shook her head and pushed away from Torren, who’d drifted closer to her.
“Lead the way, Just Torren,” she said with a bow of her head and a wave of her hand.
Instead of just resuming their walk down the cobblestoned street, Torren grabbed her hand and tucked it in the crook of his elbow, and pulled her along with him.
“Now, when we get to Havanj’s cottage, I want you to remember one thing, okay?”
Cypress furrowed her brows. “What could that possibly be?”
“Magic is real, Lass. We have been traveling along Lae Lines throughout our journey, and there are fair folk who are more deeply… connected to those lines of power. The power of a Diviner is to know the absolute truth.”
“But is what you say truth? Is our blood oath somehow invalid because I didn’t know I was part Fair Folk, therefore changing my true name or some bullshit like that?” Cypress asked.
The thought had been burning at her for the past few days.
Torren chuckled, “No, Lass. Your name is your name. If not knowing whose loins ye came from meant something like that, we’d be proper fucked, don’t ye think?”
“Alright, maybe,” she conceded.
“Here we are,” Torren said, gesturing to one of many cottages lining the streets.
White stucco walls above a stone foundation that rose to about waist height. Dark stained beams were exposed at the corners where they weren't covered by creeping vines.
“Remember what I told you.”
“Yeah, yeah, absolute truth and all that.”
Without further preamble, Torren walked up to the door and entered. Cypress followed, her heart in her throat.