I stuck my head into the kitchen and smiled at the scene of organized chaos. There were servants running around doing everything from carving meat, to stirring pots of simmering liquid, to organizing dishes and drinks. The head cook straightened from his task when he saw me enter, a broad smile coming over his plump face. He waddled over to me, his girth so large I wondered how his assistants managed to squeeze by him to continue their work, and took my hand firmly in his. His skin was burned and wrinkled from years of preparing food over an open flame, but his brown eyes twinkled merrily as he pumped my hand up and down.
“Lady Leila! It’s an honour!” he exclaimed.
He half-led, half-pulled me into the kitchen and brought me to a small table in the back, nestled out of the way of the rest of the workers. Jakob and Will were seated there, playing cards. The familiarity of the game struck me, and I felt a pang of homesickness. The cook sat me down next to Jakob, and put his hands on his ample hips.
“Hungry, are you?” he asked. “Meals have got pretty strange around here. I keep the fires going all night, and people stop by when they get a chance. I’ll whip something up for you, my Lady.”
He winked and disappeared back into the chaos, merging so seamlessly it was like he had never left. Jakob grinned at me and flicked a card onto the table as Will studied his own hand with fierce intensity. Minutes later, the cook placed a large tray of sliced meats in front of me, with a few unrecognizable vegetables and a large tankard of ale. I thanked him and dug in, aware of how hungry I actually was.
“So,” Jakob said conversationally as I ate, “have you made a decision?”
I nodded as I swallowed. “I owe it to the Dyrel to stay and help them. I don’t know what I can do, but I’ll try. And I would like to visit Damaeon.”
“The sleeping prince whose slumber breaks, when the princess does awake,” Will sang as he laid out a few cards.
Jakob scowled and picked up a card, adding it to his hand. “Well, as soon as we know we can move around without being arrested, Will and I will join you.”
“A happy home stands alone with no one there to see it. Trial by fire, trial by ice, a flash of ale will make it nice,” Will said.
I finished off the rest of my meal in silence, wondering what I could do to help the Dyrel rebuild Oponoe. I would have to ask Gael was she suggested. Maybe I could help her with the injured soldiers, or try my hand here in the kitchens preparing meals.
I swallowed the last of the watery ale and grimaced. Rising to my feet, I said farewell to Jakob and Will and left the kitchen. I headed back to the great hall, where I thought I would find Gael, but she was nowhere to be seen. Catching the arm of a passing servant, I asked the way to Damaeon’s rooms and made my way there myself.
The doors were closed, and I stood before them with butterflies in my stomach. They were massive oak doors, emblazoned with the coat of arms of the Dyrel royal house. I could hear voices on the other side and raised my hand to knock. Seconds later, the doors creaked open and a servant’s face poked out. The girl looked at me in surprise and opened the door wide enough for me to enter, curtseying as she did so. I thanked her as I passed.
The Prince’s chambers were huge, as I had expected. I found myself in a small foyer, with doors leading from each of the four walls. Straight ahead, the door was open and I saw a massive bed with people crowded around it. A fire was burning in the hearth, and a table was piled with potions, herbs, and medicines. I approached cautiously, pausing at the doorway until Gael noticed me, and beckoned me to come forward. I made my way to the side of the bed, seeing Clothis on the other side, holding Damaeon’s hand.
The Prince was sleeping, his breath wheezing and ragged. His skin was pale, almost ghostly, and his brown hair plastered to his head with sweat. Bloodstained cloths were wrapped around his chest, staunching the flow of blood from his wound. I reached out and brushed my fingers across his cheek, noticing at once how cold and clammy his skin felt. I shuddered involuntarily. It was like touching a corpse.
“How is he?” I asked quietly.
At the sound of my voice, Damaeon’s eyelids flickered and opened. His brown eyes stared blearily at me for a moment, and a weak smile spread across his face. Clothis smiled as well, but made no other sound or movement as the Prince fixed his eyes on me.
“Leila,” he gasped. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”
“I’m so sorry,” I blurted, unable to contain it. “I should have been here. I promised I would be here.”
He shook his head faintly. “You would have been here, if you could have. You can’t be blamed for things you can’t control.”
He coughed, flecks of blood appearing on his lips. He closed his eyes for a moment and Clothis held his hand tighter, leaning forward in worry. A moment later, he opened his eyes again, this time to see Clothis and smile reassuringly at her.
“It was glorious,” Damaeon said. “Just like in the history books. My people fought bravely. My city pushed the Huryl back. My people…”
His voice drifted off as he fell once more into unconsciousness. I looked over at Clothis and saw tears brimming unshed in her eyes as she stared at him with complete devotion. I took a few steps away from the bed, bringing Gael with me.
“How is he?” I asked again.
The physician sighed. “Not good. He’s bled a lot, and the wound isn’t closing. I don’t know how long he’ll last.”
My heart sank. Gael took my hands in hers and looked hopefully into my eyes. There were tears in her eyes as well, but also a flicker of hope.
“You can save him, can’t you?” she asked in a louder voice than she intended. Over her shoulder, I saw Clothis raise her head to look at us. “Can you use the spirits to help him?”
I bit my lip and shook my head. “I don’t know how. I don’t think I can. Please, don’t ask me to try.”
Gael released my hands and bowed her head. “Then he will die.”
“You won’t even try?” Clothis exclaimed, the tears coursing down her cheeks. “What good are you? How can you save the Dyrel when you can’t save a single man, a man who deserves to be saved more than anyone else? What good are you if you can’t even do that?”
Her words stabbed me in the heart. She was staring at me with such fierce intensity, such utter conviction, that I turned from the room and fled. Jakob had been wrong. They did hate me, even Clothis, who had protected me and been my friend. I ran blindly, my own tears blurring my vision and my sobs obscuring my hearing. I thought I heard my name being called out, but I paid it no attention. I ran from the palace, through the streets of Oponoe, and out the ruined gate. I ran until I heard the whispers of the spirits, hissing accusations at me. I ran until I stumbled over a tree root and fell to the ground, where I lay unmoving.
I felt a gentle hand on the back of my head, and I turned my face out of the dirt to see who had found me. It was Ruella, the witch of the Woods. She crouched next to me and was stroking my hair soothingly. I sat up, hiccupping and sniffling as I did so, and she waited silently until I had composed myself, her hand still moving on my hair.
“Ruella,” I said in a shaky voice. “I don’t know what to do anymore. They all hate me, the Dyrel, the spirits. I did what I could, and I failed. Now he’ll die and I can’t save him!”
The witch shook her head. “They don’t hate you, girl. The spirits are angry their home was destroyed, but they don’t hate you.”
She glanced up at the trees. “This place is special to them, is all. Without the trees, they ain’t got anyplace. They get stuck, like you.”
I blinked in surprise, looking around the Wood. The spirits were everywhere, not just in the Wood. I wondered what Ruella meant by her comment. I could smell the lingering traces of burned wood and ash in the air, and I felt a renewed guilt at my part in destroying their home.
“Two of the three ingredients are already spoiled,” Ruella continued. “They only got one left, so they’re protective. They ain’t mad at you.”
Strangely, her cryptic words were comforting and I smiled at her. She returned the grin and rose to her feet, shaking off the dry leaves that had attached themselves to her brown dress. She took a few steps away, then paused and looked back at me. I scrambled to my feet to follow her, and she led me deeper into the forest.
“As for your prince,” the witch said as we moved. “That’s a trickier problem. There is a way to save him, you know. Only one way to keep him with us, but it’s dangerous.”
She looked over her shoulder at me to gauge my reaction. I kept following her, and she nodded approvingly.
“You found courage, girl,” she commented. “It will serve you well.”
She paused in an open space, circular as if the trees themselves did not want to touch the ground. She moved to the centre and stopped, watching me as I came forward to join her.
“You need the magic of the spirits to help your prince,” Ruella said. “Not just any spirit will do, though. I can help you summon them, if you like, but there will be a price. The power of the spirits is double-edged. Just ask the Woodwalker.”
“What will the price be?” I asked.
The witch laughed. “Depends on the service, I expect. I don’t think bringing a soul from the brink of death will come cheap, girl. Are you willing to pay?”
I hesitated. “How do you know about this?”
“I know lots of things, girl. It was the gift I asked, and the price I paid. Are you willing?”
I bit my lip in thought. If I summoned the mysterious spirit Ruella was talking about, I could save Damaeon, but what would be the price? If I didn’t summon it, what would I lose?