King of the Woodlands

Chapter 27

Lilibeth Faren was terrified. She didn't know what she was expecting.

"Good-bye," the Woodland King said, and she fought to keep the tears in her head where they belonged.

You see, Lilibeth hates good-byes. She'd rather walk away without saying anything at all. So she looked at him one last time, said a quick "Thank you", and turned around, not looking back.

She spun the ring three times around her finger, and then she became air and light, flying through a grain of time stretched out thin before her.

She lived in Brightleaf, a village hiding behind Hyrangrath, a city of grey stone castles bedecked in banners of emerald and gold, their dozens of spires piercing the sky like needles. But in Brightleaf, there were no spires, just triangular roofs thatched with whatever hay there was left. There were no stone castles, just carts piled high with coal and corn from Doubhlin Farms. But it was all worth more than a thousand Hyrangraths, and Lilibeth had been foolish enough to take it for granted.

Lilibeth's stomach flipped upside-down and back around again, doing cartwheels in her body as the world spun. She felt like she was going to fall and splatter everywhere. Stupid ring.

She landed in a sloppy somersault into the grass. As soon as she felt it tickling her cheeks, she felt like crying. Oh, Lilibeth Faren was home! For a brief moment she forgot about everything she'd promised the Woodland King. She was home, she was home! Donkeys brayed and hens clucked; children laughed and mothers shouted for them to please stand still.

Lilibeth scrambled to her feet, hair falling in tangles around her face, trousers rolled up to the knees. She knew that she'd get horrified looks thrown her way if she walked around the village in boy's clothing, but right now, she didn't particularly give a dog's bottom.

The world had moved on so easily without her. The wee little cobbler was selling hand-polished leather boots with gold buckles bigger than Lilibeth's fists. She spotted Caoim standing at his wooden cart laden with silver bowls of bread pudding, looking as if he was fighting off the prospect of an afternoon nap.

"Caoim!" she shouted. "It's me, Lilibeth!"

The portly man jumped, a hand on his heart. His eyes flew open, wide and shocked.

"Aunt Gardener's bluebonnet bloomers," he gasped out (it's a common Llewellenar expression, I can't quite explain it). "Lili! You're back! And you're wearing men's clothing? 'Tis unfit for a young lady, but—" He broke off, wiping at his eyes with the hem of his dark red kilt.

Sure enough, a handful of surprised faces turned her way. One woman dropped her perfectly intact piece of custard apple cake to stare (Lilibeth resisted the urge to rush over and gobble it up).

A heavy laugh escaped Lilibeth as she breathed in the air. It smelled like pink sweet peas and blackberries—the villagers must've thrown a celebration recently.

But a celebration for what?

Caoim was sobbing out a desperate prayer to the gods, kissing the ground again and again, weeping. "Oh, Lili, it is the rightful stirring of Fate's cauldron that has brought you back to us. Your father will be thrilled to see you!"

Lilibeth's stomach dropped, sinking below her boots and seeping into the grass. "How's he been?" she said. Part of her didn't want to know.

"I'm sorry to say quite terribly, poppet. Went positively mad the first day, babbling about black-eyed faeries and whatnot." Caoim chuckled, bit there was no mirth in the sound. "Should've worn one of them necklaces of braided iron, and all of the faeries would've groveled at his feet."