When the sun finally peeks out from the clouds and hits us with its warmth, the first signs of a lush forest appear on the horizon. As we get closer to the greenery, I begin to smell it too. As the snow begins to melt, life springs forth from the ground. It's as rich and sumptuous here as the land I’d once known, alive and thriving the way the Ravenswyrd Forest always flourished.
The deep ache within me that came from the earth itself the moment I stepped foot in the Southern Lands at the port is still there but now just an echo, a reminder that even while this area flourishes, as a whole, the land is dying.
When the hooves of my horse finally hit grass instead of snow, I take stock of what I can see around me. Clover, brandy thistle, a smattering of wildflowers and mosses…it’s not what we need yet, but I have no doubt we'll find it.
Prince Tauron urges his horse forward to walk alongside me. “Where is it?”
I look at him sternly from the corner of my eye. “I said we would find it where there is life, not that it’s the only thing that would be growing here. This is the very edge of the snow—another hour of riding and we should find some.”
Tauron scoffs under his breath. “I knew you were lying. Anything to get out of the cell.”
It's a struggle to hold my temper. I have to be careful not to give them any reason to believe I’m one of those raving witches they described, but I have long since let go of the little girl who listened blindly to those with authority around me, trusting what they said to be true simply because they were in power.
I sat in that cell because I chose to, not because I had to. I stayed there as a form of penance, one these people would never understand, not even with their own experiences of war.
One of the soldiers rides forward. He’s smaller than the rest and very clearly lower fae, an anomaly in their ranks. He's armed but not as heavily as the rest of them, and he steers his horse with his legs instead of the reins, far more competent in the saddle than most of the others. It’s clear he spends more time riding than the rest do.
“The Goblin King said that we could approach the outpost and he’d travel to see us. I asked him if there was a specific time, but he said if you come, he will know and meet you.”
The Goblin King.
I’ve never met the male of course, but hundreds, if not thousands, of goblins and part-bloods, exiled and free, had journeyed to the Northern Lands on the Sol King’s promise of a good life after the war. I have many friends with goblin blood and heard many stories of their fabled and beloved king. Even those who were exiled had a respect for the male that could not be shaken.
Their love for him always confused me, considering they were willing to leave him and die for a high-fae court, but the explanations they gave me were always complicated, nuanced even in a time of desperation. The goblins have their own struggles, just as the high fae do.
Prince Soren allows the soldier to take the lead, nodding to him and jerking his head forward even as they ride side by side.
He refuses to speak to me or any of the others, riding in a surly silence that carries through the group as he sets the tone of the trip. I prefer it this way, focused as I keep my eyes sharp on the ground. I make note of dozens of plants that would be of great assistance not only to the princess but the people within the village. Their poor conditions hover in my mind, and I know exactly how delicate this meeting is going to be.
There’s a tension in Prince Soren’s posture that doesn’t bode well.
I nudge my horse a little to the side, stepping off the path for a moment, and Tauron shadows me, moving so he’s always within arm's reach of me. I find a small patch of the plant we're looking for, but I don't dismount to collect it, steering my horse back toward the group instead.
Tauron scowls at me even as he follows me. “Well? Was that it or not?”
I nod but when he moves to pull his horse up short, I turn to face him. “Do you really want to go before the Goblin King with a handful of his property without having asked to take it in the first place? I’ll collect it on our journey back to the fae door.”
He raises an eyebrow at me even as the soldiers riding on either side of us share a concerned look. “I thought you said he wouldn't notice?”
I shrug. “He won't, but, nevertheless, we should take it on the way out.”
I have no intention of taking anything without permission, but the high fae don't need to know that. It's not the Ravenswyrd way, and though they’re all approaching this meeting with apprehension, I'm less concerned.
Tauron turns back to his prince, and they speak, their lips moving, but I hear nothing, their voices pitched so only high-fae ears can hear, probably to spite me.
As we reach the top of another small incline, the ground a rolling untouched mass of greenery, I see a stunning patch of fae flowers. My heart clenches in my chest, and my throat closes at the sight of them. The fae flowers that grow here are unique to the Southern Lands. There's a variation of them in the Northern Lands, golden as they bloom and follow the sun's path through the sky as they thrive in the heat of the Seelie Court.
My heart always ached for the stunning silvery-white and blue flowers of home.
My time at Yregar has lessened some of that longing. I was unaware that the Celestial family wears the exact shades of those petals and claims them as their own. It’s only now, staring down at the blooms, that the origin of the high-fae colors becomes clear to me.
Fae flowers once grew in abundance throughout the Ravenswyrd Forest, a blessing and a sign of our status as the Favored Children. The medicinal properties of the flowers were boundless; dozens and dozens of tinctures and ointments and teas could be prepared from them for hundreds of ailments. These very flowers sustained the Unseelie population for millennia in the Southern Lands.
I didn’t see a single petal on the journey from the port to Yregar, and their absence hurt me more deeply than the barren plains. The damage done to the earth and the consequences of the war are a stark reality I can’t ignore.
The rest of the group have a similar reaction to seeing the flowers, their eyes trained on them as though it pains them to turn away, but we make it to the outpost and turn our attention to the matter at hand.
It’s a brick building, small in diameter, that climbs into the sky, a group of goblin soldiers standing at the top watching us approach. We stop the horses a few paces from the bottom of the tower facing a small wooden door.
