They reached the stream at midmorning two days later. Britomart felt lightheaded from the sense of déjà vu as she and Amoret dismounted to walk the last bit to the cavern on foot, leaving Arthur to graze contentedly at the stream’s edge. Amoret had had a stern talk with Arthur about staying nearby and assured Britomart that there was no need to tie him up.
Britomart was nearly bowled over by the force of the creature that came charging at her from out of the woods, and she narrowly avoided falling into the stream, armor and all, in the moment before she was able to catch her balance and extricate herself from the small arms that were wrapped around her waist. When she did so, she found a scrawny boy glaring accusingly up at her.
“You promised you’d come back,” he said.
Britomart pulled Smudge back into a hug, squishing him against her armor.
“Ouch,” said a muffled voice from somewhere around her navel.
Britomart let Smudge go and ruffled his hair. “I did come back, scamp. It just took me a little longer than expected.”
“You were gone for months. It snowed. Twice.” Judging by Smudge’s tone, this seemed to be a particularly grievous offense on Britomart’s part.
“And that was very wrong of me,” Britomart responded gravely. “But I came back as soon as I could.” Movement near the trees caught her attention, and she realized that Amoret was talking with two figures there. One of the figures drew back its hood, and Britomart saw that it was Rowena. The other must be Danbar.
Smudge turned to follow Britomart’s gaze, and his eyes went wide. “Is that the Blood Witch?”
“That’s Amoret.” Britomart felt a flush creeping over her cheeks as she watched Amoret, and she abruptly turned back to Smudge. “And yes, she’s a blood witch.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Amoret and Rowena had finished their conversation and were headed towards her and Smudge with Danbar following behind them like a bodyguard.
Smudge stared at Amoret in ghoulish fascination. “Is she going to liquify our bones and eat our livers for breakfast?”
Britomart tried to hush the boy, but Amoret had already heard him.
“Only if you annoy me,” Amoret replied as she reached them.
“Amoret!” Britomart said, aghast.
There was a familiar gleam of mischief in Amoret’s eyes as she haughtily raised an eyebrow. “What? I am a blood witch.”
“Yes, but”— Britomart noticed that Rowena was watching them with amusement and promptly cut herself off. She refused to give Rowena the satisfaction of seeing how well her plan had worked. It didn’t matter that Rowena’s plan had helped Britomart achieve her quest. She did not like how smoothly Rowena had manipulated Amoret. Britomart also had a sneaking suspicion that Rowena had manipulated her too, although she could have said precisely how or why Rowena had done so.
“It is good to see you again, Britomart,” Rowena said, as if sensing Britomart’s thoughts. “You look…thriving.”
Danbar, stoic as always, merely nodded in greeting.
Britomart gave a curt nod to both in return, then stiffly replied, “Rowena, I must offer you my greatest thanks for taking care of Smudge in my absence. I can never repay you sufficiently, but I will endeavor to try if you tell me what you would wish in recompense.”
“I wish for nothing but what you have given me already: a chance to see my goddaughter. I trust that the two of you got on well?”
Britomart’s eyes met Amoret’s. Both women had the look of children who had just been caught stealing sweetmeats from the kitchen. Smudge looked suspiciously from Britomart to Amoret and then back again. The look of suspicion on his small face changed to one of speculation. You did not grow up on the streets of Rivensfeldt without learning a thing or two about the facts of life. Slippery Meg and her associates had never seen much need to censor their conversation around the young pickpockets.
“We got along sufficiently,” Britomart finally answered.
“Sometimes quite well, even,” Amoret said airily. “When she was not plotting to kill me.”
“Excellent,” said Rowena, smiling beneficently.
Britomart feigned a sudden interest in the stream.
Amoret cleared her throat and shifted her basket to her other hand. “Well, I suppose there is no reason to delay. We have all we need. Rowena, would you do the honors?”
Rowena stepped out onto the portion of the riverbank where grass gave way to the slick rocky shelf that curved behind the waterfall. Britomart had not been looking forward to repeating that part of the journey, nor to leading a group of newly awakened sleepers back out along the slick rock after Amoret had reversed the spell. Some of the sleepers looked like they had been asleep for a very long time. Britomart doubted that a three-hundred-year nap improved one’s coordination.
Apparently, she need not have worried. Rowena murmured something too low for Britomart to make out in the Old Tongue, and the rock softened and stretched like pulled taffy before hardening once more, now in a wide, flat ledge. Britomart blinked and looked closer. The newly formed ledge was even crosshatched for steadier footing. Britomart wondered uneasily just how powerful Rowena was—and just what Rowena was. She had tried asking Amoret about Rowena once, but when she asked Amoret what Rowena was, Amoret had merely responded, “My godmother.” When Britomart replied, “Yes, but what is she?” Amoret had volunteered no more than, “She was my mother’s godmother too.” Whatever Rowena was, Britomart was glad of the surer footing as they made their way behind the waterfall and into the cave with the older woman in the lead.
Light pooled through the stone at Rowena’s every step, spreading out in lazy ripples to envelop the group as they walked through the tunnel. Britomart felt the plink of water droplets on her armor. The weight of the plate felt unfamiliar, a reminder that she had reentered her old life. She remembered all too well the vulnerability of venturing into the cave in only her leggings and a tunic last time, and she had resolutely refused to do so again, even before knowing that the risk of falling into the stream would be far smaller this time. Amoret had pointed out that waking up to a fully armed knight might not be the most reassuring experience for the sleepers, but Britomart had pointed out that some of the sleepers were wearing armor too, even if Rowena had stored their weapons in a back room of her cabin. What Britomart did not say was that she wanted to be able to protect Amoret if any of the sleepers attempted to kill the blood witch as soon as they awakened. Both of them were aware of the risk.
Britomart had not thought much about the logistics of waking the sleepers until she and Amoret had discussed it over dinner after making their bargain. Britomart had been relieved to have something so concrete to talk about—something that could hold at bay the memory of Amoret’s lips against hers. She and Amoret had decided to wake the sleepers one at a time, beginning with the most recent and working their way back in time. Those sleepers were likely to be the hardest to deal with, for they would be awakening to find that the world they knew was gone. Rowena would go with them, to take the lead with the sleepers from the Northern villages and to restrain any sleepers who, as Amoret had diplomatically put it, “reacted adversely” to their awakening. Neither she nor Britomart wanted the awakening to descend into violence.
Waking the sleepers had seemed like such a simple matter when Britomart had asked Amoret to do it. Now, she was beginning to understand why Amoret had needed so much time to consider.
Britomart put a hand on Smudge’s shoulder as they stepped into the cavern itself. Together, they stood and watched the light ripple out across the vast stone floor, sending the darkness fleeing up the cavern walls. The light seeped up the slabs that bore the sleepers, chasing the shadows from one body after another until the cavern looked like a vast mausoleum bathed in the mellow gold of the late summer sun. Amoret’s eyes locked with Rowena’s, and the two women nodded and began to make their way to the back of the cavern, where the most recent sleepers lay. A pang of loss shot through Britomart as she followed. She had not realized how accustomed she had become to being the one at Amoret’s side. But it had always been about this, she reminded herself: about waking the sleepers, accomplishing her quest, and bringing Alfrick home to Willa. Amoret had only ever been an obstacle to be overcome. A very lovely obstacle. One who had felt undeniably nice in her arms.
Britomart made herself study the cave around her before her mind could drift back once more to the events in the tower. She watched the sleepers they were walking past grow more and more recent. Her heart started to beat faster as they passed the rosy-cheeked form of Sir Rolf and she realized–truly realized–that it was really happening. Amoret was going to wake Alfrick. Britomart’s quest was going to succeed.
Rowena stopped Amoret at Alfrick’s slab, and Amoret began to unload the items from her basket, laying them meticulously on the empty strip of stone at Alfrick’s side: a small, sharp knife; a square of dark fabric; and a worn-looking scroll whose title was now burned into Britomart’s mind, where it would likely stay until her dying day, making her wriggle with embarrassment any time she thought of it.
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Averting her eyes from the scroll, Britomart made her way over to stand beside Danbar on the other side of Alfrick’s slab, steering Smudge with her.
Amoret looked around at the assembled company. “Ready?” She was answered by a series of nods, as if nobody dared speak lest it disrupt the magic that was about to happen.
Amoret’s blade flashed, and she pressed her bleeding palm to the exposed patch of skin between Alfrick’s glove and hauberk. The lilting rhythm of her voice seemed to expand to fill the cave as she recited the spell. The cavern walls echoed the words back to them in counterpoints both sweet and harsh.
Alfrick’s eyes opened, hazily focused on something in front of him, something only he could see. His lips moved as he reached for it, and Britomart leaned close to catch what he was murmuring.
“—a single rose, for Willa. Beauty for beauty.”
“You idiot!” Britomart exclaimed, standing back up with her arms crossed. “You picked a rose for Willa from a castle in the middle of the Shadowed Wood? Even I could have told you that was bound to be magical, and I’m not even from the North.”
Rowena gave her a reproachful look from Alfrick’s other side, and Britomart remembered that she was supposed to be being soothing. “Well, it’s true,” she said defensively.
“Britomart?” a bewildered voice asked. Britomart looked back down to see the faraway expression clearing from Alfrick’s face as he fought his way out of the haze. His hand dropped from plucking its imaginary rose, and he pushed himself up into a sitting position.
Britomart reached out a hand to steady him. “It’s me.”
He did not seem to notice her steadying hand, for his eyes had just fallen on the man beside her. “Danbar!”
“Aye, milord.”
Alfrick’s brow crinkled as he noticed Smudge. “Danbar, why is there a child with you? And Britomart, what are you doing here? We’re days from Boemopolis. Did Willa send you?”
“Child my arse,” Smudge grumbled. “I’m not the one who just took a nap.”
Britomart flicked Smudge on the back of the head, but Alfrick had not even noticed the remark. Instead, he was looking past them at the cavern. “Good gods, where am I? The last thing I remember, it was nighttime, and we were chasing after Rolf in the wood, and there was a clearing and a castle. A castle with the most beautiful roses I’ve ever…” His voice trailed off into a groan, and he put his head in his hands. His voice came out muffled as he said, “Tell me I didn’t pluck a rose from a magic castle.”
Danbar nodded stoically. “Aye, milord, that’s about the shape of it.”
“I’ve been an idiot.”
“That’s what I was telling you,” said Britomart. “Though, to be fair, I don’t think you were fully conscious yet when I was saying it.”
“And Rolf?” Alfrick asked, raising his head from his hands.
“On the next slab,” Danbar said.
Britomart reached out to stop Alfrick as he began to turn, her gaze flicking frantically to where Rowena and Amoret stood at the slab’s other side, albeit at a safe distance. “Wait! There’s something else we should tell you first.”
“Rolf’s not hurt, is he?” Alfrick tried even harder to turn, and Britomart’s grip on his arm tightened.
“Sir Rolf is fine,” she assured him. “The thing we need to tell you has to do with how you got awakened.”
Alfrick blanched, a look of horror dawning on his face as he stared at Britomart, no longer struggling. “You didn’t…I mean, the stories say…you didn’t wake me up by kissing me, did you? Does that mean I have to marry you? Not that I don’t like you, of course, but Willa…”
“Gods no. I would have kissed you if I’d had to, mind, but thankfully it doesn’t work like that. It has to be true love’s kiss.” She thought of the forbidden tower. “At least, most of the time. Sometimes the kiss is more of an, umm, special arrangement between interested parties.”
Alfrick was starting to look confused, and Britomart had the distinct feeling that Amoret was trying not to laugh. Britomart cleared her throat. “But that’s neither here nor there. The point is that I didn’t wake you. Somebody else did. My—well, my friend, I suppose. She’s the owner of the castle. She’s not the one who put the spell on the roses; that was her great-great-great-great…I don’t know how many greats, but it was one of her ancestors, not her. So it’s not her fault, really. And she did wake you up, after all, so, you see, she can’t be that evil.”
Britomart thought she saw Amoret roll her eyes.
Alfrick was looking confused again. “So you’re saying she kissed me? Do I have to marry her, then?”
“For Woden’s sake, Alfrick, nobody kissed you, and you don’t have to marry anybody. Except Willa, if you want to. Danbar, would you explain?”
“You were under a blood spell,” Danbar said gruffly. “A blood witch broke it. She’s not bad for a blood witch, so you don’t need to kill her.”
“And she’s a looker,” Smudge helpfully chimed in.
Alfrick stared at Smudge for a moment, then looked to Britomart for confirmation, as if wondering whether everyone around him had gone crazy.
Britomart shrugged. “That captures the main points.”
Alfrick went even paler than he had when he thought that Britomart had kissed him. “Then we need to get out of here. Britomart, you’re not from the North, you don’t know how dangerous blood witches are. They’re supposed to have died out centuries ago, but if there’s still one alive…Britomart, if half the stories are true, we’re talking about someone who would turn us inside out as soon as look at us. Where’s my sword?” Alfrick felt frantically at his side for his missing swordbelt, then swung himself off the slab to look for it. Britomart barely managed to get out of the way in time to avoid having him clang into her.
“Sir Alfrick,” Danbar began. But Britomart never found out what Danbar meant to say, for at that moment Alfrick caught sight of Amoret and Rowena. Alfrick froze, then scrambled back to take up a fighting stance with nothing but his fists. Britomart’s hand went to her sword, and she wondered who exactly she was planning to use it on.
Then Amoret stepped forward. “I mean no harm,” she said, her voice rich and regal.
“How do I know that?” Alfrick demanded, not quite able to keep the quaver from his voice, although his fists remained up and ready.
“Because if I did,” Amoret replied, “you would already be dead. As you said, I could turn you inside out as easily as look at you, should I wish to do so. Yet you will find that you are still right-side-out. Not only that, but you are awake. Had I not awakened you, you would have slept for eternity. As it is, you have lost only the passing of two seasons. The curse itself was not my own, though I must apologize for the…overzealousness of my ancestors in protecting their castle.”
Britomart stared at Amoret in surprise and—though she was ashamed to admit it—fear. She had never heard Amoret talk like this: like a blood witch ruling over her domain. And yet, as she glanced at Alfrick, waiting to see if he would attack, she saw that Amoret’s approach seemed to be working. Based on Alfrick’s considering expression, he seemed to have found Amoret’s words logical rather than simply terrifying.
“Why?” Alfrick demanded. “Why won’t you harm us? Why wake me?”
“Let us say that your princess was very convincing.”
There was a clang as Smudge elbowed Britomart salaciously, forgetting that she was wearing armor. Amoret’s eyes flicked to Smudge, who was rubbing his elbow, then back to Alfrick.
Amoret continued, “Your princess convinced me that it was not right for me to leave those who had fallen under my ancestors’ spell to sleep unendingly beneath it. So I have come to wake the sleepers, and among them, you.”
“And after you’ve woken us?” Alfrick asked warily.
That had been the hardest part of the plan, a part that Britomart had not even thought about until Amoret brought it up the day before. But there was no hint of the uncertainty Britomart knew must be there as Amoret replied, “Those who wish to leave may do so immediately, or they may stay at the castle for as long as they need to prepare themselves for their journey. Those who no longer have a home to return to can remain in the castle as long as they need. If they wish to take up residence in the Shadowed Wood, they may stay as my subjects. If they wish to start life anew in the Northern villages or in Galbrica, they will receive sufficient resources to do so. In return, I ask only that all those I have awoken say nothing of what they have experienced in this wood after they leave its bounds. You became lost, and Britomart found you; that is all. There was no castle and no slumber. There was no blood witch.”
“Is she telling the truth?” Alfrick asked Britomart.
Britomart’s eyes met Amoret’s. She thought of her doubts two days before. “Yes,” Britomart said levelly. “She is telling the truth.” Britomart had the sense that she had just come to a decision about something far greater than whether Amoret would keep her word to the sleepers.
Alfrick let out a shaky breath, then traced a stiff bow to Amoret. “Then I suppose I should offer you my thanks, my lady.”
The air in the cavern seemed to grow lighter as the tension around them eased. Amoret inclined her head. “Your thanks are most welcome, Sir Alfrick. Now, I believe you have been looking for a certain Sir Rolf? If you would not mind, we could use your assistance in explaining the situation when he awakes. Perhaps we can even manage it without him wanting to attack me.”
Alfrick began an awkward apology, but Amoret was already walking towards the next slab. “Don’t worry duke-ling,” she called over her shoulder, “you weren’t the only one.”
Alfrick looked quizzically at Britomart.
“Ignore her,” Britomart muttered darkly.
And so they woke the sleepers one by one. They woke them until the cavern hummed with scattered conversations in Galbrican and the Old Tongue, punctuated by the low, lyrical flow of Amoret’s spell. Britomart looked around at the pockets of movement that had replaced the cave’s sepulchral stillness: at Alfrick joking with Sir Rolf; at the two men whom she was certain she recognized from the Prince of Osterlond’s retinue, now incongruous dressed as Galbrican vintners and talking with their heads bent close together; at the young lovers who had fled to the Shadowed Wood after their families prohibited them from marrying (and who still seemed to be celebrating their reunion in an embarrassingly physical way); at the cluster of sleepers from the Northern villages who regarded Amoret with as much awe as fear; at the group of ancient Galbrican knights who had gathered around the last of the sleepers to be awakened; and at that last sleeper herself: the ancient Galbrican princess who had slumbered the longest of them all.
Britomart turned back around just in time to see Amoret’s knees buckle and to catch her as she fainted. She gently laid Amoret on the cavern floor and noticed the blood trickling over the rock from the slash on the blood witch’s hand. Amoret had reopened the slash repeatedly to shed enough blood to wake all of the sleepers, and it looked long and painful now. Britomart swore and rummaged through Amoret’s basket for one of the dark handkerchiefs, then wrapped it tightly around Amoret’s wounded hand, tucking the ends into place.
Amoret still did not stir. Britomart shook her gently, but to no avail.
“Let her rest,” said a voice from above. Britomart looked up to find Rowena standing over her. “She will be alright soon enough. The magic has drained her, that is all. I do not imagine she has ever performed so much at once before.”
“But the blood–” Britomart protested.
“Is not so much, really, and blood witches recover quickly from such wounds. They would not have survived long else.”
“I shouldn’t have asked so much of her.”
“She made her own choice, child. And, as you can see around you, you asked no more than she could do, even if she could not do it easily.”
There was a pause, and then Britomart heard the swish of Rowena’s skirts as the older woman walked away.
Britomart brushed back an errant strand of hair that had fallen across Amoret’s face when she fainted. “People value things more when they come at a cost,” Britomart murmured, remembering what Amoret had said of bargains. Her hand lingered on Amoret’s cheek, and she added softly, “I just thought I was the one who had paid it.”