The Spark That Ignites the Dawn

Chapter Eight: The Torn Prince

"Never love anybody who treats you like you're ordinary." Oscar Wilde

The prince rocked back and forth on his feet in the shadow, listening out for Marya's footsteps. He was anxious; she'd been so ready to agree to his plan that he was prepared for several eventualities. One, being that she'd run away entirely.

She wouldn't get far, he hoped. He'd posted extra watches tonight surrounding the forest, and his friend Aleksandr was watching him. For the second eventuality; that when Marya arrived, she'd attack him.

He was wrong about all his assumptions, in particular the one where he'd wait to hear her arrival. Sig was deep in thought, staring into the ongoing blackness between the trees, when, like a ghost, Marya stepped out beside him.

Sig blinked in shock, unprepared for her stealth. Immediately, he was on his guard— was she attacking with some sorcery?!— but his friend merely smiled, looking worn and afraid herself. Sig recalled that Marya had lied to him, that she wasn't his friend, but he couldn't help but feel concerned. Her boots barely rustled as she padded across the leaves, as quiet as an animal's approach.

Sig prayed he wasn't wrong about all of this. But he'd deliberately gone to the lake to watch Marya consult with Vasilisa and had seen the transformation of swan to girl. Although he hadn't been close enough to hear the conversation, he watched the tense argument between the two, Vasya frustrated and angry. He'd wanted to race down and wrap the girl into his arms and hurt Marya for what she'd done.

But Marya was a sorceress, and his father had told him how clever sorceresses could be. Running to Vasya would be exactly what she wanted; a confrontation in which she could beat him, no doubt with destructive magic, and Vasya would remain under her spell.

Sig prayed he was right about this man in the basement being able to help him and Vasya.

'Lead the way, Siegfried,' Marya said, her voice low. Was that true sadness in her voice? Or was the friend he thought he'd made a truly gifted actress as well as sorceress?

Not trusting himself to talk, Sig nodded and beckoned her follow him, back up the pathway out of the woods. Here the trees began to clear, the crowded lines of trunks becoming increasingly spaced out and less dense with every few minutes. Soon, the two were leaving the forest entirely, the moonlight shining overhead and the fortress looming high from the rockface beyond. In silence, the two trudged up the rock pathway towards the main gates of the fortress, where Sig had moved guards to stand out of sight, away from their usual positions, so that Marya would feel less threatened.

It had the opposite effect. 'This place is empty...' she remarked, a frown demarcating her forehead. 'I expected it to be busy...'

Sig could sense an unspoken question, but he didn't enquire further. Still in silence they continued to walk, their boots clacking along the stone of the fortress. He was desperate to ask whether Marya had been her before; the man from the basement had called her a koldunya, which meant she would have lived here at a very young age, before the attack on the fortress. How had she escaped and survived? Was her uncle, a seemingly genial man, a mage, too? Or an innocent?

The fortress dipped, leading over an old stone bridge towards the high walls. A large, gated door stood in semi-repair, one of the many tasks of the soldiers here to improve. Two towers beamed down upon them, the lights in the slit windows dark, and on the battlements, not a bracket burned with fire. Sig knew from plan that there were, in fact, at least thirty sentries stationed along those walls, lurking out of sight amongst the shadows.