Across the Green Grass Fields (Wayward Children, #6)(31)
“No one knows,” said Chicory. “Mom thinks they go back where they came from, and Aunt Bramble thinks they go to another world that has to be saved, but it doesn’t matter, because they don’t come back. Not ever.”
“I will,” said Regan.
“What?”
“I will. If I have to go—if there’s not any way to avoid it—I’ll come back. I promise. This is my home. I wish I could tell my parents I’m all right, I’m here and I’m happy and they don’t need to worry about me, but I belong here. I’ll come back. I’ll always come back.”
Chicory twisted to look at Regan as she continued trotting toward the cottage. “You really promise?” she asked. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”
“You’re my best friend,” said Regan. “I won’t ever leave you like that.”
Chicory sagged, the strange tension going out of her shoulders, and trotted to a stop in front of the cottage. “Mom’s inside. She’s waiting for you.”
“Because that’s not ominous.” Regan slid off of Chicory’s back, patting her reassuringly on the side, and tugged her dripping tunic into place as she walked toward the door. It was comfortingly familiar and solid. This wasn’t a door that whisked human children away to new worlds. It was a door that opened to welcome them home, and was still there when they turned around. She brushed her fingertips against the wood as she stepped through, into the straw-scented gloom that always lingered under the roof.
Aster, Daisy, and Pansy were there already, waiting for her. Their expressions were serious, and Regan felt the ice gather again, chilling her from the inside out. The water dripping from her hair suddenly felt like a punishment, running down her neck and leaving clammy dread in its wake.
“There you are,” said Aster in the frustrated tone she always used when Regan and Chicory ranged too far afield and needed to be brought back to heel.
“Here I am,” said Regan. She turned to Daisy. Daisy, her teacher and mentor. Daisy, who would always, always tell her the truth, and wouldn’t try to protect her like Pansy, or put the needs of her own daughter first, like Aster. “What’s going on?” she asked in a small, pained voice. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, child, no,” said Daisy. “You did nothing wrong, or if you did”—she paused to shoot a quelling glance at the other two centaurs—“we all did. We’ve become too comfortable here. There aren’t many centaur herds in the forest, and it’s rare for them to leave, or to come back if they do. One of the traveling merchants must have grown suspicious about a new herd settling in these parts, and mentioned it where the Queen’s spies could hear. She’s been looking for you. She knew you were somewhere to be found, as the Hooflands have not been saved.”
“And after I save the world, I disappear,” said Regan, voice still small.
Pansy’s head snapped up. She took a step toward Regan. “Who told you that?” she asked. “Regan, who told you that you were going to disappear?”
“Chicory did. She said you talk about it when you think we’re not listening. Humans come, they save the world, and then they vanish.” Regan’s hands balled into fists. “I don’t want to vanish. I’ll still save the world if I have to, because I like it too much to let it not be saved, but I don’t want to vanish.”
“The Queen knows you’re here,” said Aster. “Her spies will make you disappear if we don’t do something soon.”
“What does she even want with me?” Regan shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense. If she’d been willing to leave us alone, we’d still be in the fields with the flock, not hiding in a forest in the middle of nowhere.”
“She hates you because she’s what you’re going to save us from,” said Aster. “Things have grown worse since we left. The merchants speak of it. Prices for crops and livestock continue to drop, and the Queen sets the prices; she’s to blame. The herds are starving. They can’t afford to eat, to replace their tools, to go courting at the Fair—it’s all falling apart. The Queen sends her soldiers to burn their fields when they refuse to tell her what she wants to know. She’s no fit queen any longer. I’m sorry, but it’s time for you to go to her.”
“I did not agree to this,” snapped Daisy. “We can hide again. There’s more north in the world.”
“No,” said Regan. “The foals deserve better than to grow up hiding, and they’ll hate me for it when they realize I’m the reason they had to. Chicory deserves better. All the herds do. If the Queen is hurting them, we have to stop her. You raised me to save our world. Let me save it.”
There was no way to answer that, and so no one said anything, not even when Regan burst into tears and threw her arms around Pansy’s waist, holding on as if her life depended on it.
PART IV
TO VISIT THE QUEEN
13
THE ROAD TO RUIN
REGAN LEFT AS THE sun was sinking low against the horizon, painting the sky in purple and orange, like a bruise that would never heal. The rest of the herd came to the edge of the wood to watch her go, even the foals, who didn’t understand what was happening, only that their favorite playmate was walking away, a bundle slung over one shoulder and a bow hooked over the other, and that she wasn’t looking back.