Authors' Note: At last, the second half of Deruthiel and Cadelinyth's story. I hope you all enjoy it Now for the unfortunate news. We're taking a week's vacation from writing, just to play with some ideas and relax a bit. Don't worry, we'll be back soon!
Author's Note II: Okay, so we finally got this guy to go live after a week of fighting with it. Sorry for the repeat for those of you waiting for the next update. We're currently working on the new chapter, as this week has been an utter nightmare as far as work deadlines and overages. It's still coming, guys. It's just a wee bit late.
Deruthiel did not imagine that the sorceress would tamely allow him to come court her daughter, but he had no idea what form her disapproval might take. As he was organizing his retinue for the trip to her realm, though, he received it, in the form of an invitation to the princess' twentieth name-day feast.
It was not an exclusive invitation. Amidst a great deal of delicate political language, the intention was clear: suitors welcome. And the messenger who brought it was willing to inform him that similar messengers had gone to every kingdom in the lands.
Deruthiel groaned. He would be forced into competition with every prince and unwed king of the fae, and almost all of them were wealthier, more powerful, and of bluer blood than he. Yes, Cadelinyth liked him, perhaps even loved him, but among that company were many who would do their best to sway her.
He arrived with his envoys and was given accommodations outside the tower itself. Astolwyr seemed stuffed full of princes, and Deruthiel brooded over his wine, trying to accept that he would lose Cadelinyth to one of them. He had only one advantage, and that was that he knew her – which in all the historical romances, counted for little enough.
The day of the feast arrived, and the great hall of Astolwyr was packed, kings and princes rubbing elbows at the tables. Their envoys brought in the gifts one by one, to be presented to the princess and her royal parents up at the main dais. Deruthiel watched wonders parade by: a clockwork tableaux of a string quartet and a pair of dancers that whirled around in complicated measures; innumerable gowns and jewels, each more magnificent than the last; a leash of miniature silken-coated sight-hounds, prancing like tiny deer; a set of wine glasses carved from rubies and sapphires; a case of rare wine brewed from orchid-blossoms and morning dew; and more, and more, and still more.
His own gift would be last, a mark of the queen's disfavor he was certain, and as the procession went on Deruthiel was certain he had misstepped. He contemplated simply leaving, but to admit his unworthiness would be as shameful as the mockery that would surely follow.
At last, his kingdom was called, and two of his envoys led his gift into the hall. Murmurs and few hushed laughs greeted his present's arrival, and he clearly heard someone ask if this was a jest.
For in the center of the grand hall now stood a very agitated horse, whose temper was not sweetened by being made to stand in an unfamiliar stall for hours. Garafin tossed his head, snorted, and struck out at the men who led him. True, his tack was the finest he'd ever worn, but it was still meant to ride in, not merely some ornamental frippery. And just as Deruthiel considered downing the entire flagon of wine in hopes of rendering himself insensible, one of the other kings coughed so hard in stifling his laughter that he knocked over his glass, which shattered.
That was all the excuse the hot-blooded hunter needed to spook, and Garafin reared up, snatching the lead-rope out of the hands of one envoy. The stallion rounded on the other, who dropped the lead and bolted under the nearest table. Now the whole assembly of hopeful suitors was braying, and Deruthiel rose with his jaw firmly set, meaning to re-capture the fractious horse and take himself out with what remained of his dignity.
They had not counted on the princess, however. At the sight of the stallion, Cadelinyth had risen. When he broke free, she ran lightly down from the dais, and his next charge was at her. She stepped easily aside, catching his reins, and clucked gently to him. Ignoring the laughter along with the cries to beware, she reeled him in, snorting and stamping defiance. "Hush, beauty," she crooned, and Garafin at last bowed his head. She scratched him under the forelock, and for the first time the assembled royalty fell silent.
"This is indeed a princely gift, my king," Cadelinyth said, turning to favor Deruthiel with a smile.
He bowed to her, not trusting his tongue with more than, "I am pleased that you find him so, princess."
Della looked back toward her parents. "This hunter is a spirited beast, Mother. May I take him to the stables? I fear he would not welcome another's hand."
The sorceress simply waved a hand in dismissal, but her eyes on Deruthiel were blank with fury. He sat back down, feeling as if he had adverted a catastrophe by mere luck … yet knowing he had not yet won the day.
There was to be a dance afterward, to which the princess herself was almost late. All of the suitors claimed her hand at one time or another, and Deruthiel hung back, not wanting to step on the toes of anyone who outranked him. They were all glaring his way, now, since the princess had been more enamored of his gift than the costlier and more extravagant ones they had brought.
At last, though, Cadelinyth pretended not to see a prince moving toward her, and darted to Deruthiel's side. "Quick, Thiel, come and save me from these feather-headed young fools," she whispered, catching his hand.
He swept her out onto the dance floor, again feeling her mother's eyes on him like leaden clouds threatening to storm. "Do all the eligible kings and princes of the fae so disappoint you then, my lady?" he asked.
Della rolled her eyes. "Be glad you are a man! I have had my eyes compared to limpid pools thirteen times. To glorious skies, sixteen. Mysterious jewels, however, wins the poll at twenty-two. All of them complimented my dancing, even after I stepped on their toes for spite! At least you know there is more than fluff behind these pretty eyes."
"I would never accuse you of fluff, Della," he said, slipping into that familiar address. "Though the owl has lovely feathers, one must remember its talons, too."
She chuckled. "You poor thing. I hope I didn't startle you too much. Still, I owed you at least one good shock, for having the gall to take me prisoner."
"Consider me appropriately chastened," he told her.
She laughed, and leaned close to him. "Let me warn you this time, then. I intend to get rid of the rest of them, and make it clear to my mother that you are my choice. Father told me why she is so protective, but she must understand that denying me the one I want is nearly as bad as her parents forcing her to accept someone she didn't."
Deruthiel filed that information away for future pondering, but he was more worried about what she'd said. "Are you so sure it's me you want, Della? There are a dozen men here wealthier and more powerful and more handsome. My kingdom is not half so great as theirs, and I could not keep you in the style which you deserve."
She clicked her tongue at him disapprovingly. "Thiel, you wound me. Not one of them had the wit to ask me what I like, nor the daring to spirit me away. And you are the handsomest, so far as I am concerned, but I would love you if you looked an ogre. As for the style in which I deserve, and the greatness of your kingdom – I am my father's daughter, and have slept as an owl in the shelter of a pine tree on a stormy night. I have no need of cosseting. I am also my mother's daughter, nearly as nimble a sorceress as she, and when it is our kingdom, I will help you bring your lands to their full glory." She cocked her head, and laughed. "That is what you had in mind in courting me, is it not? Or was it merely the bejeweled eyes and rosebud mouth and fair bosom?"
He couldn't help stammering at that, and Della threw her head back to laugh. Despite the venomous glares of the other princes, Thiel got himself under control. "I admit your beauty was a temptation, but yes, it was for your blood I stole you. Still it is for you that I would keep you, even if you looked like a lowland dwarf and had all the magic of a mud puddle."
"Then you've paid the price for your presumption," Della said. The music was changing, and he would have to relinquish her hand. Before she left, she looked seriously at him again. "Make certain your stallion rests easily tonight, Thief-King," she told him. It sounded curt enough that those who wished to might believe it was a veiled insult, an implication that he ought to sleep in the stables.
Thiel knew her better. Her eyes told him she meant to meet him there, and it would be good to speak to her again without a thousand eyes upon them. He dared not hope for more. Letting her go, he quit the dance floor entirely in relief. Perhaps he could go refresh himself with a glass or two of wine, and see if his roiling stomach would accept a honeycake or two.
Peace was not to be had. The moment Thiel ducked out of the main room, he felt a tap on his elbow. He whirled; few fae could sneak up on him, and in this context, it could not be a friend.
Instead he saw Della's father, Jarrek. Once a seneschal, now prince-consort of the realm, he regarded Deruthiel with the piercing gray eyes of the owl he had been before all of that. "My daughter loves you," Jarrek said calmly.
Thiel gave a slight bow. Something warned him to be honest, and not to speak as a courtier. "I … yes, she does. I do not deserve her, but she loves me, and I love her. I beg your forgiveness, sir."
"Forgiveness? Do you think you have wronged her, then?" Jarrek asked. His tone was mild, as if they were discussing something unrelated to either.
Spreading his hands to indicate his dismay, Thiel groped for words. "I should not have stolen her. My intentions were not honorable, though I swear to you my behavior was. That she loves me now is due to luck, not anything I've done. She deserves better than I can give her, but she will not have it."
Jarrek nodded. "My Della inherited strength of will from both of us. If you are the one she wants, and you love her, then there is no point in trying to defy her wishes. However, should you be lying, King Deruthiel…" Those dark eyes suddenly turned absolute black, and Thiel was abruptly reminded that this man had begun life as a predator, a highly efficient hunter and killer, albeit of mice.
"If you mean my daughter harm, I need not threaten you. I have taught her well, as has her mother. If all of this is a sham and you break her heart, I pity you. She will destroy you. And I will only hope she leaves a shred or two for her mother and I to rend." With that, and a courteous nod, Jarrek took himself back to his place in the ballroom.
With those words in his ears, Thiel was only too happy to escape to the stables and the company of the horses.
Della found him there, hours later, grooming Garafin. The stallion was drowsy, but still aimed a halfhearted nip at Thiel's arm once in a while, as if he knew his own reputation. Della let herself into the stall, and before Thiel could say anything to her, she caught him by the collar and dragged him down for a kiss.
The sweet press of her lips was enough to occupy his entire mind, at least until Garafin felt neglected and shifted his weight, throwing both of them against the side of the stall. Della laughed. "Be still, jealous one," she said, petting Garafin.
"I take that to mean you're still set on choosing me?" Thiel said, rather breathless.
"My mother is being … overprotective," Della said, and there was steel under her sweet voice.
"She loves you," Thiel told her.
"That she does," Della replied. "But I love you. And I mean to have you, Thief-King, whether my mother approves or not."
"My heart is yours, whether she grants me your hand or I must suffer alone," he said. Never in his life had Deruthiel said such frank words to a woman, laying his soul bare. Della deserved no less.
She smiled craftily, and took his hands. "It isn't your heart I mean to have tonight, Thiel," Della murmured. "There's a very quiet hayloft just upstairs."
He was entirely and completely doomed … but more so if her mother caught them. That did not stop him, however.
…
The following morning, most of the suitors were gone, and those left were packing. Thiel stayed, mainly because there was a note in Della's handwriting shoved under his door (where he had finally gone, rather later than expected) that told him to come to breakfast.
Much to his surprise, she wasn't there. The sorceress herself glared daggers at him, but Jarrek waved a page over to bring him a bowl of porridge. "Be welcome, King Deruthiel," the owl-born said.
"Thank you," Deruthiel replied, and bowed deeply. He took a seat down the table from them, keeping a wary eye on the sorceress.
Who spoke, coldly as ever. "It seems my daughter will consider no other suit save yours," Iswyniel told him, and the spoonful of honey-sweetened porridge caught on his tongue. Thiel nearly choked in surprise. Was she going to just give in to her daughter's will?
Of course not. "You have, as yet, not proven your worthiness to me," Iswyniel continued. Thiel noticed that Jarrek glanced at her, but the owl-born was difficult to read, and his expression might have been disinterest, or disapproval. The sorceress-queen began naming off conditions, a list of feats Deruthiel would have to perform before she would consider his suit.
Somewhere between 'feather of a golden griffin' and 'water from the well of knowledge', Della arrived, and moved to stand behind Thiel's chair. Her presence was welcome, for the list of requirements was far beyond his skill. To meet even half of them would take a century or two of constant effort, during which his kingdom would lie unattended. In short, it was impossible, and only Della's small warm hands on the back of his chair kept him from stumbling out of the room in despair.
At last Iswyniel wound down. "Do this, King Deruthiel, and I will grant you my daughter's hand in marriage." She smiled at him then, as a cat smiles at a captured mouse.
Della sighed, loudly. She stepped around the chair, lifted Thiel's arm, and settled herself in his lap. The memories of the previous evening were recent enough that he hurriedly made himself think of the queen's cold cruel voice, as an antidote to the warmth of Della in his arms.
"Mother, please, you know that is outrageous," Della began, then chased all thoughts of warmth away with words that ran down Thiel's spine like ice. "He has already had rather more than my hand, and I told you I do intend to marry him, with or without your blessing. If necessary, I will run away to Etaron and get myself pregnant by him. I know it is a challenge for our kind, but I'm sure Thiel will be more than willing."
Thiel sat frozen as the queen's eyes bored into him savagely. She's going to kill me. The Sorceress-Queen of Astolwyr is going to kill me where I sit. Please, let my men escape alive.
"You told me," she said in clipped, icy tones, "that he had not coerced you while he held you prisoner."
"And he did not," Della replied, lifting her chin. "Thiel was quite the gentleman. It wasn't until last night that I bedded him."
"Last night." The queen's hands gripped the edge of the table tightly, and servants fled as raw magic crackled and spat around her. "Under my roof."
Della lounged back against him, still meeting her mother's furious eyes. "Under the barn roof, actually."
Now Iswyniel's eyes were literally blazing, blue-white flames of magic dancing from her pupils. "How. Appropriate."
From anyone else, that would be a killing insult, to imply that the King of Etaron was no more than a stableboy, or even livestock. But Thiel simply scrunched himself down in the chair and prayed fervently to all the old gods that Della would stop talking before her mother blasted them both with wrathful magic.
Della only clicked her tongue. "Speak not so, please. Mother, I love him."
Iswyniel lunged up from her chair, and roared, "You are a child! You know nothing of love!" The chandeliers above swung wildly, and Thiel feared that her wrath might shake the foundations of the castle itself.
"I am a woman, older than you were when your parents made your choices for you," Della replied. "I should have thought, Mother, that you of all people would understand that only I can choose whom I will marry."
The sorceress snarled at that, and Thiel peeked around Della's shoulder to see that Jarrek was looking at his wife with concern. Della went on, "I know of love, Mother. Thiel is not the first man I've ever slept with – I did not love the others, but they were good company, for a time. And long since gone from your kingdom, lest you hunt them down."
With a wry smile, she continued, "I grew to love him while I lived at his castle, and you know I could have left if I wished. True, had Thiel tried to harm me, I would have made him rue it. But he never did. He courted me, Mother, gently and kindly, shy as a scholar. He loves poetry, and his hounds and horses, and he likes me best when I argue with him. And what I feel for him is the desire to know him better, to share all I know and all I will learn with him, and the need to protect him – even from you. Is that not love, Mother?"
Iswyniel seethed, but Jarrek spoke then. "She does have a point."
"And you would let her run off with this half-breed," Iswyniel snarled, turning those burning eyes on her husband.
That Deruthiel's father was human, a warrior of Celtic race, was well known. His father's blood was the reason why he was able to grow a beard, as most fae could not, and why his ears were not pointed. But to call him such, to throw it in his face, was to invite retribution. He bridled, yet held his tongue – it would not do to enrage her further, when Cadelinyth was doing such a thorough job of it.
Jarrek only shrugged, impassive in the face of his wife's rage. "You cannot make that argument, my love, since you married your owl."
"A fae owl, at least," Iswyniel growled, but it was the first time she had softened at all in the course of the argument.
Jarrek let that pass. "As I told him yesterday, we raised her well, you and I. Not as you were raised. If he hurts her, she will destroy him, and we will only have the consolation of defacing his grave."
Now Della rose, and moved toward her mother – still shielding Thiel with her own body. "Mother, please listen," she said softly. "I know why you fear for me. What you do not understand is that it is I who must be gentle with Thiel. He is hopelessly in love with me, and in my youth and carelessness I could wound him sorely without meaning to do so. I need not fear him; it is he who might fear me, save that you and Father did not raise me to be cruel. Please see this, Mother. He is my love and my choice."
"He has little magic of his own, and only a paltry kingdom," Iswyniel complained.
"I am mage enough for both of us," Della countered. "If I married a great sorcerer, I could be only his assistant. Thiel knows me well enough to trust in my power. As for his kingdom, I have no wish to marry for political advantage. Doing so served you ill; I would rather wed for love, as you wed Father."
Iswyniel sat down heavily, still glaring, but the effects of her angry magic had died down, and her eyes were a clear cold blue again. "You have puzzled it all out in advance, my cunning daughter," she said flatly. "If I defy you, I become the wicked mother of the tales, and your swain the handsome hero who rescues you from me."
"No," Deruthiel said, shocked at his own temerity. "No, Your Majesty, you are no villain, and this is no tale. You love your daughter, and I have given you no reason to trust me. I stole her from you; that she stayed with me was her own choice, and that she loved me was more blessing than I deserve. It is only wisdom that makes you despise me."
Della turned to him, surprised, as Deruthiel rose from his seat, only to bow deeply before the queen. "I do not deserve your forgiveness, Your Majesty, but I will do my humble best to earn it. I love your daughter. I thought I was making an advantageous match in capturing her, but now I see I am the one who is caught." It was shameful, yes, not to protest Della's earlier assertion that he was helpless against her – but it was true. And boasting would only make the sorceress strike him down.
"Well. I see you are not entirely stupid," Iswyniel said, and Della rolled her eyes at her mother.
"As for you, Della," he continued, turning to her. "Your mother loves you. I will not be the cause of enmity between two who love each other so dearly. So I say this, before witnesses, and my word is my bond: if you come to my kingdom without your mother's blessing, I will send you home."
Her jaw actually dropped; clearly Della was unused to being stymied. She wasn't the only one surprised. Iswyniel actually started back, staring at him for once as if he wasn't some sort of loathsome insect.
Jarrek, meanwhile, laughed. "Daughter mine, I believe you have met your match."
"But Thiel," Della began, and he hushed her.
"You made your proclamation. Now I've made mine. And now, Queen Iswyniel, it is time you made yours." Deruthiel turned to her, resolute now. Yes, she was fearsome, but it was against his nature to behave without honor. He could only stand before her, as his father had once stood before a legion of angry fae, and be truthful. "I love your daughter. Name your conditions, I will meet them, though it take me a thousand years. At the end of them I will love her still, and half-breed though I am, I will live that long."
The owl-born trilled, and the queen shot him a dark look. "Damn you all," Iswyniel said. "This is your fault, Jarrek. She gets her stubbornness from you."
"Mother, do you even listen to yourself?" Della cut in. "As if you did not raise this kingdom by stubborn refusal to give in!"
Iswyniel clicked her tongue, then rested her forehead in her hands, rubbing at her temples. "You show yourself to be nobler than I, King of Etaron."
And now he had to be very, very careful, for she was close to granting them what they wanted, and it would be too easy to misstep. "You are a mother who loves your child and wishes to protect her," he said. "You want only the best for her. What is nobler than that?"
"Smarter than I thought, braver than I expected, and forgiving, too," Iswyniel muttered. "Very well, then. Della says you love to hunt. There is a beast in my realm that troubles my small folk. Bring me its head, and you may marry my daughter."
The beast was a young dragon, not quite old enough to fly, but its fiery breath was just as deadly. Thiel and his men, and some of Astolwyr's guards as well, tracked it down and slew it, with none lost though all of them were singed. He brought its head to the sorceress, dined on its roast heart that night, and had his burns healed by Della later that evening. Later than that, she soothed something else that ached for her, and as they lay snuggled together afterward she admitted she had feared to lose him. "You will never lose me, love," he told her. "Even if I die, my shade will come back to haunt you. I owe you a few frights for telling your mother I'd bedded you." She had laughed, and slept contentedly in his arms.
He and Della wed three months later, with all manner of ceremony. If Iswyniel gave her away reluctantly, she did not show it then, and Thiel was careful to honor her at every opportunity. He carried Della across the threshold of his castle to the thunderous applause of his servants, and thought their tale might end in 'happily ever after'.
Of course, within the week she was running the castle, making plans to expand their borders, and riding Garafin to hunt the dangerous creatures that lurked out there. But then, Deruthiel had known from the start that he was doomed.
