IV.

Mountain

The forest rose purple and gray against the mountainside as Astara fled to the north. All around her there were colors and filtered sunlight, broken branches, a sea of fallen leaves, movement.

Keep running, she told herself as the castle fell further and further behind her. Make your legs move. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop.

She had initially tried to run to the others in the hunting party for help despite what Lord Abram said, but he had cornered her in a secluded area, and there was no one she could find. All she could do was run further into the dense part of the forest, her fright that he might change his mind propelling her.

At the bottom of a hill, a stream cut through the path. Astara nearly stumbled down the hillside and managed to stop herself before it, only then realizing how thirsty she was, though she feared slowing down. More than once she had thought of the crossbow she had left behind and darted frightened looks behind her for any sign of him approaching.

Now she made herself pause and wait, staring back up the hill, her hands shaking before her as she tried to still herself. But there were only the sounds of birds in the trees and her breathing. She wiped damp strands of hair from her brow and wondered how far she had come, then looked cautiously back toward the flowing water. There was a boulder on the edge of the stream scarcely bigger than her. She crawled behind it and tucked her knees into her chest so that it concealed her from the top of the hill. Then she covered her mouth with her hand and screamed.

For several moments she allowed herself to wail in repressed sobs, agonizing over what Lord Abram said. What he had tried to do. She pressed her palm into her chest, feeling the terror there as the cool mountain air settled on her shoulders. She imagined her heart outside her body and felt sick. She leaned over and wretched.

When eventually she managed to pull herself up and sit back against the boulder, she combed her hair behind her ears and wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. And where was Lazarus? She pictured him all alone, coursing through the mountainside without a thought to where he would sleep.

She sniffled. And what about the others in the hunting party? It was probably mid-afternoon by now; they would be returning from the trails with their catch. Would they already be questioning where she was? Would Lord Abram return to them, or would he flee as well? A shiver ran through as she pictured him. Here is her crossbow. I found it in the eastern clearing. Here is Lazarus. Where is the princess? She pictured him persuading them to trek back to Castle Valor. How would Edwain take the news? What would he do? Her heart beat fast as she thought of him. He would insist on looking for her. Would Lord Abram convince him to look again in the morning?

Dread suddenly arrested her. She wouldn't be there for Edwain to find. She was on her own in the forest.

Astara bolted to standing, nearly slipping in her alarm. How many hours of daylight did she have left—three, maybe four? She looked back toward the way she came, wishing Edwain would appear. Should she stay there, or keep moving?

She looked around at the vast expanse before her, trying to think. Was she completely confident that she remembered what direction she had come from? If she made her way back down the mountain, she may encounter one of the royals in the party.

She may encounter Edwain.

But she couldn't risk the one she encountered being Lord Abram.

What, then? The group would be leaving at some point, surely to return with reinforcements. But that wouldn't be until later, much later. Maybe the middle of the night at the earliest. Should she stay, then, or keep moving?

She looked at the sky, its waning daylight. Perhaps it would be of worth to scope out the rest of the slope. Surely there was a better place of shelter nearby, and she could leave a marker to come back to.

She rose and placed a large fallen branch against the boulder, then continued to follow the stream upwards to where it curved out of sight.

There was a faint path of rocks speckled across its narrowest part. If the path sloped upward, perhaps there were some sort of covered area she could take refuge in until she got her bearings. She stepped gently across the rocks in the stream and then made a leap to the other side.

She kneeled and took a long drink from the stream's cool banks, refilling her weakened stomach, then gave it a final farewell look, trying to remember its width and winding shape. If she could find it again, she could find the boulder and its tree branch. Then she could pick her way back down the mountain when she was ready. She decided to head directly up the mountain above it to where there seemed like a naturally open path between the trees. All she had to do to find it again was head directly back down.

The light that filtered through the trees took on a blueish tint as she continued to climb. Late afternoon had settled in. Astara tried to think. The stream would provide water for the night as long as she didn't stray too far. And as far as food went, she was far too anxious to have any sort of appetite. But what about the next day? She hadn't yet noticed anything that looked edible. She would search in the morning, perhaps, leaving trail markers to lead her back to the stream and the boulder.

For now, what she really wanted to find before dark was a clearing, or somewhere she could duck into to stay warm. She shivered at the touch of the cool mountain air on her skin and wondered how far the temperature would drop once night fell.

The trek became steeper at every bend. Loose branches and leaves scuttered downwards as she staked her boots in the rocky earth for what felt like the better part of an hour. I must be quite high up by now, she thought, pulling at tree branches and knotted roots as she made her way upward. Although there were taller slopes in the Callis Mountains she'd never been at this elevation before. Despite the panic of the day, she marveled at herself. Perhaps she was the first princess to ever wander solo here.

Perhaps she would also be the first to starve to death in the woods.

Maybe they would write songs about her. Maybe she would haunt this slope.

And I was to rule, she thought. Although…was she?

As she climbed, she thought of her conversation with her father, and the last several months. It didn't make sense that the Council had yet to discuss her transition to Queen with her, especially as her father's illness worsened. She paused for a moment to catch her breath. Was the Council a part of this…this coup?

She quickly pushed the thought away, not knowing what to make of it. But a flash of anger burned through her so that she stomped into the ground as she climbed.

Toward late afternoon when the color of the sun turned gold and then began to fade, there was a break in the ascent; a flatter path than the one she had been on that ran far inward and twisted out of sight above. Astara was hesitant to veer too far from straight above the stream, but after deliberating she fetched a handful of small pebbles from the rocky sidelines and pushed them into the path, so that they formed a line across from left to right. She would go far enough to see where this new path led and then come right back.

As she walked it, she hit something in the dimming blue-dark and stumbled forward, her hands catching onto a sharp boulder or stick before her. "Blast!" she cried, wincing at the sting upon her hands as she looked around. She was surrounded by piles and piles of rocks. She inspected the small bloody scrapes on her hand, then cursed and pulled herself up.

The clustering rocks continued to her right with a small opening for walking in the middle of them—yet another pathway of sorts twisting out of sight behind a mass of brambles. Astara narrowed her eyes, trying to see how far away the pathway led, but it ventured into blackness. Cautiously, she decided to walk it, wondering if this meant there was a clearing close. If so, in the morning she would climb the path back down the mountainside to the stream and come up with a plan.

The day had been gray and cloudy, but as nightfall approached the sky had opened and she could see the stars emerge between the gaps in the canopy. She even spotted a bright wedge of moonlight, its light speckling the rocks before her. The way they were piled seemed very deliberate, and Astara began to feel a twinge of relief. The path had been trodden before.

Abruptly, however, the path stopped in front of a thick line of trees and Astara nearly stumbled against them, cursing again. By now the night had fully arrived, and she couldn't see anything before this impenetrable new patch of forest. She went back and forth before it, searching for more rocks, but they all converged at the one spot she stood before.

Her heart sank. It wasn't a path after all. It was nothing.

She turned back toward the way she came and sat down on top of the last cluster of rocks, ready to scream. Besides the dead end, it was quite cold now. She shivered angrily as she considered her options.

Behind her was the tree line, dense with more and more forest in the darkness. In front of her was the descending path back to the stream. To her left was more forest and to her right was another sketchy smattering of trees, where a partial slope began. Fuming, she rose and walked toward the new slope, preparing to curse into the mountainside. But when she passed the line of trees, there was a small gap, and that's when she saw the meadow. And across the meadow there was a house.

Astara stared at it.

Then she was dashing toward it.

Moonlight shone across its large, squarish frame. Was it a dream? The house was bigger than what she'd seen in the cities, where the dwellings were cramped and spiky or low with thatched roofs. It looked white in the moonlight, and there was a color on the door that could be green or red. Tendrils of ivy coiled around panes that framed lattice windows.

Excitement pulsed through her as she ran but she was also spooked at the sight—so unlikely it was, standing there solitary at the edge of the meadow. The meadow itself stretched far in all directions except directly behind the house, where there was the steepest-looking slope yet, jutting up toward a forest that stood tall and spindly against the hunter's moon.

Astara didn't stop running until she had nearly collided with the house, the ripped silk of her hem settling around her as she caught her breath. She touched its sleek painted wood and felt the smooth cascade of the ivy brush her palms as she looked around for its inhabitants. But there was no light within, and outside there was only the hooting of an owl in the distance and the wide sky above.

Mountain house, she thought, staring at its towering frame. Not decrepit, not abandoned. Who could live here?

She approached the front door and realized that its color was almost a blue-green in the moonlight, with a black iron knob. She slipped her hand around it and pushed, expecting it to be barred, but the door gave way. Astara stepped inside and held her breath.

The space seemed wide and open but empty, at least from where she stood on the threshold. She crossed her fingers and called hello, a tremor to her voice. But nothing stirred.

She stepped further inside, looking around for any light. She had never been bothered by the dark before, but now a creeping feeling started up her spine. What on earth could she have been thinking? This was someone's home. And yet…was it?

She decided to leave the door wide open so that there was a square of moonlight on the wooden floor, and an easy escape, should she need it. She wished she had a lantern. To her right she saw there was what appeared to be a living area with a fireplace and a few chairs. The fireplace had smoldering embers in it, and something that could be a heaped-up blanket next to it. There was a stairwell in front of her, and—she squinted—a little kitchen area to her left, with a plate of something left on the counter. Astara darted to it, the sight of food suddenly causing her stomach to growl.

Upon inspection, she saw that it was a piece of bread. She lifted it and looked for crawlies, but already its fresh smell filled her and then she was eating it, biting in great portions, never so starved or grateful in her life. The bread tasted like honey and goldenrods and the mountain itself. Only when she was picking off the crumbs from her mouth did she realize her indecency. Whoever lived here would come back and see that it was missing. She blushed, then spotted the bucket of water by the counter.

Astara found a mug in an open cupboard and dunked it into the water, letting its cold pour down her throat before she fetched another serving and another. She wanted to dump it on top of her, remembering the sweet promise of the stream down below.

When she was finally satiated, she sat on the floor against the cupboards, feeling the food in her stomach and looking around at the shadows on the wall. Soon her eyes focused back on the twinkling lights of the fireplace across the room, its lazy red hues stirring a warmth within her. She crawled toward it, deciding she would warm herself before heading back down the path. As she sat down near it, she saw the blanket again and stroked it, feeling its soft coils against her fingertips. Sheep's wool, perhaps. She covered herself inside it and stoked the embers with a nearby poker. Then she lay down and fell fast asleep.

Lenore clutched her hand to her heart and faltered in her steps, so that the chaplain and one of the huntsmen, Lord Adair, darted to catch her fall. The castle guards rushed to her, shooing the men away as they ushered her gently to a gilded chair in the sitting room. "Astara," she said over and over. But she was thinking of Lord Abram. He had not returned with the others, and she burned to ask the chaplain where he was. He was supposed to return to her with the box.

"I know this news is most upsetting, Your Highness," Lord Adair said, kneeling before her. "I assure you we looked high and low. But we'll return at first light of day and not stop until she's found, by my honor."

Lenore sniffled and caught her breath in her throat. Tears trickled down her cheek in the shadow of the lanterns. "And was there...was there any trace of the princess at all?"

"We found her crossbow on the ground," The chaplain said. "Her horse was nearby as well. We brought him back."

There had been a struggle, at least. But Lenore felt a sense of foreboding. She wanted to consult the mirror again to see if the deed had been carried out, thought it had been evasive all day. Quickly she stood, dropping the veneer of frailty. "Where are the others in the party?" she said. "I want to question each and every person on the Hunt." Lord Abram, do not fail me.

They looked at her in fear, then quickly averted their eyes. "Certainly, your Grace," the chaplain said. "Most are gathered in the Solar, but we are still awaiting Sir Edwain and Lord Abram's return. Sir Edwain could not be convinced to pause in the search, and his cousin stayed with him for support. The boy is quite distraught."

"Of course he is," Lenore said sharply. She knew that Edwain was Astara's beau. If Lord Abram failed, she would make Edwain pay. "Very well. We will await their return before I tell the King. I also demand to speak with each and every member of the hunting party." She looked at the nearby guards and clapped her hands. "End the Homecoming Feast. Close the Great Hall. Send everyone away that wasn't on the Hunt. There's urgent business to attend to."

The guards marched loudly away, their faces grim and pale. The return of the Hunt among the biggest feasting nights of the year. Shutting it down without disclosing the reason would surely circulate word of a scandal through the court.

Lenore looked back at the chaplain and Lord Adair and felt lightning in her heart. "If they don't return with the princess, you will organize a search party every single day until she is back." But Lord Abram must be the one to find her, she thought.

They rushed to bow their heads in assent. But Lenore was already thinking of the mirror. She would use it to divine his location if he failed to return by morning. A curse upon your clan, Lord Abram, if you cross me.

Lenore took a deep breath and looked at herself in the mirror, wondering how long she could hold out on telling Varus before he found out. He was in a deep sleep now, but at first light he would demand to see Astara. She stroked a finger over her cheek. She would tell him at once in the morning, and guile him with senses and herbs.

As she waited for the mirror to come alive, her thoughts shifted to Lord Abram. He had long been in love with Lenore, and it was easy to let him court her. He was the black sheep of his family, a man who took bribes in the ports and played dangerous games with their wealth for more than they knew. In other words, he was the perfect sort of person to go along with whatever she wanted. He had agreed to do her bidding with only the slightest push.

But a man like that is always weak.

The smoke of verbena and frog's blood streamed from a pot of incense before her, clouding the room in smoke as the clouds formed in the glass.

"Where is she," she whispered, barely able to hear herself.

The mirror smoked and crackled. She used to be frightened of it, but now it had become a dark draw, like the embers of a forest fire.

An image of Astara came over the mirror, see-through, ephemeral, laden with stars. She was sleeping in a cocoon. Lenore peered closer. She was healthy and breathing, her heart pumping blood through its chords, her lungs filling in and out with air.

Lenore was crunching her tongue. Her lips tasted blood. Nightmares were not enough for Lord Abram. She would cut his heart out herself.

"She is reign," the mirror said in its many tongues. It had said so many times before. "As long as she lives."

"And she is not in danger? No peril? She will not starve?" Her voice sounded like sand inside her throat.

The mirror flickered, the stirrings of a storm. It would seldom answer outright. Lenore pressed up against it, her jewels scraping the glass and catching light in its dark reflection.

"She is safer the farther away she is from you," it said. "As long as she lives."