Chapter Thirty

  Fire on the Plains.

  Nephis watched her body flit and flounce about the room. She stared with aging, yellow eyes, as someone else turned her body with bit and brace. She watched herself admire her skin, eyes, and hair in the mirror as Kugo and Moss chided her for exposing herself. But they were not chiding her. The real Nephis was trapped in the body of an old woman, with an aching back and papery skin. Then her gaze fell upon herself, and their eyes locked together.

  “Ah! Proctoress!” Kugo replied, “I’m sorry, could you give us a moment?” he asked her.

  “No, it’s alright. I’m sure she’s already figured out who I really am,” Nephis’ lips and mouth moved without her willing them. In her eyes was a cold, triumphant glint.

  It was like staring into the dark water as it rippled across your reflection, twisting and turning you into something only like you. Nephis, the true one, stammered and gaped like a madwoman, as anyone would staring at themselves.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Moss asked as he leaned over her.

  “I’m feeling better than I have in a long, long time,” she answered, and then she paused, “Though I do think that fall rattled my head a little, let us go, dear servant.” And Nephis’ body began to float out of the office and passed the old woman.

  “W-wait,” Nephis croaked. “That’s not me!”

  Nephis’ body turned to look at her with a cruel, snakish smile, twiddling her fingers in goodbye.

  “What are you looking at?” Calina asked her older sister.

  And Nephis’ body assured her it was nothing at all.

  Nephis tried to hobble after them, but her old knees and legs would not allow for it. Just how Miratre managed to do all she did was beyond her. “No!” she cried out, “I’m Nephis!” but her voice was drowned out by the crowd of students. And so she watched helplessly as her body and her friends disappeared without her.

  Nephis rested her hands on the wall as she huffed and puffed for breath. She would have to catch up with them to tell them that it was not her. If she did not, she would be trapped in this cage for the rest of what years Miratre’s body had left in it. She weakly beat at the stone walls of the school.

  “Protoress!” A librarian called, the same one from only a moment ago. He was a thin, bespectacled young man. “I need your approval on a purchase. The school is nearly out of parchment, and the workshop can’t keep up. I suspect we’ll need twelve-hundred feet by the end of the month, if we put in an order-”

  “Yes, yes!” Nephis cut him off. “But first, I need you to arrange me a horse and carriage right now.”

  “What for?” the librarian stammered.

  “Don’t slow me down!” Nephis barked, “They . . . The Fair Lady has forgotten something very important. Now go, and you’ll get your seal!”

  “A-alright!” the librarian hustled off.

  “I’ll be in my office!” Nephis howled at him as he left.

  At once, she began to ransack the hag’s office. Most things were locked away with some key she couldn’t find. But, even still, Nephis scooped up anything she could into a bag and set it aside. Miratre was no sorcerer. As far as Nephis knew, one spell improperly cast would kill this old woman. And so, Nephis carefully bound the top of the proctor’s fishbowl with a cloth and poured out as much water as the fish could bear. The poor bitterlings dashed about the glass bowl, scrambling as their world suddenly shrunk and vanished. Everything was terribly heavy in this body.

  Not long after, the librarian pushed open the office door to see the room torn asunder. Bobbles strewn across a sopping wet rug. “Proctoress! Are you feeling alright?”

  “I’m fine!” Nephis spat, “Is the cart ready?”

  “Yes, ma'am,” the librarian answered.

  “Good. Now take this! It’s heavy.” And she dropped the fishbowl into his hands.

  “What?”

  “I’m going to need it. Now give me your arm,” she demanded.

  Together, they slowly made their way to the stables, where a small, humble little thing was waiting for them. A white horse and a cramped, red carriage. “After the princess,” Nephis demanded, “They’ll be headed for Remare.” And so, whipped forward by their proctor, the cart and horse barreled down the cobbled streets and onto the great road.

  “Was it important that I come along, Proctoress?” The librarian asked with a strained smile.

  “Of course. Who else would hold the fish?” Nephis replied absent mindedly, her eyes strained on the road for that familiar blue carriage.

  “As you say, Lady Miratre,” the librarian sighed in defeat, polishing his glasses furiously so he might keep his mouth shut. They traveled in silence for what felt like an eternity.

  Then, all of the sudden, the carriage came to a stop.

  “What is going on, driver?” Nephis demanded.

  “There’s quite the crowd, Proctoress,” the driver replied dully.

  “Here?” Nephis was baffled and looked out onto the road. Coming from around the bend was a crowd, as the driver had said, of nearly two hundred peasants pressing before them. They were clad in simple, worn robes. “What!” Nephis exploded. “Get them out of the way! My life is on the line!”

  “Your life?” the librarian asked in shock. “What did the Fair Lady forget that was so important?”

  “That’s none of your business,” Nephis growled, her old form making her seem much like a proper witch. “Get them off the road!” she demanded.

  “Me?” The librarian jumped, sloshing the fish about their meager bowl.

  “Yes, you!” Nephis answered. But looking upon the crowd in all their number and upon her newfound assistant’s spinning eyes, she sighed, her shoulders slumping forward to the wall of the carriage. “At least find out what they are doing here.”

  “Right away, Proctoress!” he said and slipped out of his seat, leaving the bitterlings to tumble about their desmense.

  Nephis watched as he hurried up to the crowd. Their clothes were rags, and upon their backs were great burdens – bags of every sort of thing, pots and pans, and pouches of this and that. Those lucky enough to have a cart and a horse piled their belongings as high as they could manage; it seemed they might have moved their entire home if they could. The librarian quickly hurried back, his face was stony and pale.

  “They say they are afraid of the raids in the countryside. Some of their own disappeared a few nights back, and so they have all packed up and left. They’re headed towards Remare.”

  “The raids?” Nephis asked.

  “Haven’t you heard?” The librarian’s eyes were wide. “Everyone is talking about it. All over the hills, strange men in robes are attacking villages! Hundreds of cultists . . .”

  The description did ring a bell; she had overheard some of the crowds and her sister whispering about it. Nephis bit her tongue as she mulled it over. “Fine. I will deal with them.”

  The librarian’s eyes widened. “Very well, Proctoress,” he said somberly.

  She carefully stepped out of the carriage and onto the uneven road.

  Nearly tumbling, she inched up and towards the crowd, whereupon seeing the most impressive man among them – a tall man, dressed in dust-kissed, but well-knit clothes, she weakly tapped his back until he turned. “Pardon me,” she huffed, “But you all need to move.”

  The man’s eyes rose in amusement, “Why don’t you take it up with those at the front?”

  “Now, listen to me, I’m on important business,” she answered, “So don’t give me lip.”

  But the man merely shrugged. “Apologies, grandmother,” and he turned back to his people.

  “Grandmother,” Nephis muttered and hobbled back to the carriage. The librarian pulled her in. Merely holding onto the open door felt like dragging against the waves. “Driver. Take us around. This crowd isn’t moving anytime soon.”

  “But, miss,” the driver called back in a tired, anxious voice. “This carriage can’t take the grass, it isn’t made for it.”

  “Why not?!” Nephis exclaimed.

  “The wheels, they will crack or snap,” the driver tried to explain.

  Nephis began to grind her teeth. Her heart beat in her old chest, pounding against weak ribs. “Uncouple the horse,” she demanded, “Take me upon it.”

  “Is it so serious?” the driver asked.

  “It is! Now go!”

  “But Proctoress,” the librarian asked in a creeping voice. “The horse cannot take all of us.”

  “Then you will stay and guard the cart,” Nephis matter-of-factly replied.

  Once the horse was loosed, the driver and Nephis sped away from the sad-looking librarian in a bent-forward cart. “Faster!” Nephis demanded of the driver, “Faster still!” He whipped the horse forward again and again, until they rode like wind scraping across the grass. Each step jolted Nephis’ old bones until, despite whip after whip, the horse began to slow and then to crawl.

  “I’m sorry, Proctoress,” the driver sighed, “But Prince Heart must rest for a while.”

  “I cannot afford that,” Nephis hissed. “He will find the strength if you push him to it.”

  “Proctoress, he cannot go any further, not without a moment, he will burst,” the driver begged.

  Nephis cried out in anger. “Fine!” she exclaimed in the empty plains, “I’ll go myself!” And she struggled off the beast.

  “Ma'am!” the driver tried to stop her. “Mam, you needn’t-!”

  Nephis slipped from her seat and tumbled onto the road. “Ow!” she groaned.

  The driver helped her up, carefully raising her to her feet. “Are you alright?”

  “No! Now out of my way!”

  And the driver would not let her go.

  “Unhand me,” she demanded.

  “Proctoress, I cannot. You must rest a moment.”

  “Unhand me,” she demanded again, her eyes burning with anger. “If you value your livelihood, you would.”

  At once, the driver released her, as if he held onto hot metal or a stinging beetle.

  “Good,” Nephis dusted herself off. “Now, once the horse is rested, continue along until you find me. I shall need a ride home. As will the boy.” And Nephis began to trudge down the old, stone road.

  The world inched by, hobbled step by hobbled step. Nephis pressed the old cage as far as it would go and then some. And when her knees ached, and her breath tore her ragged, she looked up to see she had hardly moved at all. “Bah!” she cursed, and continued on her way until she felt as if she burned with fire.

  But then, as she dragged herself up a particularly terrible hill, she saw the governor’s blue carriage stopped beside the road. Outside of it, bickering in the grass, were Kugo, Moss, Calina, and herself. She stood with a straight back and a sour, haughty expression. The others were caught between each other, Calina defending her, while Moss seemed particularly set against her.

  “That is not Nephis,” Moss said sternly.

  “She’s just hurt!” Calina said.

  “I do not see what all the hullabaloo is for,” the false Nephis answered, “I only said I could not wait to get back to the palace.”

  “Nephis would never say that,” Moss thundered, “You would have to wed the duke.”

  “That is no trouble,” the false Nephis answered, a sly curl twisting through her smile, “A marriage is only that. Nothing more than an arrangement between families.”

  “Nephis, are you feeling well?” Kugo asked.

  “I feel fine, I’ve just . . . changed my mind,” she answered. “Aren’t you tired of it all? The road? The running? I am. Such delicate hands were not made for a life on the road. It was fun, but it’s time for me and Calina to go home.”

  “Yeah!” Calina answered. “We’re just going home! Both of us! Together!”

  “Stop!” Nephis, the real one, bellowed before gasping for air. The old body of the proctoress was simply not made for everything Nephis had put it through.

  The false Nephis’ eyes flicked to her old body, a cruel smirk upon her lips. “Proctoress, Miratre, how do you do? Or should I say Lady Luminita?” she mocked herself.

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  “Kugo! Moss!” Nephis shouted, her old voice warbling, “It’s me, it’s Nephis.”

  The two of them and Calina were stunned to see the old women cresting the hill.

  “What is this?” Kugo asked.

  “You are Kugo of Ordo,” Nephis answered pointedly.

  Kugo nodded and then thrust out an arm to grab Nephis’ body.

  “Stop it!” Calina yelled and covered her eyes. “Nephis, you’re supposed to come home with me!”

  “Calina!” Nephis’ old voice bellowed. “We used to sneak out to town when the servants were busy, you, me, and Aurel, and I would buy you treats from the old baker woman with a great wart on her nose.”

  Calina’s expression fell before looking up to the cold eyes of whoever had slithered into her sister’s skin. “But . . . but . . .”

  “Ugh! I knew it wouldn’t go so easily. That’s what I get for enjoying myself,” Miratre spat, Nephis’ face contorting into foul, twisted expressions. Then, like a viper, she yanked out the dagger from her sash and held it to her own throat with her free hand.

  Calina gasped, and even Kugo flinched.

  “Unhand me, or I will slit the girl’s throat,” Miratre threatened.

  “That’s stupid,” Moss chastised her.

  “Better to die young than to rot an old hag,” she gloated, and as she did, a little blood dribbled from her neck, staining the hem of her white underclothes.

  “Let her go!” Calina demanded, “Let my sister go!”

  And Kugo, like ice snapping on the lake, released his grip on her.

  “Good,” Miratre purred and took Calina’s face in her hand. “Now, let us go back to the palace. I know I am not truly your sister. But I can play the part. And now, in the body of a sorcerer, I can help you forget.” And she stroked the girl’s forehead.

  Calina whimpered, her gaze falling back to her sister, her true sister, in the body of an old woman.

  “Let her go!” Nephis demanded with a croak.

  “You can take your sister,” Miratre shrugged. “I’ll find out some excuse for his majesty that you wish to study for a while.”

  “No! You are going to give me my body back, and I will continue on my way, and you on yours, or one of us will die,” the words were bitter in Nephis’ mouth. In truth, she had little desire to die or to be trapped in the body of an old woman. But, in all her speaking with the old crone, she suspected something about her. Miratre was terribly overconfident.

  “Me? Die? In this body? A well of life lies within this breast,” Miratre was aghast. “I know that old sack you’re stuck in now. I could snap it like a twig.” And Miratre looked upon Miratre with disdain.

  Nephis scanned all of them, her eyes flitting between them like a moth caught in the light. But she could not find what she was looking for. And so, she grit her teeth and shouted. “The amulet! Who has the amulet?”

  Miratre’s eyes fell towards the cart, and Calina shakily raised the necklace up into the air.

  Nephis began to stumble up the hill towards her sister.

  And Miratre’s young eyes gleamed in recognition, the corners of her eyes crinkling in cruel glee. “I see! I see!” she bellowed. “Let there be only one!”

  A terrible realization hit Nephis a moment too late -- she had left the fishbowl in the cart.

  “Of hearth and home does man belong. And of his own does he often yearn.”

  Nephis wove the spell as she ran and loosed it, like a sling, at her own body. Miratre stumbled back, tumbling to the ground, barely dodging the bolt of fire. The grass withered all about her, blackened and dead three yards on any side. A wave of nausea hit Nephis, her throat tingling and her chest nearly bursting, as she had drawn too much from the body of an old woman.

  “I did not expect you to be so desperate,” Miratre admitted, dusting off the fine black skirt as she stood. “But, I cannot blame you. When you are as old as I am, five or seven years feel as short as one.” At once, Miratre began to cast a spell, speaking strange and unknown words. With a finger like a hook, she dug in the air. The earth beside Nephis curled up like a scroll, tearing up earth and stone and root, pressing all within the bundle to dust. Nephis stood, her foot at the edge of this gash, only an inch away from being maimed.

  Miratre stood in awe, the eyes of young Nephis gleaming in wonder. “I expected great things. But this surpasses them all. How unfair it is, that you had this blood in your veins. The things I could do. The things I will do. Such blessings were wasted on you.” Not a blade of grass about her was darkened. “Let all know that Nephis Flores will be a great and terrible witch!”

  Nephis, the real one, began to run as fast as the old body would take her.

  Miratre once more cast a spell, this time, like a blade cutting through thin cloth, and slit the earth before her. And once more, Nephis stumbled away from a missing leg or limb. Out of desperation, Nephis reached for the bloodstone in her sleeve, but this was not her body. She cursed, and as Miratre reeled back to cut her down again, Nephis tore up from the grass and weeds around her, balling them into her fist.

  “Like smoke reveals a hidden fire, so do your hands reveal your heart. Nothing is hidden from the heavens.”

  She blew, and a great plume of smoke spread across the grass. Kugo and the rest of them watched as the grass slowly withered and died around the smoke. Weeds had little life within them, and so were sapped every second that passed. Through the darkness, Nephis fled, hoping only that she might find an opportunity to jump her old body or that Miratre’s slings and arrows might miss her. She could not continue to jump and tumble for much longer.

  “How bothersome,” Miratre sneered, “Let’s not waste time.” And once more, she spoke strange words that Nephis did not know, apart from one.

  “aehdt bseteg feil sa wnhe FIRE numseosc teh gssra dan rsete gnrsetor eilf roswg”

  In a flash of light, all the grass from here to the road burst into flame and died like straw caught in a hot blaze. As the thin, hazy smoke rose, Nephis’ spell fizzled, and she stood, an old woman in a dead field. Miratre prepared to end her once and for all, raising a thin, white hand into the air. But then, Moss charged her. Perhaps forgetting that this was Nephis’ body, or perhaps he no longer cared. Miratre stepped back, scrambling from swipe after swipe, to the cries of little Calina, begging Moss to stop. But then Miratre finished her spell and grabbed Moss through thin air as if he were something little and, with a flick of her wrist, flung him across the field, where he landed with a thud.

  Kugo swallowed and made his choice. He flung his blade at Nephis’ body, nearly missing her, a shallow cut marring her cheek.

  “Fine,” Miratre spat. “I don’t need you two. I just need the girl.” And through the air and many yards, an invisible force grabbed Kugo, snapping down its jaws upon his ankle, and dragged him through the blackened grass. “I shall end this once and for all. No more running or jeering. Let me put this body of ours to the test.”

  And she began to chant old and terrible words. And soon a great flame appeared in her hands. And as she chanted, it grew and grew and grew, until Miratre pressed it above her head for fear of burning herself up. Nephis scrambled for the hills, with Moss and Kugo following suit, each one running in another direction. She ran as fast as she could, certain that her hip or knee or some other part would snap. There was a rock, but a hundred yards away, thought it felt it was a hundred years away, could she only reach it, Nephis was certain she would survive and get her body back.

  Miratre cackled in her young body. About her, not one blade of grass had withered; she had not bruised the stem of a single flower. She was as a princess should be. The flame above her grew and grew like a god being birthed into a world that could not contain it. How dare the young princess have been so wasteful with her inborn talent, her spry limbs, her pretty face. Miratre would set that right. She would live as Nephis, as Nephis should have lived. The wisdom of old age would guide her, a mighty sorceress, a dutiful wife to a wealthy lord, a shrewd noble. The three vagabonds ran like rats from a flood. And now, from the sun in her hands, they cast long shadows. She would obliterate even her old, storied body, leaving nothing but memory and ash.

  Nephis scrambled further and further away. With every step she took, the great blaze of fire grew larger. It expanded quicker and quicker. Every inch it grew, the surface of it must have doubled or trippled. Nephis had never known she could do such things. She was tempted just to stop and watch for a moment, but that would be a flash of awe before a quick annihilation. As her heart beat in her chest, her lungs tore at their cage, Nephis began to doubt her plan. Perhaps her true body really was as impressive as it seemed to be. Perhaps Miratre was such a great mage as to really bring forth such a ball of fire. To push forward was to only perhaps perish. But to stop was to die. And so she ran until her body tumbled against the great boulder. She scrambled up it and in the distance could hear herself laughing, nearly howling in glee.

  As she stood atop it, both Moss and Kugo still ran away onto the road. She paused for a moment and watched herself hold up the great blaze. It was like the flame of a lighthouse, shining out unto the waves of the land before them. It was nearly so large as to cover all the distance she had run, and would reach it nearly as Miratre continued to feed it her blood.

  “You cannot do it, you will never do it!” Nephis cried atop the rock that carried her voice the whole distance. “You will never be me, not properly.”

  Miratre heard this spite and continued to chant. She would do it, quite easily, actually.

  “You will fail!” Nephis bellowed. “You do not know our ways! It is not so easily learned. The life of a dragon is born into you. I know you! Sham! You have not one shred of nobility!”

  Miratre shrieked. Like the blade of a lowborn executioner, she brought down her hand – and with it, the fireball. There was a torrent of scalding heat that blew past the great rock. Like a flood of fire, it spilled over the hills. Nephis felt the sweat and tears dry up in an instant as her legs burned. So terrible was the heat that she shut her eyes for fear of their drying out. But just as quickly it appeared, it left, leaving the black earth beneath it. Nephis looked around. Kugo and Moss had fled far enough away to be unscathed. And Nephis, or her body, lay unconscious on the grass. Little Calina looked over her, fretting one way and the other.

  Nephis slid down the rock and hurried across the black field to her sister and her body, which lay pale-faced and dappled with sweat, as if she were a forgotten bit of laundry. “A rope,” she croaked to Moss and Kugo, “Bring a rope.”

  They soon found one, tied between posts marking the boundaries between two fields, and brought it to tie up Nephis’ body with. They bound her tightly, ensuring the old woman would not be able to make any signs or beckon the world about her. In the end, her arms and wrists and legs were so taut that they might as well have been sticks.

  Calina was white as snow and hunched over like a mouse. Nephis, with creaking bones, knelt down beside her and took her round face in her withered hands. “The Proctoress put me in this situation,” she said gently, “And I will set it back right.” She gave her sister a wide, assuring smile.

  Calina nodded quietly and hurried off to watch, though now calmer than before.

  Nephis called for the amulet, certain it was the key to reversing it all. She tried to remember back to what Miratre was doing when they switched, but she could not remember anything in particular. In fact, she had been silent the whole while, as far as Nephis could remember. She held the amulet up to Miratre and stared blankly as it glinted in the light. Nothing happened. Nephis swung it, shook it, held it for a while, but nothing. She looked at her thief, at these withered hands she now had, and her blood began to boil. Nephis concentrated deeply on the amulet, holding it towards her old body and focusing her whole effort onto it, hoping to glean anything from it. But it was cold and unchanging. And then it began to pulse in her hand. Bupupmb, bupupmb. Like a heart pounding blood through it, she felt the chain drum against her skin. She nearly let it slip from her hands, but held it still. And this time focused even more surely through it. Even now, in her hands, it was cold and hot all at once. Her hands felt as if all the heat was leached from them and into her heart.

  Well. She thought. If it was heat it wanted, heat she would give it. And she began to press her life into it, as if she were preparing a spell, as if she were giving herself to the necklace. It tingled in her hand, like pins and needles sticking into her. A haze fell over her mind. All at once, her thoughts were jumbled and strange. Emotions that were not hers flowed from one to another: regret, lust, hate, fear, all folding into one another. Nephis’ body awoke suddenly, and the dreaming snapped into sudden fright.

  “Ah!” Miratre cried and struggled against her binds. “Release me, vandals!” Her eyes slowly fell to her old body, holding the amulet towards her.

  All at once, Nephis felt one emotion flooding into her. Hate.

  The amulet began to tremble. Bang!

  Kugo, Moss, and Calina watched with wonder when all of the sudden Nephis and Miratre both flew back a half step, slamming onto the blackened earth. Suddenly, the old woman jumped up – fright and terror in her eyes – and began to run away. Nephis’ body was still unconscious. And so, Kugo and Moss chased after her, and Moss snagged the hobbling woman in no time.

  “Unhand me, oaf!” the librarian snarled.

  “No,” Moss answered, as he wrapped his great hands around her.

  “Then kill me!” she hissed. Then her expression changed, and she began to weep. “Abused!” she cried, “All my life I am abused! So cut me down! One chance at youth – gone!”

  “Okay,” Moss said and began to squeeze.

  “Ahk!” Miratre gasped, her eyes grew small and darting. She tried to say something, but hadn’t the breath left in her to do it.

  “Stop!” Calina barreled forward, “Stop!”

  Moss let go. Miratre crumbled to the scorched earth, heaving for air.

  “We mustn’t hurt her! It isn’t right!” the little girl cried.

  Kugo sighed. “You’re right,” he tisked. “As much as she deserves it, Nephis did not run here on foot – someone carried her here, someone knows why the Proctoress hurried after us. That she hurried after us.”

  Miratre pulled her gaze up towards them, stabbing and black, a coiling grin pulling up her cheeks. “Yes,” she wheezed. “No doubt there are many people waiting to hear what happened to me.” She paused to catch her breath. “So let us make a deal. Give me the amulet, and I won’t say a word of what happened.”

  “No,” Kugo answered.

  Miratre snarled. “Then I will tell them everything – anything.”

  “And I will tell my father exactly what sort of woman you are,” Calina answered. “So do say not a word of what happened here and live on as before.”

  Miratre grimaced. “Very well.”

  And they left the old woman to trek back – alone.

  Nephis awoke, groggy as before, with arms that ached terribly. She felt sick to her stomach. But opened her eyes to see her friends and sister staring down at her. Her hands were her own. Nephis breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Good morning,” Moss said.

  “Good morning, Moss,” she answered.

  Calina pounced on her, nearly squeezing the life from her.

  “Ahk!” Nephis cried in her own voice. Her hands shook and she felt as if she might vomit. She had only ever felt this way when she had breathed dragon fire – all the blood drained from her body. “Give me a moment!” she said.

  And so she sat while they brought her bits of food and drink, and they all rested while Kugo found the driver, who had run off in terror. Once the cart and horse and driver were all in order, they carefully piled in and set off back on course, back to the manor of Constantin Gil, where the berating and howling of Eleonora no doubt waited. They traveled gently on this way with little trouble, their days filled with rest, good food, and no drought of laughter.

  Upon one of these cool autumn days, they passed a lonely grove, standing on an unclaimed hill. The sunlight struck the golden leaves of a forest of aspen, glittering like coins and wonders upon the air. Calina gasped. “Can we stop? Let’s stop!”

  “Driver!” Nephis called, “Pull over for a moment.”

  The driver obliged, and the four of them ventured into the woods. The boughs of the trees held over them like archways, and their white trunks stretched up into the blue air like pillars. Indeed, it was the most beautiful cathedral, the leaves made the gold of man seem tarnished, the bark put the whites of linen and marble to poverty, and the blue of the sky made all men of one rank. For a while, they all stood in awe at its majesty, fearing to speak too loudly lest they spoil it and cast it to winter.

  “Is this what every day is like?” Calina asked her sister.

  Nephis’ eyes became heavy for a moment. Indeed, it was not, but how to say that to a child? “No, this is something special,” she answered with a smile.

  “I should like to go on an adventure like yours someday!” Calina said. “I never thought how fun it might be!”

  “Oh! Well, maybe you shall!” Nephis roused her. “And here, Moss, take her up high to pick a souvenir.”

  Calina squealed as Moss took her up as high as she could reach to pluck a handful of golden leaves from the white trees.

  “There you are, something to remember these days by! Now keep them safe, or else Eleonora might snatch them from you!” Nephis continued to rile her up.

  “Ellie would never do that!” Calina protested. “She’s very kind you know!”

  “Well,” Nephis trailed off. She did not agree in the slightest.

  “She is!” Calina continued. “But you’ll find out when you come back!”

  “Is that right?” Nephis asked awkwardly.

  “You are coming back? Aren’t you?” Calina whimpered.

  “Perhaps one day,” Nephis offered sadly.

  Calina’s face fell, the gold of the forest seeming a little less pretty. “Why did you go?” she asked. “Was it Father? He worries for you, you know? Mother does also.”

  “Then you will have to cheer them in my stead!” Nephis answered. “Give them these to let them know I am well. But perhaps do not mention the Governor’s good name; no use getting him in trouble. Say you met me on the road, in good health and cheer!” And Nephis cut a lock of her hair and a square of her crimson robe from beneath her sash. Then, a memory struck Nephis, of silver days with her dear brother Cevril. “And I will leave you something too.”

  “You will?” Calina’s eyes lit up.

  “I will! Now sit a while.” And Nephis wove her a crown of golden autumn leaves, gently weaving each green branch together until it was fit for the queen of elves.

  Calina held it close to her face and looked at it from each way. “It’s so pretty!” she exclaimed.

  And for a while, each of them enjoyed the golden wood.