Once there were two kingdoms, with two kings. The southern most was warm and fair, with long summers and ample harvest. But the northern one was cold and dark, with little light and fields that grew few crops even when they were not covered with snow. Two kings were brothers. They ruled the lands separated by a single river; one the bright, sunny land, where all prospered and was fair, and the other the hard, lean land were men fought to survive. The people of the north were plagued with little to no warm season, sudden frosts, and worse—the Vargs, killing wolves that ranged the wastes. They called their land Winter and despaired. In the summer country, the harvest was plenty. So it was and so it was thought to always have been. Once a year, at spring, the king of the winter country came to visit his brother's court and nurse his great envy. One land was blessed, the other cursed; everyone thought it would remain so.

But there was a child. . .

*

They came through the wide corridors between fields thick with wheat— armed riders, dressed all in black and a sight for the farming folk who lived off the lush growth of summer land.

"They come from the north," men whispered, and tapped out their pipes nervously. Life was good and harvest close, and even with peace forever established between the two brother's countries it was easy to be afraid of the dark warriors, so hard and muscled from a life spent working where every bucket of sweat was barely bread for a day.

"They're with the king," mothers told their daughters, and hid away to peek through curtained windows as the contingent galloped past.

And then gasps could be heard, for the faces of the men were so stern, and their clothes so warlike and funereal, and the leader rode such a frightening black horse that it seemed that death was stalking the bright gold fields of summer. They rode through the village without slowing, and were out in the country again, leaving a wake of wondering and vague apprehension behind.

If the country folk could have rode with them a spell, they would be surprised to find that the mood among these warrior men was much lighter and easier than their faces revealed. Their garb and weapons were intimidating, to be sure. But these men were on holiday, and in a better land than they had ever known. Excitement was high. Their king had brought them; they had a duty, but the sights and sounds and smells were enough to enchant them. Especially the youngest knight, who was called Hunter.

"My lord," he said, as he rode in a place of honor, next to the winter king, "this is a beautiful land." They were passing over a river and the wooden bridge echoed soundly under the battle steed's hooves. The water caught Hunter's eye for a moment: it shone and wound, a silver ribbon, through the mounded hills of wheat. "Well husbanded and fruitful," he exclaimed as the band cut through a grassy path between trees in an orchard dripping with blossoms.

His lord, the winter king, did not reply, though a slight twitch could be marked in the cheek, between the steely eye and grim line of a mouth.

A veteran of these journeys let his horse surge forward so that Hunter could hear him call. "Better keep your wits about you then, lad. If you like the produce, you should see the women."

The warriors all laughed as they went through the next village, leaving all the summer folk to wonder what the joke could have been.

*

When dusk finally fell, the warriors cut across the fields towards the forest. Deer ran ahead of them, disturbed from the easy feeding they had on the forest edge. A few of the warriors put their hands on their bows, and watched the deer leap and escape. All of the band reached the end of the open land and stopped, holding on the edge of the forest.

"We'll make camp here," the winter king said. The warriors immediately dismounted to obey. Those with bows disappeared in the direction of the deer.

"Don't wish to sleep in a village, sire?" asked Hunter. The king, standing on the edge of the camp and gazing out into the thick forest, did not reply.

"No," the grizzled captain answered for him. "The Summer king and his court expects us not until tomorrow, and then for three long weeks. The living there will be soft. We need not lose our field skills."

Seeing the king was lost in thought, Hunter addressed the older warrior, "And the people of this land don't mind uninvited guests?"

The older warrior was about to reply when the king abruptly spoke, "My brother keeps these lands, freeing it from tax and sending whatever aid the farm needs from his own palace guard. They are not his, however."

"No?"

"They belong to a woman, a matron of great wisdom and beauty, or so the villagers say. We shall see, Hunter. Perhaps tonight we will pay her a call. Get ready; we'll leave soon on foot."

As the young man went, the captain and his king looked at one another in silent communication. Finally, the old man nodded, "Whatever you find, we'll be ready."

"Relax, Piper," with his oldest friend, the king's usually hard visage cracked a little. "We're only going to visit the woman."

"Not just any woman, if you believe the stories..." He muttered, and fell silent as the youth returned.

"It will be a fine thing to be able to scout this country. Is it not a wonder? All this beauty and bounty, right at reach?" Hunter stretched out his hand to a branch full of large white flowers.

"Huh," grunted the captain, turning to unpack his horse. But there was a slight smile at his mouth. "Wait until you see the court."

Hunter would have done more exclaiming, but the king called for him, and he had to follow his liege into the forest.

"That boy is too star-eyed to be brought to court," one warrior commented.

"Stars fall from a man's eyes when he grows older," the grizzled one said, and a tight expression crossed his lips—too grim to be called a smile. "There is no joy for a son of north here."

*

Across the fields of wheat, a wind came, carrying the scents of all summer. The forest along the field held growth of its own, and two shadows slipped among the green, coming to the edge of the farmland.

"My brother keeps all this territory," the king said, his cold eyes looking out over the expanse of gold that rippled like water under the hand of the wind. "He is the overlord of all and the people pay him out of their bounty. But, because harvest is so rich and continual, they never starve."

"Surely all men live as kings in this land." Hunter said.

"My brother is the kingliest of kings," the winter lord said gravely. "And long have I wonder, how is it that his land prospers, while my people starve? How is it that the land is blessed and mine cursed?"

"My lord!" Hunter was disturbed by the brooding darkness on the king's face. "The kingdom is well forested, and boasts a fine mining trade. And there are farmers, a few, who can grow hardy grain on their land."

"Few. No, Hunter, everything withers in my kingdom. We trade food for timber, iron and fish. But nothing like this. Here is the bounty." The king's voice was feverish with longing. Hunter said nothing, hoping the mood would pass, the king be his strong, cold self again, full of reason and self-control.

After a moment the king did say, in an even tone, "For years I have come here and found all I lack. This land is blessed, and its monarch rules without a care for those who have want, for who could want for anything in a land of paradise and summer?" He sighed. The sun was setting, the rays stretching almost to the men's feet where they had previous been in forest shadow. Over the hills, the last bird songs could be heard. "Too long, Hunter, have I watched my people struggle to survive on frozen ground. Too long, and now I am weary of this."

"At first I thought it was my brother's power, and cursed myself, for I thought I was too weak. If my land had been another's, then it would not groan under long dark winter paused only for a fruitless spring."

"My lord," Hunter said, but the king didn't acknowledge him.

"I thought I should leave my land, and give it over to my brother, and never be seen among my people again." His voice was almost a whisper. Under the jaw, grey with the day's stubble, all the king's muscles were clenched as if in agony. "But that is not to be the way."

"Surely not," Hunter broke in, "you cannot end your reign for this. You care for the people; they admire you."

"Do they?" The king turned haunted eyes to him, and Hunter saw the questions, the hopelessness that had burned away many night's sleep. "Will they forgive me?"

"My king," Hunter stepped back and knelt, bowing his head and placing his right fist over his heart, "We will follow you into endless winter, if we must."

"Well said," the king said softly. "But it is not enough. A ruler should do what is best for his people. And, if by sacrifice, he can save them..." He paused as if thinking and then shook his head, clearing the air of his thoughts. Hunter rose when commanded and brushed bracken from the knees of his trousers.

"I have studied prosperity, Hunter. Want makes a man look closely. And though my eyes have searched for it, I cannot find anything among my brother's court that would produce such a great paradise as this. It is not my brother's power or rule that made this bright land."

A cry went out over the way—a flurry of starlings broke from their hiding place, and swooped across the fields in a mad chase. Hunter twitched nervously, but then stilled to listen, for the king broke none of his concentration.

"At first I thought I would conquer it, to possess it. I built an army...but no. I cannot move to take this land, in all its beauty. So I searched further without knowing what for, without object. I have consulted the wise who live at the world's end, by the sea. I spoke with mages and stargazers, and those who know anything of the earth. They have told me this land is golden for one reason and one alone." The king stopped.

"My lord—" Hunter began, but he was silenced with a gesture. There was some human movement coming over the fields, back lit by the setting sun. The sounds blended, and at last, overpowered the birdsong. The two watchers drew back to a place of hiding in the undergrowth as a small procession of maidens and children came closer. A few lads were with them, guardians, or stragglers draw to the sight of sweet limbs in light cotton, and voices lifted in laughter and song. It was no work party this, or if it was, the work was done. The air was festive, with a few scattered fragments of a tune, even the bright sound of a tambourine.

"There is a source of life, here, in this country. But it is not the king or his magic." The king said softly, without taking his eyes off of the party.

"What then?"

The king shook his head, "Not what, Hunter... who. It is a person. You look at me as if I am mad, Hunter, and if I am, perhaps this is all a dream. But if not, then I have found the source of all this summer."

A shout from the activity in the field drew their attention. The party was closer now. The two shadows in hiding watched them pass, seeing their bleakness reflected in the party's happy laughter. The cry made the youths turn, and a child came running up from behind, carrying something that gleamed with polished wood.

The small crowd parted, letting the child—a girl or boy with short gold curls—through to lead them. And, for a moment, all heaven's light shone down on the yellow head, until the very sun was rivaled by the blazing halo of the child's hair.

Trained as he was for silence and stealth, Hunter let out a gasp. Beside him, the king shifted once, but otherwise was still. For a moment Hunter glanced at the king, but whatever the king was thinking was hidden away. Hunter looked back at the child, not bearing to look away long. The beauty was painful to watch, and painful to miss.

The other children seemed to be used to the amazing light, for they approached the child as one of their own, a favored one.

"Play us a song, Ky," they begged, and immediately the young hands strummed the harp. The friends gathered round, and their own skin glowed with the light from the girl child.

And then the picture was too much too bear. Hunter looked away. It would have been easier to stare at the sun than to see such beauty. He felt like a starving man who, gone out to beg for food, comes upon a long table laden with a feast. But when he looked to the king, he did not recognize him. The hardness, chiseled out of many years of desire and despair, had given way, and a softness had crept in. And still the king was staring, staring straight into the sun of the child's face.

The moment passed. The celebrants moved on. The king still stood mesmerized, as Hunter had never seen him before.

"My lord," Hunter said softly, and the king awoke. They stared at each other, stunned by what they had seen.

"Come," the king's voice was too deep for Hunter to find emotion.

They did not return to camp, but circled this field, and others, keeping hidden in the forest. Dusk fell as they went. The forest trees darkened and blended as the light went away.

Finally the king said, "The matron of these lands is well respected and prosperous. She has no husband, but lives well with the king's favor. We will sup with her tonight."

They came out towards the lady's place, great noise and light sifted through the trees, until they realized they were coming into a festival, complete with bonfires and minstrels.

"She keeps a merry home," Hunter ventured, after the two crept up to the edge of the trees, and watched the party goers for a time. Huge fires had been lit; some held spits with heavy roasts turning on them. There were tables full of grains—oaten cakes and buckets of rye finely sifted.

"It is a celebration of the first produce," the king observed, and slipped from Hunter's side, into the open. Hunter waited and then did the same.

If the summer land was a blessed place, the folk who lived and worked there certainly were under blessing as well. Their faces were tanned and their bodies strong from a life of good eating and then toiling slaving under the load of abundant harvest. This day was a celebration as well as a fair— farmer's wives were busy packing up a stall of jams or honeys. Hunter was charmed enough to go and buy a pie from one dimpled bride. She smiled up at him as he took a bite and gave a satisfied nod when he looked to be enjoying himself. "Perhaps I'll see you at the party," she said, and scampered off. Hunter's eyes followed her exit no farther than the hulking muscle farm of a husband waiting with a cart and horse. He finished the pie, chewing thoughtfully.

"We'll move on to the lodge," the king was at his elbow. Hunter shrugged; the fair was almost over, and all the village folk and minstrels, food and laughing young ladies were going inside the great lodge. Inside there were long tables set with platters of fruit, and roasted boar and fowl, and every sort of raw or roasted vegetable. The two Northlanders followed the stream of people to take a seat. All around were plain farming folk, laughing and drinking, enjoying the result of their sweat and labor under the sun. Young women went to and fro, carrying large horns of mead, dripping with condensation. The atmosphere was infectious. After a time, even Hunter helped himself to a roasted leg of fowl on the table, and the king sat with a cup of mead in his hand, the sharp planes of his face softened by the firelight. There, at the hearth of the room's end, was the large dark haired matron, presiding over her land and party, laughing at the minstrel's fun.

It did not take long for them to spot the child, whose tousled curls and plain smock ran among the rest. Indeed, in the corner of the eye, a gleam of gold like slanting sunlight came from her direction. She was among the dancers, and then the singers, but most often near her mother. The matron sat at her hearth fire, the shadows of flickering flames going up her arms. As the night drew on, and the mead flowed more freely, the light was a trickster. Even for the king, it was hard to see whether it was servant men or fire demons who, at the matron's bidding, brought the logs to build the ever consuming fire. Then the child ran to her mother, and the heavy spell disappeared.

The king blinked. A farming boy walking by, groggy from all the mead, was surprised to find a hand on his on his collar, pulling him off his course.

"Who is that golden child?"

The lad tried to shake off his stony-faced questioner, but tanned muscles were no match for the king's might. Circulation cut off by the clamping hand, he said, "The matron's daughter."

The grip lessened slightly. "By what man?"

"By no man, as far as the two of them are concerned. They have only ever loved each other." As if on cue, the girl ran to her mother and put her arms around her. The matron pulled her daughter onto her lap, and together they sat, stroking one another's hair—one raven black, the other so sunny it was almost white— and watching the players.

Forever that evening would be in Hunter's memory: a blaze of gold and fire, and, everywhere, the laughing, shining child. At last, the king tapped his shoulder; the two rose and bowed to the matron, and, barely noticed, left.

*

The two men made their way back in full dark. As soon as they reached camp, Hunter was ready to burst with all they had seen. But in the thin moonlight the king met his captain's eye, and the warrior called them all to attention with a word.

The king spoke, "We break camp at the third watch. We will leave this place, and return to the north." Signaling one rider after another, he gave them their orders. Two left immediately. Hunter stood by and watched with a troubled look on his face, hearing little of the whispered conversations. The king spoke privately to the captain last.

"You think this could be the one?"

"Piper, if I can believe what I have seen... she will be no less than the salvation of our land."

"Wait for me at the bridge. I will ride last, in case we are followed or found out."

"I have not seen any lookouts for us. No military person knows we have come," said Piper.

"My brother's security is soft, but he does not rule in this place. Magic does—it has a stronger presence here. I feel it even as I move," he put out an arm and Piper saw the skin was prickled as sand paper.

"My lord, it's too dangerous—I should be the one—"

"No. It is my magic that will protect me; you could not do it."

"Then," Piper gripped his lord's forearm in allegiance, "To death or honor—or both," he pledged, and withdrew. The camp was almost cleared now. The pit where a few fire coals had been was covered with leaves as if it had never been. Before the moon reached third watch, only two men were left with their horses. The king's stallion was almost invisible when he was still, a mere shadow of the night.

"Meet me at the bridge," the king ordered Hunter.

"You are going to take her."

In answer, the king swung up onto River. Hunter could barely make them out from the branches behind them.

"What good will it do?"

"Much good, if she is the reason this land prospers."

"What if she is not? What if it is her mother's power that works endless summer? That child is pure light—surely stealing her would mean a curse—"

"You aspire to know the deep and spiraling secrets of this land magic?" The king's deep voice was like a fist. "Are you a ruler, that you can feel all the power of good or evil running through your land?" The king turned in his saddle—man and beast had faded almost to complete invisibility, but Hunter could still see the steely eyes. "I know the pain of a dying country. I watch it every day." He took a deep breath and continued more calmly, "You have sworn to follow me and bow to my will at ever turn. This is no small thing, here, it is the fate of a country. Will you obey?"
"I will, king."

"Then go. Wait for us at the river's edges. She will need looking after when it arrives. You are the man to do it."

*

The sun came up. It climbed, dipped and fell. The hours between the two men standing there in the forest, and a nervous Hunter letting his horse paw the wood of the bridge connecting the shores of the North and Summer land, might have passed in a matter of seconds. The king certainly could not account for the time; he rode his black charger, River, and breathed hard as if fighting the very air. No one but him could see the black tide, or how he, weak and thin compared to the fiends, persevered.

As for the girl, what would she remember that wouldn't seem the stuff of nightmares? A morning's walk, a sunny field, the flowers all around blown flat by the breeze of a dark war horse, a blight across the sun, an armored hand reaching down...

And then, hours later, an old wain rumbled to the road's end, to the only bridge that connected the brother kingdoms, one day and the other like night. Hunter met the driver.

"How is she?" he asked, and the driver shrugged. The escort—two riders on equally inky steeds, flanked the wain as Hunter dismounted. He went to the covered wagon, and put his hand to the covering. He hesitated. "Where is the king?"

"Coming along soon," said one of the escort. "He rode back to see if we were followed."

Hunter nodded. Then, deciding, he pulled back the covering.

So it was the knight who first beheld the work of the magic—the curse or blessing. For what lay in the wagon was not the child, but a youth passed maidenhood, well into woman years. Or so one viewing told him. When she raised her head, he realized she was still, in some ways, a child.

He caught his breath. The body was longer, would stand taller, was more of a woman's and less of a child's. The skin was pale as moon milk. But most telltale and strange, was the color of her hair: dark brown deepening to a loam like color, not at all like the sunny wheat that caught the haloed light the night before.

"What magic is this?" he breathed, amazed. Then, hearing hoofbeats on the road, he let the cover fall over the dazed captive, and signaled the wain on.

"What is it, Hunter?" The king asked a few moments later, when he came riding up on the midnight colored horse.

"It's the curse," Hunter said. "It's begun."

*

When they first entered the kingdom of Winter, it was snowing. Kyri would remember this, if nothing else from that day of nightmares. From the time the hand of the king touched hers, grabbing her arm as she thought to wave in passing, and throwing her across River's pommel, she remembered only darkness. Even Hunter's face, worried as it took in the change that crossing into winter had made in her, was vague. But snow...She had never seen snow, coming from the summer country, and she watched it fall soberly as a child. She was no child any longer though, the king noted when she was handed down from wagon to sleigh. A whip cracked, and the journey was a blur again—not of summerland gold, but icy white.

At the last of twilight, moments before Kyri would have frozen even under the furs, the sleigh drew nigh unto the castle. The girl-almost-woman gazed up at the towers shining with ice on stone, and the king spoke his first words to her as he guided the horses in through the tall double gates.

"Your new home."

She didn't hear the words then, only gazed up at the king, unseeing. She was taller now, he knew, and full blossomed into womanhood. Whatever magic, or curse had wrought this, the king could only guess. But she was now as black haired and buxom as her mother. It amazed him, though, how she still moved and thought like a child. She cried out when he went to draw her to her feet, and then moved awkwardly on legs with newfound height. But the magic was not done, and when her foot touched the snow bank further transformation came. It was subtle—a shifting of features, a new elegance to the chin, a new grace to movement. She stood uncertainly in the courtyard, shivering, but other than the involuntary look of confusion and flinching movement away from any guard's guiding hands, she was composed. Her hands where gathered at the base of her cloak's hood, holding it tightly around her face as if the snow would burn her if it touched her skin. When a house steward finally approached her and showed her, with a sweep of his hand, the way through the courtyard mud to the door, she regarded him regally, and strode toward the door without any assistance.

Once she had entered through the large iron barred doors, she stopped, less sure of herself. The castle was truly a fortress, built of stone and allowing little to warm its ice grey interior.

"This way, princess," the steward tried to guide her, but she paid him no heed. Uncertainty on her face, almost like a look of pain, the girl stepped towards the nearest wall. She put out her hand and touched the block. This time real pain did cross her features, and she drew away her hand as if the rock had burned her skin.

"Who built this place?" she asked.

"My lord did," the steward said.

Just then the winter king swept inside, followed by his guard. The black look on his face and the rigid backs of the men told the steward that some mistake had been made. He swallowed hard, hoping it was not his.

But his lord barely saw him, barking an order for his horse to be cared for, along with his raiders.

"Bring hot wine," he said.

"My lord," the steward began, and then realized his first blunder. Eyes like flint turned on him. Again he swallowed. But the king was looking past him, towards his new ward.

"How shall I treat our guest?"

"Take her to the east chamber," the king ordered. "Keep her there until I send for her."

"Under guard?"

A tight nod from the king. Two of his own retinue stepped apart and went to stand beside the young prisoner. She barely noticed them, looking as she was up at the snow streaked window. There was no expression on her face as she gazed into a grey winter sky. Her forehead was white as winter sable, but cheeks burned as if with fever. Even as the king was watching, she shivered.

"Will that be all my lord?" the steward inquired.

"No," the king hesitated a moment. "Keep her warm." And the winter king moved on.

*

The east chamber was made of stone, but at least there was a fire. She was unwrapped from the furs, and left to move as she would, knowing full well that the two men in black armor who waited by the door were there to stop her escape. The steward offered her hot wine, and she shook her head, moving with grace towards the fire. The hearth was a place of love for her, where her mother and she would sit for hours... Here there was only bare stone—cold and barren. The wood of the fire was strange, twisted and old, burning along with some black substance.

She was about to sink onto what she thought was a fur rug, and then it rose to greet her, tail wagging.

"His name is Circ," the steward said from the door, as the beast surged forward to sniff and lick her face. It stood nearly as tall as she. "He's the king's favorite," the man said dryly, before exiting the chamber to send for food. By the time he returned the girl had been long asleep before the fire, head on the great dog's back, tears dried in the fur of the silky ears.

*

The sun continued to shine down on the land of summer. Nothing marked the trip of a child, a mere girl, across the river, but the sadness of a flock of tan youths who had lost a playmate. And, of course, a long, moaning cry of mother's loss, passing through a black mourning veil and continuing with the throbbing heartbeat of sobs. But the Summer king, hearing of the loss, waved his hand casually to the messenger. "Send word to all corners of my kingdom," he shifted idly on his throne, "Oh, tell my brother, too." Nothing more was done, for who marks the endless weeping of a mother, or her fierce insistence that wrong has been committed? Does anyone really notice when a small farm in the exact center of a country slowly loses its matron, as she grows mindless with grief and eventually, fades away?

Time passed, and second harvest came to the land already blessed with bounty. Workers went out into the fields daily; the men stripped of their shirts until sweat licked off of bronze muscles. The same sun, hot as a furnace, sank over the snowy northern hills, carving a black silhouette of a horse and rider, laboring through the land. The horse was black and called River, after the surest boundary line between paradise and hell. The king rode as always with a face of stone, pausing only moments at the tattered communities lining a tributary.

"Doing any planting?" he asked a husbandman out fixing a fence post. A surprised look arrived on the hard bitten face, and the man shook his head. The king dismounted, coming to ask about seeds and different types of wheat. The answers he got were stunted, lifeless as the few stalks in the field—killed by late frost. The peasant kept his eyes lowered, and finally ended, "This is not the land for growing." A lowing from the barn urgently called the farmer away. The king almost smiled.

"New calf?"

The man's face was still grim. "Aye. My best milker dropped the calf mid-storm. Barely saved him in time."

"But he sounds alive," the king said.

"But his mother—" the farmer shook his head and turned away. "Begging your leave, my lord."

With a wave of his hand, the king gave it, and watched him go. Then, with heavy movements, he swung up onto River, and rode on.

The flowing form of River passed huts and smoking piles of debris, stripped from the logs the loggers would float once the thaw came with the river ice snapping and crackling loud as a whole forest of trees falling. But after thaw, too soon after, there always came another frost, worse than before. So the months had always continued—false spring, endless winter. River passed through the hills, blowing hard as he plowed through snow. The king visited mines, where iron made a cold harvest. Finally returning, he passed a low building on the edge of a small town, where the dead were brought out and dried, stiff to wait until the ground thaws for burial. Further north, the king knew, the ground never thawed and the people burn the dead in great stinking piles— unless the Vargs got to them. Too many died—young and old, though rare was a white haired man alive to see grandchildren. Most men worked in the mines or as loggers; the few who raise families and try to farm end up like the husbandman, at the bitter end of luck.

The turrets of the castle pierced the sky as River pounded home. The king's jaw ached from clenching it in anger. Returning the salute of the guards, he rode straight through the courtyard, and let River leap up the steps. They rode all the way up into the hall, to the foot of an iron throne.

"My lord," said a steward, magically appearing, with a page boy holding hot spiced wine. "I trust your journey went well."

The king dismounted, and took the hot wine to his throne. River looked around, seeming at ease in the throne room. He stamped and whinnied; snow and mud flew off his hooves. The steward wrinkled his nose, but the king was ignoring anything but the hot wine.

"The castle has kept well since your departure. A messenger arrived from the king your brother and the knight Hunter. The summer king announces his regrets that you could not attend the first spring hunting party, and inviting you to another. Hunter's message is this: as instructed, told summer court you were busy guarding your borders to the north from the Vargs. A second message was sent from Hunter in code: it seems the king is searching for kidnappers, and may soon request to cross the summer/winter border."

"Was that all?" the king's rough voice startled the steward's rote.

"Not quite, my lord," under the suddenly intense royal gaze, the steward tried to get back into his speech, "Ahem, the kitchen in lower south basement has flooded again, and the head cook—"

"No, no, is that all to my brother's message?'

"Why, yes, my lord."

"Good." At this, the king lapsed into thought. The steward opened his mouth and then hesitated. The king's iron profile didn't encourage any more reporting. He looked back at the page boy, who was no help, as he was also facing trouble, being nuzzled by a magically-colored, oversized warhorse. The steward was about to clear his throat, when the king beat him out.

'Where is she?" the king rasped.

The steward thought quickly, "She... does my lord mean the princess?"

"What did you call her?'

"The princess... well, no one knows if she is, but the women called her that and it did become easy to just say..." the steward's talk withered under the king's stare. "She is in the east wing, where you placed her. She is well enough, if cold. She rarely moves from the fireside...

"Yes, my lord." The steward sighed. He glared at the pageboy, who was trying not to whimper too loudly at the huge horse teeth near his right ear. River was getting hungry.

"Shall I send for men to take River to his stable?" The horse was now contentedly chewing on the page boy's collar.

"No, I'll take him myself." The king finished the wine to the dregs and stood. Melting pieces of snow fell on the floor. "But first..."

*

The princess' arrival, as those in the castle began to call her, was marked little in the land of winter. Few knew her, even fewer knew who she really was. Winter had left its mark on her; she had been the one who changed. But the east tower had transformed a little since her arrival, if mainly by the servant's hand. Tapestries with soft colors hung over the stone walls, and the fire was always built up to almost roaring. On the carpet before the hearth, Circ and the captive were a permanent fixture, often napping together as firelight played off the shining, dark hair and mottled fur, thick as a wolf's. Thus the steward expected to find them when he knocked on the door, discreetly.

"Princess, the king requests the pleasure of an audience with you." he called. Two faces emerged from the pile on the rug, but before they moved far, the door opened fully and the king walked in, the steward following behind, nearly bumping into his lord when the king stopped short.

"What is that?" Circ reared up onto his four paws and shook sleep off.

"Ah, yes," said the steward. "She's made friends with...the wolf."

"What?"

"You know, my lord, that half hound, half varg you whelped yesteryear..."

"Ah yes." The king held out a hand and called, "Circ." With a happy look of a horse-sized puppy, the half-wolf padded over to lick the king's palm. "Well, well. He's certainly big enough to fight off a legion, if any one comes for her. Well done." The king straightened from his first greeting and looked at the object of his second. The form rising in the firelight was taller than he expected—among other things. The profile under the fall of raven dark hair took his breath away.

He had forgotten how she now looked.

The steward tried to pay heed to decorum. "My lord, this is the princess..."

"Kyri," said the woman. "That is my name. Did you know it before you took me?"

The king was speechless. There, in this new creature's face, was something of the sharp edge he could see in his own mirror. What more had Winter wrought in her?

"Well? Why do you stare now? You have been gone long enough."

"My lady, my absence was not meant to slight you."

"Oh, it didn't." The tone of voice said that she thought he hadn't been gone long enough.

"I came to see if you were well."

"Freezing slowly as a captive in a foreign land? I suppose I am well enough."

"Perhaps you need a cloak," the king said, concerned. On cue, the steward handed a woolen wrap to the king, who in turn moved forward to place it on the girl's shoulders. Kyri's expression was smooth as if she did not want to show fear, but a gasp slipped out when he touched her, and he remembered that she still, underneath all this, was a child.

"Please don't touch me," she said. "You're cold." Under the fear and helplessness in her voice there was a little irritation.

The king stepped back, a stern look on his face where, a fraction of a second ago, there had been a hurt look. Kyri tried to tell herself that no such hurt look was there, but she could still see it in the iron corners of his face, the bitter touches of pain.

I don't need to feel sorry for him, she told herself. If it weren't for him I'd be free.

"I know you hate me," he said as if reading her mind, "but I brought you here for a purpose. This land is cursed with never ending winter. My people are dying."

Kyri fingered the red wool carefully. "I don't know what you want me to do about it."

"You have the power to bring things to life. You can save my kingdom."

For a moment, the light from the fire crossed a young face, wistfully thinking of a return to the life she had led. But then the eyes fell on the stones, and the ice on the windows without, and froze. She said coolly, "I must thank you, my lord, for paying me a visit. I consider it not so much kindness, but the concern of a captor for his precious hostage. I am, despite almost freezing, still alive. You may leave, now that you assuaged your guilt." She turned her back on the king.

From the king's silence, she wondered if he really was considering. Then, suddenly, a hand was laid on her arm, twisting and pulling her back around. The furious face of the king stared down at her.

"You dare speak of being frozen in this heated room, with servants to bring you all you need, while my people huddle on the wastes dying? You who could save them?" He released her; she was too frightened to speak. Beside them, Circ whined anxiously while his tail lashed his hindquarters, but he was too obedient to intrude.

"Go and ready my sleigh," the king said to the steward. Then, turning back to the girl, "Get a cloak, or coat, or any thing you have to wear. Otherwise you really will freeze."

"Where are you taking me?" the girl said, terrified. All sarcasm was gone. The king nearly relented, then, and again, when the girl stepped outside, and cried out again, her tears turning to dots of ice. But the king remembered the bodies stacked, waiting for burial, and continued. He drove the horses into the woods, Circ following until the sleigh's speed left him behind. The princess watched his form fade into a black dot. The sleigh followed a road that plunged into the deep forest, going past black trees and white snow for miles and miles. The only sound was the hard blowing of the horses. Finally, the king slowed them.

"This is due north," he shouted. He stopped the sledge and then turned to see if she was still alive, for it was truly freezing. As for him, he felt no cold.

Under the furs, in her red wrap, the girl stirred. Her lashes were white with the frost of her tears; her lips blue. Silently, the king pulled her to her feet. This time, she did not protest his touch. Together they left the sleigh.

Around them the trees formed a circle, their trunks ending in mounds and mounds of white.

"This is my palace," the king said, throwing his arms wide. "These are my gardens, my blooms. This is my harvest," he bent down and, with his heavy gloved hand, fingered the powdery snow. "This, princess, is what you must change...this is what you must fix."

At last the lips chapped with cold opened. "I cannot. How can you give me this command? I am a child."

"You are no longer a child," he said, looking down at the dark head. It came nearly to his chin, now.

"Yes, because of you," she said bitterly.
"Never mind. You bear the magic to make a land beautiful."

"How can that be? I have no magic, nothing."

"You lie. You can find a way. Let this be your room, your new home, until you do." Angry, the king turned away, striking the air with a fist.

Desperate, the girl took a few steps. She turned, frozen skin pleading with a look.

"Fix it," said the king again, and watched her as she stood, shivering, in her wrap bright as a wintermint berry.

"Do not cry for yourself," he says, "cry for the land that dies every night, with every snowfall. See these trees—they fall under the weight of ice, with no hope of thaw or spring."

"Your heart is as cold as this place," she sobbed, and started to run from him. With only a few steps, she fell. And now she was weeping, like a child for her mother. Her cheek lay cold on the new snow.

In the moments that passed the clouds gathered overhead, leaving only a slit for the new moon. The king marked their passing of them and the childish cries to womanly decorum and tears. She had raised herself up, but was still turned away from him, her tormentor. He sighed. Night was fully upon them; the horses were nervous of the Vargs, the savage wolves of the North. He went to the girl and put his hand to her shoulder. "Come, I will take you home," he said. But as she raised her head, he saw there, underneath her body, how the snow had melted and the ground thawed. There, in the place she once laid, was life—a green shoot, growing.

*

And so the change began. Every morning, dawn crept in a little sooner. Every evening the night lingered more distant. And the birds knew and sang—the first flowering of life echoing around the hills. Every morning, the king rode out to hear them, and see the land remade. When the green began to grow on the hills, fresh new shoots among the rocky stubble, the he knew. Soon, growth would start in earnest and every wild plant push its way up higher and higher to the sky.

"Order seed," he told his servants. "Let every soldier also be given a plow."

After riding, he would ride to the castle and salute the east wing, where the princess, as they now called her, was a white shadow haunting the window. She would see him and turn away.

"Would my lady like to go out?" her guardian asked. "It's a beautiful day, such as I've never seen."

"I don't know," said Kyri. One hand absently stroked Circ's rugged fur.

"Oh, why not? You could do with the fresh air. You're so pale, if my lady doesn't mind me saying."

"No, I don't mind. I suppose I am," but the girl was playing with Circ now, pulling his ears and rubbing them between her fingers, enjoying the silky texture.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Who is it?" the guardian asked, putting away her knitting.

"It's the king," said a deep voice. Kyri stiffened. Circ straightened. After a worried glance to her mistress, the woman went to open the door. Bobbing a curtsey, "Your majesty."

The king looked straight past her, to the lovely girl at the window. "The ground has thawed," he said. "The last frost was weeks ago. The people told me as I rode through-they are ready to begin planting."

The wraith in the window only looked him silently.

"Go on," said the maid, "I'll get your wraps."

"She won't even need them. It's warm, warm as...spring time," the king said the word in wonder.

"Very well," the woman smiled and bobbed again. "I'll leave you two."

"My lady, I know-" he stopped there as if he did not know how to go on so formally. She regarded him then, with calm eyes, guarded but not unfriendly. At last he said, "Please. Please come. I need your help." And he stretched out his hand.

*

Kyri stood up and let the seeds spill from her hands. "This is wheat," she said. "It is best planted two great moons after the last frost. And here is the barely," she walked on to the next bulging sack. Her audience, a long line of rugged men, hard jawed but attentive, watched her walk among the rows. So far she had explained planting, crop rotation, fertilization and irrigation. "The best fertilizers can be found in the streams and your garbage, or right in your own barns."

The king watched in admiration. It was not everyday that smiles crossed the weathered faces of his people. The maiden moved among them with great ease, speaking about soil, seed and plant as easily as breathing. She did not seem to notice the admiring glances. The king, however, was not, and stayed close.

"Some insects and birds are pests, but others are pollinators and ready harvesters: they will help your crop in different ways. Keep bees; they are good for your crops. If any crops are sick with blight, or too much rain, come speak to me." She glanced at the king then, so he added, "The royal court will be in the castle until the next full moon, and then move to the new garden palace for the summer. The princess can be petitioned there."

The sky was dusky rose before the farmer's dispersed. The king had both his own chariot, and a covered carriage for the maiden and her entourage. Kyri was tired, he could tell. As he waited to escort her back, he saw her stoop down with the bags of seeds. She took a handful and secreted it away to a pocket somewhere among her clothes. Then she came along towards the king. He offered her his arm, and when she refused it but stumbled with weariness, came beside her close enough to help her. Together they made their way back in the waning light.

"A good day," he said. "The farmers will work harder and reap better, knowing what you know."

The maiden was silent. He watched her face carefully; was there anger there underneath the etched lines of exhaustion?

"You, also, have worked hard. This will be summer as I've never seen summer before. Thank you."

The maiden stopped then, with closed eyes and a little swaying. The king stayed right at hand.

"I am not doing this for you."

"As king, on the behalf of my people, I thank you."

The woman opened her eyes. All around her stretched Winter's land, for the first approaching a full summer. It was not yet green, but brown and barren. She felt the weight of seeds in her pocket, and thought of how much power it would take to get a simple handful to grow green, much less the grain on all the hills. Thinking of this she swayed; the king called on her waiting women, and they took her to the castle. The lord of Winter watched with concern, knowing as no else did the control and drain of power.

*

Later, in the candlelit castle, he climbed the long steps to the princess' tower. He paused at the top for a long, long time. The tower was silent but for the clicking of the waiting women's needles, and the crackling of a fire. At last, he went in.

"I see you are back in health," he said to her. She was sitting right by the fire, stroking Circ. Because she was so close to the fire, her color was high.

"The loss of power is understandable," he said into the awkward silence. "I have felt it before, when I attempted to fix the land. As ruler, I have certain control over these hills, the river, and the borders. I know when the Vargs trespass and when the bridge is being crossed. But I cannot make things grow." His voice had become raw.

There was a pause. The king turned away until he could compose himself. If she noticed his outburst, the maiden showed no sign. She had yet to meet his eyes, but stared into the fire as she stroked Circ thoughtfully.

"I'll fix your country," she said finally. "I've done it before." She bit her lip then; the arrogance sounded too much. Had she really made eternal summer as the source of magic in her homeland? Perhaps. She wasn't sure how much was her mother's work. She had always been good with sunlight, she knew. Bending it, focusing it, and using it to make things grow. Then there was her love of green things. They grew, even when she hurt or felt as if she might die. She could create life.

"My people will be grateful." The king said in a low, rough voice.

"There's no amount of gratitude that can repay me," she said flatly, almost arrogantly, if it hadn't sounded so despairing. She was realizing her own power now, and how much it was like a curse.

"I offer you the highest honor a woman can receive," the king said, and moved toward the fire. He placed a box on the hearth and let the top fall back and the dazzle of the box's contents fill the room. The box held a gold circlet. "I'll make you queen," the king offered the crown with a casual wave of his hand, and leaned up against the mantel. Kyri fingers fisted and whitened in an angry grip on Circ's fur. Sensing her anger, the wolf hound whined. She stood suddenly then, ready to storm out. But for all her newfound height, the king still towered over her. He was calm now, the mask of stone firmly in place. So, instead of leaving, she sat down and grabbed the crown from its velvet bed. It gleamed at her, a thrilling promise. Beside her the king's eyebrow raised, in surprise. The child was unpredictable in her passions. This could be attributed to childish temper, but...

Slowly, a sad look on her face, Kyri shook her head. "You invite me to do something good, something I would have done gladly if properly petitioned and invited. But the gift you would give to your country was stolen, and therefore tainted." She set the gold circlet back in its case. "Anything I do here will have evil consequences."

"You lie," said the king. "There is no more evil that can be done here."

For the first time Kyri looked up and laid her eyes on the king's face. It was sharp as a blade, the bone cold and the skin laid on sparingly. Her gaze was like a warm palm laid on the king's cheek, and he barely controlled his surprised flinch. For a second they both looked at each other, light brown eyes meeting gray ones.

"Then the evil will fall elsewhere," Kyri said, and rising, left the king and the circlet in their places.

*

When the moon again was full, the court moved to the summer palace. The weather was as hot as it had ever been, and the kingdom was now enjoying a full summer. Farmers were already taking in lettuce and spring onions, potatoes and new peas. Fields were being tilled for the next crops—wheat, corn, rye, and all other grains. Melon vines were reportedly taking over any available space. In some places, it seemed that brambles grew up over night, and with morning burst into white blossoms that would lead to blackberries. And along every field grew multicolored wildflowers: morning glory, aster, poppy and daisy, dancing like confetti in the breeze.

"Growth is reported to be robust in all areas of the kingdom," the scout said. The warrior riders had found their job changed from first strike force to guardsmen for produce. They rode out to every corner of the land, speaking with farmers and weighing vegetables, growing tanner with each trip.

"And the seed shipments?"

"Arrive on the morrow," the scout said promptly. "Mostly grains this time, I believe. Several of vegetable, herb and bean. And the saplings you requested: lilac and starwood."

"All but the trees will go to the people. Planting has finished in the eastern corridor," said the master gardener. "And the fruit trees should be full flowering in another season."

"They'll flower this year," murmured the king. He was gazing out from the verandah, looking past marble columns to rows and rows of fading into wild, rambling gardens, hills and woods. "She loves fruit."

A quizzical look came across the gardener's face, but he merely bowed.

"Shipments of food and drink from the south country have decreased," said the scout. "The people are eating off of first harvest. The main import is grain and wine."

"Soon, we will be the ones to export such things," said the king.

"Try this, my lord," a steward came forward with a goblet. The king tasted the honey colored liquid and nodded his approval. "Mead from the honey of our own bees," the man answered the question on the king's face.

The king nodded, and finished the ale while his men waited. "Where is the princess?" he asked abruptly.

"In the garden with the wolf-hound. She sits there most afternoons, playing."

"Playing?"

"Yes, my liege-she asked for a harp. We did not think it would cause harm, so we gave her one."

"Well, tell her she must visit the vineyards," the king said. "We can start winemaking as soon as we have a harvest there." The steward bowed, and left, along with the gardener. Only the scout, a silver-haired warrior wearing all black, remained.

"The child has grown up," he said quietly.

"Yes, the power in her was strong. She grew the moment she set foot on our side of the river, so they tell me."

"She has done much. No wonder the people call her princess, and sing songs of the summer maiden."

No one knows, the king did not say, of the offer I made her, but still they call her princess.

The master spy must have seen something in his lord's face, for he changed the subject."Your brother will be looking for your visit soon. His spies are reporting all the changes to him."

"And?"

"They say he is... curious. But harvest in his kingdom is not as great as in years past. He is distracted, for now."

"I sent Hunter to explain to him." The king said flippantly. "My brother invited him to his inner court. We will learn more when he returns."

"But, my lord," the scout continued, but it was clear the king was not listening. Out in the lush lawn of the garden, the steward had appeared leading Circ on a leash. Within seconds, the big animal leaped on the man, knocking him down, and ran free to a figure coming from the eastern wing of the house. The woman laughed and bent to undo the rope from his collar, and then, ignoring the protesting steward, walked on behind the loping Circ towards the valley. The king watched her straight back until it aligned with and was consumed by the light of the sun.

"My lord?"

"I'm going to inspect the fields," the king said.

"Shall I call a page to ready River?"

"No," the king said, "I'll go alone."

*

The maiden walked the gravel paths of the cultivated gardens at the palace. She grew to love every lush curve of the hedges and beds, and every gardener by name. Beyond the hedges were fields, and beyond those, hills or forest.

"What is out there?" she asked continually, longing to go past the hedges.

"Why, there's nothing but hills and small towns over the western way. And to the north are only forests, until the rim of the North. But that is guarded by vargs."

"Vargs?"

"Wolves, my lady. Larger and fiercer than you would care to meet." The servants looked tellingly at Circ when they said this, but he merely lolled happily under his mistress' strokes.

She was glad when she was allowed out to go riding, usually to nearby farms or villages to teach them about growing. The guards let her ride slowly back; she convinced them to take her further and further out, on the pretense that she wished to see how the land was doing.

One summer's eve, she came upon a wilderness of thorny strands covered becomingly with white blossom. The vines had formed a tunnel.

"I've heard of these," Kyri whispered in awe. She dismounted to explore. "They're blackberries, just at the flowering."

The guard with her just grunted and looked around suspiciously. She turned her charming looks onto him.

"May I?" she asked. The guard, a silver-haired man all in black, held up his hand for her to wait. He went into the tunnel a little, looked about carefully and then nodded. "Do not wander too far," he said.

Enchanted, she moved down the corridor of the vines. The path went on, twisting like the branches, until a person could be caught in the maze-like thorny thicket. Outside, the guard waited until the wind began to blow about him, coming over the hills from the sun. He thought he could see a lone horse man there, shimmering. He counted to ten five times, and then called the maiden out.

"Princess!" She appeared from between the briars. "We must go," he said grimly, and looked up to see if the horseman was upon them. It was too late.

"Piper," called a sunny voice, "Don't be so dreary." The horseman galloped up, blond hair bouncing about a tanned face. He dismounted the instant his horse stopped.

The maiden looked up into blue eyes and seemed mesmerized as Hunter to her hand and bowed over it.

"My lady," he said, "forgive me, but I did not recognize you. You have become so beautiful."

For a second, the maiden merely looked him, and then offered a shy smile.

"I see you are gracious enough to accept my apology. Perhaps I can lure you into a walk with me." Hunter offered her his arm. "If we walk together, perhaps the guards will be a little more lax."

Piper was waiting alone when the king rode up. He dismounted quickly from River, who whickered angrily at Hunter's tall war horse.

"Hunter has returned," the king said. "He speaks quite well of my brother's court, and the riches there. Apparently there was a slight drop in harvest, but nothing that could cause concern. Everyone in the land had plenty."

"So there seems to be no curse," Piper said quietly.

"Yes," the king's reply died away, as the laughing couple came from the brambly path. Hunter was in full stride, telling a tale, while the maiden leaned on his arm, looking up at him and smiling and smiling.

"Hunter has seen the princess," the scout said softly. They both watched as the knight guided her on down toward a grove of trees. He saw them once, and waved. The princess did not look back at all.

"I must go," the king said abruptly. "I only came to see if all was well."

I will watch them," Piper said.

"No," said the king. "you there's work to be done, both here and around the country. She's has enough surveillance, for now."

The laughter of the two ringing through the air, king turned silently and left on River.

*

Those who had whispered about a possible marriage between the princess and their sullen king now brightened at the prospect of another courtly romance. Hunter was much beloved in the towns, where he often rode with bright head uncovered.

"He takes her riding and woos her everyday," was the gossip. "I hear he offered her a crown—a silver circlet just as a princess should wear. That's more than the king has done..."

Kyri was oblivious to the talk. It was true, most days Hunter did come by her garden gate and call for her to go riding. And sometimes she did. They visited vineyards and berry patches, even once riding far enough south to see an orange grove. She moved in awe among the white blossom covered trees. Hunter had to work to get her to pay more attention to him than to the plants.

"Look at me, my darling," he said one day. She had spent most of the afternoon down on her knees in the dirt, looking for a particularly nasty grub that was blighting the tomato plant.

"What?" she finally looked up, a smear of mud becomingly on her cheek. Hunter removed his riding gloves to rub it gently away.

"Come," he led her by the hand to a line of cherry trees, with new fruit, and lifted her into the lower bows. Now her head was taller than his, and he looked up at her with serious grey eyes.

"Are you happy here?"

Kyri looked at him with a half frown, as if she did not quite understand the question. "Today is beautiful. I'm having fun," she said.

"I don't mean today, in this tree...unless you think that tree dwelling becomes you. I certainly do," he looked admiringly up at her. She drank in his praise shyly. "I mean in this place, this whole land." She soberly looked at him, and he went on, "You shouldn't have to stay her, if you don't wish it."

"I like this place. It has been transformed since I arrived here. There has been nothing like it in my life."
"Yes, but wouldn't you leave, if you could?" There was something in the way that he searched her face that she did not understand.

"Leave all this? Everything I've worked for? If I hadn't come here...none of this would have ever happened. Without..." she stopped herself. She had been about to say without him. "I couldn't have done all this..." the branches above them were filled with birds, swooping and diving and singing. Smiling up at them, she found respite from the intense

"If I asked you to go away with me, would you come?"

She opened her mouth and closed it again. Then she looked down. "I'd have to think about it."

At this, Hunter turned away for a moment. He had been leaning toward her, his chest almost touching he knees. Now he whirled around on one boot heel, scratching his head and mussing his beautiful hair.

Kyri had already started to slide down from the branches' fork when he whirled around again, "But Kyri, you don't belong here. This place isn't your home."

"Take me back," she told him without meeting his eyes.

He tried one more time, catching her arm as she would stride away towards the horses. Circ, nearby, stood up with a low rumbling sound, not quite a growl. Hunter took his hands from her and backed away for his benefit. "Why would you stay here? What would keep you?"

"It's not what, it's who," she said, risking a little honesty.

"Who would keep you here?" Hunter's face was a mixture of questions and disgust as he threw a hand out to showcase the land. All around them, the sound of insects rose and fell with a whining hum, like the land was breathing. "This is nothing to the Summerland, the place of your birth. Your home."

"Why do you say these things?" Kyri asked suddenly, turning to him. On the handsome face she caught frustration and, before his expression evened out and he tucked it away, a touch of ruthlessness.

"Dear beauty," he said softly, "I want you to be happy."

"Then take me home," she, not liking what she felt to be false tenderness, strode on towards her mare.

He followed. "How it pains me that you must call that place home. In all of this you think too little of yourself."

"There is no joy in thinking about myself," she said.

"Well then," his tone was sharper, "What about your mother?"

Kyri sucked in her breath as if she had been cut. Not waiting for help, she stepped up to the saddle and was quickly off in one brilliant movement. Circ ran on ahead, but the princess had overtaken him before she and the horse pounded into the palace courtyard. That afternoon, it was full of both crates of goods and those who handled them, as well as a good contingent of the king's men to guard over all proceedings. All attention was on the mare as she stopped in a cloud of dust. Close by the open gates, a circle of men were

"Have a good ride, princess?" one of them called. It was Piper, leaning on a large sparring staff and looking at her knowingly.

"Yes, thank you," Kyri dismounted, flushed and bright eyed. Down the road, she could hear Hunter following at a gallop. She gave the mare a smug smile as their partners on the outing arrived.

"How are you passing the day?" Kyri asked, ignoring Hunter and the twinkle in Piper's eyes.

"Sparring, my lady," the answer came from one of the group of men, still paused in their activity gaze on her. She felt suddenly shy as she realized all the men were gathered in a fight ring, with the mood wild with the excitement and action that must have just taken place. A few previous contenders were already dusty, stripped to their breeches, bare muscles polished in sweat or even blood.

"Does us good to have something to do. Keeps us in fighting shape," she was told, and she blinked. The speaker was the king. He stood among the taller of the group, and, though not as thick as some, his strength was obvious in the muscles of his arms and chest.

"Who's next?" Hunter approached. There was a still a surly note to his voice. Kyri tried not to stand too stiffly, but he walked past her, into the circle, to face the king.

"My good knight," the king inclined his head politely, though Hunter gave him none of the greeting deserved of a king. "I have just faced my first challenger." He grinned up at a giant of a man, and Kyri stared in disbelief. The giant was a head taller and half a times more wide, with arms like small barrels, covered in dust.

"Petra here showed me how to break a farmer's hold," the king went on easily, and Kyri noted the brown cloth of the man's trousers, marking him as a landowner and not a warrior. The burly man smiled back at the king, looking down and showing a missing tooth.

"My lord is quick but I have a good hold," he said in a happy drawl, "comes from carrying pigs." He laughed with a sound like the boom of a drum, and the king laughed along with him. His forehead bore streaks of sweat, she noticed, but he was not dusty from the ground.

"Perhaps you should try a warrior opponent," Hunter said loudly, stepping further into the ring. The men fell silent. Hunter regarded them all with a disdaining sweep of his eyes, and then faced the king, "I have not met a worthy challenger since arriving in North country," his tone was dismissive, bordering between seriousness and jest. "Unless," he smiled a little, but his smile was not as light hearted as the rest, "you would rather play the part of a pig."

A few of the men muttered angrily; one or two rose from their squatting spectator position. But the king was calm, standing with hands easy at his side even though his eyes never left the knight Hunter's face. It seemed a long pause before he said,

"You were gone a long time, and time has changed you, Hunter. It is good you have returned. And yes, I am ready for your challenge." He waited while Hunter shrugged off his finer coat. When the two men finally faced each other, slightly at a crouch, Kyri saw they were evenly matched in height and weight. Hunter, in fine breeches and unspoiled shirt, seemed the kinglier of the two, and his muscles were larger, if slightly softened from time spent in the summer land. The king looked like a plainly clad pauper and his bare-chested body was lean and hungry compared with Hunter's build. The king's lips formed a slight curve as he faced his opponent. Kyri found she had forgotten to breathe.

Then Piper gave the signal and almost too quickly the men dashed at each other. With surprising savagery, Hunter slammed into the king, seeking to knock him immediately to the ground where it would be a matter of pinning the opponent. The king, warmed to the exercise and lithe, wriggled and shied away, eluding the brunt of the force and looking for an opening.

"Come coward, fight!" Hunter cried, and the onlooker's shout's quieted at the insult. Their cheers turned savage. They wanted to see the knight put down.

"There's a fine lord for ya—a real sportsman. Dirty his clothes a little!"

But the king would have none of it. Feinting as nimbly as a boxer, he slipped away again and again, baiting Hunter's attacks. Angry now, Hunter rushed him, and caught the king as there was a collected gasp from the encircling audience. Kyri found herself swept along in their calls. Beside her was Piper, calmly calling plays.

"Hunter wants a wrestling match. But the king is playing the wearing game—an interesting move considering Hunter's fresh and he's not."

Kyri barely heard him. The knight had the king locked and the tanned muscles looked impressive in their hold. They were both still standing. But too quickly for the eye to watch, the king gave him the slip and was free, while Hunter staggered on a bent leg.

"A touch, a touch!" Piper was excited now. "The king has jarred the other's leg. If Hunter falls this match is done."

But Hunter would not fall. The king, quick as a wolf turning on an injured beast, whipped around and tackled him, bringing him to the ground. The cries of the men turned into a hush as the tussle in the dirt wore on.

Piper whispered, "It's a thinking man's time now. You look your opponent in the eye and see his weakness. Then, you go for it."

Kyri could make sense of none of it, but watched the men's legs flex and seek holds along with their bulging arms. Both had faces like beasts ready to gnaw at prey.

"Oh, come on," she cried out in the pressure, and then the king snapped around the other way. Hunter unbalanced and before he knew what had happened the king had pinned him to the dust.

"Yes," Kyri cried before she thought.

"A good move, a wolfish move," murmured Piper. The king was already standing, looking modest and mild in triumph. The men were ecstatic. Kyri, suddenly conscious of her burning cheeks, muted her celebration. She hung back, which is why she, of all of them, saw the savage look stride across Hunter's face, just before came to his feet and pushed away towards the king's unprotected back.

"Look out," she shrieked.

"A knife!" someone bellowed, and it was the pig farmer. The giant waded it, pushing others aside and pinning Hunter's arm against the farmer's own body. The blade was plain to see, glittering in Hunter's hand.

Slowly, the king approached him.

"Let him go," he commanded the farmer, never taking his eyes off Hunter. The farmer didn't move; the grip on Hunter's arm was white.

"Obey me, man," the king said, still looking at Hunter. "I trust him."

Once released, Hunter shook his arm. The anger on his face was gone, replaced by a rueful, joking grin. "There are different rules in the Summerland," he said by way of excuse. The king said nothing. Slowly, Hunter handed him the knife. With great care, the king examined it and then handed it back.

"I trust you," he said again, holding the knight's eyes. Hunter, looking cowed, gave a nod.

"Alright, you lazy lads, back to work," Piper called out. "Move these crates on before nightfall and there's fine wine for you all. My lord," he turned and broke into the silent conversation between the king and the knight, "will you escort the princess back to her berth?"

"I can go myself," Kyri did not want to face the stares of the men as they remembered she was there. But before she could collect the reigns of her mare the king had taken them, and was ushering her to the palace. She strode quickly.

"That was an interesting game," she babbled, and wished she had the courage to stay silent.

"It was," the king was polite. Kyri wondered if she realized it was no game.

"Hunter is a passionate fighter."

"Your cheers were of great worth to him," he said.

They had reached her rooms. She halted, wondering if she should tell him it had not been Hunter she cheered. The king was waiting for her to turn and go; he was dirty and tired, no doubt ready for the care of servants. But still she paused, holding him there.

"I wanted to say," she began awkwardly, "that the Summerland is beautiful. And my childhood was beyond compare."

At this the king was tense, as if steeling himself for an opponent's weapon that he could not turn aside.

"But," she said, "I would trade a lifetime there for a year in North country."

"A full year," the curve was around his lips again and she realized he was trying to smile. "including winter?"

"Including winter," she said.

"You are kind, princess," he said.

She nodded and ducked her head. There didn't seem to be anything more she could say. Why did she linger?

"You must be tired from your ride," the king said. "I leave you now. Good evening."

She nodded again, and went in, and wondered why she suddenly felt so miserable. Silly child, she told herself, babbling on while the man's desperate to get away, get clean. She called a maid to do the same, turned her mind to mundane things. She did not know that the king, instead of going to his chambers, went straight to the stables to find River, and rode and rode as far as halfway to exhaustion, and still, facing the sky raving with glorious light, called down curses on himself.

*

It wasn't until late, long past moonlight in the princess' quiet room, that Kyri lay awake and restless. After a time she got up and lit a fire, and when Circ came to comfort her, stroked his shaggy coat.

"Oh, Circ," she said and looked into his familiar eyes. His patterned fur, so like a wolf's, seemed creased with concern. In his long jaw and lean look, she saw the wildness that was the wolf inside him. And then she remembered the look of the king, standing beside Hunter in plain, unashamed vigor and strength. A man who would weigh the costs, and then take action, and let the consequences fall on himself as leader. And then there was Hunter, charming, suave, and spoiled. And spoiling for a fight.

"I don't know what to do." She leaned back in exhausted thought. He licked her face in sympathy as if he could wash the dark circles under her eyes away. As the night wore on she hung on to him, overwhelmed by the questions Hunter did and did not ask, her mind spinning with them all until she felt drained. She could give no answers to him or herself or anyone, even when she realized all the questions came down to one.

How can you love someone you hate?

*

Weeks passed. Midsummer fast approached, and the harvests taken in were so many hired men from the Summerland came to help take it in. The king himself supervised, sometimes even dismounting from River to lend a hand. Folks slept well, and ate better. But the king remained serious, never sharing the laughter of his people. The first bottles from the vineyards were already available; the grapes had aged so well, the head gardener told everyone a miracle had visited the place. The wine was presented at a private feast for the king's riders, the warriors in black. They drank merrily, toasting him often. He toasted as well, but otherwise ate little and drank less. Only Piper the scout kept his head and an eye on his liege. An hour to dawn, the others had fallen asleep, and Piper followed on cat feet as the king left the room, taking the garden route to the east. Around the arbor were the princess often walked, Piper lost sight of him. But there were footsteps in the wet grass; these he followed until he came to the little gate to the princess' private lawn. It was unlatched. Like a shadow, he went through, and beyond, over the clover, violets and the beds of lavender to the window near the terrace. There the king stood.

"My lord, how often do you come here?"

When the king spoke it was a bare, hoarse whisper. "Every day," he said.

"And does she know?"

"No. She never sees me."

Piper spoke gently, as gently as an old scarred warrior could, "Why don't you tell her?"

"I cannot. She hates me. What other feeling could she have? I brought her to this place. I began the evil."

"What I see is not evil. This is not evil," Piper gestured around to the green, the hedges, and beyond, the first light of dawn. "You have much to offer her."

"I have nothing. There is no reason that, if given the choice, she would stay." The darkness fell on a bleak face as the king raised it. "There is no hope."

*

"Princess!" it was Piper, striding over the meadow to see her. Circ met him halfway; the wolf hound loved the old warrior, who had often fed him when he was a puppy. Now the dog could knock him over, and often nearly did, as he greeted him with enthusiasm.

"I did not know you were here!"

"I was out on business with the king. We went from coast to coast to take harvest census."

At mention of the king the princess seemed to grow older. "Well," she said seriously. Then, more winsomely, "I have missed you, my favorite guard. I knew you would see me the moment you returned, to chase me back to my quarters! I am returning, Piper," she laughed, gathering her skirts and coming along. "Do not worry."

"I was not, princess. I merely give you a message. The king is waiting for you in the purple arbor."

A subtle change occurred in the woman's face. Despite tan and freckled skin, she seemed a touch paler. "For me?"

"Yes, my lady. Please go to him; he cannot wait."

Mutely, she picked up her skirts higher and trotted faster. Piper escorted her, wondering what he should read in the serious look on her face. "He has been looking forward to this meeting," he offered. "He often thinks of you, and speaking to you. I know he has been sullen these past few weeks because he was too busy to visit." Piper smiled to himself as something close to fear, close to hope, flitted across the woman's face.

When they came to the meeting place Kyri slowed apprehensively, seeing the king's dark figure among the wisteria vines.

"Do not be afraid," Piper encouraged. "Go to him." He caught Circ's collar before he could gallop along behind, though he was dragged along a good few paces for his trouble. "Stay here, you mutt. This is too important."

Kyri entered the arbor tentatively. The king was looking out past the trellis, across the new shorn fields.

"Princess," he nodded. She found herself wishing she was not in an head scarf and grass-stained summer gown, and kept her hands from plucking at them. The king seemed in no hurry to speak, so she waited.

"My lord?" She finally broke the silence.

"I called you here because I thought it was time for us to meet again. We have not spoken long since...that night in the forest. This time, I thought of your comfort and tried to choose a place that was familiar," he waved a hand towards the place he had come, the entrance to her garden and rooms.

"Ah, thank you," she said, when he seemed to pause for a response. "That is kind. I hope you also feel comfortable in this place. It is, after all, your palace."

"Yes." The silence stretched longer this time.

"My lord, would you like to walk with me? The night is coming, and it is cool. We need not go far."

"Very well," he seemed almost afraid to say yes, but did hold out his arm for her. She took it, surprised at her realization. Is he nervous?

They walked slowly. Dusk had fallen by the time they rounded the corner out of the arbor. They followed the path away from the palace, down a few terraced herb beds. There were fireflies dancing like magic lights all around.

Even though her fingers touched him, the princess felt the man was far away. What is he thinking? What am I thinking? Where shall we go when this walk has ended?

They came along the side of a hill, between terraces. Further down where the stakes for the new grapes and raspberries. The y stopped to watch the sunset. When the final bit of light glimmered away, Kyri turned to him. "My lord, I must ask you. Why did you wish to speak to me?"

Like a woman, she speaks her mind. He looked at her new mature beauty, his heart twisting. "It is a question I have longed wished to ask you." He tried to say her name, and found he couldn't. "Princess..."

"Yes?"

"What do you desire?"

"What?"

"You have done more than I could have asked for, more than I could have imagined. I am grateful. On behalf of my people, I wish to thank you." He swallowed hard. "So I must ask you, what is it you want?"

"I...don't know." She sat down on the stone wall.

"It can be anything. Anything at all."

"I have..." she was about to say all I desire but then realized this wasn't true. "...all I need." She ended awkwardly.

The king just gazed upon her.

"Well. Um. What about..." she thought hard, "a ball?"

"A ball?" the king seemed confused so she repeated it. "Certainly," he said. "Of course. Balls are good things. Circ, perhaps would enjoy playing with one."

"What?" now she was confused. The king simply went on musingly, "Though as big as he is, it would have to be quite large..."
"No, no, no," she laughed, "a midsummer ball. A party. With dancing."

"Oh. Of course. Is that all?"

"There should be music," she said. "and a little food and drink. And plenty of people."

"This is all you desire?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You could...I mean, I still would..." he tried to rally, and she watched, amazed. She had never seen him so flustered. "You may still have the crown."

Now it was her turn to be flustered. "I thank you," she stammered. "But I am still not ready. Too young. I couldn't."

"I understand," the king said softly, and he finally looked her in the eye. She met his gaze, and who know how long they would have stared, if a barking sound had not interrupted. Circ came barreling down the pathway, ears aflutter, Piper following hard behind.

"I couldn't hold him," he panted, after Circ had bounced to both her and the king, making his excitement known. Since she was on the wall, the dog turned to the king. The king was near knocked off his feet.

He laughed. "Ah, pup, you've grown since I first found you."

"You know Circ?" she was amazed again. She felt her eyes were open as never before.

"I found him in a snow drift abandoned by a varg. I fed him milk and barely kept him alive. Now look at him." He grabbed Circ and started to wrestle. Circ responded with a playful but savage looking snarl. His open jaws could fit the whole king's head.

"Mercy," said Piper, and chuckled. The princess turned surprised eyes to him. He seemed less of a hardened warrior and more of a grandpa, grey and jolly. The transformations were all around.

While the king was busily trying to avoid Circ's playful jaws, she turned to the warrior. "Piper, you are so happy. I didn't know you knew how to laugh!"

Piper looked at her shrewdly. "We all do what we must to survive. My work doesn't bring much laughing. But, again, no one is quite what he seems. Circ is part wolf, but you have more of his companionship and comfort from him than any pure bred dog."

She turned back to the king and his hound. They were both looking at her with soulful eyes.

"Oh, you," she laughed.

"Take her home, Circ," said the king, getting up and dusting his dark clothes off. "I have work to do. There's much to be done, if there's to be a midsummer ball."

*

The tents on the grand terrace went up almost overnight. Palace staff bustled around with hardly any time for anything but parties. Even Piper was called away on errands, previously frivolous, and now of highest importance. Invitations were sent, wines selected. Someone even got the job of taste tester for the canapés.

In the hubbub, the princess found she could easily slip away.

"It's not like I'm going far," she told Circ. "And we'll be back before anyone misses us."

Her walks took her farther than she was allowed to go alone, previously being confined to her garden without an escort. She found with delight the new territory the garden staff hadn't shown her. One afternoon, she slipped away. The air was cool enough for a wrap, and Circ bounced ahead over the shadowy lawns. By the by, she came to a path she had never seen before, and crossed a green towards a grove of trees in the distance. As she approached, she gasped. The trees were all cherries, and they were full—late in the season—of white blossoms. The petals seemed to float as they fell.

She hurried forward, and found she was not alone. Her heart almost stopped when she heard the clinking of saddle trimmings, and Circ ran forward, barking. But the man who stood in the grove was Hunter.

"Princess!"

"Hunter," she was pleased, "I have not seen you for days."

"I am avoiding the scurrying that accompanies the grandest event of the year. The sight of so many canapés sent me away."

"Me too."

"You are to be commended. The old grump has never once entertained a proper kingly court. And now he's throwing a party. It should be excellent. Nothing to rival the summerland, of course, but... You should go to the summer king's court. It's marvelous. People dance for days."

"Really?" she said, after a time. She had gone quiet at mention of the summerland.

"Of course! Would I lie to you?"

Suddenly, Circ, who had been suspiciously circling the pair of them, who stood to close for his liking, turned and barked. Kyri stepped back from the knight and looked around as if she had been caught guilty. But Hunter called, angrily, "Quiet, mutt! Dumb dog," he turned back to her. "What was I saying?" He took her hand, "I'm off on business for the next few days. But will you dance with me at the ball?"

She nodded, and took her hand back, "Of course."

"Then I leave with a light heart," he announced, and took her in his arms once more, so he could spin her around. Petals swirled around them, and she did laugh.

But somewhere beyond the grove, the shadows moved, and one from among them slipped away.

*

The night of the ball came all too quickly. The cook, beset with brand new hired help, threw up his hands in despair after a tray of honey rolls came out charred. "What is there to be done?" he cried. It was Kyri, coming from the gardens via the kitchens, who encouraged him.

"Do not worry. The food will be delicious. You cook well under fire."

"You better hurry on, dear," said his wife and second in kitchen command. "You've got to get dressed."

She ran on down the hall, Circ at her heels.

The night was perfect for a dance—stars studding the deep blue like diamonds in a crown. Page boys dressed in white covered the lawn; guests were already arriving.

In her own quarters, the princess was hardly to be seen for all the help she had with dressing. Ladies were pinning, combing, brushing, buttoning and polishing all over. The dress was perfection: a pale fitted bodice with brocade and pearls round the top, just a touch of lace at the sleeve. And, falling from her waist, mounds and mounds of frothy blue. It rustled when she moved and felt like a dream. The ladies couldn't stop talking about it.

But the biggest surprise came when a box arrived on a velvet cushion.

"It's from the king," they said, and lifted from the box a necklace so exquisite, they all sighed in awe. The jewels flashed and spoke their own language, sang their own song. Kryi touched them with apprehension. But she let the ladies' clasp it round her, praising its beauty and craftsmanship. Then she stood, and, bareheaded, the fine red jewels sparkling round her neck. And so she left, down the hall again, out the double doors swung by smiling page boys, dress whites not yet dirty. She felt a pang at Circ's absence; her usual friend had been sequestered away, this once, in the kennel. She went on, now with some butterflies of nerves, through the rest of the palace gardens and up the staircases to the high terrace, where a sea of guests waited for the arrival of the lady of honor. At the top of the stairs, just before she could step in sight, was the king.

He was waiting for her. She stopped, now fully nervous, behind a huge urn stuffed with plants. He saw her, and his eyes lit, but when beckoned encouragingly, she shook her head. "No," she whispered.

With a final smile towards the guests below, he stepped down towards her hiding place. "Why not? You look...breathtaking."

"Thank you. I...thank you." She looked down, waved a hand at the perfection around her throat, "I didn't expect all this."

"Come," he said. Reassured by the calm in his deep voice, she went.

*

The first dance was the longest. She went past rows and rows of happy people, holding the hand of the king. Then he guided her around to face him, and they both sort of bowed to one another. And, careful of all the froth, he took her in his arms. And they danced.

The music was as sweet as first honey, as rich as the accents on a fine old wine. Past all eyes, the couple whirled, and the two did not see anything but each other. Applause rippled up, and they stopped finally, a little while after the music did. But they did not yet leave off looking at one another.

"Thank you," the princess said, finally. The king inclined his head. And then Hunter was there and she danced on with him. The rest of the hours flew like notes from the musician's fingers, and Kryi danced through each one.

"This way," Hunter said, tugging on her. "This way, my dear." He brought her on through the lined pathway, to a waiting horse. "Just a little ride—then we'll see what I want to show you," he said as he put her on the horse. She would have protested, but there was a sudden pain in her head, not helped by the horse's jarring. It did not leave until after they had been riding awhile. Then she suddenly felt ill.

"Hunter," she said, "put me down."

"Not yet, darling. A little further."

"No, now. I must...I must." Then she realized where they were—miles already from the palace, and cried out, "Where are you taking me?"

"Not now," he said. And on they rode. A wind was whipping up around them, with angry growls coming from the sky. In the distance was a thin fork of lightning.

Hunter cursed, tightened his grip, and whipped his horse harder. The princess watched, silently, as her dress was crushed and spattered with mud. Finally she turned her face to the sky; the first droplets fell on them. And then it rained harder, and the horse had to slow.

"Faster," Hunter cursed again, and whipped at the beast. Just then, a piece of lightning sliced down in front of them. The horse reared back, stumbled. There was a crack, and it hobbled only a little further, quite lame.

More cursing. Hunter dismounted and pulled her off roughly. Kyri stood disoriented while he disappeared to look at the horse's leg. She did not recognize the land. It was unfarmed, wild. She started to walk a little, but was stopped by Hunter's angry shout. He pulled her back.

"Is the horse lame?" she asked. He did not answer, but started checking his pack. "Only a few more miles to go, and then the check point. Probably not more than... and they'll be waiting."

Still not understanding what was going on, she stepped away daintily, and tried to find a rock she might sit on. It all seemed like an awful dream.

And then Hunter turned on her suddenly, "Take off that dress!" he shouted. She winced away as his hands came around her and ripped off the fabric, till she stood, shivering and almost whimpering, in a bare shift. He hid the fabric, blindingly white, away. "Alright," he said, coming back. "We're near the river. The border is just that way. If we run for it, we'll reach there before they know where we've gone."

"Are you stupid?" she asked. "The winter king knows you'll come here. He's probably only a few minutes away."

Hunter's face was twisted. "Then you'd best run. I'll kill you before he takes you—him or you. Now, come."

She drew away. In a second, Hunter had in his hand a mean looking knife. "Do you wish to be harmed?" he asked, coming at her with it.

"No!" She ran back, hoping she could get near the horse. Maybe it wasn't too hurt to carry her weight. But a hand seized her from behind. "No, I will not go," she cried as he caught her. The knife was still in his hand; she fought him, and it twisted somehow inside her. Pain made her bend in two, and as she did, she fell.

Hunter caught her easily enough, and faint, she drooped in his arms. He dragged her to a hillock. She let him, but when light flashed strangely, she looked up. They were overlooking the river, its black shape curled around in the distance. And, across it, the one bridge, lit brightly. The bridge was burning.

She wrenches free and runs, stumbling. Her balance overtook her, and she careened down the hill, came out flat running as fast as she could. Hunter was following, she knew, but with another purpose. She ran as hard as she could, and then ducked into a briar, letting them tear at her. The garnets at her neck glistened with real blood when she broke from the wood, and then crawled on over the stones. She found a little pocket to hide in, under an overhang, and curled up there. Hunter's heavy steps followed, but only to a certain point; he couldn't enter the wood. She heard him poking around the rocks and tucked in tighter.

But then—oh, joy!—a distant sound slowed his approach. There was barking, which grew closer and closer. And hoof beats. And, at last, shouting, ringing metal, and a dying cry. She put her head down on her knees and waited. For who, for what, she no longer knew.

Circ found her so. The shaggy head pushed through every last thorny branch, his nose bleeding and finally coming to poke into her face. She did not move, not even when the branches were torn back, and the king, the only one who could remove Circ from his post, pushed past him to kneel before her. He put shaking hands out to her, as if worried she might not be alive.

When he found she was breathing, he lost no time. She was lifted and carried on. Oblivious to everything, even with rain pounding on her face, she lay still as he drew her into a shelter, a deeper cave that Circ found. Once there, he set about wrapping her in his cloak, trying to find a dry patch. The rain was replaced by Circ's rough tongue, licking to find life in her.

She came awake at last, still disoriented, and almost cried out when the king bent over her.

"Kyri! It's me."

"Where is..."

"Hunter? Gone." He did not say how far gone. There was blood on his hands, and a chilling look on his face. The king seemed to have aged in the past few hours. "Let me see if he hurt you."

"I'm fine," she said, but he bowed over her.

"I sent the storm after you. Hunter got them to lock up Circ, confound it. This would have never happened if he had been free." The wolf hound was nearby, standing guard in the rain. Both he and River were remarkably silent. The storm raged.

She cried out when he found the blood soaked slit in her shift.

"You have lost blood."

"He...cut me. Tried to kill me when I said..." The king took strips of cloth ripped from his own clothes, and lifted her to make a binding. She tried to keep from crying out, and failed. Her eyes went back into her head "I wouldn't..."

"Shhh..." His hands were about her, as gentle as they could be. Still, she faded out of consciousness, surfacing only when the drops of water fell on her face. The king was bent over her, making sure she breathed. The water had fallen from his wet hair.

She sighed, lips parted. "What...what happened?"

"He knew of your power," the king said quietly. "He knew of you, from that first day...but something changed him. It was a planned kidnapping. I know not who was behind it, but there were a few men at the border, and I found a bag of gold..." he almost said on Hunter's body.

"Why?" This word was more anguished than her cries of pain previous.

"Power. Money. Perhaps he was taking across the river to the king, my brother. Or perhaps he had plans to... sell you to the highest bidder. Maybe he already had. I should have seen this," he sighed. "If I had stayed closer, maybe you wouldn't...maybe I could have prevented..."

"It's okay," she lifted a hand to his cheek. "You're here." Outside the cavern, thunder rolled again. Lightning knifed the darkness also, yet still the king did not move his cheek away from her hand. But he wouldn't look at her. There was such a shadow that lay over his mien that she lifted her head. "What's wrong?"

He said, sadly, "You're not the only one he sought to harm. He tried to, and did, kill."

"What?" The sadness and anger in his eyes panicked her. "Tell me!"

"Piper is dead."

At this her body flailed so wildly he thought she might hurt herself. "No!" She cried out again, loud enough to be heard over the storm. Frantic, Circ lifted his wet head to the sky and howled along.

"Shhhh..." He wrapped her in his arms, trapping her limbs gently. "You must be quiet. My men will be here soon, but there still may be enemies about." They remained there for quite a few minutes, while the rain slowed. And the king whispered to her, with his lips against her hair, endearments to calm her. "Be still, my dear one."

When, at last, the rain stopped and the sound of new hoof beats came above the noise of the storm, the king checked the princess and found she was asleep. He lifted her with no trouble and bore her on, to the place where his men had been led by River. And he himself carried her home.

*

Gloom fell over the palace. It was time for the late summer rains, also, and the low, grey clouds that spewed out a downpour every afternoon, did not help the dark atmosphere. Nor did the humidity, which hung thick as a giant's breath, making everyone's clothes slick against their skin.

In the hall outside the princess' rooms, the king paced. South, on the lip of the border, his black riders were gathered like crows at a killing. They used the stone castle as their barracks, and were in full operation to create weapons and train for a fight. From his self-appointed post, the king led them.

Messengers came and went. The king took the slips of paper and read the code: We have captured the conspirators. They were summer folk, but did not bear the mark of your brother's court. And, spies in the summer country have sensed tensions rising there. Harvest was not as big. But If they attack, we are ready for war.

But a week passed and nothing happened. A table and maps were set up in a room near the girl's chamber. The king spent his time there, looking over battle plans, his eyes turning constantly to the princess' closed door.

"My lord, your brother has sent a platoon to the bridge. They seem peaceful, but are all heavily armed. Should we respond?"

"Just secure the border. Let them make first attack, if they really want to."

"Our spies are unable to move freely."

"Call them in."

"But what of their reconnaissance to uncover the plot...?"

The king turned shadowed eyes to the dark corridor. Healers and nurses came frequently to and from, their muffled footsteps and voices appropriate for a funeral. "I don't care any more."

"If war breaks out, will you lead the first attack?"

"No, I will be here."

"But—" began the warrior, when a nurse exited the princess' room and beckoned, "My lord."

Instantly the king stood up from where he was bent over the table, leaning heavily on his arms. His joints creaked as if he hadn't moved in ages.

"I must speak to you about the princess," the woman said in a hushed voice.

"May I see her?"

Pursed lips of disapproval. Perhaps the desperate look of the king, or the evidence that he hadn't much eaten or slept for a long time, weakened her.

The chambers were dark as a womb. The king could barely see where to go; he followed the healer past the tables of water basins and herbs, nursemaids working with mortar and pestle. The princess was on her bed like a statue, her profile pale as chalk dust.

Silent with horror, the king sat heavily on a chest.

"She's been like this for over a week," said the healer woman. "I have seen nothing like it in all my days. If she doesn't wake soon..."

In her sleep, Kyri twitched and cried out. The king turned his head sharply at the sound. The healer only pursed her lips.

"She cries out often. Always for her mother." The woman thought she saw the king's jaw clench and face turn to stone, but her patient chose at that moment to stretch and groan—all in the clutches of fever. The sound was so great that those around stopped their work. They would have run to the bed to help, if the king did not give an order with a sharp cut of his hand:

"Leave me," he said.

The door closed behind the last, on their comments and even weeping. The man made of stone moved slowly to the bed, and stood at the foot of it. The girl there writhed, as if in the throes of death or worse. It seemed to the king that he watched the last life drain out of her.
And something in him melted. He went and knelt at the bedside, took the hand that beat against nothing, against air or invisible enemies. She stilled and he settled himself as well, not bearing to look up into her face and the dark lakes under her eyes that shadowed her whole self.

"Kyri, oh, Kyri. You don't know what you've done to me." The breathing seemed so soft, the skin so pale against the white sheets. Tentatively, he reached out and touched her face, pushed a sweaty strand of hair back. "You don't understand, dear one. If you die—I cannot..." He took his hand away.

"You cannot die. You must stay. I will work my magic for you," he said fiercely. "You must allow me to do it...you must let me help you."

The marble face held no expression.

"Oh, Kyri," he whispered again, and bowed his head to press against the limp hand on the edge of the bed. There he stayed, and the last bare whisper to reach dying ears—

"I will die for you."

*

He awoke to the sound of birds, singing to a bright, new day. The hand that had lain near his head was gone; he blinked away sleep and looked up anxiously—and met Kyri's tired, yet smiling eyes. She was breathing normally, but was too weak to respond when the king, joyous and overcome, jumped to his feet. Without thought, he leaned over the bed, first kissing her hand and then her forehead: the king's blessing.

He turned then, and left to find the healer. The woman was sleeping in the hall, and seemed almost displeased that her vigil had ended with the call of a happy, impatient king. She remained calm, believing nothing until she saw the patient. Still limp on the bed, Kyri raised one finger in greeting.

"You're awake," she said, and then called to the maids idling in the anteroom. "Fools—get this room ready! Your lady awakes."

Scurrying activity burst around her, Kyri lay very still. Eventually she spoke, in slow syllables, "How long did I dream?"

"Seven days and seven nights. Stay there, miss," the healer ended hastily, but the patient was already attempted to rise, and her nurse could do nothing but help her into a slightly raised position.

"Unveil the windows, please," the princess said, looking steadily at opposite wall.

"My lady, the draft—" the healer started, but her patient stared at the dark fabric until she gave the order.

As the velvet folds fell away, the healer watched shadows fall from the face of her patient. Outside was a grey and lonely day, but the lady smiled to see the soft rain on the hills.

"It is well," she said, and fell into a so sleep deep and healing, the healer felt she might finally go and have a real bath. When she returned she found that the great wolf hound Circ had found its way to the lady's sickroom. The healer nearly threw it and the guilty maids out, until she saw the lady's white hand resting on the shaggy head. And then she knew the princess would live.

*

The king, of course, had disappeared. After his outburst he fled the scene, pausing in the hallway outside to pace in gleeful excitement.

"My lord?" the steward approached, thinking the poor princess still ill. The king was moving nervously back and forth, worrying the flagstones, and didn't hear the man's approach. When the king threw up his hands and nearly shouted, "She shall have flowers!", whirling around to go, both of them got a scare.

Shortly after, the hallway was filled with servants carrying bouquets of roses, lilies and irises, peonies and even a tree or two, growing in a large pot. This went on until the hallway was filled with the overflow from the room, and still the king was not satisfied to stop. At least, not until he heard she had complained about the broth and gruel the healer had given her. Then he sent food.

And not just any food. Food from her own lands, food she had grown or seen sown. Rich, ripe strawberries, some as small as robin's eggs, other's big as a pine knot, sweet and full of sun. Honey, from the hives bordered on one side by a field of clover, the other by wildflowers. Whole limbs of trees weighted with cherries or peaches, with wisteria and honey suckle vines trailed between the fruit. Fish, caught from the king's own ponds, freshly cooked and slippery with butter. Small vials of oil, finely scented with rosemary or thyme. Milk brought in creamy and cool in the pail. A flask of bitters, and jug of elderberry wine.

The healer, throwing up her hands in despair, let the princess eat the strawberries, and a little milk and honey. The rest wreathed the tables, ready for another feasting day. Circ ate the fish.

Slowly, the princess grew well. And at last she came out of her home, carried a little ways and then walking to the carriage.

She was taken on a short trip to a village near by, to see the people, and have them see her, and to give a little advice on the spring planting. Before they set her back into the carriage, she asked to be taken to the edge of the field, where the ploughs had just been set in motion. They lay her on the grass, and she reached out and buried her hand into the earth. She remained there for some minutes, and then took some to her face to breath in the scent. (Well that the healer was not there, or she would have had conniptions). At last she said, "thank you," and allowed herself to be taken back to the castle. (where the healer saw her dirt laden hand, and did).

But the princess healed much more quickly after that. Soon she was outside, not riding yet, but walking the long roads to the farms. She went to speak with the working folk, or see their farms, or examine their seed and tell their children how to take some in the palm of their hands and fling it out slowly so that the rows would come out even. Circ never left her side.

She had another companion she, too, unbeknownst to her. This unseen shadow came along at a distance at first, and then closer, until every footstep she made on the wet grass of her lands was joined by another, and every sigh she made had a silent echo. The nurses allowed her out more and more, and often simply carried her blanket and water pail for her, set them down in a favorite spot, and then retreat. She would stay there for hours, overlooking the hills, or closer to the forest, walking about slowly or resting on the blanket, Circ bounding around or laying nearby to have his head scratched.

"Yes, dear," she would laugh when he nuzzled her hand for more. "Anything for you." And when his ears pricked up at another's invisible approach, or when he'd go and stand a ways from the blanket, as if waiting for someone, Kyri would let him, only calling him back, puzzled, to ask him what he knew.

"Is someone there?" she stroked the silky ears to hide her fear. Circ's doggy gaze and panting mouth told her nothing. She looked out over the windswept hills, watching the breeze tug on the grass with a frown. "What do you sense?" The wind passed, and with it her unsettled feeling. "Perhaps a handsome lord come to play court on our little party?" she joked, and waggled Circ's ears. He, submitting to this indignity, graciously licked her face.

It was one such day, when it looked like it would rain soon, they set her in the garden within sight of the palace.

"Now if you wander," warned the nurse, "don't go too far, my lady."

"You must let me go out a bit," Kyri complained. She was looking much healthier, with a flush to her cheeks where the wind struck them, a bit cold. The nurse came and pulled the shawl around her tighter, fussing, "Oh, you're all skin and bones—too small to withstand the wind."

"I'm fine—"

"You'll catch your death and then where would the king be? He suffered cruelly when you lay ill. We all did. Now—" the woman gave brisk instructions to her suddenly mute patient, "you may stay here if you rest, but only if you stay bundled up. And don't wander at all." The woman went away and Kyri sat there, a frown on her face even Circ couldn't not lick away. Finally, he lay down. Time passed and the wind picked up, making her shudder a little. Summer was dying, finally. The next season would be autumn, and then the final cold, and winter would reign again.

Without any visible warning, Circ's ears pricked up. He got up, nose pointing to something in the distance. After a while he let out a joyful bark, and thumped his tale.

"What is it, Circ?" But the hound was gone, bounding off the blanket and away to something in the distance. The princess shielded her eyes; the dog was facing due west, and the sun lingered there. She had not realized she had been sitting for so long. Something between her eyes and the sun shimmered, as if a shape would become solid. But as Circ came back along the ridge, and the light shifted, nothing was there.

Kyri tried to squint into the sun again, but this brought her eyes nothing more than bright spots. She leaned back and drew the blanket around her a little. The shape had been human-sized.

Afraid, she called out "Circ!" The dog came leaping back, happy as a puppy. She gathered the shaggy head to her, ignoring the panting, and hid her face behind the silky head.

Eventually the fear lessened. Circ was sturdy and protective, and half the size of a horse. Anyone would be mad to come after her with such a large mouth of canine teeth between them. Telling herself this, she finally stood, pointedly ignoring the spot on the horizon where she had seen the sun glimmer, and started to fold her own blanket. She reasoned she could do with the exercise, especially since simply reaching for the far corners had her panting. Circ watched with a faintly concerned expression. When a servant woman came running over the grass, a page boy with a small pony not far behind, Kyri was grateful.

"We'll get you back now, there's a dear."

"I feel stronger now," she told them. "Soon I will be able to ride again."

"Of course," the woman reassured her, even as she gave Kyri an arm to lean on and made the page take the blanket. Kyri gave one last look to the horizon, but there seemed to be nothing there on the sunset's edge.

"I don't understand it," Kyri said to the cook later that night, while she was perched on the warm stones near one of the kneading tables in the kitchen, "I looked and looked, but there was no one in sight."

"Might be a fairy, come to bring you three wishes," the cook was floured to the elbow, and braiding a new honey loaf for the hearth.

"I don't think so," Kyri said doubtfully. "Do you think it was an assassin?"

The cook laughed, "Hardly likely, girl. No one would try to come after one as sweet as you."

"Well, I am a princess," she said as practically as she could, "or so people call me."

"A title you've earned more than any other noble," the kind man assured her. "But even if it were some warrior, he wouldn't get very far past the king's protection around you."

Kyri's jaw dropped. She honestly had never thought of this. "Protection?"

"You have more guards than the king himself has," the cook nodded. "And the guards are more than just men."

"Really? Like what?"

The cook shrugged a floured shoulder toward the door. Outside, in the hall, Circ lay on the flagstones. He was not allowed in the bakery. When he saw them looking at him, he rolled his eyes miserably and let out a sigh.

"You didn't think that big mutt was just for cuddles, did you? Eat your dinner," the cook pushed her a plate of hot, new baked currant buns, "and then get along to the kennel, so he can have his."

"Yes, cook," the princess said obediently. But she did not forget her question.

*

It wasn't until the final day of planting for the autumn crop, on an eve that smelt of summer sun and tasted of spice, that the maiden found her answer.

The princess and Circ were walking towards the palace, having just spent the day in the vineyards. She was stronger now, with a summer's healthy blush on her cheeks. Circ was glad to be about, and she was allowed to stroll as long as he was by her side. As for her other guards, she never saw them, and this made her bolder.

Coming up out of the vines, she thought she felt a breath of wind on her arm. When she looked around, though, no wind was stirring the higher branches. Pretending to examine a crop of new grapes, she listened hard. After awhile it came, the small sound of someone walking closer, and an echo of a horse's whinny.

Standing straight again, she started to leave the vineyard. When she could, she looked slyly behind her. She still saw no one, but she had a plan. The path went by a little stream, no wider than Circ at some points. On the other side was a forest. Coming to a narrow place, the princess drew up her skirts and hopped across.

"Come on," she told the hound, "we won't go far. I just want to see if the laurel is blooming."

A few paces in and she was in deep shadow. The only light were splashes of gold, here and there. Further in, and she felt almost lost. Circ plowed ahead, but she moved carefully, especially after walking though a spider's invisible web, stretched between two birch trees. Then suddenly, they were in a lovely grove, full of ferns and other low, green plants. She paused there, and listened hard. Everything was silent. They were still alone.

"Further on, then," she whispered, and was about to start walking on out of the grove, when Circ gave a warning bark. The air between the birches was rippling.

"Princess," said a voice, just as a person shimmered into solidity right before her. It was the king. "I'm afraid you must stop here. You can go no further."

Even though she expected this, it took Kyri a moment to recover her voice. "I knew it must be you." she said. "I hadn't seen you for so long, not since I woke up from being sick." The king said nothing.

"You always used to ride by when I picnicked on the blanket, before. On that horse...what was his name? The black one."

"River."

"Ah," she nodded, and tried to think of something more to say. At that moment, a wet nose touched her hand. "You've met Circ," she patted the head beside her.

The king looked at her, not at Circ. "I know," he said. "I named him."

"Really?" her eyes widened in surprise. "I didn't know that."

"He used to be my favorite, you know," the king put out a hand, and the dog came right to him, sniffing his fingers and begging shamelessly for a stroke.

"I think he hopes he still is," Kyri said softly. Cocking her head to one side, she asked, "Are you one of my guards?"

The king actually laughed. "When I am able. I am responsible for your safety. That way-" he pointed past her, "is not safe."

Turning to inspect it, she saw only harmless trees and brambles. "Why not?"

"Because of the scourge of the north, the Vargs. Giant wolves, bigger than Circ. They're not natural wolves—or maybe they once were, before going too far north. There's a lot of power there. Magic made the Vargs. Regular wolves are no problem—just a sheep or two. Vargs actually seek out and attack us."

Her eyes had grown large and frightened, and so he went on, "Oh, not regularly. Mostly only when the miners or lumberjacks try to push further north and enter Varg territory. Once and awhile they do come down further south, and we have to repel them."

"Do you fight them?"

"Me? Of course. On River. They're part magical, you know, so swords alone can't kill them."

"You do magic? Like me?" She sounded so amazed and delighted, the king was taken off guard.

"I—" he hesitated. "Yes. In a manner of speaking. It's complicated. Look, shall we return?" The light through the branches was a darker gold.

She didn't move. "I have more questions."

He indicated that they should start moving, and she obeyed. The trio made it out of the forest and over the stream, and halfway to the palace, and then the king stopped and said, "If you have any questions, princess, do ask. If I can answer, I will."

The minutes walking had given her time to think, and gain courage. But still she bit her lip and wrung her hands before saying quickly. "What is your name?"

"My name?" the king was startled.

"Yes... I assume you have one."

"Yes, I do. I am Damon."

"Damon," she said. She tried it out again, with more generosity, "Damon. Do people really call you that?"

"Well, no," said Damon, even as she realized and said, "Oh, I didn't think." They started walking. Behind them, the sky was lit with softly burning color.

"If we are asking questions, it is my turn."

"Very well."

"Are you well?"

"My lord," she laughed, "that is hardly a hard question."

"I am serious... you were not for some time. And—" this time he hesitated, "Call me Damon."

She dared to glance up at him, then. Her eyes were violet in the twilight. "Then, Damon, I am well."

There were shy smiles on both faces. Then, as one, they started back towards the palace.

"Thank you," she said when they were back in sight of the gardens.

He frowned, "For what?"

She stopped and he did also. "For being there. When I was ill. I know...I was told you were at my side when the fever broke."

"It was very hard. You called out, often. But I could not answer."

"Why not?"

"You did not call out for me." He put his hand to the garden gate, hesitated, then unlatched it and opened it for her.

"Princess—"

"Please," she said, "call me Kyri."

"Very well, then, Kyri. It has been a pleasure walking you home."

"Then, Damon, it's been a pleasure walking." She spoke lightly, but he was still quite sober and thoughtful, his voice too deep to read. "Perhaps I will see you again. Or not see you, if you prefer." Ready for a dinner bone, Circ pushed her aside to go into the garden ahead of her. She turned to follow. "Goodnight, Damon."

"Goodnight, princess," he whispered only after she had gone, when there were only velvety shadows in the place were he vanished.

*

It was several days later before she sensed his presence again. It was sunset, and the rich light allowed few secrets. She was walking through the broad gardens within sight of the palace, and heard something on the wind. Turning, she saw no one but her and Circ, padding over the grass of the extensive garden. But the feeling remained—there was someone just out of reach, in the corner of her eye.

Calmly, she went and sat on a bench, telling Circ to sit beside her while she searched over the hills and copses for signs of anyone.

"I know you're there," she called finally. "Show yourself."

Nearby, a human outline appeared and then shimmered into existence. "You are brave to order a king."

"I am a princess," she said, "It comes with the territory."

A softness entered his face as he smiled, and then he laughed, surprising them both.

"You have been riding," she noted, as he settled himself on the lawn near her. He was wearing clothes of black fabric and leather. "Why do you never take me out riding?"

"You are still too weak."

She sniffed, "You have been listening to my nurses again," she sniffed and waved her hand over the green. "I am strong enough to dance over all these hills, and more besides. If I ran, would you chase me?" She cocked her head coyly at him.

"It would be a short chase."

"If I had a head start?"

"Princess, if you ever ran away, I would follow you until I found you. But why do you speak of this? Are you thinking of running?"

She looked out over the hills. "Perhaps. If only to see if you really would follow." She forced a smile to her face, but the mood had shifted. There was a sober silence and Kyri watched the king carefully.

"Princess. I have a question."

Without meaning to, Kyri shivered. Circ came beside her, and she put an arm around him. "Ask," she said.

But the king's words were not so obedient as his men. Kyri waited longer, and then put a hand to his shoulder—he was close enough—and said again, "Ask." And the king found himself taking her hand and handling it gently—turning it over and over and tracing the palm. She didn't dare to breathe, but sat very still, as if a wild bird had come suddenly to roost and sing on her hand.
"My lord... I mean, Damon," she said. "Tell me."

"I want to know if you are happy here...in this place...In this land."

"I am."

The answer took his breath away. He almost dared to look up. "But...do you miss your mother?"

"My mother?" she said carefully, as if she didn't know who this person was. She stood, and he stood with her. They walked together through the silence. He looked sidelong at her face, to study it, but her features were veiled in shadow.

"Do you remember her?"

"Yes. And no." Shadows passed over her face, as she remembered fires in the hearth, a dark haired lady on whose lap she sat, with servants made of flames moving around them. "She was more than just a mother, I think. She was very powerful. But I loved her." She smiled, but when she saw Damon's face she cried out with concern, "But that was another part of my life! Damon, I love...all this, too." Her hand swept an arc to the palace gardens, the hills, to the thin gold line of horizon beyond the valley.

"That life was lovely. So is this."

The frightening look had gone from the king's face. But there was still a touch of sadness and pain. "I took you from that life, and your mother. I thought there was good in it, but..."

"There was good in it."

"But you left behind your mother. You called out for her, you know, when you were ill. You called for her to save you."

This troubled her. She looked away, trying to remember what she dreamed of, in those long nights saturated with sweat. Over and over, she descended down into a tunnel filled with blue light. And the way it took her lead on and on until...

The princess had grown so pale the king almost put out his hands to catch her. "Kyri? What is it?"

But she said nothing, only shivered. A cold wind was blowing from the north, carrying on it the scents of autumn.

"What? Kyri-" He did touch her then, and support her frail weight. Even as he searched her face, she avoided his eyes. "Tell me," he said.

But she shook her head, and then swayed so violently that the king, now alarmed, took her up into his arms to carry her swiftly home. Circ led the way, barking his own concern. By the time they reached the garden gate, the princess was recovered enough to protest.

"You should not be left alone on your excursions. A faint could overwhelm you at any time, and then you'd be helpless."

"Please," she said, "I am fine. No, I am strong enough—I just had a dizzy spell. You don't have to protect me." She wriggled, but his arms were tight around her, and so she reached down and unlatched the garden gate again. He carried her right to a chair, and knelt beside it.

"You are too precious to lose...after all that has happened..." rage threatened to consume his face. "Hunter—I should have known..."

The look on his face frightened her, but she spoke, "No, no, Damon, please. It was the curse...It was not your fault."

"What? What curse?" he looked at her with such fury she cringed. "No—I do not mean to frighten you. It's only—I knew a man who spoke of a curse long ago. When we took you from your homeland, there was a great upset in the world's magic. There is a balance that must be kept. Yet...how could it be balance to have one land so prosperous, and the other starving?"

She shook her head, mute.

"It could not be that way, Kyri. And even if it was wrong to right it—I may be damned for it—"

"No!" she cried out now. "Do not say that."

"Then do not speak of the curse—" he said sharply. "Any curse that comes must fall on me. It cannot touch you, Kyri, don't you understand... I must protect you," he said roughly, but the hand that touched her cheek was gentle. cheek. She lifted her own hand, and held his there. "I don't think you realize what losing you would do to me."

It took her a moment to realize what he said. "You mean, to the land."

"No, Kyri. To me." His eyes were dark as a forest pool. "You brought life to more than just the soil and fields." He took her hand then, and kissed it.

Then he rose. "I should go."

"Damon—"

"Kyri."

"You need not stay away," she said. "I...like it when you are here."

"Very well," he said, and his face was fierce, but only because he was fighting a smile. "Tomorrow I will take you riding on River."

Her whoop of joy made Circ sit up from his nap. "Noon tomorrow," she said. "You must promise me."

"I promise."

She gave a smile and his heart beat away from him, like a bird on wings. "Find me in the berry patch."

*

He found her the next day among the blueberry bushes, underneath the branches. She was picking the berries while lying on her back, her hair spread under her.

"Kyri," he stepped out from behind the bush. Beside them, Circ snorted in his sleep.

"Oh, goodness, you scared me," she said. The smile on his face made her suspicious. "How long have you been watching me?"

"Only a few minutes. You won't pick half as many if you eat every other one, you know."

"You're late," she said, getting up, "I had to find lunch as best I could."

"Then, if you've eaten, can I tempt you to get out of this heat?" he held out a hand.

"Absolutely," she said with relief, and took it.

"You must promise to tell me when you are tired," he said as he lifted her to the saddle. "We will not go far anyway; there is a place I want to show you."

They rode River away from the patch, and up from the valley. Kyri rode with her eyes closed, clinging to the king's waist, feeling him breathe against her arms. When he finally stopped she opened them.

"This is the place I have wanted to show you," he said, and let her down from the horse. She looked around the half circle of trees with a frown for they seemed familiar.

"Do you recognize this place?"

She walked a little further, and then stopped. A lake stretched out from her feet, its surface dark and polished as obsidian.

"I brought you here from the castle. It was winter then, and we were in the sleigh."

"I remember," she said, and they shared knowing glances—forgiveness, understanding passed between them easy as a look.

"Your tears watered something there, something that grew. Its roots broke the stone, and the water trapped underground spilled free. Look, Kyri."

And so she did, and when she did, she saw the tree of which he spoke—large and full, branches outstretched in splendor. It was standing, still, somehow, in the middle of the lake, and its twin was reflected back at it.

"How can this be?" she asked.

"It's magic," said Damon, and as if to show her there was nothing to fear, strode into the water until it came waist high. "You see? You made this place anew. You made me anew." And he looked at her with such joy, she couldn't help but smile back. "Come to me," he asked.

So she waded into the water to him, her eyes never leaving his face to show she was without fear. When she reached him, he drew her even closer, curling his hands around her and stroking her back, her arms, her hair and face.

"Kyri," he whispered. "Oh, Kyri, you are so beautiful."

She lifted her face shyly to him, and he bent down, and then a crashing sound announced that Circ had finally woken up, tracked them down, and entered the water. He joined them, frantically paddling.

"Oh, you," Kyri splashed at him and looked ruefully up at the king, "He found us."

"He's good at that. My best hound and tracker was his sire. His mother was a varg."

"Really?"

"Mmmm," said the king. "And now my lady, I shall save you! There is a Varg come to eat you and you must not die!" shoving a roll of water towards the dog, he grabbed Kyri and lifted her in his arms. She laughed wildly; Circ swam unhappily around.

The sun had sunk quite far before they left the water to ride home.

A cold breeze blew past them. The king shivered a little when it touched his wet skin, but still smiled. "Autumn is coming," he said, "but I do not fear the cold. Or winter." He looked at Kyri then, and her heart swelled. But when the cool air came again, she closed her eyes. Instantly, the vision of the tunnel and the blue light came to her.

"Kyri? What's wrong?"

She waited a moment, then opened her eyes. "It is nothing," she smiled at him, wondering if he saw the sadness that was growing in her. "I just remembered the melons should be harvested soon—they will rot on the vine."

"Come then," the king stood and helped her up. "Let's go melon hunting."

He led her away with jokes to harvest her laughter, and reaped well. But in Kyri's heart, the cold wind remained.

*

And now, the people were talking of the king and the time spent with the princess. They hardly had time to, with the heavy harvest work, but they still gossiped. Kyri was grew stronger by the day; a healthy blush came to her cheeks when she saw the king riding to her. He came to her every day he could, but more and more, it seemed, business at the river border or dealings with his brother, who was disgruntled after a only slightly satisfactory harvest, stole his time. Even the vargs to the north were restless. Kyri walked about the king's fields, inspecting the yield of vegetable and grain. When she was bored, she grew the melons into such giants that they were impossible for one page boy to lift. When the king was called away to the south, to sign a trade treaty with the summerland, Kyri oversaw the harvest with Circ at her side. They rode in a wagon full of cabbages about the hills, and showed the men how to bundle the sheaves of grain so that the heads would keep off the rain and not rot. Near the end of the day, a messenger came.

"My lady, the king sends word. He thanks you for your work, and begs pardon for his absence."

"Is the treaty going through?"

"All is well—the summer king is glad his people will benefit from our great harvest. Our king has been more than generous. They are saying that His Majesty Damon's wine is praised as the best."

"Very well," she said. "Tell him the harvest will be in within the week, although he is missed, his people have done well without him."

"Thank you, princess. There is one more message. He says, "Forget this treaty. A king will grow in your garden by the whole of the moon."

"Thank you." Kyri gave a small smile, but looked distant.

The man bowed and left her, his own tongue full of gossip for the telling. "She blushed at his name and is eager for his return. She sighs with longing. When he returns, he should offer her the crown. We'll have a queen by fall."

It was after the harvest, not a week from receiving the message and just days shy of the full moon, when Kyri woke suddenly hours before dawn. There was no sound in the palace, nor outside, yet her heart was thudding and mind full of the last image of her dream—a tunnel full of blue light.

"No," she mumbled, and looked around. Circ was asleep near the hearth, exhausted as she had been. That day they had seen the last of the grain cut and sent off to the storehouses. Sleep was the only thing on everybody's mind—celebration would be soon, after the king returned from the treaty.

It was bright in her room—a fire was burning in the hearth. It was not one that she had lit, and at first she though a servant had come in. But when she rose and looked around, she realized the air was full of magic, and the fire itself was extraordinary, alive with the flames of the hearth dancing into small beings. She blinked her eyes and then turned away firmly. Grabbing up her cloak, she went into the garden. Circ slept on unawares.

Kyri stood at her garden gate, and lifted her chin to the north. A wind blew from there, calling to her; she turned her head to its music. The light of dawn was reaching from the east. And, still thinking she was in a dream, she let herself out of the gate and stepped into the dark.

The dew was thick on the grass. Her steps lead true north, as if something called her. She hesitated once, at the place were field stopped and forest began. But she continued on.

Whether she walked for an hour, a day, a week is forgotten. Echoes of Circ's bark came to her now and again—she knew he was not following, though once and awhile a furry face peered out at her, large and fanged like Circ's was, though more wild. Vargs, guardians of the magic. They let her pass.

She passed groves of birch and thickets of pine. There were rocks with lichen and even streams spilling over them, as she climbed—the land sloped up. Here and there in the shadows were piles of snow. Nothing stopped her, though, until she reached the piles of white stone. They were mounded up with a dark opening at their base, just like in her dream. She started for it, and jumped back when a slavering varg leaped at her, snarling. It was chained to the rock by a rusty length of iron. Staring into its red eyes, she reached into her pocket for the biscuits she always kept there, honeyed cakes the good hearted cook made for Circ. When she tossed them out, the varg leaped up and caught them in its mouth. It whined then, as sweet as Circ when he wanted more biscuits, and let her pass. It was then that she knew she would not see her dog, or the palace, again.

The cave was a tunnel, long and narrow. She had long left the entrance, with the light and snow spilling in, but it had grown no darker, or less cold. The tunnel glowed with its bright stone, and every so often, the veins in the rock pulsed blue. Kryi moved along it swiftly, not stumbling, though she did once pause to put her hand out towards the stone. The heat from her palm dissipated in the chilled air, but she patiently waited until the pulse came and shot under her hand. Then she hurried on. When she came to a split in the tunnel, she went left.

Now the echoing silence was broken by a light sound, a lovely sound. Without meaning to, Kyri's steps quickened. She came round a corner, and stopped at the sight: the cave broadened into a large cavern, complete with running water, fresh air, and, coming from the roof, what looked like sunlight. Her eyes were blinded by the great light.

"Come, child," called a warm voice, a chilling voice, an old voice and a young one. Moving forward, she saw three figures standing by the lip of the pool. The water flowed over the crags of the cavern side, and came all the way to the center, where the light and water met. There, the three stood.

As she came closer, she could see they were different. One was old, the other young and fresh. The third was dark-haired, and looked familiar to Kyri. She was neither young nor old.

"You look more and more like your mother," said the old, rasping voice. The young one nodded. Both the young and the ancient face looked from Kyri to the third figure, and Kyri knew.

"Mother!" Kyri cried, and would have run to her, but the woman lifter her hand to stop her. That hand stopped her more than a thousands chains would. A look of pain crossed Kyri's face.

"Am I not your daughter," she asked, her own palms out.

"Welcome, daughter, we've been expecting you." was the cool reply. The woman turned. "There is work to do."

The other two turned also. Before them was the pool, round and full, fed by clearest, coldest springs, deep in the earth yet still forced to make there way down, to this tunnel in the womb of the earth.

"We look at the lands," the young voice started, almost chanting. In the pool images formed and swirled away. "We find imbalance," the old voice continued the chant.

"We will fix the imbalance." Kyri's mother sounded firm, ready, almost warlike. "We have done it before."

The third was a sort of reflection. It was Kyri, looking at her puzzled self calmly. When the real Kyri asked, "Who are you?" and reached out her hand, the reflection rippled away to nothing. "What is this place?"

"Here we judge the world."

"It's not yours to judge," Kyri said. "You are not rulers. You did not create it."

"We keep the magic," said her mother.

"You used to," Kyri said, "until I was taken away. You used me, mother, for my magic. It was mine and mine alone. It should have fallen where I willed, equally on all people."

"You are still a child," when the matron finally spoke, her voice echoed about the cavern.

"I am old enough to decide," said Kyri.

"Careful," said the old woman. "There's a curse that's yet to fall."

"It shall fall on me," said Kyri. "I will not allow it to harm another."

Her mother moved in front of her. She looked Kyri deep in the eye, and then studied her body. "You have grown," she said. "Your body is a woman's."

Kyri was stilled by her mother's words. "I am ready," she whispered.

But the matron and the old woman exchanged glances. The elder shook her head. "No, daughter," the matron said. "The choice is not yours."

"The king will come," said the old woman, turning her head as if she could hear hoof beats. "There will be a sacrifice." Kyri listened to the cracking voice in horror. "The curse will fall. A life for the life of the land. That is the balance. He is the ruler, it is for him to die. Then balance will return. We will make it so."

"We will," the matron confirmed.

"No!" Kyri shouted, and tried to move. The air had turned thick as water around her. Blue light flashed; her mother's face was fixed before her, and then Kyri collapsed from consciousness.

*

Outside the cave, a weary man on a dark horse rode hard up to the white cliffs. Snarling, the varg leaped at them, and was met first by River's hooves, then by the king's sword, already bloody from the waves of vargs that fell on them as soon as they trespassed into the high, magic filled north.

The king had known the minute he arrived back at the palace that something was wrong. The garden gate had been shut, but as he approached, a servant opened it and Circ tore out, barking. The dog had not gone to the king, but streaked across the field, due north.

"What has happened?"

"My lord," the man had said, his face grey, "The princess is gone."

Without a word, the king had turned River. The two of them followed the distant form of Circ, racing as no other unmagical thing could. Into the forest River had plunged, paying no heed to tearing branches. They had caught up with the half hound right before they reached a great lake. The dog was fast, but River, a champion made by magic of the king, was faster. Besides, no mere beast can run across water as if it is a black road. As soon as they left it, the vargs had attacked. Their teeth flashed like knives, and came against the king's lone sword. Gritting his teeth, Damon sliced as best he could. The vargs were large, red eyed beasts, half crazed with magic. Whenever there was a lull in their attack, River shook them off and surged forward. His sharp hooves cut into the giant wolves' hides.

It may have been hours they fought like this, with vargs falling on them from every side. When his arm was tired, the king used magic, pushing the vargs away with an invisible wall. They slunk alongside and leaped from rocks, trying to breach the shield. But then the king smiled. He had seen the white stones up ahead.

Just then, a wolf leaped onto the warhorse from above. It caught the king and River off guard, and the king's arm was trapped. Damon turned his face away from the hot, rabid breath as the mouth came close, snapping and snarling. After stumbling, River threw his weight forward, bucking with back legs and then rearing up. Every muscle the king had was clenched with holding on. With a yelp, the varg rolled off, and was trampled to death under the horse's hooves. Then River rallied.

"Go," the king shouted, and with sudden strength, River burst through the last strip of pines between them and the clearing.

As if afraid to leave the forest, the creatures melted away. Hot and bloodied, the two victors approached the bleached mountain. The king dismounted, only to be met with the angry jaws of another varg. This one leaped to the end of its chain and found itself skewered on the end of the king's sword. Damon let the blade fall, exhausted.
"Let's hope that's the last of them," he said to the warhorse. Turning, he entered the cave.

Echoes sounded from the walls, so the king ran down a tunnel of sound. A woman's voice was speaking.

"Welcome, daughter, we've been expecting you..."

The king rounded corner after corner, cursing the teasing echo that made him think the speaker was near.

"There is a curse..."

"It must fall on me!" the voice nearly stopped the king short. He recognized it. "Kyri," he breathed, and hastened on.

"...A sacrifice must be made."

The king arrived in time to see the girl fall onto the stone. Her mother was beside her, placing the body more neatly, making it ready. The older woman turned, having whetted a knife, and handed the blade to the matron.

"Do not touch her!" the cry echoed around the cavern. Without looking up, the mother smiled. Damon, laboring up the steps as if the air was mud, stretched out his arms. "She must not die."

"But someone must," the mother's red lips tipped into a smile. The king reached the top of the steps, sweat across his brow. "Then take me." His voice was breathless, but he managed to stand up straight, and repeat, "Take me. I will die for her, for the land."

"Are you sure?" the hag cackled.

The king glanced at her, and then turned to look down at Kyri, resting as peaceful as a child on the slab. She did not stir or seem to hear at all.

"Do you give yourself willingly?"

"Yes," he said, without looking away from the maiden's face. "I will die for you."

"Very well," the two said together. The body on the slab faded slowly away.

"What?" the king shouted, and the echoes nearly deafened him. "Where is she?"

The matron gestured impatiently for him to lie down on the stone. "She is fine, and returned home. Even now she sits up on the lawn of the palace you built for her, and see her wolf running to her. With his help she stands," the woman kept speaking as the king did her bidding, and lay down. The stone was colder than anything he had imagined, cold enough to tear the skin from his bones. With effort he forced himself to rest, and as the soothing voice went on with the sound of a spinning whetstone, he closed his eyes... "She is going towards the palace, where the birds are singing in her garden for the dawn. And now she turns, and looks north, and remembers..."

The blow was sudden. The pain swiftly followed. And then the king felt himself falling, falling, flying as if he was a bird over fields full of wheat, of leafy green vines, and finally, houses and farms and a palace on a hill, with tiers of plantings layered all the way down into the valley. And then it was as if he swooped down closer, and approached the east wing, where men and women were gathering and looking north expectantly, as if waiting for someone.

Kyri, he thought, they're waiting for Kyri. He could almost touch the ground, but then he was lifted, and the beating of a bird's wings seemed to fall into the rhythm of a horse's gait. River was under him and galloping. Ahead of them, at the palace, the people were beginning to point and cry out happily—looking to him, why to him, oh, where was she?

As he drew closer River slowed. He could see the faces of the crowd, and how they parted, and a woman, tall and dark haired and radiant, came forward. She was alive, as he was, and there on her brow was a crown.

*