Chapter Text
Kirsi strolls through the gardens in the aftermath of the fairy’s attack, once her guards have been convinced that she will come to no harm among the plants and soil while they watch the perimeters.
Luckily, the fairy threat had been caught and banished to the dungeons, with no more issues arising. She had been waved away when she had asked for details but had at least been reassured that it could no longer use its magic, thanks to the palace mage.
As much as Kirsi is wary of her sister and lady-in-waiting being so friendly and preoccupied with the mage, she is comforted by the idea that Norrix is someone powerful enough to protect Lucia.
Between the mage, the palace guards, and that terrifying armored beast that Lucia has become so strangely fond of, Lucia will at least be safe, however far she strays from Kirsi.
So, Kirsi wanders the property unattended. Technically, she shouldn’t be alone, even if there are no men nearby, but Lucia is her only appointed lady in waiting. It isn’t as if Lucia hadn’t broken this rule before, leaving Kirsi alone with her betrothed with no attendant to ensure their chastity and virtue. Though they haven’t done anything, the mere idea that they could act without reprisal has been enough to leave Kirsi’s head spinning.
It’s scandalous what Lucia has let her get away with without a chaperone, but at least she is permissive. Kirsi finds the constant flurry of attention from all of the attendants from around the palace to be stifling. At home, their servants and employ had been rather barebones, with few guards being needed for such a well-liked Lord on such a faraway land, where the war and conflict were only stories.
Kirsi thinks that they had more attendants and servants at some point, but she recalls her father dismissing many of them when she and Lucia were quite young. Mostly, Kirsi had tutors, dozens of them constantly in and out, instructing and teaching her everything they could about royal life and what she would need to know to marry someone like Reimund.
Still, she finds herself sighing as she travels off the path and onto the uneven grass, high enough that it touches above her ankles and beneath her dress, where her shoes end. They must have missed things in her education, because nothing quite seems right.
Maybe all will make sense once she’s married. After all, Kirsi has been prepared her entire life to be the perfect wife. Perhaps it’s being a fiancée that she isn’t ready for. She—
A rustling of the underbrush startles her out of her thoughts. She turns and drifts towards the bush that she thinks the sound came from, hoping, as she did in her childhood, to find a small rabbit or perhaps a bird moving restlessly about in the bushes.
Knave always found and chased them off before Kirsi could get a very good look at any such creatures, but Lucia tended to find things more often when they were allowed to roam around the gardens, citing that she was calmer and gentler.
But now, Kirsi has a chance to see something by herself, alone in the gardens and away from everyone, even her sister and cat.
She has seen little of Knave since arriving. This had worried her initially, but frantic asking about had revealed that he had taken to the barn lifestyle, though she had never seen him catch something besides the time he had hooked his claws into a butterfly and sent both a younger Lucia and herself into tears.
She carefully approaches the bush, adjusting her course and going to the one beside it when she hears the rustling again, closer this time. The bush is up to her chest in height and full of flowers, beautiful pink roses that fill the air with a fragrant scent. Its branches are uneven, as if it hasn’t been trimmed recently.
Kirsi supposes that makes sense, as Reimund has complained of having few servants left to take care of things while focusing on the wedding and heightened security, though she finds herself somewhat disappointed that Reimund can’t simply hire some groundskeepers. Has the war taken so many people away that more guards and servants can’t simply be hired?
Surely keeping the gardens neat while the wedding is coming up is as much a concern for him as it is for her. A messy garden reflects poorly upon its keeper, after all.
Kirsi creeps quietly, stepping as lightly as she can, though she giggles lightly to herself as she indulges in this childish desire. So much of her recent life has been spent worrying and trying to impress Reimund, that she has hardly taken the time to let herself breathe.
Kirsi leans down, bending carefully at the waist so she does not overly disturb or wrinkle the fabric of her dress, and touches the bush, the leaves gentle upon her palm as she gingerly presses and finds where the thorns will not harm her when she applies pressure. She folds her hand beneath the branches and lifts them so she can peer underneath and see whatever creature lays beyond her through the gaps in the bushes protective branches.
There’s a squeak, like an animal reeling in surprise at the intrusion, and then—
Kirsi jolts back from the bush as if burned. And maybe she was—she feels an ache along her finger as if pricked by the thorns she has been so carefully avoiding, but she can’t bring herself to look down. Her fingertips tingle with surprise as she stares in horror at what she can no longer see, having dropped the bushes branches back down in her haste to retreat, her mouth opening around a soundless cry.
She should call for a guard. She should be screaming. Because nestled in the lower branches of the bush, among the thick scent of flowers is a pixie.
Kirsi hadn’t been told about pixies when she was younger. None of her tutor's warnings or her father's stories had included them. When she had eventually expressed her confusion, Reimund had taken her aside (alone, again!), and had regaled her with the horrifying tales of a tiny, near-silent winged spy who meant them harm and stole away their greatest secrets. When she had gone pale with fear, he had comforted her, telling her that there was nothing to worry about, for despite their concerns, no pixie had been found.
But there it is, the missing pixie, lying right in front of her!
Kirsi brings her hands to her chest. Her heart pounds as she slowly steps forward again, leaning and lifting the branches of the bush. This time, the leaves tremble in her grasp.
The pixie has sat up since she last looked at it, but now it sits still, staring at her. It squeaks again, a strained, wheezy thing. Its tiny chest heaves with the effort, and when Kirsi looks, squinting into the dark in wordless horror, she sees that it is injured, bleeding, and rubbing slick, discolored blood against the branches that it’s cradled in.
Her fear wanes as she takes in its weakened state, and worry rushes to fill her heart in its place.
The pixie weakly squeaks again, almost like the calling chirp of a bird, before it lays back down, trembling and weak.
It goes still.
And Kirsi reaches into the thornbush.
She cups her hand around it and brings it out from the bush and into the faint light, moving her body so she stands between the castle and the pixie as she stares down at the poor, struggling creature. It’s hurt. It shifts weakly in her hold, as if every movement is a struggle, and its eyes meet her own.
It looks terrified.
Kirsi wants to sob. She can feel its heartbeat from where it lays against her thumb, pumping more slippery blood through its tiny body when it has already lost so much. It’s beating so fast and hard that Kirsi thinks it might give out right there.
The right thing to do would be to give it to a guard. To not have touched it at all. To leave it where it was obviously going to succumb to its injuries.
But Kirsi knows herself to be too naive for her own good. She tries to tell herself that she can show her worth if she ‘captures’ and interrogates the little spy. It’s just… so small, and so fragile, and Kirsi would practically be the one killing it, if she told someone, or left it there.
What would Lucia do?
Kirsi doesn’t know, and she feels sick by the realization.
She lifts her long, trailing sleeves, and tucks the pixie gently into them before holding the covered creature to herself. Its blood mingles with her own, and together they stain the fabric, but there’s little Kirsi can do about that at the moment.
She makes her way back to the palace, holding her head high and trying not to tremble for fear that she will be found out as she takes the beast to her room.