Chapter Twenty-Five
Sorry. My muse took a tumble...
Sarah's hand went to her open mouth as she fought back the tears from her own folly. "I didn't get to tell him," she whispered. Her back was to the men that were stationed to guard her, but Yane answered.
"The Gar Nada are not known for their fools, Wife of Atar," he said, his voice harsh and condemning. "You had your husband ready to murder any that faced his path last night. He is not a man prone to extremity of temper, but he was ready to kill, and it was because of you."
"I'm sorry."
A whisper. Nothing more would come out. Her fist clutched to her mouth, holding in the screams that came of her own foolishness. Yane was right; he was so right.
He shook his head. "Did you tell him that?"
She replied, the same sad motion. "No."
"No, and now you might not get the chance." He was matter of fact, dismissive.
Yane swung the front door open, gesturing her inside. Her face was miserable; she knew she had only herself to blame. Jareth gave her the only measure of power she had ever known, and she turned it against him, abusing it.
Her guard struck her conscience with one last word before he shut the door in her face, leaving all the men outside to stare in at her with unconscionable ire, their feelings for her made clear. "We know who you are, Sarah of Atar, and we know who you were. Don't disappoint your lord for his trust in you."
Queen of the Upper North. Queen of the Goblin Kingdom. A woman Damned. She fit them all, but mostly, she fit the last. She cursed herself, but she was only repeating what was already said.
She answered, but it was to a closed door. "I already have."
As time passed, as the battle progressed, the men stationed to guard outside the lodge became fewer and fewer until only the nephew of Yane remained. Seven, his name was, a teenager just past his warrior initiation. In spite of his age, Sarah felt safe with only him there, as the youth was jumpy and pulled his weapon when even an animal passed the building. It might have incited her to smile, but nothing made her smile anymore.
She heard nothing from Jareth. Or at the very least, he kept himself aloof, ever-present as he said he would be, but not willing to show his face. Sarah didn't blame him for keeping away.
Every few days, a gift appeared on her kitchen table. Food, a gown, some small pieces of jewelry, a crystal of his own making. Jareth had been there while she was sleeping, and left again without speaking to her. It should have reassured her that he was still alive, but she wanted him back and in her arms. The gifts felt cold; he promised to give her anything, and he followed through. But she didn't want things—she wanted him. He seemed determined to be absent, and she knew she had only herself to blame.
The gifts made her cry. Everything made her cry.
When Lil showed up at the lodge suddenly, late one evening, her normally plaited hair a mess and her clothing askew, it was to Seven's credit he hadn't wounded her as she banged on the lodge door seeking admittance. Sarah stood outside, the air chill with impending winter, waiting impatiently until her handmaid had finished refreshment and was ready to talk. She paced and paced and paced, looking at the woman in impatience.
"Lil? What are you doing here?"
Snapped words. She would accept nothing from the woman but honesty. She knew Jareth barely trusted the woman; she wasn't sure she should either. Her face reflected her inward turmoil.
"Not safe-" Still a huff. "I came as fast as I could."
"What is it? Is it-" Jareth, Jareth, my love. Please be alive...
"Your husband," Lilith sucked in a deep breath. "Jareth of Atar. He's been taken prisoner in the castle of the Upper North. He is only allowed one visitor during his confinement, and he has asked for you." As Lil finished her message, she swayed on her feet, exhausted and weak.
Seven scooped her up as she made to fall. "Take her inside, please, and put her on the chaise there." Sarah pointed. Her heart raced. Jareth!
"I will go to him." There was no question of not being with him; he needed her. Prisoner!
The boy hovered and Sarah made an attempt to keep her voice from barking out at him in her fear. "Please, I will need to borrow some of your clothing. I'm sorry that I must ask, but my dresses are far too impractical for journeying in such dangerous territory."
The teenager made motion to argue but Sarah lifted her hand in regal detachment. "Say nothing, as my mind is made up." Then her voice trembled. "Jareth needs me."
He nodded, wary, but he retrieved the extra outfit. It smelled of sweaty boy, but she didn't hesitate to offer appreciation for it. She went into the other room and pulled it on, the legs of the pants too long but tucked into her boots and with the vest, she was ready. She placed the quiver of arrows on her back, the bow in her shaking hand, and Jareth's small crystal in the pouch by her side.
Seven was still waiting in the small living area. Without a word, he handed her a small hunting knife. "It's for you," he said when she hesitated. "Strap it to your inner thigh. It'll stay hidden there, just in case you need it."
"My thanks." Her voice held doubt. Her fingers trembled at the unfamiliarity of the weapon in her palm.
He instructed her with finite detail. "Just jab. Make sure you hit flesh. The point is to take the enemy down, to wound and to live."
Sarah blanched. "I'm not sure I can."
"You may be forced to," his answer practical. He shrugged. "Living is a choice, and if the time comes, you shouldn't hesitate."
She nodded and then went back into the bedroom, tucking the weapon onto her person, before going back out to check on her handmaid. Lilith was nearly passed out on the furniture. Sarah stood over her. "Lil, are you coming?" Hands on hips.
The woman shook her head. "An impediment—you go." She hung her head, half delirious, but still trying to converse. Sarah squeezed any further information she could out of the woman, then turned to Seven, her heart racing and her palms sweaty.
"We must hurry."
"You can't leave at night-"
"I will do as I wish," Sarah snapped. "My husband-" She burst into awkward tears which she quickly dried on the backs of her hands. "I need to be with him."
She was afraid, but the fear dissipated into anxious longing as Seven went to retrieve his horse, grumbling under his breath. His curses stilled the night air. But he mentioned no more to Sarah when she stood to wait for him to take her to the Upper North. He valued his skin, and Sarah knew she wouldn't hesitate to browbeat any who refused her in the tense moment.
Seven helped her mount behind him on the animal, and they rode fast through the forest and the glen. They didn't stop except for brief rest breaks for the animal to cool down, before they started off again, a mad rush of wind in the hair and adrenaline in the body.
She hated horses, but in the circumstance, she would ride alone if it meant being nearer to her husband. No fear. She shut her eyes and felt the breeze hail by, time passing along in a slow-motioned pendulum.
As they drew closer and closer to the castle, Sarah knew that the first instinct of trepidation she felt was the correct one. She should have listened to the boy-warrior. He had been right about the danger; they had to make circles and detours to avoid anyone, even those they thought were not enemies. The dark pressed all around them, full of beasts of man and animal. But her fear wasn't of them. Her terror came from the thought of never being able to see Jareth again, to apologize to him for being so prideful, to kiss him and love him and never let him go.
The forest hung in silky black charring the nearer they drew to her old residence. Scarred. Battle-torn. She bit back another cry. Jareth had seen such horrors, and now he was being held as prisoner. Silent tears fell and she felt Seven's grubby hand pat her own in reassurance as they clung about his waist.
Seven whispered, "The Gar Nada have been here."
His words were meant to soothe, but she questioned in her heart why her husband had to be the one taken hostage as a casualty of the war. She saw the barren fields, burned to ash and rubble, and her heart skipped, in dread for Jareth.
They rounded the castle walls. The land was empty, oddly so.
The third time around the outer circle of wall, Sarah hissed into Seven's ear. "Stop, right here!"
"There's nothing-"
She slid down from the horse without help, bracing back onto her heels as she landed. "Just the end of a tunnel to my old bedroom." She choked back a grin. She had found it, well-hidden though it had been.
She would go to Jareth, find him, take him away. She whispered with Seven. He was her rabid hope, a boy on the cusp of manhood. She swayed her fright away. She had to trust him; he was her only salvation.