26. The Soul Reach
The Soul Reach
The interior of the cottage was just as enchanting as the exterior, perhaps more so. Fresh-cut flowers in various stages of drying hung from the rafters, while several candles merrily glowed on tables dotting the room.
In addition to the aroma of the flowers, Cypress could also smell fresh-baked bread and sweets.
“Havanj, are you back there?” Torren shouted into the home, walking through like he owned the place.
She supposed that being Prince…or rather, King…had its advantages.
“Yes, child. In the parlor,” An aged, rough voice answered from the depths of the house.
A sable-furred cat rushed out from underneath one of the many tables and between her legs. Cypress was only able to get a glimpse of the animal before it disappeared once more, but she could have sworn the cat had a pair of ephemeral, iridescent wings on its back.
“I brought a friend for you to meet,” Torren called back, angling down another hall.
Somehow, despite how small and cozy the exterior of the cottage had looked, the interior seemed to go on forever. They passed room after room, each one full of various trinkets.
“Yes, Scathat told me,” the voice answered. Cypress thought they might be a bit closer now, as the voice was marginally clearer, a little louder.
Torren chuckled and glanced back at Cypress over his shoulder.
“What?” She asked, brows furrowed.
“Just making sure you were still behind me, Lass.”
Before Cypress could respond with something equally as irritating, the voice came once more.
“Oh, she’s following, Torren. Don’t ye worry, the Lass has more steel in her spine than you, I’d wager.”
Torren shot her another grin, then opened a cracked door to reveal a room much like the ones they had already passed through.
A table proudly stood in the center of the room, framed by three chairs. Cypress narrowed her eyes at the number.
Candles burned on a great mound of melted wax, as if the remains of one candle held the others up. Wax dripped and pooled on a copper plate, securing the whole mound. Tiny white small moths fluttered around the soft, glowing candlelight.
Dried flowers hung from the rafters here, as well, filling the home with a heady aroma.
“It is nice to see you once more, Torren,” the woman Cypress presumed was Havanj said from the side of the room. She was preparing tea in a porcelain teapot with all manner of greenery painted on it in exceptional detail.
She had dark skin, darker than Torren’s, with a thick riot of right curls in a halo around her face.
Torren crossed the distance between them to pull the woman into a tight hug. “You as well, Havanj.”
When their embrace broke, Torren stepped back and held a hand toward Cypress.
“This is my new friend, Cypress.”
Havanj didn’t say anything immediately, so neither did Cypress; instead, she gave the woman a bow of her head and a smile in return.
“We were hoping you’d be able to tell us where the Lass belongs in Faerie. We recently discovered her heritage by way of Pixie Wine,” Torren explained.
Despite herself, heat bloomed across her cheeks at the mention of Pixie wine.
“Pixie wine, eh?” Havanj said, giving Torren a thorough examination, eyebrow raised.
“It has a good flavor,” Cypress said by way of explanation with a shrug of her shoulders.
“Aye, it does taste good,” Havanj said, smiling. “Come on then, let's see where you hail from.”
Havanj carried the tea and teapot to the table on a tray, then sat in the middle seat, gesturing for Torren to take the right seat and for Cypress to take the left.
She remained silent while Torren and Cypress sat, placing teacups before their seats and spooning cubed sugar into both.
“Only two for me, please,” Cypress started, only to receive a mild smile in return.
“Oh, I know, dear.”
Cypress opened her mouth to ask how, when Torren caught her eye and raised his brow at her.
Right. Trust.
“Can you tell me what you know about yourself?” Havanj asked, then took a delicate sip of her tea with her aged hands circling the delicate cup.
Cypress shrugged and took a sip of her tea as well. “I’m an orphan. Found within the Keep twenty-seven summers ago.”
Havanj hummed and leaned back in the chair, with her elbow propped on the armrest. “Nothing else?”
Unsure what the woman was looking for, Cypress said, “Whenever we–I mean the orphans– were tested for abilities, I never had any power reveal itself to me. I’ve always been just Cypress.”
“I highly doubt being the only woman knighted in Grethnah counts as being just anybody, Lass,” Torren drawled. He leaned over the table, dark hair covering his brow.
“I got there by sheer determination, Torren. Not because of any power or ability that showed itself to me,” Cypress retorted, glaring at him.
Becoming a Knight of the realm was Cypress’s proudest accomplishment. Fair Folk blood running in her veins or no– she wouldn’t let anyone take that sense of pride from her.
“She bathes in Fire Vine flowers,” Torren remarked, staring straight through Cypress.
Havanj hummed in response. The woman’s brown eyes seemingly pierced Cypress’ skull when she asked, “What did you do in the human lands?”
Cypress had to restrain the urge to retort Shouldn’t you already know? Instead, she took a long sip of her tea before answering.
“I am Captain of the Prince Guard.”
Again, the woman hummed and took another sip of her tea. Then, she said, “Finish your tea, Lass, then hand the cup here. You too, Torren.”
Cypress did as she requested and drained the remnants of her drink. She glimpsed a fine layer of ground-up tea leaves on the bottom of the porcelain cup before she slid it across the table to Havanj.
Torren did the same just as the cat jumped on the table, then sat, long tail curled around its feet.
And, just as she had thought, a pair of iridescent gossamer wings sprouted from the animal’s back, its eyes the same remarkable milky green color. The animal's fur was a warm shade of sable, with bands of lighter and darker hues rippling over its coat.
The cat barely moved at all. Only the tip of its tail gently flicked back and forth where it was curled around its body.
With Torren’s cup in hand, Havanj flipped it upside down, then tapped it thrice on its saucer, murmuring something in the language of Faerie.
“The cups do not say anything different for you, Torren,” Havanj said mildly, then slid the cup back to him over the table.
Then, she repeated the process with Cypress’s cup.
Cypress was about to ask what she meant about Torren’s cup when Havanj spoke again.
“You, Lass, are a different story,” she said without looking up from the tea cup Cypress had drunk from.
“What does that mean?”
“These lines here–” Havanj started, and turned the cup so that Cypress could see into it. “–mean your future is undecided, rippling with decisions you have yet to make,” she explained, pointing to a set of spiraling lines.
Cypress wanted to roll her eyes. She didn’t, though. Just kept listening to the woman out of respect for Torren.
“This shape here looks to me like you shall have love in your future, though the leaves are never too specific,” Havanj said, peering over the rim of the cup.
“We’re here to find out where I come from,” Cypress reminded the woman, and stole a glance at Torren. He still wore a faint smirk around his mouth, eyes entirely too focused on her.
“Sometimes, Lass, to find out where you came from, you have to know where you’re going,” Havanj said without looking up from the leaves inside Cypress’s tea cup.
“I think that’s normally the other way around,” Cypress countered and leaned back in her seat.
“Some of us come from nothing, so are you saying you have to know nothing in order to know where you’re going?”
“I came from nothing. I know it, and it does not change my journey,” Cypress said, trying to understand.
Havanj nodded. “But you see, Lass, the cups tell me a different story.”
Cypress narrowed her eyes. “What do they say?”
“You did not come from nothing. In fact, you come from noble houses.”
Cypress laughed. “Yeah, the noble house of the orphans. I spent my days scrubbing floors and holding a sword long before I ever learned the kindness of a friend, of influence and power.”
“Would you say you have power now?”
“What kind of question is that?” Cypress asked, officially ready to leave this place.
Havanj shrugged. “A simple one. Do you have power now? Now that you are a Knight, Captain even.”
Cypress couldn’t answer. Of course, she had power now.
She was a knight. Captain of the Prince Guard. She’d unseated four of the realm’s most eligible men in a joust not two months ago.
But why couldn’t she answer Havanj’s question?
“I think, Lass, you’ve been looking for power, for influence, and perhaps even honor in all the wrong places,” Havanj finally said and set the cup down with finality.
Then, she pulled out a deck of intricately painted cards the length of her hand and began to shuffle them.
“Do you know who my father was?” Cypress asked, watching the cards dance in her hands.
Havanj scoffed. “Father? No, Lass. I know who your Mother was.”
“But Torren said–” Cypress started, glancing at the male in question.
“Bah. There’s your problem. Don’t be listening to men who think with their cock before their head.” A card flipped out of her hand, landing on the table face down.
“Aye! I think with my head, thank you very much,” Torren said, the picture of indignant surprise.
"Just not the right one."
Cypress couldn’t help but chuckle, delighted that he was catching stray comments from the woman.
Havanj waved Torren off with a grin. “I imagine he told you that most human women don’t survive the birth, and that’s why you assumed your Fair Folk blood must come from your father?”
Cypress nodded. Another card flipped onto the table, nearly on top of the other.
“While that is true, it is not in your case. Your mother ruled over the Soul Reach. We have been looking for her for years. I suppose you could say your appearance has solved that mystery.”
“You cannot be saying she’s–”