Once Upon a Romance 03 - With True Love's Kiss (8 page)

“When he
killed Thomas?”

“Yes, he
killed Thomas. But what really destroyed me was what he said. When I realized
if I had left him alone, Thomas would still be alive. When I knew that his
death was my fault.”

***

Robin was
silent a long while. The air in the cave grew chill, despite the fire’s warmth,
and neither of them stirred. At last, when the light beyond the waterfall had
faded, and night was upon them, Robin spoke.

“Among my
people, we have a mad queen. She has decreed that every child born must join
her on a wild hunt, before they attain their majority.”

“What’s a
wild hunt?”

“It is a
midnight ride across the land, where we chase the hind and show no mercy. It is
a thing of beauty, but it is also savage, and harsh, and cruel. It teaches each
of us about our innermost selves, but it does so by ripping away all our comforting
half-truths, and for each of us that comes through stronger and wiser, there
are an equal number that come out broken, or not at all.”

“That sounds
terrible.”

“It is. And
fearsome, and breath-taking, and wondrous. And, as you could imagine, there are
those that beg to participate, and those that beg for some reprieve. But never,
in all my years, have I heard any of them claim fault for what our queen, in
her madness, forces upon us all.”

“I was never
forced to flee with Thomas.”

“Were you
not? To choose between love, or a life of misery? That is no choice at all.”

Bianca
ignored him, and asked a question of her own. “What was your choice? Does the
queen kill those that refuse to hunt?”

“Kill? No.
But Mab rules the mists. And if we do not hunt she casts us out, never to
return. To die would be one thing, but to fade away into one of the evil things
that walk the outer ways—” He broke off. Bianca’s jaw had dropped open at the
mention of Mab, and hung there lax. “What?”

“Mab?” She
was barely whispering. “Queen Mab?”

“Yes; what
of it?”

“Mab is a
fairy tale! Queen of the mists and all the Fae that dwell therein…” She
trailed off, and looked at him, eyes wide.

Robin
smiled. He leaned closer. “Is it really so hard to believe?”

“That you’re
a pixie?!”

His smile
spread. “I am one of the Fae. Pixies are of the mist, but are quite different
from us. For one thing, they have wings. For another,” he raised one eyebrow, “they
wear very few clothes.”

“You are
making this up.” Her jaw took on a stubborn cast, which only increased his
mirth.

“I swear to
you, I am not.”

“Well I don’t
believe you.”

Robin rolled
his eyes at her. “What fools you mortals be.”

Robin
snapped awake at the first soft touch on his shoulder. Bianca was leaning over
him, her eyes dark with worry.

“We need to
go find birch and honey, if we can.”

Robin looked
at Isabelle. Her face was flushed with fever, but a sick, pallid grey around the
edges, and her breathing was rapid, and shallow.

“Should you
not stay, and tend her?”

Bianca was
shaking her head before he’d finished speaking. “There’s nothing more I can do;
I need the birch bark. The sooner we get it the sooner I can help her.”

He wasted no
more time in questions. Instead he snatched up Bianca’s empty herb satchel and
hastened to the mouth of the cave. Gesturing for Bianca to wait, he stepped
sideways, out from behind the concealing curtain of water.

The forest
was still, but not silent. Birds sang with a natural ease as they squabbled
over mates and territory, and the bushes were rustling with the lazy movement
of the ground animals. The forest creatures were at peace, going about their
lives.

He ducked
his head back in the cave, and held out his hand to Bianca.

“You may
come out; there is no one here but us.”

When Bianca
eased out, trying to keep her dress from becoming soaked in the water’s spray,
he held her hand, and helped her slip along the rock ledge to the edge of the
pool. Once they were safely sinking into the soft bankside, he drew her back
upstream, towards the more arid soil that lined the brook. After a short walk,
no more than a quarter of an hour, they came to a place where young birch trees
grew in dense clusters beside the stream.

Bianca lost
no time. She pulled her belt knife free and began stripping the outer bark of
the tree, casting it aside on the ground. Once she had cleared a sizeable patch
she began removing the young, inner bark in long strips and storing them
carefully in her satchel.

“Robin?” Her
voice was distracted as she worked. “Could you gather some of the leaves for
me?”

“Fresh, or
fallen?”

“Well, fresh
would be best, but…” She trailed off and looked over at him. Robin knew what
she was thinking. The birches were slender, but tall, and the lowest branches
were still well above their heads.

He smiled.

Then he took
a few quick running steps, and leapt forward. The birches bent out from one
another, and by planting his foot against the sloping side of one sapling he
could propel himself up and out, to find footing on another young tree. In that
way he gained almost twice his height, before finding a branch and pulling
himself up to sit serenely in the tree.

Bianca
looked at him with wide eyes, and he could barely contain his grin as he peered
down at her.

“Did I
mention, the Fae are quite agile?”

Bianca’s
eyes narrowed. “For all I know, you’ve been practicing that move since you were
a boy.”

“Oh, indeed.
I have spent years planning an elaborate ruse all so that I could trick you
into believing in fairies.”

She whipped
her head around, and continued ripping the inner bark from the tree, with
rather more vigor than she’d given the task previously.

Robin
harvested a fair number of the bright green new leaves, climbing higher and
higher in the tree, before Bianca looked back up.

“I’ve enough
bark, if you’re ready to go.”

He didn’t
answer. Instead he dropped from the branch on which he was perched. Bianca
gasped in alarm, but he caught himself on another limb after only a few feet.
Drop and catch, drop and catch, until—several lengths above the ground—he let
himself fall the rest of the way, to land lightly on his toes, inches away from
where she stood. He straightened from his crouch and gave her a pleasant smile.

“As I said.
Agile.”

This time
she merely blinked slowly, and then shook her head, as though forcing her focus
to return.

“Honey. We
need to find honey next.”

He bowed
politely, and offered her an arm, which she took in automatic response. “Then,
by all means, allow me to escort you to the local hive.”

A bemused
smile came over her face as they walked through the forest, away from the
stream. “I suppose you know exactly where a hive might be found?”

“Of course.”

“And is that
because the Fae can speak to bees?”

They broke
out of the tree line, into a pleasant, flower-strewn meadow. Robin looked down
at Bianca with mock disdain. “Don’t be ridiculous. Bees cannot talk.”

“Well, of
course.”

“They dance,
instead.”

Before she
could react Robin swept Bianca up, and began waltzing across the grass. After a
moment of utter surprise, Bianca broke into giggles. She would have been a good
dancer, had her laughter not ruined her timing. Robin smiled down at her in
genuine camaraderie. Her eyes glowed like the night sky in summer, and her
cheeks were pink against the pale beauty of her skin. He realized that, despite
all their worries, he had never seen her look so carefree before. Perhaps that
was to be expected, given what her life had been thus far. But he thought it a
shame that this lovely girl, in the full glory of her youth, had laughed so
little in all the time he’d known her.

So, he spun
her into a dizzying turn, and when she let out a happy cry of delight, he found
himself laughing right along with her.

Slowly he
ceased their revolutions, and supported her while she caught her balance. When
she could stand without wobbling alarmingly, he stepped back, and bowed low.

“Thank you
for the dance, my lady.”

“You are
most welcome, gentle sir.” She curtsied, letting her skirts sink into the tall
grasses. “It was my pleasure.” She rose, and glanced around while pulling her
empty salve jar from her satchel. “Which way to the hive?”

He pointed
to an old stump on the edge of the meadow. “There it lies.”

The oak must
have been impressive, before nature brought it down. The remains of the trunk
had settled deep into the earth, but the stump still stood, the rough surface
covered in moss and lichen. It was clearly hollow, for around the sheared-off
top thousands of bees flew in tight circles, their tiny black and yellow bodies
bright and clear against the blue spring sky.

Bianca grew
still beside him.

“They’re
swarming.”

He shrugged
in response. “It is spring.”

“I know, it’s
just—” She blew out her cheeks in frustration. “I really wanted honey for
Isabelle’s back. It works wonders to seal and cleanse wounds, and—”

“Bianca.” He
interrupted gently. “If you wish for honey, we shall have it.”

She shook
her head. “Swarming bees are dangerous. Even a small hive. And that is no small
hive. We could both die a rather painful death in this lovely meadow, if we
provoke them.”

“And here I
thought you had no concern for your own safety.” He was pleased, but she gave
him a wry look.

“Actually, I
was thinking more about you.”

“I should
have known. It was too much to hope that you had developed a sense of
self-preservation.”

She rolled
her eyes, then looked wistfully at the stump. “I suppose we should just go back
to Isabelle.”

“Oh, not
just yet.” Robin lifted the crock from her hands, took a few steps forward,
then turned back to Bianca. “Wait here.” He smiled at her merrily, while she
stared at him in horror, and he ambled over to the hive.

The bees
flew in furious patterns all around him. His ears were full of their buzzing,
but behind him he could hear Bianca calling him to come back. He ignored her.
Instead he began singing in a soft undertone, a monotonous, droning song. His
feet moved in a rhythmic flicker, barely lifting from the soft pad of grass
underfoot, but falling precisely on the beat. He inched forward through the
cloud of bees; letting them circle him, land on him, flick their tongues out to
taste his skin. Then, as one, they rose to hover above their hive. Robin moved
forward through empty air, and climbed up the root structure of the stump until
he could reach into the dark, comb-filled interior. The queen and her drones
huddled, quiescent, on one large expanse of honeycomb. Robin reached past them
to harvest a bountiful, gleaming, golden comb. He broke off great chunks,
depositing them into the jar to drain, until he thought they had more than they
could possibly use. As he withdrew his hand for the final time, he murmured in
a sing-song voice.

“My thanks,
little queen.”

He walked
back to Bianca. Behind him, the bees descended once more, to cluster around
their hive. Before him, Bianca looked on with a mixture of fear and awe clearly
painted on her features. Once more, her mouth hung open. Robin smiled. He drew
to a halt before her, and broke off a small piece of honeycomb, popping it
between her parted lips. Her mouth abruptly closed, her lips brushing his
finger as he withdrew, and a wholly unfamiliar shiver swept down his spine.
Their eyes met, and he saw the concern in them.

“There was
no need to fear.” He spoke softly, trying to ease her heart.

He saw her
jaw work, chewing the sweet comb. She swallowed, and a small smile of pure
pleasure graced her mouth. The fear eased out of her eyes, replaced by
twinkling delight.

“Of course.
Because you’re an elf.”

He rolled
his eyes. The mortal chit was teasing him.

“A sprite?
An imp?” She laughed up at him. “A brownie?” She looked down at the pot, and
smiled gently. “Thank you for the honey.”

“It was no
trouble.”

“I believe
you.”

It took him
a moment, but he realized what she meant.

“There are
mortals who can harvest honey from a hive.”

“Not the way
you did. That was… magical.” She shook her head. “But that isn’t why. I just
believe you. That’s all.”

He was
touched. “Perhaps it is because you trust me.”

“Perhaps it
is because I am a foolish child who wants to believe in fairy tales.”

“I cannot
deny, I have often thought you were a foolish child.” She gaped at him in mock
indignation, but he put a finger against her lips to forestall her response.
Again, he felt the shiver race down his spine when he touched their soft,
yielding surface. He shook it off, and let a teasing grin paint his face.

“It just so
happens that, on this occasion, you are also right.”