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Authors: Alianne Donnelly
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to spare them, for he knew they’d had none for the beasts.
And so, a great oak groaned, the four huntsmen were hanged from his branches, dancing in the wind.
Such was the prince’s justice.
But then the breeze slipped through a crack into her study, hissing a secret in her ears. For as the prince had stood before the men preparing to be hung, as he’d watched them weep and pray, he’d whispered it to the winds: “For Nia.”
“Enough,” Nia told the walls, the earth, and the breeze. “No more rumors. No more death or secrets.” And she closed her eyes, willing herself not to dream when sleep claimed her.
Dreams found her anyway, childish memories grown into a nightmare to haunt her day and night. She sat in her tree, telling it all her woes. Eirwen was being cruel again. She’d heard a merchant caravan passing not far from their cottage and Nia wanted so desperately to see them, but Eirwen refused to let her. It was too dangerous, she said. They had no business with those people, she said.
But she could hide, Nia argued. They wouldn’t even know she was there!
Eirwen would hear none of it. One day Nia would understand. Eirwen had promised she would keep Nia safe.
In her anger, Nia screamed at the old woman, ugly words she’d never meant to say and, ashamed of herself, she ran here. But then it got dark, too dangerous to walk through the forest on her own. Instead, Nia fell asleep in that tree and dreamed of singing. She sang to a river and its waters rose up to her, tendrils of it caressing her cheek like a mother’s touch. Then more of it rose, reaching to her, cradling her, answering her voice with a melody of its own. A song of home to drown out Eirwen’s cry…
Nia started awake, then again when she saw Saeran right next to her.
She sat up on her pallet. “Your Highness!”
“Wizard,” he replied. “Why do you sleep under the castle when there are dozens of much nicer places you could rest your head?” He looked around the dark room. He wouldn’t see more than shadow, the large table and the overflowing bookshelves behind the archway. No point wasting candlelight when all she did was sleep.
Nia struggled off the pallet, her legs unsteady. She was fully dressed but felt raw and exposed with Saeran watching her. No one but she and Nico ever stepped foot in the underground study. “What are you doing here?”
Saeran caught her elbows to steady her as he led her to sit at the table. He was smiling, and she couldn’t fathom what might have amused him. “Calm yourself,” he said, “I am the prince, remember? I can go wherever I please.”
Nia sparked the torches with a thought and a small burst of magic. They flared to life, filling the chamber with light until she could see him clearly. He looked worn, tired. His clothes were disheveled as if he’d slept in them, and though he smiled, it was a weary smile.
“What princely business brings you to my private study?” she asked, glancing at the pitcher of water some distance away. She was so thirsty her lips stuck together, but the pitcher was too far. If she tried to call to it with her magic still so weak, it would fall and shatter halfway to the table.
“At first,” the prince said, following her gaze, “I looked for you in Nico’s old chambers.” He left her to retrieve the pitcher and poured her a goblet of water. “But it looked as if no one had stepped foot in it in months. Then…” He handed her the goblet and resumed his seat. “I inquired among the maids where the wizard was housed, and they pointed me to another chamber, across from Nico’s. But that one looked the same, so I asked, very politely, where my royal wizard might be found, and they pointed to the ground.”
“Hmm.” Nia drank from the goblet, feeling her strength return a little more with each sip.
Seeing she would not speak, Saeran grinned. “And so I found my way here to give you something and found you sleeping. I knocked, mind you. And called
And so, a great oak groaned, the four huntsmen were hanged from his branches, dancing in the wind.
Such was the prince’s justice.
But then the breeze slipped through a crack into her study, hissing a secret in her ears. For as the prince had stood before the men preparing to be hung, as he’d watched them weep and pray, he’d whispered it to the winds: “For Nia.”
“Enough,” Nia told the walls, the earth, and the breeze. “No more rumors. No more death or secrets.” And she closed her eyes, willing herself not to dream when sleep claimed her.
Dreams found her anyway, childish memories grown into a nightmare to haunt her day and night. She sat in her tree, telling it all her woes. Eirwen was being cruel again. She’d heard a merchant caravan passing not far from their cottage and Nia wanted so desperately to see them, but Eirwen refused to let her. It was too dangerous, she said. They had no business with those people, she said.
But she could hide, Nia argued. They wouldn’t even know she was there!
Eirwen would hear none of it. One day Nia would understand. Eirwen had promised she would keep Nia safe.
In her anger, Nia screamed at the old woman, ugly words she’d never meant to say and, ashamed of herself, she ran here. But then it got dark, too dangerous to walk through the forest on her own. Instead, Nia fell asleep in that tree and dreamed of singing. She sang to a river and its waters rose up to her, tendrils of it caressing her cheek like a mother’s touch. Then more of it rose, reaching to her, cradling her, answering her voice with a melody of its own. A song of home to drown out Eirwen’s cry…
Nia started awake, then again when she saw Saeran right next to her.
She sat up on her pallet. “Your Highness!”
“Wizard,” he replied. “Why do you sleep under the castle when there are dozens of much nicer places you could rest your head?” He looked around the dark room. He wouldn’t see more than shadow, the large table and the overflowing bookshelves behind the archway. No point wasting candlelight when all she did was sleep.
Nia struggled off the pallet, her legs unsteady. She was fully dressed but felt raw and exposed with Saeran watching her. No one but she and Nico ever stepped foot in the underground study. “What are you doing here?”
Saeran caught her elbows to steady her as he led her to sit at the table. He was smiling, and she couldn’t fathom what might have amused him. “Calm yourself,” he said, “I am the prince, remember? I can go wherever I please.”
Nia sparked the torches with a thought and a small burst of magic. They flared to life, filling the chamber with light until she could see him clearly. He looked worn, tired. His clothes were disheveled as if he’d slept in them, and though he smiled, it was a weary smile.
“What princely business brings you to my private study?” she asked, glancing at the pitcher of water some distance away. She was so thirsty her lips stuck together, but the pitcher was too far. If she tried to call to it with her magic still so weak, it would fall and shatter halfway to the table.
“At first,” the prince said, following her gaze, “I looked for you in Nico’s old chambers.” He left her to retrieve the pitcher and poured her a goblet of water. “But it looked as if no one had stepped foot in it in months. Then…” He handed her the goblet and resumed his seat. “I inquired among the maids where the wizard was housed, and they pointed me to another chamber, across from Nico’s. But that one looked the same, so I asked, very politely, where my royal wizard might be found, and they pointed to the ground.”
“Hmm.” Nia drank from the goblet, feeling her strength return a little more with each sip.
Seeing she would not speak, Saeran grinned. “And so I found my way here to give you something and found you sleeping. I knocked, mind you. And called
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