The harsh winter wind beat against the walls of a small house situated deep in the woods. Inside, a tall woman sat before the fire brushing out her tawny hair, when a loud tapping made her look up cautiously from the coals. The tap sounded a second time, and she got to her feet and approached the door, hand outstretched.

 

“Who’s there?” She called.

 

“I’ve lost my way through these woods,” a deep voice replied.

 

It was unfamiliar to her, but well-bred and polite in tone.

 

She unbarred the door. “Come in, then. It’s a bad night.”

 

A tall man with frost clinging to his armor and short, dark beard eagerly ducked through the doorway, helmet tucked under his arm.

 

“Many thanks, my lady,” he said. “I’ve traveled far on the king’s business, and—”

 

“You lost your way, yes,” she echoed. “You’re welcome here, my lord. This winter is uncommonly bad.”

 

“No lord, just a simple knight,” he replied, warming himself before the fire. “Crais is my name.”

 

“I’m called Sibil.” She pulled a woolen shawl around her shoulders, for opening the door had let a chill into the room. “You can’t have traveled all this way on foot. Don’t you have a horse?”

 

“Yes, and I extend my apologies for penning her in already. Until I saw your goats, I took this place to be empty.”

 

“No matter. Have you eaten?”

 

“I could eat.”

 

“I’ll fetch you something.” Sibil nodded to a bowl of water on the table near the fire. “That’s still warm. You can wash.”

 

Gratefully, Crais splashed the water over his cold fingers, and then his face. A damp cloth rested next to the bowl, and he used that to dry himself while she set out some bread, goat’s milk cheese, and a beaker of ale. He ate with relish as she returned to her previous spot by the fire to finish brushing her hair.

 

“This is wonderful bread.” He felt silly saying just that, so added. “My hands have no such skill.”

 

“Mine couldn’t lift a sword.” She smiled up at him, as she began to plait her brushed-out hair. “Thank you, all the same. It’s a pleasure to feed someone other than myself.”

 

“All the same, I hope not to impose on your hospitality for more than tonight.” Crais began to undo some of the buckles of his armor, happy that he was near a fire as he worked.

 

“We’ll see.” Sibil put her brush down and held out her hands in offering. On receiving a nod, she began to work on his right arm. “There’s a hard frost now, and the wind is worse.”

Free of his metal, the knight sighed in relief and stretched himself out, easing the kinks from a cold day in the saddle. Sibil smiled appreciatively, before busying herself with clearing the remnants of Crais’ meal and putting away her shawl and brush in the small wooden closet by the door. Done, she surveyed the interior of the house a moment, which seemed even smaller than its one room with the big man warming his feet by the fire.

 

“I’m for bed,” she announced. “Join me now, or later… but mind the fire when you come.”

 

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll wait a little longer.”

 

“Just as you like. Sleep well, Sir Crais.”

 

#

 

In the morning, he awoke to a particularly vigorous gust of wind striking the side of the house. Sibil was awake and at work by the fire.

 

“You’ll never leave today,” she said. “We’ll have a job of it just walking around to the stable-room.”

 

He nodded, asking after a moment. “How do you manage on your own?”

 

“I’m nobody; I don’t need much,” she replied.

 

“Nor do I, and I would be glad to lend my hand to any task you need as long as I’m here.”

 

“I’d be most grateful.” Sibil nodded, smiling. She turned away from the fire. “Wrap up, and we’ll see to the animals.”

 

The short walk around the house to the second door where the animals were kept proved treacherous as predicted, with the pair linking arms to steady their steps. On opening the door, they were greeted loudly by the animals therein: two she-goats, a few hens, and Crais’ silver horse.

 

“Yes, you’ve had a strange night, I know.” Sibil patted the goats (one brown, one white) soothingly. “But we’re all friends.”

 

A bold hen pecked the knight’s boot inquisitively as he attended to the mare, earning an indulgent smile, even as he nudged the bird away with that same boot.

 

“I call her Starlight,” he said, on seeing his hostess’ admiring look at the horse. “She’s out of a fine line of warhorses.”

 

“She’s very beautiful,” Sibil replied, as she sat to milk the brown goat. “You must be proud.”

 

As the second goat was milked, she directed him to look for eggs and was not surprised that he found only two.

 

“It isn’t their season,” she explained. “But we’ll eat well enough.”

 

“I have some cloves,” he recalled, turning to his saddlebag. “And there may be something else I could contribute to the pot.”

 

“Thank you. Anything would be most welcome.” She straightened up with the pail of milk. “I’m hungry.”

 

They walked slowly, carefully balancing the milk and eggs against the ice underfoot. Crais struck fresh life into the fire, while Sibil laid out a simple breakfast, justified by the fierce cold.

 

“How long have you been alone out here?” He asked.

 

“My father died two years ago,” she said. “He was a forester. My mother didn’t wait long for him; they died of the same fever.”

 

“I’m sorry for that.” He frowned sympathetically. “You have no other kin?”

 

“None of blood,” she allowed. “But I’m not forgotten, for as little as I see people. The abbey and village are less than half a day’s walk. And you, Sir?”

 

“My father lives,” he said, simply. “My brother is his heir.”

 

Sibil looked up from her cauldron. “And you serve the king.”

 

Crais nodded. “I do. I guard him at court and in battle. I also go wherever he sends me on whatever errands the crown requires.”

 

“Like a villein?” She asked, cheekily.

 

“Certainly not! I am commander of the King’s Personal Guard… in no way bonded.”

 

“Pardon, Sir Crais,” Sibil said, inclining her head.

 

“No… your pardon,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation. “I am a guest here. I have the obligation to smile, at least, at your jokes.”

 

“No obligation, but I accept any mark of favor gladly.” She looked up again, offering him another piece of bread.

 

They passed the rest of the day quietly engrossed in their work. Sibil made cheese and butter from the milk she collected, as well as a pottage, fortified with the eggs and cloves. The knight thoroughly cleaned his armor and collected more wood for the fire. Together, they tended the animals again before returning to the table for supper.

 

Afterward, as Sibil knitted herself a new pair of mittens, she asked Crais to tell her some of his travels. The knight obliged, enjoying the spark of wonder in her eyes as he described distant lands and their people. Abruptly, however, he stopped, realizing that the air was still.

 

“The wind has stopped,” he observed.

 

“Yes, but I smell another hard frost in the air,” she replied, putting her wool aside.

 

Crais agreed, for he had an old wound which ached in such weather. “It will be very cold.”

 

Sibil hung her apron and gown in the small closet, turning to face him as she also removed her smock, which she let dangle from her fingers.

 

For a moment, the knight was unable to speak, finally stammering, “I’m not sure that’s wise.”

 

“Do we have to be?” She asked, but when he did not move from the fire, added. “I can put this on again, if you wish.”

 

“No.” He got to his feet, took her into his arms, and embraced her.

 

#

 

“You spoke truly yesterday,” Crais mused.

 

It was early the next morning, and Sibil, now clothed against the cold in her smock, lay curled against him beneath the blankets.

 

“I am not quite free.”

 

“I knew you could not stay,” she replied, one hand resting over his heart.

 

“I cannot,” he agreed. “While I may conduct myself largely as I please, so long as I do not dishonor the king, as long as I wear the commander’s ring I may not fight for any other person, or enter into contracts of any kind, including marriage. I go where I’m bidden and return when I’m called.”

 

She nodded without speaking.

 

“But my errand is complete,” he noted. “And I am not yet expected at court.”

 

“That’s good.” She sat up far enough to kiss his rough cheek. “It’s better to set out in a thaw. And, I like that you’re here.”

 

He tousled her hair, coming loose from its plait, she rolled out of bed. “As do I.”

 

#

Sunlight glinted brightly off the piles of hard, icy snow, even deep in the forest. Sir Crais, clad in his armor once again, held Starlight’s reins lightly in his left hand; Sibil, wrapped in a berry-colored, wool cloak, stood before him, eyes damp, but her gaze steady.

 

“I knew this day would come,” she said. “As it passed us by before.”

 

Not quite a week after his arrival, Crais fell ill with a bad chest, which he took nearly a month to recover from. Then, Sibil badly cut her hand and turned feverish from the wound the next day. He declined to leave until she was well, even poaching a rabbit or two from the surrounding woods to aid in her recovery, losing the break in the weather to his kindness.

 

There could be no further delay.

 

“I will not forget you, Sibil,” the knight promised. “I owe the king six years yet, but it will not be forever… unless you wish it.”

 

“I love you, Crais.” She reached up to lay her hand on his cheek, freshly barbered for the journey. A few of his dark locks she had tucked away as remembrances. “I will wait.”

 

He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze straying down to her apron. She had said nothing, but he knew she had been tying it more loosely of late and felt somewhat fuller when he held her.

 

“You have my word, and my heart,” he promised, kissing her hand. “Until then.”

 

He quickly swung into the saddle and rode away. Sibil raised her hand and held it above her head until the sound of the hoofbeats died away.

 

II

 

A crisp autumn breeze blew through the trees as Sibil walked through the woods, a basket of chestnuts hanging over one arm. She listened intently, and called out.

 

“Pearl, Sapphira! Come here!”

 

A minute later, two girls of five years ran out from the brush. One had tawny hair that nearly matched Sibil’s shade, while the other was much darker, but in looking at their faces, no one would doubt that they were twins. One clutched a couple of apples in her arms, keeping an eye on her sister, who had filled her apron with the fruits and picked up whatever bounced out as they ran.

 

“What is it, Mama?” The darker girl asked.

 

“A horse,” Sibil replied. “Stay by me.”

 

“Is it our father?” The other sister asked, hopefully.

 

“I don’t know, Pearl.” Her voice wavered a bit. “I hope it is.”

 

The hoofbeats grew louder, until moments later, a knight on a large bay cantered into the clearing. The girls looked keenly up at their mother’s face, wilting as they took in her disappointment. The knight, for his part, removed his helmet politely, nodding down at them.

 

“Mistress Sibil?” He asked. He was a young man, probably of her age, with light hair.

 

“I am she,” Sibil replied.

 

“My name is Sir Ivor,” he replied. “I have a request to put to the bishop, but before I cross the forest, I have word for you, too. And I’m very thirsty.”

 

She frowned briefly before looking down at her daughters. “Sapphira, take the apples inside and fetch a beaker of ale. Help her, Pearl.”

 

The twins warily went to obey, although their movements were still quick. The knight watched them curiously for a moment before turning back to Sibil.

 

“Crais never said there were children,” he remarked.

 

“It was quite a surprise, though I’m glad he left them for me.” She set her basket on the ground and looked back up at him. “My daughters won’t dawdle. Let me hear your news, please.”

 

“Sir Crais is lost to us,” Sir Ivor said, bluntly.

 

“Go on.” Sibil spoke calmly, although the blood drained from her face, and she pulled her shawl more tightly around herself.

 

“He did his duty and took a blow meant for the king. There was not a man witnessed it who would not say that it was well done.”

 

“Where is he buried?”

 

He grimaced. “There is no grave. His body was not found afterward, though the king had the ground searched thoroughly.”

 

“Then he may still live.” Her eyes glittered with hope.

 

“Crais was uncommon strong, it’s true, but no man could have survived such a blow. It dented his armor.” A moment later, he added. “We wouldn’t have it said of our commander that he turned his back on you.”

 

“No,” Sibil agreed, coolly.

 

The twins’ footsteps returned. Too short to reach a man on horseback, Sapphira handed the ale to her mother, who in turn, gave it to the knight. He drank it in one gulp and returned the beaker.

 

“Can I reach the abbey before dark?” Sir Ivor asked.

 

She nodded.

 

“Good day, then,” he said, carelessly before spurring the bay on.

 

When their mother didn’t move or speak, Pearl grasped her hand, while Sapphira helpfully plucked the basket of chestnuts off the ground.

 

“Isn’t Father coming?” She asked, clutching the wicker to her chest.

 

“He can’t,” Sibil replied, her voice brittle.

 

The twins stared at each other with trembling lips. Sapphira reached out and clutched her sister’s hand.

 

Sibil tilted her hand back a moment before reaching out and resting her hands on the girls’ shoulders. “Come inside.”

 

#

 

Two days later, with a parcel of roasted chestnuts under her arm, Sibil and her daughters knocked at the gates of the abbey that Sir Ivor had sought. The brothers therein knew her as the old forester’s daughter and the gift of chestnuts warmed her welcome. Her request to speak to Brother Oswald, her godfather, was readily granted. Needing no direction to find him, she guided the girls to the abbey stables, which he oversaw.

 

The monk first gave his attention to the twins. “There’s a splendid new horse in the stables you’ll want to see.”

 

“Sir Ivor’s horse? We’ve seen that,” Sapphira said, earning a jab in the ribs from her sister, which she returned.

 

Sibil separated her children. “I’m surprised to hear his horse is still here. I thought he’d be off by now.”

 

“He’ll escort the bishop, as the roads are still dangerous,” Oswald said. “He’s at the guesthouse, if it’s news you want.”

 

“I don’t want to speak to him,” she replied. “I only want to know where the battle he witnessed occurred.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Our father died there,” Pearl volunteered, looking surprised that she had spoken, still rubbing her side.

 

The monk’s expression immediately shifted to one of sympathy. “You want to pay respects?”

 

“There is no grave, or so Sir Ivor said,” Sibil explained. “But I must see the field.”

 

“I don’t understand.” Oswald rubbed his bald head pensively, before his eyes lit up with comprehension. “You’re in hope?”

 

She nodded. “For my children’s sake, as much as my own. They need their father.”

 

“Yes, as is natural.” He looked down at the twins. “Go see the mules, then, if that great horse is no interest to you. Be careful.” Watching them depart, he mused, “They are a blessing to you. Not all here would agree, but I see it.”

 

“Crais promised himself to me in good faith, and I him,” she replied. “I see no wrong in it.”

 

He shook his head indulgently. “The king and Lord Justin fought on the field at Mela. So many men fell, on both sides, but our brothers there saw to it that all the dead were buried with the proper rites. So, if Sir Ivor spoke correctly, you needn’t fear for your man’s soul.”

 

“Thank you.” She embraced him quickly, wrinkling her nose at the horsey smell that always clung to his habit. “I started preparing for a journey as soon as he rode away. Pearl and Sapphira will come with me. You’ll pray for us, I know.”

 

“Yes, and I’ll see that your animals are looked after,” he said. “Perhaps you’ll be blessed again.”

 

#

 

Pearl and Sapphira walked side-by-side, hands tightly clutched, with Pearl also clinging to her mother’s skirts as they surveyed the large expanse of grass and mud before them, all covered with a thin layer of frost. Several weeks, perhaps even a month, had passed since the two armies had clashed here, but signs of the conflict were still imprinted on the landscape. Tree bark bore the scars of swords and lances, and Sibil had to sooth her younger daughter when she stubbed her toe against a piece of plate in a crop of weeds.

 

“It’s not bad,” she assured Sapphira, with a kiss. “I think you’ll live.”

 

“I don’t like it here, Mama,” Pearl said, her breath puffing out in the chilly air.

 

“No, this is a bad place,” Sibil agreed, drying Sapphira’s eyes. “I hope we won’t stay here long.”

 

Standing up straight again, she looked at the woods bordering the battlefield. “There… sit on that fallen tree and wait for me to fetch you. Mind your little feet; there may be other things hidden here.”

 

With sighs of relief, the twins hurried off in the direction indicated. Sibil watched them reach the fallen trunk and sit down before looking at the ground herself. A knife-blade glinted a few feet ahead and she picked it up, examining the handle. Though coated in a layer of mud, it clearly belonged to someone of means, with a gemstone accent on the hilt, but she did not recognize it as Crais’s and put it back.

 

Stepping around a deep-looking patch of mud, she stopped abruptly before a ring of brilliantly-orange toadstools. She stared curiously down at the circle for a moment, before a shout from the road made her look away. An old man carrying a bundle of branches on his back waved to her, before cautiously approaching, eyes sweeping the ground as he moved.

 

“Don’t you know to stay away from fairy rings?” He scolded.

 

“Of course,” she replied. “I didn’t know it was there.”

 

“Everyone here knows that.”

 

“But not the king?”

 

He bent and snatched up the knife, tucking it into his belt. “Who knows? This is fairy land, and no man can rule it. Not even if he calls himself High King. Don’t be found here after dark, for their rule is absolute then, though things have disappeared from here during the day, as well.”

 

Sibil quickly turned around, clasping her hand over her heart in relief when Pearl raised her hand in greeting from the edge of the woods, and that Sapphira was lying next to her on the log, watching the clouds. When Sibil looked around again, the old man was already walking away.

 

“Wait,” she called. “Tell me more.”

 

Without turning around, he raised one hand, jerking it backwards in a gesture of refusal. She sighed frustratedly but turned around and strode across the field to her daughters. On reaching them, she gathered them into her arms and embraced them tightly for a moment.

 

“I was wrong,” she said. “It’s better if you stay with me. Take my hands, and don’t touch the mushrooms.”

 

#

 

Sibil pulled her cloak more tightly around herself, watching the field from the edge of the forest. There would be a frost, though not a hard one, before morning, a distinction which made little difference when her task required stillness. The sun had set a while ago—long enough that she and her daughters would be tucked into bed if in their little house.

 

She blew on her fingers, thinking of the warmth—admittedly not all of it pleasant—that she and Crais had shared. She still bore a scar on her left hand from where he drained her wound after it went off. Her memory of the event was incomplete, but the look of relief on the knight’s face when she asked for food the next morning told the whole story.

 

A dim, ghostly light suddenly glowed inside the circles of mushrooms. Holding her breath, Sibil watched in awe as an elegant lady with green hair hanging below her waist emerged from the ring at the center of the field. Small and lithe, the green lady nevertheless moved powerfully as she cast a disdainful look at her surroundings.

 

A minute later, more fae began to appear from within the rings, although none of them came near in status or stature to the green-haired one. Most of the newcomers would barely have only come up to her waist, and some carried instruments larger than the creatures themselves. They took up their positions around the muddy, grassy space with practiced ease and began to play music and dance.

 

She listened for a moment—it was very different than what she had heard before. It was more interesting by far than what the monks sang, but it gave her an uneasy feeling, sending a shiver down her back.

 

One of the little fairies, this one not even as tall as Pearl, suddenly danced nearby, and Sibil reached out, seizing it by the ear. Caught, the creature cowered in shock.

 

“What’s your will with me?” It exclaimed, “A mere slave of Lady Adifa!”

 

“I only have questions,” Sibil replied. “Did your lady take a man from this field after the battle?”

 

“My lady takes mortals of all sorts when she pleases.”

 

“This man,” Sibil pressed, holding in her other hand a lock of Crais’s hair, cut shortly before his departure from her house. “He was wounded here, almost to death, but the king’s men found no trace of his body.”

 

The fairy’s eyes widened. “My lady must not find you! It’s been many years since she was in such a rage.”

 

“What has that to do with Sir Crais?”

 

“She found the knight, bleeding and delirious on the grass among the dead. Liking his looks, for all that he was battered, she brought him below and healed his wounds. Yet, when she offered her hand, he denied her! My lady could not bear such an insult to her honor.”

 

“Insult?” Sibil echoed, confused. “Is it so bad that he remembers his vows?”

 

The creature’s nod nearly caused it to slip from Sibil’s grasp. “Worse than bad. Forget him, if you value yourself.”

 

“Then he does live!”

 

But the little fairy pulled loose and ran to rejoin the dancers. Cursing to herself, she watched it a moment to see that it did not raise the alarm at her presence. No doubt in fear of Lady Adifa’s wrath, it preferred to hope that Sibil followed its advice and returned to the guesthouse where her children slept.

 

It was a path she considered—to go, formulate some kind of plan, and return later. But she was here now, with the fairy court distracted, and dawn was hours away. She decided to seize the opportunity, for who knew if the fairies would dance again.

 

Keeping as close to the trees as she could, Sibil crept to the nearest fairy ring and placed one foot inside, and then the other. In an instant, she stood in a vast, but eerily empty, great hall hung with green banners and tapestries. The air was so still that she could hear a candle gutter at the high table.

 

Cautiously, she explored the room, making careful note of the window through which she had just emerged. A screened passageway and several doors stood along the walls, although her thumbs pricked at the high table. Sibil crossed the room, painfully aware of the sound of her footfalls and cautiously lifted the cloth to examine the floor underneath.

 

In the very center, at the feet of the chair which must have belonged to Adifa, lay a sword and dagger, too battered to be of magical origin.

 

She examined them both, heart racing in recognition. They were Crais’s—of that she was certain. Over the winter they spent together, she saw them every day and knew them now, even with the years’ passing. Almost unthinkingly, she took the dagger with her as she went through the door behind the high table.

 

It led to another chamber—Adifa’s parlor, she guessed—but it was as empty as the hall outside. There were, however, two other doors, which she explored without success before returning to the hall.

 

The door to the left of the high table proved similarly unfruitful, and the screened passageway led only to the buttery, larder, and an immense kitchen. Cursing her failure, Sibil began to return to the great hall when the sound of voices froze her in place. Some of the fae—servants by their talk—were returning from the dance.

 

“I smell a human!” One exclaimed.

 

“The hall still reeks from all the blood the lady’s prisoner spilled,” another, belonging to the fairy whose ear had been pinched, demurred.

 

“Nay, this is fresh,” a third declared.

 

She peered cautiously around the screen. Four tiny fairies stood before the window she had entered through. Three sniffed the air, while the fourth held its ears protectively and stared at the floor. Two more came in from the dance, quickly agreeing that an intruder was in their midst.

 

It had been easy to manhandle the little fairy outside, but inside their hall, it could be different. Besides, there were six of them. Sibil decided to take her chance at the window nearest the screened passage, hoping that it let her out somewhere safer.

 

She broke into a run and jumped through, the cries of the servant fairies echoing behind her. Unfortunately, she came through into a group of child-sized fairies, many of which carried instruments. Taking up the cry of alarm, they seized her (two on each limb), while one who played a pipe hit her across the shins.

 

“Enough!” Lady Adifa strode purposefully up the field to the skirmish.

 

She studied Sibil for a long minute before speaking. “I know you… the slattern who so ensnared the heart of the knight that he would not look on me.”

 

Sibil said nothing; it was on the tip of her tongue to object to the insult, but she knew that would be incredibly foolish.

 

“Do you think yourself fairer than I?” Adifa pressed.

 

In truth, Sibil did not know, being unfamiliar with her own reflection outside of dark water. Crais had called her beautiful, while he was wide-awake and fully-dressed, which had to count for something. Although, even if he was correct, she doubted she could even match the delicate-featured, soft-handed lady before her.

 

“How could I, a human, be fairer than a fairy?” She asked.

 

A good answer, it seemed to mollify the green lady for a moment.

 

“You are not,” Adifa assured her. “And you have no learning or grace about you. What art swayed Sir Crais to your side?”

 

“None, my lady,” Sibil answered. “If he loves me still, he loves his duty more. It was for that he left my house, and for that and his promise to me he refused you.”

 

“Two good answers,” Adifa granted. “Perhaps you may yet give a third. Moss!”

 

A small attendant immediately bowed low, and when the lady snapped her fingers, promptly disappeared through the ring.

 

“I’ll make a wager with you,” she said, her attention back on Sibil. “If you answer well again, your man may go free.”

 

“But I have nothing to lay in a wager,” Sibil protested.

 

“You shall see.”

 

The fairy called Moss reappeared holding a tray with three goblets. All three appeared to be exactly alike, being made of plain gold, even understated in their magnificence. Adifa chose one, and the fae holding Sibil released her as the lady held the goblet out.

 

“Look there. You’ll see he is alive and well,” she assured. “I could not have him in my sight, but I have not harmed him.”

 

In the liquid within the cup, like a reflection in a stream, Sibil could see the captive Crais. He was confined to a cell, but his movements were decisive and sure as he rose from prayer and walked along the borders of his space. The only sign that he had been wounded recently at all were the stains on his tunic.

 

Still, her throat and chest tightened painfully, and she blinked rapidly as the goblet was taken away.

 

“What would you have me do?” She asked.

 

“Find him again,” Adifa said, simply, as Moss spun the tray first one way then another. “Drink from the right goblet, and Sir Crais goes free. Drink from the wrong, and you’ll be left wanting.”

 

Sibil studied the liquids in the goblets with trepidation. They were all dark, like berry juice, but odorless, making it all the more difficult to determine what it was or if one was particularly suspicious. She did not like this game, but refusal was no option.

 

Set in a triangular pattern on the tray, Sibil was fairly confident which goblet was not the one Adifa had shown her, but between the other two there was no choice but to guess. All the same, she couldn’t help but study them in the eerie fairy light, looking for any difference.

 

At last, she selected one and put it to her lips and had a good swallow. The liquid tasted thin and sour, announcing failure before she took in Adifa’s look of triumph. Holding the correct goblet aloft, the green lady poured out its contents onto the frosty ground.

 

“Go,” she said. “Trouble me no further.”

 

The creatures who had held Sibil now shoved her away, and she did not fight them. Her throat tingled unpleasantly from the wrong drink, and instinctively she knew the time between when she collected her daughters and when they reached home was very precious.

 

#

“You’re hot,” Sapphira observed, concerned, as the three walked through the forest.

 

Her sister nodded in agreement.

 

“I am feverish,” Sibil admitted, grateful they had been able to ride with a carter most of the way. “It’s not much further, though until we can rest.”

 

“We can rest now, Mama,” Pearl coaxed, pointing to a large, mossy rock. “Just for a moment.”

 

Her mother acquiesced at once, sitting down heavily. Sibil stayed still for several minutes, resting her head against her hands before determinedly getting to her feet again. Her daughters quickly took protective hold of her skirts as they resumed walking.

 

It was not a long way from the rock to the house, as Sibil observed, but they moved so slowly that it was nearly dusk when they arrived. The twins practically dragged her along, and her breathing was ragged, as though she had run a long way, frightening them.

 

Fortunately, Brother Oswald’s novice, a gangly lad of fifteen, chose that moment to emerge from the stable room with his mule.

 

“Help, help!” The children cried.

 

He hurried over and took Sibil’s bundle, noting her flushed cheeks and burning hands.

 

“I’ll build a fire,” he promised. “Then I’ll go back to the abbey for help. I know nothing of illness or medicines.”

 

He did as promised, and after directing the girls to take care of the goat’s milk he collected, rode quickly away. Sibil, once in contact with her bed again, fell quickly, if not fitfully asleep. Her restless state, however, was a comfort to her daughters, who happily accepted each groan and feverish movement as further proof of life.

 

Though the novice made all haste, it seemed an eternity before the sought-for help arrived in the form of Brother Oswald and a nun he introduced as Sister Martha. The girls quickly threw themselves into the old man’s arms, while he murmured comforting words and the sister got to work, unpacking the medicines she’d brought.

 

“This doesn’t look so bad,” she announced. “A good sweat, some cordial, and your mother should be on her feet again within a few days.”

 

“Yes, have faith, my girls.” Oswald patted their heads and steered them back to the table. “Now tell us what happened.”

 

Interrupting each other only once or twice, the twins relayed what they knew. Sister Martha shook her head in disapproval.

 

“Out all night in a frost… it’s no wonder she’s caught a fever.”

 

The monk hummed uncertainly before looking back to the girls. “Have you eaten?”

 

“No,” Sapphira replied at once.

 

“I have oatcakes and apples for that,” he said, pleased to have something material to contribute, for all he knew the value of his prayers. “Is there anything you need from me, Sister?”

 

“There’s a cloth and stone here already,” Martha said, calculating. “Fetch me some water to heat, and then you must be absent a bit, for she’ll need a rubbing-down with the mustard ointment.”

 

“Very good,” he replied, looking for a vessel to fill.

 

His eyes alighted on the cauldron, empty at the moment, and he grabbed for the handle, not realizing that it was hot from being close to the fire. With a yelp of a surprise, he dropped it, the resulting crash awaking Sibil with a start.

 

“Lie still,” Martha said, soothingly, but her patient’s gaze had already fallen on her godfather.

 

“Brother Oswald, is that you?” Sibil asked, hoarsely, holding out her hands. “Children?”

 

“I’m here, with a sister to help you,” he replied, patting her hand before Martha eased her back onto the bed. “You’re in good hands with her, and I’ll feed your girls.”

 

She squeezed his hand, smiling in relief, before her eyes opened wider with feverish urgency. “Crais…”

 

“Yes, I know. You’ve come back alone, and I’m sorry.”

 

“No,” she said, clutching the blanket tightly. “He lives still.”

 

III

 

A warm spring wind yanked the door to the little house out of Sibil’s thin hand, and she closed it behind her with difficulty.

 

Sister Martha’s prediction had turned out only half-correct. Sibil was free of fever and on her feet again a few days after she fell ill from the fairy’s game, but she did not recover. Frequent, if less serious fevers, compounded by sorrow kept her slow, and she struggled to keep flesh on her bones. A year had passed in such a manner, and though she was determined to carry on for the sake of her daughters, she expected little improvement.

 

Sibil sat at the table in the midst of the room, and took Crais’ dagger out from the box where she kept it, letting the light flicker off the sharp blade while she caught her breath.

 

“They’re seven now,” she mused, imagining the knight who had wintered with her. “You’d be proud. Sapphira favors you.”

 

She sat idly for a few more minutes before getting up again, selecting a basket, and finally rewrapping her shawl. The blade, she somewhat uncharacteristically left on the table as she let herself out of the house, calling for her daughters. Pearl and Sapphira ran in from the woods immediately, their mouths red with early berry juice.

 

“We must go to the abbey again,” Sibil announced.

 

Well-accustomed to this errand, Sapphira skipped ahead, while Pearl took Sibil’s free hand, matching her sedate pace for as long as she could stand to move so slowly. When she could bear it no longer, she let go and ran ahead of her sister, who doubled back to their mother. Sibil chuckled at their dance, as she always did, but called an end to it soon after.

 

“Run ahead of me, children,” she said. “Forewarn them.”

 

“We will,” Sapphira promised, with a squeeze of her hand, before loping on, taking ahold of Pearl’s hand.

 

They found Sister Martha at work in the abbey gardens, who greeted them with raised eyebrows. “You look the pair of wild beasts with those red mouths.”

 

Pearl, abashed, quickly wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, while her sister giggled.

 

“More medicines?” Martha asked, seriously, dusting her hands off on her skirts.

 

“She sent us to forewarn you,” Sapphira answered.

 

“Did she? Well, stay out of mischief, and I’ll find what she needs.”

 

The girls promised gravely, but it being a warm afternoon soon drifted to the shady side of the school, where they listened to the prior lecturing the novice monks. They could not go inside, but as long as the twins sat quietly, their eavesdropping could go unchallenged as long as they liked. The object of the lesson was not immediately apparent, but a narrative was unfolding as they sat, holding hands.

 

“… and in the field, Cain slew his brother,” the prior read, in dramatic tones.

 

Pearl gasped loudly, but so did enough of the boys that it went unnoticed. Sapphira, too, reacted in shock by clasping both hands over her mouth as the first murderer tried to deny his crime.

 

“Your brother’s blood is crying out from the ground,” the reading continued.

 

Sapphira lowered her hands from her mouth to take her sister’s again, but she hesitated on seeing a smear of the berry juice on her thumb. She stared at it for a second before firmly grasping Pearl’s hand, pulling her up.

 

“Come on,” she said, loudly enough that the prior looked up from explaining the mark of Cain and shook his head.

 

They retraced their steps nearly as far as the gates to the abbey before Pearl asked, “What is it?”

 

“You heard what the old father said?”

 

Pearl hummed assent. “It was horrible.”

 

“Yes,” Sapphira agreed. “But it makes me think, too. It may help our mother.”

 

#

 

They left the abbey later than expected, for Sister Martha insisted that Sibil sit and take some wine before she left. While Sapphira skipped ahead of her mother and twin as usual, Pearl hung back, holding her mother’s hand.

 

“What’s wrong, my treasure?” Sibil asked.

 

Twice Sapphira had looked over her shoulder to see if Pearl would change places with her, and twice the oldest had ignored her. Now, Sapphira stopped and waited for the slower pair to catch up.

 

“Why don’t the herbs and potions make you better?” Pearl asked.

 

“My illness is unnatural,” Sibil said, plainly. “They keep it at bay, but they cannot cure it.”

 

“Because of the fairy?”

 

“Yes.” She paused for breath on reaching her younger daughter. “She cursed me to be in want, and so I am.”

 

“If Father was free, would you be well again?” Sapphira asked, taking the basket of medicines, so she could hold her mother’s other hand.

 

“If I understood Adifa’s curse, yes, but what do I know? I failed to outwit her before, and what would become of the two of you if I failed again?” Looking down at her children, Sibil squared her shoulders and resumed walking, pulling them a bit at first. “But we have many blessings still, my little jewels, and knowing that your father lives gives me hope. That’s a want I can endure.”

 

#

 

The next day was another warm one, and in the afternoon, the girls hid themselves from the sun in the shade of the largest chestnut tree they could find after their chores.

 

“We must do it,” Sapphira insisted.

 

“But how can we?” Pearl asked.

 

“Weren’t you listening?”

 

“Mama couldn’t outwit the fairy,” Pearl argued. “And we’re only children.”

 

“But we’re his children,” Sapphira said. “Blood cries out from the ground.”

 

“She’s only a fairy. Could she hear it?”

 

For a moment, Sapphira’s look of eager determination faded, but was quickly replaced with one that was purely fierce. “If you won’t—”

 

“No!” Pearl protested. “If you will, then so will I.”

 

#

 

That evening, when Sibil milked the goats, Sapphira followed her and chattered at length, giving Pearl time to ferret away some oatcakes and a hunk of cheese. Then, in the morning, they begged to look for berries again, instead of making butter, and Sibil, who had awoken with an aching head and wanted no arguments, agreed.

 

“We might still pick some,” Pearl suggested, as they walked through the forest path. “So we’re not lying.”

 

“If there’s any left,” her sister agreed.

 

However, all thoughts of strawberries soon left their heads as the vastness of their task became clearer. They recalled how long the journey to Mela was before, and that, for all they had been frightened and sad on their return, it had been much better to ride than walk. As the trees thinned and they took to the roads, they clutched the basket tightly between them, eyes peeled for any familiar sight from the last journey.

 

They didn’t stay long on the road, for after being questioned several times, the girls realized it was safer to walk through fields and other woods. Both allowed them to blend into their surroundings in different ways. Once or twice, the girls encountered other children, to whom they spoke more freely.

 

A farmer’s son confirmed they were on the right course to Mela when they skirted his field.

 

“What’s your will there?” He asked, cheerfully curious.

 

“Our father is there,” Sapphira answered.

 

“With the army?” The boy asked, less interested. “You’ll have to hurry, then, before they march.”

 

They thanked him and continued on their way.

 

“Keep away from the toadstools,” he called, helpfully.

 

#

Pearl and Sapphira reached the field of Mela just as dusk was falling. Tired and hungry, for the food they had packed ran out early in their journey, they hid under a bush and soon fell asleep. But, as tired as they were, it was uncomfortable on the ground, and they did not sleep well and awoke at the first sounds of fairy music.

 

For a few minutes, they were transfixed by the odd spectacle of the green-haired Lady Adifa and her attendants. Their mother’s awed yet bitter description couldn’t convey how it truly looked, but Pearl soon recovered and, plucking her sister’s sleeve, they strode forward into the midst of the dancers. Of a size with most of the creatures, the twins almost went unnoticed, until one with a harp shrieked “humans!”

 

The cry was picked up, until all fae eyes rested upon the two children. Lady Adifa, approached them, looking at the girls with haughty disinterest.

 

“Two children with a purpose,” she mused. “Come to beg for a fairy gift? You’re bold; that’s worth something.”

 

“We don’t want a gift,” Sapphira answered back, even though she was frightened. “We’ve come for our father.”

 

“Your father?” Adifa echoed, genuinely puzzled. She stared much more closely at the girls, eyes finally widening with recognition, and she ruffled their hair, noting the colors. “Yes, I see the resemblance now. Just as foolish as your mother, but I’ll grant you a boon of another sort all the same. For your boldness.”

 

“We won’t leave without our father,” Sapphira replied. “Sir Crais promised his heart to our mother, and it’s wrong for you to hold him out of anger.”

 

“You’re human and children besides; it isn’t for you to understand a fairy’s ways,” Adifa said, patiently, while at the same time tugging the girl’s hair rather sharply. “And in a moment, the boon will merely be you leaving my presence unharmed. Choose wisely.”

 

Pearl suddenly pulled Crais’ dagger from her gown, making both her sister and the fairy jump.

 

“We’re of his blood,” she said, boldly. “It will tell you that it’s right.”

 

She pricked her thumb on the dagger’s point, and bright blood formed at the wound immediately. Holding her thumb out defiantly, Pearl gave the weapon to her sister before turning her hand over and shaking a few drops of blood onto the ground. Sapphira, whimpering slightly as she wounded her own thumb, mimicked her sister.

 

Adifa stared at them, lips pressed into a tight line with fury. “Very well. You shall have him, and be glad of it.”

 

Abruptly, all traces of the green-haired lady and her entourage vanished, and the twins were alone in the dark. But it was only for a moment as one of the circles on the far end of the field glowed its eerie green briefly illuminating the form of a man in armor on knees and elbows. He crawled out of the ring of toadstools, but made it no further, removing his helm and collapsing into the edge of the woods.

 

By turns stunned, ecstatic, and then frightened, Pearl and Sapphira abandoned their basket and raced across the field, not daring to make a noise, until they reached the armored figure. They sprang down on the ground, examining the man carefully in the low light. He was extremely thin, even more so than Sibil, and his beard and dark hair were long and unkempt. His eyes were closed; however, he breathed— noisily.

 

“Father?” Pearl asked, hopefully.

 

She received no response, while Sapphira laid a cautious hand on his, with similar results.

 

“What should we do?” Pearl stared down anxiously.

 

Sapphira shook her head helplessly, sitting down on the ground next to him—on the side farther away from the field and its fairy circles. Sucking her bleeding thumb, Pearl sat with her. The moon emerged from behind a cloud, lending them illumination. Still holding the dagger, Sapphira pointed to the sword on the ground next to the prone knight. It matched their weapon perfectly.

 

“This is our father,” she said, wonderingly.

 

“You doubted?” Pearl demanded, for which she received an elbow in the ribs.

 

An owl shrieked suddenly in the trees, and Crais’s eyes suddenly snapped open. They were bright and feverish, and suddenly finding themselves on the ground while in full armor is frightening for any knight. Eyes darting around in confusion, he thrashed once in an effort to sit up before rolling onto his side to push himself into an upright position with both arms.

 

Once up, he stayed crouched, scanning his surroundings furtively.

 

“Where am I?” He asked, more to himself, for he had not properly noticed the girls yet.

 

“Mela,” Sapphira answered. “But you’re free from the fairies.”

 

“Thank God.” He sighed in relief, his breath still shaky. “I thought I might die underground, never having seen a human face again.”

 

He removed his gloves, feeling the earth beneath them, almost entranced by its softness. Pearl and Sapphira leaned on each other, unsure how to react.

 

“Forgive me,” Crais said, sitting up straight again with some effort. “I’m not myself, and I’m behaving discourteously. What are your names, children?”

 

Pearl’s lip trembled as she answered, “You don’t know us?”

 

“…no,” he admitted, slowly.

 

As Pearl hid her face, Sapphira stared up at the knight with wounded eyes. He grimaced, knowing he had done wrong, but his mind still raced feverishly from years of confinement and the sudden shock of being out in the open with his arms and weapons again, as if it had all been a bad dream. At last, he got to his feet, holding out his uncovered hand.

 

“Come,” he said. “We need light.”

 

Avoiding the fairy circle, they emerged from the tree line. Almost immediately, there was a cry from the road.

 

Crais automatically took a protective step ahead of the twins but then stopped fast, as though in shock.

 

“Sibil?” He exclaimed.

 

“Crais!”

 

Shawl falling forgotten onto the road, Sibil ran to meet him. For a second, they hesitated, as though worried one might not really be there, but then Crais embraced her, and Sibil kissed him.

 

“I can feel all your bones,” he said, concerned.

 

“I’ve been ill,” she admitted, although she already felt stronger.

 

She slid out of his grasp, however, before he could reply, kneeling on the ground, arms outstretched for the twins.

 

“God!” Sibil exclaimed, gathering the girls into her arms. “The two of you came nearer to killing me than Adifa ever did.”

 

“How did you get here?” Pearl demanded.

 

“I’ll never know,” she admitted, kissing one and then the other. “But once I saw the dagger was gone, I realized what you must have done. I couldn’t let you go alone.”

 

Sibil turned the girls around to face him. “Crais, these are your children: Pearl and Sapphira.”

 

“My children,” he echoed, falling to the ground with them. “I thought there may be one, but two?”

 

“It wasn’t easy,” she replied, smiling tearfully. “But you’ll know they’re of your line, for while I lost in dealing with the fairy, you stand here free.”

 

“Forgive me,” Crais said, laying his hands on his daughters’ shoulders. “My own flesh and blood, and I didn’t know you.”

 

Sapphira squeezed his hand, making her thumb begin to bleed again. “You still heard us. You’re our father.”

 

“You’ll stay with us now?” Pearl asked.

 

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation, now laying his hands on Sibil’s cheeks. “Could I simply walk away after this? It’s true, I must show myself to the king, but you will come with me, and at last I will keep my word.”

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