Chapter Text
In a land far away,
Lives a princess fair,
Who'll heal the cursed fire prince
As no one else would dare.
The flower of a once noble line,
Now wilted and marred,
The fruit of a still uncut vine,
Now tattered and scarred.
Two lonely fates will the gods rethread,
If the maiden could be found.
Two family lines will be repaired,
If their heart and souls are bound.
A clue you ask for the maiden lost,
So the bane will meet its end.
Listen close and remember the cost,
Of an oath you cannot bend.
Edwina Sharma is her name
And heed my words on this.
A violent heart she'll tame,
Upon true love's kiss.
The air was as crisp and cool as spring water when the first light of day crested over the skies of Baladon. And like she did every single day, Kate woke before dayspring, took her horse, Bion, out for a ride, returned home, retrieved eggs from the coop, and started upon breakfast.
By the time Edwina and Mary woke and made their way to their small kitchen, Kate had already swept, dusted and had the table set for them to break their fast.
“Kate,” Mary admonished before sipping at the steaming hot chai that had been waiting out for her, “You must leave some chores for your sister and I.”
“I always do!” Kate protested, gesturing to the garments that needed mending.
Mary sighed but she let it pass. Kate often used magic to do some of the housework in the mornings, not enough to drain herself entirely, only enough to leave her slightly winded. It was the surest way for Kate to be secure knowing that her family wouldn't be overburdened after she left their little hut for the day's work. Especially now as the air grew damper. Of all the chores that had to be done daily, mending was the most necessary, as Mary and Edwina's delicate handiwork would see the once noble Sharma family through the rainy winter that would approach them in the coming months.
After they broke their fast Kate meant to leave her mother and sister to their mending and head to the schoolroom in the center of town before the children arrived but said plans were waylaid. When she opened the door, Berbrooke was at her doorstep with four of his armed and liveried guards standing behind him. His horse drawn carriage glistened as it sat on the red dirt road, gilded in gold and lined with rubies. An ostentatious display of wealth.
Neighbours peeped through beaded curtains, looked over thatched fences, stepped out of quaint homes in awe at such a grand procession. This small quarter at the edge of town rarely saw true nobility. Minor knights perhaps, but never someone like Berbrooke. Perhaps they wondered about his business here. So did Kate. The Sharmas had very little to do with the Palace anymore.
Berbrooke looked around the neighbourhood with disdainful eyes before setting his eyes on her family, his pompous gaze gleeful as he took in their living situation. The hut he so graciously granted them after her family was expelled from the Palace. He didn't cut the dashing figure he thought he did. The large fleece coat that marked him as The Great Chieftain was draped over his shoulders. It should have spoken to his splendour and majesty. Instead he looked like a mummer parading about in someone else's clothes.
At the mere sight of him, a strong force of anger began to bubble under Kate's fingertips. It was only Edwina's hand on her arm that caused that dark anger to diminish.
Mary and Edwina sank into perfect curtsies before him. Berbrooke's lip curled to see Kate still ramrod straight. That didn't bother her. The way her sister's fingers trembled against her own skirts did. In deference to her sister's nerves Kate curtsied, low enough not to be questioned but not nearly as low as her family.
She knew Berbrooke noted the disrespect.
Petulant and power hungry as he was, Berbrooke let them linger in their obeisance for far longer than a moment before he bid them to rise.
“Welcome,” she said stiffly. Her anger had diminished, it had not disappeared entirely. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Berbrooke did not deign to acknowledge her. Instead he smiled grotesquely at Edwina. Kate's hackles immediately rose at the focus of his attention.
“If you have something to say you will say it to me. I am my sister's guardian.”
“Would her guardian not be your mother?” he asked in that overly solicitous tone that let her know that an insult was upcoming. “Oh forgive me, you are without a mother.” And there it was. His eyes glinted with joy as she flinched but his face remained solemn. “I am sorry to have forgotten. Would it not be the former princess to whom I should speak?”
Former Princess. Mary's shoulders slumped and Kate's violent magic was once again at her fingertips. She had a dozen insults at the tip of her tongue, but reason superseded her ire. She pressed her lips together.
“Speak to Kate, your grand majesty,” said Mary, quietly. “She's the guardian of this home.”
As you bloody well know, thought Kate, bitterly.
Berbrooke's lips thinned but thankfully his desire to pillory her family had been put to rest for now. In fact he appeared uncharacteristically solemn as he turned to Kate.
“The water has spoken,” he said.
“No!” Kate gasped.
Edwina's hand found her arm again. Kate glanced at Mary whose eyes had widened.
“Indeed,” he replied. “The ceremony is done and the name has been spoken.”
The Great Prophecy Ceremony took place last week. Only the nobles of the chiefdom, the court officials and their families were allowed to attend but Kate knew what it was about. Everyone did.
It was about the beast.
The prince.
The legend.
And as legend would tell it, seven years ago, Hartland's Imperatrix quarrelled with The Ruling Prince of Knowan. It was a fight so vile and vicious, that in her frustration she cursed him to take a beastly form for the rest of his life.
The Imperatrix was famously mercurial. Her displeasure with her neighbouring kingdoms was the reason for the last war between the four nations. Only a fool would anger her and risk the peace she'd bestowed upon them. As far as Kate could see it, they were fortunate that she cursed one man rather than flying into a rage and catapulting them into war once more.
The Ruling Prince of Knowan had become infamous for his fate.
No one knew what he looked like in his beastly form. The Knowish Royal Family kept him out of sight. Hidden. As they well should. All that anyone truly knew of him was that he was foolish and cruel before turning into a beast, and that after his transformation, he had become something monstrous. Stories rang through the surrounding nations of how he stole maidens from their beds and tore them to shreds just to satiate his own bloodlust.
Legend had a way of distorting one's personhood. Perhaps he was once a man, solid and true, now he was reduced to the ghost stories parents told their children at night to keep them obedient.
Do not go out after dark lest you come face to face with the Beast Prince.
If you don't wash your mouth after supper, the beast will take you away and you'll never be seen again.
The beast is most vicious to young maidens who spend too much time with young men.
Perhaps it was easy to believe when one remembered the stories of him that spread after the war. Perhaps it was easy to believe if you were a child, easily frightened. Kate had a natural distrust for stories and whispers. She cared only for what she knew to be true.
And what she knew to be true was Lata's fate.
Lata was the High Chancellor's daughter, a famed beauty in Baladon. With her wealth, her status, and her handsomeness, she had always been proud, arrogant, witty, and yet still well liked, with the expectation she would marry well. And she was meant to. She'd been promised to a Knowish Earl since she was a child.
An unfortunate choice in retrospect.
Years ago she'd accompanied her father on a diplomatic visit to Knowan to meet with her betrothed and returned to Baladon with burns on her face and arms and a large scar that went from her collarbone to her sternum. That one proud girl retired to her family's estate and had barely been seen since.
They were friends once, she and Lata—when they were children. That was a long time ago. Kate retained very few friends from that period of her life. Too many had turned their backs on the Sharma family after they were tossed from the Palace. Those she'd once called friends had flowed to separate streams. Lata to great prestige and Kate to her duty.
Despite their separate paths, Kate still felt fury for Lata, that even after the beast Prince mauled and disfigured her, he did not even face her to apologise to her. To apologise to her father. He merely sent them away with gold as compensation.
A craven.
That cowardly beast of a man savaged a woman for sport and they meant to give her sister to that creature? They couldn't! Edwina would be no one's victim.
“Are you certain?” asked Kate. “The Sage said Edwina Sharma?”
“Are you questioning the water?” asked Berbrooke, his face growing cold.
Kate did not answer. It was unheard of to question the words of The Sage, whether it be The Sage of their land or any other. It was like cursing the gods themselves. After all, the Sage was personally anointed by the gods as an advisor and guide to their realm's monarch. Their great prophecies pushed a nation towards prosperity should they and their monarch interpret them properly and their small visions were a guide all on their own.
Foresight was a rare gift and to have that gift honed and blessed in the element of one's country, few with foresight were granted such fortune but they were chosen by nature—by the gods. In Knowan the gods were gods of fire and so the Sage was chosen by the holy fire, in Hartland, they worshipped the earth god and so the Sage was chosen by the blessed earth, in Kiri their gods were air gods and so the hallowed wind chose their Sage. Baladon was the land of water, and the rivers, lakes and oceans were their gods.
As Balodonese people they were all dipped in the sacred water as babes; all holy temples were granted a pool of sacred water from the source within the Palace. The water responded with a whirl, a large one or a small one but it responded to the water in one's soul. Large whirls meant great things—magic, luck, wealth—while small whirls meant that you were to lead a steadier life, no magic perhaps but still happiness and success.
If the Sage spoke the words of the gods, then the monarch of each realm—Baladon had their Chieftain, Knowan their Prince, Hartland an Imperatrix, and Kiri their King—enforced it. Gods and monarchs worked hand in hand. And though Kate would do any manner of unspeakable things to protect her sister, she trusted the water more than anything.
“The prophecies?” asked Kate. “They align? They both say Edwina Sharma?”
A drop of hope fell onto her heart, clearing away her muddy discontent. Sages of different nations divined differently, connecting to the element from which their sight was born. They rhymed their foretellings in their own unique way, but perhaps it was a human error. Perhaps they did not call for her sister by name.
“They do,” he deigned to reply, before clearing his throat.
According to the prophecy received by The Sage of Knowan, years ago, there was a way to break the curse.
True love.
The prophecy received by the Fire Sage during their prophecy ceremony three years ago had even named the maiden sought by the Prince and according to the messenger, she'd spent those three years consulting the fire for the location of the poor woman.
When Baladon had been selected by the Sage of Knowan, claiming that they were in possession of his true love, no one was pleased. It was foolish to think that such a creature could even have a true love.
It had unpleasantly dampened the mood of the capital.
The Great Prophecy Ceremony happened every five years. The Sage of Baladon, would consult with the water and speak to the officials on whatever matter, small or large, that the water found pivotal to the nation's future.
It was usually a time of celebration. Weeks of preparation would result in two days of revelry. There would be feasts and assembly dances, mummers would put on shows, the young ones would play in the water during the day, the older ones would revel in the night, the much older ones would shake their head at the youth; some pretending that there wasn't a time when they themselves were carefree and wild and others remembering all too well when they enjoyed their own revelries.
This was the first one since the war. The mood should have been lively. Instead the air was grim and the moods of their people bleak. Everyone knew that this ceremony was meant to provide their chiefdom with the name of the poor girl. That the officials would consult with a messenger from Knowan to ascertain the authenticity of the prophecy before thrusting a young woman to her doom.
Kate never dreamed for a moment that the girl she had spent the past few weeks pitying was her sister.
As Berbrooke pompously recited the words of the water, Kate's body grew cold. By the time he was finished everyone was silent. He handed Kate the words of The Sage and she read it. Berbrooke had recited it word for word.
It was true.
Kate was stricken.
At the sight of her horror Berbrooke’s smile returned, “Be grateful that your days of living in a hovel are done. Little Edwina is to be a princess.”
A princess. Were it not for Mary's parents and their wickedness, Edwina would be a princess in truth. She shouldn't need to marry a prince for that title.
Kate was in a daze as Berbrooke smirked, as Mary uttered some pleasantry that Berbrooke graciously accepted as he and his party departed from their doorstep.
Before her father died, Kate promised him that she would take care of Mary and Edwina, that she would protect them. He'd written it in ink because he trusted her to do so. Was she meant to break that promise through no fault of her own?
They packed in a flurry. Well, Edwina and Mary did. Kate stood frozen in horror. Neighbours had come to enquire, Kate couldn't even remember the words she used to fob them off, so disconcerted was she. Mary and Edwina, on the other hand, took the news with aplomb. She looked at them as they gathered their belongings into two separate rucksacks; she could not believe it.
“You two cannot be serious.”
“Kate,” sighed Mary. “We do not have much of a choice.”
“We can run!” she exclaimed.
“The messenger from the Knowish Palace is in town, everyone knows what we look like, we would be caught in an instant.”
“Then perhaps we can negotiate. Or—Mama, perhaps we should seek refuge.” Kate took a deep breath. “Your parents would accept you and Edwina even if they do not accept me.”
Mary's eyes widened and then they narrowed. “No, Kate. They will not.”
“They might if—”
“No one will want this marriage more than my parents,” said Mary with a fire Kate hadn't seen from her in years. “Especially after their folly. We will have refuge with no one, especially not them. Never suggest such a thing again.”
Kate winced.
It had been some time since Mary scolded her thus but she knew that Mary was right. Prince Albert and Princess Sarita Sheffield of Somerset Manor had ruined themselves and the Sharmas out of spite and malice. They would jump at the opportunity to repair their reputation, even at the expense of their own granddaughter. Kate put nothing past them.
And yet…
“Mama, for Edwina we must try. We have to—”
“I want to go, Didi,” said Edwina, quietly.
She spun around. Edwina had been quietly watching their argument. Kate sighed. She usually kept such unpleasant conversations far from her sister's ears.
Kate gentled her voice, “Bon, you cannot mean that.”
“I do,” she said. “It is said that the Prince's true love will reverse the curse.”
“I know,” said Kate, bitterly.
“In a land far away, lives a princess fair, who'll heal the cursed—”
“Edwina,” she cut her off. “I heard the prophecy from Berbrooke’s own lips. I do not need to hear it repeated.”
“Kate, the gods chose me by name!” Edwina stomped her feet with a rare belligerence. “They chose me to restore our family's honour and save the prince! Mama will be a princess again.”
“Mama has never stopped being a princess,” said Kate through gritted teeth remembering how dejected Mary was after Berbrooke's slight. “Berbrooke is a turd-faced, liver eating, snake.”
“Kate!” screeched Edwina.
“You must not say such things, Kate,” said Mary, though the quirk of her lip belied her amusement. “He is The Great Chieftain.”
“He is nothing more than a buzzard,” spat Kate, “only capable of feasting on ruins.”
“Kate,” chided Mary. “We cannot fight him anymore than we can fight the Sage.” Kate opened her mouth but Mary continued. “And even if we could, your sister doesn't want to.”
The truth in those words were evident in Edwina's large, pleading eyes.
“Surely it takes nerve to be the sort of woman who can break a curse and save a prince,” she said, her tone entreating. “How can I be brave if you will not let me?”
“Edwina,” Kate sighed. “I'm supposed to protect you from harm, not happily thrust you into its arms.”
“This is my destiny Kate. You cannot fight it. Appa wouldn't, if he were here.”
Kate could not argue with that. Despite everything they put him through, Appa respected the council of elders, The Sage most of all. He would not have fought this like Kate wanted to. Instead he would’ve done all that he could to protect Edwina. That was what Kate needed to do now. She would put aside her terror for the sake of her sister.
“Then I will come with you,” said Kate.
Edwina gave her a curious look. “Chief Berbrooke said that only Mama was required.”
At the time Kate tried not to feel hurt when Berbrooke said it or when Mama and Edwina accepted it. Berbrooke had always been like that. He preferred Edwina and Mary to her and he was not shy about letting them know that. How easily he sought to remove her from their lives knowing as he did that Mary and Edwina respected his authority and hadn't the nerve to fight him.
“Required, Bon,” she said. “Not allowed. I cannot imagine the Prince—” Kate paused, remembering the stories of his brutality. She knew not if he placed any value on family. “The Prince’s family at the very least, objecting to my presence. I will not stay for very long. I will return to Baladon once I am certain you are safe.”
Her sister stared at her for a long moment before rushing into her arms. Kate enveloped her in a hug.
“Thank you,” Edwina whispered into her chest. “I was so scared at the thought of doing this without you.”
Kate petted her hair. “You never have to fear when I am with you, Bon. Never.”
After packing her essentials in a rucksack, Kate looked around the room she shared with her sister. The tiny little hut at the edge of town. The hut that was meant to be an insult had become, to Kate, the safest place on earth. It was in the living room where her sister took her first toddling steps before toppling over in giggles. It was in their shared bedchamber where Appa would tell her and Edwina stories that made them laugh or gasp or shudder in fear. It was the kitchen where Kate would giddily enter with a bedraggled bouquet of flowers in her hand to give to the first person she saw whether it be Mama, Appa or Edwina.
It was home.
She was leaving her home. It was not goodbye forever, she reasoned, but it felt that way given how the hut was unusually bare. Kate did not trust that it would not be ransacked in her absence. Mary had drawn runes on the wall to protect it but there were bandits who knew how to circumvent such spells. It was safer this way, to bundle up the few valuables she had to her name and carry them with her.
By the time she made it into the living room there was a strange, liveried man standing outside her home speaking to Berbrooke and his guards while her mama and sister watched on. Based on the style of the surcoat that was thrown over his mail she was certain he was a knight of Knowan, not a knight of Baladon, and the colours grey and blue in particular signalled him as a knight of the royal family.
He was stately, this knight. Rigid in his bearing. Kate knew many knights but there was something distinctive about this one. She was about to introduce herself to him when his words made her blood grow cold.
“This is where the future princess lives?” he asked, stiffly, “In abject squalor?”
“Pardon me?” she asked, her tone chilly.
He spun around. The moment his eyes landed on her she felt her entire body seize. He was quite striking, this abominably rude knight. Tall, at least an inch or two taller than her, handsomely bearded with a fine mop of hair that curled at the ends; he had a sharp jaw, an aquiline nose, and deep, brown eyes. Sharp eyes. Intelligent eyes. His mouth was slightly open as he stared at her and those clever eyes of his were dark. Said clever eyes travelled down the length of her body and back up to her eyes. Kate did not shift under his gaze but only just.
“Forgive me,” the knight cleared his throat, “what I meant to say is that even though she was born of a disgraced mother, I did not expect to retrieve the Prince's bride from a hovel at the edge of town. That is all.” He nodded as though that were somehow any better.
Berbrooke smirked at Mary's visible discomfort and Edwina's visible embarrassment. When he set his eyes on Kate and her barely contained anger, he was practically gleeful.
“Oh?” asked Kate. “Is that all?”
How dare he! Kate was about to tear into him when Edwina placed a hand on her arm.
“It is the only home I've ever known, sir,” said Edwina, her voice soft. “I will journey with you to a new home, a larger one to be sure, but I will never look down upon this one that, humble as it might be, once served me well.”
The man stared at her, his face contemplative. “You speak wisely, my lady.”
“My sister is incredibly wise,” said Kate, sharply, unable to stop herself. “Wiser than any man who would judge a woman by a dearth of opulence rather than the wealth of her character. Mama and I have raised Edwina to be graceful and kind. That is why she responded to your insult with such diplomacy. Intelligent. She is fluent in Latin, Hindi, and Arabic. There is no historical text that she cannot transcribe. Talented. She plays the lute and dances like water. She may be of humble origins but above all, she is fair. Not just in beauty but in nature.”
“I never discounted that,” argued the knight. “I merely—”
Kate looked upon him with contempt. “Edwina may not have been raised in the splendour one might expect for a princess, but she was raised with kindness. She was raised with honour. That speaks louder than any jewels and finery ever could. Disgraced mother and all.”
The knight's eyes grew wider with every word she spoke but it was Berbrooke who addressed her.
“Watch your tongue, girl! This is Sir Anthony, captain of the Prince's personal guard,” snapped Berbrooke.
Kate could not stop herself from scowling at the knight. Sir Anthony. The handsome knight seemed astounded by her vitriol. His face, though pleasing, was animated with rapidly blinking eyes and a clenched jaw. She could not read any more from him than his displeasure.
The nature of her parents’ disgrace was a sensitive one for Kate. One never taken lightly. More than once she'd beaten village boys until they were black and blue when they tried to make a mock of her family. The knight should consider himself lucky that she did not draw her sword.
Through gritted teeth she said. “I observe my tongue well and I find myself pleased by its contents.”
Berbrooke stepped towards her, his hand raised. She braced herself for the slap. Her prickly tongue had gotten her disciplined by an elder a few times before, though rarely from Berbrooke himself. She did not care. She feared neither pain nor censure.
“Enough!” said Sir Anthony, shortly. “I do not presume to tell you how to rule your chiefdom but she is to be family to the Ruling Prince of Knowan, Land of Fire. In our realm we do not harm ladies.”
Kate could see Berbrooke fight the urge to say that she wasn't a lady but instead he nodded.
“Very well, sir,” said Berbrooke. “In accordance with the customs of your realm, the woman will be spared.”
Sir Anthony bowed his head.
Berbrooke glared at Kate, nevertheless. “Why are you dressed like that, girl?”
Having donned a patterned, navy kurta, a pair of loose churidars, and riding boots she appeared different to Mary and Edwina in their more delicate pink, linen sarees. Their hair was pinned and clipped prettily whilst Kate's was unadorned and woven into a severe braid that swung past her waist. Kate's own sarees of blues, yellows, oranges, and lilacs would be left behind. Instead, she packed her plainer kurtas and salwars of blues, greens and browns, easier for her to ride. She had Appa's longsword strapped to her back and a rod in hand. Never mind the dagger she had strapped to her hip. She was dressed for travel.
“What do you expect me to wear as we journey across vast lands?” asked Kate, her chin lifted. “I wish to journey with my family.”
“If one could wish on water, girl,” spat Berbrooke. “The gods would still the sea.”
Sir Anthony frowned. “Is Lady Kate not sister to Lady Edwina?”
“Of course, sir,” Berbrooke looked at him curiously. “Her half sister by way of their father but they are still blood.”
“Ah,” said Sir Anthony. “I did not realise how informal you are in your chiefdom.”
Berbrooke’s lips thinned. “Lady Kate and I have known each other for a long time, sir. Sometimes we forget formalities. I find myself surprised at her belief that she would join her half sister on her journey.”
Kate tossed her braid to the side and lifted her chin before turning to the knight. “Do you object to my presence, sir?” she asked.
Sir Anthony cut his eyes at her. “Is there a reason that I should?”
“Sir Anthony,” said Berbrooke. “Kate will remain in town. It is what The Sage requires. Her word is law. That is how we manage things in this chiefdom.”
“Law? This is what passes for governance in these lands? For honour” Sir Anthony responded, sharply. “Are you not The Great Chieftain of Baladon, Land of Water? A Sage is a guide, not a ruler. Do you never object to her unfounded decrees?”
Kate could not help but scoff.
Berbrooke shot her a harsh look before turning a pleasant smile towards the knight. “Not if it's delivered from the water. I listen to the gods above all else. If they say that Princess Mary is who Lady Edwina requires on this journey, who am I, a mere mortal, to criticise them?”
She noted the deference to Mary's title that Berbrooke once refused to uphold.
Sir Anthony nodded. “Very well then.”
Kate's heart fell. Berbrooke's smile widened. This could not be happening. It would not be happening. If they insisted upon her remaining here that did not mean that she would stay put. No. Certainly not. She would simply have to follow them. She would have to evade Berbrooke, the Sage, the guards and sentries and sneak out in the dark of night. And she would do it if it was the only way to protect Edwina.
Looking down at her sister, whose eyes were trained on the floor, Kate could see the tears gathering in them. Even Mary, whose face remained mild, had her fists clenched at her sides. That, if anything, strengthened her resolve. If Berbrooke and Sir Anthony did not want her there, then her family did. And she would do her duty as she had always done. As she promised Appa while he lay dying. She would protect them with all she had.
“I require another meeting with the Water Sage,” said Sir Anthony.
Kate's eyes widened. Edwina looked up at the knight. Kate's heart clenched at Edwina's teary eyes. Sir Anthony smiled at Edwina before turning that smile to Kate. It surprised her to see that when he smiled those clever eyes turned kind. How the simple turn of the lips softened his stern face; and a visage that was already pleasing became so beautiful that she had no choice but to look away lest she become softened by it.
Upon looking away she missed the way his eyes lingered on the curve of her jaw before he turned to Berbrooke.
“Pardon me?” asked Berbrooke.
“I sat with her for an hour and these words were not spoken to me. Nor were they written in the prophecy. I will hear them from her lips myself and I will see if there is any justification for this incivility.”
“Incivility?” Berbrooke’s chest puffed out, unable to contain his anger.
“What else could it be to leave a young lady helpless and alone at the edge of town?” he asked, his face overcome with such offense that Kate could not help but feel a bit offended. Did he believe her to be some helpless maiden? Berbrooke, however, shifted with discomfort and that was enough to make Kate smirk.
“I must speak to the Sage who would countenance such a thing. Did you not say to me that they have no male protection? Upon marriage Lady Kate will fall under the protection of the Palace. Until then she is under mine.”
“I am my own protection, sir,” she protested. As much as she enjoyed the way Berbrooke wilted under the knight's censure she could not bear the insult. “As well as the protection of my family.”
“Yes,” Berbrooke tittered. “Kate—that is, Lady Kate is her family's guardian and she is quite skilled with the sword. It would take an upheaval most severe to fell her.”
His smile was so false and condescending that it took everything for Kate to keep her expression still. The truth of the matter was that Berbrooke didn't see her as a woman worthy of protection. Few did. It was great foresight and prudence on her father's part that she knew how to protect herself.
“Nevertheless,” said Sir Anthony, stiffly. “Unless I hear those words from the Water Sage herself Lady Kate will accompany us on the journey as is her wish. No true gentleman would allow otherwise.”
Mindful of the slight, Berbrooke’s forced a look of contrition. “I am afraid the Water Palace does not have a horse to spare the maiden. And does the litter not only seat two? Or would you have the lady bog down the horses that will already be carrying quite a load?”
Sir Anthony's jaw clenched. She could see the conflict in his eyes. Of course he could offer her room on his horse, improper as it was, but for such a long journey it would wear on his mount and leave them stranded.
“Bion will serve me on my journey,” she said, quickly.
“Ah,” Berbrooke scowled. “That beast.”
Sir Anthony’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem?”
“Of course not,” said Berbrooke. “It is only, well, The stallion is a wild thing. A brute, really. Practically feral. He bites and bucks and has thrown many a skilled rider to great injury. There is a reason Kate—” he corrected himself again. “Lady Kate was able to buy him on the cheap. No one in Baladon can ride him.”
“No one but me,” Kate protested. “I ride him every morning. Sometimes for hours. He is a perfectly sweet horse. It is not my fault none else has the patience to deal with him.”
“Kate is right,” said Edwina, softly. “Bion may not allow others to ride him but he gentles for Kate. She rides him frequently and is never harmed.”
Berbrooke opened his mouth to argue but Sir Anthony cut him off before he had the chance. “It is settled then. Lady Kate, Lady Edwina, Princess Mary, we must leave with haste.”
Sir Anthony rather gallantly escorted Edwina and Mary to the litter before mounting his horse. Kate was gratified at the care he showed them. If the prince was cruel then his knights were not. Kate hoped that was a good omen. She ran to the back of the hut as quickly as she could and untied Bion from his post before leading him to the dusty track in front of the house.
The knight was making sure that her family was settled in the litter when she returned. It was a small caravan. Four horses, two to guide the litter, one to guide the wagon, and the knight's own steed. Kate lugged her bag onto the wagon and returned to Bion.
Mounting her horse and patting his coarse, brown mane, Kate leaned forward to scratch his ear better. Her darling horse huffed quietly at her touch. Feral? What a lark!
“You are a good boy aren't you?” whispered Kate. “You will guide me well on this journey, no matter what anyone says.”
So busy was she, as she soothed her horse, that she noticed neither Berbrooke’s nor Sir Anthony’s eyes on her. If she had, she would have seen the greed and malice in one's and the desire and intrigue in the other's. If she had she would have noticed the way the knight inhaled sharply and turned from her only to narrow his eyes at Berbrooke. It was only the clearing of the knight’s throat that caused her to look up.
“Chief,” said Sir Anthony. “It has not escaped my notice that you did not allow me to confirm your story with the Water Sage.”
“Mother does not enjoy being bothered,” said Berbrooke.
“Is that so?” he asked. “Or is it that you wanted the lady kept here for your own purpose. One that has nothing at all to do with the prophecy.”
“I do not appreciate the accusation,” said Berbrooke, harshly. “All is to do with the prophecy.”
“We shall see about that,” said Sir Anthony before riding off.
Kate remained. She took a long look at Berbrooke. His eyes were dark as he stared at her. She had not considered it until now, that he might have his own reasons for wanting to keep her here, unprotected. As much as she might buck at him, he was The Great Chieftain of their large nation; the villages and towns surrounding the capital were all under his reign and he had the allegiance of vassals by the hundreds and knights and soldiers by the thousands. Even those who kept loyalty to the old chief dared not stand against him. Kate was more than skilled with a sword and the magic Berbrooke did not know she still possessed would certainly help her if he had any cruel designs. Yet craven as he was, he was still her monarch. She could not withstand him with defiance alone.
Kate did not fear him, not when her father was thrice the man he was, but today there was something in his eyes that spoke of danger.
She couldn't help her shiver.
“Until we meet again, girl,” he said.
And Kate could do nothing but nod. If Berbrooke had his own reasons for keeping her in Baladon she would have to face them upon her return. And she would return. Anyone who knew her knew that she would never burden her sister or her sister's new family with her presence. Berbrooke did not know her, but he knew enough.
The light of the town that raised her, that nurtured her, that cast her aside, fell upon her. For the first time that light unsettled her. She could feel slimy eyes on her back and she shivered. What exactly awaited her upon her return? She could not think of it just yet. She needed her nerve.
Kate idled until the litter drew next to her and looked at her sister and stepmother, well settled. “Are you both well?”
“We can handle the journey, dearest.”
“The path we have chosen now is the right one for us all, Didi,” said Edwina. “I have dreamt it.”
That, if nothing, gave Kate a modicum of comfort. Kate's magic was a physical thing but Edwina’s magic came in dreams. She could not see anything clearly in her dreams like a Sage might. Her dreams were feelings rather than visions. Intuition. And if her intuition was that this was her destiny, then Kate had to trust it.
“For all of us?” she asked.
Edwina hesitated, before nodding. “I have dreamt it.”
Kate nodded before riding ahead, alongside Sir Anthony.
If leaving Baladon was Edwina’s fate and returning was Kate’s then so be it. When she left Knowan she would return to whatever awaited her in Baladon.
For better or worse.
