The Summer Child

"No, no, no," she laughed, "a midsummer ball. A party. With dancing."

"Oh. Of course. Is that all?"

"There should be music," she said. "and a little food and drink. And plenty of people."

"This is all you desire?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You could...I mean, I still would..." he tried to rally, and she watched, amazed. She had never seen him so flustered. "You may still have the crown."

Now it was her turn to be flustered. "I thank you," she stammered. "But I am still not ready. Too young. I couldn't."

"I understand," the king said softly, and he finally looked her in the eye. She met his gaze, and who know how long they would have stared, if a barking sound had not interrupted. Circ came barreling down the pathway, ears aflutter, Piper following hard behind.

"I couldn't hold him," he panted, after Circ had bounced to both her and the king, making his excitement known. Since she was on the wall, the dog turned to the king. The king was near knocked off his feet.

He laughed. "Ah, pup, you've grown since I first found you."

"You know Circ?" she was amazed again. She felt her eyes were open as never before.

"I found him in a snow drift abandoned by a varg. I fed him milk and barely kept him alive. Now look at him." He grabbed Circ and started to wrestle. Circ responded with a playful but savage looking snarl. His open jaws could fit the whole king's head.

"Mercy," said Piper, and chuckled. The princess turned surprised eyes to him. He seemed less of a hardened warrior and more of a grandpa, grey and jolly. The transformations were all around.

While the king was busily trying to avoid Circ's playful jaws, she turned to the warrior. "Piper, you are so happy. I didn't know you knew how to laugh!"

Piper looked at her shrewdly. "We all do what we must to survive. My work doesn't bring much laughing. But, again, no one is quite what he seems. Circ is part wolf, but you have more of his companionship and comfort from him than any pure bred dog."

She turned back to the king and his hound. They were both looking at her with soulful eyes.

"Oh, you," she laughed.

"Take her home, Circ," said the king, getting up and dusting his dark clothes off. "I have work to do. There's much to be done, if there's to be a midsummer ball."

*

The tents on the grand terrace went up almost overnight. Palace staff bustled around with hardly any time for anything but parties. Even Piper was called away on errands, previously frivolous, and now of highest importance. Invitations were sent, wines selected. Someone even got the job of taste tester for the canapés.

In the hubbub, the princess found she could easily slip away.

"It's not like I'm going far," she told Circ. "And we'll be back before anyone misses us."

Her walks took her farther than she was allowed to go alone, previously being confined to her garden without an escort. She found with delight the new territory the garden staff hadn't shown her. One afternoon, she slipped away. The air was cool enough for a wrap, and Circ bounced ahead over the shadowy lawns. By the by, she came to a path she had never seen before, and crossed a green towards a grove of trees in the distance. As she approached, she gasped. The trees were all cherries, and they were full—late in the season—of white blossoms. The petals seemed to float as they fell.

She hurried forward, and found she was not alone. Her heart almost stopped when she heard the clinking of saddle trimmings, and Circ ran forward, barking. But the man who stood in the grove was Hunter.

"Princess!"

"Hunter," she was pleased, "I have not seen you for days."

"I am avoiding the scurrying that accompanies the grandest event of the year. The sight of so many canapés sent me away."

"Me too."

"You are to be commended. The old grump has never once entertained a proper kingly court. And now he's throwing a party. It should be excellent. Nothing to rival the summerland, of course, but... You should go to the summer king's court. It's marvelous. People dance for days."

"Really?" she said, after a time. She had gone quiet at mention of the summerland.

"Of course! Would I lie to you?"

Suddenly, Circ, who had been suspiciously circling the pair of them, who stood to close for his liking, turned and barked. Kyri stepped back from the knight and looked around as if she had been caught guilty. But Hunter called, angrily, "Quiet, mutt! Dumb dog," he turned back to her. "What was I saying?" He took her hand, "I'm off on business for the next few days. But will you dance with me at the ball?"

She nodded, and took her hand back, "Of course."

"Then I leave with a light heart," he announced, and took her in his arms once more, so he could spin her around. Petals swirled around them, and she did laugh.

But somewhere beyond the grove, the shadows moved, and one from among them slipped away.

*

The night of the ball came all too quickly. The cook, beset with brand new hired help, threw up his hands in despair after a tray of honey rolls came out charred. "What is there to be done?" he cried. It was Kyri, coming from the gardens via the kitchens, who encouraged him.

"Do not worry. The food will be delicious. You cook well under fire."

"You better hurry on, dear," said his wife and second in kitchen command. "You've got to get dressed."

She ran on down the hall, Circ at her heels.

The night was perfect for a dance—stars studding the deep blue like diamonds in a crown. Page boys dressed in white covered the lawn; guests were already arriving.

In her own quarters, the princess was hardly to be seen for all the help she had with dressing. Ladies were pinning, combing, brushing, buttoning and polishing all over. The dress was perfection: a pale fitted bodice with brocade and pearls round the top, just a touch of lace at the sleeve. And, falling from her waist, mounds and mounds of frothy blue. It rustled when she moved and felt like a dream. The ladies couldn't stop talking about it.

But the biggest surprise came when a box arrived on a velvet cushion.

"It's from the king," they said, and lifted from the box a necklace so exquisite, they all sighed in awe. The jewels flashed and spoke their own language, sang their own song. Kryi touched them with apprehension. But she let the ladies' clasp it round her, praising its beauty and craftsmanship. Then she stood, and, bareheaded, the fine red jewels sparkling round her neck. And so she left, down the hall again, out the double doors swung by smiling page boys, dress whites not yet dirty. She felt a pang at Circ's absence; her usual friend had been sequestered away, this once, in the kennel. She went on, now with some butterflies of nerves, through the rest of the palace gardens and up the staircases to the high terrace, where a sea of guests waited for the arrival of the lady of honor. At the top of the stairs, just before she could step in sight, was the king.

He was waiting for her. She stopped, now fully nervous, behind a huge urn stuffed with plants. He saw her, and his eyes lit, but when beckoned encouragingly, she shook her head. "No," she whispered.

With a final smile towards the guests below, he stepped down towards her hiding place. "Why not? You look...breathtaking."

"Thank you. I...thank you." She looked down, waved a hand at the perfection around her throat, "I didn't expect all this."

"Come," he said. Reassured by the calm in his deep voice, she went.

*

The first dance was the longest. She went past rows and rows of happy people, holding the hand of the king. Then he guided her around to face him, and they both sort of bowed to one another. And, careful of all the froth, he took her in his arms. And they danced.

The music was as sweet as first honey, as rich as the accents on a fine old wine. Past all eyes, the couple whirled, and the two did not see anything but each other. Applause rippled up, and they stopped finally, a little while after the music did. But they did not yet leave off looking at one another.

"Thank you," the princess said, finally. The king inclined his head. And then Hunter was there and she danced on with him. The rest of the hours flew like notes from the musician's fingers, and Kryi danced through each one.

"This way," Hunter said, tugging on her. "This way, my dear." He brought her on through the lined pathway, to a waiting horse. "Just a little ride—then we'll see what I want to show you," he said as he put her on the horse. She would have protested, but there was a sudden pain in her head, not helped by the horse's jarring. It did not leave until after they had been riding awhile. Then she suddenly felt ill.

"Hunter," she said, "put me down."

"Not yet, darling. A little further."

"No, now. I must...I must." Then she realized where they were—miles already from the palace, and cried out, "Where are you taking me?"

"Not now," he said. And on they rode. A wind was whipping up around them, with angry growls coming from the sky. In the distance was a thin fork of lightning.

Hunter cursed, tightened his grip, and whipped his horse harder. The princess watched, silently, as her dress was crushed and spattered with mud. Finally she turned her face to the sky; the first droplets fell on them. And then it rained harder, and the horse had to slow.

"Faster," Hunter cursed again, and whipped at the beast. Just then, a piece of lightning sliced down in front of them. The horse reared back, stumbled. There was a crack, and it hobbled only a little further, quite lame.

More cursing. Hunter dismounted and pulled her off roughly. Kyri stood disoriented while he disappeared to look at the horse's leg. She did not recognize the land. It was unfarmed, wild. She started to walk a little, but was stopped by Hunter's angry shout. He pulled her back.

"Is the horse lame?" she asked. He did not answer, but started checking his pack. "Only a few more miles to go, and then the check point. Probably not more than... and they'll be waiting."

Still not understanding what was going on, she stepped away daintily, and tried to find a rock she might sit on. It all seemed like an awful dream.

And then Hunter turned on her suddenly, "Take off that dress!" he shouted. She winced away as his hands came around her and ripped off the fabric, till she stood, shivering and almost whimpering, in a bare shift. He hid the fabric, blindingly white, away. "Alright," he said, coming back. "We're near the river. The border is just that way. If we run for it, we'll reach there before they know where we've gone."

"Are you stupid?" she asked. "The winter king knows you'll come here. He's probably only a few minutes away."

Hunter's face was twisted. "Then you'd best run. I'll kill you before he takes you—him or you. Now, come."

She drew away. In a second, Hunter had in his hand a mean looking knife. "Do you wish to be harmed?" he asked, coming at her with it.

"No!" She ran back, hoping she could get near the horse. Maybe it wasn't too hurt to carry her weight. But a hand seized her from behind. "No, I will not go," she cried as he caught her. The knife was still in his hand; she fought him, and it twisted somehow inside her. Pain made her bend in two, and as she did, she fell.

Hunter caught her easily enough, and faint, she drooped in his arms. He dragged her to a hillock. She let him, but when light flashed strangely, she looked up. They were overlooking the river, its black shape curled around in the distance. And, across it, the one bridge, lit brightly. The bridge was burning.

She wrenches free and runs, stumbling. Her balance overtook her, and she careened down the hill, came out flat running as fast as she could. Hunter was following, she knew, but with another purpose. She ran as hard as she could, and then ducked into a briar, letting them tear at her. The garnets at her neck glistened with real blood when she broke from the wood, and then crawled on over the stones. She found a little pocket to hide in, under an overhang, and curled up there. Hunter's heavy steps followed, but only to a certain point; he couldn't enter the wood. She heard him poking around the rocks and tucked in tighter.

But then—oh, joy!—a distant sound slowed his approach. There was barking, which grew closer and closer. And hoof beats. And, at last, shouting, ringing metal, and a dying cry. She put her head down on her knees and waited. For who, for what, she no longer knew.

Circ found her so. The shaggy head pushed through every last thorny branch, his nose bleeding and finally coming to poke into her face. She did not move, not even when the branches were torn back, and the king, the only one who could remove Circ from his post, pushed past him to kneel before her. He put shaking hands out to her, as if worried she might not be alive.

When he found she was breathing, he lost no time. She was lifted and carried on. Oblivious to everything, even with rain pounding on her face, she lay still as he drew her into a shelter, a deeper cave that Circ found. Once there, he set about wrapping her in his cloak, trying to find a dry patch. The rain was replaced by Circ's rough tongue, licking to find life in her.

She came awake at last, still disoriented, and almost cried out when the king bent over her.

"Kyri! It's me."

"Where is..."

"Hunter? Gone." He did not say how far gone. There was blood on his hands, and a chilling look on his face. The king seemed to have aged in the past few hours. "Let me see if he hurt you."

"I'm fine," she said, but he bowed over her.

"I sent the storm after you. Hunter got them to lock up Circ, confound it. This would have never happened if he had been free." The wolf hound was nearby, standing guard in the rain. Both he and River were remarkably silent. The storm raged.

She cried out when he found the blood soaked slit in her shift.

"You have lost blood."

"He...cut me. Tried to kill me when I said..." The king took strips of cloth ripped from his own clothes, and lifted her to make a binding. She tried to keep from crying out, and failed. Her eyes went back into her head "I wouldn't..."

"Shhh..." His hands were about her, as gentle as they could be. Still, she faded out of consciousness, surfacing only when the drops of water fell on her face. The king was bent over her, making sure she breathed. The water had fallen from his wet hair.

She sighed, lips parted. "What...what happened?"

"He knew of your power," the king said quietly. "He knew of you, from that first day...but something changed him. It was a planned kidnapping. I know not who was behind it, but there were a few men at the border, and I found a bag of gold..." he almost said on Hunter's body.

"Why?" This word was more anguished than her cries of pain previous.

"Power. Money. Perhaps he was taking across the river to the king, my brother. Or perhaps he had plans to... sell you to the highest bidder. Maybe he already had. I should have seen this," he sighed. "If I had stayed closer, maybe you wouldn't...maybe I could have prevented..."

"It's okay," she lifted a hand to his cheek. "You're here." Outside the cavern, thunder rolled again. Lightning knifed the darkness also, yet still the king did not move his cheek away from her hand. But he wouldn't look at her. There was such a shadow that lay over his mien that she lifted her head. "What's wrong?"

He said, sadly, "You're not the only one he sought to harm. He tried to, and did, kill."

"What?" The sadness and anger in his eyes panicked her. "Tell me!"

"Piper is dead."

At this her body flailed so wildly he thought she might hurt herself. "No!" She cried out again, loud enough to be heard over the storm. Frantic, Circ lifted his wet head to the sky and howled along.

"Shhhh..." He wrapped her in his arms, trapping her limbs gently. "You must be quiet. My men will be here soon, but there still may be enemies about." They remained there for quite a few minutes, while the rain slowed. And the king whispered to her, with his lips against her hair, endearments to calm her. "Be still, my dear one."

When, at last, the rain stopped and the sound of new hoof beats came above the noise of the storm, the king checked the princess and found she was asleep. He lifted her with no trouble and bore her on, to the place where his men had been led by River. And he himself carried her home.

*

Gloom fell over the palace. It was time for the late summer rains, also, and the low, grey clouds that spewed out a downpour every afternoon, did not help the dark atmosphere. Nor did the humidity, which hung thick as a giant's breath, making everyone's clothes slick against their skin.

In the hall outside the princess' rooms, the king paced. South, on the lip of the border, his black riders were gathered like crows at a killing. They used the stone castle as their barracks, and were in full operation to create weapons and train for a fight. From his self-appointed post, the king led them.

Messengers came and went. The king took the slips of paper and read the code: We have captured the conspirators. They were summer folk, but did not bear the mark of your brother's court. And, spies in the summer country have sensed tensions rising there. Harvest was not as big. But If they attack, we are ready for war.

But a week passed and nothing happened. A table and maps were set up in a room near the girl's chamber. The king spent his time there, looking over battle plans, his eyes turning constantly to the princess' closed door.

"My lord, your brother has sent a platoon to the bridge. They seem peaceful, but are all heavily armed. Should we respond?"

"Just secure the border. Let them make first attack, if they really want to."

"Our spies are unable to move freely."

"Call them in."

"But what of their reconnaissance to uncover the plot...?"

The king turned shadowed eyes to the dark corridor. Healers and nurses came frequently to and from, their muffled footsteps and voices appropriate for a funeral. "I don't care any more."

"If war breaks out, will you lead the first attack?"

"No, I will be here."

"But—" began the warrior, when a nurse exited the princess' room and beckoned, "My lord."

Instantly the king stood up from where he was bent over the table, leaning heavily on his arms. His joints creaked as if he hadn't moved in ages.

"I must speak to you about the princess," the woman said in a hushed voice.

"May I see her?"

Pursed lips of disapproval. Perhaps the desperate look of the king, or the evidence that he hadn't much eaten or slept for a long time, weakened her.

The chambers were dark as a womb. The king could barely see where to go; he followed the healer past the tables of water basins and herbs, nursemaids working with mortar and pestle. The princess was on her bed like a statue, her profile pale as chalk dust.

Silent with horror, the king sat heavily on a chest.

"She's been like this for over a week," said the healer woman. "I have seen nothing like it in all my days. If she doesn't wake soon..."

In her sleep, Kyri twitched and cried out. The king turned his head sharply at the sound. The healer only pursed her lips.

"She cries out often. Always for her mother." The woman thought she saw the king's jaw clench and face turn to stone, but her patient chose at that moment to stretch and groan—all in the clutches of fever. The sound was so great that those around stopped their work. They would have run to the bed to help, if the king did not give an order with a sharp cut of his hand:

"Leave me," he said.

The door closed behind the last, on their comments and even weeping. The man made of stone moved slowly to the bed, and stood at the foot of it. The girl there writhed, as if in the throes of death or worse. It seemed to the king that he watched the last life drain out of her.