Messenger in the Mist. Aubrie Dionne
of cotton fabric. She filled a cup of water from the washbasin and positioned it in front of the bunnyfly along with the last crumbs of bread.
As Star watched the animal nibble the stale morsels, she wondered again how such a sequestered, prized pet wandered into such danger. People couldn’t even get past the walls, and yet a senseless bunnyfly sneaked out, undetected. She sat by it on the floor, petting its furry head until the animal fell asleep. There was only one way it could escape. The fortress must have a crack in the facade so deep it penetrated through to the inner district, or a secret tunnel. Star stored the possibility away. She would think on it later. Now she had letters to sort.
There was a woodstove by the window, along with a pile of kindling and matches. Star started a fire, the coaxed flames breathing warmth to her small room. With great anticipation, she opened her pack bag, spreading the letters out onto the floor. She knew she should rest, but the lure of the unknown was too strong to ignore. Star needed to know where her morning roving would take her. Quickly, she organized the rolls of stamped papers into piles. The streets of Ravencliff sprang up in her memory, each letter becoming a stop along the way.
There were several letters for the inhabitants of the inner district, a place where they had an excess of money to spare on such frivolities as correspondence. Most of the letters were for the royal guardsmen of the castle. They had family members in both kingdoms, their orders taking them to posts without thought of their own personal agendas. Star always felt for those away from their homes. She would deliver their letters first.
As the pile slimmed down, Star became more and more disgruntled. She possessed no letters addressed to the royal family, thus no way to visit the prince. Disappointed, she gave in to rest. The journey caught up to her, leaving her limbs sore and weary. The fire in the woodstove rose to full flames, leaving a heady, warm ambiance inviting sleepy dreams.
Hilda’s boisterous knock woke Star just as she nodded off in front of the orange light. “Dinner.”
Star rushed to the door, her mind still muddled by the haziness of sleep. She opened the door to see a large platter of meats and roasted potatoes, apple cider and gingerbread. Hilda had cooked a feast.
“Hilda,” Star said, her voice husky with wonderment, “this is wonderful. Thank you!” Somehow, the opulence of the food made Star forget how long it had taken to arrive.
But Hilda paid her no heed. In fact, she almost tipped the tray and dropped the food right onto Star. In a swift move, Hilda fell back a step, stumbling into the narrow hallway.
Star reacted quickly, sliding her arms underneath the tray. Hilda stared wide-eyed into her room. If Star hadn’t reacted quickly, she would have been wearing her dinner instead of eating it. The innkeeper seemed like a hard woman to impress, but here she was, gaping like a schoolgirl watching soldiers march in a parade.
“What’s the matter?” Star wondered if she’d somehow damaged the interior of her lodgings. “Hilda, are you all right?”
“Why, I never…” Hilda mumbled. “That’s Nina’s pet.”
It took long moments for Star to realize Hilda stared at the bunnyfly. The animal looked up from the makeshift bed with large and vacant eyes, a piece of crumb bread stuck in its whiskers. It cooed softly, a polite noise sounding like a question.
Star’s memory referenced the entire catalog of names she had delivered letters to in Ravencliff, but could think of no one named Nina. The pairing was odd because someone wealthy enough to have a bunnyfly would obviously have enough money for regular correspondence. “I’m sorry, I do not know of a Nina.”
Hilda’s eyes never left the bunnyfly. “Nina’s just what we call her here at the tavern. That animal belongs to Bellanina, the king’s daughter.”
“Oh.” Star’s thoughts raced faster than Windracer could ever carry her. Suddenly the bunnyfly didn’t seem as ridiculous. “I found it on the moors. What should I do?”
“The poor thing’s been missin’ for three days now. The king ordered every soldier on duty to keep their eyes peeled. The promised reward is great. Why, you should deliver it to the castle first thing in the morning.”
“The castle.” Star tried not to smile as her heart basked in the thought. “Of course.”
Chapter 3
Breach
The castle was the centerpiece of Ravencliff, like a dark cherry on a cream-frosted cake. Chipped from the onyx stone of the mountain, the walls were polished slates of ebony sprinkled with crevices of grainy gold, where black ravens pieced together their nests with hay. The marble hall towered above the other dwellings of the city. Framed by a stone fence high enough to shadow the sun in midday, it was a fortress within a fortress, the pinnacle of the city.
It was easy enough for Star to gain access. Instead of presenting the royal seal on a letter, Star reached into her shirt and displayed the glittering bunnyfly. The guards stopped chattering in mid-sentence and parted before her like sheep before a wolf, the whites of their eyes growing with newfound curiosity. The path cleared and Star encouraged Windracer on.
A guard broke the silence as Star rode past. “Where did you find it?”
“Where no one is allowed to go,” Star answered over her shoulder. She was feeling a bit mischievous, holding her key to the castle in both hands.
“Where’s that? The king’s brewery?” another guard quipped, igniting a series of rowdy laughter.
“No.” Star strode in an elegant ceremonial canter, her translucent cloak glimmering in her wake.
“Then where was the silly thing?”
Star pulled back on the reins, halting Windracer in mid-step. She turned in her saddle to face the speaker of the question. Although his tone was haughty, he was a young lad, barely graduated from the academy. Uneven stubble grew in patches on his face. “The moors.”
Silence followed as if her words turned them to stone. No one laughed any longer. Star nudged Windracer back into motion and continued along the way, passing them like she strode among statues. There were no further questions. As she left the brigade, she heard one of them mumble, “Poor Arwen, rest in peace.” Star no longer wondered about the truth of the stable hand’s story.
Star approached the marble hall and dismounted, leaving Windracer to rest in the shade of a Blackwood. The castle perched on the bald spot of a foothill, several feet from ground level. Here the mist was but a shady afterthought, and the sun warmed the earth and gilded the royal gardens. Star had entered the inner sanctuary, a palace reserved for Ravencliff’s elite.
She walked through rows of columns. The royal emblem of Ravencliff decorated the sandstone: a single bird flying free from a high perch on a sharp crag. Secretly, Star scoffed at the symbol. The rulers had improperly attributed such an image of freedom to a fortress where the inhabitants remained locked away. Perhaps it was a distant hope, a future they strived for to no avail.
The doors to the marble hall were propped open, allowing Star to enter the main antechamber. Lined with dramatic tapestries, velvet curtains and cushioned chairs, the hall was a regal testament to Ravencliff’s exquisite grandeur. Dignitaries formed circles of gregarious speech, council ambassadors strolled with servants in tow and members of the extended royal family lounged, creating a sea of voices where laughter and whispers rode the waves in tides.
Star picked her way through the mingling crowd. She had the privilege of stepping into the inner sanctuary many times before to deliver correspondence and knew exactly whom to speak to regarding the matter of the bunnyfly. A desk raised on a pedestal stood at the far end of the great hall, where the chief of acquisitions sat, smug as a judge, in a leather studded chair.
Star frowned impatiently when she saw the line. The trail of people stretched halfway across the grand room, weaving in between the columns like a snake. She had not come at the best time. Scratching the bunnyfly’s head, Star took her place at the end of the line behind a scrawny