The sunlight was warm on my skin. I felt sweaty and feverish, like I'd been unwell for some time. I lifted my arms. They felt heavy and weak, but the skin was unmarked. Unscarred. I looked up. The sky was clear and the tops of the trees danced lazily in the breeze. I looked around the clearing and frowned. Someone had moved me. I didn't recognise any of my surroundings.
I tried to stand up, but groaned with the effort. I was weak. So weak. My stomach felt like a lead weight inside of me and my legs were stick thin. I felt like a new born fawn, taking it's first steps. I wracked my brains trying to think what could have happened. All I could remember was the terrible dream I had had. The anger that had boiled inside of me. The hatred that had driven me to lash out. The despair. I shuddered at the memory. I had felt so lost in that black pit. The only thing that had drawn me out had been pain. A different sort of pain. Clean. On my neck. Like the cauterising of a cut or the lancing of a boil.
I felt at my throat with my hand. There was a dull throb where my hand touched my flesh. So I hadn't imagined that at least. And where was May? There was a kind of rude structure around me, built of deadwood, leaves and moss. She must have carried me here and made it herself to keep the cold out. I wondered where she had got the strength to do so.
I tried to take a turn about the clearing, just to get my bearings, but my legs gave out before I could get very far. I felt so weak. My head was spinning with dizziness. I lifted my filthy dress and stared at my body. I felt violated. I looked like a corpse. My skin was waxy and covered in dried grime and old sweat. There was no flesh at all. The skin was stretched tight along the bones, which stuck out at hard angles. This wasn't what horrified me, however. The smell coming off me was worse than simply the unwashed stink of dirt and grime. It was the stench of decay. Of something that had died. A horrible thought struck me. Had I died? Was that why May had left me here? Had I died and what I had thought was a shelter was actually a tomb that May had built to cover me? I felt a wave of despair. The darkness I had felt in my dream came flooding back and I cried out. No tears ran down my cheeks. I was too desiccated for that. I felt so lonely and lost.
Suddenly, there was a rustling in the trees above me. I startled, drawing my knees into my chest. I found myself staring into a pair of big, tired eyes. The panther looked as frightened as I was.
"May…?" I said tentatively. She looked almost as bad as I did. Her coat was matted with dirt and dried blood and her eyes were predatory. There seemed to be very little of the fae in them. I was looking into the eyes of a cornered animal.
Clumsily, she leapt to the ground. She was holding her foreleg sparingly. It seemed to be twisted, barely set straight by a complex knot of vines sporting green flowers. There was a leaking wound on her neck. A bitemark that seemed to be festering. She began circling slowly around me, her fangs bared and her eyes wary.
"May, what happened to you?" My voice was cracked and hoarse.
The panther stopped and I could see a flicker of reproach and doubt in her eyes. She sniffed the air and approached me, her tail flat. As she did so, I saw the two deep puncture marks in her festering wound. Fang marks. She had been bitten. But not by any animal.
"Oh, Gods, did I do that to you May? I'm so sorry." I stretched out a hand towards her, trembling with hunger. The panther snorted and stretched out her neck, pressing her muzzle into my hand. Slowly, I ran my hand down her face, stroking her whiskers. She began chuffing, rubbing her face against me. With her leg injured, she probably hadn't been able to hunt properly. I wondered when she had last eaten.
"Maybe running away was a bad idea," I murmured to her. The panther growled slightly in reply. I wondered why she hadn't changed back yet. "I don't suppose you know where we could get some food?"
The panther snorted again and nudged my legs. Trembling with the effort, I managed to stand. In spite of her bad leg, May supported me, keeping me upright. I found myself leaning against her neck, as she led me into the woods. Each step took an enormous effort, but May was careful to stop me falling, pausing now and then to let me rest for a moment. Here and there, wood anemones and wild garlic poked out of the leaf litter. I grabbed a handful of garlic shoots as we walked, sucking on their tangy moisture. It did little to quench my thirst, but I felt a little stronger. May led me between the clumps of shaded ferns scattered under the lofty oaks, until we found a large bramble thicket. The brambles were burgeoning with blackberries.
With a groan, I dropped to my knees and began plucking blackberries off the bushes, not caring when my fingers were pricked by the spiky thorns. It wasn't long before my hands and mouth were stained black and red with the juices. Meanwhile, May began digging in the dirt and leaf litter, her efforts made clumsy by her broken leg. Once I felt able to stand again, I began to help her, plucking up earthworms and beetles for her to eat. In spite of myself, I began to laugh, hoarsely.
"A meal fit for a princess?"
May shot me an unamused look and carried on munching loudly, causing me to chuckle.
"I don't think the ladies of the court would be very impressed with me either," I said, gesturing to my filthy apparel, a thoroughly ruined night dress. It barely even resembled clothing anymore, more a heap of rags that even a beggar would be ashamed of. May began chuffing again, and I smiled at her. It all seemed so trivial now. A waste of time.
It shocked me a little to realise that I felt more alive out here with May, nearly dead from starvation, than I ever had in the castle. That didn't mean we had to stay in the woods, though. Eating blackberries and bugs was all very well, but it was clear that we weren't doing very well. With May injured, and me still too weak, we couldn't hunt or build shelter. It would only take a small chill to finish us off.
Another thought occurred to me as well. We should have been found by now. Every other time May had run off, she had always been dragged back within a day or so. I remembered seeing the falcon down by the lake. Even in the dense trees, it shouldn't have been too hard for a fae to spot us from the air. There were also hounds and wolves that the Queen could have used to track us down. No one had come after us. Even if May and the Queen didn't see eye to eye, she would never have left her daughter out here to die, would she?
May half-heartedly tapped the mound of dirt for more worms with her snout, before turning to look at me. I couldn't imagine she had had much of a meal.
"We should probably move on. Look around and see if we can find a hunter's cabin or something. Something to set your arm properly. Actual food."
May nodded her head and lifted her head to the nearest tree. She made to pounce up, but her bad leg seemed to be too painful. I patted her back.
"Don't worry, I'll do it."
I put my foot on the lowest branch and slowly lifted myself into the tree. Even that small effort seemed to tire me out. With and effort, I swung myself up to the next branch, using my momentum to swing to the next. It took a while, but finally my head burst through the canopy. The sun was beginning to set, casting its shadow over the forest. The sunlight felt good on my skin, like it was chasing away the badness, though I could feel a cold rising. In the distance, I could see roiling black clouds, headed towards us. Between the sunset and the oncoming storm, I could see a small smudge of grey. A trickle of smoke rising from the trees.
Going down the tree was easier than climbing, but I still felt exhausted by the time my feet got to the ground.
"We need to head that way," I told May, pointing to the West. "I couldn't see what it was, but someone's lit a fire over there."
May gave a quizzical growl.
"I don't know. It could be anyone. Still, anything's better than just sitting around." I grabbed her back and helped her up. I was shocked at how hot her flesh was. She seemed to be burning up inside. I looked at the flesh around the bite. It was red and puckered. It didn't look good. I felt a sinking in my stomach. I did this to her. I hurt my friend. And even after I had hurt her, she was still taking care of me.
"Come on," I said gently, and, weak as I was, let her lean against me, as I led her towards the sunset.
The passage was dark and stuffy, causing Mab's eyes to water. The dust seemed to upset her a lot, just like the stables. She trudged forward anyway, ignoring the urge to sneeze. She was an explorer. Explorers didn't worry about sneezing. Explorers were brave and fierce. They didn't worry about the dark either. Especially not this explorer.
Mab looked around the tight space. In the grey half-light, the shadows seemed to swallow up the corners and the choking dust swirled in threatening eddied. She half imagined fangs chomping and eyes gleaming in the dark. Well, maybe she was a little afraid.
She rubbed her palms together, the movement stiff and clumsy. Where her skin touched together, a small spark began to burn, chasing the shadows back slightly. Feeling a bit braver. She shunted forward again, carelessly scuffing her expensive clothes upon the hard stone.
As her small hands and knees brushed aside the accumulated dust and dirt, she admired the faded colourful swirly patterns in the stonework that her small ember, now floating along just in front of her nose, brought out. She wondered why they were there. Surely such colourful patterns would be must nicer in the drab, grey temple far below her. It would be much more interesting to go to the temple if she could look at such colourful patterns, instead of being forced to listen to the priest drone on about stories that Mora told much better.
Mab wondered where her sister was. She hadn't seen her in ages. It felt like so long since Mora had come to tell her bedtime stories. Something had happened to her. No one had told Mab, but she had understood. All the servants and guards were talking in hushed whispers now. They had kept moving Mab into different rooms and keeping her there. They all seemed to be afraid of something. The only person she had seen, other than her maids, had been her mother; who had only briefly looked in, and left without a word. Even Lille, her favourite maid, had barely said a word to Mab. She had seemed distracted. She said she was too busy, but never seemed to be doing anything. Mab wished Mora was with her now. Mora would have been impressed that she had managed to get her spark to float all by itself.
It all seemed so quiet now. Mab had cried herself silly at first. Everyone seemed to be leaving her. First May, then Mora, and now her mother. Lille had made sure she dressed herself, and turned up to breakfast, luncheon and dinner, but Mab had been bored. Bored and lonely. Eventually, she had decided to explore her new bedroom out of sheer desperation. It was much smaller than her other bedroom. Barely two rooms. She thought wistfully of her first bedroom, back in the Palace at Doranelle. Back before they had had to move here. That had been a proper bedroom, with her own parlour, nursery and bathing room. She had liked that best. Sometimes, she had spent hours swimming in the baths. May had said Mab could swim before she could walk. Mab couldn't remember learning to swim. She couldn't remember learning to walk either. Besides, May was so much older, so she supposed it must be true.
Mab brushed some dirt off a metal grille, admiring the swirling turquoise blue that it gave off in the spark-light.
There hadn't been much to explore in the bedroom. Once you got over the smelly garderobe in the bathing room (little more than a closet, in comparison to her proper bathing room), and the basic bed and furniture, you were pretty much done. Out of desperation, she had decided to make a fort under the bed, (stealing extra pillows from Lille's room, whilst she was out). That had been fun for an hour or two. She had imagined herself to be a common thief, carrying out a dangerous mission. Or perhaps a spy, working for Blackthorn, like her mother kept shouting about. Mab had cut up her clothes a bit with her sewing scissors, so she looked the part; even going so far as to smudge some cinders from the fire about her face, to make herself look more common, and to hide better in the shadows.
She had regretted that part. She had been sneezing under the bed for ages. So, if she had been one of Blackthorn's spies, Lille would have found her for sure. If Lille had actually bothered coming in in the first place. Mab was glad she hadn't. Mab would never have found the secret passage otherwise.
She had heard Derion, the pot boy, talk about secret passages before. Apparently, there was a short cut to the kitchens behind the tapestry of fruit-eating nymphs on. Nym, Mab's lady-in-waiting, had never let her go looking for them, however. She had said it wasn't lady-like for a princess to go clambering around passages and tunnels, like a chimney sweep.
Mab grinned, rubbing the grime and dust around her sweaty face. She didn't feel like a princess right now. She was a secret explorer and a spy. She was going to find out wherever Mora had gone. Mora was clever. She would know how to fix everything. Then they could all go back to Doranelle, and go back to living in the Palace. Maybe that was why May kept running away, thought Mab. She was just trying to get home.
Harsh voices sounded through the metal grill, startling Mab, the floating ember winking out. The shadows leapt forward at Mab, and she gave a small squeak of terror, as the passageway returned to the gloomy half-light. Petrified of discovery, she placed a grimy, shaking hand over her mouth, and drew her knees against her chest.
A commanding male voice bounced up from the temple far below the grill, the vaulted ceiling amplifying the voice, making it seem as if the speaker were in the passageway with Mab, as opposed to hundreds of meters away.
"I can very well see that, Captain Trielle. But, what you don't seem to realise is, that politics means little now. High Chancellor Blackthorn, or Queen Cassandra. I don't care who sits upon the throne. There is a bigger peril than petty squabbles. Things are happening here at Mistwatch. Things I have seen before. I visited the Stygian Crypts. The West is under attack and soon Doranelle will be too. You must listen."
The calm and measured voice of the Captain of the Guard echoed softly in reply.
"I understand, Ambassador. Perhaps more than you realise, I do. But the Queen will be no help to you. No more than Chancellor Blackthorn. For them, their feud is not petty. It is a matter of life and death. Doranelle stands on a knife edge. Really, you could not have come at a worse time."
"Politics, Captain. This is mere politics. It will matter not one jot, if there is no city left standing. Cloud Pine Forest burns. Do you understand? My homeland burns to ash, and the shadows close in around us. That is what is at stake here."
"That is a Crochan matter. It will not sway the People's Government, let alone the Queen. Besides, her voice matters even less than yours in our democracy, Ambassador; especially since she was deposed."
Mab froze, when the captain mentioned the Crochan. The commanding voice must be the voice of the Crochan Ambassador, a witch from across the sea. Mab had never met a witch before, but in all of Lille's stories about them, they were the worst of the worst. Monsters who ate children and performed horrible magicks, that created monsters and stole away princesses. Some even said that witches had lived in Mistwatch long ago, before it was taken by the fae.
Though she had never spoken to him, Mab had seen the Crochan Ambassador at his reception. He was a fearsome looking man, robed in a blood red cape. Derion told her later that it was the blood of little girls he had eaten. His eyes were amber, like an owl, and always watching, darting from one face to another. She had quailed when they had looked at her. She had trembled a little, and hid in her mother's shadow, her underwear dampening. Derion had made fun of Mab for that, until May had thumped him.
Mab had only seen him once since then. She didn't know where he was staying in the castle, but her mother had refused to see him on multiple occasions, for which Mab had been grateful. As he spoke, Mab could imagine those piercing amber eyes searching the temple below. Watching. Waiting, like a bird of prey. Waiting to catch a princess, and drink her blood dry, like they did in the scariest stories. The ones that Derion wouldn't talk about.
Mab put her thumb in her mouth, its soft warmth comforting her, as she hardly dared to move. The Ambassador's voice stretched to a hiss.
"This is not just a matter for Erilea, Captain. My sister, the Witch Queen, has scattered the bones. Something skitters in the dark. Hidden behind the shadow. Something that started here, on this very spot."
"Careful, Ambassador. Your words are perilously close to blasphemy."
The Ambassador barked a dark laugh, setting Mab's knees trembling.
"Blasphemy? It is the truth. The truth that you fae have all forgotten. Black Blood was spilt here. This ground is tainted."
The captain's voice rose, for the first time. Mab could hear anger, and more than a little fear.
"You go too far!"
The Ambassador's voice stretched to a hiss, like a snake waiting to strike.
"I don't go far enough. The ghosts of your people's sin walk these walls, Captain. Or don't you hear them cry out in the dark?"
Mab felt a tingle down her spine at the Ambassador's words. She looked out into the shadows around her. They didn't seem as far away as before. Something about them seemed to swirl and reform. Mab imagined she could see eyes, glinting in the grey void.
"Enough, witch. The Gate is closed. It will always be closed."
The shadows swirled and the light of the eyes seemed to grow around Mab. She curled tightly into a ball, struggling to breath, the dust causing thin streaks of tears down her dirty cheeks.
"Closed, yes. But not locked. It needs to be locked, Captain. I need her blood. It must be – "
The Ambassador's harsh voice broke off.
"Wait, what's that?"
The air seemed thick. Too thick to breath. Mab's throat seemed to close up. She was petrified. The shadows swallowed her whole. The lights seemed to dance around her face, mocking her. Dully, as her eyes turned over to grey, she heard a faint voice calling from the temple below.
"Fire!"