In The Name of Love

Didier stifles a sigh as he swings into his horse’s saddle while surveying the group of royals gathered on the steps in front of Zosya to see off the Vyrunian delegation. Fifi isn’t among them, he notes with disappointment. His staff told him that the Aethyrozian delegation departed days ago, and he hasn’t seen any sign of Fifi since the disastrous ball after Wilhelmina and Adalberto’s wedding, but he hoped that they were mistaken, that Fifi had stayed behind to help her sister settle into her new life. But if that had been the case, surely she would be standing next to Wilhelmina and Adalberto now.

But she isn’t. Didier grinds his teeth in frustration. I should have been more proactive, should have sought her out, checked on her, he berates himself silently. Instead, he’s been mingling with other royals and spending time with his siblings, working on other diplomatic initiatives and hoping that eventually Fifi would join them.

She never did, and now Didier wonders if he should have listened more closely to the rumors flying about Zosya since King Celestino’s miraculous recovery. What snatches of gossip he’s heard were focused on magic, some sort of witch who materialized out of the palace walls to heal the king. But princesses don’t just disappear, he reasons. Surely the gossips would know something about her, if I asked them.

But it’s too late now. He’s already stayed at Zosya longer than they’d planned. Arlette has refused to leave Zosya until the rain abated, though, and so they have remained inside until today, the first sunny day in more than a week. Although the sun is just peeking over the walls of the courtyard, the air is warm and humid, and Didier scowls at the prospect of riding all day in the sun as the weather gets hotter.

“May Chuezoh bless your journey and keep you safe,” Adalberto says to them, his deep voice echoing off the courtyard walls.

“Thank you. May Chuezoh’s blessings abide with you and your family,” Didier replies before turning to lead his delegation out of the gates. As he does so, he hears the hooves of a single horse galloping towards them. A moment later, a lone rider cloaked with a white flag charges into the courtyard. His horse is streaked with sweat. Its sides heave and its tongue lolls out of its mouth as it skids to a halt. The rider practically falls to the ground at Adalberto’s feet.

“What is the meaning of this?” Adalberto demands as Wilhelmina and one of her attendants help the rider to stand.

“Mercenaries,” he gasps. “Ambushed us.”

“He wears my father’s sigil!” Wilhelmina exclaims. She gestures to the gilded swan on the rider’s doublet.

“Princess Josefina…gone.”

For a moment, the courtyard spins around Didier and the ability to breathe eludes him.

“Gone?” Adalberto repeats.

“Taken,” the rider amends.

“By whom?”

“Mercenaries.”

“Any livery? Flags? Sigils?”

“Wolf crest…on a shield.”

Adalberto’s mouth presses into a hard thin line. “Barhesta.”

Then Vyrunia goes to war alongside Syazonia, Didier determines, although his lips won’t move. Rescuing Fifi from mercenaries ought to endear him to both her and King Ansgar, and his father will surely see things the same way.

***~O~***

The sun presses down on the fields of Lyrnola, oppressing the farmers toiling amongst their crops. At the edge of one field, shaded by a clump of evergreens, two figures in rough-spun hooded robes are working on an irrigation system. As the younger of the two, Kai digs a trench with steady intensity; meanwhile, Sigurd’s long beard blows in the breeze as he chants in Barivyce and holds two L-shaped hazel rods in front of him. The older cybarein’s feet carry him slowly in a meandering, back-and-forth pattern, but the rods stay still, and Kai’s trench is dry and dusty.

“Maybe further into the trees….” Sigurd mutters.

Kai doesn’t hear him. With each shovelful of dirt he throws out of the trench, he tries to bury his own unwanted thoughts, but they weigh in on him as heavily as the rays of sun on his back as he moves into the field. A couple of days ago, a messenger galloped through their lands on a foaming horse, carrying news for King Ansgar of a Barhestan attempt to assassinate King Celestino of Syazonia and requesting Aethyrozia’s aid in a war; Kai and Sigurd learned this news when they brought the man and his horse water and provisions for their journey. Since then, Kai has been worrying about Fifi. Did she witness the assassination attempt? Is she on her way back? Is she staying to help her sister? Kai wonders, wishing they’d thought of a way to stay in touch with each other before she left Lyrnola.

“Here, Kai!” Sigurd calls hoarsely. Kai turns to find Sigurd a dozen paces away, his hazel rods twitching and twisting downwards and inwards, pointing towards the ground at his feet. “Dig here. There will be water.”

Kai steps out of his trench and goes to Sigurd, then starts digging where the hazel rods indicate. This dirt doesn’t seem any different from the soil in the trench, at least to Kai, but he won’t question his mentor’s judgment and tools. He’s more than content to let Sigurd do the hard thinking today. He can’t focus on anything other than his own worries anyway.

“You think she is for you?” Sigurd asks Kai.

Kai’s grip on the shovel tightens and the shovel jerks, spilling dirt back into the hole he’s started. “She doesn’t belong to anyone. Except Cybarei, probably,” he answers as he resumes digging, more intensely than before.

“She will like that answer. But you think she can live this life with you?”

“She knows she can’t live the life she’s supposed to, the life she was born to. We’ve talked about this. If you’re not convinced—”

“I haven’t met her. And I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine. Nothing better than digging in the Santor heat.” Kai pauses to wipe the sweat off his brow, then looks down. The soil in his hole has gone from dust to clay. He stabs the shovel into it, then throws a couple of gemstones from the bag Fifi gave him at Friggenter into the hole. “Aershan’na.”

Almost immediately, water bubbles up around his shovel, which he yanks out of the hole with some satisfaction.

Sigurd nods his approval. “You work hard. But your mind is not here.”

The distinctive cry of a grebe interrupts their conversation, keeping Kai from making a tart reply. Instead he turns to the bird.

“No lakes or ponds near here, little one,” he tells the bird, extending a hand to it. Are you one of Sigurd’s messengers? Have you come to us for help? he asks the grebe without moving his lips, although he doubts this one knows Sigurd; his mentor’s furrowed brow indicates he’s just as confused as Kai.

The grebe twitters and trills as it lands on his hand. An image of Fifi, cloaked and on horseback, fills Kai’s mind. She’s coming. She seeks you, the bird tells him.

Kai drops his shovel. This isn’t the plan. She’s traveling too light to make it alone, he worries as his heart starts racing.

“Can you take me to her?” he asks the bird. In response, the bird takes off and circles Kai’s head a couple of times, then flies northeast, looking over its shoulder to see if he’s following, and then landing at the foot of a spruce with an annoyed expression.

“Go,” Sigurd smiles at Kai. “Take Varsel. He’s restless.”

“You’ll be all right with this project?”

“Our other friends will help me. Only you can do what this friend asks.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back soon. With her.”