“Ban will tell you,” Elia said, latching her gaze onto the Fox. “You know, Ban Errigal, Fox of Aremoria, of Innis Lear, of whatever side you steal. Tell them, if they trust you so well, that they must bargain with the island.”
“You cannot use him against us, either,” Regan said, silkily. She dug her fingers into the Fox’s hair, curling a fist against his skull. “Ban is ours. You gave him up, his great strength and power, but we will not.”
The hemlock blossoms trembled as the Fool’s daughter stamped her foot. “How can you do this, Ban Errigal? Elia has loved and defended you beyond all reason, while you have betrayed all of us some time or another. How dare you stand against her?”
“How…” Ban bared his teeth. “Here are two queens who admire me for myself and give me a purpose I am suited to. Who do not treat me as a bastard, or a tool, or someone who never, never, can be an equal. They are my equals! They do not hold themselves apart from me.”
“You hold yourself apart from us,” King Morimaros said, quiet with intensity. “I made you my friend.”
“How do you come to be here, Aremoria?” Gaela asked. She stepped to the king: the black princess of Lear was nearly as tall as the foreigner. “What is your game?”
“I am here to support Elia for the crown. That is the will of Aremoria.”
“It will be war, then.”
“No!” Elia put herself between them, a hand on the king’s chest and one flat out to Gaela.
Morimaros met Gaela’s hot gaze over Elia’s head. “You will lose against me.”
The eldest sister did not smile, but behind her hard expression came a ferocious joy. “You cannot take Innis Lear. It has never been yours, and never will join with Aremoria again.”
Elia shoved hard at both. “Stop, now. This will not be war. We must—we must—eat of the flower, and drink of the rootwater. That will decide, without bloodshed, without dividing our island.”
“Yes,” hissed Regan.
Gaela whirled to her middle sister, thrust out a hand, and grabbed her arm. “Collect yourself, sister.”
In the quiet, the wind gusted again, streaking under the tightly staked walls to tear and tease at their ankles and skirts. Candles snuffed out.
Fire, said Aefa Thornhill with a snap of her fingers, and five of the candles lit themselves again.
Through the dim orange shadows, Morimaros of Aremoria advanced. “Ban Errigal. Our business is bloodshed.” The king grasped the front of Ban’s gambeson, pulling it into his fist. “I challenge you. Fight me, if you think you are worthy.”
Gaela Lear laughed.
“To the death,” added Regan, dark fascination in her tone.
“No,” the last princess said, calmly.
But the king ignored her. “If I am defeated, Innis Lear will see no penalties from Aremoria. Novanos, called La Far, will make sure of it.”
Ban stared at Morimaros.
The silence grew heavy with monument.
The Fox had betrayed everyone; all knew it to be true. He was a shadow, a wormworker, a traitor, a spy. A bastard. He knew the secret paths behind sunlight and slipped through cracks, understood the language of ravens and the tricks of trees. He could see how, with one act, he could change everything here, destroy and re-create with a word.
And so, the wizard drew a shaky breath. He said the only thing he could: “Yes. But if I am defeated, you all three eat of the hemlock crown.”
Wind slammed into the pavilion, shrieking, whistling like triumphant horns.
In the following stillness, Gaela glared in Ban’s face, grabbing his chin. “What did you say, Fox?”
Elia pressed a hand to Morimaros’s chest, hard, as if she could force him away from the rest.
“I said,” Ban repeated, loudly in the dark chamber, “we will fight, and if I am defeated, you let the island choose its queen, and all swear to lead no army against her.”
“I can fight my own battles for the crown,” Gaela said, frowning.
“This is what a king would do, Gaela Lear. Champions fight for them; they do not make their own war. Are you a warrior or a king?”
“Stop this!” cried Elia, but Aefa touched her shoulder.
“This is the best,” Aefa said. “No war, very little danger. Only two men at risk.”
“More than that is at risk,” the princess gasped.
Regan circled her fingers around Gaela’s wrist and squeezed so the eldest released Ban’s chin. He swallowed, staring past both sisters at Elia. As if devastated by hope.
“So,” Gaela said, nearly a growl. “If Morimaros of Aremoria wins, little sister, you will have your desire that we eat the island’s poison. But if Ban the Fox wins, your Aremore king will be dead, and your allies will disperse. Rory Errigal will return to Aremoria forever. Kay Oak will be struck down for disobeying my banishment.”
Elia’s entire body had gone rigid. Her voice trembled with strain as she asked, “What of me? What will you ask of me?”
Gaela studied her baby sister for a moment, and then smiled. “You will marry Ban Errigal, and your children will be my heirs.”
The youngest princess looked at Ban the Fox with eyes spinning betrayal and wild panic.
And the wizard said, in the language of trees, It gives you everything you need to save everyone.
Not you, Elia replied in the same.
Of all there, only Regan the witch understood their words, but her heart did not care any longer.
You must, Ban said.
Elia opened her mouth, hesitating as she stared at him, and the entire world paused with her. But the world cannot hold still for long. She breathed deeply. “I accept.”
Her sisters clutched hands, pressed their lips into matching grim smiles. “As do we,” Gaela King said.
“At Scagtiernamm,” Regan Connley added. “Where the wind and trees can witness. Just when the sun rises.”
Dawn, Elia Lear whispered in the language of trees.
The island beneath their feet seemed to shiver, and the wind made an obeisance of gentle, laughing huffs against the death-gray pavilion.
THE FOX
BAN ERRIGAL’S ENTIRE life
