Chapter 13
The back garden was beautifully lit by glowing orbs. They hung from branches, each emanating an amber light that pooled across the trees and dappled the winding trail.
Richard slowed his pace as his sister’s voice reached him.
“—if you tilt your chin just a smidge to the left, Lady Myrafrond, the light catches the ridges in your bark so wonderfully. Oh, please do hold still.”
Richard peered between two birch trunks.
The dryads were gathered in a clearing of large moss-covered stones and rectangular flower beds.
Most of the dryads surrounded Briony, who was perched on a boulder.
As her charcoal darted across her sketchbook, her tongue poked from the corner of her mouth, and her curls framed her face.
Nearby, two dryads leaned over torn-off pages, fingers tracing over their own portraits. One held her drawing up to the lantern light and trilled in delight before pressing the page to her chest.
Myrafrond stood closest to Briony. Her crown of primroses threatened to fall as she bent over the girl’s sketchbook.
“You draw without pause, little one.”
“Well, that is only because I have done it for so terribly long, Lady Myrafrond.” Briony smudged a line with her thumb.
“When I was small, I drew on the floors and the walls and Father’s shield.
” She blew charcoal dust from the page. “Father was very cross about the shield, but when Mother wasn’t looking, he bade me go scribble on Dain’s shield instead—now, really, Lady Myrafrond, do stay still.
Why, you are worse than my brother Corwin. ”
Myrafrond obeyed with a hoarse chuckle, and the other dryads tittered in unison.
A rush of affection wrenched through Richard.
“Why must I be the ugly one?”
What utter nonsense. Hopefully, in time, Briony would see it too.
Pushing off the tree, Richard moved towards the castle.
On his left, the pavilion came into view.
A roaring fire crackled in the brazier, and around it, a dozen fauns feasted on platters of fruit, cheese, bread, and roasted mushrooms. Three of the elderberry casks had already been tapped, and the faun with the reed pipes stood on a bench, belting out a tune while others clapped.
The song involved a nymph, a faun, an oak hollow, and a series of impossible anatomical feats. Tavrus sat at the table’s head, clapping along and pausing every so often to peer into his goblet with an expression of delighted surprise.
Richard opened his mouth to call a greeting when a twig cracked behind him. He spun around to see a tall figure emerge from a copse of trees.
“Good—good evening, Master Orric.” Richard licked his suddenly dry lips and dragged his fingers through his hair.
“Sun King.” Orric inclined his head. “Please, join me on a stroll.”
“Of course.” Richard hurried to the man’s side. “I—I thought I might come and ensure you are comfortable.”
“I am. This is a most pleasant abode.” Orric followed a trail that skirted the pavilion’s clearing.
Richard clasped his hands behind his back, unclasped them, and settled for folding his arms. “This is nothing compared to your homeland, I am sure. The Sylari Realm—” He gestured at the canopy overhead.
“I have read that some trees vanish into the clouds. That the forest floor is sometimes wreathed by mushrooms that glow blue. That river waves resemble horses, and the laughter of water nymphs can be heard for miles.”
Orric glanced at him. “You’ve read a great deal.”
“Far less than I should like.”
“Or too much.” Orric ducked beneath a low branch and held it for Richard to pass. “Books are a poor trade for experience. You should see my realm for yourself.”
Richard swallowed hard. “I—I had often dreamt of doing so. But the crown comes with responsibilities. You understand.”
“I do.” Orric hummed. “I am likely to be elected next once my Chief-Mother passes. Many a time, I ponder on the looming challenges.”
The fauns’ chortling and the reed-pipe melody faded as the trail deepened. Richard tried to maintain the companionable silence, but after another peek at Orric, could compose himself no longer.
“How does the shift feel?” he blurted. “When you change from man to wolf, is it painful? Is there a moment between forms where you are neither? Do you retain your thoughts as the wolf? And the olden ways you mentioned, what precisely—”
He bit his tongue as Orric’s eyes danced with amusement. By the gods, he sounded like Briony.
“I am being impudent.” Richard knuckled his brow. “There is no need to answer—”
“You are curious, Sun King,” Orric said calmly.
“And curiosity is a delightful thing. The shift aches, to answer you. Not pain so much as pressure. The bones remember both shapes, but they protest the change each time. As for thought, the mind stays, but the wolf’s senses flood it.
It takes years to learn not to drown in them.
” He shrugged. “The olden way…well, it would take longer than one evening.”
“Then you must tell me over several.” Richard flushed. “That is if—if that is convenient for you. I do not wish to impose.”
“You do not impose, but it would be remiss of me to reveal all so readily.”
“Ah. Um, yes. Of course.”
They followed a small stream where it curved back towards the castle walls. When Orric suggested they rest, Richard sat on a flat boulder, its cold seeping through his trousers, while the druid settled on the bank opposite.
“There is much I would seek to learn,” Richard said. “But one question presses upon me more than any other. In all your years in the Sylari Realm, Master Orric, have you ever encountered a dwarf?”
“A dwarf?” Orric looked confused. “No, I have not, Sun King. To my knowledge, they have not been sighted since the making of the veil.”
“I see.” Richard tried to hide his disappointment with another question. “I wonder, are the wolf forms of other men in your pack as big as yours?”
“No.” Orric dropped his hand into the stream, letting it drift with the current. His head drooped over the water, dipping in the ends of his hair. “They are bigger.”
Richard’s jaw slackened. “Truly?”
“Truly.” Orric lifted his head with a wan smile.
“Indeed, I am sometimes disheartened by it. For when I came into the world, my Chief-Mother named me a daughter. I wore that name poorly, and when I shifted at fourteen and sank into my pelt for the first time, it fitted wrong around my bones. Too many years passed before I understood that my true self—both as a human and a wolf—differed from the form my mother had borne me into.”
Richard leaned forward, considering his words. This was a solemn confession. He should respond in kind.
“You are alike, then,” he said, “to our goddess of spring. Lady Vern was born with a man’s body, but remade herself with trees and clay, until every inch matched her truth.
She is the patron of folk who transform and become, and always I have thought it beautiful to know oneself so completely as to say, ‘The world has named me wrong.’”
Orric chuckled. “I did nothing so great as remake myself with trees and clay.” He patted soil off his trousers. “There is a hedge witch a day’s walk from our den. She brews a potion I must drink each new moon. It is a simple thing.”
“That is precisely what makes it remarkable, Master Orric.” Richard smiled. “To rise every new moon and walk a day for a draught that lets you remain yourself, season after season, year after year. That is a devotion and courage greater than any tale.”
For the first time, Orric appeared startled. “You speak prettily, Sun King.”
“I only mean to be honest.” Richard’s eyes widened at the sight of the sky—pitch-black with twinkling stars. He hurried to his feet. “But I have disturbed you enough. The hour grows late. I should head back to the castle and drag my little sister with me.”
Orric crossed the stream in a single stride. “That may prove a difficult feat. She seems to have set herself the task of drawing every Sylari present a portrait.”
Richard smiled. “She is a lovely thing.”
“She is.” Orric plucked a rose from the trailing bush along the stream’s bank. Removing a spider from its petals, he stepped close. Close enough for Richard to catch the scent of him—something warm and earthy that reminded him of charred logs after a fire.
Orric’s fingers brushed Richard’s cheek as he tucked the rose over his ear. “And she is not the only lovely royal I see.”
A bird squawked in the distance. Richard gaped, hoping his face was not as red as it felt.
“I—” he managed. “You are very—um—kind. To say so.”
“You should know we have had eyes on us.” Orric jutted his chin towards the castle. “Since we began our walk, in fact. I have just heard a squeak from the upper hallway windows.”
Richard turned, peering past branches. The castle loomed above the gardens, its floors lined with arched windows overlooking the grounds. Most were dark. But from the upper corridor’s last window, two heads protruded amidst the glow of sconces.
Corwin. And Kaelen.
At Richard’s glare, Corwin vanished. But Kaelen remained, a rigid shape, gripping the ledge as though he intended to leap down. Corwin’s hand appeared, seized a fistful of crimson cloak, and wrenched Kaelen out of sight.
“They are strange today,” Richard told Orric glumly. “Especially Sir Kaelen. He is usually the more sensible of the two.”
“Your knight’s eyes have been boring into me since I set foot in the throne room,” Orric said. “Perhaps you should inform him I have a mate of my own.”
“You have a mate?”
“Dareth. A bear-shifter from the Greyhide’s sister pack. Broader than me, twice as stubborn, with a laugh that scares the pups. Sixteen years we’ve been bound.” Orric caressed the fang at his throat. “His tooth. He wears mine. There is therefore no cause for your knight to worry so.”
“Worry?” Richard blinked. “Why would he worry?”
“A scholar’s mind, I said.” Orric clapped Richard’s shoulder with a smile. “I stand by it. But there are certain texts, it appears, that you have not yet learned to read.”