I don’t want her protection. I don’t deserve it. What have I accomplished? We have nothing to show for our work. The only one of us who has any chance of breaking the curse refuses to do so. I have no conclusions, no progress. I’ve lost control of my realm. Worse than that, I’ve lost my mother’s love.
My mother walks out from behind the table and stands over Rosalina. She looks just as she did when she was High Princess: her dark hair mixed with silver and tied in a tight braid, a gown of brass chain-link with a tartan sheath, and a golden sword holstered to her side. She was the finest leader the Autumn Realm had ever known.
She’d willingly passed the title to me, her eldest son.
There’s a great bumbling sound as the guards are pushed aside and then an absolutely enormous man blunders into the room.
“Fare-Fare!” he cries and grabs me around the shoulders, squeezing and lifting me all at once. The force of the movement yanks Kel and the rest of them along, and I’m suffocated by his immense red beard.
“Father,” I try to say against all the hair. He smells like my childhood: bonfires on crisp nights, mulled cider, and stag.
“Paddy,” my mother warns.
My father Padraig slowly lowers me, looking sheepish. “Niamh, is this really necessary? You’ve got our boy in chains. He’s not a threat to anyone!”
I know my father is standing up for me, but it stings anyway.
“Look who he’s chained to,” Mother says. “Farron has been consorting with High Prince Keldarion. I will have no traitors in my midst, even if they are of my blood.”
“Even if they possess Autumn’s Blessing?” Dayton snarls. “Hi, Paddy. Great to see you.”
“Daytonales!” My father walks over and ruffles Dayton’s hair. “Fit as ever, boy.”
Marigold gives a deep sigh. “Now there’s a man if I ever did see one.”
Mother looks like she may burst into flames, the way the hooves of the Storm Rams did in legend. “Paddy, if you do not stop fraternizing with my prisoners, I will have you removed.”
“Enough of this,” Keldarion growls. He rises to his feet, tugging all of us with him. The guards shoot forward, spears drawn, but my mother waves them down. “Princess Niamh, please trust me when I say I have nothing to do with—”
“Trust you? Trust you?” She stalks forward. Though she’s far shorter than Keldarion, her presence towers above him. “The only reason our realm still stands is because we didn’t trust you. You nearly destroyed Winter all those years ago, and you would have brought all the realms with you. ‘Trust me’, he says. Does the High Prince of Winter think I’m a fool? Word has spread of your Winter Solstice Ball. You’ve aligned yourself with the Below again.”
“Caspian was not bidden in my realm,” Keldarion says. “I will never make that mistake again.”
Pain burns along my neck. Keldarion might not, but I have.
Mother moves in a flash, pulling a bronze dagger from her sleeve, holding it right beneath Keldarion’s chin. “I shouldn’t give you the chance.”
“Not so quick, Princess,” Dayton says, a darkness to his words. “You don’t want to make trouble with the High Princes when there is none. Remember who is a ward of Summer.”
Fear flashes in my chest at the threat, and I turn to Dayton with wide eyes.
“You dare threaten my daughter, Daytonales?” Mother whispers.
Word came to Castletree two years ago that my sister Eleanor, the youngest of us four, had chosen to be a ward in the Summer Realm.
“With all due respect, my lady,” Dayton says, his voice pure silk, “you’re the one with a knife to the neck of my brother.”
Kel flicks his gaze at Dayton and there’s a flash of respect between the two of them, a rare gift from Keldarion.
Mother’s lip twitches and she snags Dayton’s chin, looking down at him with repulsion. “Last I checked, Daytonales, you had no more brothers.”
A knot forms in the pit of my stomach as I try to comprehend the cruelty of her words.
Dayton stares up at her blankly. She drops his chin and staggers back to the desk. “Look at you four. High Princes of the realms, indeed. Autumn and Winter are on the brink of war. Summer’s being run by a child. And no word has come in or out of Spring in months.” She looks back. “The Queen left High Rulers for a reason. To keep the people safe. And you lot have all but turned your backs on us.”
A heavy silence permeates the room, and I hang my head in shame. She’s right. Just as the Enchantress was long ago.
“What if we can fix it?” Rosalina pipes up. “What if we can figure out what’s causing the frost and stop it? Would you call off the war against Winter?”
Mother raises a brow. “Who is this human?”
I stare at Rosalina, her shining eyes, the resolute set of her jaw. “She’s the Lady of Castletree,” I say. “And she’s going to help us stop this frost.”
Mother strides over to her and takes Rosalina’s chin in her hand, moving her head back and forth. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”
Rosalina gives a nervous laugh. “I think I would have remembered you.”
“Hmph.” Mother walks behind Rosalina, trailing a hand through her long dark hair, running a finger over her round ears.
“I know you don’t trust us,” Rosalina says. “Any of us. Why should you? Your people are dying. You’re scared. But I promise, Keldarion did not cause this frost. And Farron will do anything for his people. No one else needs to die. Let us show you what strength remains in the people of Castletree.”
My father laughs from the corner of the room. “The human’s got spunk. What say you, Niamh?”
Mother holds up her bronze dagger, pointing it at Rosalina’s back. I intake a sharp breath, my blood growing hot. Then Mother uses it to click open the chains. She goes down the line, releasing each of us in turn.
“At the rate the frost is moving, it will arrive at Coppershire in about two months’ time,” she says. “Fix it before it reaches the capital. And if not,” she holds Keldarion’s gaze, “Autumn will march on Winter.”
33
Rosalina
How is it that in the Enchanted Vale I’m always going from being a prisoner one moment to being given the most exquisite chambers one could imagine the next?
“Look over here!” Astrid cries, flinging herself into a velvet armchair and wrapping herself in a huge chunky knit blanket. “Perfect place for reading, don’t you think, Rosie?”
“Is it ever!” I squeeze myself into the chair beside her.
Our party has been given our own personal chamber with a shared living space that deviates to private rooms. The main room is massive, the centerpiece being an open fireplace that crackles merrily, surrounded by all sorts of seating, from plush chairs to flouncy pillows strewn about in every autumnal hue.
A nearby table is laden with plump apples and pears, warm spiced cider, and a tray of flaky pumpkin pastries that still steam with their delicious aroma. Marigold stuffs one in her mouth. “Not as good as the ones back home.”
Papa stands at the door leading to the hallway, arguing with Dominic and Billagin. The twins were instructed to set us up with our quarters. “No, no, no, pumpkin spice has been recorded in human history since 1675,” Papa says. “The blend is simple: nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves, pepper—”
“You’ve got it all wrong, old man,” Dominic chides. “A fae alchemist made it by accident.”
“He was trying to enchant some pumpkin seeds into growing into objects other than pumpkins, but he came up with that instead,” Billy continues. “We’ve been using it in cooking for centuries. ‘Course, once a fae brought it to the humans, well, then they made their own version. Nowhere near as good as ours.”
“I simply don’t believe it,” Papa says.
Dom bumps him on the shoulder. “Come to the kitchen. We’ll show you.”
Papa’s face lights up and the three run off like schoolboys. He seems so full of life.
But isn’t that what the Vale had done for me too? Brought me back to life?