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Chapter 19: Dryad
Clarese was not a simple dryad.
As bells rang through the night while armored feet and paws clattered through Cair Paravel, she melted into the shadows by a cart of hay. The smell was cloying and made her heartache for the fields of her home. Her fingers spread through the golden grasses so she could better see the soldiers frantically searching the streets.
She'd heard a few rumors, whispers of discontent. Even in the newly found peace dissent could always be found if one searched in the right places at the right times. Why, the palace had been flooded with a dozen dignitaries in the past week, all of them squabbling for power before the blush of the summer heat made travel unbearable for their delicate constitutions.
Clarese thought it was positively disgusting. Winter's chill sent her deep into the burrows of an oak down by a grassy knoll. She had slept too long during the White Witch's reign. No, she would dance in the height of the sun's ray and feel the glow along her skin. She would revel in the warm, sticky rays while they could be had.
A shuffle echoed behind her. A shimmer of gold and red was all she saw before suddenly she was pulled to the center of a street, flickering with torch light.
"What is your business in this area?" A dark-haired centaur with a deeply furrowed brow stared down at her.
"I-I was returning home."
A faun rushed forward, saying breathlessly, "General Oreius."
"Caden, what news do you have?" The centaur seemed frustrate and the knuckles gripping his broadsword were pale.
"The king has asked for you, sir."
He blew out a breath and a hoof scraped against the cobblestones. "Very well. I shall return at once." He glanced at Clarese. "Bring her as well. The king will have questions."
She was quickly bundled up the hill after the centaur called Oreius. They passed through the gates to the palace and approached the main doors. The courtyard was prickling with sentries and guards. She'd passed through these doors often enough and never had she seen such a military presence, not even during the war games over a fortnight ago.
Her earlier sense of unease grew to a hard pit at the base of her stomach.
Without even a pause, she was pulled through a long series of narrow hallways to what appeared to be a study of some kind. Her breath was coming quickly and her upper arms were sore where their hands had held her. Nevertheless, she glanced about the room.
The windows were high and thickly paned, overlooking the sea. Brocaded curtains had been drawn but hastily so a space of glass and moonlit waves could still be seen.
Around her, there was an arrangement of chairs and desks piled high with parchment and thick books. Only a few grave-faced people stood in the room, people Clarese recognized.
The first she saw was the King Edmund. He stood facing the fireplace, a dark expression on his features as he gazed deeply into the flames. He turned as they entered.
"General, thank you for coming." His voice was strained.
"As you requested," the general bowed. He regarded another figure in the room. "My queen."
Although she acknowledged his greeting, Queen Susan's arms were crossed tightly across her body and her gaze was pinched with worry, focused on the corner of the room.
It was then that the situation began to clarify.
Two figures, one a greying faun and the other a young centaur struggling with a dish of reddened water and a pile of cloths, huddled over a chair. A pair of polished boots could be seen through the bustling limbs.
Her view was so nearly obstructed that it was difficult to tell but she could smell the tang of blood and herbs and hear the stifled sounds of a person in pain. A deeply stained cloth fell to the floor with a wet smack and Clarese felt herself flinch.
The young centaur reached to collect the cloth and met her eyes for a moment.
Clarese found she could not hold it steadily. The situation was dire. That much was certain.
"He should be in his rooms, resting." The Queen's voice was disapproving.
King Edmund shook his head. "No. We are safest here until we ascertain the situation. Rinklerhim and Nysha can tend to him here." He glanced to the General. "What have you found, Oreius?"
"My lord, we found this dryad in the lower town. She was alone. I thought it best to bring her here to question."
King Edmund strode towards Clarese, clasping his hands behind his back. "You seem familiar. Have we met before?"
"Yes, my lord. I come often to the palace."
"What brings you to the area this night?"
"I-I was visiting a friend."
"What friend?" The general's tone was far less kind.
Clarese shrank back.
The King held out a placating hand, eyes powerfully earnest. "Do you know anything of my sister, Queen Lucy? Her whereabouts? Anything?"
"I-I know nothing, my lord. I was only visiting a friend…only visiting."
"You've said as much." King Edmund's shoulders bowed and he glanced to the bustling corner. "Let me make things plain." He began again at her silence. "My brother has been attacked, a crossbow bolt to the shoulder. They had aimed for my sister, the Queen Susan." His voice became dangerously low. "I will find those responsible. If you are innocent, you are free to depart unharmed. If you are aiding or harboring those responsible for harming those I love, then Aslan give you mercy in what measure you deserve."
Clarese felt her throat close. "I was only visiting a friend…only a friend."
"Ed…" a weak voice cut through the taut silence.
The faun and the centaur stepped back and a pale High King Peter pushed himself up a few inches from the chair he sat in. His shoulder was packed with pungent greens but still oozed blood. His brow was tight and glistened with sweat, his golden hair dark with it.
Queen Susan would not let him speak. "Peter, you should let them finish. Your shoulder-"
"Will keep a moment longer." His glassy eyes focused on Clarese and then she spoke, "Ed, she's not who we're after."
"She's protecting someone."
"But not whoever tried to take a shot at Su." At his brother's hesitation, King Peter continued. "Look, she's terrified."
"Because the High King is bleeding out in front of her."
King Peter huffed weakly. "Bleeding out, that's preposterous." He pushed himself off the chair and managed to get his feet under him before he blanched. Hands caught him and gently guided him back to the chair.
"My lord, you should consider staying off your feet for the next few days." The greying faun cautioned quietly.
"Perhaps you're correct. Feeling a bit ill, I think."
Clarese thought this admission would have abated some of King Edmund's concern but his dark expression turned with such a worry Clarese had never seen before.
As the physician fussed with a teapot and an arrangement of dried leaves, the door burst open and in ran Lucy.
"Peter! I've just heard what happened! Are you alright?"
Queen Susan stepped in and caught her sister only steps away from High King Peter. "Let them work."
Though she didn't more closer, she continued, "But you've been hurt! Are you well? Is he well?"
"Give them space." Queen Susan's voice was soft and close to Lucy's ear.
King Edmund took a different approach. "Lucy, where have you been all afternoon? We've looked for you everywhere."
"Just…around."
"Lucy…"
Her lower lip trembled and her gaze dropped. "I went to see the dryads. But nothing happened! I was perfectly safe!"
"Lucy! You aren't to go without telling us!"
"It was only a few hours and the guards scare them away when they come with me. I didn't know what had happened to Peter…" Lucy caught sight of Clarese. "Clarese! What are you doing here!"
She opened her mouth to speak and was cut off.
"We found her in the lower towns, hiding from our patrols," Oreius offered.
"Well, of course, she was. You are all rather loud to a nyad." Lucy ran forward and caught up Clarese's hand in her own. "She was fetching more ribbon at my request."
"Why wouldn't she say so?"
Lucy blew out a breath. "Because I asked her not to tell anyone. I wanted to see the dances at night and I knew you wouldn't let me."
The room seemed to sag with relief.
King Edmund regarded her wearily. "Is this true, Clarese?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Oreius, escort her to the gate and let her return to her people with our apologies."
And just like that Clarese was bundled back out of the palace.
As the lights of Cair Paravel faded and the silvery glow of the dances grew before her, Clarese thought again how she was not like most dryads. While other tree spirits were fickle, playful, and mischievous, Clarese was loyal.
And look what it got her.
Without further thought, she threw herself into a line of dancing faeries and let the laughter and music carry her far away from Kings, Queens, guards, and ribbons.