The High Mountain Court by A.K. Mulford

Chapter Five

They moved on foot through the woods, traversing a wide, dirt path. The back trail through the Western Wood was quiet, travelers preferring to take horses through the high roads. Only one other caravan had passed them, headed in the opposite direction.

The witches seemed to be the only ones in their convoy making a sound: sticks snapping under their boots and their ragged breaths echoing through the air.

“How much further?” Fenrin panted, breaking their long silence. Remy bet he was regretting carrying both his pack and the brown witch wares now. The sun was high, the promise of cooler weather ceding to the strong sun.

Hale had been walking far ahead, lost in his thoughts, but his fae ears had picked up on Fenrin’s question. Carys hiked not far behind the prince. The struggling witches walked in the middle, with the Twin Eagles taking up the rear.

Hale looked at the witches, and the group shuffled to a stop. Remy’s feet ached. Her muscles weren’t yet tiring, but her feet were on fire. She was eager to stop, but she wasn’t sure if she would ever start again.

“Only a few more hours,” Hale said. He spoke like it was nothing at all.

“Hours?” Fenrin whined. Heather said nothing, but she leaned forward and rested her hands on her knees, gulping air. Her cornflower blue dress was wet with sweat.

“Your legs are taller than me, witch. You should be fine,” Briata called from behind them. Her brother snickered.

“We could stop here,” Carys offered, “but then we won’t reach the next town by tomorrow.”

“Aw come on!” Talhan was the one to whine now. “I want to sleep in a bed tomorrow.”

Remy found the nearest rock and collapsed with a groan. She couldn’t wait another few hours. She needed to get her bloody boots off right away. Gods curse this fae prince. She should make him carry her.

“Let’s break for some water,” Carys said, eyeing Remy. “Ten minutes. Then we can decide how to proceed.”

Remy noted how Carys had taken the lead. It seemed the rest of the fae warriors did not care that the witches were struggling. Fae had body magic, and so it was easy for them. That was the selfishness of the fae; they could never put themselves in someone else’s shoes. And right now, Remy’s boots were filling with blood.

Each of the fae dropped their packs and sat on them, except for Carys, who leaned against a tree trunk. She and Hale rested far ahead while everyone else sat in a circle. They maneuvered their packs in a practiced way that told Remy this was their normal life. How strange these nomadic fae warriors were.

“You must do this a lot,” Fenrin said, voicing Remy’s thoughts. Briata shrugged at him. “Where’s the rest of your comrades?”

“Falhampton,” Briata said, as if everyone would know where that was.

“It’s on the border with the Northern Court,” Talhan explained. His tan cheeks were flushed red, but that was the only sign of exertion. “The Northern fae like to cross the Eastern border and cause trouble there. They’ve been doing it for years. The King sent Hale last year to finally rid the town of them.”

“And I’m guessing he succeeded?” Fenrin asked.

“It’s not as easy as running out a few Northerners,” Briata said.

“Bri’s right,” Talhan added. “You’ve got to build walls, train the locals, ensure that when the Northerners come back—”

“Which they always do,” Briata cut in.

“—we will have trained the townspeople how to keep them out,” Talhan finished. “Hale’s soldiers are still there defending the town until the King gives the order to pull them back.”

Fenrin took a long swig of his water and then passed the skin to Remy. She accepted it gratefully, the cool liquid soothing her scratchy throat. Passing it to Heather, she turned her attention to her feet.

Remy removed her boots with a hiss.

“You should leave those on.” Briata nodded to Remy.

“Your feet will swell and you won’t be able to get them back in,” Talhan added, passing his sister a stick of dried meat.

“I’d rather walk barefoot than wear these one more second.” Remy stifled a cry as she peeled her thick wool socks off her feet. The damage was visible now. Two egg-sized blisters covered the backs of her heels. The boots had rubbed the first layers of skin right off, opening red, weeping wounds. Her big toenail, too, was already turning blue. Remy was sure it would fall off within a day.

Heather gasped. “Gods, I thought those boots fit you?”

Remy shrugged. She thought her feet had stopped growing, but she was wrong. The boots had always been tight and uncomfortable but it had been fine working all day on her feet at the Rusty Hatchet, so she assumed it would be fine hiking too.

“Oof,” Talhan said, looking at her feet.

“That’s nasty,” Briata said. Her sarcastic smile was at odds with the blunt words she spoke.

The Twin Eagles were a strange mixture of odd, beautiful features and muscular bodies. Talhan reminded Remy of every merry drunk who passed the taverns. Briata reminded her of the gruff old men who spat at everyone except for those with a crude sense of humor.

“Here.” Heather was already pilfering through one of Fenrin’s packs. She pulled out two brown bottles and a thin strip of clean white linen.

Remy realized Hale had disappeared.

“Where’s he gone?” she asked, nodding toward his abandoned pack.

“Probably to have a shit,” Talhan said, biting into a piece of hard cheese.

Briata elbowed her chuckling twin. “He’s going to brief the King.”

Remy arched an eyebrow at them.

Fenrin whispered, “Fae fires.”

Ah, yes.

Remy had forgotten about that magic. Most of the fae’s powers were powers of the body: incredible vision, hearing, smell, healing, and strength. But they also had other powers, like their power to glamour themselves into human form and communicate through fires. Through the flames, they had a direct line of communication with whomever they wanted to reach on the other side. Many royal fae kept a magical fire continuously burning in their palaces, attended by servants who could fetch them if ever they were contacted.

Red witches had stolen that magic from the fae, creating spelled candles to call upon each other. But the candles required vast amounts of magic and only worked for a single use. Remy looked to her pack, where one such red candle remained hidden. Most witches resorted to the same means of communication as the humans, though: sending messenger pigeons or letters through the traveling post.

“I don’t know why he bothers going off like that,” Talhan said, looking in the direction Hale went, “it’s not like you witches can hear the whispers through the fire like the fae can.”

“He’s trying to be mysterious.” Bri snorted.

Remy wondered what Hale was telling his father. Did King Norwood know his son had found a red witch? Did the King know where the Shil-de ring was?

A sharp stinging on the back of her heel pulled Remy from her thoughts. She hissed through clenched teeth as Heather dabbed a healing potion onto Remy’s wounds.

“Damn,” Briata said, shaking her short, brown hair out of her eyes.

“Sorry,” Heather muttered as she yanked the cork out of the second bottle with her teeth. She poured a drop of thick, yellow ointment on her finger and patted it over the wound. At least the ointment didn’t sting.

“You must be a powerful brown witch,” Talhan said, his amber eyes moving from Heather’s skilled hands to Remy’s forehead. “That bruise on her head is gone already.”

Heather’s hands stilled for a moment, but then she carried on.

“My complexion hides the bruising better than some,” Remy said, looking at the twins. “But yes, she is the most skilled brown witch I’ve ever met.”

Heather smiled as she continued her ministrations on Remy’s injured feet.

The brown witch sat back on her heels and said, “I’ll bandage them to prevent any dirt getting into the wounds, but it won’t do much to protect your feet on this terrain.”

“I am not putting my feet back in those things.” Remy tilted her head toward her discarded boots.

Heather made quick work of the bandaging. Remy regretted using up some of her remedies and linens. Heather would be a rich witch were it not for Remy’s constant self-injuries. She silently promised that she would restock the used goods in the next town.

Hale reappeared through the trees. He and Carys exchanged glances and nodded. Hale drew a knife from his belt and cut the brown leather pocket off his pack.

The witches stared at him in confusion.

Without a word, Hale walked to Remy, cutting the leather in half as he moved. He knelt before her.

“What are you doing?” Remy looked at him bewildered as he took her freshly bandaged foot and placed it on his knee. He rolled back her gray trouser leg, the same shade of stone gray as his stormy eyes.

“We will not make it to the campsite if you are barefoot. The path turns to gravel up ahead,” he said, as if that were reason enough for his pack’s destruction.

Wrapping the leather around the sole of Remy’s foot, Hale reached for her boots, unlacing them and holding her foot tightly. Goosebumps rose along her leg as his thumb swept over the top of her foot.

The prince poked the bootlace through the leather as if it were paper. It was such a minor act of fae strength, and yet it was still impressive. He laced up the leather as if he had done it a million times before, wrapping the extra laces around Remy’s ankle and tying a bow. He was careful to avoid the wounds that he had not seen but sensed.

He put Remy’s foot down and moved to her other. Remy didn’t know what to say. Seeing him knelt before her, lacing up her makeshift shoes, felt incredibly intimate. Everyone else had fallen back into simple conversation, eating and drinking water. But Remy only stared as the prince’s deft hands moved over her foot.

When he finished, their gazes locked. What was it about his eyes? She hated how they seemed to say so much more than his voice ever did. She hated how her eyes might tell him something in return.

“Good?” he asked in that low, rumbling voice.

Remy gave a tiny nod, pulling her foot away, and stood. Her raw skin still burned, but Heather’s ointment was already helping.

Hale moved back to his pack and hauled it up over his shoulder.

“No more breaks. Let’s go,” Hale said and took off again.

Remy rolled her eyes. Hale was equal parts general and prince . . . and far too good at giving orders.

In a single breath, the fae seemed ready to go.

Fenrin moved to grab the pack nearest him, thinking it was his. He almost yanked his arm off.

“Gods,” he said, looking to Briata. “Is it filled with rocks?”

The fae easily lifted her pack and put it on her back, her muscles flexing at the movement. Remy watched Briata through narrowed eyes. Fenrin was not weak. The pack must have weighed a ton, especially considering several weapons already weighted down each of the fae.

“Just the normal gear.” Briata winked at Fenrin. “And a couple lucky stones.”

It took the witches longer to pack their belongings. Talhan helped Heather, lifting her pack up to put on her shoulders.

They carried on, crunching through the leaves, the world quiet once more. Remy moved her feet with such relief, not having that grinding, burning pain every time she shifted her weight. She was grateful to Heather and her healing remedies for saving her feet from an arduous walk. She was grateful to the inconveniently handsome prince too.

* * *

The cool morning breeze whipped through Hale’s hair as he stood at the clearing ahead. Carys had taken off her pack the moment they stopped and now leaned against a tree, looking in the same direction.

As Remy neared them, a village emerged. Downhill from the trail, rooftops and chimneys poked above the tree line. A signpost on the trail pointed eastward: Newpond 10 miles. Someone had nailed a smaller, scraggly sign below it: Guilford 1 mile. So the tiny village they saw was Guilford, then, and if they stayed on the trail, they would reach a bigger town called Newpond. Remy tucked that information into the back of her mind. She hoped to stumble upon a map in Guilford to get her bearings.

She suspected they were heading to the border between the Western Court and Southern Court, but she couldn’t confirm it without a map. Remy, Heather, and Fenrin had worked their way only through the rural towns in the middle of the Western Court.

These quiet villages arose all along the Western trails. They serviced back-road travelers and proffered all the usual merchants and traders. Whatever they needed for their journey, they would find in the town below.

Fenrin, who had been trailing farther behind Remy all day, caught up. The grueling past two days were wearing him out.

Heather approached the lookout with Fenrin. The Twin Eagles were right behind them. Talhan broke into a smile when he saw the village of Guilford. He had been talking incessantly about sleeping in a bed all morning. They offloaded their packs and plopped down on them straight away, seizing any opportunity for a break.

“What supplies do we need?” Hale asked without looking back to them.

“Just the usual restock.” Carys folded her arms.

“Flint and twine for me.” Briata grinned like a fox. “And maybe something to refill my flask.”

“I wouldn’t mind having a look at the pocketknives,” Talhan said. He looked to the three witches and remembered. “Oh, and three more bowls and spoons.”

Talhan carried light wood receptacles and utensils for his comrades. But he only carried four, one for each of the fae. The three witches shared Talhan’s bowl while he shared with his twin, but three more bowls would help.

“I need some supplies as well,” Heather piped up. She had used up a few of her healing remedies on Remy’s feet.

“And I need new shoes,” Remy added. Hale looked over his shoulder to Remy’s makeshift shoes. They had gotten her this far, but the gravel trail wore away at the thin leather. They wouldn’t last another day.

“The rest of us should get the supplies—one of us should take the witch to the inn,” Briata said, waving her block of cheese toward Remy. “She shouldn’t come.”

“Good idea.” Talhan was already producing a piece of dried meat from his pocket and fishing out his waterskin.

“Why?” Fenrin asked. He and Heather kept their packs on but leaned their heavy weight against a wide trunk of a conifer. It was too much effort to get the packs back on otherwise.

“Fae use the back road to Newpond,” Briata said. “One might stop for supplies in Guilford. It’s not a good idea for a red witch to be walking from store to store.”

“Agreed.” Hale lifted the hem of his tunic to mop his sweaty brow. Remy’s eyes dropped to the peek of golden skin revealed at his waist. It wasn’t until his tunic dropped again that she remembered what she was going to say.

“How am I meant to get shoes if I can’t come?” Remy waved her arms in exasperation.

“Bri has an eye for people’s sizes,” Carys said, folding her arms as she leaned against the tree trunk. “She will be able to pick you something suitable.”

Heather leaned over to Fenrin and whispered, “I need your help getting supplies.”

Remy pursed her lips at their exchange. Something more was being said there that she didn’t understand. But Fenrin simply dipped his chin to their guardian.

“I’ll head to the inn with the witch,” Hale said, surveying the village below.

Remy opened her mouth to protest, but Heather gave her a look. The lines around her guardian’s mouth deepened into a frown. She knew Heather didn’t want her walking through a town filled with fae. Heaving a sigh, Remy knew the decision was made: she would go with Hale.

“Glamours,” Hale said, turning into his human form even as he spoke. The shine of his wavy, brown hair dulled. The chestnut red streaks disappeared. His ears had rounded and his gray eyes no longer shone like steel.

Remy looked to each fae as, one by one, they turned into humans. They looked the same . . . mostly. They seemed shorter, less muscular. Their skin did not glow with health. The Twin Eagles still seemed otherworldly in the way they moved, but their golden eyes were now an amber brown. They wouldn’t stand out as readily.

“You two are traveling companions,” Briata said, eyeing Remy and Hale. “Make up whatever story you like but make it believable. Don’t draw suspicion.”

“Oh, and Bri?” Hale said to the golden eyed warrior. “I owe the witch a new bow.”

He had remembered. Remy’s lips tugged up at their corners, delighting in the thought of a brand-new bow.

Fenrin’s eyes darted back and forth between Remy and Hale. “Do we have to stop?”

“Yes.” All four fae responded in unison.

* * *

“My wife and I are traveling to Newpond,” Hale said more regally than the human he was posing as. “We are in a caravan with four others from the East. We’ll be needing three rooms.”

The innkeeper standing before them at the inn’s front door impatiently tapped her foot. She was a small, cantankerous woman, wearing a threadbare brown dress and a greasy apron.

“Newpond, you say?” she asked, glancing between the two of them. She did not step back to grant them entry.

“Yes, I’ve heard it’s a fine place to raise a family.” Hale smiled. Remy grimaced as he rested a gentle hand on her stomach. Great, not only would she have to pretend to be his wife, but his pregnant wife at that.

The innkeeper arched a thin brow at Hale. He was terrible at this game, and the woman saw through his act in one look. Her eyes darted to Remy and Remy knew she could see right through her plastered-on smile too. Something shifted in her expression as she assessed Remy, a flicker of recognition seeming to light up the innkeeper’s face.

“How wonderful,” she drawled sarcastically. “Welcome.” The innkeeper stepped back, allowing them to enter.

Her eyes roved over them both, and Remy realized she saw it all: his shined boots and new fawn-colored riding coat, Remy’s tattered cape and moth-eaten maroon tunic. Even with the Prince’s glamour, it was obvious that he was more than an average human man and that Remy was not his wife.

The inside of the inn was inviting, albeit run down. Hardwood beams supported the upper floor, lanterns hanging from them and rows of candles dotted everywhere to boost the low light from the tall windows. Dusty paintings filled the walls.

The innkeeper guided Remy to a table in the center of the empty room. Hale leaned their packs against the wall in one of the few places without cobwebs and took a seat opposite Remy.

“I’m supposing you and your wife are hungry? I shall have the cook bring something out,” the innkeeper said, walking halfway to the kitchens and then pausing.

She caught Remy’s eye from over Hale’s shoulder. The innkeeper lifted her hand and touched the center of her chest. Remy noted the move. It was a signal to other witches, tapping to where their totem bags used to hang around their necks. It was a simple, innocuous move that was only noticeable to those who were looking out for it.

The fae and humans often called them hex bags, but that was a misnomer. The bag was not for hexes at all. It carried special objects personal to each witch. They used to wear them around their necks before the Siege of Yexshire. Many witches still kept the totem bags anyway, sewn into secret pockets in their cloaks and dresses, just as Remy’s own totem bag was tucked into the lining of her tunic now. The tradition lived on in secret.

The innkeeper was a witch then. Remy only moved her head in the briefest of nods to acknowledge that yes, she was a witch too. The innkeeper gave a half-smile. Good. She might have seen right through their husband-and-wife ruse, but if she was also a witch, she would keep quiet about them.

When she had exited the room, Remy snapped her gaze back to Hale.

“Why would you say I’m your wife?!” Remy hissed across the table in a hushed voice. “Is that really the only thing you could think of?”

“I thought if you were with child it would be a good excuse for you to not be venturing into the town with the others.” Hale’s brows dropped over his eyes. “Stop biting my head off about it.”

Remy huffed a laugh.

“What?” The muscle in Hale’s jaw popped out.

“Nothing,” Remy said. “At least we bicker like a married couple convincingly enough.”

Hale leaned back in his chair, the anger in his eyes cooling. “You play the role of a pregnant woman well.”

“Do backhanded compliments just roll off your tongue so naturally?” Remy said.

A subtle smirk crossed Hale’s face as he asked, “Do you wish to concern yourself with my tongue?”

Even with his glamour, Hale was gorgeous. Her gaze roved along his sharp jawline and full lips before settling back on those eyes.

Remy’s heart leapt into her throat. Gods, those gray eyes were the smoke before the flame. They scorched her skin.

Remy wished Heather and Fenrin were still here. Maybe their constant meddling could be beneficial sometimes. Right now, Remy needed a buffer before she crawled across the table and showed the prince just how concerned she could be with his tongue.

“Three rooms?” Remy asked instead.

“What?” Hale arched a thick, brown brow.

“You told the innkeeper we needed three rooms,” Remy noted.

“One for the Eagles, one for you and your . . . friends,” he said, careful not to mention witches, “and Carys and I will share one.”

“Oh,” Remy said, then added, “Good. I mean, it will look strange if you were sharing a room with someone other than the woman you said was your wife . . .”

“Good point.” Hale grinned. “I’m sure your friends will have feelings about that, though. Do you want to spend the night in a room with me?”

The sound of his voice made Remy want to chew on her lip, but she refused. A small thrill ran through her that he might have lied about them being married so they could share a bed.

Remy warred with herself. What did an offer like that mean? What would happen if she said yes? She bounced one leg under the table.

She remembered what Carys had said in the forest, but something about the fae warrior and Hale sharing a bed still rubbed Remy the wrong way.

Hale put an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. He was watching her, and from the smug look on his face he knew what she was debating.

A blush crept up Remy’s face. She instantly felt more aware of her appearance. Her beauty had only ever been a problem for her. She tried to hide it behind her tied-back hair and unwashed face. She had been receiving advances from drunken men in taverns for years. But so rarely had she wanted to encourage a male’s attention. Only one time in fact . . . well, two now.

Remy’s goal in life was to not draw attention to herself. Yet here she was, thinking about how she wanted to look and dress to draw Hale’s gaze. She wanted the prince to think she was beautiful, and she hated herself for it. These fae royals were not good males. She shouldn’t care about anything other than how quickly she could escape.

The innkeeper returning with two glasses of water saved Remy from the prince’s penetrating stare. Another small, mousy woman behind her carried two plates of food to the table.

“That smells delicious,” Remy said, smiling at the cook. The woman’s thin pink lips pulled up at the sides before she turned and walked away. Remy sensed the cook’s magic stirring behind that smile. She was a witch too. Thank the Gods. The more witches around, the better.

Remy considered Hale as he devoured the meal before him. He did not know he had entered a tavern with at least two more witches.

Remy took a bite of the roasted potatoes and approvingly hummed as she chewed. The perfectly crisped vegetables had just the right amount of rosemary. Remy had eaten her fair share of roasted potatoes over the years, along with all the usual tavern fare. Judging by the deliciousness of the meal, Remy assumed the cook was a green witch. Green witches were native to the Southern Court, their magic making mouth-watering food and growing beautiful gardens.

Remy ate, keeping pace with the prince. It surprised her how fast Hale ate, considering he was a royal. She gobbled her food because she rarely got time off to eat her meals and so she had to shovel them down during kitchen dashes. Remy supposed it was Hale’s warrior side in practice. The stories of The Bastard Prince of the East took place everywhere but the Eastern capital city of Wynreach. He and his soldiers were nomadic, moving from town to town on the orders of King Norwood.

“Newpond . . .” Remy mused as she looked about the room. There, mounted on the wall, was a dusty map of the continent of Okrith. “We’re nearing Silver Sands Harbor at the Western Court’s border. Are we crossing into the South?”

The Silver Sands Harbor was a deep inlet separating the Western and Southern Courts. Only one road crossed the border. It wended through the dense forest at the base of the southwestern most reaches of the High Mountains. Remy stuck out her lip as she traced the map with her eyes. They would come so close to the harbor. It seemed a pity to be so close and still not view the ocean.

The prince frowned at the map. “You know I cannot tell you where we are going. Not yet.”

“What could I possibly do with that information?” Remy said, batting her eyelashes.

“You can keep playing this game, little witch,” Hale spoke in a softly menacing voice. “But I will not underestimate your power. Most of your kind were killed off in the slaughter thirteen years ago for their allegiance to the fallen crown. You are a rarity. And when we stumbled across you in that tavern, I knew we had struck gold. You are our ticket out of this war. So no, you are not some meek, little tavern witch. You can stop pretending.”

Remy snarled at Hale.

“There she is.” He grinned.

“What can you tell me, then?” Remy folded her arms across her chest.

“Nothing.” Hale lifted another spoonful of peas to his mouth.

“Can you tell me your full name or is that not allowed either?” Remy asked.

That threw him off guard.

“My name is Hale.” He pursed his lips to contain his mouthful of food.

“Oh please, all you princes have ten names. Go on, what’s yours?”

Hale chuffed out a laugh as he sipped his water.

“Fine, my name is Hale Bastion Haast Ashby Norwood. And that is only five names, not ten.”

Remy cackled. There was nothing delicate or demure about the way witches laughed. They laughed with their entire bodies, and Hale couldn’t help but laugh along with her.

“I wish I could say that it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, prince.” Remy laughed again, throwing his title at him like a playful punch. She took a long sip of her water and looked at him through her long lashes. “Perhaps if the circumstances were different.”

She didn’t know why she said it, merely wanted to. But she delighted in the way Hale’s eyes widened. That wanting smile stretched back across his face. He may have been fae, but when it came to women, it didn’t matter: fae males were as simple as human men, it seemed.

“And what is your name, little witch?” Hale’s voice dropped an octave as he spoke. It did wonderfully terrible things to Remy’s insides.

“Remy Singer,” she answered.

“Liar.” The prince smirked.

Maybe he wasn’t a complete fool, then, and he was formidable. His other soldiers were skilled to be sure, but Hale’s power was like a living thing. Remy sensed it, power radiating off him in pulsing waves, her ears ringing with the low hum. She feared for anyone who ended up on the wrong end of his blade.

“How about some wine?” Remy looked forlornly at her empty plate. She had been half-tempted to lick it clean. Too many days she had been eating rabbit and squirrel stew.

“You are with child, wife,” the prince reminded her.

“Ugh, fine. Cake, then.” Remy grinned. Cake was what she wanted anyway, and compared to wine, it was inexpensive too. “I’m sure you can afford it.”

The prince barked out a laugh as he grabbed a gold coin from his pocket. He may have been glamoured as a human but carrying around pieces of gold was a dead giveaway that he was fae. Remy snatched the coin off the table regardless and waved it to the green witch cook, who was talking to the barman in the corner.

“Three slices of cake please,” she called to the witch, waving the prince’s coin.

“Three?” The prince raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, did you want a piece?” Remy asked. Turning back to the green witch, she shouted, “Sorry, four pieces, please.”

The green witch nodded to her with a knowing grin. Whatever kind of cake it was, it would be delicious if a green witch had baked it.

“Well, it is worth the coin to see you eat four whole slices of cake,” Hale chuckled more and more at the thought. Something in Remy loved that he laughed like a witch. It was deep and hearty, making his whole body shake. Entirely different from the begrudging sounds he usually made, this sound was genuine.

“Like you said, husband, I am with child.” Remy rubbed her stomach.