Once Upon a Romance 03 - With True Love's Kiss (26 page)

The officer
took on a long-suffering expression. “Of course he can go in.”

“But
Captain—” the guard tried to protest, but the captain elbowed him sharply.

“You must
forgive him, your highness. He was an excellent soldier, but he isn’t good at
thinking for himself.”

“No harm
done.” Vivi smiled sweetly at the two men before her. “Now, if you gentlemen
could just step aside?”

“Finally,”
Robin growled, and stalked his way into the tent.

The tent was
bare, except for the pole that supported the peaked roof. To that pole was
chained the washerwoman. The ground beneath her was soaked dark with fresh
blood, which had poured from her throat after it had been slit ear to ear.

***

Anders
picked up the picnic basket from where he’d placed in on the small table.

“If you will
not have a care for yourself, then let me take care of you.”

He was so
sweet, and so sympathetic, the smile that Bianca had been trying for finally
made an appearance. “Alright. But I’m not sure I can eat.”

“Just try a
piece of fruit.” He held the basket out to her temptingly. “The apples are
delightfully crisp.”

She picked
up one of the firm, red apples, and gave him a teasing look. “You’re going to
feel dreadfully bad if this makes me ill.”

He grinned
at her. “I’ll take my chances.”

“I suppose I’ll
just have to trust you.”

***

Robin flew
through the camp, his feet barely touching the earth. He dodged around horses
and men with inhuman grace, not caring if he drew attention. Behind him he
heard Vivienne and the guards raise a cry, as they, too, saw the murdered
woman, but he could not wait for them. Anders had been holding the washerwoman.
Anders, who claimed the woman would tell them nothing. Anders, who must have
slit her throat just before coming to Bianca’s tent.

Anders. Who
was alone with Bianca, even now.

Ahead he
could see Bianca’s tent. He began screaming her name, hoping she could hear.
His heart almost stopped when he saw her emerge from her tent, unharmed, but he
continued on his beeline towards her. She looked at him quizzically, and
absentmindedly lifted the apple in her right hand, taking a large, juicy bite.

“No!” Robin
knocked the rest of the apple from her hand, but it was too late. Bianca
collapsed in his arms. He cradled her head, calling her name, begging her to
open her eyes, but she lay unmoving. Her door flap drew back, and Robin raised
his eyes to see Anders, crouched in the shadow of the tent.

“It’s a
shame, really.” His mocking voice drifted out to Robin. “I would have been such
a good king.” Even as he spoke the words, his body faded. The flap fell through
the space where his hand had held it only a moment before, sending a few tiny
swirls of mist out to melt away in the bright sunlight.

Robin heard
shouting all around, but could not bring himself to understand it. When arms
tried to take Bianca from him, he fought them, until he heard Connelly’s voice,
soothing him.

“Let me take
her, lad.”

Hands helped
him up, and he stumbled into the tent. He saw Connelly before him, laying
Bianca on her cot, and he heard Vivienne weeping as she crowded in behind him.
Dimly he realized she must have fetched the medic, and he was grateful to her,
but he couldn’t say it. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away from the beautiful
woman lying so pale and still, like death had already claimed her.

Connelly
smelled her breath and felt her pulse. He looked into each eye, moving a candle
before them. Without ever taking his consideration off of her, he reached into
his medicine bag and pulled out a coneflower root and some dried chamomile
flowers, and thrust them into Vivienne’s hands.

“Boil water.
Steep these. Bring the tea.”

The princess
hastened to do as she was bid, while Connelly placed his hands on Bianca’s
chest and closed his eyes. Robin hovered over the old medic, feeling helpless.

“Can you
save her?”

Connelly’s
eyes never opened, but his voice was uncharacteristically curt. “I canna say.”

“What do you
mean? What’s wrong with her?”

“I dinna ken
yet, lad, but every moment I spend in talkin’ is a moment she slips farther
away.”

At first it
seemed as though nothing was happening. Connelly’s hands stayed firmly rooted
over Bianca’s breastbone, fingers laced together, palms pointed down. Robin bit
his tongue, forcing the questions back down his throat. He didn’t need answers.
What he needed was for Bianca to open her eyes.

After a
moment he blinked. Connelly’s hands were glowing. Robin concentrated, and
realized that he was seeing the guiding lights, but not the tiny motes he was
used to glimpsing. Connelly had distilled them down, condensing them into a
mass that rested against Bianca’s chest.

Robin
watched, and saw the lights dip down into Bianca’s body, then emerge once more
coated in an evil grey muck. At least, that was how Robin saw it. Perhaps
Merriweather could have seen more, had she been there. The muck roiled along
the surface of the golden energy, and then dripped off, darting back to Bianca’s
chest and burrowing back inside. Again and again Connelly delved his energy
into Bianca’s core, and again and again the evil muck would rise to the
surface, only to slip free and invade her body.

Vivienne
returned, bearing a cup of the steeped remedy, and stared at the old medic’s
hands.

“What is he
doing?” she whispered.

“I do not
know.” Robin felt as though he was speaking from far away.

“Is it
working?”

“I do not
know.” It was like a wall of ice encased him. “But I fear it is not.”

Connelly’s
own chest was heaving now, and perspiration stood on his wiry forearms. His
hands trembled where they rested against Bianca’s chest, and the golden mass of
light moved slower and slower with each attempt to pull the grey muck free.

At last he
groaned and tensed his whole body. The light dipped down one last time, and
then rose. Up and up, higher and higher, struggling to keep the grey matter
from Bianca’s skin. Connelly let out a shout, and the motes broke apart, diving
down towards Bianca. The grey muck fell behind them, reaching tendrils down,
but the golden motes, driven by Connelly’s will, were faster. They reached
Bianca first, and spread out, coating her skin, creating a thin barrier over
her whole body. The grey muck battered against the golden armor, but could find
no point of entry. Instead it too spread, forming a second grimey layer above
the golden one.

Connelly
dropped his hands to his side. Then he bowed his head and slumped his
shoulders.

“No.” Robin
whispered it.

“I’m sorry,
lad.”

“No.” He
said it again, as if that would make it true.

“I canna
heal her. At best I kin keep it from her fer a time. ‘Tis possible there’s a
mortal remedy. But the hope is small. I dinna think an herb grown ‘neath the
mortal moon kin heal a curse twisted in the mists.”

“What of the
other Fae?” Robin reached down and grabbed the old medic, heedless of his
obvious exhaustion. “Is there one that might heal her?”

“In all the
mists? Ta be sure, lad. But ye could’na find a one that would do so.”

“Why not?”
Vivienne was indignant.

“‘Tis a
powerful act of magic, ta drive the curse out with a flood o’ the lights. It
canna be hidden with mortal fripperies.” He gestured at the cooling cup in
Vivienne’s hands on the word fripperies. “‘Twould break the accords, not jest
bend ‘em.”

Vivienne
looked like she had taken a blow to the stomach, and she set the cup down on
the small table with a thunk. “How long will she live, beneath—this?” She
gestured weakly to Bianca.

“I canna
say.” Connelly sighed in weariness. “A day? A week? Mayhap but a few hours. The
curse is strong.”

Robin sank
to his knees at Bianca’s bedside. He dimly heard Vivienne break into racking
sobs, but he couldn’t take it in. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

Bianca was
going to die.

Vivienne’s
feet were heavy as she mounted the hastily erected platform in front of the
city walls. Bianca’s followers had all wanted to witness Brannon’s
capitulation, so they had built the wooden structure to elevate the
proceedings, making it visible to all those assembled.

Curious eyes
rested on her, once she stood atop the stage. They had been expecting Bianca,
so that Brannon could be presented before her. Instead, there was Vivienne,
standing alone, without even Fain to bolster her. He had not been able to face
the crowd, in his grief over his sister, but Vivi knew someone must bear this
burden, so she had come. She felt her tears return, and did not even try to
check them. What did a few tears matter, in the face of the news she was tasked
with delivering?

“My
friends…” Her voice, normally so clear and strong, was choked with anguish.
She swallowed hard and tried to go on with her speech. It was a good speech,
one that would soothe their hearts and try to keep them on the path that Bianca
had wanted for them, but Vivi couldn’t make it. Her soul was too heavy, and her
heart was too broken. She could not make a speech. So she gave them truth,
instead.

“Our beloved
Bianca is dying.”

***

Robin heard
the gasps from the crowd, filtering into the tent. He sat on the cot beside
Bianca, holding her hand, while her cousin made the announcement of her
impending demise. He felt removed from time, distanced from the world. As
Vivienne continued speaking, he heard the gasps turn to cries of disbelief, and
each one seemed like an echo of his own heart. He could not believe that she
was going. Could not accept that she would soon be gone. Instead he sat and
held her hand, as though that physical connection would keep her in the land of
the living.

Connelly sat
with him. The medic made no further attempt to help Bianca, but neither had he
shown any sign of leaving. Instead he perched on the stool, back slumped with
weariness, but constant in his presence. Robin supposed he would have been
grateful for the company, had he been able to feel anything at all, but he felt
nothing.

Nothing but
emptiness.

***

The crowd
was in turmoil. Vivi watched them, uncertain of how to comfort the teeming sea
of people. There were too many of them, full of the first throes of grief and
pain. She tried to find the words to reach their hearts, but was at a loss. And
then, into that moment, so fraught and strained, a kindling spark was thrown.

The city
gates opened, and Brannon emerged.

The crowd
saw him. Vivienne had not laid the blame for Bianca’s poisoning at his feet,
but he had caused all of them too much harm for the people not to reach their
own conclusions. Vivi could see the ripple move through the crowd as their
grief turned to rage, and that rage was aimed at the fallen king. The mob turned,
and one by one they cried out—for justice, for reparations, for blood to be
paid—throwing their screams of loss and anger at the man being led from the
city in iron chains.

Vivienne
watched them turn and surge across the plain. She couldn’t stop them. She
couldn’t even fault them. She wanted an outlet for her pain as much as any of
them. She blinked away her tears and watched helplessly as they bore down on
Bianca’s father.

***

“Her people
are goin’ mad.” Connelly spoke quietly from his place on the stool. “I dinna
think ‘tis what the lass would want.”

“No.” Robin
felt as though his lips were made of wood.

“‘Tis a
shame, when she worked so hard fer peace, ta have it all end in violence.”

“A shame?”
Finally, Robin felt something. A shard of emotion. A spark of anger broke its
way through the fog that surrounded him. “The shame is that she lies here,
instead of standing before that crowd. The shame is that she will never have
the chance to complete the work she chose for herself, to guide her people to a
greater peace and justice.” As he spoke the words they fanned the spark of
anger, and it caught, blazing up. “The shame is that she was not allowed to
live her mortal life, unhindered by immortal interference!”

Connelly
sighed, as Robin’s anger seemed to sap the last of his strength. “Yer not
wrong, lad.”

“Why,
Connelly?!” Robin had lost himself in his rage, as fully as the crowd outside. “Why
is this allowed? This curse,” he spat out the word, drawing his hand through
the grey muck that coated Bianca’s still form. “Anders was a Fae. He has
violated the accords. Why must we let her die, rather than save her? Why? Where
is the justice in that?”

Connelly
pulled himself from the stool, and moved to take Robin by the shoulders,
forcing him to turn away from Bianca. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. “Sometimes
there is’na justice, lad. Sometimes the darkness wins.”

***

There was a
rider on a horse, galloping recklessly, pulling in front of the crowd. Vivienne
wiped the tears from her eyes, and squinted, trying to see. A mass of golden
curls sat atop the rider’s head, but aside from that she would not have known
Felix. There was a look of determination on his face that she had never seen
before.

He rode
until he was half way between the advancing mob and the chained king. Then he
reined up, stood in the stirrups, and threw his hands high in the air.

“STOP!” The
word came out as a bellow, and the crowd stumbled, surprised out of their
headlong advance.

“You cannot
do this!” Felix’s face was red from crying, but his voice was clear, and it
carried out across the masses. “You cannot do this to Bianca!”

The people
in the crowd had confused looks on their faces, but Felix wasn’t done.

“Our queen
came here to build a new kind of kingdom. She didn’t come for the power, or the
glory. All she wanted was a chance to touch your lives, to reach out to you, to
help you make Toldas into a land that cherished her people.” Felix stretched
his hands out to the crowd, pleading with them to listen. “You cannot christen
this glorious new kingdom with vengeance. Not while Bianca lies dying. Not when
she would have begged you to reconsider.”

Felix’s
words fractured the mob. Some of the people had been swayed, but others still
wanted to tear Brannon apart. The crowd swayed back and forth, torn by
indecision, until one old man limped his way to the front. He leveled one
gnarled finger at the king, and scowled.

“We want
justice, boy. Justice from that man.”

“And you
will have it.” Felix spoke with all the sincerity in his young, pure soul. “Brannon
will be tried by Toldas, and sentenced by Toldas, and, at last, brought to
justice by Toldas.” Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, and he did not bother
to wipe them away. His emotions overcame him, and his voice broke as he spoke
his final words. “It is what Bianca would have wanted.”

***

Robin pulled
free from Connelly’s grasp, turning back to Bianca. Behind him, the old hob
sighed, and shuffled to the tent flap, peering out at the events unfolding
outside. Robin picked up Bianca’s hand and cradled it in his own. It was still
warm, and for a moment he imagined it growing cold and lifeless, when the curse
finally wreaked its evil purpose. It was like a dagger twisting in his guts,
but he couldn’t stop himself. He imagined her lips, so red and full, losing
their hue as they slowly faded to the same pale white as her skin, and her
sounding hollow and empty, without the reverberation of her heart within.

Connelly
cleared his throat, breaking through the macabre torture his mind was offering
up. “Ye need ta bring her out now, lad.”

“What?”
Robin was startled.

“They need
ta see her. Ta say goodbye.”

Robin’s head
was screaming that he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t say goodbye. But his body
stooped down and lifted Bianca’s body up, cradling it against his chest.

He made his
way out of the tent, leaving Connelly behind him. His feet felt like lead as he
walked to the wooden platform. Vivienne saw him coming, and one hand flew to
her mouth, but she backed to one side of the stage, giving him plenty of room
to bring up his burden.

The crowd
stilled when they saw Bianca, lying limp in Robin’s arms. One man dropped to
his knees, then another, until one by one they all knelt in homage to their
dying queen.

Vivienne
turned and curtsied to her cousin, then stepped forward and raised her hands,
drawing everyone’s eyes.

“You have
won your freedom from this tyrannous king. You have earned it, through your own
courage and conviction. Now, if you would honor your queen and the sacrifice
she has made,” Vivi’s words ended on a choked sob, and she stopped to take a
deep breath. When she went on, her voice was softer. “Go home. Go back to your
lives. Return to your families. And live each day in peace and prosperity,
knowing that this was all Bianca ever wanted, for each of you.”

Robin looked
out over the crowd, and saw his grief mirrored in a thousand faces. It was more
than he could bear. He turned, clutching Bianca against his chest, and
descended from the platform. Behind him he heard the crowd take up a wailing
cry, and he hurried his steps. He could not be a part of this. He needed to go
back to the tent. There was no solace, there, but at the very least there was
solitude.

Except for
Connelly. He looked haggard and spent, but his eyes were like bottomless wells
of compassion. He gazed at Robin’s face in silence for a moment, and what
agonies he read there Robin could not say. After a time he spoke.

“‘Tis yer
turn, lad.” Connelly stepped forward, and held out his arms, trying to take
Bianca from Robin. “Ye canna hold her forever. Ye need ta make yer farewells.”

“I cannot
let her go,” Robin whispered.

Vivienne
came quietly into the tent behind him. “I know.” She spoke through tears. “But
she will go, whether you allow it or not.” She stepped around him, and leaned
down gently to brush a kiss across her cousin’s brow. “Whether I allow it or
not.” Alone in the tent, away from the prying eyes of the crowd, Vivienne’s
composure finally shattered. She pressed her own pink cheek against Bianca’s
pale one, and helpless sobs racked her body.

“She’s
right, lad.” Connelly looked at him across the two women, one lost in grief,
the other still as the grave. “Ye have ta let her go.”

All of Robin’s
being focused down to one, simple truth. It did not matter what he should do.
Neither did the risks, nor the consequences, nor what the fates decreed.

He could not
let this woman go.

“No.” His
voice rang out like hammered iron.

Vivienne was
startled out of her sobs. “What do you mean?”

“I will not
let her go. She made the choice to dedicate her life to the kingdom, and I
honored that. But I will not give her up to death.”

“Ye canna
stop it.” Connelly’s voice held a warning.

“I can try.”
Robin met the medic’s eyes, in angry challenge.

“‘Twill kill
ye, boy.”

“Perhaps.
But it is my choice to make.” Robin stepped back, pulling Bianca from her
cousin’s embrace.

“What are
you doing?” Vivienne asked through her tears. “Where are you taking her?”

“Away from
here.” Robin felt the rightness of his choice in every fiber of his being. He
held Bianca close against his chest, and found the rent in the world where
Anders had escaped. Then he stepped through it, taking her with him, into the
swirling mists.

They drifted
alone, in tendrils of mist. Robin lay her gently on the ground and knelt beside
her, so he could hold her hand and gaze down at her face. The golden armor
seemed to be growing weaker, and the grey muck surged over it, as though it was
aware that soon it would be able to rip her life away. Still, Robin took a few
last moments to look at her beloved face. He did not know if he would see it
again.

The wisps
parted, and a woman walked to him with quiet steps.

“She is
dying.” His grandmother’s voice held compassion, and pain.

“Not today.”
Robin wouldn’t look at her.

“You must
return her to the mortal world. Let the moments pass, let the protection
falter, and let her go.”

“No.”

“You cannot
keep her here, my dear. She will never wake, only sleep forever, suspended in
time. You cannot want that.” His grandmother’s voice was softly persuasive. “Take
her back.”

“No.”

She peered
at him sharply. “Robin, you aren’t going to do anything stupid, are you?”

“Go away,
Grandmother.”

Her eyes
widened, as she realized his intent. “You cannot!” She hissed the words at him,
for once in a panic. “It’s like to kill you, fool boy! And even if you succeed,
you will have broken the Accords! Is her life worth it?”

“It is to
me.” He gathered Bianca into his arms, and looked up at the Dame. “This is my
choice, Grandmother.”

She stared
down at him, fear and love standing plainly in her eyes. Then she leaned in and
kissed his brow.

“Then do it
well, my boy. And come safely through the other side.” Her voice echoed around
him as she faded into the mist.