Read Online Urchin and the Raven War by M. I. McAllister - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: M. I. McAllister
Ads: Link
been down to the shore?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Aware of him glancing over her head at the queen, she looked at the floor, bit her lip, and curled her claws with embarrassment. But the queen brought a chair and cushion, and she suddenly found herself sitting in a comfortable seat with the queen beside her.
“Dearest Pitter!” said the king. “I can tell you’ve lived on Lord Arcneck’s island! We do things differently here. Cedar and I are both squirrels, like you, and neither of us was born to be royal. You can talk freely with us.”
“Tell us about your home, Pitter,” said the queen. “And your family. And that moss!”
Pitter found she could speak quite freely about her life on Swan Isle. It wasn’t a very interesting subject, though, and she was glad when the queen changed it.
“Pitter,” said the queen, “King Crispin can’t remember anything much after he challenged the raven. Can you remember?”
“Oh, yes!” said Pitter. She had relived that day over and over. With shining eyes and growing confidence, she told them about the battle, and the young mole, Tipp, who had leaped from the heather with his sword in his paw.
“Then they started throwing stones at us!” she said. “And that was what made me so angry, because it was the princess’s grave!”
“The princess’s grave?” asked Crispin.
“Yes, Your Majesty!” said Pitter. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about the princess, because nobody can tell me. I only know that it’s her grave.”
Crispin looked past her as if he were concentrating on something far away.
“Near the shore?” he said.
“Yes, Your Majesty, in the clearing.”
“And I think it’s built out of stones from the shore—from that little sheltered bay that nobody goes to….”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Please, Your Majesty, they say that the princess was lovely, and she married a prince from another island, and then she died.”
Crispin became so quiet that she was afraid she’d annoyed him. Then he smiled, but the smile seemed to make the pain show even more in his eyes.
“I remember now,” he said. “I saw the ravens on the cairn—what you call the princess’s grave—and it made me angry, too. You’re quite right, Pitter. It’s a sacred place, and no evil thing should touch it. So, did I kill the Archraven on…on the princess’s grave?”
“Yes, Your Majesty!” she said, and added, not sure whether she should say this, “And that’s where the mendingmoss came from.”
The king leaned forward, sharp-eyed, though the movement made him catch his breath. “Really?” he said.
“Yes, Your Majesty. It grows very well there.”
The king smiled quietly down at her. “She wasn’t exactly a princess,” he said. “But I’m pleased they call her one. She saved me before, and it’s as if she’s done it again now. It wasn’t so very long ago. I’m surprised that they’ve forgotten so quickly, but that’s the way they are.”
He tried to stand, but there was pain on his face, and the queen stopped him. “The door,” he said. “Pitter, look at the Threading on the door.”
She turned to see the Threading hanging there. It showed a pretty young squirrel with flowers all around her, rowans, and a circle of gold on her head.
“Is that…?” she whispered in awe.
“She’s your princess,” he said. “Her name was Whisper. She was married to a captain of Mistmantle, not a prince, and she wore his circlet as a sign of their marriage. Would you like to know what the flowers mean?”
“Yes, please!” gasped Pitter.
“The rowans are a sign of love,” he said. “And there are marigolds for joy and feverfew for healing, because she brought both, lily-of-the-valley for gentleness, pink-edged daisies for laughter, and lavender for marriage.”
“There’s a butterfly by her head,” she whispered.
“For beauty,” said King Crispin. “And a hellebore behind her paw. The hellebore means danger, and the very tiny
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Aware of him glancing over her head at the queen, she looked at the floor, bit her lip, and curled her claws with embarrassment. But the queen brought a chair and cushion, and she suddenly found herself sitting in a comfortable seat with the queen beside her.
“Dearest Pitter!” said the king. “I can tell you’ve lived on Lord Arcneck’s island! We do things differently here. Cedar and I are both squirrels, like you, and neither of us was born to be royal. You can talk freely with us.”
“Tell us about your home, Pitter,” said the queen. “And your family. And that moss!”
Pitter found she could speak quite freely about her life on Swan Isle. It wasn’t a very interesting subject, though, and she was glad when the queen changed it.
“Pitter,” said the queen, “King Crispin can’t remember anything much after he challenged the raven. Can you remember?”
“Oh, yes!” said Pitter. She had relived that day over and over. With shining eyes and growing confidence, she told them about the battle, and the young mole, Tipp, who had leaped from the heather with his sword in his paw.
“Then they started throwing stones at us!” she said. “And that was what made me so angry, because it was the princess’s grave!”
“The princess’s grave?” asked Crispin.
“Yes, Your Majesty!” said Pitter. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about the princess, because nobody can tell me. I only know that it’s her grave.”
Crispin looked past her as if he were concentrating on something far away.
“Near the shore?” he said.
“Yes, Your Majesty, in the clearing.”
“And I think it’s built out of stones from the shore—from that little sheltered bay that nobody goes to….”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Please, Your Majesty, they say that the princess was lovely, and she married a prince from another island, and then she died.”
Crispin became so quiet that she was afraid she’d annoyed him. Then he smiled, but the smile seemed to make the pain show even more in his eyes.
“I remember now,” he said. “I saw the ravens on the cairn—what you call the princess’s grave—and it made me angry, too. You’re quite right, Pitter. It’s a sacred place, and no evil thing should touch it. So, did I kill the Archraven on…on the princess’s grave?”
“Yes, Your Majesty!” she said, and added, not sure whether she should say this, “And that’s where the mendingmoss came from.”
The king leaned forward, sharp-eyed, though the movement made him catch his breath. “Really?” he said.
“Yes, Your Majesty. It grows very well there.”
The king smiled quietly down at her. “She wasn’t exactly a princess,” he said. “But I’m pleased they call her one. She saved me before, and it’s as if she’s done it again now. It wasn’t so very long ago. I’m surprised that they’ve forgotten so quickly, but that’s the way they are.”
He tried to stand, but there was pain on his face, and the queen stopped him. “The door,” he said. “Pitter, look at the Threading on the door.”
She turned to see the Threading hanging there. It showed a pretty young squirrel with flowers all around her, rowans, and a circle of gold on her head.
“Is that…?” she whispered in awe.
“She’s your princess,” he said. “Her name was Whisper. She was married to a captain of Mistmantle, not a prince, and she wore his circlet as a sign of their marriage. Would you like to know what the flowers mean?”
“Yes, please!” gasped Pitter.
“The rowans are a sign of love,” he said. “And there are marigolds for joy and feverfew for healing, because she brought both, lily-of-the-valley for gentleness, pink-edged daisies for laughter, and lavender for marriage.”
“There’s a butterfly by her head,” she whispered.
“For beauty,” said King Crispin. “And a hellebore behind her paw. The hellebore means danger, and the very tiny
Similar Books
