Princess Willowyn's Arc

Chapter 31 of 70

Willowyn held the wall for three days. She had not slept. She held the river through the first night, when both armies stared and did not move. She held it through the second, when the two flag-riders shouted across the water and began to speak. She held it through the third, when their captains came to the bank and traded terms she could not hear. The water never dropped. Her arms shook. Her breath came in gasps. She kept her hands raised because if she stopped, the swords would return. On the third dusk, the shouting turned to nods. Men lowered their weapons. Willowyn saw it happen, and something in her let go. The river fell. It crashed back into its bed and ran quiet. She felt her knees fold. The valley tilted. She dropped into the mud before she knew she was falling. Raven caught her. "Oh, Willowyn, you've drained your energy." She sank down and pulled Willowyn onto her lap. Raven was the witch who had trained her for a year, blunt and cold, the one who had crossed the ocean at her side. Now her hands were gentle. She brushed her fingers through Willowyn's dark red hair. "Foolish girl. You held it too long." Willowyn could not lift her head. She heard hooves. A man rode toward them across the churned field. Raven shot to her feet. She pulled her wand from her cloak and pointed it at the rider. "Any closer and I'll turn you into a mouse!" Her voice cracked across the valley. The green fox pressed low against her boots, fur bristling. The rider reined in hard. He raised one hand. With the other he tugged a white handkerchief from his belt and threw it. It landed in the mud at Raven's feet. "I mean no harm," he said. "We want to thank the girl who saved us from this war." He looked past Raven to Willowyn, small and pale in the dirt. "The king wants to meet her." Raven studied his face a long moment. Then she nodded and lowered the wand. "She can't stand. You'll wait until she can." "We'll wait," the man said. Raven knelt again and gathered Willowyn against her. "You stopped a war," she murmured. "Now a king wants you. That may not be rest. That may be the next fight." Willowyn's eyes were half shut. She thought of her mother, of the dream she had carried across an ocean, of standing between kingdoms and holding them still. She had done it once. Her body had paid the price. "Then I'll meet him," she whispered. Above the ridge, the white griffin called out and dropped toward them, its silver saddle catching the last light. Behind Raven, the pale minx crept from the folds of the cloak and curled against Willowyn's side. The fighting was over. Willowyn had won her river. But she had spent everything to do it, and a king now waited to learn what else she could give.