Chapter Text
There’s a bend in the path outside the castle gates; a soft thing, made to be easy for cart and barrow wheels coming from the market. It twists through the trees, yet it’s not like the forest paths back home – a place where seasons come and seasons go and branches may come to hang over the road, or trees may list, or half is covered in knotted roots for the unwary to catch a foot on.
No, this cuts widely through the wood, dirt packed so far across there’s hardly a shadow in the middle. The sun’s full warmth is on her back, pleasant enough that she dares to remove her shawl, letting her hair hang free in the breeze.
The tales say to never look back – looking at all is rarely encouraged either, when the Good Neighbors are involved – but Shirayuki does, just the once. After all, the sight is a familiar one already, and there is no home, no lover for her to lose.
Not anymore, at least.
The trees have swallowed up the sight of the castle, even its towering spires hidden from prying eyes. There is nothing but dirt path, giant trees, and the sun’s bright glare to greet her.
A knowing smile tilts her lips. There’s no reason for it, nothing that can be explained by the laws of nature; the forest behind her is just as thick as that ahead.
No reason besides magic, of course. No reason besides that someone wanted it to have that seeming.
My brother, Zen had told her, pressed shoulder to hip in a garden alcove, the heat from his body warming her where the marble cooled. This is his knowe. It’s to his will that it bends.
His brother, the prince. A man he only speaks of in hushed tones, in furtive glances, as if he could hear them from miles away.
Her feet stutter beneath her. The knowe is his, it obeys him even in his absence –
–could he not, if he asked it?
The air turns cloying now, like oil on her skin. How deep could this magic go? Could he hear her? See her? The knowe’s pull is strongest in the castle, in the seat of his power, but –
–but all of this is his. Even her small let-room overlooking the market square, with it’s wobbling table and lumpy bed.
Zen’s voice is little more than a buzz in her ear; even the sun shines, because he wills it.
It doesn’t rain in Wistal. That hadn’t seemed sinister, until now.
A chill grips her, even with the sun so bright, and she reached down, patting at her bag for reassurance –
Only to find it strangely flat.
Fear turns her blood to ice, her fingers numb as she fumbles with the clasp on her satchel, ripping it open, hands searching, searching –
She’s left it behind. Her mother’s journal. The only piece left of her family grimoire.
There’s no reason for panic, but air seems to choke her, the trees looming, branches reaching out to pick at her, to pry –
She trusts Zen, of course she does, and Kiki, and Mitsuhide too, but –
But it is a mistake to treat aes sidhe as humans, as if it is not part of their nature to seek power, to prey on it. A thing like that, steeped in not only her own magicks, but that of her mother, and her mother’s mother before her –
O Lord, what has she done?
Her feet twist on the path, heart pounding to their frantic beat. Zen would never force her to be under geas, not ever, nor any of his companions, but – but –
But he is beholden to his brother, beholden to the man this knowe obeys. She would have to be a fool to leave it where it could be found, where it could fall into his hands, or those of his own thralls –
Like that man, Haruka. O Lord, that she has not left it where that man might find it.
Her legs cannot run fast enough; for once it would be nice to have a geas upon her, something to make her fleet as a deer, covering miles in moments, barely missing a breath. But instead she is merely mortal, left to sweat and gasp and curse at what free will has cost her.
She will never know quite what warns her.
Something in the air, maybe; she knows the scent of this stretch well, of the ancient ash and honey that hangs on her tongue. The copper hits her too far out, bitter on her tongue, and as her feet catch the ground beneath her, she can feel the pine bristling against her skin, suffusing the air until she nearly chokes.
There is a man before the sentinels.
She cannot make out much from where she stands, so far down the path, but she can see his shape – the narrow shoulders, the almost cocky lean; a man more sharp lines than fluid curves. Not aes sidhe.
Still, still. She lowers herself, creeping between trees for cover. She might feel a fool later, but –
But she does not have to be a prince to have enemies.
“Not allow Shirayuki in?” She cannot tell the sentinels apart by looks, not yet – the bark makes their faces too similar, and she hasn’t gotten close enough to look at their trunks in depth – but she knows by voice. This one sounds younger, less raspy; it must be Kai. “She is the Second Prince’s special guest.”
“The order has been changed.” He’s dressed in the livery of Wistal, though Shirayuki is certain she’s never seen him in the halls. She’d remember someone like him: he’s tall, with a bristle of hair so black it’s like soot – all common enough – but the way he holds himself, the way he stands –
Everything about him says dangerous, predator, in a way not even the aes sidhe manage so casually.
It’s Shiira’s groan she recognizes now. “I don’t –”
“I once knew a man with four daughters,” the man says, apropos to nothing, “four daughter and a wife had he.”
Copper floods her senses, the cloying scent leaving her dizzy and disoriented.
Magic. He’s doing magic. He’s trying to bespell the sentinels.
“If each these daughters had a brother,” he continues, a chill cutting right through to her bones, “then how many members of this family do there be?”
It isn’t possible. The ash trees are as old as the knowe itself, impregnable –
“Ah,” Kai murmurs, “thatsh…that’s…ten. No?”
“No,” the man says, so kindly. “But do try again.”
“It don’t make no sensh – sense. Doesn’t make any sense,” Shiira slurs. “It’s got to be ten.”
“It’s not,” the man assures him. “I could leave you to think on it, come back later?”
“Yeah.” Kai’s branches shiver. “Yeah, that’d – that’d work! Come back later.”
Dear god, has he made the sentinels drunk?
“And the girl?” he prompts, so innocent.
“What girl?” the sentinels ask, their voices filling the wood.
“Ah.” He turns his head just so, and she sees a smile cut through shadow. “Perfect.”
The man does not linger, not once his mischief is managed. He stays only for a moment longer, body curving back into a casual lean, as if surveying work well done, and the next he pivots on his heel. Shadows cling to him, obscuring his face, and in one, two steps he is gone, only ash leaves swirling to mark where he once stood.
Shirayuki’s heart throbs in her throat. She’s never met a man like that, nor fae; she has no inkling what he could be – besides not her friend.
For once, Shirayuki hesitates to approach the gate; the sentinels have always been kind toward her, the friend of the Second Prince, but –
But she has heard stories of what they might do to those they see as intruders, those they are told are threats to the safety of the royal family and its court. These stones are white, now, but she has seen the frescos, seen the way they have run red in times past.
The tang of copper is not new to air here, but it is sharper, thicker when she approaches, pine pricking against her skin with each step she dares closer.
“Maybe you don’t – don’t count the wife?” Kai creaks as she gets closer, the noise so high it could almost be a whine, if sentinels made such sounds. “Or the man himself.”
“It says the family,” Shiira says, confounded. “It’s got to be ten.”
“He said it wasn’t though –”
“Maybe he is lying –”
“Excuse me?”
The sentinels cannot turn, but their eyes shift to her, no light of recognition in them. Still, there is no hostility, just – confusion. Even standing here, in the thick of that man’s magic, she feels – hazy, muddled. How he cast such a spell so simply, she cannot even guess.
“Apologies, lady,” Shiira says, “but we’re quite busy.”
“Oh!” She blinks. “Of course. But I thought I might help you.”
“It’s impossible,” Kai scoffs, the sound like grating bark. “But you could try.”
She nods. “Of course. I only thought it might be easier with a…fresh mind on the problem.”
“We’ve thought of this from every angle, lady,” Shiira assures her.
“Of course.” She hesitates. “But what if they all had the same brother?”
Already, the fog lightens.
“The same brother?” Shiira murmurs, deep voice rumbling in his roots. “But if every daughter has a brother…?”
“They all have a brother, even if it only one,” she explains gently. “It does not say they each only have one brother for themselves.”
“Which means there are five children…” Kai murmured.
“And two parents….” Shiira’s leaves grow still. “They would number seven…”
Time stretches for a moment, grows thin, and she feels the precise moment that the spell snaps, the taste of copper suddenly only a bitter aftertaste in her mouth.
Light fills Kai’s eyes. “Lady Shirayuki! When did you get here?”
“I am afraid there is not much time, sir,” she tells him, heart beating in her throat. “You must let me past. For the safety of Prince Zen.”