–3–

Amaryllis tried to spin around to face her host and ended up stumbling several feet, catching herself on a beam covered in drying garlic and herbs. She had forgotten that she was still wearing only a single pump. What’s more, her legs ached miserably after her ride. She let an angry screech escape her lips as her nails dug into the post. Looking up, she caught Heidrun’s gaze and felt her anger and shame redouble. Hastily she stood up and straightened her dress. 

Amaryllis’ lips tightened, “I will require victuals and a fur blanket. The road has been long and unpleasant.” 

Heidrun did not jump at the command. She remained in the center of her small cabin, carefully observing the Princess. A hint of a smile pulling at the edges of her mouth.

“A bed warmer with coals is also necessary for my comfort, but I imagine even such basic accommodations will not be possible here,” Amaryllis remarked, intending to demonstrate her grace and understanding. 

Heidrun continued to observe The Princess with the same unblinking stare and almost smile. The blonde woman didn’t even meet her eyes. Amaryllis decided to forgive this lack of manners for the moment and turned to observe her surroundings. 

The cabin was a single room. A large stone hearth dominated one wall, and the rest was all raw logs mortared with moss and mud. A dizzying collection of flowers, herbs, and stranger things hung from every wall, post, and cross-beam. Among the collection were also long cords of beads, scrimshaw and agate. The furniture was simple, but well-built. Most any day, Amaryllis would have protested the place as utterly unsuitable for her person, but given the choice of Grani’s back and this place, Amaryllis knew what she would choose.  

Heidrun stepped forward, still coldly surveying Amaryllis’ form. Her eyes lingered on the roundness of her belly and the soft skin of her arm that showed through the slashes in the sleeves of the Princess’ gown. Heidrun rolled her bottom lip between her teeth still taking in Amaryllis, “I’ve stew which you’re welcome to. Sit down on the bed, and I’ll see to it.” Heidrun finally met Amaryllis’ gaze and pointed firmly to the bed on the opposite side of the room. 

“I will not be ordered by a peasant,” Amaryllis fumed, her face contorting in anger. She stamped her foot, but bare stocking against the woven rush mat beneath her made impotently little noise. 

“Then stand and be hungry. Your grace knows her business better than I,” Heirdrun replied neutrally. She turned and swept to the hearth, deftly selecting a few wooden bowls and spoons along the way. 

Amaryllis stood for a moment, furious. She did not have her attendants–her brush, her nightgown, the moonstone beads at her bedside, her warm, spiced mead. Her every night was ordered and attended to. The same routine in the same order every night–just as she liked. She should be treated like a princess. She should have her things. Hot tears began to well up in her eyes. She rushed to the bed, kicking her pump to the cabin wall when it almost tripped her again. 

She was furious at that rake knight, fawning over the first pretty face they encountered. She was furious at her traitor uncle. At this impudent woman. At her father… she choked back a sob. She prayed desperately to Lord Sinnid–she begged silently–for The High King not to be dead. For her kingdom–her birthright–not to be in the clutches of an upstart country lord. For her whole life and every comfort she had known not to be ripped away by those traitorous Fion.

She began to sob. Hot beads rolled down her cheeks. She imagined her father dead and gutted in the great hall, her uncle standing over him. Cais Ogh’ir’s defenses were already breached when she and Bridget had fled. She had spied one of the Fion when she fled the castle. The Fion were hard to mistake. The figure had been wearing an all-black cloak, silver filigree armor, and a mask depicting some wild creature out of a dream. She had seen fire leap from the figure’s hand and consume one of her father’s men. What were the chances High King Cahry was still alive? What could he do against sorcery like that? 

“There, there, child,” Heidrun said.

Amaryllis jumped, her face screwing up in anger again. She hastily rubbed away the tears and snot from her face. How dare this woman not even give her royal person privacy in her grief? 

The Princess noticed the bowl in Heidrun’s extended hand. She snatched it, glaring at the woman all the while. Hesitantly, she drew a little stew from the bowl with the wooden spoon and smelled it. After a moment’s inspection, she turned her gaze back to Heirdrun, studying the woman’s face carefully.

Amaryllis noted the softness of Heirdrun’s face, the lack of pock marks or scars. It was almost too perfect. She also disliked the blonde’s placid face. 

“I shall wait to dine with my knight,” she said, glaring. 

Heidrun merely returned the gaze, unflinching, unblinking. She stood unmoving a few feet from Amaryllis looking down at The Princess.

.

Amaryllis finally broke and looked away, scanning the room. She knew nothing of the herbs and trinkets hanging about the little hut, so her gaze eventually came to rest on an altar tucked against the far wall. The princess’ eyes lit up. A linen cloth was neatly placed under a set of rune-covered knuckle bones, a stone bowl, and an antler knife. A stone tablet with more runes stood above the bowl.

Amaryllis tilted her head. Druidism. She had been taught enough of the runes to take a guess as to their meaning, but not to be certain. She hoped she was misreading them. “Tell me. Do you live here alone?” she asked, turning back to Heidrun.

“For many years,” Heidrun replied. If the blonde had noticed The Princess inspecting her altar, she did not show it in her face. The same half-smile remained frozen on her face.  

“You tend to yourself here? Miles from anyone else?” 

“It was not always so,” Heidrun responded. The smile finally disappeared, its absence many times more noticeable than its presence. 

“Must I ask every inane question? How do you survive here, peasant?” Amaryllis spat. Anxiety tightening in her chest.

Heidrun did not flinch. “It was an easy thing when Kettenbach still stood. I provided medicine and healing to the people, and they kept me well provisioned and satisfied. It has grown harder since the High King’s Praetoriate razed the village to the ground.” Heidrun moved closer to Amaryllis, beginning to lean over her. 

Amaryllis’ heart skipped a beat. She felt hot panic flood her veins.  “Do not slander the High King. It was marauders…”

Heidrun spoke over her, not loudly, but with a firmness and directness that made Amaryllis falter, “Marauders do not wear black cloaks and half-plate, your grace,” she said the last two words with audible disdain. “They do not summon fire.” A different smile now played at Heidrun’s lips, cruel and angry. 

Amaryllis drew back, afraid. Her heart was racing. 

Heirdun leaned in further, inches away now, carefully observing The Princess’ decolletage and neck. The blonde smiled openly. For a moment, Heidrun’s gaze lingered on the ruby nestled in Amaryllis’ bosom. The blonde’s eyes narrowed, and then relaxed as she followed the soft curve of The Princess’ breast and shoulder to meet Amaryllis’ gaze again.  

The cabin door swung open with a loud creak, causing Amaryllis to jump. Looking over she saw Bridget enter with an armful of firewood, drawing the door closed behind her. 

“Your grace, madam,” the knight nodded at each of them, surveying the room, before setting the logs by the fire. Amaryllis was seated on the bed–Heirdun a few feet away carrying something. “I split a few and brought them in from the rack outside, madam. I hope that is of use,” she looked with annoyance at Amaryllis as she finished her last sentence, but Bridget’s anger quickly fled. 

Amaryllis’ eyes were glistening and red from crying. 

“Thank you. Most helpful,” Heidrun replied, striding forward to hand Bridget a bowl. 

Bridget took it without pausing. 

“I’ll make a tisane,” Heidrun announced.

Bridget strode across the room to the bed The Princess was sitting on. She set the bowl down unthinkingly and landed next to her lady. She brushed aside the curtain of hair obscuring Her Grace’s eyes and took in Amaryllis’ puffy red face. 

Amaryllis turned away and pushed against Bridget’s outstretched hand. Not hard enough to actually move the knight’s gauntlet, but Bridget yielded instantly all the same. 

“Did she hurt you?” Bridget whispered, sternness rising in her. 

“Only my pride,” Amaryllis sniffed. “I suspect worse though. I do not trust her intentions.” Amaryllis glanced at the bowl.

Bridget’s brow furrowed. She lifted the bowl and inspected it closely. Taking up the spoon, she sampled a little. “I think it safe, Your Grace, but I will mind Your wisdom. Eat. Rest. I will be vigilant for my lady.” Bridget turned to see Heidrun pouring boiling water into earthenware cups. 

Amaryllis stared up into Bridget’s face. That familiar fierceness was there. She almost began to cry again. She leaned up and kissed Bridget’s cheek, “You have your lady’s thanks, Syr Knight,” Amaryllis said, gazing into Bridget’s deep, brown eyes. The Princess was often cared for, but rarely felt that another cared for her. Perhaps she had not lost all her precious possessions after all.

Bridget blushed, “Now and forever, Lady,” she whispered, returning Amaryllis’ gaze. Amaryllis’ ruby eyes shone in the firelight. The low flickering light highlighted the warm curve of her cheeks. It wasn’t the first time The Princess’ beauty struck the knight, but she felt something more than awe this time. Her heart raced.  

“Tisane for us. It will help ease the ache of long travels,” Heidrun announced, causing the pair to jump. As the two wheeled around, they saw the blonde woman proffering a wooden plate with three earthenware glasses of steaming infusion, evergreen sprigs still extending from each. 

Bridget hesitated for a moment before taking two and passing one to Amaryllis. She made sure to take the one closest to Heidrun. She placed her hand on Amaryllis’ thigh in warning. The knight caught her lady’s gaze for a moment and the two shared a knowing nod before Bridget shifted back to watch their host carefully. 

The blonde woman seemed not to notice Bridget’s caution. She picked up the last cup, set down the tray, and began sipping without much apparent thought. 

Bridget waited a time, before carefully sniffing the tea. It was bright–lemony. She sipped it. It seemed no more bitter than the tisanes she grew up on. 

Heidrun took a seat across from the bed where the other two were seated and began to work on her own infusion. 

Bridget shifted her attention back to her charge. Amaryllis was deep in her stew. Earthenware cup forgotten on the headboard. Bridget knew The Princess hadn’t eaten in so long. Her Grace was now eagerly spooning one dainty bite after another past her lips. Bridget smiled and noted that the rouge had now finally faded away from The Princess’ lips. The knight’s heart warmed seeing her lady eating. She spent a long few minutes sipping the brisk infusion and watching Her Grace, just enjoying the warmth of the drink and The Princess’ slight wiggle of contentment as she ate. 

She took another deep gulp of the tisane. Maybe things would turn out well after all. She felt dizzy. Bridget closed her eyes.

The loud thud and clatter caused Amaryllis to scream and throw her soup. Scrambling, she pushed herself up onto the bed and against the back wall. To Amaryllis’ horror, her knight had collapsed like a rag doll onto the bed–her head was braced at an absurd angle against the back wall and her arms were crumpled around her. The earthenware cup that had been in her hand was rolling away across the floor. 

“Bridget!” she screamed. Her eyes raced around the room and landed on Heidrun who was rising from her chair. 

“What is wrong with her?” Amaryllis demanded. “What have you done!?”

Heidrun rose and then kept rising. With a sickening series of pops, her back extended–the vertebrae sliding away from each other and expanding. The blond woman shuddered as her bones of her arms lengthened stretching her skin taught. Rolling her shoulders and flexing her fingers–spider-like–her digits grew as well. She rolled her neck and tilted her head at a terrifying angle to meet Amaryllis’s gaze. 

“Done to her?” Heidrun asked, but not in the voice Amaryllis knew, it was like stones scraping against each other in an icy brook. “I’ve merely extended her a mercy I plan to deny you, Your Grace.” Heidrun turned and swept over to loom above the fallen knight.

“Syr Knight, stand at attention!” Amaryllis shouted. It was not an order; she was begging. 

Heidrun laughed. With a single blade-like finger she flensed the straps fastening the knight’s gorget and peeled it away. She leered hungrily at the supple neck beneath. 

Amaryllis screamed as she saw Heidrun’s jaw unhinge.