He returned to the couple, handing Issylte’s dark green cloak to the blond passenger, who spread it across her shoulders. The woman fastened the hood under her chin and covered her light hair. Ronan gave further instructions to the gentleman, who nodded affirmatively as the couple mounted their horses. Ronan waved goodbye and walked back to Issylte as the couple rode off towards the village of Sligeach.
With a quick nod to his men, who mounted their horses in response, Ronan informed Issylte of their plan. “We shall head south, deep into the forest. From there, we ride west to the coast where a small boat will transport us to my ship.” He lifted Issylte back into the saddle, then mounted behind her. “The trip to Avalon will take three weeks. Have you ever sailed before?”
Issylte had never left Ireland and had never been on a ship. She shook her head. She was numb and empty inside. Like her heart had left her chest.
“The voyage at sea can be rough. If you are ill, come up from your quarters to the top level of the ship—the deck—and stare out towards the horizon. The fresh air will help.” Ronan nudged his horse, and they headed south, with two riders ahead of them, two behind, and one on either side.
Issylte was drowning in grief. She couldn’t swallow, her throat was so tight. A suffocating weight squeezed her heart; she couldn’t breathe. The pain was too heavy to bear.Tatie is dead because of me. And Bran and Dee. If I had never come to the cottage, they would all still be alive. It is my fault. Tatie, how can I live without you, too? I’ve lost my father, Gigi, Luna…and now you? Oh, Tatie…
She wept the whole way to the coast—her face blotchy, her eyes nearly swollen shut. Her nose was so congested she had to breathe through her mouth. Her temples were pounding, her muscles twitching.The queen’s men could be anywhere. This time, they’ll bring her my head.
After what seemed like hours riding through the darkening forest, the travelers arrived at a port where several ships were harbored along two docks, near a few wooden buildings and an inn. Ronan and his men stopped their horses at the edge of the forest and dismounted. He helped Issylte to the ground as well. She collapsed in a heap among the leaves.
Ronan emitted another bird call whistle and waited for the return signal. A group of eight woodland creatures short in stature, with dark wizened skin, long black hair, and homespun clothing—the Little Folk—emerged from the woods. Conferring quietly with Ronan, the leader of the forest creatures turned to his brethren and motioned for them to approach the riders from Avalon. All six members of Issylte’s escort joined Ronan in handing their horses to the woodland creatures, who led the animals quietly away into the forest.
Ronan helped Issylte to her feet. She brushed the leaves off her dress and stood unsteadily. She could barely see, her eyes were so swollen.
“Those men will sell the horses in the neighboring village. The animals are payment for the services they rendered to Maiwenn, to the Lady of the Lake Viviane, and to us, her escort from Avalon.”
He took her hand and said gently, “This way, Princess.” Ronan led her to the water’s edge where a boatman awaited. Issylte’s enormous escort seated her on the small vessel, then climbed aboard with his six men, taking up oars. They rowed the boat through a series of tributaries toward the sea-worthy ship that awaited them just offshore.
Issylte and her escorts climbed up the rope ladder from their small boat into the larger vessel which would sail west into the Atlantic Ocean and south to Avalon. As the crew hoisted the small boat onto the deck of the larger one, Ronan gave her a tour of the ship, indicating her quarters below deck. He showed her where the ship’s crew would prepare and serve their meals, and where he and the escort from Avalon would be sleeping.
Alone in her cabin, Issylte watched her beloved Ireland disappear in the distance. Wracking sobs choked her; grief blurred her vision. The ship was taking her away from all that she loved.
Oh, Tatie! If it were not for me, you would still be in your beautiful cottage, collecting herbs and tending the animals…The four plump hens and sweet little Florette. A heaviness smothered her.
If I had not come to your cottage—you, Bran and Dee would all still be alive! It is all my fault.
She fell onto her bed, smothering her face in the pillow. How could she help her father now that she was no longer in Ireland?How could she ever see Gigi again? And she would never seeTatieagain. Ever. She struggled to catch her breath.
The queen now knew she was still alive. She would hunt her down and kill her. Like she’d already tried to do.Twice.Issylte shivered, the blood freezing in her veins.
The icy cold hands of her stepmother tingled up her arms, leeching her strength. The queen would find her. Even in Avalon. Issylte shook with numbing cold.
And, as the strong ocean winds carried the ship across the endless blue sea, Issylte—wracked with sobs, drowning in grief and guilt—wept and retched all the way to Avalon.
Chapter 20
A Powerful Ally
Her long, slender fingers clutched the arms of the velvet tufted throne, extracting every precious drop of regal power from the carved, gilded wood. An elaborate golden crown, encrusted with enormous emeralds, sat atop an equally elegant crown of intricately woven braids of lustrous black tresses coiled upon her royal head. Morag straightened her spine, smoothed the voluminous folds of her deep green silk gown, and raised her imperial chin to reveal her slender neck. She glowered at the six royal guards cowering at her feet, dutifully awaiting the fatal judgement of the livid, scowling queen.
“You have failed in your duty. Because of your incompetence, the prisoner has escaped. You scoured every inch of the Hazelwood Forest.Where is she?”
The captain of the guards, his head bowed, replied solemnly. “A young blond woman in a deep green cloak was seen with a male escort in village of Sligeach. They booked passage to Cornwall from the inn at the seaport. The vessel departed three days ago, my queen.”
She flashed a furious glance at Lord Voldurk, silent in his black silken robes at her side. His dragon eyes glowed in the golden light.
“And Lords Cian and Bolduc?” Her eyes sliced like a blade across the lowered heads humbled before the wooden dais.
“There is no trace yet, my queen. But our soldiers are hunting them. The traitors will be found.”
“And you will bring me their heads. Or I shall have yours.” Morag hissed, her lethal stare fixed upon the captain of her royal guards.
“Yes, my queen. As you command.”
The guards quickly rose to their full impressive height, bowing graciously before the glacial queen. Turning as one, they exited the throne room with military precision, the clatter of metal swords against the gleaming chain mail armor, glinting in the morning sun.
