Page 16 of Foundling

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Leita didn’t leave Fallorian as she’d originally planned. Instead, she accompanied Allarion, Molly, and Bellarand east, following first the Lune River and then the shoreline of Dyfan Bay. After a few days of pleasant travel, the three caught a barge that would bear them across the strait that separated the faelands from the Spearhead, a rugged peninsula claimed by the orcs.

Leita watched them go with no small amount of envy.

Much of her life had been spent in the misty hills of the Spearhead. Barely populated, by orcs or otherwise, she and Thalia had made something of a life for themselves there amongst the cypresses and sea otters. Her burgeoning magic had taken to the wildness of the land, and even now, Leita thought she could hear the peninsula calling her home.

If only the faelands had greeted her with half so much goodwill. Perhaps then she might not be so quick to flee Fallorian.

Her mood was as damp and dreary as the weather. Allarion’s barge soon disappeared into the soupy haze, even the boat’s lantern and the hulking figures of the orcish oarsmen swallowed by the grayness.

On a clear day, the Spearhead was easy to spot from the shoreline, but Leita supposed it was fitting she couldn’t see it now.

It might be too tempting to swim for it if I could see it, she mused.

We still could, Thalia replied. We know it’s there, even if it’s hidden.

Leita sighed, the cool, wet air gathering on her upper lip. Instead of giving into temptation, she remounted Thalia.

You know what a conniption Tamerlan would have if we did.

He’d have to find us first.

She chuckled at that as Thalia turned northeast. Somehow, of anyone, I think he would.

That city creature? He wouldn’t last a night in the wilderness.

He would, if only out of spite.

Well, then, we’d best get ourselves lost.

Leita heartily agreed, content to let Thalia choose their way as they themselves disappeared into the dense forests of the faelands.

Without company, Leita and Thalia didn’t bother with niceties like bedrolls or campfires. Spring was a time of abundance, and they wanted for nothing, perfectly happy to bed down in moss and fill their bellies with berries, nuts, plums, and wild garlic. The water flowing in all the streams and creeks sprang from the northern Griegen Mountains, spilling eventually into the Lune River cold and crystalline with a hint of sweetness on the tongue.

She’d been warned that there were few villages or estates in the hinterlands, so close to the border with orcish territories. That suited Leita just fine, determined as she was to commune not with fae but magic.

For long hours each morning, Leita chose a quiet spot to sit and meditate. Ladies Eilean and Idrisil had taught her various methods for communicating with the faelands and its magic; some they remembered from texts, others they thought had been used by other royal fae, and still others, Leita was sure, they’d made up entirely.

She was desperate enough to try anything, though.

As Thalia amused herself hunting for truffles or rabbits, Leita made herself sit still and…

Listen, she supposed, but the faelands wasn’t saying much.

The magic of the forests and foothills and streams wasn’t too different from what she was used to before her reign. The Lune River was loud and arrogant, assured of its path. The mountains were somber and quiet, watchful over the lands below. The forests teemed with flora and fauna, a chaotic symphony of life and rebirth, death and decay.

It was a different weft from that of Fallorian’s in the weave of magic that made up the faelands. The city had a sentience in its stalwart position overlooking the sea. It felt every being inside it, knew every stone that made up its structures. The capital in many ways had a similar feel to it as the fae did. Made by the fae over millennia with their own hands and magic, it made a sort of sense that Fallorian had become, in essence, one large fae sentience.

The faelands’ wilderness had its own kind of personality, a kind Leita was more familiar with. And hoped to get along with better.

Yet, morning after morning, she found the forest wary and the mountains apathetic. The river, unafraid as it was of anything, was curious at least, but nothing of the faelands welcomed her.

Whereas Fallorian had been brutalized by Amaranthe, it seemed the wilderness had been entirely forgotten. Abandoned and unused to the touch of a Queen, it regarded her as suspiciously as the deer and the foxes and the badgers.

That could just be me, Thalia laughed, a little evilly.

Letting loose a gusty sigh, Leita fell back onto the ground, arms and legs spreading across the soft carpet of grass and moss.