The bear snapped its jaws shut and swiveled its head towards Britomart as she burst into the building, sword raised. Britomart stopped so abruptly that her muscles protested. She stood in the doorway of a bright, tidy room with a tall table set against one wall and shelves against the other. A large area towards the back was covered with what must have once been quite a nice rug. It would have been quite an ordinary building had it not been for the bear sitting on the rug and the blood witch in the chair beside it, leaning in towards the bear with her hands on either side of its muzzle. Amoret, too, looked up in surprise at the sound of the door thunking into the wall, instinctively laying a hand on the bear’s shoulder to soothe it as a growl began to rumble in its throat. The growl subsided.
“Oh.” Britomart said. She lowered her sword, trying to make it inconspicuous. A shaft of light from the window glinted off of the blade, ruining her effort.
Amoret had apparently recovered from her surprise, because she was now looking at Britomart with a combination of exasperation and amusement. Britomart wanted to sink through the packed earth of the floor. Any moment now, Amoret was going to raise an eyebrow, and then maybe Britomart would sink through the floor, disintegrating out of pure embarrassment.
Amoret raised an eyebrow. “The castle has done a number on you, hasn’t it? A servant’s livery and the Champion’s sword. I don’t think there’s been a Queen’s Champion to wield that thing in nearly two hundred years.”
“I saw the bear,” Britomart mumbled. “I came to save you. I can go now.”
“I’m a blood witch, princess. I have power over all of the vile creatures of the wood, don’t you know?” Britomart felt herself going red at the sarcasm in Amoret’s voice. The bear gave a low growl again, and Amoret shushed it, whispering something to it in the Old Tongue.
“You talk to it,” Britomart said stiffly.
“I talk to her,” Amoret corrected. “And she understands me.”
“Blood magic.”
Amoret cocked her head. “Yes and no. Blood magic makes me more attuned to all that lives in this wood, more able to sense their feelings and thoughts. But my ability to understand the wood’s creatures is also a matter of the creatures themselves. I told you that people with Tywyth Teg blood who stayed in the Shadowed Wood maintained more of their powers. Well, either some of that power seeped into the other creatures who live here, or the wood always had some magic of its own. Many of the creatures here are far more intelligent than their brethren elsewhere.”
“Can she understand me?” Britomart asked hesitantly. Then a far more pressing question occurred to her. “Wait, you said you can read the thoughts of everything that lives here. Can you read mine?”
“I can sense their thoughts, not read them. It isn’t that precise. And don’t panic, princess. You’re in the Shadowed Wood, but you’re not of it. Your thoughts are safe. At least, they would be if you didn’t show them so clearly on your face. As to Blewog here, if you wanted her to understand your words, you would have to speak the Old Tongue, which I don’t imagine you can do.”
Britomart nodded mutely, doing her best to keep her expression blank. What did Amoret mean about her showing her thoughts on her face?
“As I thought. Well, even so, she can understand your movements and moods, just as you could understand hers if you tried.”
Britomart remembered the impression of disgruntlement she’d had from the bear when she first entered. She looked back at the bear and found that it was giving Amoret a longsuffering look. Are you done yet? it seemed to be saying. Can you make the stranger leave so we can get on with things?
What had they been doing anyways? Britomart wondered. She studied her surroundings for the first time. The shelves that lined the wall behind Amoret held earthenware jars and bundles of herbs; squares of fabric and long swathes of rolled bandages; and a collection of splints of varying sizes. She turned her attention back to Amoret and was alarmed to find that Amoret had gone back to examining the bear. “What is this place? It looks like an infirmary.”
“It is an infirmary of sorts, just not for humans,” Amoret replied distractedly, pulling the bear’s upper lip back to expose worrisomely long fangs.
“So you…what…spend your days tending to animals? Isn’t that a little odd for a queen? Since you keep saying you’re a queen, I mean,” Britomart added, realizing that she had come dangerously close to acknowledging Amoret as the ruler of the Shadowed Wood.
“And what is it that your queens do that is so queenly? Sit around all day embroidering and exchanging gossip? At least what I do is useful.”
“Our queens don’t–” Britomart began hotly, stung by the grain of truth in Amoret’s words.
Amoret held up a hand to stop her. “I shouldn’t have been so harsh.” She lifted her hands from the bear’s muzzle and turned towards Britomart. Britomart was surprised to see a rueful expression on Amoret’s face as she continued, “You see, I'm more accustomed to bears’ company than to humans’. Come and help me, and I’ll explain. If you’re going to stay, you might as well make yourself useful.”
“I can’t…” Britomart feebly protested. The bear gave Amoret another longsuffering look and let out a huffing sigh that reminded Britomart of her horse Arthur.
“Yes, you can,” Amoret replied firmly.
Britomart looked at the bear once more and swallowed. She laid her sword on the table and went to Amoret’s side. Amoret smiled up at Britomart when she reached her. For once, there was nothing mocking in that smile. “Good,” Amoret said. “Gods know what Blewog has been eating, but she seems to have cracked a tooth. I’ll need you to hold her mouth open while I heal her.”
Britomart felt a bit faint. “How do I know she won’t bite my hand off?”
“Because she knows I don’t want her to. Besides, bears only eat humans when they’re starving or threatened, and Blewog is definitely not starving–not with the amount of fruit that she and her cub have been stealing.”
“And if you did want her to eat me?”
Amoret shrugged. “Then she would. Just as it is my duty to heal her because she is my subject, it is her duty to obey me because I am her queen. That is what I wanted to explain to you: why tending to creatures like Blewog is my business as queen. Ruling the Shadowed Wood is not just a matter of ruling the humans who live here, who are few and far between. It is a matter of ruling all that lives and grows within the wood’s bounds: bears and stags and squirrels and trees and all. Blewog is my subject no less than the cottagers by the forgotten grove are–no less than Rowena is, though she hardly acts like it. And as the bears and the oaks are my subjects, I care for them as a queen should. I settle their territory disputes and rein in the violence of their natures when they would kill beyond their needs; I help them live in harmony; I heal them when they are hurt. You may think I am a queen without a kingdom, princess, but you would be wrong.”
Britomart had thought exactly that, of course. She hesitated, unsure what to say. It was odd hearing Amoret talk as if she were a queen in more than name–there was even something admirable in the way that she talked about caring for her subjects. But a kingdom of plants and animals simply wasn’t the same as a kingdom like Galbrica.
Amoret seemed to sense what Britomart was thinking, for she rose from her chair with a sudden air of efficiency and said, “But enough of that. I have kept Blewog waiting long enough.” Britomart shifted out of Amoret’s way as the witch went to the shelves behind them and began sorting through a row of earthenware jars until she found one containing a muddy-green salve that smelled of peppermint and willowbark. She brought it back and sat with it balanced open on her lap as she drew the short, sharp knife that she wore at her waist, then looked expectantly at Britomart. “Ready?” Amoret asked.
“Are you going to cut the tooth out?” Britomart couldn’t quite keep the horror from her voice.
“Of course not. I am going to use blood magic.”
“But the salve…”
“Is to ease the pain until the spell finishes its work. Even in the Shadowed Wood, magic isn’t as strong as it used to be. My ancestors may have been able to heal a creature instantly, but I cannot. Now hold Blewog’s mouth open, will you? I’ll show you how.”
Amoret murmured a few words to Blewog in the Old Tongue, and the bear obligingly opened her mouth. A very pale-looking Britomart reached to hold back Blewog’s lips, trying to do exactly as Amoret had shown her. Britomart nearly jumped out of her skin when the bear growled. Amoret glared at Blewog and issued what seemed to be a fierce rebuke, for the bear looked distinctly chastened. “She’s only joking,” Amoret assured Britomart, who had pulled her hands out of the bear’s mouth and was exercising all of her control not to step back. “You can go ahead now. She won’t do it again.” Britomart peeled back the bear’s lips once more. Her fingers felt slimy.
She watched as Amoret applied a dollop of salve to the gums at the base of one of the bear’s back teeth, then pricked her finger with the point of her small knife. A droplet of blood welled, then another, staining the bear’s tooth scarlet as Amoret pressed her finger against it. Britomart shivered at the red stain on Blewog’s tooth. Amoret whispered once more in the Old Tongue, and something about the rhythm of the words and the way they tingled across Britomart’s skin told her that it was a spell. Amoret drew back her hand and examined the bear’s tooth. Finally, she nodded in satisfaction. Britomart hastily withdrew her own hands as Blewog chomped her jaws experimentally. Amoret asked the bear something in the Old Tongue, then broke into a smile and said something more, patting the bear’s neck with her unbloodied hand.
Britomart realized she was swaying on her feet. Bears and blood magic and a kingdom of trees. It was all too much. She muttered something incomprehensible and went to wait for the other two outside.
By the time dinner arrived, Britomart was so exhausted that she let the wardrobe bully her into a glimmering gown of cerulean silk. She found Amoret waiting for her at the table just as she had the first night. There was no formal greeting this time. It is hard to be formal with someone after tending to a bear’s toothache together–particularly when that toothache has caused you to miss lunch again and the prospect of food has driven out all thoughts of decorum.
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As Amoret had warned her, there was quite a large amount of mead. It must have been the mead that made the dinner feel so comfortable. It must have been the mead that made Britomart forget for a time that the person she was dining with was someone she ought to despise. She remembered in the end, of course, when their conversation melted into silence, leaving only the gentle crackling of the fire to fill the air between them.
“Amoret…”
“Britomart?”
“Will you wake Alfrick?”
“Ask me again tomorrow night. If you will stay.”
So one tomorrow followed another. Days became a week, a week became two. Every night at the end of dinner, Britomart asked the same question. Every night, Amoret gave the same reply. And if Britomart did not quite give up hope, neither did she feel quite the same bitter frustration that she had first felt at Amoret’s reply.
For a time, Britomart continued her search of the castle, looking for some dark secret that would be the blood witch’s undoing. She soon discovered an infirmary–for humans, this time–and the oddest storeroom she had ever seen. The storeroom must have been where the castle kept things when they were not in use. It was vast. Rack upon rack of clothing took up one corner, as varied in time period as the gowns that the wardrobe had first presented to Britomart. Then came shelves of shoes, then belts, then a magnificent array of headdresses and hats that Britomart was glad to have been spared. In another section of the storeroom lay tubs and tables and pitchers like the ones that trundled into Britomart’s chamber when the castle decided that she needed a bath. Beside them were shelves of soaps and oils, drying cloths, hair brushes, and hand mirrors. In another area lay what seemed to be extra cauldrons and cooking utensils, which Britomart guessed must have been needed in the days when all of the castle’s bedchambers were full and all the seats occupied at the table in the great hall. Other supplies were stranger: delicate braziers, oddly shaped jars, and glass contraptions that Britomart did not recognize. She wondered which room the castle sent those to.
Britomart even found the dungeon eventually. She had to ask Amoret how to get to it, which rather took the secrecy out of the whole thing. Amoret did not seem particularly repentant when Britomart confronted her with the fact that the dungeon had rows of barred cells in it with manacles fixed into the walls. She merely asked Britomart what she had expected and pointed out that surely her father’s castle had dungeons too. Britomart had blusteringly protested that her father’s dungeons were much more humane, at which Amoret asked whether she had ever actually seen her father’s dungeons. Britomart had had to admit that she had not. It was not until later that night that she realized what had truly bothered her about Amoret’s dungeons. They didn’t have an interrogation chamber. Britomart wondered if she had been terribly wrong to insist that her father’s dungeons were more humane, or whether blood witches simply had ways of getting information out of people that didn’t require a rack. She wasn’t sure which idea disturbed her more.
After that, Britomart began to explore the grounds. The forbidden east tower could wait. It was not that she felt guilty about betraying Amoret, she told herself. It was just that if she were caught, Amoret might throw her out, and that would be the end of her hopes of waking Alfrick.
In the grounds, Britomart encountered more of Amoret’s creatures–Amoret’s subjects, she corrected herself, though it still felt somewhat absurd to think of them that way. She came across Blewog more than once, sometimes accompanied by the cub that Britomart had spotted nibbling fruit from the castle’s orchard. The castle’s wards seemed not to apply to animals, for the wood’s creatures roamed in and out of the grounds at will. Dappled deer came to graze, and red-breasted birds flew in to perch in the orchard’s branches. A pair of dog-sized cats regularly slunk across the lush grass, baffling Britomart with their tufted ears, stubby tails, and comically large paws. The squirrels miraculously disappeared whenever the cats were present, although Britomart thought that there must have been some sort of truce on the castle grounds. Amoret had said that the wood’s creatures were allowed to hunt to meet their needs, but Britomart had never seen one animal hunt another there.
Britomart stared in fascinated disbelief the first time that she saw a sapling lurching up the castle path on its roots. She had not truly believed that the trees of the Shadowed Wood could move. She thought at first that it must be a tree wight–an evil spirit that took the form of a tree to deceive and strangle travelers–but it settled into a spot near the empty stables and was soon rooted there as solidly as any other tree. When Britomart asked Amoret about it that night at dinner, Amoret shrugged and explained that the tree was in its rebellious phase and had decided to try somewhere new. Moving onto the castle grounds was considered particularly daring for a young sapling. Mostly, they went back to their groves in a decade or two, or so her mother had said.
The stable did not remain empty for long either. A few weeks into her stay–her captivity, Britomart reminded herself–Arthur came trotting across the moat. Amoret seemed more amused than annoyed by his appearance, and she agreed to let him stay. She even went down to the stables with Britomart to help her settle Arthur in. Britomart brushed Arthur’s coat while Amoret sat on a hay bail and watched pensively. Arthur did not seem to mind Amoret’s presence. He had taken to Amoret immediately in a way that Britomart couldn’t help feeling was a little disloyal.
Britomart soaked in the comfort of Arthur’s familiar presence as she brushed him. With the comfort came a sudden sadness. She wished that Arthur had brought Smudge with him. She remembered Amoret talking with the bear, and a thought occurred to her. Turning to Amoret, she asked, “You can sense animals’ thoughts, right? Can you ask Arthur how Smudge is?”
“As I have told you,” Amoret had replied patiently, “I can sense the thoughts of the creatures of the Shadowed Wood. Arthur is no more the wood’s creature than you are. In fact, he is a good deal harder to read than you are. He doesn’t show half as much of what he’s thinking on his face”
“Of course. I had forgotten.” Britomart fixed her attention back on Arthur’s coat, trying not to let her disappointment show. She was mortified to find that her eyes were wet. She had not realized how much she had missed Smudge’s companionship.
Amoret gave a resigned sigh. There was a crinkle of hay as she stood. “Come. If you wish to see your urchin so much, I can show him to you. No, we are not going to Rowena’s cottage,” she added, anticipating Britomart’s question. “But I am not a blood witch for nothing.”
Britomart did not even notice Arthur’s huff of disapproval at his abandonment as she followed Amoret out of the stable. Amoret took her to the well at the edge of the kitchen garden and instructed her to wait. She disappeared through the kitchen door and returned some minutes later with a smooth stone basin that she set down on the edge of the well. “Draw some water, would you?” she asked.
Britomart obliged. When the bucket reached the top of the well, Amoret carefully filled the basin, then drew her small knife and pricked her finger. Britomart had seen the sight many times now from the small magics that Amoret worked seemingly without conscious thought, but she had not grown used to it. She was not sure she ever would. She shivered as a drop of blood fell into the basin and diffused in slow tendrils through the water. Amoret whispered a few lilting words, and the water began to go silvery and opaque where the blood diffused through it. Soon the whole surface was the same flat silver. Britomart almost protested as Amoret poured the basin’s contents onto the grass, but the silvery pool spread out into an even sheet at their feet rather than seeping into the ground. It reminded Britomart of a mirror, except that it cast no reflection back at her.
“Think of what you wish to see,” Amoret told her. “Hold it firmly in your mind. And then tell the mirror.”
“So it is a mirror.”
“Not precisely, but that’s as good a way to think of it as any. It is a way for the forest to reflect back to you what it senses. I can explain the magic behind it later if you wish, but for now, you had better tell it what to show you. It won’t not last forever.”
Britomart closed her eyes and thought of her small, disreputable traveling companion. “Show me Smudge.”
She opened her eyes, hardly daring to hope. An image was diffusing across the silvery surface, following the same path as the blood had. It came into focus with frustrating slowness. At first, there seemed to be only a round blur rolling around against a vague green background. Britomart’s brow furrowed. That didn’t look like a boy. It was too large, for one, and too ungainly. It looked more like a wild animal thrashing about in pain. A gasp escaped from Britomart as the image resolved. It was a wild animal. And it was also Smudge. She recognized both of them in an instant: Smudge and the bear cub. The cub was attacking him, and there was no way Smudge could hold his own. The cub was small, but so was he, and he didn’t even have a dagger.
Britomart sprang up before she knew what she was doing. Her hand flew to her hip and found her sword absent. It did not matter. She had to get to him.
“Wait!” Amoret’s hand was on Britomart’s arm, holding her back, but there was no blood magic behind Amoret’s grip this time, and Britomart shrugged it off easily. “Wait!” Amoret called after her as she began to run towards the archway that led out of the castle and into the wood beyond. “They’re only playing! And you don’t even know where they are! You’ll never find them.”
It was the second part of Amoret’s statement that made Britomart turn back. “Tell me where they are,” she growled.
“No,” Amoret said firmly. “Not until you sit down and listen–not even listen, just look. They’re playing.”
Britomart warily approached the silvery sheet and stared back into it. Now that she was looking, she could see that Smudge was laughing as he tumbled around the clearing with the cub. When she squinted, she could make out Rowena’s cottage in the background, and Rowena looking out at the boy and the bear from the doorway. “I am going to kill him,” Britomart muttered.
“Smudge or the cub?”
“Both.”
“You really don’t like bears.”
“I don’t trust them. Besides, what was I supposed to think? Only someone as daft as Smudge would decide to wrestle a bear for fun.”
“He is certainly more open minded than most,” Amoret said mildly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know precisely what I mean, princess. But you needn’t get into a huff. You haven’t done so badly yourself, even if you do seem to have it out for bears. Blewog likes you, and even the lynxes don’t mind your presence. And they can be very selective.”
“Lynxes?”
“The cats. Surely you’ve seen them. They’ve seen you.”
“Oh, the ones with the tails. Without the tails. You know what I mean.” Britomart settled back down beside Amoret on the edge of the well. They watched the ongoing wrestling match in the silver pane. Britomart tried to figure out what the rules were, but there didn’t seem to be any apart from no claws and no teeth.
A few minutes passed before Amoret broke the silence. “You were going to go after Smudge, even though you knew you could not come back if you left. It would have been the end of your quest. The end of Alfrick. Is one boy worth so much to you?”
Britomart glanced at Amoret, but the other woman was still staring fixedly at the images in the silvery pane. Britomart looked back at the pane too. “He’s my friend,” she said simply.
“You say that like it answers everything.”
“It does.”
“I do not think that I’ve ever had a friend like that.”
Britomart looked again at Amoret, but her profile was as inscrutable as her voice. Britomart swallowed, knowing she was about to do something very stupid, then slid her hand over Amoret’s where it rested on the lip of the well. “I could be your friend,” she said quietly.
Amoret did turn to Britomart then. She had that half-mocking smile on her lips, but its mocking edge seemed to be directed more at herself than at Britomart. “No you can’t, princess. We both know that.” She turned back to watching the images in the pane. “But thank you,” she added softly, “for saying it.”
Britomart went back to watching the pane too. It was easier than sorting out what she was feeling. She felt Amoret’s hand turn upwards and close around hers. They sat like that until the images faded, until the silver pane melted into water, until the water sank into the grass.
That night, Britomart brushed her hair until it shone before she went down to dinner.
Amoret was waiting for her at the end of the table, as she always was. The firelight felt warm and close. They sat together until the flames burnt low.
“Will you wake Alfrick?” Britomart asked.
“Ask me again tomorrow night. If you will stay.”
“I will stay.”
Of course she would stay.