27. Heresy
Heresy
Today, the forest seemed to be still, quiet in a way that set Cypress’s nerves on edge.
According to Torren, they were about a day’s ride south of A'aravos Paravale if they traveled non-stop.
The two of them made decent time as they moved through the Wylds. The distance to the castle slowly disappeared beneath the beating of horse hooves. But the slowest part came when Cypress and Torren would periodically dismount and walk the horses to give them a bit of rest.
Cypress didn’t mind the pace, the strain of the journey. It gave her less time to dwell on her heritage and the rest of it.
The worst part was not stopping for a meal. Cypress and Torren ate as they walked, chewing dried jerky and flatbread, but pushed on.
And, throughout the day, the forest was still. It was like the trees were waiting for something. Cypress could feel it.
But was she just imagining things? Was her mind running away with the nonsense that Havanj had told her the night before?
It wasn’t until well after noon that Cypress asked Torren. The question had been burning in the back of her mind since they departed Jinmelle at dawn’s light.
“Is there something following us once more?”
Torren shook his head. “Whatever it is, it’s nothing from Faerie.”
“Not exactly reassuring,” Cypress snapped, spurring her horse onward.
“Wasn’t meant to be,” Torren muttered, eyes flicking to the trees.
“Could we lose them in the trees?” Cypress pressed, scanning the tree line.
“Not unless we can outrun them, but the horses…”
“Have been running all day,” Cypress finished grimly.
What was out there that caused even the Wyld forests to take pause, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath?
“So are we making a run for it, or are we facing whatever chases us?” Torren asked, bent over his horse’s neck.
It took Cypress all of three breaths to decide.
“Face it,” She said, then sat deeper in the saddle, pulling lightly on the reins to slow Seren.
Torren did the same with a shouted “whoaa,” and then they turned, facing back the way they’d come.
Almost immediately, Cypress could hear the sound of pounding hooves, the metallic clink of armor rattling against chain mail.
“I didn’t know they were so close,” Cypress muttered, checking that her sword was clear in its scabbard, and then readied her bow.
The bow was light and meant for small game, but would be deadly enough if Cypress’s aim was true.
“The Dryaads have allowed them to pass since you decided not to run,” Torren muttered, similarly preparing for an attack.
Cypress whipped her head back toward him. “Could we have asked for their help?”
Torren sent her a wry grin and said, “Survive this, Lass, and I’ll tell ye why I didn’t ask for more help than what they'd already been providing.”
She muttered a string of expletives, double checking that her sword was free.
Torren chuckled, but didn’t say anything before a group of riders burst around a corner at a gallop.
Horses screeched and reared as their riders yanked on the reins at the sight of Cypress and Torren standing calmly in the middle of the road.
One of the horses screamed again as its rider yanked back and to the side on the reins. The horse reared. Then it fell backward, directly on top of its rider. None of his companions reacted, or even bent to check if the rider was alive.
The leader of the band came to a skid stop before Torren and Cypress, the emblem of Grethnah embossed in his armor.
Cypress’s stomach dropped.
“Lieutenant Oswald,” Cypress greeted and slowly looked at the other members of the party.
All of them were guards at the Keep. Which meant the rider who fell was likely Johnah. He always did pull too hard on the reins.
“Lady Cypress, Prince Torren,” Oswald said, then reached into one of his saddlebags. When he withdrew his hand, a few rolled parchments came with it.
“What’s all this?” Cypress asked, unable to shake the feeling—the forest was watching. Waiting. That the Dryaads would weigh her soul against the outcome of this interaction.
“Unfortunately, we are here with warrants for your arrest.”
Cypress reeled back in her saddle and nearly dropped the bow. “What!”
“See for yourself,” Oswald said, then threw the rolled papers to Torren.
He deftly caught them, then broke the wax seal. Torren’s face went a little pale at whatever he saw. He did the same for the other two scrolls.
When Torren was done with his examination, he shook his head.
"What is it?" Cypress demanded. The steady and rapid thud, thud, thud of her pounding heart filled her ears.
“He’s telling you the truth, Lass.”
“What are my crimes?” Cypress spat. There had to be some mistake. She was loyal to the crown. As she always had been. She was on the way back to the Keep after finishing her assignment, for fucks sake!
“Conspiracy and Heresy, Lady,” Oswald said.
His voice would have her believe there was some compassion, but the set of Oswald’s jaw and the glint in his eye told Cypress a completely different story. As did the lance Oswald slowly hefted from its place on the saddle. The company of men behind him mirrored the lieutenant's movement.
“This is ridiculous, you cannot honestly believe that I am guilty of Heresy?” Cypress asked Oswald.
He knew her face. Knew her identity as Captain Cy. Surely, he would trust her.
“I have my orders from King Caelith, Lady. You will be returning to the Keep with us, whether you like it or not,” Oswald said, expression hardening.
“No. No, I don’t think that I will be,” Cypress said, her heart thundering in her ears. “I am not some criminal.”
“Lady–”
“Captain!” Cypress snapped through her teeth. “I am your Captain!”
She was Captain of the Prince's Guard, following orders from the King.
There had to be some mistake. The party behind Oswald began to murmur amongst themselves.
And then, Cypress noticed what was lying across their horse's back.
Iridescent wings were strapped and stuffed into saddlebags.
Thick pelts from Fawn and Satyrs, cloven hooves dangling on either side of the horses.
Cypress felt sick at the horrors the Guards had brought to Faerie in their search for her.
So many people and creatures of Faerie lay dead somewhere, just to slack the bloodlust of Caelith’s guard.
Weeks ago, Cypress would not even have known. She never would have guessed that the iridescent wings draped across the horse's back would have come from people. Or that the cloven hooves dangling from pelts were not just goats or sheep.
Cypress’s stomach roiled, and her throat burned as if she’d just drank molten metal fresh from the forge.
“It doesn’t have to be this way, Lady,” Oswald tried, adjusting his lance grip.
"Captain," Cypress corrected. Oswald’s lance would do him little good this close, where they couldn’t circle her without leaving the road.
For once, Cypress stopped trying to ignore the whispering in the leaves, the ever-shifting language of the Dryaads.
A moment passed, then another, while Oswald’s face slowly contorted with contempt.
Through the entire exchange, Torren had been silent. Cypress sent a glance in his direction, only to find him ready and waiting with his bow lying across his lap.
Torren raised an eyebrow and waited for her signal.
Cypress looked down to where her hands were gripped around the riser of the bow.
Everything was about to change.
Cypress dipped her chin and then sent an arrow firing toward Oswald’s eye. Then, she exploded into motion. Her horse charged, and she drew her sword.
Three arrows came from Torren’s bow in quick succession, and then he was moving toward the party behind Oswald. Torren moved like he could take them all down by himself.
Cypress couldn’t focus on that, though. Oswald brushed her arrow away with his bracers at the last moment.
With gritted teeth, Cypress attacked. She sliced at his midsection with her sword. And Oswald blocked with his lance. Cypress precisely struck his wrist with the flat of her blade, and Oswald dropped the lance with a shout.
Cypress wasted no time. She dealt a blow to the back of his head that seemed to crumple his spine. Oswald fell from his mount to the dirt on his back.
Without hesitation, Cypress urged her horse to Torren’s side, where he was currently dealing with the other members of the party. Before Seren stopped, Cypress vaulted from the saddle and launched into the attack.
With significant ease, she and Torren quickly dealt with the remaining guards. Cypress slashed and parried her way through the party. Their blood coated her sword and the ground beneath them, and splashed on her clothes.
One of the Guards–or should she call them Crown Raiders–backed away from the fray. Not a single drop of blood was splashed on his armor, but the remains of Fair Folk had been piled high on the back of his horse.
With a heart of stone, Cypress stalked after him. These men had come to capture or kill her. These men had raided who knew how many villages on their way to find her.
Cypress didn’t want to even begin to think about how many of the Fair Folk died at the hands of these crown raiders. These men, whom she had fought and trained beside, had commanded for the last several years.
The guard clumsily drew his short sword and rushed toward Cypress with his teeth gnashed together.
Cypress huffed an unamused laugh. Perhaps the man thought that if he brought her head back to Caelith, he’d be favored. Promoted, even.
Knowing Caelith and Cade, the guard would be applauded and showered with gifts, but it wouldn’t last more than a week before the guard found himself deep in a dungeon, never to be seen again.
No one was permitted to take glory for themselves. It was given, handed out like treats. Caelith did not take kindly to his absolute power being threatened.
Cypress side-stepped the guard’s attack. Then, she brought the flat of her blade down on the man’s back.
With a scream, he whirled and attacked again. Cypress shook her head.
She didn’t recognize his face, so he wasn’t part of the Prince Guard.