Elia nodded fast and covered her mouth against the press of her smile. When her eyes met Aefa’s, though, Aefa could not deny the sorrow dragging at the joy. It cut at Aefa, and she took Elia’s face in her hands. “Nothing that comes after has anything to do with it,” she whispered. “If you loved it, and loved him, that’s all that matters. Even if he is unworthy of you, which he is, the dirty traitor—no, no, listen!” Aefa smiled and kissed Elia lightly on the mouth. “Everything is terrible right now, except me of course, so even if Ban is one of the terrible things, last night he wasn’t, so don’t let go of that. Even later on when I tell you again and again that you should have considered doing that with the king of Aremoria instead. Promise?”
Elia had looked up at the first true ray of sun pressing through milky-golden clouds. “I promise.”
And Aefa was certain she’d meant it. They’d washed, dressed, and eaten the breakfast Alis provided. Then Aefa had wound those amber beads back into Elia’s hair; now here they were in the forest, gone after Brona, Kay Oak, and the old king.
“Aefa,” Elia murmured suddenly, as wind tossed dappled shadows over her face, “I love you. You’ve been mine for years, and I’ve never acknowledged it, or acted it. I know how hard it’s been, being my friend, when I offered nothing in return.”
A thrum of pleasure zipped through the Aefa. Her grip tightened. “I adore you, Elia, and I think it won’t be long before I admire you, too.”
“I hope I earn it.”
“Only you control that.” The Fool’s daughter pinched Elia’s hip, but gently.
For nearly an hour they walked, toward the east. The forest whispered at them, through wind and singing birds, through the rustle of ferns and brushed tails, the buzz of crickets and chirping frogs. The gown Alis had found among Brona’s things was a little snug in the waist for Elia; it had been previously let out at the sides, and hemmed hurriedly this morning to accommodate the princess’s short legs. The unusual style did not matter, for its vibrant rust red color made it look velvet-soft instead of plain linen. Old turquoise silk laced it up the sides and the underskirt was a fine, warm cream. Elia promised she was comfortable, loved the discordant, bold colors, and the flick of the skirts as she kicked out with her boots.
To Aefa’s eyes, she was a piece of the forest come boldly and uniquely alive.
With the forest’s guidance, it did not take them long to find the king’s camp.
Brona crouched at a small fire, roasting a spitted squirrel. Beside her, Kayo leaned on an old log, filthy from the storm and in a hunter’s simple brown coat and tunic; only his very finely made boots suggested at his rank.
“Kayo!” Elia rushed forward, leaving Aefa to gasp at the earl’s injury.
A bandage wrapped his head, crossing over his left temple, cheek, and eye. A vivid purple bruise streaked beneath his right eye, and there was blood in the white of it, making the gray iris seem to shine. Sweat glistened at his upper lip and brow. The bandage was bloody brown at the lower edge, as if the wound beneath had bled in the night.
He smiled when he saw his niece, but it was a smile of sorrow and nostalgia, the memory of a smile more than the fact of one. “Starling,” he said, standing. “I will live.”
“If he does everything else I say,” Brona snapped.
“He will.” Elia pressed her fingers to his forehead. “I think you’re feverish.”
Her uncle shook his head and murmured, “You’re supposed to be in Aremoria.”
“This is exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
Aefa’s father leapt up from where he’d lounged in restless sleep against an old stump. “You’re here!”
“Dada!” Aefa threw her arms around his lanky waist, then hopped up to kiss his cheek. Lear’s Fool looked gaunt and terrible, stinking like wet dog and sweat. “Mother will not approve of this appearance when you return.”
“Maybe you can convince the king,” the Fool sang softly, and let her go in order to hug Elia, too.
Kayo said, “If anyone can.”
“Is he near?” Elia asked. Birds darted from one bright tree to the next, arguing over something.
“Past that hill of hawthorns.” Kayo pointed weakly. “I’ll show you.”
“No.” Elia lifted her chin and even raised onto her toes to get more in his face. “Stay with Brona and obey her as you would a queen. As you would my mother. I will not have you die of some fever.”
Her uncle turned his head to the witch, Brona, who nodded, her mouth pressed in anger and distress. Aefa knewshecertainly would do what that woman said.
Elia took off toward the hillock covered in twisted hawthorn trees. Aefa followed, unwilling to leave Elia alone for this confrontation, be it tender and forgiving or rotten and final. Beyond the hill, the forest opened onto a meadow where a small stream played over flat rocks, branching into tiny tributaries and keeping the grass soft and green. Sunlight shone down unmarred, and motes of leaves and earth floated amidst moon moths and brilliant blue butterflies that shouldn’t have survived last night and the cold morning. Ferns clung in bunches between the narrow streams, almost likegiant pillows. And upon them lounged Lear, the king. “Wait here,” Elia said, but Aefa excelled at choosing the right commands to follow.
The king’s feet were bare; scraps of a robe and trousers hung off his thin frame as he leaned back on his elbows, face turned with a smile to the bright sky and clear sun, like a basking cat, unaware or uncaring of his surroundings, lost in the pleasure of light. That shock of silver-streaked hair spread around his shoulders like a mane, and greenery was woven into a crown upon his head. Aefa recognized the feathered leaves and clusters of tiny white flowers: hemlock. It was a coronet of poison Lear wore.
“Elia,” she whispered. “It’s starweed.”
The princess froze, no doubt worried he’d eaten some, or meant to.
