SPIRIT FOREST

Sunilda never thought the lord shy, but when the villagers first came into view, he pressed back into her. She draped her arm over his shoulder, down his front, and his supposedly branded hand left the reins to meet hers. "What is Mother doing?" he muttered, perhaps to her, perhaps to himself.

She marveled at the stitch of their fingers: not as skinny as his mother's, chubby with youth. "I never know what goes through her mind, milord." Cigyun passed Azel to her, and she held both lord and babe.

"You two hush." Azel babbled. "Three, sir. I'm sorry. Follow this path to the end of it. There'll be a house with a green door. It's the same one I grew up in."

"Your home?" Lord Arvis asked. If the horse wanted to complain, it didn't, as Cigyun stepped in the stirrups to kiss his cheek. It quieted him. "Where are you going?"

She smiled, slightly mischievous. "I must speak with the elder. It's been quite some years since I've been home. Confession must be done. I will bring my horse along." The lord moved from his spot, so Sunilda shut her eyes. One, two, three. "Yes, sweetie. I'll tell you everything soon. Mummy promises."

*…*

Lady Cigyun's first home was smaller than the quarters at Velthomer, but still larger than anything Sunilda lived in. No one followed. At the end of the path, away from the other homes, it was a quaint thing with a green, faded door, which opened with a gentle push. Three rooms in total; two modestly sized bedrooms and a room for cooking and being together.

"Sunilda."

"My lord."

"You know what's going on."

"Bits and pieces." The house was fine if clearly not lived in—musty air, a fine sheet of dust on forgotten tables and seats, floor dirty with debris blown in undoubtedly by the flimsy door and drapes for the glassless windows. "Will you see if there's wood outback?"

"Excuse me?"

"I will check. Here. Hold your brother?" The lord agreed to do that. She handed him off; Azel fit neatly in his arms.

The door creaked on its hinges as she left. The horse and donkey watched her. Several sets of steps—three eight times—she took to pass the house and go around the side. Along the house was a path, bordered by tall, still grasses on the other side, dotted with colorful weeds. Her boots crunched as she walked.

The back of the house homed an empty, overgrown plot of land; the side she didn't tread was framed with more trees, thick and sturdy. There was a stack of wood on the back wall, covered in webs and crumbling at her touch. She wiped her hand off on her dress, missing her apron. Rotted wood did not burn, not even clattering against each other as she tossed them on the ground. Why did she go anywhere without an apron or handkerchief? Gritty bark clung to her fingers, and with the sweat plastered her dress to her back, she hungered for a bath.

To her right was a base for woodcutting and an ax buried in it. Curling her fingers on its handle, she passively yanked on it; it did not budge. Sunilda sighed, picking a log that looked better than its kin. She peeled the flaking bark off and when it resembled good wood, best she could, hugged it to her chest. No one in the house was screaming, so she took her steps towards the back of the lot. Though overgrown, there was a bump then slope to the soil. Raised beds? Lady Cigyun said she used to live here with her mother and father. Did they garden? What...peasant didn't?

Lady Cigyun.

She nudged one of the green pants with her boot toe. Large leaf foliage dipped to the ground; peeling it back revealed brambles, tinted purple and angry. She tested it, a sharp point caught in the weathered fabric of her toe, but not her sturdier heel. The children could stay inside for now (Lord Arvis was known for playing outdoors, after all).

Taking the other way back around, there was enough room for her to squeeze through without bumping anything. Both of the bedrooms were along this way, small windows looking out; up on her tiptoes to peer through one of them, she saw an empty room filled with the same tiny leaves as the front room and a hearth. The other room was similar, but packed with old furniture. Lady Cigyun's family, wasn't it? Mother and father passed, and Lady Cigyun on the road. She mentioned a grandmother a few times. Did she look after her in the interim? Where was she?

Back to the children. She took the fire striker from the donkey. Here, in the tightly woven grove of trees, forgetting Cigyun was a duchess would be easy. Her and the lord's chest had been condensed to three bags, a fourth for food, and their blankets strapped to its back. A small home for an only child, now for the three and two of them.

Gods.

She went inside once more. Lord Arvis was now accosted by the baby, hair tangled up in a righteous fist. "I am your lord brother, Azel. You shouldn't hit." Azel was a carefree creature with no regard for manners, not that the lord did either, staring at her over the boy's head. "What sort of wood is that?"

"Would you like to look, milord?" she asked. He did not give her an answer. Her hands shook as she lit the fire, but that was usual. The fire barely caught on the old wood, struggling. Lady Cigyun would know a good place to get good wood, surely.

Turning back to them, she held her arms out. Still no idea if Azel knew who she was, but he gave up his conquest of the red lands and willingly went to her arms, snuggling up in her neck. Ridiculous boy. "Let's go free the donkey, huh?" Where were they putting it? Tie it up, she supposed, to some post or the other. "I hope one of you knows how to tie knots."

Lord Arvis huffed. "I do." There it was. A Ritter showed him, maybe. A butler? One of his books. The duke did little for him.

Sunilda would not call them impressive, but the lord played servant for a little bit. In the home, their belongings looked worse. Their burdened beast relieved and tied, the lord looked for somewhere to sit outside while she dug him a hard roll out of a bag. She knew what needed done—goodness, the dust made her nose twitch—but did not know where to begin.

"May I have your bits and pieces?" Lord Arvis asked. No jam, sadly. Azel made his intentions known, gumming her collar. She took the lord's forgotten cloak (even he felt the heat) to give the three of them privacy. Feeding was the one time Azel did not swing a little fist. She stroked his cheek.

Soon. Mummy will tell you soon. Sunilda looked up. "Your mother is not from Grannvale. She directed us through the woods and now we are sitting in a house she pointed us towards." She kissed the prince.

"You said you knew more." He bit into his roll, jaw tough with it. She kissed the prince; she laid in his arms and now Grannvale's new child is hidden in a forest. "Why are we here?"

Why indeed. "Can your mother not show you something?"

"In this country?"

"She's acting odd, Svan. We both know it."

Odd. Odd, odd, odd, odd. "It is not all mine to give, Lord Arvis. Your lady mother will tell you when-" oh, why not, "it has passed."

Lord Arvis ate in silence. He struggled to pull off a corner of bread for her, then handed it over.

*...*

Unloading the donkey was a waste of time.

Lady Cigyun came to them half an hour later, just to tell them they were staying elsewhere. A brisk survey of the house on her own said enough. She disappeared into one of the back rooms, an ungodly banging echoing out. Returning with a book under her arm, she closed the door behind her.

She laid her hand on the doorframe, smiling somberly. "We will stay with the elder while we tidy up here. This is not…comfortable, is it?" Azel, perhaps hearing Cigyun's voice, and in the middle of dawdling towards a nap, swatted the fine cloak off of them. Her lady's tune changed quickly. "Not for the little sir in the least! We'll get you a cradle."

She stole his nose; a bit too young to understand, Azel settled smugly back down, fisting his brother's cloak once more. Where was his blanket? Somewhere in the rabble.

"The elder," Lord Arvis drawled.

"Yes, dear. Do you want to sleep here tonight?" she asked. Lord Arvis shook his head as an answer. "Nor do I. Come." Lady Cigyun did not need to do any heavy lifting at this point; Sunilda passed Azel off to her. With his mother around, the lord decided his best course of action was to be difficult. If the donkey could speak it likely had nothing nice to say to her.

"Mother."

"In time. You want hot food, do you not? A hot bath?"

Sunilda wiped her hands off on her gritty dress. "Does the elder know all of us are coming?"

"Of course, Sunny. I did not bring you here just to pretend I do not know you!"

Deirdre, Damhán. Reminding herself, Sunilda knew these, knew Cigyun's unborn babe. No duke or prince or son or elder did.

*...*

The elder's house was smaller; newer? The wood did not sag, nor was it stained by weather. The man was named Bo, simple and short, much like him. He did not say much besides a welcome, but his old eyes lingered prolongedly on the lord, who returned the glaring. "A boy, Cigyun?"

"You cannot help these things." Bo sighed. He was with his...daughter-by-marriage, if Sunilda heard right. Unn was plain and green-eyed, pretty, with a steady arm for her grandfather to lean on. "I thank you again for your kindness."

"This has always been your home. Forgiveness will protect us, troublemaker you may be." Cigyun grinned. "Tonight I will," he hacked, "stay with my son. Tomorrow you may ready your home. You have much to do, saint willing.""

She bowed her head. "That I do. I will do right by my children," she said; it went over Lord Arvis, who picked at his fraying sleeve. Prince Kurth's child in a quaint house in the middle of nowhere. Would he look? Surely he knew what happened when a man met a woman if she knew (even before that unfortunate morning).

*...*

The lord was the easiest to get to bed once more. Azel ate again (fed babies lasted a winter, she reminded herself), escaped his swaddle—standard fare, falling asleep on her belly. She did not have the heart to wake her sweetheart, leaving him there. He must've known, tangling his hands up, knees twisted under himself. Not a care in the world, untouched by grief.

Everything.

Lady Cigyun continued to be mulish. Nothing she could even do in the elder's home, but she refused to sit for a moment, looking through their bags. Azel effectively pinned her to the bed, cheek in her hand. For the first time, Lord Arvis slept with his mouth open on his own stretch of blankets. "Come to bed, Lady Cigyun," she tried. "A warm bed, a warm meal. You should be knocked out!"

"A moment. I'm perfectly awake," she said. Opening on the bricks before the hearth was the book she grabbed earlier. She wrote something on the inside cover, blowing on the ink. Family secrets? The tome was then tucked into one of the bags, wrapped in cloth.

Sunilda wet her lips. Humid, yes, but she could not drink enough. "What are we doing?" she asked; Cigyun's infinite patience to deal with both her and the lord asking. She knew bits and pieces, so maybe she could have more.

Across the lowly lit room Cigyun stepped, ethereal in the partial moon. "Any day now I will have my babe. You and the three of them will live happily in my familial home until my baby says it is time to go to Grannvale. They will know they are of Grannvale because you will tell them in their tenth summer's end, and Arvis and Kurth will do right to guide them." Azel snorted.

Her tell the child? Who was she? Cigyun, thankfully, sat on the edge of the bed, knees first. "And where will you be?" There was the...worry, always. She survived her first. They both did. Passing in childbirth didn't fit her. To travel this far just to—? Why trip into hopelessness? Eyes mirthful in Chalphy, all to give it up. "Are you...worried, milady?"

Courtly, Cigyun shrugged. Freely, her loose cream colored shift slipped down her shoulders. "I survived one. But I couldn't sleep with Arvis. The last few days all I wanted to do was clean and eat. Then he was born, and all he wanted was me...he'd sob if anyone else held him." He still did. "Victor's wedded sister took no interest in my questions...months away from my only home and no one would tell me a thing. Just Arvis and I in my room all day…"

"I can tell, milady." Cigyun smiled, reaching her eyes; how could she keep it like that? "I meant it. About sleeping. There's time tomorrow to fret."

"Is there really?" Sunilda shifted, never liking that tone. Little Azel snorted. "Calm down, girl. I simply talk."

It didn't comfort her. Deciding the baby could sleep in his basket, she went to lay him there. Azel did not fight her, scrunched under her hands with a big stretch. Thankfully, he didn't wake, laid on his back in his basket only to roll onto his belly. She moved him back just once, only for him to do it again. Alright. He could stay like that.

Lady Cigyun was, now, not her lady. Out of Grannvale, away from the man that gave her her title…what could happen? She'd always be, in some way, but not every day. Wrapping her hand around her arm, "Come here, Cigyun. One of these days will be long. Fetch your sleep while you can."

The woman did not come immediately. Sunilda pressed forward. Come to bed me again, have you? What a horrible tiny duchy Chalphy was! This was not that. "Pace and clean to your heart's content tomorrow," she continued. "Be kind to my heart now."

"Your heart, Sunilda." Lady Cigyun sighed but finally stretched out along the bed; she turned into her, vexing like that, arm flung across her. Sunilda brushed her hand up, knuckles against the palm of her lady, her hand cruelly caught. Her darnable chest thumped. "Perhaps another time."

Sleep came late.

*...*

Lord Arvis woke her up outright, wanting more for breakfast than cold bread. Azel wanted something too, wide awake and held by his brother. "I'll get you something, milord," she promised. Mindfully, she shook her arm free of her lady, who did not stir. Good.

Azel reached out for her, and she scooped him up. "Hi, sweetie. Sorry." Forgiven, surely, by his cheek on her neck, but she gave him a kiss just to be sure. Last thing she needed was to upset her dear so far from anything she knew. As she got up, the lord went, expectedly, to his mother's side "Let your mother sleep, milord."

She slid her hand under his shirt, only to find his butt dry and changed. She'd not make a scene of it, smiling at her lord.

Unfortunately, despite her years on him, she was likewise worthless in the kitchen, but did not have an excuse. Cigyun rarely needed her in it, and her weird girlhood kept her out of it, too. She did not have a title to protect her, though, lousy (ruined) for a future husband—no longer in service to a lady, what would keep her from marriage?

A girl from a far off land, plain faced and with another man's child—horrible enough to be married to a man from her own country, but someone here? Worse yet.

Azel tapped his foot against her wrist. Off already? For the best. Who knew what mishap they could have while she tried to cook. She set him down on his back, and before she could turn to ask the lord to keep an eye on him, he threw himself on his belly with his great strength. No matter — the lord hadn't followed her out anyway, but she didn't hear Cigyun, either. She could not deny him his mother, after all.

The baby stayed out of her way, wiggling in place to certain trouble. She did not like it, but he needed to squirm to be strong, didn't he? The front door was shut, at least, so he couldn't get too far, if he was even strong enough.

She rooted through the old man's cupboards, feeling only slightly bad about it. Jars with discolored powder sat on the shelves. Spices? She kept out of the kitchen for a reason. Oats never hurt anyone; setting it to cook, she fiddled with the pot. Lady Cigyun made tea. Pretty faces did not cook. Presumptuous, but Lady Cigyun did not rule Velthomer's household like a woman raised with servants; easy to miss the fact, but her voice wavered when giving instruction.

It would be a lot of porridge if she could not.

Azel blabbered below. She offered him a spoon to play with, which he snatched out of her hands. Nearly too big for him, but he did not care. He swung it glee, only to drop it on his chest and miss slapping himself in the face. Sunilda decided she did not like him so far away, picking him back up. He could nearly hold his head up now, bobbing in her arms. "No oats for you. You have no teeth."

He cooed. Poor baby. How was he to eat people food if he had no teeth? Or neck? She kissed his head. Running her hand down his back, stepping back from the pot, she gently dipped him. He giggled quietly, gums and all. His heart beat beneath her hand. Sweet, sweet tiny boy, all hers. Him and Cigyun's babe would live here together until their Highness needed brought to their father.

What was he, in the grand scheme of Grannvale? A duke's bastard son. In Verdane, he could be hers without the burden, free from heartbreak.

*...*

If Azel knew a thing changed, he didn't show it. He ate his breakfast each morning, wide-eyed staring at her, dozed off in his basket, and then woke up again, curiously at the house; it needed cleaning, after all. He got laid out on his belly on the blanketed space of floor with his brother, smiling at anyone who would pay him mind. He spent more time awake now.

And, when no one was looking, he inched up on his knees. "Where are you off to, good sir?" Lady Cigyun asked, leaning on her mop.

Still, his eyes only found her. Already round and soft, they crinkled at the corners when he settled on her face. "Hi honey. Where'd you come from?" He twisted again, trying to claim his brother's foot. The lord took it well, still as she stooped to scoop him up; he laid his little head against her shoulder, gumming at her dress. "Wanna help?" she asked, pressing a clean rag into his hand.

He snorted.

Okay.

Lord Arvis stood on his tiptoes. "I didn't think you could move." He poked Azel's cheek, wee baby keening. "Why whine?"

"You're bugging him, milord." Azel babbled something indignantly, waving his rag. Did he know what they said, or only that they said something at all? Did he know his own name? He seemed to know her voice most, given their lonely months together.

The lord's face went soft. "Oh. I did not mean it, little brother," quick with that phrase. Another coo, wiggling in her arms. The great effort it was, he lifted his head more, chin now home on the small dip of her shoulder. "You get stronger every time we speak."

Azel swatted her back with his closed, towel-bound fist. Hopefully he grew out of the hitting. "What am I to do with you?" she asked. Someone was looking at her; Lady Cigyun touched her stomach. Her serene face still wore that downy expression. "Are you alright, Lady Cigyun?"

"Oh, yes. I just need to - sit, for a moment. That is all. Arvis, be a dear?" He immediately complied, scampering to the back room with furniture. He returned with a chair, taller than him. "I must show you something later, Sunny. Very important. Give me only a moment, and I will be with you to help." The lord was a lord first, stickied to his mother's skirts; she and Azel could mop the mostly empty bedroom.

*...*

Lady Cigyun showed her to this town's midwife and their healer three days into cleaning; increasingly, she sat and did little things, or kept Azel company as her and the lord used their muscles.

The healer lived in the church, the largest building in town — it stood much like Cigyun's home did, feeling far older than any of them. Fractured windows with depictions Sunilda did not know. Inside was sparse on decorations, but large enough to seat a town, as a church did. Huddled in the corner were children's toys. Eira was the healer's name; she clutched her lady's hand, freckles dotted on the exposed expanse of her arm, smiling grimly. "You know what may happen. Dangerous enough to have one child, but another? With the Saint's eye on you?"

"Better me than the child. I beg you to remember this."

The midwife lived only a few doors down from the elder, her cobbled wood and brick house full of older children and a lazy-eyed husband. Niamh, curly blue haired coiled around her ears and loose down her back, scolded Cigyun like she was a child and not a woman of dubious years. Such was village life; Sunilda preferred scolding from one woman. "How do you expect this will go?" she inquired. "So quick you forget the Saint's will!"

The Saint. Sunilda felt moronic. These two and the elder (three, again!) kept mentioning them. The only saint she knew was Saint Heim, the prince's exalted ancestor. What did Saint Heim have to do down here? Admittedly, she could not name all the Crusaders until she was nearly eleven, so her piety was not a pinnacle of reference.

Thankfully, the lord's brow nearly melded into his eyes. The Saint. Azel did not know either, trained on a caterpillar crawling across the floor.

Niamh gave the lord an extra apple (he gave his thanks), and as they returned to the elder's home for the night, the lord took the plunge. "Which saint?"

"I will tell you later."

"Mother."

"I will, I will. I forget you two are Grannvaleans."

"As are you," he bit.

Lady Cigyun brushed his hair back. "The Saint built my home here, and has been gone even longer than I have lived."

Not wanting to hear them argue again, going in circles about where Lady Cigyun hailed from (if Sunilda looked, yes, Cigyun was prettier than the average villager, but those were a maid's thought to protect her lady's virtue), she took in the other homes. More cloistered than Cigyun/the Saint's home, yet also built sloppily. Mostly homes. She did not spy much farming, unless each home housed its own plot. Another path led away from the village but not towards the home; animals to graze? Where to graze in a forest this size? And why did she not hear them? Cattle were not quiet creatures. Dried meat was in Bo's home in jars.

Sunlight cracked through the thick canopy of leaves, hitting some patches on the ground more than others. An odd place. She hadn't seen many villagers milling about, but there were too many houses in good shape to say it was vacant. Was the weather keeping them in? A storm on the horizon? Not knowing how to ask, or where, she stepped closer to Cigyun. "Where -" darnable throat, "-are your people?"

"Hm?" Turning up to her, the barest lift to her chin, and she felt so disastrously off-centered again. "Perhaps the men went to town for supplies. Or, last I lived here, some of them work and send the money back. The women might be at the lake. It is warm. Why?"

"It's...quiet?"

"A magnificent place for rearing children."