The Summer Child

And something in him melted. He went and knelt at the bedside, took the hand that beat against nothing, against air or invisible enemies. She stilled and he settled himself as well, not bearing to look up into her face and the dark lakes under her eyes that shadowed her whole self.

"Kyri, oh, Kyri. You don't know what you've done to me." The breathing seemed so soft, the skin so pale against the white sheets. Tentatively, he reached out and touched her face, pushed a sweaty strand of hair back. "You don't understand, dear one. If you die—I cannot..." He took his hand away.

"You cannot die. You must stay. I will work my magic for you," he said fiercely. "You must allow me to do it...you must let me help you."

The marble face held no expression.

"Oh, Kyri," he whispered again, and bowed his head to press against the limp hand on the edge of the bed. There he stayed, and the last bare whisper to reach dying ears—

"I will die for you."

*

He awoke to the sound of birds, singing to a bright, new day. The hand that had lain near his head was gone; he blinked away sleep and looked up anxiously—and met Kyri's tired, yet smiling eyes. She was breathing normally, but was too weak to respond when the king, joyous and overcome, jumped to his feet. Without thought, he leaned over the bed, first kissing her hand and then her forehead: the king's blessing.

He turned then, and left to find the healer. The woman was sleeping in the hall, and seemed almost displeased that her vigil had ended with the call of a happy, impatient king. She remained calm, believing nothing until she saw the patient. Still limp on the bed, Kyri raised one finger in greeting.

"You're awake," she said, and then called to the maids idling in the anteroom. "Fools—get this room ready! Your lady awakes."

Scurrying activity burst around her, Kyri lay very still. Eventually she spoke, in slow syllables, "How long did I dream?"

"Seven days and seven nights. Stay there, miss," the healer ended hastily, but the patient was already attempted to rise, and her nurse could do nothing but help her into a slightly raised position.

"Unveil the windows, please," the princess said, looking steadily at opposite wall.

"My lady, the draft—" the healer started, but her patient stared at the dark fabric until she gave the order.

As the velvet folds fell away, the healer watched shadows fall from the face of her patient. Outside was a grey and lonely day, but the lady smiled to see the soft rain on the hills.

"It is well," she said, and fell into a so sleep deep and healing, the healer felt she might finally go and have a real bath. When she returned she found that the great wolf hound Circ had found its way to the lady's sickroom. The healer nearly threw it and the guilty maids out, until she saw the lady's white hand resting on the shaggy head. And then she knew the princess would live.

*

The king, of course, had disappeared. After his outburst he fled the scene, pausing in the hallway outside to pace in gleeful excitement.

"My lord?" the steward approached, thinking the poor princess still ill. The king was moving nervously back and forth, worrying the flagstones, and didn't hear the man's approach. When the king threw up his hands and nearly shouted, "She shall have flowers!", whirling around to go, both of them got a scare.

Shortly after, the hallway was filled with servants carrying bouquets of roses, lilies and irises, peonies and even a tree or two, growing in a large pot. This went on until the hallway was filled with the overflow from the room, and still the king was not satisfied to stop. At least, not until he heard she had complained about the broth and gruel the healer had given her. Then he sent food.

And not just any food. Food from her own lands, food she had grown or seen sown. Rich, ripe strawberries, some as small as robin's eggs, other's big as a pine knot, sweet and full of sun. Honey, from the hives bordered on one side by a field of clover, the other by wildflowers. Whole limbs of trees weighted with cherries or peaches, with wisteria and honey suckle vines trailed between the fruit. Fish, caught from the king's own ponds, freshly cooked and slippery with butter. Small vials of oil, finely scented with rosemary or thyme. Milk brought in creamy and cool in the pail. A flask of bitters, and jug of elderberry wine.

The healer, throwing up her hands in despair, let the princess eat the strawberries, and a little milk and honey. The rest wreathed the tables, ready for another feasting day. Circ ate the fish.

Slowly, the princess grew well. And at last she came out of her home, carried a little ways and then walking to the carriage.

She was taken on a short trip to a village near by, to see the people, and have them see her, and to give a little advice on the spring planting. Before they set her back into the carriage, she asked to be taken to the edge of the field, where the ploughs had just been set in motion. They lay her on the grass, and she reached out and buried her hand into the earth. She remained there for some minutes, and then took some to her face to breath in the scent. (Well that the healer was not there, or she would have had conniptions). At last she said, "thank you," and allowed herself to be taken back to the castle. (where the healer saw her dirt laden hand, and did).

But the princess healed much more quickly after that. Soon she was outside, not riding yet, but walking the long roads to the farms. She went to speak with the working folk, or see their farms, or examine their seed and tell their children how to take some in the palm of their hands and fling it out slowly so that the rows would come out even. Circ never left her side.

She had another companion she, too, unbeknownst to her. This unseen shadow came along at a distance at first, and then closer, until every footstep she made on the wet grass of her lands was joined by another, and every sigh she made had a silent echo. The nurses allowed her out more and more, and often simply carried her blanket and water pail for her, set them down in a favorite spot, and then retreat. She would stay there for hours, overlooking the hills, or closer to the forest, walking about slowly or resting on the blanket, Circ bounding around or laying nearby to have his head scratched.

"Yes, dear," she would laugh when he nuzzled her hand for more. "Anything for you." And when his ears pricked up at another's invisible approach, or when he'd go and stand a ways from the blanket, as if waiting for someone, Kyri would let him, only calling him back, puzzled, to ask him what he knew.

"Is someone there?" she stroked the silky ears to hide her fear. Circ's doggy gaze and panting mouth told her nothing. She looked out over the windswept hills, watching the breeze tug on the grass with a frown. "What do you sense?" The wind passed, and with it her unsettled feeling. "Perhaps a handsome lord come to play court on our little party?" she joked, and waggled Circ's ears. He, submitting to this indignity, graciously licked her face.

It was one such day, when it looked like it would rain soon, they set her in the garden within sight of the palace.

"Now if you wander," warned the nurse, "don't go too far, my lady."

"You must let me go out a bit," Kyri complained. She was looking much healthier, with a flush to her cheeks where the wind struck them, a bit cold. The nurse came and pulled the shawl around her tighter, fussing, "Oh, you're all skin and bones—too small to withstand the wind."

"I'm fine—"

"You'll catch your death and then where would the king be? He suffered cruelly when you lay ill. We all did. Now—" the woman gave brisk instructions to her suddenly mute patient, "you may stay here if you rest, but only if you stay bundled up. And don't wander at all." The woman went away and Kyri sat there, a frown on her face even Circ couldn't not lick away. Finally, he lay down. Time passed and the wind picked up, making her shudder a little. Summer was dying, finally. The next season would be autumn, and then the final cold, and winter would reign again.

Without any visible warning, Circ's ears pricked up. He got up, nose pointing to something in the distance. After a while he let out a joyful bark, and thumped his tale.

"What is it, Circ?" But the hound was gone, bounding off the blanket and away to something in the distance. The princess shielded her eyes; the dog was facing due west, and the sun lingered there. She had not realized she had been sitting for so long. Something between her eyes and the sun shimmered, as if a shape would become solid. But as Circ came back along the ridge, and the light shifted, nothing was there.

Kyri tried to squint into the sun again, but this brought her eyes nothing more than bright spots. She leaned back and drew the blanket around her a little. The shape had been human-sized.

Afraid, she called out "Circ!" The dog came leaping back, happy as a puppy. She gathered the shaggy head to her, ignoring the panting, and hid her face behind the silky head.

Eventually the fear lessened. Circ was sturdy and protective, and half the size of a horse. Anyone would be mad to come after her with such a large mouth of canine teeth between them. Telling herself this, she finally stood, pointedly ignoring the spot on the horizon where she had seen the sun glimmer, and started to fold her own blanket. She reasoned she could do with the exercise, especially since simply reaching for the far corners had her panting. Circ watched with a faintly concerned expression. When a servant woman came running over the grass, a page boy with a small pony not far behind, Kyri was grateful.

"We'll get you back now, there's a dear."

"I feel stronger now," she told them. "Soon I will be able to ride again."

"Of course," the woman reassured her, even as she gave Kyri an arm to lean on and made the page take the blanket. Kyri gave one last look to the horizon, but there seemed to be nothing there on the sunset's edge.

"I don't understand it," Kyri said to the cook later that night, while she was perched on the warm stones near one of the kneading tables in the kitchen, "I looked and looked, but there was no one in sight."

"Might be a fairy, come to bring you three wishes," the cook was floured to the elbow, and braiding a new honey loaf for the hearth.

"I don't think so," Kyri said doubtfully. "Do you think it was an assassin?"

The cook laughed, "Hardly likely, girl. No one would try to come after one as sweet as you."

"Well, I am a princess," she said as practically as she could, "or so people call me."

"A title you've earned more than any other noble," the kind man assured her. "But even if it were some warrior, he wouldn't get very far past the king's protection around you."

Kyri's jaw dropped. She honestly had never thought of this. "Protection?"

"You have more guards than the king himself has," the cook nodded. "And the guards are more than just men."

"Really? Like what?"

The cook shrugged a floured shoulder toward the door. Outside, in the hall, Circ lay on the flagstones. He was not allowed in the bakery. When he saw them looking at him, he rolled his eyes miserably and let out a sigh.

"You didn't think that big mutt was just for cuddles, did you? Eat your dinner," the cook pushed her a plate of hot, new baked currant buns, "and then get along to the kennel, so he can have his."

"Yes, cook," the princess said obediently. But she did not forget her question.

*

It wasn't until the final day of planting for the autumn crop, on an eve that smelt of summer sun and tasted of spice, that the maiden found her answer.

The princess and Circ were walking towards the palace, having just spent the day in the vineyards. She was stronger now, with a summer's healthy blush on her cheeks. Circ was glad to be about, and she was allowed to stroll as long as he was by her side. As for her other guards, she never saw them, and this made her bolder.

Coming up out of the vines, she thought she felt a breath of wind on her arm. When she looked around, though, no wind was stirring the higher branches. Pretending to examine a crop of new grapes, she listened hard. After awhile it came, the small sound of someone walking closer, and an echo of a horse's whinny.

Standing straight again, she started to leave the vineyard. When she could, she looked slyly behind her. She still saw no one, but she had a plan. The path went by a little stream, no wider than Circ at some points. On the other side was a forest. Coming to a narrow place, the princess drew up her skirts and hopped across.

"Come on," she told the hound, "we won't go far. I just want to see if the laurel is blooming."

A few paces in and she was in deep shadow. The only light were splashes of gold, here and there. Further in, and she felt almost lost. Circ plowed ahead, but she moved carefully, especially after walking though a spider's invisible web, stretched between two birch trees. Then suddenly, they were in a lovely grove, full of ferns and other low, green plants. She paused there, and listened hard. Everything was silent. They were still alone.

"Further on, then," she whispered, and was about to start walking on out of the grove, when Circ gave a warning bark. The air between the birches was rippling.

"Princess," said a voice, just as a person shimmered into solidity right before her. It was the king. "I'm afraid you must stop here. You can go no further."

Even though she expected this, it took Kyri a moment to recover her voice. "I knew it must be you." she said. "I hadn't seen you for so long, not since I woke up from being sick." The king said nothing.

"You always used to ride by when I picnicked on the blanket, before. On that horse...what was his name? The black one."

"River."

"Ah," she nodded, and tried to think of something more to say. At that moment, a wet nose touched her hand. "You've met Circ," she patted the head beside her.

The king looked at her, not at Circ. "I know," he said. "I named him."

"Really?" her eyes widened in surprise. "I didn't know that."

"He used to be my favorite, you know," the king put out a hand, and the dog came right to him, sniffing his fingers and begging shamelessly for a stroke.

"I think he hopes he still is," Kyri said softly. Cocking her head to one side, she asked, "Are you one of my guards?"

The king actually laughed. "When I am able. I am responsible for your safety. That way-" he pointed past her, "is not safe."

Turning to inspect it, she saw only harmless trees and brambles. "Why not?"

"Because of the scourge of the north, the Vargs. Giant wolves, bigger than Circ. They're not natural wolves—or maybe they once were, before going too far north. There's a lot of power there. Magic made the Vargs. Regular wolves are no problem—just a sheep or two. Vargs actually seek out and attack us."

Her eyes had grown large and frightened, and so he went on, "Oh, not regularly. Mostly only when the miners or lumberjacks try to push further north and enter Varg territory. Once and awhile they do come down further south, and we have to repel them."

"Do you fight them?"

"Me? Of course. On River. They're part magical, you know, so swords alone can't kill them."

"You do magic? Like me?" She sounded so amazed and delighted, the king was taken off guard.

"I—" he hesitated. "Yes. In a manner of speaking. It's complicated. Look, shall we return?" The light through the branches was a darker gold.

She didn't move. "I have more questions."

He indicated that they should start moving, and she obeyed. The trio made it out of the forest and over the stream, and halfway to the palace, and then the king stopped and said, "If you have any questions, princess, do ask. If I can answer, I will."

The minutes walking had given her time to think, and gain courage. But still she bit her lip and wrung her hands before saying quickly. "What is your name?"

"My name?" the king was startled.

"Yes... I assume you have one."

"Yes, I do. I am Damon."

"Damon," she said. She tried it out again, with more generosity, "Damon. Do people really call you that?"

"Well, no," said Damon, even as she realized and said, "Oh, I didn't think." They started walking. Behind them, the sky was lit with softly burning color.

"If we are asking questions, it is my turn."

"Very well."

"Are you well?"

"My lord," she laughed, "that is hardly a hard question."

"I am serious... you were not for some time. And—" this time he hesitated, "Call me Damon."

She dared to glance up at him, then. Her eyes were violet in the twilight. "Then, Damon, I am well."

There were shy smiles on both faces. Then, as one, they started back towards the palace.

"Thank you," she said when they were back in sight of the gardens.

He frowned, "For what?"

She stopped and he did also. "For being there. When I was ill. I know...I was told you were at my side when the fever broke."

"It was very hard. You called out, often. But I could not answer."

"Why not?"

"You did not call out for me." He put his hand to the garden gate, hesitated, then unlatched it and opened it for her.

"Princess—"

"Please," she said, "call me Kyri."

"Very well, then, Kyri. It has been a pleasure walking you home."

"Then, Damon, it's been a pleasure walking." She spoke lightly, but he was still quite sober and thoughtful, his voice too deep to read. "Perhaps I will see you again. Or not see you, if you prefer." Ready for a dinner bone, Circ pushed her aside to go into the garden ahead of her. She turned to follow. "Goodnight, Damon."

"Goodnight, princess," he whispered only after she had gone, when there were only velvety shadows in the place were he vanished.

*

It was several days later before she sensed his presence again. It was sunset, and the rich light allowed few secrets. She was walking through the broad gardens within sight of the palace, and heard something on the wind. Turning, she saw no one but her and Circ, padding over the grass of the extensive garden. But the feeling remained—there was someone just out of reach, in the corner of her eye.

Calmly, she went and sat on a bench, telling Circ to sit beside her while she searched over the hills and copses for signs of anyone.

"I know you're there," she called finally. "Show yourself."

Nearby, a human outline appeared and then shimmered into existence. "You are brave to order a king."

"I am a princess," she said, "It comes with the territory."

A softness entered his face as he smiled, and then he laughed, surprising them both.

"You have been riding," she noted, as he settled himself on the lawn near her. He was wearing clothes of black fabric and leather. "Why do you never take me out riding?"

"You are still too weak."

She sniffed, "You have been listening to my nurses again," she sniffed and waved her hand over the green. "I am strong enough to dance over all these hills, and more besides. If I ran, would you chase me?" She cocked her head coyly at him.

"It would be a short chase."

"If I had a head start?"

"Princess, if you ever ran away, I would follow you until I found you. But why do you speak of this? Are you thinking of running?"

She looked out over the hills. "Perhaps. If only to see if you really would follow." She forced a smile to her face, but the mood had shifted. There was a sober silence and Kyri watched the king carefully.

"Princess. I have a question."

Without meaning to, Kyri shivered. Circ came beside her, and she put an arm around him. "Ask," she said.

But the king's words were not so obedient as his men. Kyri waited longer, and then put a hand to his shoulder—he was close enough—and said again, "Ask." And the king found himself taking her hand and handling it gently—turning it over and over and tracing the palm. She didn't dare to breathe, but sat very still, as if a wild bird had come suddenly to roost and sing on her hand.