7. 7

We walked down from the grassy ridge toward the Fortress of Apples, which rose like a stone wedding cake from the great apple orchard that surrounded it. A hushed wind ruffled the leaves and made the apples sway, filling the air with the scent of fruit.

In front of the fortress, an archery target had been set up. At a distance was a wooden rack with two bows, and two quivers filled with arrows. There was no one in sight—unless you counted Sybelia the horse, who peeked around a trunk and whickered at the sight of us. Her coat shone, and the dappled galaxies on her side shifted as if the very universe was expanding and contracting with each breath.

Georgiana the wolfhound loped out from the orchard.

Having spotted his favorite horsey friend and his enormous roommate, Jester lunged at the end of the leash.

I reached down and unclipped him. He couldn't come to harm here, not in the Forest of Emeralds, where every being would look out for him. The Gentry spoiled him even more than I did.

He bolted to Sybelia and play-bowed, like he would to another dog. Sybelia danced lightly on her hooves, and Jester responded in kind, dodging left and right excitedly, with happy barks. Georgiana ran around them in circles, her shaggy tail flying.

"Whose horse is that?" my mother asked.

"That's my horse. Sybelia," Berron said.

"And is that your castle?"

Berron sketched a bow.

"Oh, my." She elbowed me sharply, probably thinking it was subtle.

"Ow!"

She gestured with her head toward the Fortress, as if I'd never noticed it before and needed to be prodded to realize there was a giant stone structure in front of us.

"Mom, what on Earth are you doing?"

She rolled her eyes.

I knew what she was doing. She wanted me to take note that here was Berron, a seemingly nice fellow—if not entirely human—and here was a castle that belonged to him, and why couldn't I put two and two together and simply lock him down without further delay.

I sighed. Between this, and Daniel being such a nice boy, I was tempted—again—to put my mother on an airplane.

Voices carried from the distance: Poppy's round, clear British tones, followed by the low, rich murmur of the Princess of Arrows. They emerged from around the curve of the lowest level of the Fortress of Apples, Poppy carrying a large mug that steamed.

"Zelda!" cried Poppy. "And Zelda's mum! Oh, how delightful." In her hurry to approach, whatever was in the mug sloshed over the rim and pattered on the grass.

The Princess of Arrows, more stately, did not hurry, but a warm look of welcome brightened her serene face.

"Mom, you know Poppy, of course. And this is Berron's sister, the Princess of Arrows."

"Pleased to meet you," Mom said. She leaned close to me and spoke quietly. "Do we shake hands? Do I curtsy?"

The Princess of Arrows held out a delicate hand. "I am so pleased to make your acquaintance, Mother of Zelda."

"Please, call me Effie. And do you go by… Princess?"

"I am called the Princess of Arrows."

My mother paused, as if waiting for something more. "No name?"

The Princess of Arrows looked momentarily at a loss.

Berron jumped in smoothly. "Our ruler goes by their title."

"Oh, my goodness—I've offended you," Mom said. "Look at me, putting my foot right in my mouth!"

"It is not so," the Princess of Arrows said, stepping forward and slipping her arm through my mother's. "I am not offended. Indeed, I am most pleased to welcome you to the Forest of Emeralds. May I offer you some refreshment? The Fortress of Apples has anything you might require. Do you care for sapphire-berry punch, Effie?"

"That sounds wonderful."

"Then you must try it. And as we walk, you must tell me of all your adventures in the city of New York."

They strolled away through the apple grove, the Princess of Arrows's golden dress trailing behind her.

"That went quite well," Poppy said.

"What, did you think my mom would freak out or something?"

"No." She took a long pull from her mug. "Yes." She eyed Berron speculatively. "Speaking of titles, what's your title?"

"What do you mean?" he said.

"Princess of Arrows," Poppy said, gesturing toward where my mother and the Princess had wandered off. "Prince of…?"

"I'm afraid it's just ‘Prince of the Gentry.' Although I do have a tree."

"A tree?" I said.

"The Prince's Tree."

Poppy and I traded looks. "Care to elaborate?" I said.

"It's in a valley not far from here. It's an unusual tree, with a split trunk—almost like it has two legs—and a sort of a nook where you can sit against the trunk and think. I spent so much time sitting there that everyone started calling it… well, you know." He smiled.

I had to admit, it sounded exactly like Berron to have his very own royal tree.

"Oh, look, there's your mum!" Poppy said. "Yoo-hoo! Over here!"

My mother appeared to have completely changed her clothes. Her sensible fall outfit had been replaced by billowing bronze-colored robes that fluttered and sparkled with tiny gems. She held an enormous goblet and alternated sipping with one hand and gesturing animatedly with the other as she and the Princess of Arrows approached.

"Zelda!" my mom cried. "Have you tried this"—she leaned toward the Princess of Arrows and placed a familiar hand on her arm— "I do declare, I cannot remember the name. Bumble-berry?"

"Sapphire-berry," the Princess of Arrows said.

"Sapphire-berry!" my mother repeated, triumphantly, releasing Berron's sister's arm with a friendly pat. "Have you tried it?" she asked me again.

"No…" Her eyes certainly were sparkly. Was it the clear, almost prismatic light of the Forest of Emeralds?

She swayed gently, causing her robe to ripple like slow-breaking waves on Sparkle Beach.

Ah.

My mother was ever-so-slightly tipsy.

I shot Berron a look.

"Don't look at me," he said.

The Princess of Arrows beamed goodwill like sunshine. "It is considered most hospitable to offer guests a relaxing refreshment upon their arrival. Sapphire-berry is the traditional drink of welcome."

My mother took another sip and smacked her lips.

"I see," I said. "Berron didn't offer us any when we first got here."

"What, like I needed a drunk Daniel tearing up my room?"

"Drunk?" Mom said, straightening up with all the dignity of a tiny Southern woman. "No one's drunk. I am merely"—she hiccupped—"relaxed."

I held my hand out for the cup, intending to try it but also to get it away from her, since we had fire magic to try out and I didn't want to be flamed like a creme brulee. "May I?"

She steadied the goblet with both hands and passed it over.

I took it, eyeing each of the others in turn, not sure what I was in for. Then I touched my lips to the rim and tilted the goblet.

The scent hit me first. Something like blueberries and blackberries, with an herbal, minty edge. The juice flowed across my tongue, slightly sweet, but bubbly like champagne. Suddenly my mind filled with long-forgotten memories of golden light, puffy white clouds, and warm breezes from long-ago Florida beach vacations. Lost sensory impressions of the warmer months wrapped me in sapphire-berry-induced bliss. "Whoa," I said.

Mom reached for the goblet.

"Hang on a second." I took another sip. Sun-heated grass beneath my feet. The soothing drone of bumblebees. Sea salt in the air. I licked my lips involuntarily, almost sure I could taste the beach and wasn't just remembering it. "You've been holding out on me, you two," I said, pointing to Berron and the Princess of Arrows.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

"Like it? I wish I could bottle and sell it!" I peered into the cup and realized I'd only left a sip. My cheeks warmed. "Here, Mom. Finish it off."

"Thank you," she said, taking the cup. She tossed it back neatly. "Mm-mm. That's just lovely!"

The Princess of Arrows took the empty goblet and looked gratified. "It is one of our seasonal brews."

"There are more like this?" I said.

She nodded. "Oh, indeed there are. You must return to us many times, my dear friends, to sample them all."

"We should be back several times," I said. "Mom needs to practice her magic."

"Oh, yes," my mom chimed in.

I blinked at her. This was my mother, the same woman who—barely an hour ago—declared she was too old for this and should probably pass off her magic to someone else, if possible.

She gave a tiny shrug, almost sheepishly. "Why not? Especially if it involves such charming people," she said, gesturing to Berron and the Princess of Arrows. "And such delicious beverages."

"Fine," I said. "If the Gentry and their drinks can get you to try out your magic, I'm all for it."

"Right-o!" Poppy said. "Shall we begin?"

I looked around. "Where are the dogs? I'd kind of like to know before we start slinging fire."

Poppy cupped her hands around her mouth. "Georgiana! Yoo-hoo!"

"Jester!" I called.

Nothing.

I tried again. "Treat time!"

That got them. With an answering woof to guide me, I spotted them toward the top of the Fortress of Apples, standing on the green grass spiral that wound its way around the structure. They dashed around and around, pink tongues flapping in the air as they ran, all the way to the bottom.

"There they are," Poppy said. "Mummy's big fuzzy baby. Isn't that right, Georgiana?" She fed the wolfhound treats from her hand, expertly keeping the dog distracted until she clipped on the leash.

I did the same with Jester. "Now," I said. "Who wants to mind the canines?"

Jester was already investigating Berron's shoes. Berron put his hand out for the leash and I handed it over.

"I shall take Georgiana," the Princess of Arrows said.

Berron and his sister retreated to a safe distance, then sat comfortably on the grass with the dogs.

"Let's see," Poppy said. She took my mother's hands, peered at them, flipped them over, then raised them into the air at Mom's shoulder height, as if she might flap them and fly.

When Poppy let go, Mom relaxed her arms to her sides. "Well?"

"Show us your fire, then," Poppy said. "Just a little one, mind you. Don't go singeing my eyebrows."

"I'll try not to," Mom said. She turned one hand palm up and frowned slightly.

I backed up, remembering the fireball that exploded the first batch of cupcakes.