I resurrect another one.
"I have to go to that ball."
Christine's words hung in the air, sparking with nearly as much electricity as the lightning outside. The words I wanted to say were hidden even from my awareness and caught in my throat. Whatever they were, I couldn't say them.
But she didn't notice my silence. She was the elf-girl once more, wild, captured only by the attentions of a prince. "I've never felt like this before, Fawn. This began as a game. A simple, silly game! I was bored and lonely—not that I don't like having you around." She sighed deeply, eyes closed against the rain, and opened the door of the cottage.
The place smelled of dust, pine, and rotting plants—not a bad smell, all things considered. It was dark, near black, so I fashioned a magic light. The cottage consisted of a single room, empty save for a table and three accompanying chairs. Dust and cobwebs lay thick everywhere.
"He knows this place?" I muttered.
Christine sat in a chair without hesitation. "Men. They are never clean. Would it be awful to say I have the strongest urge to scrub this place down?"
I shrugged. "No, I would not consider it awful. This place is disgusting."
Yet no cleaning of any sort began. Christine's mind was elsewhere and watching her I realized I had never seen her so happy. The emotion suited her.
"Am I crazy?" she asked, half to me, half to herself. "He's so much older than I… and royalty. I don't think I'm quite a pauper. But it's the age that bothers me. Is that wrong?"
I had never seen a problem with ages. In Tamenrook it mattered very little. I found myself shaking my head. Approval. What was I doing?
"But he's handsome," continued her musing. "I always loved the idea of the Prince, but I never thought he'd be so handsome. Oh, but Fawn, it's not just that! He's everything! He's so smart. He's funny. He recognizes me. He knows who I am!" She traced a pattern through the table's dust. "No one has known who I am in so long. Listen to me. I must be mad."
I watched her, my heart pounding, and saw her for what she was: a frightened little bird locked up for far too long and desperate for any chance of freedom. Did she even care about Wyatt? Was he just some storybook dream to her? I forced away the realization. I was not here to judge her. That was not my job. She was my friend, had said so herself. I owed her that much. "Why do you want to go to the ball? It will just be some stuffy political thing." I was speaking from my own experiences, but I didn't care. No matter how much I had anticipated the engagement ball.
She shook her head. "I don't know. But I want to. That much I know. I… I want to see Prince Wyatt. I want to dance with him. It would be fun. A dream come true. I know that if I could just dance with him, one single dance, I could be happy if I never saw him again. No matter what they did to me, what they said to me, I would know that I danced with a prince who knew my name."
"She needs to go to the ball."
The voice was slight, barely above a whisper, but it came straight to my ears. Christine continued her tabletop dust art and I vaguely observed she was drawing the crude sketch of a figure in a dress. She did not notice the voice.
Bernard stood at the other end of the room, shielded with the darkness. He looked the same as he had the other night, the same cloak covering him, the same kind face. But he was not smiling.
"Princess Fawn," he said, eyes on me. "Please make sure she gets to that ball. She cannot hear me. I cannot help her. She is your task. Please make sure she goes."
I closed my eyes and nodded. Yes, he was right. Sending Christine to that infernal ball was what I had to do. I could feel as much. Was this why I was here? To send her to some ball so she could dance the night away with a prince? My prince?
"Thank-you," Bernard whispered, and he left. With his disappearance the most intangible thing happened. Something lifted from the cottage, something so subtle I had noticed it until it was gone. The air was clearer, freer. Something painful was no more.
"Fawn," said Christine, turning her eyes toward me.
I hesitated to respond. My heart was suddenly icy.
"Fawn?"
I breathed in and looked at her, smiling. I did care for her, I realized. In spite of these circumstances, I cared for her "Yes?"
"The courier said it was a coronation ball. Everyone is to attend." She shook her head. "I can tell you right away Melissa would never let me go. Never. And even if she would, I have absolutely nothing to wear. There are a few dresses of my mother's somewhere, but don't ask me where. Grace and Amelia would never loan me anything. I can't go in this."
I laughed, shaking off some of the ice from my heart. "No, you certainly can't. It's wet and muddy."
"And even clean I'd be a wreck. You make your own clothes. Could you do the same for me?"
"Well, I've never tried nor even thought about it, but, well, I don't see why I couldn't." Against my will my mind began to dress Christine in various outfits.
"Fawn, you are amazing. I'm glad you're here."
Then, before I even knew what was happening, she stood up and threw her arms around me. When was the last time I had been hugged? Ah, well. I squeezed her back.
"Where do you suppose he's gone?" Christine asked.
For one wild moment I thought she was referring to Bernard. But Wyatt. Of course Wyatt. "He said he'd be back for you."
"He had better. He can't very well leave me in a storm." She sat back down at her dusty chair. "I wonder if they've missed me yet at the house."
"Don't worry about them. Would you mind if I hunted Wyatt down for you?"
Her smile would have been plenty to light up the cabin. "Would you?"
I stepped out into the rain. The dust did nothing to me, but the rain was cleansing just the same. Now for my missions. Find Wyatt. Where out here would Wyatt need to go? I stepped out from the willows. Wyatt, I thought. Where are you? Then it occurred to me to follow Christine's lead and observe the ground. The grass was sparse, and with a little effort I could imagine the tracks of a horse leading over the hill. Christine was no longer on my mind. Wyatt.
But even he could not absorb all attention. There was still to deal with that feeling I had in the cottage after Bernard had left.
I could not be sure, but I suspected I had made a mistake. When I had first seen him the other night, I had assumed he was an angel.
He did not live. That much was clear. He could see me. But when? He was a wanderer, not content to stay in one realm of earth or the spirit world.
But there was darkness about him, pain. He was not quite like me.
He was not an angel.
The storm continued as I followed Wyatt's trail. It did not bother me. In fact, I liked the rush of the wind and water, the scream of the thunder and even the flash of the lightening. It was welcoming and familiar. Several times I simply stood, arms stretched out, taking in this creation. I would never understand those who despised storms so.
At last I spotted the horse, not even spooked, tethered to a post beneath a low lean-to which stood before a tiny chapel. The horse gazed placidly into the storm. The chapel bewildered me for a moment until I noticed the collection of cottages and farms half-visible through the trees. Even in life I had held a natural reverence for chapels and solemnly I entered.
The interior was small, but neat, thanks to the old caretaker who even as I entered was sweeping between the pews. Wyatt sat in one near the front. Invisible, I approached.
He was not praying or anything. His gaze was on his hands, where a tiny piece of jewelry flashed in and out of his toying fingers. Blue and green.
"The coronation is approaching," he said softly. "It should have been years ago. After the wedding. But you knew my father. Even then he would not have given over the crown easily."
If the caretaker heard him, he gave no sign. Perhaps he was used to leaving people in peace.
"I didn't come last month," he said apologetically. "I'm sorry for that, but I hope you understand how things are."
"You're busy," I whispered. "It's only to be expected."
"I was nearly stopped today," he continued. "By a young woman. I left her in an abandoned cottage I used to play in as a child. Horrible of me, but I played a joke on her and took her quite far from her home. She's very pretty. Not like you weren't." A smile snuck out from his mouth, and I observed again how well time wore on his face. I wanted so badly to kiss his cheek.
"Her name is Christine. She works for Lady Melissa. I don't know if you'd remember her. She ate with us that evening, she and her husband. I never cared for Lady Melissa, but Christine is a delight. I don't know if you would have liked her or not. But there is something about her… I don't know. Maybe I'm just attracted to life. She seems to breathe it all in. But I can't do anything, Fawn. Not yet. The story is still the same. Nothing. Nothing new from your family. Everything died with Gavin Grey."
Outside the thunder growled. Wyatt sighed and placed my engagement ring back in his pocket. "I miss you."
The ride back to the cottage betrayed nothing of his words in the chapel. I breezed along after him, suddenly quick as the wind. He was even smiling as he stopped at the cottage where Christine waited in the doorway.
"That wasn't long at all, Your Highness!" she said. "Where did you go?"
"The old chapel by the Creek village." Wyatt answered her question simply. What was next, the words he had spoken to me? He helped Christine onto the horse.
"There? That was your big secret?"
"It's special," he said, almost grumpily. "I suppose I really can't answer why, but you've heard the stories of my princess, I have no doubt. It was one of the places I always wanted to show her." The horse started off with an impatient trot. Outside the willows, the storm was finally fading.
"You wanted to show her an old church?"
"It's part of history. Before the one built in the city, it was the only one for miles. I just feel she would have liked it. It's silly, I know, but I like to go there."
"I meant no offense," said Christine, voice gentler. "I… I find the idea romantic."
"She was murdered," Wyatt said, as if no one knew the story. "I should let her go. I realize that. But no one knows who sent the man who killed her. It's almost an obsession of mine, an itch."
"What was the man's name?"
"Gavin Grey. A wandering assassin."
Christine was lost in thought for a moment. "I've heard that name. I think my father once mentioned him."
"When?" Wyatt's voice was demanding.
"Years ago. I'm trying to remember."
"What do you remember?"
Christine twisted as if he had struck her. "I was very little at the time. I'm so sorry. I just remember the name. I liked the sound of the Gs, but it was also the way he said it. Like a secret." She shrugged. "I'm sorry. I only remember my impression."
"It's all right," he replied. "I just…"
"I understand."
They road in silence the rest of the way. I barely recalled following them.
The house came into view, a tall and threatening structure against the grey sky. I stood not far off, watching.
Bernard stood at the building's corner. He did not seem to notice me. His attention was on Christine.
"Come to the ball," Wyatt said. It was almost a royal command.
Christine nodded.
I marched past them to Bernard, who finally became aware of me. "Who are you?" I demanded. "What do you want from Christine?"
The kind face smiled at me, but could I trust it? "I want her happiness. She deserves that much. But that is your duty."
"I know." I glanced at Christine and Wyatt, who had resumed their conversation. "And what is your duty? Who are you?"
"My duty?" He now frowned, a perfect reverse of emotion. Sadness filled his face. "My duty, Princess, is you."
"Who are you?" I repeated. "What are you?"
"Less than you," he said. So much darkness resonated from him I couldn't believe I had thought him like me. "Much less than you." And with that, he faded from my sight.
I grasped at the air where he had been. Nothing.
Behind me, I heard Christine's voice, pure as crystal. "I never heard her name."
Then Wyatt's voice, empty. "Her name was Fawn."
