In front of the fortress, an archery target had been set up. At a distance was a wooden rack with two bows, and two quivers filled with arrows. There was no one in sight—unless you counted Sybelia the horse, who peeked around a trunk and whickered at the sight of us. Her coat shone, and the dappled galaxies on her side shifted as if the very universe was expanding and contracting with each breath.
Georgiana the wolfhound loped out from the orchard.
Having spotted his favorite horsey friend and his enormous roommate, Jester lunged at the end of the leash.
I reached down and unclipped him. He couldn’t come to harm here, not in the Forest of Emeralds, where every being would look out for him. The Gentry spoiled him even more than I did.
He bolted to Sybelia and play-bowed, like he would to another dog. Sybelia danced lightly on her hooves, and Jester responded in kind, dodging left and right excitedly, with happy barks. Georgiana ran around them in circles, her shaggy tail flying.
“Whose horse is that?” my mother asked.
“That’s my horse. Sybelia,” Berron said.
“And is that your castle?”
Berron sketched a bow.
“Oh, my.” She elbowed me sharply, probably thinking it was subtle.
“Ow!”
She gestured with her head toward the Fortress, as if I’d never noticed it before and needed to be prodded to realize there was a giant stone structure in front of us.
“Mom, what on Earth are you doing?”
She rolled her eyes.
I knew what she was doing. She wanted me to take note that here was Berron, a seemingly nice fellow—if not entirely human—and here was a castle that belonged to him, and why couldn’t I put two and two together and simply lock him down without further delay.
I sighed. Between this, and Daniel beingsuch a nice boy, I was tempted—again—to put my mother on an airplane.
Voices carried from the distance: Poppy’s round, clear British tones, followed by the low, rich murmur of the Princess of Arrows. They emerged from around the curve of the lowest level of the Fortress of Apples, Poppy carrying a large mug that steamed.
“Zelda!” cried Poppy. “And Zelda’s mum! Oh, how delightful.” In her hurry to approach, whatever was in the mug sloshed over the rim and pattered on the grass.
The Princess of Arrows, more stately, did not hurry, but a warm look of welcome brightened her serene face.
“Mom, you know Poppy, of course. And this is Berron’s sister, the Princess of Arrows.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Mom said. She leaned close to me and spoke quietly. “Do we shake hands? Do I curtsy?”
The Princess of Arrows held out a delicate hand. “I am so pleased to make your acquaintance, Mother of Zelda.”
“Please, call me Effie. And do you go by… Princess?”
“I am called the Princess of Arrows.”
My mother paused, as if waiting for something more. “No name?”
The Princess of Arrows looked momentarily at a loss.
Berron jumped in smoothly. “Our ruler goes by their title.”
“Oh, my goodness—I’ve offended you,” Mom said. “Look at me, putting my foot right in my mouth!”
“It is not so,” the Princess of Arrows said, stepping forward and slipping her arm through my mother’s. “I am not offended. Indeed, I am most pleased to welcome you to the Forest of Emeralds. May I offer you some refreshment? The Fortress of Apples has anything you might require. Do you care for sapphire-berry punch, Effie?”
“That soundswonderful.”
