34. Little Hills & Trees
Little Hills & Trees
After spending so long in the Wylds, Grethnah seemed… barren. Empty.
The wind still swept through the trees, rustling and whispering, though not with the many voices of Dryaads.
In the Wylds, the never-ending cacophony of bird song had accompanied Cypress and Torren throughout their journey to the tomb, and back. In Grethnah, it was like everything was muted. Colors seemed duller, and the birds were practically silent.
Cypress mentioned as much to Torren as they entered the outskirts of Westshade.
“The Wylds are wild in more ways than one, Lass,” Torren said by way of explanation.
“I know that, it’s just…” Cypress struggled to name the feeling that tumbled around inside her chest. “Odd, I suppose. Before venturing into the Wylds, I would have never known the difference.”
Torren cracked a smile at her. “All the more reason to venture outside where you’ve grown comfortable.”
Cypress rolled her eyes at him. “How do you stand it?”
“The quiet?” Torren asked. Cypress nodded.
“It is what it is. Once, all these forests were a part of the Wylds. Perhaps one day Dryaads will be allowed to return.”
“Allowed?” Cypress asked, though she already knew.
“Human Kings from ages past all systematically pushed the Wyld borders back.”
"Until all that remained of the Wyld Wood was half of what it once was…” Cypress finished, aware of the shame that now coated her tongue. Had she really been so blind as not to see the divide in the people before? And why had she never questioned the King and Cade?
Cypress didn’t need to guess the answer.
She'd always ignored these truths because it was easier, more comfortable, and because questioning threatened the fragile stability she’d found.
She felt indebted to the crown for pulling her out of the orphanage.
Climbing as high as Captain of the Prince Guard would never have been possible otherwise.
“Half?” Torren huffed an unamused laugh. “Lass, the Wylds are only a fraction of what they once were. The tiny corner of forest you see on maps now once blanketed the entire continent.”
Cypress couldn’t even fathom it.
“How could the rulers of Faerie allow it? I can’t imagine anyone there being pleased with the prospect of the forest shrinking.”
Torren cracked a sad smile. “We are true to our word, Lass. The humans needed more space for farming, they’d say.
Or they’d claim a wildfire burned down a copse of trees.
Faerie would relinquish a bit of space here and there to keep relations between our people amicable.
Over time, they’d ask for more and more. ”
“And no one realized what was happening until it was too late?”
“Unfortunately. Or, at the very least, did not want to admit what was happening, even to themselves.”
“What will you do?”
Torren didn’t answer right away. In fact, they’d reached an inn and dismounted their horses before he said anything at all.
“Hopefully, with the Wyld Hunt back under control, the Humans will be more open-minded to the prospect of giving us some of our home back.”
There was an edge to Torren’s deep voice that hadn’t been there only moments before, unmistakable bitterness lacing his words. Cypress’s stomach sank, and she didn’t have to ask him why.
A pair of wanted posters hung neatly on the board near the entrance to the inn.
Torren shook his head before tugging her into the stables, where he chatted with the stablemaster.
“Hello there, have room for a pair of beauties?” Torren asked, waving his free hand toward the two horses.
The stablemaster cracked a grin. Rising, he shook Torren’s outstretched hand. “There’s always room in my stables for beautiful horses,” he responded. "How are ya?"
“Road weary, my friend.”
The stablemaster nodded his head. “Well, go on inside then. Maggie will take care of ye, and get you right as rain.”
Torren smiled at the man and said, “We’ll do that, thank you. ” Then, he draped his arm across Cypress’s shoulder and led her through the open doorway.
She tried to shrug out from under his arm, but Torren put it right back across her shoulders.
“What are you-"
“Remember the last time we were at an inn, Lass?” Torren's lips were so close to the shell of her ear that Cypress had to repress a shiver of delight.
“What about it?”
“You’re a smart woman. Do you truly feel like Dorne Towne was alone in its… distasteful ideas about gorgeous women?”
Cypress snapped her teeth shut. “No. Of course not.”
Behavior like that was also common throughout the noble families of Grethnah.
“Then be quiet and let me lead you around, perhaps we’ll have a quiet evening, and I won’t have to kill anyone else to save your honor.”
She grit her teeth. “I can kill them fine enough on my own, thank you.”
“Oh, I’m aware. But if you think I wouldn’t defend you, again, you are incorrect.”
Cypress sighed. “Fine. Here’s to a quiet evening,” she said. Then, she looped her arm around Torren’s waist and threaded her fingers through his, where they lay on her shoulder.
“Is this better?” She asked, looking up at him.
His heavy-lidded eyes fell across her cheeks, the line of her mouth, before he rasped, “Yes, Lass. Much.”
They reached the bar, where presumably Maggie stood drying glassware. Torren plastered a smile across his face and greeted the woman.
“Evening, ma’am!”
Maggie nodded and returned the greeting. “What can I get you, folks?”
“A hot meal and a clean bed,” Torren replied, pulling Cypress in tighter against his side.
The woman barely even looked at Cypress, entirely focused on Torren.
“Of course, of course. We’ve got mutton stew and biscuits on, and you can take your pick of any of the open rooms upstairs. If the door’s open, it’s available.”
Torren slid three gold marks across the bar to her. “Appreciate it, Ma’am. My friends were supposed to pass through here. I wonder if you could tell me if they are still here?”
“What’s the name? I’ll see if I can recall.”
“Goes by Ellisar.”
“Aye, still here by some luck.”
“Any telling what room he’s in?”
The woman smiled, revealing rotten teeth that were just barely hanging on. “No tellin’, but one of my girls will let him know inquirin’ minds are lookin'.”
Torren nodded and said, “Tell him little hills and trees are lookin’.”
Then, he rapped the bar twice with his knuckle and turned away with Cypress in tow.
When they were a few steps away, she asked, “Little hills and trees?”
Torren looked down at her and cracked a wide grin. “Aye, that’s what we are. Little hills and trees, Lass.” Then, to her utter shock, Torren pulled Cypress closer and pressed a kiss to her hair.
“Why are we expecting Ellisar to be here?” Cypress drawled and peered at him through her lashes.
It was entirely too easy to slip into this sort of familiarity with Torren.
He said it was under the guise of keeping her safe, but Cypress had to remind herself it was all an act.
She could not get too comfortable in the warm embrace of Torren’s grasp.
“A pair of wealthy merchants invited to a ball can’t very well ride in on horseback, can they?”
“Well, no, I suppose not. So we have a carriage?”
“Indeed,” Torren replied, and pulled out a chair for her at the table in the farthest corner.
“I suppose you deserve my gratitude in arranging everything,” she said while taking her seat.
“That didn’t sound at all like thank you, Torren,” he said with a smile.
Cypress cracked a smile in return. “You’re right, it didn't.”
Torren raised an eyebrow at her, and Cypress let the moment stretch until finally she gave him the barest of nods and said, “Thank you, Torren.”
Torren’s resulting grin spread wide across his face as he said, “Once you get settled in Eobbaara, you’ll have the resources to arrange anything you desire. ”
Then, he pulled his chair close to hers, with only the slightest of gaps between the armrests.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Cypress said.
“Come now, Lass. Surely you don’t think the Fair Folk who lived and loved Eobbaara left just because Aithlin disappeared?”
“What does that have to do with,” Cypress said and waved her hand in his general direction. “Resources? No one is loyal to me. I don’t come with an entourage of servants and followers. I’m just me. Cypress.”
“Cypress Ilirona. Your duchy survives. The land, the people, the castle. All of it has been lovingly cared for and tended to in yours and your mother’s absence, Lass.”
“That still doesn’t mean-”
Torren leaned forward and grabbed her gently by the chin. “Lass.”
Cypress narrowed her eyes at him, but let him speak.
“You are rich. Probably beyond your wildest dreams. Eobbaara is one of the wealthiest provinces within Faerie. Trust me when I tell you, you have resources.”
Chin still within his grasp, Cypress licked her lip before she said, “Well, alright then. You could have led with that.”
Torren smiled, and his eyes roamed over her face. Then, quick as an errant breeze, he laid the barest of kisses against her lips. A whisper of contact before he dropped her face, and leaned back in his chair.
“That’s a good Lass.”
Cypress was too stunned to do much else other than blink at him.
“Where do you think your beastie is?” Torren asked just before one of the barmaids arrived with bowls full of mutton stew and tall draughts of wine.
Cypress was almost glad to be out of the Wylds and out of the reaches of Pixie wine. Grethnah no longer felt like home, though.
The ever-changing trees and Faerie rings were calling her name, the syllables echoing on the wind.
Cypress shrugged. “I told Deja we needed to sneak into Grethnah, and that she would be in danger if she were seen. Something tells me that Hounds like her are able to keep themselves hidden with…”
“Perhaps some ability?” Torren offered with a smirk.
“Right. Anyway, I’m sure she’s close, but I don’t know where.”