By the Fire

            I wandered around the forest, looking for firewood. There were both evergreen and deciduous trees, but there was no telling where we were; in the human world, or not. It was quite dark. The ground suddenly dipped down, and I was sloshing through a pond before I knew it. My shoes were soaked. Great.
           Still, I got a good armful of wood and brought it back to the where the horses were tethered to the fallen tree. Jinge had hung the lantern there while he and the Faery King had gone hunting. Ciaran was using a tinder and flint with some bark to try and light a fire. He had already cleared away the brush and made a fire pit, so I dropped the wood next to it. The sticks fell rather loudly, but he didn’t look up.
         “Will that be enough?” I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.
         Ciaran glanced up and shook his head. Then he took the nest of bark in his hands, blowing on it. The sparks soon went out, though. He sighed.
         “It’s too wet.”
         “Can’t you use magic?”
         “I could, but we don’t want to leave a strong trail behind us.”
         “I thought Donal said your brother couldn’t track us this way?”
         Ciaran scratched his head. “Normally he couldn’t, but who knows. He probably has the whole castle backing him up now, with all the resources and spies he needs to track us.”
         “They would back him up? Even though he killed the king?”
         He shrugged. “He’s had a lot of influence up til now, and the three of us have not. If he uses his silver tongue, it’s likely that they’ll believe his side of the story.”
         This was not encouraging. While he tried to light the fire again, I went on a second trip for dead branches. My head was churning with possible approaches of what to say to him, and how to say it. I was divided between the idea of being gentle and objective (like a therapist), being aggressive for the truth, and letting him lead any ensuing conversation.
         “I’m sorry that I ever asked you to dance in the first place.”
         I winced just remembering it. This totaled the value of our previous relationship to about -50. But it made sense if he had gone to prison over what had happened with me. He probably couldn’t stand me. Meanwhile, that single page of homework would not get printed out, and who knows how many classes I would miss? It was only Saturday night (or early Sunday morning), so maybe if this political faery mess got straightened out quickly, I might be able to pass my classes with all A’s still...
           There was a fairly big, dry branch that had plenty of twigs on it. If I broke it down, it would be enough firewood to last the night. I took a hold of the thicker end and dragged it back beside me to the camp. Ciaran had managed to get some twigs to light up and had a tiny fire inside a stack of the sticks I’d already brought. I began to break the smaller branches off of the main limb, and breaking those into the right lengths over my knee.

“You don’t happen to have a hatchet on you, do you?” I asked between snaps.

“Jinge might.” Ciaran tossed another stick onto the fire. I finished stripping the tree branch down and sat next to him in silence. He wouldn’t look at me. It was very miserable, as you can tell. I took off my wet shoes and socks and set them somewhat near the fire in hopes that they would dry. Soon Donal and his bodyguard returned with a buck. They dug a hole and gutted it over said hole. It was pretty gross, so I’ll spare you the details. The roasted meat was good, though. It could have used some spices, but no one was complaining.

“Breakfast was so long ago.” Donal sighed happily. The keys on his bracelet dangled as he lifted up his arm repeatedly to take another bite of the venison.

I asked him what the bracelet on his wrist was for. Donal held up his hand and rotated it, palm up and palm down. 

“These are the keys to every gate and door in the Faery World.” he told me. “Not the doors to houses, of course, but to every door in the castle, every prison, and every portal linking our two worlds. It is my shackle until the day I die.”

“You mean you can’t take it off?” I asked, alarmed.

“Not unless I want to abdicate. I can do that when I get old and have a son to pass it down to. But I can’t just take it off, no.” He looked at me with his tragic blue eyes. “Faery kings are not crowned, Ashlyn. They’re shackled.”

“You get a crown too.” Ciaran pointed out, laying down on his back with his hood pulled over his eyes.

“But it’s optional! It’s an optional crown.” Donal argued.

“Stop complaining.”

“Just be glad you don’t have to wear this.”

“Oh, I am, every day.” Ciaran grinned, putting his hands behind his head comfortably.

“Yes, well, if I don’t have a son, you’re next in line!”

“I’ll make sure you have a son. I’ll snatch you a wife and a son myself if I have to.”

“That would save me a lot of trouble, actually. Could you defeat your brother for me while you’re at it?”

“Shut up and finish your dinner!” Ciaran laughed.

            Jinge ate in silence. This playful banter was confusing me all the more, but when I looked at Donal’s smile, I knew it was only a mask. He saw his father die. Barely older than a child, and he saw that. He ran all night and all day with the only two people that he could trust in the world, burdened with the “shackle” of a king. What else was he going to do?
            If I were him, I’d probably be whimpering in a corner somewhere. As it was, I had only been on the run with these men for a few hours, and I was about ready to give up. I was in luck: it was time to sleep. I wrapped my cloak around myself and tried to be content with sleeping on the ground. That concluded Day 1 of being a hunted fugitive.