The Wetlands. #2
Avice laughed as she extended her hand, helping me back to my feet.
“Why are you creeping around the outskirts of the village like a vagrant?” she asked, her rosy lips slipping into a coy smile.
I grabbed the empty basket and carefully picked out the damp sticks from the foxglove and wildflowers.
“Herbs,” I replied, silently noting that my brother wouldn’t be pleased about the wet wood.
I inspected each sprig before placing it back in the basket, worried I might accidentally grab foxglove instead of the yarrow and poison my family.
Avice plucked a black hair from my cloak. “I didn’t know heather grew fur.”
I chuckled at her naivete for herbs. “Don’t confuse heather and foxglove—one’s delicious, and the other’s deadly.”
“Just like me and you then,” she teased. “Tell me honestly—did you go visit the dog?”
My words snagged in my throat, like wool on a splinter, as I contemplated how best to answer. When I’d confided in Avice about my wild companion, I’d foolishly hoped she’d be as intrigued by the unknown as me.
But she wasn’t—she was unnerved.
I shook my head. “I went to collect sticks, and she crossed my path,” I said, stretching the truth. “She followed me. I told her to go away, but she wouldn’t listen. She likes me.”
Mother often warned that sharing secrets was dangerous. She said hearsay was like little sparks beneath kindling—it didn’t take much for one to catch and burn into great, untamable flames. But Avice and I had once sworn to tell each other everything—and I almost always kept that promise.
Avice tutted, clearly disappointed in my nurturing nature. “If my father knew you’d befriended a beast, he’d have you hanged,” she said with no sentiment for our lifelong friendship—just plainspoken.
For a moment, I faltered, imagining the unyielding rope being strung around my throat before the deadly drop.
I dwelled upon how suffocation might feel, how the pressure might pulsate behind my bulging eyes.
Would Avice bear witness to my execution?
Would she try to save me before my candle was blown out?
Or would she watch on with burning certainty in her emerald irises that this was necessary—that because I cared for a creature, I deserved to die.
“Niamh, do you understand?” Avice’s voice cut through my dark daydream. “My father treats his duty like a sacred obligation.”
Her father, Lord of the Wetlands, valued his role in the King’s Order above all else. Even his own daughter, I thought.
“I know,” I murmured.
“He wouldn’t care that you’re my dearest friend,” she reminded me. “That we’ve known each other longer than we’ve known our own names. He’d feel no remorse giving the order.”
I nodded, ignoring a niggle—would she feel regret if I were accused of witchcraft and hanged? Before I could fret, I reminded myself that she cared for me deeply. I hoped that if that day came, she’d defend me with bone-deep loyalty. After all, we were the dearest of friends.
To an onlooker, Avice and I would seem an unlikely pair: the daughter of a lord befriending the daughter of the local blacksmith.
But my father had spent his life delusionally devoted to his liege, and his unwavering loyalty meant that from my first blink, I’d been given the role of Avice’s plaything.
Thankfully, her fondness for me blossomed early, while she was still suckling milk from her wet nurse.
“Niamh.” Avice sighed, her gloved fingertip tapping lightly against my forehead. “Please, listen to me. Stop helping that dog. You know I’d never lie to my father. If he asks whether you’ve been tending to it, I’ll be honest. Let it die so you can live.”
“The dog’s better now,” I murmured. “I don’t need to go back. She can fend for herself out there in the wilderness.”
My words sought to reassure her, though I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist returning before dawn broke.
Dog depended on me; she wholeheartedly trusted that I’d visit every day.
I imagined her, excitedly waiting for me at the forest’s edge tomorrow. Only as dusk consumed the daylight would she realize I wasn’t coming. When nightfall settled on the trees, she’d retreat to her burrow—hungry, confused, and abandoned. The mere thought made tears prick at my eyes.
“Good,” Avice said, taking my hand in hers. “Even I’m beginning to worry that you might be a witch.”
She wriggled her fingers against mine as though speaking in jest. Yet there was a sharp edge of truth to her words, and I worried that if she knew all my secrets, I’d be offered no redemption.
Her father had indoctrinated Avice, along with his knights and the villagers, into his merciless dogma, all in the name of protecting Lyonesse.
“I should be more concerned with your lack of heart,” I replied, giving her hand a tight squeeze. “If I find a creature in need of help, I’ll offer it.”
Avice sighed. “Your kindness will get someone killed.”
We walked hand in hand through the mizzle as Avice spoke of her wedding plans, and I found myself grateful for the change of conversation.
Long before she could walk, her father had arranged her marriage to King James’s middle son.
Prince Fitzroy, four years her senior, was twenty-five and desperate to produce a legitimate heir.
“We’ll be wed before summer solstice in the grand Walled City, at the royal palace,” Avice said. Though she tried to sound boastful, I knew she was dreading her departure. “Did I tell you, there will be hundreds in attendance?”
I shook my head. “Sounds like a grand affair.”
“It’s been meticulously planned, with no input from me.” Avice sighed. “I’ve chosen the flowers and the color for the drapes in the feast hall, but no one has cared to ask for my opinion about anything.”
“I’m sure the prince has spectacular taste,” I said, trying to reassure her, though I knew little of the man.
I’d once overheard a drunkard at the tavern claim that Prince Fitzroy possessed all the arrogance and hubris you’d expect of a king’s son.
According to Avice, he was a great swordsman and a natural-born leader.
But I had yet to encounter a man who didn’t consider himself endowed with the same virtues.
“He’s had long enough to plan it,” Avice said.
Their nuptials had been postponed for two winters, but this would be the final one we’d spend together.
From the way Avice hung her head, her face shrouded by the shadows of her hood, I knew she was deeply unhappy.
I gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Would your absence be noticed this evening?”
“No,” Avice mumbled. “Everyone, even the chambermaids, is too preoccupied with the warmongering.”
As she spoke, the skies above unleashed a slush of snowfall. Still gripping Avice’s hand, I ran. We took shelter beneath the hawthorn trees while the flakes melted into the soil.
“We could spend the evening at the tavern,” I suggested, glancing toward the village square in the near distance. “Listening to some merry fellow singing songs while sinking an ale or two.”
Avice lowered her hood. “Will your brother be stopping by?”
I nodded. “If you’re there, he will be.”
She couldn’t contain her smile or the blushing of her cheeks at the prospect of seeing Finn that evening. I knew she was as fond of him as he was of her, though their affections could never be more than stolen glances and fleeting touches.
Avice sighed. “I fear that Finn will be conscripted into the army. I cannot bear the thought of him at war, especially this one.”
I squeezed her hand, trying to reassure us both that he wouldn’t become another fallen soldier. But I knew that if he went to battle, he’d die.
“Sometimes, I daydream about running away from the Wetlands,” Avice said. “Living in the lavish Walled City. In my fantasy, I teach embroidery and live in a modest lodging with a man I love.”
She brushed her outstretched fingers against the tallgrass growing around the tree stumps.
“I know I’m more fortunate than most, but this life I’ve had thrust upon me still has its challenges,” she continued. “There’s so much expectation.”
“If you asked Finn to run away with you, he would’ve left yesterday,” I told her, certain this was true.
She smiled as raindrops rolled off the leaves above, catching on her eyelashes.
“But you cannot go,” I said, cutting short a dream she could never have. “If anything happens to you—if you disappear—your father will send his knights to hunt you down. You’re marrying a prince, and Finn will wed another villager. That is, unfortunately, the order of things.”
I found some solace in knowing that everyone was disappointed in the life they’d been given. It made me feel less alone in my sorrow and self-pity.
“Maybe I won’t follow the order of things,” she said. “Maybe I’ll drink one too many ales tonight and beg Finn to leave with me. If we both disappear like snow beneath the beating sun, don’t look for us. Just know we’re happier than we’re supposed to be.”
I nodded, believing that would never happen.
“Why are you fearful that Finn will be forced to join the fight?” I asked, worried about my brother’s future.
“I’m not privy to his exact plans, but I know King James has been writing letters to the lords in his Order nightly,” she said, referring to the secret council established by the sovereign—united under his directive to eradicate magic.
“My father’s been more reserved lately. I think he fears that the Dark Days aren’t over—that we’re in the eye of the storm.
” She gazed out at the sea of green. “It’s too quiet. ”
I traced gentle circles on her palm in a silent attempt to console her. “My mother said that during the previous king’s reign, Lyonesse was at peace—a place where magic and mortal lived side by side.”
Avice huffed, her eyes narrowing. “That was before the Dark Days—before Regina twisted magic into something sinister.”