Once upon a dreadful time

“Perhaps one day,” said Camille, clasping the child close.

“And speaking of your father, where could he be, I wonder?”

. .

Duran’s father, slender and tall and raven-haired, and not at all looking like a Bear, stood in the Summerwood armory with Armsmaster Bertran. “Is the warband ready?”

“Oui, my lord. Does Lady Camille yet sense something or someone of ill intent?”

Alain glanced at the scarred veteran, the mark on his cheek taken in the battle in the realm of the Changelings. He nodded.

“On occasion.”

“My lord, we shall be armed to the teeth. She and Prince Duran will be well protected. It is a short journey to the palace.”

“Two days apace,” replied Alain. “The baggage train: who is assigned as its escort?”

“Gerard and his men are with those already on the journey.

Others will trail us. Those I have assigned to Phillipe and his crew; they will arrive a day or two after.”

“Good men, all, Gerard and Phillipe and their bands.” Alain fell silent, and after a moment Bertran said, “My lord, are you certain you will not go armed-a sword or even a dirk?”

“Non, Armsmaster. The Bear will suffice, if needed.”

“As you will, my prince.”

. .

Borel looked up from the missive and sighed. “Did you sense aught this time, Chelle?”

“Non, Borel,” said Michelle, concern in her sapphire-blue eyes. “But you know it seems only to happen when I am with you. It’s as if something evil glances in upon us. . or rather glances in upon you.”

Borel ran a hand through his long silver-white hair. “Why is it, I wonder, that neither I nor Alain nor Luc nor Roel discern such?”

“Mayhap it is because you are male?”

Frowning in thought, Borel handed the message back to Michelle and said, “Now and again Slate seems to sense something amiss, and he is male.” As she put away the tissue-thin strip, “Slate is a Wolf,” replied Michelle, as if that explained all.

Borel barked a laugh. “Are you saying that women are closer to Wolves than are men?”

Michelle laughed and pushed Borel backwards and onto the bed, where she flounced up her skirts and straddled him. She bent forward, her long golden hair falling down about his face as well as hers as she looked into his ice-blue eyes and said,

“Wolves, are we?” She kissed him, long and passionately, then gently took his lower lip in her teeth and growled.

Some time later, as they lay side by side, Borel leaned up on one elbow and looked down at her and said, “Camille is right: we must hold a council at the gathering.”

Gathering

Starwise they rode, did each of the four separate retinues travelling through their respective forests, and were it the Springwood, Summerwood, Autumnwood, or Winterwood, it mattered not, for all cavalcades went starwise, all heading toward the twilight bounds that would take each contingent into the domain known as the Palace of the Seasons. And each of the entourages timed their departures so that all would arrive within a candlemark of one another.

In the Springwood, after a short journey, in midmorn the procession rode onto the grounds of a recently occupied estate, where they were welcomed by Sieur Emile and Lady Simone and their daughter, Lady Avelaine, and their two sons, Sieurs Laurent and Blaise.

As stablemen and boys tended the horses and liveried staff scurried to pour drinks and provide a bite or two for the arriving band, Roel greeted his mother and sister with gentle hugs, and his sire and brothers with fierce embraces and hearty poundings, and Celeste greeted all with embraces and kisses on cheeks. As for their aspects, Laurent and Blaise, with their red hair and hazel eyes, favored their mother, while Avelaine and Roel favored their dark-haired father, though his eyes fell in a blue-grey range, while Avelaine’s were sapphire blue and Roel’s dark grey.

As they moved toward a gazebo, Roel looked about the manicured grounds and, frowning, asked, “Avi, where is your husband, the good Vicomte Chevell?”

“Oh, Rollie,” said Avelaine, “he’s back at our estate in Port Mizon, for King Avelar has him assembling a great fleet and training marines to once and for all rid the seas of the corsairs on the isle of Brados. But despite my protests, he sent me on, for he knows how much I enjoy the tournament.”

“You came alone?”

“Oh non, Rollie. Laurent and Blaise and a small warband fetched me.”

“Well and good, then,” said Roel, turning to nod at his brothers.

“Chevell would like to have been here,” said Blaise.

“I shall miss him,” replied Roel.

“As will we all,” said Emile.

They took seat in the gazebo to chat and quaff a goblet of wine, the men all armed with swords at their waists and long-knives strapped to their thighs and armored in helms and leathers, the latter with arrayed bronze platelets riveted thereon to cover each torso. Celeste and Avelaine wore leathers, too, though they forwent the burden of metal. Lady Simone was dressed in a flowing riding gown, one that was not a split skirt, for she was of the old school.

“Are you well settled?” asked Celeste. It was just summer last that Emile and Simone and their household had left the mortal world to come and live in the Springwood to be near Roel and Celeste.

“Oui,” said Simone, smiling. But then she shrugged and added, “Some of the staff, though, remained behind, for they would not face the perils of Faery.”

“Perils, Maman?” said Avelaine, her sapphirine eyes sparkling. “Oh, poo. This is a wondrous place.” Simone frowned and canted her head, her red hair cascading down one shoulder. “Was it not but some four summers past that you were yet held captive herein?”

“Oui, but that should not dissuade any from living in Faery.”

“Speaking of living in Faery,” said Simone, turning to Celeste, “I thank you deeply for sending Reydeau to tutor us in the ways of Faery, the beings herein, these shadowlight walls we must cross from realm to realm, and the perils we might face if we cross at an unmarked place.”

“Ah, Simone, ’twas meet,” said Celeste, “else who knows what troubles you might have gotten into.” Avelaine laughed gaily and said, “Such as the time you and Rollie fled through a border at an unknown place. Many times did Reydeau use that as an example of the dangers of the borders. Though in your case you landed on the deck of Chevell’s Sea Eagle, thanks to the Fates, else you would have fallen into an ocean far from land.”

Emile frowned. “But Reydeau never said why you couldn’t have simply swum back through the marge.” Roel shrugged. “Mayhap we could have, Pere, had we not landed on the Eagle, though I don’t know whether there were currents that would have swept us along, nor do I know how we would have regained the top of the precipice we sprang from.

Besides, there were Redcap Goblins and Bogles and Trolls on our heels, and we were sorely outnumbered.” Simone sighed. “Redcaps and Bogles and Trolls and Changelings and other such Faery creatures: dreadful things they are.”

“But Maman,” protested Avelaine, “there are also Sprites and Fairies and Elves and Twig Men and Pixies and the like: splendid beings all, Reydeau said, and I would like to meet each and every one.”

Celeste nodded and said, “In Faery there are many dangers to be avoided as well as joys to experience; the trick is to know which is which.”

“Let us not talk of perils and pleasures in Faery,” said Blaise,