It was not the diplomatic delegation Idris would have chosen, but it was the only one he had. Willard, the hedge witch, his curly blond hair free as he piled possessions into Noctis’s saddlebags; Lila, in new travelling clothes provided by the townspeople, her hair braided into a thick caramel twist, with Idris’s books tied to her back; and Judge Kurellan, domineering as he brushed down the warhorse he had been gifted by the guards of Harran Pass. Alongside Noctis and the dappled blue warhorse, Crux, there was a third horse for Idris and his attendant, a chestnut filly they said was called Applewood, which Lila was fitting for a pillion saddle.

Idris was itching to leave. It was getting dark beyond the pass and he was unsure whether or not the other necromancer needed to rest. If he did, they would overtake him. If not, they were already too far behind to make a difference. Lila had wanted to stay one more evening, so he could sleep and recover, but he would hear none of it.

“Sir Idris, I think she is ready,” said Lila, coming to the steps where he sat.

“Thank you, Lila. Willard?” he added, reaching to Lila’s shoulder to pull himself up.

“Aye? Oh, everything is good with us, eh, Noctis?”

“Judge Kurellan?” Idris said. Kurellan, already seated on Crux like a proud statue, nodded once. “Then, we ride.”

Lila boosted him onto Applewood, and he was getting settled when he saw, flapping through the lilac of dusk, a rather dishevelled looking raven.

“Is that -?” he said quietly, and was answered by the dim murmur of a death aria which felt particularly homely in his chest. “It is.”

He held out his arm and the raven plopped down on it. It was already decomposing around the joints of the wings and one of the eyes was missing. Lila sniffed and looked like she immediately regretted it.

“He does smell rather bad,” Idris said. “But let us see what he has brought.”

On the bird’s leg was a piece of the Queen’s notepaper, instantly recognisable by her silver wax and the light blue tint in the parchment. He slid it off and scanned the message.

Rissy,

Did I not tell you to give the old man some excitement? Please make sure he behaves himself.

Regardless, I look forward to your return already. I am dreadfully bored and you promised we would resume our game of ‘Knights of the Four Kingdoms’, even though you were losing quite abysmally. I do miss your sulky face as I trample all over your lands.

There is blossom tea for two already waiting. If you do take a trip to see the fae, bring back a unicorn as well as those blue flowers.

Cressida Rex

As expected, the note showed nothing that suggested that any news of the barracks attack had reached her by the time the letter did. Idris sighed and placed the paper in his inside pocket – to Kurellan’s surprise, he was wearing his work coat again – and glanced musingly at the bird. It might make a second trip, if the wings held out. But what would he even say? She already knew what Kurellan had told her about the barracks. There was only minimal information to add.

“Sir Idris?” said Lila.

“We will burn the bird,” he said. With a simple hand gesture, running his fingers down the raven’s chest, the aria was taken from its heart, and it collapsed into his waiting palm. “We do not want anyone else using him, after all.”

“Yes sir.”

As Lila climbed into the front saddle, another horse approached from the far end of Harran Pass, with a tall, sturdy rider on it in the guard uniform of the local soldiers. Kurellan hailed them, and the rider stopped neatly in front of them, put a hand on their chest and bowed their head.

“Good sirs, gentle lady,” said a feminine voice, “my name is Lady Henrietta DeTrentaville. I am one of the Queen’s captains and have been honoured to work here in Harran Pass for three years, now.”

She took the helmet from her head, revealing a pristinely braided soldier’s plait in striking, shiny ash and a face only gently weathered by her profession, square but ladylike, eyes in sunset hazel. There was a deep, old cut on the right side of her chin that was remarkably handsome.

Idris, mouth suddenly dry, nodded. Kurellan returned her bow.

“Fine lady. Can we assist you?”

“The question, Your Honour, is whether or not I can assist you,” Lady DeTrentaville said. “I observed our… unwelcome guest… as he departed. It would be my sincerest pleasure to accompany you, if you would have me. I am fit to fight and can protect you well. I would be loath to deliver you harmed to Her Majesty.”

Kurellan looked at Idris, who said nothing, and made a decision.

“You are welcome, good lady. This is Lila –“

“Milady.”

“- and… the hedge witch, Willard.”

“Lady,” Willard said, sweeping his hat as he bowed.

“And Court Necromancer, Sir Idris of Gleesdale,” Kurellan finished.

Lady DeTrentaville raised her delicate eyebrows, but bowed her head.

“Sir. Truly glad to make your acquaintance,” she said.

“Likewise,” said Idris, then cleared the croak out of his voice.

“Lead the way, Lady DeTrentaville,” said Kurellan.

The captain smiled, placed her helmet back on.

“My friends call me Riette,” she said, and she spurred her horse to trot.

*

The group rode through the night. Fireflies and fae flurries lit the grass-fields as they went in bright yellows and greens; bats and owls swooped where dragons once ruled the skies. The stars were clear and white in the swathe of navy above. The aria bells Kurellan had attached to Crux’s halter sparkled with fae arias and the music of the countryside – earth, air, shadow, moon. Occasionally, Willard sang his fae songs, songs of faraway courts and playful delights that softened Lila’s shoulders. Lady Riette did not say much, but she seemed strangely at ease in their company.

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Idris, as was his wont, had a book open, tied to Lila’s shoulders, so he could study while they went, lit by a small gas lamp. He muttered to himself and tutted and sighed, and scratched his temple where the headache throbbed.

“Forgive me, Sir Idris,” said Lady Riette, “but are you working back there?”

“I…” Confused, he looked up. She had her head tilted curiously to one side. “I am, yes. Why?”

“That is a rather ingenious way to travel.”

“He does not like horses, milady,” said Lila. Idris gritted his teeth and returned to his book. “And truthfully, he does not like riding or travel all that much. He is happier with his books. I make a very good easel.”

Lady Riette laughed, less unkindly than Idris had expected, and it made his cheeks warm.

“A paramount attendant, Sir Idris,” she said.

“I do not deserve her, or her like,” he said.

“What is it you are looking for?”

“I will know when I see it.”

“He should be resting,” said Lila pointedly.

“Resting will not help us,” said Idris, turning the page and tucking it beneath the strap that held the text to Lila’s back. “Study will.”

“Is that what aria magicians do all day?” said Lady Riette. “Read and brood?”

Kurellan stifled a laugh, a sound Idris had heard so little that he initially thought it was a cough. Willard cackled briefly; even Lila let slip a slight giggle which she immediately repressed. Idris sighed and closed his eyes.

“I jest,” the captain said. “I jest, I am sorry, Sir Idris. I do not meet many. Out here, in the wilderness of the kingdom, I do not have many people of noble birth to speak with.”

“I would not say ‘noble’ like it meant much,” muttered Idris.

“Sir Idris is focused on our current problem, and I admire his determination,” said Lila, in a gracious attempt to save Idris’s remaining pride. “But he should be asleep.”

“I am still conscious and I can hear everything everyone is saying about me very clearly,” he said. “I would appreciate if you let me concentrate.”

“It has been a difficult few days for all of us,” said Kurellan, “so.”

Lady Riette bowed her head. “Apologies, Your Honour.”

Lila stiffened again at Kurellan’s sentence. Idris figured she had not yet forgiven the old man for what he did.

Just after dawn pinked the sky, Lady Riette paused the caravan and pointed down the ridge.

“This is the direction he went. Towards Obsidian Lake,” she said. “If he did not stop, he should already be there.”

“He would have to stop,” said Idris, frowning, finally looking up from his text and noticing how painful his neck was. “He should have been exhausted.”

“Then perhaps we should rest and see if we can determine if he camped. Breakfast?” she said, turning her horse around.

“Breakfast,” said Willard. It was the first time he had spoken, besides singing, all night. “Aye.”

“And some sleep,” said Kurellan, glancing at Idris.

“No,” said Idris. “I will take the bells and scout the road.”

“Lila, take control of this man, please,” the old judge said, passing them. Willard hung back.

“Sir Idris, please tell Judge Kurellan to stop giving me orders,” Lila said, through gritted teeth, once he was out of earshot.

“I shall.”

“Especially after –“

“I do think the Old Honour is right here,” Willard interrupted, smiling slightly. “I am right tired. Dog tired. You must be, too, after all this a-running around. Why don’t you and I set up a nice little tent while the important cityfolk do their work, hmm?”

“I can take the bells,” said Lila, turning slightly. “I know what your aria sounds like. You should stay with Willard.”

“We’ll get all caught up with where we’re at,” said Willard, this time with no smile.

Idris realised, rather guiltily, that he had hijacked the hedge witch’s whole life with this wild affair. He had brought him out of Harran Pass without asking and assumed he would be fine with being at at-will medic for a man he held no allegiances to, and Willard had not complained at all. Rather, he took everything in his stride so easily that it was almost criminal how Idris had treated him. With that in mind, Idris finally accepted that it probably was time for him to sleep.

Lila stopped by a stream, hidden by a hedge, and decided there was good enough. She dropped off Willard, Idris, his baggage and the tent, and spurred Applewood on to catch up with Kurellan and the bells. Willard led the horses to drink and organised the tent pitching; Idris made a fire.

“Didn’t know you had those kinds of skills,” said Willard, watching Idris carefully pile kindling.

“I, uh… I lived in the country for a while,” said Idris.

“With the healers?”

“Yes.”

“You must know some about herblore and gathering, then.”

“A little. Enough to get by.”

“Idris…” Willard placed a rock on one of the ropes. “Can I be bold?”

“If I can apologise, first.”

“Apologise?”

“I have rather taken you for granted.” Idris sat back, searched the bag for flints. “I hope you know if you want, you can go home, and I will not hold that against you.”

Willard paused. He looked at the tent, then the fire pit, and he sighed and smiled.

“In response to your apology,” he said, sitting beside Idris and holding out his hands for the flints, “I will say what it is I was a-wanting to say, if you’ll let me.”

“Please.”

Idris gave Willard the flints.

“My mam used to tell me I was going to do big things,” Willard said, leaning forward to light the kindling. “Said I was pretty special. I started learning hedge witchcraft right early, and I’m good at it, too. Always have been.” He blew on the embers and, satisfied, sat back. “Maybe too good at it,” he said quietly.

Idris frowned. “In what way?”

“I dunno. Just… get this feeling.” Willard twisted his mouth, tied his hair up. “It was only me and my mam and my grandma for a long, long time. My dad was never there. Never met him. From what my grandma used to say about him, he popped up out of nowhere, made me, and vanished. Mam didn’t talk about him at all and I never asked. So… so I figure, in some way, me and you getting to meeting might have been the kind of event I was needing to… to think about this stuff proper. I do have a favour.”

“Name it.”

“I’m a-thinking, maybe my dad was some kind of fancy cityfolk aria magician?” said Willard, his eyes sparkling as he looked at Idris. “Maybe that’s why he up and left and never came back? Laying with a hedge witch in the middle of nowhere is kind of lowly, for a fancy magician like that. I can understand why we never met, if that’s the case. If I come with you, will you help me look at records and scrolls and find me dad, maybe?”

Idris smiled. “I think that would be acceptable payment. Yes.”

Willard beamed, showing the gap in his teeth. “Thank you, Idris.”

“And again, I am sorry.”

“Oh, none of that.” Willard rummaged in his satchel. “I’m right glad to help. Now you need to tell me if these herbs stop working. Prolly means I need to find a more fae-filled forest to gather from. Where’s it hurting?”

As the hedge witch set out his craft, he told Idris what had happened when they woke to find him gone. Lila did not bother searching the farmhouse – she saw the missing dead horse and quickly surmised the truth. They packed up the tent and Idris’s things and set out immediately to find him, but when they reached the inn they discovered that the soldiers had already moved on. Willard helped her track the horses.

“But she’s smart as a hare,” he said, sliding leaves under the bandage around the stitched wound in Idris’s upper shin. “She knew you’d be going through Harran Pass. Just didn’t know how the Old Honour would react if we showed up. And…”

“And?” said Idris.

“I think we just missed the black figure,” Willard said.

“He was ahead of you?”

“I think he passed us when we rested for the night. There were… Lila said she felt sad, suddenly. She said she always feels like that when you do your magic.”

“Oh.” Idris sighed, pinched the top of his nose. “I…”

“He really make you walk behind the pony?” said Willard quietly.

“Yes.”

“King and Circle, Idris.”

“I know.”

“Well… well sleep. Have bright dreams.”

“What do you mean, bright dreams?” said Idris. Willard laughed.

“If you’re lucky, the fae bring light to your sleep-time thoughts. Make ‘em bright, and happy, and sparkly. You never had a bright dream?”

“I… do not think I have.”

“Maybe while the sun comes up, eh?”

“Maybe.”

“What do you dream of?” said Willard, helping Idris to his single foot.

“Um…” Idris tried not to think about it. “Sometimes, I dream of my old home. Of the halls, and plants. The people.”

“Is it nice?”

“It is.”

He did not tell Willard about the other dreams. The dreams of the battlefield, of the rain and sweat and feeling that he had done something irreversibly, terribly wrong. The dreams of the hunting trap, of his right foot. The dreams of being trapped in a coffin.

“Eat,” the hedge witch said, handing Idris a pounded herb cake as he lay in his cot. “It’ll make you sleep. And when you wake, the aching and the sleepiness, it’ll all be gone. Promise promise.”

Idris took a moist bite from the cake – it tasted like dried fruit and seaweed – and he chewed it thoroughly. Willard let him wash it down with a few mouthfuls of wine, and quickly Idris felt drowsy, and he fell asleep to fae lullabies.