CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kayla opened her eyes and blinked to clear them. The morning sun streamed through the window at an odd angle, the light coming from above rather than to the left. The walls here were made of cut gray stone instead of thin wood panels. Still lost in a blur of foggy sleep, she wasn’t sure where she was until a light tap came at the door and Sarali poked her head through.
“Are ye awake now, miss? The master sent me up to fetch ye. Breakfast be on the table.”
It all rushed back then—the banquet the evening before, being seated at the high table with Brant’s family, the showdown with her grandfather. She smiled, tucking the covers beneath her chin.
Dragonmeer. She was at Dragonmeer.
She threw back the heavy down comforter, sat up, and rubbed her eyes. “I’m awake. Tell the duke I’ll be down shortly.”
“Oh, the duke still be sleeping, miss. I don’t imagine ye’d be seeing his face around the castle for many an hour still. Master Brant be leading the breakfast bunch, and he sent me up to fetch ye.”
Kayla grinned. It was doubtful those were his exact words. She imagined he had said something more along the lines of, “Tell Kayla to get her lazy backside out of bed and come join me.” She nodded to the servant. The girl withdrew, shutting the door softly behind her.
Kayla sat on the side of the bed for a few moments, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight and the softness of the feather bed. It was a much more pleasant awakening than she usually had. Most mornings, she awoke before dawn to her mother calling from downstairs. Content, she scampered into the lovely clothes she had worn the night before. They were a little wrinkled, but they would have to do. She had brought nothing more than that and the outfit she had worn shopping the day before, which did not seem suitable for breakfasting with the duke’s household. She would rather be overdressed than under, so she laced up the dress, glanced in the mirror, and prepared to leave. She turned to the door and spotted her unmade bed. There was one thing more she had to do before she left.
She pulled the Sapphire Flute from beneath her pillow where it had slept with her during the night, and opened the case to see its glowing blue length. It had a different feel to it today, as if more alive, more aware of her and itself. It had almost a presence, as if it were a person and not an inanimate object. Chills shivered Kayla to the core. She closed the case and shoved the flute deep beneath the feather mattress so it would remain hidden even if the maids came and made up the bed in her absence.
Business accomplished, she smoothed her dress, took a few moments to brush her hair and twist it into style, and marched through the door.
It was strange, circling down these particular stairs after so many years of hiding on them and watching the parties take place through the slats of the railing. She and Brant had become quite adept at crashing the duke’s parties and never getting caught. On numerous occasions they had foraged for food and watched the ladies and gents as they sang and danced and performed. The dancing had been fun, the jugglers and magicians funny, but the music had always set Kayla’s heart to racing. She would sit entranced for hours, listening to the sound that filled the cavernous room. It had not mattered if they plucked the soft strings of a harp or trumpeted their horns—soloists or choirs, she was pulled into a world of dreams and imagination and magic when the music struck her ears.
Brant had learned early on that if he wanted to have any kind of fun with Kayla, he had to wait for the music to end. They sat on the balcony overlooking the great hall, nibbling at their stolen food, wrapped in blankets for warmth. How she missed those years. It was nice finally to be noticed for her accomplishments, but there was something to be said for the carefree days of childhood.
It looked as if Duke Domanta was not the only one feeling a little delicate this morning. Kayla noticed many missing faces, but all that mattered to her was that Brant was there. His eyes lit when she entered the hall, and he stood, waving his arm enthusiastically.
“Come in, come in!” he called, coughing over the bite of steak he had just crammed into his mouth. Kayla shook her head at him and smiled.
“You’re going to choke one of these days if you don’t slow down, Brant.” In answer, he cut an even larger chunk and stuffed it in his mouth, growling as if he were a starving dog.
Despite his playfulness, Brant seemed distracted all through breakfast. He was much more quiet than usual and seemed almost sad. His sense of humor only returned at the end of the meal.
“I don’t know how you do it, Kayla. You eat more than most men, and you stay so blasted skinny. Can’t you just try to let me eat more than you? Just once?”
Kayla laughed. “Why should I? It keeps you humble, love. You can’t be better at everything, you know,” she said, taking his hand and winking at him.
“Right now I’m not better at anything,” he grumbled, though his heart didn’t seem to be in it.
For once Kayla didn’t know what to say. Despite his joking manner, there seemed to be a hint of real bitterness in his tone. She looked at him sharply, but he said nothing more. So she let it drop as he tucked her hand into his arm and escorted her into more familiar territory—the stables.
“What are we doing here, Brant?” she asked, curious.
“You’ll see.“ He gave her a smug smile. He patted her hand and left her standing on the cobblestones as he went to speak to the groomsman. The old man bobbed his head and retreated inside.
“Brant . . .” Kayla called, but Brant held up his index finger in the universal sign for “wait a minute.” What was he doing? He was behaving very strangely. The answer became apparent when the groomsman led matching white horses from the stable, mare and stallion.
“What’s this?” she asked, awed by their beauty.
“A little gift. Would you like to ride?” he asked.
“Of course I would, but what do you mean, ‘a little gift’? From whom? Why?”
“I’ll explain later, love. Just ride with me for now,” he pleaded. Kayla couldn’t resist and didn’t really want to. The animals were beautiful. She quickly mounted and had barely settled herself in the saddle when Brant spoke. “Race you to the river?” He grinned and dug in his heels without waiting for an answer.
“Hey! That’s cheating! Wait for me!” She nudged the mare, who took off like a dream.
The horse’s gait was smooth, as though she was floating instead of riding, and Kayla understood what people meant when they said they were “as one” with their mounts. She felt as if she were a part of the horse, her body embedded within the back of the animal, as they flew over the hills and through the swathes of forest that dotted Dragonmeer.
She sailed over stone walls and fallen logs faster than she ever had, and it reminded her of the feeling when she played the flute—specifically Darthmoor’s Honor. The images she had of flight were similar to the feel of racing this horse across the land. In that moment life was complete, with no battle for position, no nagging parents or loveless grandfathers, no pain, no fear, no loss—just the perfection of being joined with someone else and running.
Joy welled up in her then—an emotion she had not truly had since that moment ten years before when she had learned what her birth had meant for her mother. She felt free and wanted the moment to last forever.
But that could never be.
Much too soon, the ride was over, and Kayla met Brant at the river’s edge. The two of them arrived side by side in the final leg of the journey. It had ceased to be a race long before, and instead, they rode in companionable silence, though still at the fastest speed their horses could maintain together. Kayla was pleased to see that not only did the horses match each other in looks, they also matched pace, as if they were duplicates mirrored and reversed in gender, but still moving as one.
Brant dropped to the ground, pulling the reins over his stallion’s head. He helped Kayla down and immediately took her into his arms. Her head nestled against his chest as she took in the musky, sweaty smell of him. She couldn’t h
elp the feeling of wonder that came over her. Brant would be hers. It was no longer a dream she was afraid to ponder, but a tangible thing standing before her.
Their horses began to wander and pulled against the two of them, forcing the separation neither as willing to initiate. Brant and Kayla laughed, a trifle ill at ease with each other for the first time. They were alone, no one around to judge or know how they behaved or whether they kept things proper, and Kayla would have been lying to say she was not tempted to tease Brant a little and see where it would lead.
But it was wrong. She could not start their life together with that on her conscience, so when he tried to pull her into his arms again, she danced away, laughing.
“Huh, uh, uh, Brant.” She wagged a finger at him. “You know the rules.”
“Yeah, but rules are meant to be broken, Kayla,” he said, lunging for her, his eyes gleaming.
“Not these rules, Brant. Not for us,” she said, holding her ground as he slowed and stopped before her, disappointed, but thoughtful. When she was sure he understood, she moved toward him, but he turned away.
“Brant, don’t be like that,” she said, hurt by his refusal.
“I’m not mad, Kayla, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to get too close to me right now,” he answered, his back still to her. He moved down the stream in silence, picking up rocks here and there and skipping them out across the still waters. Kayla followed after him, unable to let him go far without her. It was as if a magnet were between them, pushing and pulling, but never allowing its opposite to wander.
“My father’s not happy, you know,” he said.
Kayla’s heart lurched. “What do you mean, Brant? I thought you said he likes me.”
Brant smiled over his shoulder, then continued his walk down the water’s edge. “He does. A little too much.“
When he didn’t expound, Kayla blew out an explosive breath. “What do you mean?” she demanded, trying to catch up with him. He finally let her.
“I’ve never seen the duke as angry as he was last night, and believe me, at that moment he was ‘the duke,‘ and not my father,” Brant said, still not looking at her.
“Why?” Surprise and worry mixed like oil and vinegar, upsetting her stomach with their fervor.
“Because our announcement was so unexpected.” He sighed. “The duke does not like surprises, especially in regards to his family. I guess once people knew we were attached, they started asking him questions, and he had no answers. He said I was inconsiderate and impulsive, and that if I planned to take over Dragonmeer, I had better start thinking of other people before blurting my plans to the world.” Brant stopped and faced the river, tossing his pebbles into the water with distinct kerplunks that brought fish to the surface to investigate. “I guess more than anything, he was upset that I didn’t tell him first so he could plan for it. The horses are a gift from him, an outward show of his approval. You know he likes you. He doesn’t disapprove—he just wishes we’d informed him first.”
“I’ll have to thank him,” she said, relieved it was nothing more than the duke‘s bruised ego that bothered her fiancé. She took Brant’s hand, but he shook her off, turning away and moving toward the horses.
“I’m sorry, Kayla. I’m not trying to hurt you. It’s just . . .” he paused, seeming to gather courage to speak, or perhaps find the words themselves. “He’s right,” he continued. “I should have told him when I first came home, but I was so caught up in the euphoria that I didn’t even think of it. What kind of a son am I? What kind of duke will I be if I do nothing but think of myself first?”
“Hey, now,” she reprimanded. “You’re going to be a wonderful duke, every bit as good as your father. You’re seeing him now after decades of practice being the man he is. I’ll bet you he’s had his embarrassing moments and failures too. You can’t live in this world without making mistakes. You just have to own up to them and be aware so you don’t make the same ones twice.”
Brant was quiet for a long moment. She was about to speak again when he turned to face her, a light smile playing at his lips.
“How did you ever get to be so wise, Kayla Kalandra Felandian, soon to be Domanta?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her.
“Just born that way, I guess.” She smirked as she gave him a light peck on the cheek, pulled out of his arms, and turned toward the horses. “Come on.” She stepped to her beautiful new mare. “Let’s get back before anybody misses us and starts passing around more of those ugly rumors.”
Brant pursed his lips, but before he could answer Kayla had climbed onto her mare’s back and dug her heels into the flanks. She surged back toward Dragonmeer, tossing her laughter behind her like a ribbon for Brant to catch.
“Hey!” Brant hollered, echoing her earlier call, but his laughter only spurred her faster. The race was on again.
This time Kayla was clearly the winner as she dismounted breathlessly in the courtyard and handed over her mare to the groomsman. Brant barreled into the yard just as she ran toward the front door. He didn’t even stop his horse before he leaped from the animal, stumbled, then charged after her.
Kayla put on speed, her slippers perfect for moving quietly through the halls as she ran for her room. She had just reached the door when Brant caught her against him, gasping and laughing, and they tumbled through the doorway to lie in a giggling heap in the middle of her floor, the door gaping wide open.
Kayla scrambled up first. “I’ve got to change after all that exertion, love. You’re going to have to wait outside.”
Brant sighed, but picked himself up and strolled to the doorway. He stopped only to brush his lips lightly across hers before he exited the room. Kayla slammed the door, flushed both from the run and his attentions. She was determined not to let him get the upper hand, though her determination faded with the chuckle that sounded from the other side of the door.
She quickly shucked off her new dress and found her lavender gown hanging in the closet. She wiped the sweat from her body with lavender-scented water and a washcloth that had been left on her vanity. How thoughtful of Sarali to match the scented water with the shade of her dress. Kayla pulled on the gown and tied the sash around her waist. She headed for the door, but spotted her now made bed and thought of the Sapphire Flute. She had to take just one more look before she left. Perhaps she would even let Brant join her in admiring the glowing instrument.
She thrust her arm beneath the feather bed to pull the flute from its hiding place, but it wasn’t where she left it.
Maybe it got moved when the servants made the bed, she thought, reaching deeper, then sweeping her arm back and forth from top to bottom and side to side. It wasn’t there. She ripped the clean blankets from the bed, then pulled the mattress itself out and scrambled around inside the frame. She searched corners and down the side nearest the wall.
The Sapphire Flute was gone.
Her knees turned to rubber, and she collapsed in a heap, panicked and tearful.
Where could it be? I know I put it under the mattress when I left. Who would have taken it? Who wouldn’t?
The questions circled around in her head like a wheel on a cart. She couldn’t straighten her mind enough to find any answers. She had just assumed things would be safe in Brant’s home. They’d never had many problems with thievery in Dragonmeer. And how would they have known it was there?
Nothing else seemed to be missing, so it was obvious they came for that and that alone.
A knock sounded at the door, but Kayla hardly heard. She sat stunned, holding back the tears that burned her eyes and choked her throat. The knock came again, louder, more insistent. Kayla roused herself, just enough.
“Who is it?” she called, emotion causing her voice to warble.
“It’s Brant. What’s taking you so long?”
She surged to her feet and threw open the door.
“Do you have it, Brant?” she asked. He took a step back.
“Have what? Did someone steal
from you?”
Kayla’s face crumpled. She threw herself against him, sobbing into his shoulder. “It’s gone, Brant! It was here when I left, and now it’s gone!” She clung to him, and he alternately patted her back and caressed her hair.
“Shhh, Kayla, shhh. Tell me what’s missing. I need answers before I can do anything.“ He held her at arms’ length and met her eyes.
“Someone has stolen the Sapphire Flute! Oh, Brant, what am I to do?"
The Sapphire Flute: Book 1 of The Wolfchild Saga Page 17
